by Holly Bell
The shiny paint on the offside of the van was indented with sets of three parallel lines of scratches. Horace leapt, clawing at Tempest. But Amanda’s familiar sprang nimbly to the opposite corner of the roof, out of the man’s reach.
The air turned blue with expletives, before the man thrust himself into his seat, banged his door shut, started the engine, grated into gear and stamped on the accelerator. Tempest had jumped to the ground long before Bottle’s sole connected with the pedal and stared after the retreating vehicle with the air of a job well done.
Amanda bit her lip. Her familiar gave her a saucy glance over his shoulder and sashayed off, tail waving like a plume.
‘Naughty kitty,’ said Amanda unsteadily. ‘He’s —’
‘Mrs Reiser,’ said Mr Branscombe, ‘the truth is that Bottle stole one of Miss Cadabra’s tools and that’s the long and short of it. She was very nice about, but he didn’t like being caught out red-handed, so to speak, and started shouting at her. I don’t know as he’ll be back.’
‘I wouldn’t have him back!’ replied Esta with spirit. ‘I’m not having any of that sort of conduct in my house. Mr Branscombe, can you take over?’
‘Yes, of course, I can,’ Bryan answered eagerly. ‘I’ll do the best I can for you.’
‘That will be quite satisfactory. Amanda dear, I deeply regret that someone behaved toward you in such a manner on my premises. Come and have a cup of tea and a gingernut biscuit. Would you like one too, Mr Branscombe?’
‘No, thank you, I’m good. I’ll go and see about the work.’
‘Well, perhaps later. Come into the kitchen, dear.’ She settled Amanda down with refreshments. ‘I’m just going to water the pansies while I remember. You’ll be alright if I leave you for a few minutes?’
‘Oh yes, I’ll be fine.’
In fact, Amanda was glad to have a quiet period of reflection. Bottle’s behaviour had undoubtedly taken her by surprise, even alarmed her. But amongst his sound and fury, had been, at the bottom of the storm in a teacup, a nugget of gold. A piece of information. Someone was watching her. Uncle Mike —no, it wasn’t him, it was the inspector — had asked her if she’d ever felt under surveillance and she’d waved the suggestion away. And, years ago, she’d asked Amelia if someone had her in their sights, and her aunt had thought not at the time. But now … Amanda knew for certain. Someone did.
The first thing to do was tell Uncle Mike. She checked the time. It was 3.30.
‘How are you feeling, dear?’ asked Esta solicitously, coming back in from the garden.
‘Much better, thank you. Would you mind if I popped home?’
‘Why not call it a day? The light's pretty much gone, and I can see you’re getting on well.’
'Thank you, Esta, I think I shall.’
‘And don’t you give that horrid little man a second thought. I believed he was so nice, but, well, he’s shown his true colours, and I shall make sure all of my friends and neighbours know about it, you can be sure! I doubt you’ll ever be working around him again, mark my words!’
Amanda went to thank Mr Branscombe for his support.
‘That was very kind of you,’ she said sincerely.
‘My pleasure. To be honest, I had the feeling he was a bit of a scrounger, always wanting something for nothing and not paying me as I should be. But he had a way of backfootin’ me, so to speak. Didn’t think he was an outright thief. Now I know, and now I’ve got this job, and I know Mrs Reiser will recommend me, ‘ope I won't be workin’ with him no more.’
‘I think we’ll get on fine without him,’ replied Amanda. ‘If you want to borrow any of my tools you just have to ask.’
‘Likewise, if you need a paintbrush, I’m your man,’ answered Branscombe with a grin.
Amanda collected her lunch bag and joined Tempest at the Astra. As she got in and settled herself, her mood began to change. The more Amanda thought about it, the more indignant she became.
‘They’re right!’ she exclaimed. ‘How dare he speak to me like that! I can’t believe I apologised to him.’ Her indignation was heating to rage. ‘He made me feel like I was in the wrong. When he was the one who stole! And lied.’ Amanda banged her hands onto the steering-wheel. ‘And he’s done this to other people. And he gets away with it.’ The flame of her anger was morphing from hot red to cold blue. ‘Well, not this time …’ Her energy was darkening as she started the car. ‘Someone has to stop him.’
