Witch Is When Everything Went Crazy Page 7

Chapter 9

  It took Kathy a couple of minutes to stop laughing. Why did she find the idea of me winning at bowling so hard to believe?

  “How are the kids?” I asked.

  “They keep asking when Auntie Jill the witch is going to give them a repeat performance. I think you may have started something there.”

  “I only know the one trick.”

  “You’d better get swotting up on card tricks then or you’ll have some disappointed kids on your hands. Speaking of which, I’ve had a brilliant idea.”

  Two words I’d hoped never to hear from Kathy’s lips were: brilliant and idea. Her ideas were rarely brilliant, in fact most of the time they struggled to be mediocre. More worryingly, they invariably involved me.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?” she said.

  I didn’t want to know. I really didn’t want to know. “What is it?” I just had to ask, didn’t I?

  “I was thinking. After all the disappointment of the holiday cancellation, we could take the kids to Candlefield. If you can find your way there, that is.” She laughed.

  “Candlefield?” I wasn’t laughing.

  “You remember. The land that SatNav forgot. From how you described it, the kids will love it. Do you think your family will be able to put us up? Or is there a cheap B&B?”

  Did the ‘forget’ spell work over the phone? I tried it—it failed miserably.

  “What do you think?” Kathy asked. “Brilliant idea or what?”

  “Brilliant, yeah. Have you mentioned this to Peter and the kids?”

  “Yes. We were talking about it all of last night. Pete’s up for it and the kids can’t wait.”

  “Great.”

  “When could we arrange it? It would be fantastic if we could do it on the same dates as the holiday had been planned for.”

  “I’ll have to talk to Aunt Lucy and Grandma. I’ll see what they say. I’d better get going—criminals to catch and all that.”

  Mrs V was AWOL when I arrived at the office the next morning. It wasn’t that long since she’d had a spell in hospital. I hoped she hadn’t had some kind of relapse.

  “Have you seen Mrs—?” I stopped dead in my tracks. “Winky, what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re waving two tiny flags around.”

  “They aren’t that tiny.”

  Because obviously it was the size of the flags that was the point at issue here.

  “Okay, why are you waving those average size flags around?”

  He was sitting on the window sill, and had yet to look at me.

  “How do you spell ‘cutie’? Is it a ‘Y’ or ‘I E’ at the end?” he asked.

  “I E, I think. Never mind that. Why are you waving them around?”

  Winky sighed—obviously annoyed by the interruption. “I am not ‘waving flags around’ as you put it. This is semaphore.”

  “Sema—”

  “phore. Yes. What about rendezvous? How do you spell that?”

  I walked up to the window and looked out across the way.

  “There’s another cat over there with flags,” I said.

  “Well of course there is. You didn’t think I was talking to myself did you? That would be crazy.”

  Totally. Whereas two cats exchanging messages via semaphore was completely sane.

  “Who is she? I assume it’s a she?”

  “Bella.” Winky sighed. He was smitten.

  “How long have you and Bella been exchanging semaphore messages?”

  “Not long. She wants me to get a phone, so we can text. I’d have got one by now if you hadn’t shut down my scarf sale operation.”

  “Scarf theft.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Speaking of scarves, have you seen Mrs V?”

  “Not today. Missing her already.”

  “I wonder if she’s ill.”

  “I’m sorry, but you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a monkey’s. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have sweet nothings to semaphore.”

  There was a time, not so very long ago when I’d lived in the land of the sane. No witches, no magic spells, and no crazy cats waving flags at their girlfriends. Happy days.

  I decided to go and check on Mrs V. As I walked out of the building, I glanced up. Bella, Winky’s new love interest, was still waving her flags around. She appeared quite animated—maybe they were talking dirty to one another—it didn’t bear thinking about. I wondered if I should pay a visit to the flat where Bella lived. Did her owners know about their cat’s exploits? In the end, I thought better of it. Any conversation which began with the sentence: ‘Do you know your cat is sending semaphore messages to my cat?’ couldn’t end well.

  As I drove past ‘Ever a Wool Moment’ I glanced inside, and spotted Mrs V behind the counter. Parking wasn’t allowed anywhere along the road, but there were no wardens in sight, so I decided to take my chances. I’d only be a couple of minutes.

  Mrs V was taking a payment from a woman who was stocking up on yellow yarn. I waited until they’d finished.

  “Mrs V?”

  “Jill! Have you decided to take up knitting?”

  “Me? No. I was just wondering what you’re doing here.”

  “Working, dear. It’s been incredibly busy. We’re almost out of number nines.”

  I nodded as though I had a clue what that meant. “Aren’t you supposed to be working for me?”

  “Of course, but your grandma asked if I’d mind standing in for a couple of days. Just until the full-time manager starts.”

  That was nice of her. Nice to be consulted.

  “Good of you to drop by, Jill,” Grandma said.

  She’d done it again—crept up on me without my hearing. “Grandma. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Mrs V tells me she’s working for you.”

  “Only for a couple of days. Is that a problem?”

  “Problem? No, of course not. No problem at all.”

