Witchslapped in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

  Her bed was neatly made, and her desk was orderly—all her papers were in a manila folder, her pens were in a purple holder, and her laptop was closed. There was no Olivia. Hmm. She was never late, and we were supposed to be at my brother’s at six forty-five.

  I went to my room and grabbed my phone. “Siri, call Olivia.”

  “Calling Olivia.”

  “Thanks, Siri.” I knew she didn’t exist nor care about manners, but I couldn’t help being polite. Siri was always so helpful.

  Olivia picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Lily.” Her voice sounded wary.

  “Hi, Liv. I was just wondering where you were. We have to be at James’s in ten minutes.”

  Her quick intake of breath sounded down the line. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry. I won’t be able to make it. My mum—ah, we’ve had some problems. I can’t really talk to you about it now, but I won’t be home till late. Please apologise to James and Millicent. I really am sorry, but my parents need me right now.”

  I knew she couldn’t see me, but I pouted anyway. I was looking forward to dinner and finally opening up to Olivia about everything with my parents, but I’d get over it. “Ah, yeah, sure. Not a problem. Is there anything I can do to help? Is your mum okay?”

  “She’s alive and unhurt, but she’s in hospital having tests. I’ll let you know later, okay?”

  “Of course. But call me if you need anything. Promise?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  I smiled. “Good. Now go do your daughterly duties, and don’t worry about James and Millicent. They totally understand that family comes first.”

  She took a loud deep breath and blew it out. “Thanks, Lil. You’re awesome. See you later.”

  I hated mystery. What had happened with her mum that she couldn’t tell me, one of her best friends? And she was in hospital. That didn’t sound good. I crossed my fingers that her mum was okay.

  My stomach rumbled. I was totally looking forward to dinner. Millicent and James always cooked amazingly yummy food. I was about to ask Siri to call James when my phone rang, Millicent’s name appearing on the screen. “Hey, Mill. I was just about to call you guys.”

  “Hi, Lily. I’m so sorry to do this to you and Olivia, but we’re going to have to cancel tonight.”

  Huh? Wow, two cancellations in one night. I was going to get a complex. “Ah, that’s fine. Olivia just rang me to cancel. Something happened with her mum, but I’m not sure what. Is everyone all right over there?”

  “Yes, but we’ve both been called into work. The Kent police have been getting masses of call-outs. They can’t keep up, and we’re stepping in to help. Purely as non-witch government operatives, of course.”

  “But you can’t go out and deal with criminals! What about the… you know what?” I didn’t want to mention anything on the phone because you never knew who was listening.

  “I’m going to be coordinating our agents from the office. Don’t worry. I’ll be safe. Anyway, I have to go. I’d already cooked, so I’ve sent some over to your place. There’s enough for both you and Liv. It’s in the fridge. Bye.”

  “Bye.” I sighed. Well, so much for my fun night. At least I didn’t have to cook. I didn’t know enough magic to cook anything intricate yet, and we didn’t have much food in the house, so I was glad Millicent had sent dinner over. I was sure Olivia would appreciate it when she got home too. Who knew if she’d had time to eat much today?

  I went to the fridge. What surprise would await? I opened the door. There were six containers—three labelled “Lily” and three, “Olivia.” I pulled my three out and took the lid off one. The cheesy aroma drifted into my nostrils. Oh my God. Eggplant lasagne. I grinned. James must have cooked. It was a recipe handed down in my dad’s family. We’d had it in Italy when we visited our relatives, and Mum even learned how to make it. My mouth watered. I opened the next one, revealing salad with homemade Italian dressing, which was always olive oil, vinegar, and salt. The last container held three crepes filled with cooked strawberries and topped with a dusting of icing sugar. Ooh, the ice cream we’d bought this afternoon would totally go well with this.

