Mauve (A Very British Witch Book 3)

by Isobella Crowley

  “Just one more thing, I’m a bit concerned about the council tax. I need to know if we can afford to live there.”

  Ronnie gave him the polite but friendly smile that he reserved for his most annoying customers. “Well, we have the details somewhere, but—”

  “Would you mind, please?”

  “No problem, sir.” Ronnie scraped back his chair and marched towards the row of filing cabinets behind him. When he’d finally located the local council tax rates, the light in the road outside had much deteriorated. Reaching across to the light switch, he was struck by a sudden shock of queasiness.

  The couple were muttering away at his desk, waiting patiently. Everyone else had left the office at 5.30 pm, meaning Ronnie, once the customers had left, had to lock up and close the shop. His clammy hands extracted the documents from the filing cabinet and he handed them to the clients.

  “Here, found them.” He mopped his brow.

  “Thank you. Something else, sorry.”

  Ronnie took a deep breath. He needed to get home and rest right away, but more importantly than that, he had to get to Tarquin’s bookshop. “What?” He took another deep breath. “Now?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The woman nudged her husband, gestured towards the twilight sky and smiled at Ronnie.

  The man got to his feet. “Oh well, it’s getting late. I’ll be back in the morning. I have a lot of experience in this area and I’m not used to—” The woman tugged on his sleeve. “Oh, very well, you go home, get some rest, you’re not looking well.”

  “Thank you, sir. Yes, I’ve been kicking a cold for a few weeks, sorry to rush you. Yes, let’s pick this up in the morning.”

  The couple hastily took leave.

  As soon as the door banged shut, Ronnie dashed around the back. He hadn’t often been the last person in the shop, so wasn’t entirely sure where the keys were kept. By the time he’d located them, the office looked like it had been ransacked and Ronnie was drenched in sweat. It came as a great relief to be standing on the pavement, the cool air washing over his face.

  One or two steps later and he was feeling much better, but he knew this wouldn’t last long. Thankfully, he managed to stagger along the road to the bookshop without attracting too much attention. With one hand on the door handle, he feared his legs were about to give way.

  Tarquin was behind the counter, his head buried in some books that looked like they could have been accounts. “Ronnie,” he said, looking up. “Come in. I’ll err, lock up.”

  He brushed past Ronnie and locked the door. “Come on, step this way.” Tarquin led Ronnie to a room around the back that was obviously used as a staff room. There, sitting on the sofa, was Karl.

  “Karl,” Ronnie said, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.

  Ronnie looked at Tarquin, who was busying himself putting a pile of books into order. “Where’s Cliff?”

  Karl finally spoke up. “He’s running an errand out of town, but he should be back later tonight. No need for concern.”

  “Thank God. We’re going to need him if we have any chance of success here.” Ronnie looked defeated.

  Tarquin turned around and stood up straight. “Let’s do the business shall we, before you get any further along. Come on, the cage is this way.”

  Ronnie followed them both down an old and creaky staircase, the smell of old moth-eaten books getting stronger with each step.

  “Just over here,” Tarquin said, pointing to a storeroom.

  Ronnie paused to recover his breath and run the back of his hand across his forehead. Flicking the excess sweat across the basement floor, he staggered into the storeroom. Tarquin opened the cage door and gestured for him to step inside.

  The cold, metallic cage floor almost came as a relief as he sat in the corner. In an hour or so’s time, though, all that would be different. An image of his warm bed at home flashed across his mind.

  Like Ronnie wasn’t there, Karl turned to Tarquin and informed him that he had some chains in the back of his car. “We must keep them with us at all times,” Karl added, before disappearing down the stairs.

  Tarquin found something to do in the corner of the room, leaving Ronnie alone to contemplate what was about to happen to him. He’d never been chained up before, but felt sure it wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as he was imagining.

  “Help me with these, Tarquin,” Karl called out as he re-entered the room.

  Tarquin stopped what he was doing, stood up and took hold of part of the heavy chains. “Let’s get this over with.”

  First Tarquin, then Karl, entered the cage, their body heat making Ronnie glisten with perspiration.

  As the first chains wrapped around him like steel pythons, Ronnie felt a modicum of reassurance. Once they’d left the cage, though, and the door clanged shut, his anxieties took hold. It was the clicking lock that did it. This must be how people felt when they’d been banged up in prison, and here he was, suffering the same fate, voluntarily.

  Sweat dripped down from his forehead, but this time he couldn’t do a thing about it aside from keeping still and waiting for the cold to set in.

  Karl was the first to keep watch. He just sat on a wooden bench opposite the cage, leaning forward on his elbows, pushing his cheeks right up into his eyes. He didn’t move or utter a single word for what felt like hours until he stood up straight, stretched and gave Tarquin a nudge.

  “Do you think Cliff’s going to show up? I don’t want to be up all night doing this.”

  Tarquin sat up. “I hope so.” If his tone of voice was anything to go by, he’d just clocked that Karl gets more cranky than usual when he hasn’t had enough sleep. “I’ll give you a nudge in three hours, Karl.”

  “Fine.”

