Witch Silenced in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

  I knocked on Olivia’s door. “Come in.” I did. She was sitting at her desk putting stuff into her handbag. She saw my frowny face. “What’s up?”

  “Will’s grandmother just died. I’m going with him to the care home to finalise things.”

  “Oh, no. That’s so sad. Is he okay?”

  I shrugged. “Sort of. He’s doing what needs to be done, but he’s upset.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Ninety-two. She wasn’t unwell though, other than her mental state. She had dementia, but she could walk, get around by herself. She wasn’t overweight, didn’t smoke, didn’t look overly frail. I don’t know if I’m being silly, but it seems like her death was sudden, considering.”

  “By sudden, do you mean suspicious?” She had an eyebrow raised. She knew me so well.

  “Yes. Am I being paranoid? She worried she would be the next to die.”

  Olivia’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Two of her friends died. One died the day before yesterday and the other, yesterday. Will thought she was being paranoid, but the more I think about it, the more I think she was right. Maybe someone didn’t like what she’d been saying. She might have said something to others, not just Will and me.”

  “You think they were silencing her?”

  I nodded. Poor Edith. We needed to get to the bottom of this, even if it was just to make sure nothing horrible was going on.

  The doorbell rang. Huh? I didn’t know Angelica had a doorbell. Everyone usually knocked. “That must be Will. I’ll see you later. I’ll let you know what happened.”

  “Okay, cool. I’m going to be at Kent Police Station today.” She grinned. “Orientation. I’ve been at the PIB the whole time, but now I get to check out what happens on the other side.”

  “That’s right! Good luck. I know you’ll do well. We should make sure to eat dinner together tonight, and we can swap stories.”

  “It’s a date.”

  I grabbed my bag and went down to the front door. Will stood there, his back to me. He turned when he heard the door open. His eyes were red, and his face sad. I stepped up to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him in close. We didn’t speak. He slid his arms around me, and we stood like that for a couple of minutes.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. He stepped back and turned towards the car. I got the hint and followed. We were quiet for the first half of the ten-minute ride to the care home. But then I couldn’t hold my questions in any longer. I was a total failure when it came to patience.

  “Just tell me if you don’t want to talk, but I have to ask a question.” I studied him for a reaction. He nodded slowly but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Will they do an autopsy?”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “There’s no reason to. She was old, and her health was deteriorating. They said a doctor confirmed a heart attack.”

  “She seemed okay last night… physically, anyway. She didn’t look like someone who was about to, you know…. Sorry, but you know me—if I’m thinking it, I have to say it.”

  “Yeah, well, this isn’t the time, Lily.” His tired-yet-cranky tone was a warning to drop it. But when did I ever heed warnings?

  “When is the time? When she’s been buried or cremated? When any evidence is gone?”

  He jerked his head around and glared at me, then gave the road his full attention the rest of the way. I stared out the window, frustrated more than upset. It wasn’t my intention to make him feel worse, and I didn’t actually have any evidence. Was I wrong? Hmm, I had my phone with me. Maybe I could take some candid shots? Would my talent work within the confines of a magic-free zone?

  On arriving at the care home, we headed straight to the manager’s office. The little man was already standing when we entered. His tie was yellow today, but his shirt was all about his favourite colour—purple, which matched the cord his glasses dangled from, creating the amusing illusion that his glasses floated, unsupported, in front of his stomach. “Mr Blakesley, so nice to see you. I'm sorry for your loss.”

  What a surprise! He was actually being considerate.

  Will walked to his desk, leaned over, and shook the manager’s hand. “Thank you. I’m here to collect the paperwork and her things.”

  “There’s also the small matter of identifying her body.”

  Small matter? What the hell? It may be a common occurrence for this guy, but what about some sympathy for the bereaved?

  “Yes, of course. I’d like to do that straight away.”

  “The sooner, the better. You’ll also have to arrange for the funeral home to come get her. We’re not a morgue.”