  I put the lasagne and salad on a plate and placed the crepes back in the fridge. There was a small snug at the front of the house, which we didn’t use much. It had a TV, two-seater chocolate-colour leather couch, and one armchair, the fabric a pale blue-green. The ceiling was lower than in the sitting room, making it seem very snug indeed. If it were any lower, you could have called the room a claustrophobia. The English were used to these low ceilings, built when people had questionable nutrition, and everyone was shorter. But coming from Sydney, I was yet to adjust, and I didn’t know if I ever would. High ceilings were much more to my liking.

  I turned the TV on and sat on the couch, my dinner on my lap. Maybe there’d be something on the news about this supposed crime wave. I pointed the remote at the TV and flicked until I saw the local newsreader sitting at her desk. A red banner lined the bottom of the screen, white letters proclaiming: Breaking News.

  “Over the last twenty-four hours, there has been an increase in violent crime in Kent. Today, the number of violent crimes escalated alarmingly. The Kent police have had to call in reinforcements from London and other government agencies to deal with this storm of violence and aggression. Our reporters were on the scene earlier today.”

  A video replaced her on the screen. Commentary came from a young male reporter who stood in front of a single-level brick building that had a huge sign at the front: “Miss Squirrel’s Childcare Centre.” A chain-link metal fence surrounded part of the building, which must have been the outdoor play area. Through the fence, children watched, their little fingers gripping the barrier, their tiny mouths hanging open. Some of them were crying. And honestly, I didn’t blame them. What they were watching would upset anyone.

  Three dads were punching each other, and two mums were screaming at each other, every second word being bleeped out. One of the mothers, an attractive brunette in designer sunglasses, white shorts, and a pink short-sleeved shirt, picked up her stroller—I assumed it was hers—and hit the other woman over the head with it. Ow! I scrunched my face. That had to have hurt. This was as bad as an episode of that American reality TV show—Maury. Oh, now one of the men was out cold on the ground, both the other guys standing over him, hands on hips.

  The reporter looked incredulous as he alternated between watching the melee unfold behind him and looking at the camera in front of him. He was probably wary of being injured. “These adults have been fighting for the last twenty minutes, and it almost seems like it’s going to be a fight to the death. The police were called a minute or two after it started, but they’re stretched thin, and as yet, haven’t attended. Nick Blair reporting for— Argh!” He hunched forward and dropped to the ground, out of camera range. Oh, dear.

  The redhead who’d been hit with the pram had managed to wrestle it off her opponent, and she’d thrown it. The brunette had ducked out of the way, and it had slammed into the reporter. More like a tornado of violence than just a storm. Stuff was flying around.

  “Nick. Nick, are you okay?” A male voice came from off-camera—probably the cameraman.

  The scene blacked out, and then we were back with the presenter in the blessedly calm newsroom. Her eyes were wide. “Ah, scenes similar to that are being played out all over the county. No one knows why this is happening, but residents are being urged to stay home and away from others. If you have an emergency, be aware the police are taking longer to respond.”

  The screen behind her changed to a man dressed in long, white pants and white short-sleeved shirt. He had a red six-stitch cricket ball in his hand, and he was running in to bowl. The presenter continued. “In other news, Kent is in a winning position in their one-dayer against Somerset. Fast bowler—”

  Click. I changed the channel, looking for more news. Another channel, another Breaking News banner. This time, a grey-haired news presenter sat behind a table in the studio. �
�In scenes reminiscent of Lord of the Flies, there was a massive brawl at an exclusive, highly respected school. Both male and female students at Sevenoaks School, twenty-two students in all, fought each other this morning. There were several injuries but nothing fatal. It is said to have started when students were asked to complete a group project. Our reporter on the scene, Anita Farmer, has more.”

  She stood outside the school with two teenage girls who were dressed in what I assumed was the Sevenoaks school uniform of a white shirt with blue-and-white-striped tie and dark skirt. The reporter gazed into the camera. “I’m outside Sevenoaks School with two students, Maria and Stephanie. These young ladies were inside the classroom when the fight started. They escaped without injury and didn’t take part.” She turned to the girls. “Can you tell me how it started?”