  +++

  Cliff pounded his palms against the steering wheel. “Come on, get out of my way!” Glancing through the open window he lowered his voice. “How long does it take to get across a road for heaven’s sake?”

  The lights turned from red to amber to green and Cliff hit the accelerator, almost ploughing into the car in front. “Come on!” Once in the clear, he shot past the lights, avoiding a collision with the cars in front that crossed his path by a hair’s breadth.

  Finally hitting the open road, Cliff shook his head. That would have been most inconvenient. Imagine if he’d knocked down that man, the police would be swarming; he'd miss his appointment and yet another opportunity to find a new supplier would go begging.

  “Don’t change, don’t you dare change!” Another set of lights approached and it wasn’t long before he observed some teenagers heading for the crossing.

  “Don’t press the button!”

  They pressed the button and, a few seconds later, the red light illuminated. Luckily for Cliff though, this time he was right at the front of the queue.

  The teenagers crossed the road, laughing, shoving each other, shouting nonsense. Mid-way across the road, they stopped to take another look on their phones, refusing to budge even as the lights changed.

  Cliff sounded a long blast of his horn. “Come on!” he shouted through the window.

  No response. Straining to get a closer look, wondering if they might be deaf, he noticed they had earbuds in. This time his horn was so long and loud that passers-by on the sidewalk turned their heads to see what the fuss was about. Fortunately, a middle-aged woman alerted the kids of the angry traffic and they left the road.

  Glaring through the window, Cliff shot off, shaking his fist at the kid that gave him the finger. The road was relatively clear after that and, despite a couple of close squeaks with passing lorries, he reached his destination bang on time. “I’m never having kids,” he muttered to himself as he stepped from the car.

  CHAPTER SIX

  University Hospital Coventry & Warwickshire Cliff Bridge Road, Coventry, UK

  Cliff strode into the hospital foyer and made a beeline straight for the cafeteria. He’d been working his new contact consistently for a few weeks
now, but because he wasn’t at full strength his abilities weren’t as powerful either.

  Karl had of course offered to help him, but something about personal pride and being a vampire who could look after himself made him determined to fix this problem himself. Even if it meant a few more days of hunger.

  He arrived in the cafeteria, and checked his watch for the time. His target would be likely taking his break any minute now. Orderlies, unlike the other medical staff, seemed to be able to keep a more regular routine. Either that or it was just this guy.

  Either way, he wandered over to the quieter part of the large room, and sat himself down at one of the grubby, but available tables. In all likelihood he’d have to move once his target arrived anyway, at which point he planned to make a show of getting a coffee and then sitting down at the same table as the guy in order to make it look less suspicious.

  That had been the routine for the last several occasions anyway, and he’d got away without causing a scene this far. All he needed was another few minutes of influence and he felt sure his new blood supply would be secured.

  He sat down, regretting the choice of table almost instantly: one of the legs on his chair was shorter than the others and the table itself also moved around like it was on a ship. In the center was a dirty plastic tray with a couple of stained mugs. A puddle of dry coffee adorned the opposite side of the table.

  His phone rang. Cliff took it from his pocket, glanced at the caller display, noted the contemptuous looks from the surrounding gray brigade, and pressed the red button. The way he was feeling, he would have told Karl a few home truths. At least ignoring his call meant he could make up some excuse later on.

  Cliff, absorbed in thought, didn’t look up when the orderly approached the table, but the aroma of bland hospital food caught his attention.

  The orderly looked uncharacteristically distant, like his body was in the here and now, but his mind was miles away. His glazed eyes stared right through Cliff; his face was pale and his lips were straight as a ruler. He just stood there, looking down at his plate of chips and beans as if staring into a bottomless well.

  Cliff pushed out the chair opposite him with his foot. “Please, sit,” he said quietly, using his pushing ability to influence the man.

  Obediently, the orderly reached out and pulled the chair back enough to sit down.

  Cliff felt a relief inside his chest. It seemed as though all these sessions of talking to the orderly were finally paying off. He had logged the instructions he had left him with last time and come to sit with him directly, instead of Cliff having to go to him.

  This was indeed progress!

  Glancing around the room at the legions of elderly people, and worn out doctors, Cliff wondered if anyone had noticed them. He didn’t think anyone around looked familiar enough to have seen them on more than one occasion, and this was certainly less suspicious than being seen in a darkened car park.

  A woman approached, pushing an old man in a wheelchair, a red blanket across his lap. The man’s head hung loose over his shoulder, but he was still managing to muster a smile. “Excuse me,” the woman said to the orderly, who had one hand on the back of the chair.

  The orderly stepped forward by the side of the chair, while simultaneously pushing the chair in to allow them to pass.

  The woman brushed past and muttered her thanks then moved on to her next victims a few tables down. Several people glanced briefly down the way at where the woman had come from and acknowledged Cliff, who was looking in their direction. Cliff wondered if his idea of meeting his person in an innocuous place where they could blend in was really a good idea after all.

