I eyed Imani. “And you?” She smirked and nodded. I folded my arms. “Fine. I guess we can continue.” Why was I always the last to know everything? It was a bad habit that I didn’t appreciate. And, for the record, I was paying attention; I always paid attention… well, mostly… when I wasn’t in my own world.
Ma’am raised her brow. “Honestly, Lily, it’s not as if we keep things from you on purpose. You need to pay more attention. Now, let’s stop this nonsense and get back to what we were discussing.” She dismissed me by shifting her gaze to the other side of the table—to Will and Imani. My cheeks heated. What was I even doing here? I should be hunting more photography work. I wasn’t an agent, and with just about every case they got me to work on, I failed in some way and came across as an idiot. Maybe I was an idiot? Will gave me a sympathetic look, his lips pressed together, head cocked to the side. I sighed quietly and looked back at Ma’am.
“We unfortunately don’t have access to the bodies, so we’re going to have to investigate this the hard way—by interviewing the family and friends of the deceased. Because they would have been told suicide was the cause, they would be suspicious of additional police questioning them, and we don’t want to alarm them or give them cause to think anything else is afoot. Also, even though Will has never had a wrong hunch, there’s a first time for everything, so it’s best we’re subtle. In this regard, I’ve come up with a plan.” She lifted her chin slightly and smiled proudly. Of course she’d go with a dramatic pause before the big reveal. She really should have her own reality TV show. “Because Imani and Will look too much like agents, and I don’t want to compromise Olivia’s work with the police, I’m sending you, Lily.” She smiled, but it didn’t warm my heart.
“I can’t go. I’ll stuff it up. Seriously. And who am I supposed to be if I’m not police or an agent?”
“You’re writing an article on suicides at the White Cliffs and contributing to research on suicide in general. You can say that you’re focussing on how many people give any indication as to their state of mind or seek help in the weeks before taking their own lives. It means we can ask questions about their recent activity, see if there’s any kind of connection.”
“But what if they don’t want to talk to me? And what if me bringing it up causes them more heartache, and it turns out all this is for nothing?” I hated lying at the best of times, but lying to grieving people at the worst possible time in their lives? That was just low.
She raised a steely brow. “But what if they were coerced somehow and actually murdered? If that’s the case, they deserve justice, not to mention, we need to stop whoever’s doing this.”
“If, indeed, someone is,” I countered. She did have a good point, but since I was only just learning of Will’s hunches, how did I know they really were super fabulous? Angelica could be overstating his ability just to get me on board.
“I’d like you to record the conversations. Just let them know you’re recording them—it’s standard procedure for this kind of thing, so it won’t seem unusual. Agent Jawara can go with you and wait nearby. I won’t leave you without protection, and that leads me to another topic: Regula Pythonissam. I want to arrange another meeting to discuss the new information James unearthed because of the photos you took the other night. But now Millicent is in hospital, it will have to wait.”
I chewed on my top lip. Could I say no to interviewing people? Surely there was an agent who could do it, someone who looked inconspicuous? Will cleared his throat. I looked at him. He had his head tilted and was looking at me like “don’t you dare say no.” I folded my arms and stared at him like, “I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” He shook his head slowly and firmly. I lifted my chin.
Imani slapped the table, and I jumped. “For goodness’ sake, Lily. Just do it. We need you. If there was anyone else Ma’am thought suitable who wasn’t already busy, she would’ve put them on the job. You’ll be fine, and I can vouch for Will’s hunches. I’ll go over the questions you’ll need to ask. It’ll be fine; think of it as helping people rather than making things worse for them.”
Beaten into submission, I narrowed my eyes one last time, just to make sure everyone got that I wasn’t exactly happy about this. “Fine. But only because I’m trusting you’re right. If I hurt these people for no good reason, I’m going to be beyond unhappy.”
Ma’am scrutinized me as if sizing up a reluctant dog that needed a bath. “Maybe you really aren’t cut out for this work. Have I underestimated your emotional fortitude?”
“I daresay you have. I don’t like hurting people. Just because it’s to help them, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“None of us do, dear, but we stomach it and become hardened to it because there is no other way. In order to make differences that matter, sacrifice is required, but it will always be worth it. What is the price of sleeping at night?”
I could have answered “too high,” but was it ever? For a lot of people, it probably was. Police and medical personnel sure had a hard time of it, even though they did the best they could. None of us could save everyone, no matter what we did, and sometimes the price was way too high—not everyone who did the right thing made it out alive, whether by choice somewhere like the White Cliffs of Dover or in the line of duty through no choice of their own. But for me? Questioning these people was not going to give me nightmares. My conscience would be bruised but not irrevocably damaged. “In this instance, the price is not very much, considering. I’ll do the best I can. I promise.”
