by H. Y. Hanna
He shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid not. It was so long ago and I was very young. I don’t even remember what he looked like, really… just that he was tall…” He frowned in an effort to remember, then he brightened. “Oh, and he had green eyes.”
“Green eyes?”
“Well, not green, exactly… more a sort of hazel… The exact same shade as yours, actually.”
“As me?”
He looked at her so intently that Caitlyn began to blush.
“Yes… It’s a very unusual colour, isn’t it, your eyes? They seem to change with your moods: deep green sometimes, and yet other times a soft hazel… I remember thinking the day I met you that I’d only ever seen eyes that colour once before—it was this chap from my childhood.”
Caitlyn stared at him as a crazy idea began forming in her mind. But before she could say anything else, they were interrupted by Nathan Lewis.
“Smashing event, isn’t it?” he said enthusiastically as he came up to join them. Then he gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Never thought I’d say that about a farm open day! It’s funny… living in London, with all the trendy bars and posh restaurants and fancy shops… well, you forget how much fun you can have just doing simple things.” He glanced across the yard again, taking in the crowds. “And there’s something so nice just seeing the families out and about, and the children laughing—”
He broke off suddenly and frowned. “Hang on a minute… that old fellow…”
Caitlyn turned in the direction he was pointing and groaned inwardly as she saw a scrawny old man in an ancient black suit going up to people in the crowd and tapping them on the shoulder. His quavering voice drifted across to them.
“Have you seen my teeth?” he said to a startled couple. “Four inches, a bit yellow—not terribly stained, mind—and there’s a chip on one of the fangs. Got it fighting off those wretched hobgoblins during the Napoleonic Wars, you see, and the stupid dentist never fixed it properly…”
The couple gave him a wary look and hastily edged away. Undeterred, Viktor turned to another couple nearby: “Have you seen my teeth?”
“That’s him!” spluttered Nathan, jabbing his finger in Viktor’s direction. “That’s the chap I was telling you about, James! Last night… he showed up at the front door, babbling about Caitlyn being in danger, and by the time I went to get you and we came back, he’d disappeared… Remember?”
James looked startled. “I… yes, I suppose so… although I didn’t see him myself. I only saw you rushing into the Library—”
“When you went to get the gun, I tried to find him again, but no one had seen where he got to, not even Mosley…” Nathan frowned. “Although I doubt Mosley was paying much attention—he seemed to be trying to catch a bat that had somehow got into the house…” He pointed a finger at Viktor again. “Anyway, that’s him! There! And I saw him the other day too—he was skulking around the Manor by himself—seems to believe that he’s a six-hundred-year-old vampire, can you believe it?” he laughed. “Absolutely barmy.”
Then he sobered as he watched Viktor shuffling farther away. “Must speak to him and find out which nursing home he belongs to. Might be lost, poor chap… need to get him back safely…” He hurried off after Viktor as the old vampire disappeared into the crowds.
“Excuse me, Lord Fitzroy…”
James turned to find a good-looking teenage boy with sun-streaked blond hair standing behind him. “Ah, Chris… For goodness’ sake, do call me James.”
Chris Bottom grinned and inclined his head in acknowledgement, then said, “My dad was wondering if you could join him—he’s with some of the village committee members…” He pointed to the other side of the farmyard, where Jeremy Bottom was arguing with several of the village residents. They were gesticulating and frowning at the chocolate statue of Ferdinand the bull, while the Widow Mags stood on the other side of Jeremy, her arms crossed and her bottom lip jutting out defiantly.
“Oh dear… here we go again,” said James with a sigh. “Yes, I’ll come right away.”
Giving Caitlyn an apologetic glance, he excused himself and followed Chris across to the group. He was joined by Bertha, her face anxious, and Evie, who gave Chris a covert look. Caitlyn noticed that her young cousin’s rubber boots seemed to be glowing a strange shade of green. “Oh dear… here we go again” is right, she thought.