  Not for the first time that day, Cliff fought to swallow his frustration. The trouble with people was they always behaved like people do. It was either one extreme or the other. It was either a refusal to acknowledge a person’s existence or intrusive stares, hoping to get a glimpse into someone else’s world and leave their own troubles behind for a moment.

  It was with little hesitation then that he decided to get down to business.

  Watching him sit on the chair opposite, Cliff nodded to him. “Good—”

  The orderly lifted his fork and started eating, his jaws going around and around, churning the food like some kind of mixer, his face remaining expressionless. Without looking down, the man loaded his fork, moved it towards his mouth and repeated the process.

  Cliff cleared his throat, but the orderly didn’t flinch. It was if he was sitting in the middle of nowhere, overcome with numbness, eating food that gave him no pleasure at all, just to stay alive.

  Keeping his voice down to a minimum Cliff started talking, watching carefully for a moment when they would make eye contact. Cliff wondered why the orderly was so dumbed down on this occasion. Normally he’d awkwardly acknowledge Cliff, suggesting that he had some inkling of social norms, but now it was like he was just part of the furniture. He put the difference down to his weakened abilities.

  It took a moment but after a few words the orderly locked eyes with him. As Cliff spoke, his voice sounded like silk over steel and he made everything he said as clear as possible as he communicated with his quarry. How his previous supplier had let him down, what he was looking for and what he expected of the orderly.

  By the time Cliff had finished talking, all that remained on the white plate was a smattering of red sauce and a couple of chips.

  “Do you understand?” Cliff asked.

  The knife and fork clattered against the plate and the orderly acknowledged him for the first time, at last showing some signs of intelligent life. “I understand.”

  Cliff sat right back in his chair, relieved that finally his powers of compulsion had done the job. “Well, I think that concludes our business, don’t you?” Cliff said. “Tomorrow you’ll bring what I need.”

  The orderly nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow,” he parroted back.

  Cliff reached across the table and took a chip, causing the orderly to scowl and slap Cliff’s hand as he withdrew his arm. Cliff smiled. Chewing on the chip, he slid back his chair, got to his feet and swallowed, coughing when the chip went down the wrong way. When the resulting bout of coughing and spluttering had finished, Cliff took a deep breath and said, “See you tomorrow then. Don’t be late.”

  The orderly finished the last of his chips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  +++

  RAF Bicester, Launton

  Tim switched off his PC, kicked back his chair, clasped the back of his head in his hands and let out a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, but there was more to be done. He lurched forward. Maybe if he just made a few more notes for morning, he’d be able to crack on right away without wasting any time. He could mull things over during the night and arrive at work bursting with new ideas.

  His finger remained over his PC’s off button as he waited for the momentary silence to fill his office. A door banged shut and the familiar noise of Gregory locking up drifted in. Tim scraped back his chair, switched off the light and walked towards Gregory, coming to a halt less than a foot from Gregory’s back.

  “Tim! For heaven’s sake, don’t go creeping up on me like that. Made me jump right out of my skin.”

  “Haha, sorry, Danny. Didn’t mean to give you a fright. I only meant to catch up with you for a review before you took leave.”

  “Right, good idea. Go on then.”

  “Okay. I spent the morning at the scene, interviewing witnesses and casting an eye over things. Found one or two interesting artifacts. A trainer torn to shreds and blood samples. These, along with the remains of Mauve, pointed to the fact that we have a werewolf on our hands.”

  “Yes, and what did the coroner say?”

  “His preliminary examinations concurred with the theory. Narrowed it down to three possibilities: a lion, a sabre-toothed tiger, or a werewolf. Said a domestic animal, not even a dog covered by the Dangerous Dogs Act, could have cut into the bone so deep.”

  “Yes, a
nd the first two of those scenarios are not very likely, are they? So, for now at least anyway, I’d say it was pretty safe to assume that we have a werewolf on our hands and we should conduct the investigation accordingly. Would you agree?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  Gregory’s expression was that of a tramp that had passed up on a forged note, only to find out later it was the real thing. “Tell you what, Tim, I knew we should have pursued this line of enquiry months ago.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “No maybes about it. How long have we been saying now that there’s a werewolf on the prowl?”

  “True, but we were lacking proof.”

  “Yes, it had all gone quiet for a bit and I falsely assumed it had gone away. You’re never too old or experienced to learn something new, Tim. Remember that and you won’t go too far wrong.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Danny.”

  “No similar incidents over in Wiltshire for a while now, Tim. It too has gone quiet, just like over here, well, with regards to animal attacks anyway.”

  “It’s a bit strange If you ask me.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, they usually can’t wait to report anything can they? It’s like they have their own private hotline at times.”

  Gregory looked at him with a blank expression. “I wouldn’t say that, but I agree with you in principle anyway.”

  Tim felt himself blushing. “Well, it’s almost like they’ve moved from over there to over here.”

  “Know exactly what you mean, Tim. Exactly what you mean.”

  “Glad you understand me.”

  Gregory shook his head. “Sabre-toothed tiger!”

  “Well, to be fair, it would have needed huge canines to penetrate that deep. They do say there’s dinosaurs living in Loch Ness, Danny, so why not—”