  Maria nodded and pushed her maroon-framed glasses up her nose. “Well, it started because Marty Thompson took over our group. I mean, there are five in a group, and he does all the talking, plus he wouldn’t listen to anyone else’s ideas.”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie cut in. “I wasn’t in their group. I was in another one.” Ah, yeah, Captain Obvious. I snorted. “And there’s like, two girls and three boys, and the boys kept joking around, and us girls were doing all the work; like, that’s just unfair. Anyway, Trudy, in my group, she got jack of it, and she pushed Michael over, like on his chair and everything.”

  “And in our group. Simon told Marty to shut up and give someone else a go, and he told him to… ah… can I swear on TV?”

  “It’s best if you don’t.” The reporter gave her an “I can’t believe you just asked me that” smile.

  “Well, he told him to eff word off, so Marty punched him in the stomach; then Peter, Simon’s best friend, hit Marty over the head with his textbook. I just ran out, and then Steph met me in the hallway. It was madness. We could hear chairs hitting walls and people screaming.”

  The reporter nodded, a serious expression on her face. “Thank you, girls.” She turned back to the camera. “So, there you have it. Back to you, Edward.”

  Click. This time I turned it off. Wow, it was all happening. But why? I was dying to find out, but I couldn’t call Angelica and ask because she was helping deal with it. Had Olivia’s mother been acting crazy like those other people? And was all this violence a coincidence, or was there something in the water? But there couldn’t be. I’d drunk the water today, and I felt fine, and those two girls looked calm.

  I’d managed to finish my dinner, but after watching the disaster unfolding around the place, I didn’t feel like eating dessert. This was why I didn’t normally watch the news. Life was depressing enough without hearing about how bad everyone else had it. Why couldn’t only nice things happen? Why couldn't everyone just be happy and fair and be kind to each other? I sighed.

  I grabbed my iPad, moved to the sitting room, and stretched out on a Chesterfield. Reading was a great escape. I’d read until Olivia got home. Then I could at least find out how her mum was and tell her what I’d seen on TV. Maybe they were related events? Hmm, and what about this morning, with the old guy? The store manager said he was normally very nice. Then those two women outside with the trollies. That wasn’t usual behaviour for the people around here. I’d been here long enough to know.

  I read for a while, until a key jiggling in the front door sounded. I shut my iPad case and stood. It must be Olivia. I met her in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. Her curly hair was up in a ponytail, but some of it had come loose, and she looked tired. She didn’t smile.

  “How’s your mum?”

  She looked at me, her dark eyes wide and glistening with tears. She took a deep breath. “She’s still in hospital. They had to sedate her. This afternoon, she attacked my dad.”

  What the hell? “What with? Is he okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, just a bit bruised. She punched, slapped, and kicked him.”

  I shook my head. That sounded just as crazy as all the news reports this afternoon. “Does he know why?”

  “She was upset he left the toilet seat up.” She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. “They’re going to keep her in the psyche ward overnight.”

  Crap. I bet he’d never forget to do that again. I didn’t know how to help, so I suggested the next best thing to fixing anything. “Do you want some dinner, or maybe skip straight to dessert? Millicent sent our dinner over.”

  “Oh, she is so sweet. Did you apologise for me?”

  “I did, but I didn’t end up going anyway. She called just after I got off the phone to you. They had to cancel because work got busy.”

  “I thought you were home a bit early.”

  “So, food?”

  “I’m not that hungry, but I could finish off that ice cream I started this afternoon.”

  I smiled and led the way to the kitchen. “Sit down. Let me get it for you.”

  She sat, and I grabbed the bowl out of the freezer and a spoon, then put them in front of her.

  She blinked and studied her bowl. When she looked up at me, her brow was wrinkled and her eyes narrowed. That wasn’t the reaction I'd been hoping for. “What’s wrong?” I took a step back without even thinking about it. My subconscious clearly had my best interests at heart.

  She wielded her spoon like a gavel as she spoke, striking the air after each word. “What. Is. This?”