  My mouth dropped open; he definitely missed empathy 101 at care-home school. I turned to Will. “Do you want me to get her things while you’re saying goodbye?” I had no desire to see another dead body, and I was sure he might have wanted to do this alone, say goodbye for the last time.

  “Yes, thanks.” He gave me a wan smile. “The lift code is two, four, six, eight.” Hmm, that wasn’t too tricky. How had the oldies not figured it out?

  “Um, thanks.”

  We exited the office, the manager turning right and leading Will away. I turned left. At the lift, I punched in the code and pressed the call button. The lift was as slow as a stooped-over, shuffling old person. Maybe they didn’t want to startle them if they had to go in it. I snorted. That was considerate.

  Eventually it arrived and took me to the first floor. The hallway was livelier today. Two short old ladies, both with white hair and walking frames, slowly clacked along. One wore a scowl, the other a manic grin. That would be an interesting conversation to listen to. Who was annoying who? I snorted again. I could totally see Will and me here—me the manic one, and him cranky as hell. He had that look perfected, and he used it so often that his face would probably set that way eventually.

  A young male care-home employee pushed an elderly man in a wheelchair. The elderly man had his chin slumped on his chest, his eyes closed. Was he even awake? I smiled at the care-home guy, and he gave a nod. Gah, I hated that! If I smiled at someone, I expected reciprocation. I wanted to take the smile back, dammit. He didn’t deserve it.

  Moaning ghosted down the hallway, but I couldn’t tell if it was the same man from last night. At least the poo smell was gone.

  Edith’s door was ajar. There was no reason to knock, so I opened it and went right in. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Looked as if they filled beds around here before they were cold.

  An elderly man with pale skin covered in age spots lay in bed, a middle-aged woman sitting in a chair next to him. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m sorry to intrude. I didn’t realise anyone would be here.” My cheeks heated. “I’m just here to grab Edith’s things—the lady who was in here before.”

  The woman gave a gentle smile. “Of course. I think that’s her stuff there.” She pointed to the floor below the window. A small, black suitcase sat there. I blinked. That was the sum of her life—at least the tangible belongings that would last longer than her children and grandchildren. The only thing left of her was one suitcase’s worth. My shoulders sagged. How depressing.

  I grabbed the handle and elongated it so I could wheel Edith’s meagre possessions out. Before I left, I looked around the room. I took my phone out of my bag and turned to the lady. “I just need to take a photo before I leave… for her grandson.”

  The space between her brows formed two lines, and her mouth opened slightly in a perplexed expression. “Do you need us to leave? We don’t want to be in the shot.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll take it from here back to the door.” She probably thought I was weird, but whatever. She wouldn’t be the first and definitely not the last.

  I whispered, “Show me who killed Edith.” A cool vacuum met my grasp at the power, and I sighed. I clicked the photo of the empty doorway anyway because I didn’t want the woman wondering why I hadn’t taken the picture. Damn. Had it not worked because she died
from natural causes, or was it because my talent was stymied?

  As I dejectedly wheeled Edith’s bag down the corridor, a woman dressed in black and about my height sprang out of her room and wrapped her pudgy fingers around my arm. Her crazy eyes met my startled ones. She said nothing but pulled me towards her room. I only half resisted. What should I do? Maybe she just wanted company because no one ever came to visit. Would it hurt me to give her some of my time?

  Once she had me in her room, she shut the door. The click of it shutting made me think of a tomb door closing for the last time. A cackling laugh accompanied her toothless grin. Yikes. She was the embodiment of how witches were usually portrayed—with the exception of Sabrina, and Samantha from Bewitched. Some stereotypes were there for a reason.

  “Um, it’s lovely to meet you, but I have a friend waiting for me.”

  She latched onto my arm again and tried to stop me leaving. Bloody hell, she had some strength for an oldie. My heart beat faster because even though it was unlikely she would hurt me, she just might. I hated being touched at the best of times, let alone by a loony, silent-except-for-cackling witch.