“That’s my girl. I’ll let you set up your own appointments. Liaise with Olivia, gather as much information as you can, then let Agent Jawara know. Make those appointments as soon as you can.” Ma’am looked at Will. “I’d like to see you at those funerals with a no-notice spell activated. None of the potential victims are witches, so you shouldn’t attract attention. Just have a cover story ready in case they were inadvertently friends with a witch. See if you can find out anything, but I want subtlety.”
Despite the fact that Ma’am was likely telling Will stuff he already knew, his poker face stayed intact as he nodded with grave seriousness, his forehead furrows on display. Will looked across the table at Liv. “Can you check at the end of each day to see if anyone else has jumped and let me know? If we have any other jumpers, I’ll take Lily out there to get more photos.” He shot me a “sorry” look. I shrugged. What else could I do but go along with what they wanted?
“Will do,” said Liv.
Ma’am slid the pictures across the table to Olivia, then stood. “You ladies can deal with these. I’m off to another meeting. Stay safe, everyone, and I’ll see you all back here when you’ve done your jobs.” She glanced at her watch. “Which I imagine will be in a couple of days.” She looked at Will. “Keep me updated.” Without waiting for an answer, she left the non-witch way, via the door.
Imani stood. “Lily, I’ve got a few things to finish. Call me when you’re ready to make those appointments, and we’ll block out some times that suit.”
“Okay.”
“See you all later.” She made a doorway and stepped through.
Will turned to me. “I’ll see you both later as well, likely tonight at home. I should be there for dinner.”
I smiled. “Sounds good.”
We all stood and headed for the door. Outside, Liv and I went one way, and Will another. Liv and I grabbed a coffee and tea from the cafeteria, then headed to her office. As we entered, I frowned and chewed my fingernail. This was also Millicent’s office. “I wonder how they’re doing.” I took a seat at Liv’s desk. She sat next to me and fired up her computer.
“I’d say they’re okay. Maybe there’s just been no change, and they’re waiting? I’m sure James will call or message when he has any news.”
“Have you heard anything from B?”
She shook her head. “I’ll let you know if I do. Come on. Thinking about it won’t help, and we’ve got work to do.”
While Liv researched th
e people who’d died, I magicked my laptop to myself and started researching suicide and depression, making a list of questions for the family and friends. If I was supposed to be researching it, I should know what I was talking about. We’d been at it for ages.
I looked up. Darkness blacked out beyond the window, and the office light reflected off the glass. My stomach grumbled. The top right corner of my laptop screen read 5:04 p.m. “We missed lunch and afternoon tea. No wonder I’m starving.” My stomach gurgled again, but then a rush of adrenaline swooshed through it, dampening my hunger. I still hadn’t heard anything from James.
Frowning, I grabbed my phone and sent him a message.
Hey, wondered how everyone was doing. Is Millicent okay? Has her headache gone? Xx
Within two minutes, my phone dinged. Thank God.
Sorry, Lily, just been caught up here, making sure Mill and the baby are okay. The doctor’s given her some blood-pressure medication, and her headache’s a bit better. The baby is okay at this stage, but we’re closely monitoring the situation. If things get worse, we’ll have to induce, but, hopefully, we can keep the pre-eclampsia at bay for a few more days. I’ll message you later xx.
Okay, thanks for letting me know. Sorry to bother you. Send Mill my love xx.
He sent back a smiley face. I updated Liv. “That’s fantastic news. See, I knew she’d be okay. She’s in great hands. I just have a bit more to do; then we can go. Give me another ten minutes?”
“Yeah, sure.” I typed in Westerham Events to see what was coming up out and about. Every now and then, something fantastic would be on, something that was part of the experience of being here and being part of the community, like the Christmas-tree display at the church. Hmm, not exactly what I had in mind—a local plastic-surgery place, Changing Faces, was having its first-year anniversary party next Saturday. Dr Joe Ezekal had moved his successful practice from London to Westerham a year ago because, as he put it, “There was a real need in this vibrant community for my services.” What, were we uglier down here compared to London, or had everyone in London done everything they could do, and he needed fresh meat? I wasn’t that hard up for stuff to do that I needed to go there. Right, what else was on?
Hmm, this looked all right. The local art gallery—yes, the one that Patrick and his parents ran—had changed hands and was having a showing of a famous Spanish nature photographer. Ooh, that looked awesome. It was also next Saturday. Done. It’d been ages since I’d wandered through an exhibition. I smiled. Such a small thing, but I was really looking forward to it.