  I knew it was a trick question, but I answered anyway. “Ice cream?”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t all of it. There was more when I left. Did you eat some?” The glint of rage flickering in her eyes guaranteed that no matter how I answered, I was in trouble—admit to it and I was an ice-cream stealing cow; deny it, and I was a liar and an ice-cream stealing cow. My odds, as usual, sucked. And what was with her attitude?

  Maybe if I didn’t actually answer her in a direct way, we could avoid any unpleasantness. I shook my head and pointed to the freezer. I adopted the universal tone of voice of people trying to placate an angry child. I’d never had to use it before, but I’d heard it plenty of times in public, just prior to the meltdown that the kid apparently had to have. “I can get you some more. Would you like that?”

  Her eyes weren’t glowing red, were they? Ah, no, it was a trick of the light.

  She banged the spoon on the table. I started, then stepped back again, towards the door. Olivia pushed her chair back, the bottom of it scraping across the floor and squealing. I knew things were bad when even a chair was scared. If I didn’t heed the chair’s warning screams, I was going to get beaten up for the second time today.

  Olivia’s fists were clenched. “No one steals my ice cream!”

  My heart raced, and adrenaline zipped through my veins. There was definitely something weird going on. Olivia was the most passive person I knew. This was way out of character, and over ice cream that wasn’t even missing.

  I put my hands out in front of me, palms facing Olivia. “I didn’t steal your ice cream. Honest. This isn’t you, Liv. What’s going on?”

  There was no time to register what had happened before the slap of her palm across my cheek echoed in my ears and stung my skin. Jesus, that hurt. I put my palm on my cheek, incredulous. “Oh my God, Olivia. What the hell?”

  She clenched her jaw and fist at the same time—the girl could multitask; I’d give her that. As she brought her arm up and threw her fist towards my face, I ducked to the side, turned, and ran. She wasn’t giving out ice creams, and I didn’t want seconds.

  I raced up two flights of stairs, Olivia only a few steps behind. I beat her to my room and slammed the door. It had a lock, thank God, but I also sat against it, just to make sure. My breaths came quickly. I slowed them and tried to think.

  Olivia banged on the door. “Let me in! Goddamn you!” Bang, bang, bang, bang. All I could think of was, thank God they had tight gun laws over here, or I’d be in big trouble.

  The door vibrated with every fist fall. I’d left my phone downstairs, but even if I magicked it to
me, I couldn’t even call Angelica to come save me because she was busy. I’d have to think of a spell myself. Something that would stop her but not hurt her. Maybe I could put her to sleep? The only problem was that I didn’t know any sleep spells, and it was so much easier to perform a spell on a person you were touching. Okay, that was two problems, but who could think straight when a maniac was trying to bash your door down?

  I pushed my palms against my ears as I thought. Hmm. I’d need to make sure I said to only sleep for a few hours, in case I accidentally put her to sleep forever. This was no fairy tale, and there wasn’t a handsome prince to save either of us if I got this wrong, not that we needed a man to save us. I was pretty sure we could save ourselves, provided no one got killed. And by no one, I meant me.

  I tested a few different sentences until I came up with the one I assumed would work best. I blocked out the screams and thumping and imagined standing in a stream of the golden, flowing magic, then turned and placed my palms on the door. This was as close as I dared get to the raging maniac in the hall. “My friend, Olivia is banging on my bedroom door. Put her to sleep until tomorrow, and let her fall gently onto the floor.” My palms tingled, and the door radiated warmth.

  It was done.

  I held my breath. The banging stopped, and a thud sounded from outside. I smiled. I was pretty sure it had worked, unless Olivia was trying to fool me. But I doubted that, as she didn’t seem to be operating with any logic. It was pure anger and aggression without reason.

  I called out, “Olivia, are you okay?” Silence. I stood and quietly unlocked my door. What would I do if I opened it and she was waiting to pounce? I could use a shield spell, which was for physical attacks, but it used a lot of energy, and I could end up falling asleep, which would be stupendously idiotic. And why did stupendous mean amazing when it sounded a bit like stupid? If I’d made up those words, I’d definitely have stupendous as meaning someone or something really stupid.