  She gripped the arm that had Edith’s bag. I leaned past her and opened the door with my other hand. I pried her death grip off me and hurried out. Apparently, I was no good at this hanging out and being nice to old people thing. Not that I didn’t like old people, but these were strangers, and unhinged ones at that. I hoped I never had dementia. I would hate to burden anyone else, and to have care-home staff shower me and see me naked—oh, and to change my nappies. Nope. No way. No how. Why did some of us have to revert to baby state when we aged? Nature had a sick sense of humour that I didn’t appreciate. Why couldn’t we go back to being eighteen or twenty? That would be way more useful and fun.

  Once I was out of there, I looked back. She appeared at the door, her thin white hair sticking up and making her look even nuttier. She grinned and nodded, ambling towards me in slow motion. Yikes.

  I speed-walked to the lift, punched in the code, and pressed the call button with a shaking finger. The old lady had commandeered an accomplice—an elderly man, also grinning sans teeth. He was taller than her and skinny, but he had the same zombie gait she did. They were slow, but their pace still ate up centimetres of corridor faster than I would have liked.

  Where was the damn lift? Hurry. Hurry. I shifted from foot to foot, my attention shooting from them to the lift doors and back again. My heart raced. Oh my God, a third person had joined them, limping behind. There were only a few metres left, and they would be on me. I was in my own mini zombie apocalypse, or at least, that’s how it felt.

  They weren’t allowed into the lift, so would I have to try and stop them? A visual popped into my head, and it wasn’t pretty. It started off like herding cats and ended with me surrounded on the floor with the zombies grinning and dribbling over me before they pulled my limbs from my body. Get a grip, idiot.

  They were a metre away, almost close enough to touch. Their wide eyes shone with excitement. I listened intently, but no one was saying, “Brains, brains.” Thank. God.

  The lift dinged, and the doors opened. The saying “saved by the bell” now had a special place in my heart—the place that feared zombies and care-home residents. As I stepped in, someone moaned, and someone else said, “Nooooo.”

  I repeatedly smashed my finger against the G button—wow, that was close to G spot. How had I never noticed that before? Maybe that’s why it was called a spot and not a button. Imagine the confusion that could arise. Lifts were already known as places where inappropriate behaviour happened. If the G spot were a G button, it would be so much worse.

  As the doors started to close, the woman who had dragged me into her room reached out. I shrunk back. Her hand languidly moved towards me. The doors were still partly open. Her hand got closer and closer. I released Edith’s bag and held my hands up, ready to push the woman away.

  The old woman smiled, maybe thinking she’d made it.

  The doors closed.

  Oh. My. God. I didn’t breathe again until the car descended. When it reached the ground floor, I gasped. I’d survived. But never again. I was never traipsing care-home hallways without someone there to protect me.

  Will, waiting for me in the corridor, watched me step out of the lift. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “If you change ghost to zombies, then yes, I have. Here’s your grandmother’s suitcase.”

  His fingers brushed mine as I slipped my hand off the handle, and he grabbed it. This wasn’t exactly romance central, but a heart-stopping zing shot through my fingers and up my arm. What would it be like when we finally kissed? When would I find out? I hoped it was before my thirtieth birthday. Six years was a long time to make a girl wait.

  “So, what happened up there?”

  “Well, this isn’t what scared me, but they’ve already got someone in your gran’s bed.”

  His eyes widened. “They didn’t waste any time.” Was that a growl?

  “No. Now about what happened. It was nothing, really, just me overreacting, but those old people were like zombies. I thought they were going to swarm and eat me alive. I managed to escape. The lift doors closed just in time.”

  He cocked his head to the side and regarded me with his brows drawn together. “You’re such a weirdo, Lily.” He shook his head. “Let’s go.”