She was about to cross over to join them (and ask Evie what was going on with those rubber boots) when Caitlyn felt her elbow being grabbed, and she turned in surprise to see Pomona tugging her arm excitedly.
“Omigod, Caitlyn, you gotta come and try it. It’s so much fun!”
“What is?” she asked in bemusement as her cousin hustled her in the opposite direction across the farmyard.
“The milking! C’mon… you gotta give it a go…”
“But Pomie, I don’t want…”
Her protests ignored, Caitlyn found herself being dragged behind the barn to a small shed lined with straw, where a dairy cow with an enormous udder was calmly chewing the cud as she stood tied to the inside wall. There was an empty metal pail under her udder and a three-legged wooden stool next to it. Pomona shoved Caitlyn onto this.
Caitlyn eyed the cow nervously. “Um… are you sure we should be doing this by ourselves?”
“Oh, there’s a girl here showing people how it’s done… I dunno where she’s got to…” Pomona looked around, then said: “You stay here! Don’t move! I’m gonna go find her.” She paused, then pointed to a large tub of cream on the floor next to the stool. “You can put some of that udder cream on her while you’re waiting. It’s supposed to be really good for cracked teats.”
“But Pomie—”
Caitlyn found herself talking to an empty doorway. Sighing, she turned back to the cow and gingerly reached out to touch the pink udder.
“MOOO!”
Caitlyn yelped and nearly fell off the stool. She shifted back slightly so that she was farther from the cow. It turned its head and regarded her with big, long-lashed eyes, and its jaws moved from side to side, chewing, chewing, chewing.
“Um… hello…” said Caitlyn. “I’m… er… I’m just here to milk you…”
Oh, this is ridiculous, she thought, standing up. She wasn’t going to sit here in a shed, waiting for someone to come and show her how to handle a cow she never wanted to milk in the first place! But even as she had the thought, she heard steps hurriedly approaching outside. A minute later, James Fitzroy burst into the shed.
“How is she?” he asked. “What have you done so far?”
“She’s… she’s fine,” said Caitlyn in surprise. “Pomona said I should put some cream on her teats, but I wasn’t sure if that was—”
“I beg your pardon?” James gaped at her. “On her what?”
“Her teats…” Caitlyn faltered. She gestured to the tub on the floor. “The udder cream.”
“Oh, the cow!” James looked immensely relieved. “But what about Mrs Gibbs?”
“Huh?”
“Pomona said Mrs Gibbs was having another seizure and you were dealing with her in the shed and needed my help.”
“Pomona said…?” Caitlyn suddenly had a horrible suspicion. But before she could do anything, the shed door slammed shut. Caitlyn heard the sound of a bolt being shot into place. She rushed to the door and shoved against it.
“Pomona!” she shouted. “What are you doing? Let us out!”
The only response she got was a giggle. Then footsteps fading away. She tried the door again but it was locked fast—it wouldn’t budge. She turned around to find herself standing in a cramped, dark shed with James… and a cow.
Oooh, I’m going to kill Pomona when I see her! she thought.
“I take it we’re victims of a practical joke,” said James with an ironic smile.
“I’m sorry. It’s… er… Pomona’s sense of humour.”
“MOOO…” said the cow.
Caitlyn eyed the big animal nervously. “Um�
� maybe you’d better stand at this end, near her head… I don’t know anything about handling cows—do you? I don’t know if they kick like horses…”
“She’s probably fairly placid and used to being handled, so we should be fine,” said James, moving slowly to join her. Then he added dryly, “Just as long as she remains a cow.”
Caitlyn looked at him quickly. This was the first time James had made any reference to Professor Thrope’s shape-shifting. There was a long silence, then he said:
“I almost couldn’t believe my eyes… when I saw… last night…” He shook his head. “I’ve tried to come up with every scientific explanation that could make sense but… well, nothing explains how a dog could transform into a man! Nothing except… magic.”