Tempest’s interest was aroused. He licked his lips and flexed his claws, his eyes glittering like yellow diamonds as he savoured the delicious anticipation of just such mischief as he relished.
‘And today …’ said Amanda, ‘it’s going to be me who stops him.’ She pulled out in to the road. ‘Just a little visit to where he lives. An innocent stroll past his van to pop the lid on every tin of paint and varnish, they’ll be solid by tomorrow, and … yes ... open the locks on the doors. The local thieves can help themselves. I might as well jam the starter motor in place while I’m at it. Oh, I’m sure there’s a few things under the bonnet that I can move around. And then … there are other things I can do ….’ Amanda’s breathing became more deliberate as her intent focused, and she flexed her fingers. ‘Sooo easy, Tempest, sooo easy.’ She turned right onto the High Street heading for chez Bottle. The ire was bubbling within her … so much that it was heating the car, and she lowered the windows. That’s when it struck her, the silence in the village. Suddenly it was broken by the sounds of the children in the playground behind the houses ….
Chapter 5
Anger
Amanda was seven years old. Her magical gifts had manifested in a very small way the previous year, and she had been in training with Granny and Grandpa since then. It was a fine day. They had taken her to the park behind the High Street and Trotters Bottom. She liked to play on the swings. It wasn’t too energetic and so didn’t set off her asthma, as greater exertion could so easily do. However, little Amanda was uncomfortable around her peers. They attended Sunken Madley School, unlike her who was home-educated. To them, she was a rara avis of strange and possibly dangerous plumage. Amanda walked between her grandparents holding a hand of each of them. It made her feel safe.
And she was safe physically, but Amanda was not proof against words. As eight-year-old Gavin Whittle ran past them towards the gate, he shouted,
‘Look at that baby, holding gruesome Granny’s hands! Weirdy weirdy, Mad Mandy!’ Her lips tightened. She pulled her hands from her grandparents, spun on her heel, glared towards him and uttered with furious intensity:
'Understeppith!'
At once the boy tripped and fell. Amanda turned back quickly to see, to her horror, that her grandparents were steadying each other as though against a blast of wind. Both five-a-side football teams on the grass to the left were on their bottoms, three mothers in the playground found themselves on the ground, and two ducks by the pond were looking about in dismay at finding themselves abruptly sitting down. Fortunately, all of the children in the playground had been seated on the swings, slide or jungle gym and had remained unaffected.
As luck would have it, between Amanda and those affected by the spell, there was a large old horse chestnut tree. It was right in the path of the Cadabras, and, quick-thinking, Perran told her to go to it. He and Senara appeared on the other side, and joined together arm in arm as though taking a stroll by themselves. Those affected by the blast radius were picking themselves up, brushing themselves down and looking about in dismay, trying to identify the freak gust that had blown them all clean off their feet.
Amanda kept herself flat against the tree, waiting for her grandparents to reverse course. They went to sit on a bench. Perran pointed out a perfectly ordinary pigeon flying overhead, which distracted some of the onlookers. After a few minutes, they rose and made their progress back to the chestnut. As they neared it, Perran bade her get in front of them quickly. Amanda did so, and they managed to progress unseen to the gate, the car, and home to 26 Or
chard Row.
Once home, the unwelcome surprise of what she had done began to tell. Her breathing became shorter and more laboured. Knowing she could go into shock, with a subsequent asthma attack, Perran bundled her up in blankets, lit the fire and cuddled her while Senara made her a hot drink.
‘It’s all right, bian,’ he soothed her. ‘You’ve got quite some power under your hat, haven’t you?’
‘Plenty of power, no control,’ called Senara. ‘And your eyes, remember what a giveaway they are?’
Amanda looked up anxiously at Grandpa, who said gently, ‘They’ve gone completely brown, love.’ It was an unfortunate side-effect of using magic that caused the tiny chestnut islands in the sea of her blue irises to expand.