  “But what happened with—”

  He whipped his hand up and placed his finger against my lips. “Shhh. We’ll talk later.” I nodded and stared into his eyes. The way the butterflies were destroying my stomach, I would have done anything he asked me in that moment. And he knew it. He smirked and put his hand down. “Let’s go.”

  As we drove, Will asked, “Did you see anything unusual in Gran’s room?”

  “You mean other than the old guy in her bed?”

  He shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, other than that.”

  If he was asking, he probably wasn’t going to get angry that I’d done my best to find a clue without being obvious or going against his wishes. Okay, so he hadn’t expressly told me not to investigate, but he had been annoyed at my line of thinking. “I tried taking a picture with my phone, but nothing showed up. I’m not sure if that’s because nothing happened in there or that my talent couldn’t work without access to any magic.”

  “Good try, though. I’ll have to teach you how to use your talent when you’re cut off from the main source of magic.”

  Whoa! “Why hasn’t anyone told me before? Is it really a thing?”

  He smiled. “Yes, it’s really a thing. No one’s told you probably because it’s rare that you’d need it. Also, you have to be careful not to draw too much power because it’s all coming from you.”

  “In other words, I could kill myself?”

  “Yep.”

  “If it’s possible, how is it the oldies don’t accidentally kill themselves?”

  “As witches age, their talent all but disappears if the mind goes. It would be extremely rare for any of those dementia patients to be able to access their talent. Losing your talent when you’re old can be an early sign of dementia.”

  “Oh. What was your gran’s talent?”

  He smiled. “She was really good at encouraging plants to grow. Her vegetables always won prizes at agriculture shows.”

  “Isn’t that cheating?”

  He shrugged. “It made her happy. Plus, there was never any money involved—there were tons of blue ribbons, though.” He chuckled.

  “Did you find something suspicious?”

  “A small chunk of her hair was missing.”

  “What?” I sat up straight and stared at him.

  “Underneath all her other hair, at her nape. A thin line of hair where it meets bare skin had been cut off at the scalp. You would have to look closely to find it.”

  “What made you look so close?”

  He turned to briefly look at me. His awkward smile was what I would cla
ss as chagrin. “I thought more about what you said. I also thought about how she’d been acting lately, and as much as she’d had delusions, she was never panicked. What I’d seen in her eyes last night was fear.” He blinked and pressed his lips together. “I didn’t take her seriously, and look what happened….”

  “It wasn’t your fault. And maybe she wasn’t murdered, but I just think it doesn’t hurt to investigate to make sure.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve arranged for Beren and James to pick up the body and take it back to the PIB for an autopsy. They’re going to use the PIB’s mortuary ambulance, which has no signage. It will be perfect. They’re pretending to be from Magic & Co Funeral Homes.”

  I would’ve laughed, but the whole thing was sad when you thought of why they were doing this. Was there really a witch funeral home called that? I’d have to google it later.

  “Now what?”

  “I’ll wait for the autopsy results. If they find anything, I’m going to see if we can get an agent in there undercover.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not volunteering.”

  “Yeah, you’re loony enough, but too young.”

  “Ha ha, thanks. But seriously, I’d have to be loony to fall for you.” Ah, crap. Why did I have to say something sappy? Best way ever to get a guy to run the other way—admit to strong feelings, or any feelings, really. My cheeks heated. I turned my head and found some interesting grass and stuff to stare at. Where were the sheep and cows when you needed a distraction?

  He rested his hand on my thigh, and my heart rate went from sixty beats per minute to three hundred, which should mean I was dead. Yep, dead and in heaven.

  “For the record, Miss Crazypants, Mr Crankypants has fallen for you too.”

  I slowly turned my head, almost afraid to look at him. He spared me a quick glance. His full lips were in a wide grin, and his dreamy eyes told me everything I needed to know. My smile almost pushed the apples of my cheeks into my eyeballs. Goofy much? I was lucky he was back to looking at the road.