  “Good.” She glanced out of the window. “You might want to get going. I think you’re about to get a ticket.”

  You have got to be kidding me. “Miss!” I called to the traffic warden who was checking my registration plate. “I’m back. I was only inside for a minute.”

  She turned to face me.

  “Daze?”

  “Hi, Jill. Can we take a ride? I need a word.”

  “Sure, yeah. Jump in.”

  As we drove away, I glanced at her uniform.

  “Do you like it?” She touched the jacket.

  “I thought you worked in fast-food. Undercover, I mean.”

  “I like to change things around. It stops me getting bored, and keeps the Rogues guessing. I’m not sure how long I’ll stick with this one though. I’ve had some real abuse—one guy was lucky I didn’t turn him into a slug.”

  As we pulled up at a red light, I felt eyes burning into me. I glanced over to the car alongside me to see Kathy waving.

  I waved back.

  “Who’s that?” Daze asked. “She looks a bit crazy.”

  “That’s Kathy, my sister. Well, adoptive sister to be precise. She’s a human—she doesn’t know about—you know.”

  “Should I wave back?” Daze asked.

  “Why not?”

  As soon as the lights changed, I sped away. Memo to self: Before I saw Kathy next, I’d need to come up with an explanation for why I’d had a parking warden with me in the car.

  I drove out of town, found a quiet lay-by, and pulled over.

  “Was that your grandmother in the wool shop?” Daze asked.

  “Yeah. It’s her latest venture.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m not crazy about it. At least before she opened the shop, I could find refuge from her in the human world. Now, she’s right down the street and is stealing my staff.”

  Daze laughed. “Relatives? Who’d have ‘em?”

  I wou
ld. Even though some of my new family were a sandwich short of a picnic, it was still better than having no family.

  “I need a favour,” Daze said.

  This sounded like more unpaid work—Robert Roberts would be thrilled. “What’s that?”

  “I’m on the trail of a rogue vampire. I’ve been after him for a while now, but he’s smart and keeps giving me the slip.”

  “What’s he done?”

  “The usual. Seduced young women, drunk their blood and left them for dead.”

  And I thought I’d been on some lousy dates. “Where do I come in?”

  “It just so happens, you’re his type.”

  “Slim, attractive, intelligent and funny?”

  “O negative.”

  I shuddered. “Blood type? You’re kidding?”

  She wasn’t. “I need you to put up a profile on the dating website he frequents.”

  “What’s that? Bloodsuckingmatchmakers.com?”

  She laughed. “No, it’s just one of the regular dating websites.”

  “I know they ask for a lot of personal data to help them make a match, but I didn’t realise they asked for blood type.”

  “They don’t. He has certain preferences when it comes to appearance—I’ll provide you with a photo that will fit the bill. When he meets his victims—err—dates—he can sense their blood type. Those with other blood types get a meal and a goodnight kiss. Those with O negative become his meal.”

  “But he’ll realise something is wrong when the photo in my profile doesn’t match—this.” I framed my face with my hands.

  “Not a problem. You can cast a spell that will make him see what he is expecting to see.”

  “Will the ‘doppelganger’ spell work—with a vampire I mean? Won’t he see right through it?”

  “It’ll only fool him for a short time, but it should be long enough.”

  “Not to sound too much of a wimp, but won’t it be dangerous?”

  “You’ll be fine. I’ll be close by, and as soon as he makes his move, I’ll be on him.”

  “Makes his move? Care to define that?”

  “I have to wait until his fangs are out or the case will be dismissed.”

  “Let me make sure I have this right. You want me to be the bait. And you can’t step in until he’s about to sink his teeth into my neck?”

  “You’ve got it. I’ll owe you one.”

  “Let’s hope I’ll still be around to collect.”

  I dropped Daze back in the city centre just in time for her to issue a ticket to a woman who’d left her 4x4 in a no parking zone while she had her nails done.

  My phone rang. It was the nursing home.

  “I’m very sorry. I’ve checked our records, and your mother didn’t actually have any jewellery on her when she passed away.”

  “That’s not right. She was definitely wearing a ring on a necklace. It had been her grandmother’s wedding ring.”

  “Did you see it yourself when you visited her?”

  “No.” The state I’d been in on that particular day I doubt I’d have noticed if she’d been wearing a top hat. “But, I’m sure she was wearing it.”

  “Maybe she took it off before coming into the home?”

  “No, she was definitely wearing it.”

  “Not according to our records. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  Something didn’t smell right.

  Chapter 10

  I woke early the next morning. I hadn’t slept particularly well because my mind had been working overtime trying to figure out what I was going to do about Kathy. The whole thing was such a mess. I wished I’d never mentioned Candlefield to her, but at the time I had no idea of its significance. If it was just Kathy, I’d use the ‘forget’ spell, but this time Peter and the kids were involved too. I planned to speak to Aunt Lucy and even to Grandma if necessary—that’s how desperate I was. Maybe they could come up with some kind of long-term solution. In the meantime, I had to find the missing holiday money, and I had to find it fast.