Caitlyn held her breath. There was silence again except for the sound of the cow’s placid munching. Finally, James spoke, his voice low:
“What you told me last time about you being… a… a witch… Is that true?”
“Yes, yes, it’s true,” said Caitlyn breathlessly. “I mean, I don’t go flying around on brooms or anything like that—but I can work magic, especially magic related to chocolate. Look… look, I’ll show you!” She glanced around, then grabbed a handful of straw from the ground near their feet. She held this up to show James. “I’ll change this into chocolate… watch!”
She focused hard on the wisps of straw, trying with all her might to direct her will onto the dried strands. She imagined them changing, darkening, turning into strands of smooth, milk chocolate…
Nothing happened.
Caitlyn gritted her teeth and tried harder. She was concentrating so fiercely that her hands shook and beads of sweat formed on her forehead. But still, nothing happened. The bunch of straw clutched in her hands remained unchanged.
“Caitlyn—”
“No, no… I can do it!” she insisted. She couldn’t bear it. Now that James finally seemed to be willing to open his mind, to accept the impossible, she had to convince him… she had to! She looked feverishly around. “Maybe something else… that rag over there… I’ll just try that—”
But as she reached towards it, James caught her hand.
“Stop, Caitlyn… it’s all right,” he said gently.
“No, no… I must show you—”
“You don’t have to show me anything,” he said, taking her hands into both of his.
Caitlyn stared up at him. “But… but I want you to believe me—”
She felt his strong fingers interlace with hers.
“I do believe you.”
She stared up at him. “You… you do? But how… I thought you said… you can’t see—”
“No, I can’t see it with my eyes,” admitted James. His hands were warm around hers. Then he smiled at her—that heart-stopping, lopsided smile. “But I don’t need to, Caitlyn. I can feel it with my heart.”
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Have you read all the BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries? Make sure you haven’t missed any wickedly delicious book in this series!
BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries:
Dark, Witch & Creamy (Book 1)
Witch Chocolate Fudge (Book 2)
Witch Summer Night’s Cream (Book 3)
Blood, Sweets and Tears (Book 4)
~ previously published as Witch Chocolate Bites
Bonbons and Broomsticks (Book 5)
Do check out H.Y. Hanna’s other mystery series too:
OXFORD TEAROOM MYSTERIES
"Scones, a tea shop in England, a kitty & a murder -
yes, please!"
A Scone To Die For
(Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1)
When an American tourist is murdered with a scone in Gemma's quaint Cotswolds' tearoom, she suddenly finds herself apron-deep in a mystery involving sinister secrets from Oxford's past. Helped by four nosy 'Old Biddies' from the village (not to mention a mischievous feline named Muesli), Gemma sets out to solve the case - while also trying to deal with her matchmaking mother and the return of her old college love as handsome CID detective, Devlin O'Connor.
But with the body count rising and her business going bust, can Gemma find the killer before things turn to custard?
READ NOW: AMAZON | AMAZON UK
Here is an excerpt:
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yeah, I wanna glass of water.”
He had a strong American accent and an aggressive manner, which put me instantly on edge, but I kept my smile in place.
“Certainly.” I started to turn away but paused as he spoke again.
“Wait—is it tap? I only drink filtered water.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have a filter, sir. It’s plain tap water. But it’s very safe to drink tap water in the U.K. We do have bottled water on the menu, if you prefer.”
He scowled. “What a rip-off. Water should be free.”
I stifled a sigh. “You can certainly have water for free, but it’ll be tap water. We have to pay for the bottled water so I have to charge you for that.”
“All right, all right…” He waved a hand. “Get me a glass of tap water. And put some ice in it.”
I turned to go but was stopped again by his voice.
“Hey, by the way, the service is terrible. I’ve been sitting here forever and no one’s come to take my order!”