‘Fortunately we were in the open-air so the smell soon wafted away,’ he added optimistically. The smell of magic: the odour of sandalwood and the taste of tin. Grandpa had safeguards in the workshop to account for it: solder and incense.
‘And where did you find that spell. I didn’t think it was in Wicc’huldol Galdorwrd Nha Koomwrtdreno Aon.’
Witchcraft: Spells and Potions: 1 was an hereditary grimoire of the Cardiubarns, Senara’s unsavoury family. It was written in Wycc’yeth, a magical language, which Amanda was quickly grasping. It had only been weeks since Granny had unearthed it from a secret hiding place in the attic, and, with reservations and certain pages hidden by Perran, introduced it to their little granddaughter.
‘It was on a piece of notepaper between the pages. One of Great-great-great-great-great-grandmother Jowanet’s,’ answered Amanda informatively.
Grandpa tutted. ‘We told you never to use spells against humans anyway, but we didn’t think that one was in there. I should have guessed something like that would have been, after that nasty lizard spell we found. I’ll wager that Jowanet was no more ‘n nine when she wrote it out, by the hand-writing.’
‘But no harm done. Fortunately, no one was hurt,’ said Senara, coming in from the kitchen, with hot chocolate made with coconut milk. ‘This time.’
‘Sorry, Granny and Grandpa,’ said Amanda in distress, ‘I never meant to, not all of those people, just that boy. It’s just that I got so … so …’
‘Angry,’ finished Granny.
Amanda nodded mutely.
‘I understand. I understand all too well. And I saw the Cardiubarn Darkside come out in you, and there’s a side of them, believe me, that you don’t want.’
‘But,’ mitigated Grandpa, ‘anger isn’t always a bad thing. There’s things that happen or go on that we should feel angry about, so that we do good things to put them right.’
‘So I did a good thing?’ asked Amanda, looking at them more hopefully. ‘That boy did such a bad thing; he called you a bad name, Granny, and he said a very mean thing, so I made him fall over, and he stopped shouting. And maybe it’ll stop him being mean to someone else,’ she added reasonably.
Grandpa chuckled, and helped her take a sip of her hot chocolate, but said, ‘While I can’t fault your logic, that’s not quite what we mean. Why do you think that boy said those things, bian?’
‘Because he’s a bad person?’
‘Because he’s afraid.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of us, the way we live. It’s different you see.’
‘You mean I don’t have parent parents, and I don’t go to school?’
‘That’s the sort of thing.’
‘So what he was doing was like a sort of spell? To protect himself from me? From us?’
‘Kind of.’
‘But,’ said Granny, ‘did you think he could do a real spell with those words of his?’
Amanda shook her head.
‘But you knew that you could do a real spell.’
‘Yes,’ said Amanda confidently.
‘So you used your magic against someone who could not retaliate or defend themselves. And any of those other innocent people could have got hurt falling down, into the bargain. So was it a good thing to do?’
Little Amanda, much struck by this, widened her eyes and shook her head solemnly.
‘That’s awful. I didn't think, Granny. I just got so… so … angry!’
Senara nodded. Amanda’s eyes were filling with tears of remorse.
‘Now, now, there’s no need to get all emotional and worked up about it. Just take from it this lesson about spell-casting. Are you listening?’
Amanda sniffed and looked earnestly at her grandmother.
‘Yes, Granny.’
'Remember this: a witch does not cast in anger. What is the lesson, Ammy?’
Amanda repeated, ‘A witch does not cast in anger.’
***
Amanda murmured, ‘A witch does not cast in anger.’ Suddenly she turned the steering-wheel to the right, and, instead of heading out of the village, drove down Orchard Row.
‘No, Tempest, we’re going home.’ Her feline companion rolled his eyes in boredom. ‘Yes, I know you’re disappointed, but you’ve already done what you’ve done to his car. No. We’re going home, and I’m going to call Uncle Mike.’
Within minutes they were back at the cottage. She closed the door, and, even before removing her jacket and boots reached for her phone.
‘Uncle Mike?’