  I flicked through the book of spells. There was a much wider range of spells in level two than there had been in level one, but as Grandma repeatedly emphasised, they also required far more focus. Some of the spells looked downright dangerous. For example, ‘fireproof’, would allow me to walk through fire unscathed. That was one spell I’d better get right first time otherwise I’d be toast.

  One spell in particular caught my eye. The ‘ageing’ spell would apparently allow me to change my age. When I first spotted it, I’d got all excited. The prospect of losing a few years—even if it did only last for a maximum of twelve hours—had been quite appealing. Then I read the small print. The ageing process only worked in one direction—and it wasn’t younger. Bummer.

  What would I look like when I was older? Did I really want to know? Call it morbid curiosity, but I did. I read and re-read the description and instructions to be absolutely sure that I knew how to reverse the spell. I was in no hurry to become a permanent member of Mrs V’s blue rinse and tiara set. The number of years I aged would depend on the strength of the spell I cast.

  I stepped in front of the mirror, closed my eyes and cast the spell. I didn’t want to overdo it, so I didn’t focus for more than a few seconds. When I opened my eyes, an older version of me was staring back from the mirror. The grey hair was something of a shock, but nothing compared to my face. How old was I? Fifty? Sixty? It was hard to tell. Thank goodness I hadn’t focussed on the spell for any longer.

  I jumped when my phone rang. Still transfixed by my reflection, I said, “Hello?”

  “Jill?”

  “Hi.”

  “Are you okay? You sound—funny.”

  She was right. Even my voice was different. “I’ve got a sore throat.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t on the pop last night?”

  “What do you want? I have to get to work.”

  “Okay, Miss Grouchy Pants. Jeez, you’re turning into a right old woman.”

  If only she knew.

  “I wondered if you’d had time to talk to your Aunt Lucy about us going over there yet?”

  “Not yet, but I will, I promise. Got to go. See you.”

  “Jill wait—”

  I ended the call.

  Thank goodness the spell reversal worked first time. I didn’t think much to being old, but it had given me an idea.

  Mrs V was at her desk, and did not look happy. If that stupid cat had been stealing her scarves again, I’d stick his flags where the sun didn’t shine.

  “Morning, Jill.”

  “I thought you were working in Grandma’s shop for a few days.”

  “Don’t mention that woman to me.”

  Oh no.

  “Do you know what she did?”

  I dare not imagine.

  “I’ll tell you what she did.”

  Must you? Blissful ignorance is fine by me.

  “She said I needed training.”

  That didn’t sound too bad. It could have been much worse. Toads or slugs could have been involved.

  “Training? Can you believe it?” Mrs V continued. “What I don’t know about knitting isn’t worth knowing.”

  “What did she say exactly?”

  “That I needed to update my skills.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her she could stuff her job, and her shop.”

  “And how did she take it?”

  “I didn’t stick around to find out. She was still ranting and raving when I left.”

  “But you’re feeling okay?”

  “Of course. Never better.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Fit as a fiddle. You know me.”

  I knew Grandma too. And I knew that crossing her wasn’t a smart thing to do.

  “You look a little peaky yourself,” Mrs V said. “You work too hard. If you aren’t careful, this job will age you before your time.”

  “What do you mean? Do I have a wrinkle?”
I ran a finger across my face.

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly. You’re in your prime. I just don’t want to see you run yourself into the ground. How about I make us both a drink?”

  “Thanks, that would be great.”

  Mrs V stood up from her desk, and walked across to the coffee machine.

  Oh no! No! No! No!

  “Where is she?” I screamed at one of the assistants. “Where is she?”

  Ever a Wool Moment was much quieter than on ‘grand opening’ day.

  Before the terrified assistant could reply, Grandma appeared from the back office.

  “What’s all the shouting about? Are you trying to scare away my customers?”

  “Change them back!” I screamed.

  “Change what back? You aren’t making any sense.”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Mrs V’s legs—change them back.”

  “They look so much better than her own legs. Those varicose veins—yuk.”

  “You’ve given her frog’s legs.”

  “Toad’s actually. You really must learn to tell the diff—”

  “Change them back.”

  I glanced around and realised that the customers and sales assistants were all staring at us.

  “Let’s go into the back,” I said.

  Grandma led the way.

  “Change her legs back right now!”

  “Relax, she doesn’t even know she has them. No human can see them. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

  “I can see them. How am I meant to work with her when I know she has frog’s legs?”

  “Toad’s.”

  “Whatever. You have to change them back right now!”

  “Or what? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were threatening me.”

  I was shaking with rage. “If you don’t change them back, I’ll never come to Candlefield again—and I’ll renounce my witchmanship.”

  “Witchmanship? That isn’t even a word.”

  “You know what I mean. If you don’t do it, I’m done with being a witch, and I’m done with you.”

  My heart was racing. Had I totally lost my mind? This was Grandma I was dealing with. You don’t mess with Grandma. Any moment now I could find myself transformed into a rat, or a flea—or mouse droppings.

  Grandma’s wart was glowing red; that couldn’t be a good sign.