I stared at him, wondering if he was serious. Surely he realised that he had only just come in a few minutes ago? The rest of the group were still looking at their menus. One of the women in the group, sitting at the next table with her little boy, met my eyes and gave me a sympathetic smile. I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose.
“I’ll just grab my order pad, sir.”
“Yeah, well, be quick about it. I haven’t got all day.”
Gritting my teeth, I headed back to the counter. My mood was not improved when I got there to find Cassie with an exasperated look on her face.
“The shop’s empty again.”
“Arrrrgghh!” I said under my breath. “Muesli, I’m going to kill you!”
No, I don’t have an abnormal hatred of cereals. Muesli is a cat and, like all cats, she delights in doing the exact opposite of what you want. The Food Standards Agency inspector had been adamant: the only way I’d be allowed to have a cat on the premises was if it stayed out of the kitchen and dining areas. Easy, I’d thought. I’ll just keep Muesli in the extension where we had a little shop selling Oxford souvenirs and English tea paraphernalia. The fact that I thought of the words “easy” and “cat” in the same sentence probably tells you that I don’t know much about felines.
Okay, I’ll be the first to admit—I’ve always been more of a dog person. I think cats are fascinating and beautiful and look great on greeting cards. But not on my lap leaving hairs everywhere and certainly not in my tearoom, getting under everyone’s feet. So why, you wonder, is the tabby terror even here? Well, she came as a packaged deal with my chef. And Fletcher Wilson is a magician with a mixer and a spatula. Trust me, once you’ve tasted his sticky toffee pudding, you’d be ready to give him your first born child. So agreeing to let him have his cat with him at work seemed like a small price to pay in exchange for his culinary expertise.
The problem was, I hadn’t counted on the cat being quite so sociable. Or such a great escape artist. Muesli had quickly decided that there was no way she was going to remain in the shop area when all the real fun was going on here in the dining room and she made it her life’s mission to escape at any opportunity. I couldn’t really blame her. In fact, I felt guilty every time I saw that little tabby face—with her pink nose pressed up to the glass—peering wistfully through the door that separated the shop from the dining room. But food hygiene laws were one thing I couldn’t ignore if I didn’t want to lose my licence.
“One of the Japanese tourists must have gone in the shop
to check out some of the stuff and she slipped out when they opened the door,” commented Cassie.
I sighed and scanned the room, looking for a little tabby shape between the tables. I couldn’t see her. I crouched down to get a better view. All I could see was a forest of legs… I bit my lip. Where was that cat? I had to find her before any of the customers noticed her loose in here. The last thing I needed was for Mabel and her cronies to discover my Food Standards violation; the news would be halfway across Oxfordshire before the day ended.
“Hey! Can I get some service around here?” came an irate American voice.
I straightened up hurriedly. Oh God, I’d forgotten about Mr Charming. I gave Cassie a harassed look. “Keep looking for her, will you?”
I grabbed the order pad—then, on an impulse, also picked up a plate of fresh blackberry cheesecake, which had just come through the hatch from the kitchen. Well, they did say the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. I added a knife and fork, and a dollop of cream, then walked over and set it down in front of him.
“Sorry for the wait, sir. Compliments of the house. This is one of our specialties.”
“Huh.” He looked surprised. He picked up the fork and cut the corner off the soft, creamy cake, putting it cautiously into his mouth. His eyes glazed over slightly and his face softened. “Say… this is not bad.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Coming from him, that was probably considered high praise. Still, trying to be charitable, I told myself that maybe he was just one of those people who got really grouchy when hungry. I observed him surreptitiously as I took his order. He was a large, thickset man, with a blocky, almost square-shaped head, fleshy cheeks and prominent ears. His mouth drooped slightly on one side as he talked—the result of a stroke?—and I put him in his early forties, though he looked older. He seemed slightly incongruous sitting there with the other tourists. He was certainly dressed like a tourist in chinos, a loud shirt, and sports jacket, and he had a sort of knapsack on the chair next to him, but somehow he didn’t quite fit in.