‘Ah, if it isn’t my favourite newly adopted niece,’ replied former Chief Inspector Michael Hogarth.
‘Yes, it’s me.’
‘You don’t sound all right. What’s happened?’
‘Some nasty man on a job was rather vile, but that’s not the point. In his rage, he let slip a piece of information that I suspect he was supposed to keep under his hat.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. He said, “You look so innocent, but someone’s onto you, got their eye on you, so just you watch out.”’
‘Ah,’ remarked Hogarth with interest.
‘Well, the inspector asked me if I felt I was being watched and I just brushed off the suggestion, but now I know I am.’
‘Yes. Indeed.’
‘Should I make some discreet enquiries? Perhaps I could get him in a temper again and see if he reveals more?’
Hogarth chuckled. ‘No, that’s not something I’d necessarily advise. There may be other ways of getting more out of him. But for the moment let me have a think about the best way to do it. Meanwhile, do and say nothing to show that you took in that piece of information as anything more than a mote in the stream of insults, OK?’
‘OK. I shan't be working around him anymore.’
‘Good.’
‘His assistant, who is a very nice man, is taking over his job at the client’s request.’
‘Excellent. Leave it with me. Are you all right now?’
‘Yes, Tempest avenged me in the most disgraceful fashion. He raked his claws down the man’s car and er … baptised his driver's seat!’
Hogarth’s laughter rippled down the phone.
Amanda expounded, ‘Bottle got in such a temper that he turned puce! I had no idea a complexion could be that colour.’
‘Oh, well done, Tempest. That’s my boy. Bravo! I’ll bring him something special back from Spain when I come home, and that’s a promise. What are you going to do now?’
‘I feel much better, but hot bath, dinner, hot chocolate and School for Scoundrels I think.’
‘OK. Wait for my call, all right?’
‘Yes.’
Amanda tapped off and looked down at Tempest ,who, with his sharp ears, had been listening in.
‘I wonder what he’ll come up with to get more information.’
Her familiar stared back uncommunicatively … but knowingly.
Chapter 6
Karma
That night, possibly because the Hunter’s Moon was roaming the sky, but more likely just because he could, Tempest decided that he no longer cared for Monarch’s Superb Salmon Specialité. He could now be tempted only by Empawrer Gourmet Tuna Filet.
Consequently, his dutiful attendant human was obliged to return to
the corner shop to change her special order of cat food. This, naturally, could be obtained only from three small and select suppliers in the entire United Kingdom.
With a ding! from the shop door, Amanda entered Mrs Sharma’s domain. Tempest had gone with her to ensure that she made the alteration correctly. He and Mrs Sharma regarded one another with respect — to say ‘admiration’ would be going too far but, — definitely, respect. They understood one another. Mrs Sharma knew that there was more to him than cat, and he knew that she knew and gave her credit for that.
Mrs Sharma kept a store of Orijen Tundra Kitty Treats for the sole reason that they were the best. She offered them only one at a time and one per visit. In return, anyone who thought of shoplifting or showing Mrs Sharma anything but the utmost courtesy was speedily and summarily taught the value of honesty and good manners.
Amanda approached the counter with the grumpy mobile grey fluff at her ankles and uttered a cheery, ‘Good morning, Aunty.’ Mrs Sharma returned her greeting affectionately and, gracefully lowering her willowy form, simultaneously reached for the treat packet. Mrs Sharma had babysat Amanda when she was little, her mother enthralling the little girl with tales of India.
‘How are you today, dear? Recovered from your shock?’
‘My shock? Oh, you mean …?’
‘Disgraceful conduct. I never believed all that charm,’ remarked Mrs Sharma severely.
‘Well, it’s all water under the bridge now,’ Amanda replied breezily. ‘I don’t expect we’ll cross paths again.’
‘What can I do for you, dear?’ said Mrs Sharma warmly.
‘I’m terribly sorry, but could I, please, change my order of —’
‘— No need to tell me. The raj has decreed an amendment to the menu,’ discerned Mrs Sharma, with years of experience behind her of the cat’s vicissitudes.