“Okay, I’m done. Just have to wait for this stuff to print; then we can go.” The printer zipped to life with the click and suck of paper being loaded.
“Great. Hey, are you free next Saturday?”
“I think so, unless B has made plans for us that I don’t know about. Why?” I told her about the photography exhibition. “Oh, wow, yes. I’d love to. Count me in.”
I grinned. “Awesome. We’ll see if B and Will are free too; then maybe we can grab a high tea or something afterwards.”
Liv laughed. “Always with the food. You’re hilarious.”
“Well, everyone has to eat. Might as well enjoy it since we’re doing it anyway.”
Once everything printed, we had a decent pile of paper. Liv handed the wad to me. “You’ll need to read all this before you interview everyone. Obviously, you’ll have to ask questions to answers you already know because we don’t want them knowing how much you’ve researched their loved ones, or it’ll look weird. But for you to know which directions to take your questioning, you’ll need to know their background. Is that cool?”
“Is there a speed-reading spell?”
She looked at me like “what?” “Why in all that’s witchy would you ask me? I’m not exactly the expert.”
Oops. That was a slight sore spot for Liv. She wished she could cast spells like the rest of us. I imagined it was frustrating since she hung out with us all the time. Not that she complained, but this was the third or fourth comment over the last few months that she’d made on the topic. “Sorry. Maybe there’s a spell that allows non-witches to become witches?”
“Ha! If that were possible, why wouldn’t witches just make everyone like them, and then there’d be no need to hide.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t that create more problems? There’s so many horrible people in the world, and then they’d have more power to do evil.”
“True. Anyway, despite my intermittent disappointment, I’m fine.” She smiled. “But, seriously, I’m the last person you should ask about anything witchy.”
“Okay. But you work with them now. You’re around more of them than I am.” I laughed.
“Hmm, true. Okay, Miss Witch, you going to take me home?”
“Yes, my lady. After you.” I made my doorway and followed its outline with my finger so Liv could see where it was. She stepped through carefully, so as not to have anything accidentally chopped off—doorways could be deadly—and I followed.
Once home, Liv ran up to shower, and I plonked myself in an armchair in front of the fire and read through the sheets on all the victims, if that’s what they were. The first woman, the lady we’d seen in person, was Emily Armand. Originally born in France, she moved to London with her French husband and two young children when she was in her late twenties. Her kids were now in their forties. Emily and her husband, Bertrand, divorced ten years ago. Emily had worked as a hairdresser before retiring five years ago. She’d owned a successful salon in London. Wow. She must’ve had a lot of money. But with all this good stuff, other than the divorce, why kill yourself? Was she suffering depression? There was nothing on her file about seeing the doctor for anything other than routine check-ups over the years, at least not that we’d found, but I would imagine not everything was on file. Maybe we’d need magic to access other records later, after talking to her family.
The next picture was Andrew Porter. He was twenty-three and lived at home with his parents and two younger siblings. Liv had pulled his school records. Private-school education, average results, apparently a quiet, pleasant, and happy kid at school. There had been a couple of instances of bullying, and he’d attended school counselling. Being confidential, Liv obviously couldn’t access what the counselling had been about. That was definitely a question I’d need to ask. Had he been depressed? If so, there was no reason for us to be investigating his death, was there? He was attending university to study linguistics, had a girlfriend and a gym membership. So, overall, it appeared that his life was going okay.
Person number three: Alice Baker. Successful fifty-nine-year-old fashion designer living in Surrey. Cohabitated with her female partner, travelled a lot for work, was known as being flamboyant and the life of the party. She’d even won a couple of fashion awards—Liv had printed the articles on them. Alice had had breast cancer and a double mastectomy five years ago and reconstructive surgery about a year ago. She was obviously a survivor, so why kill herself now? Had the cancer spread or returned? I eyed her photo again. Other than the glazed look in her eyes, everything looked as it should.
There were other minor details about the three. When I finished reading, I stared into the fire, giving my brain space to find any kind of pattern. But there was none. Every person was different, from having varying family backgrounds and jobs, to living in different places—even the two who lived in London lived in separate suburbs, seven miles apart. I sighed, frustration tightening my jaw. Were we wasting time? Maybe one person had been coerced into jumping, but the other two had chosen to? If that was the case, then trying to find links was a waste of time. But at what point would we know?
My phone rang, and, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t startle, I jumped. I swear I was going to have a heart attack one of these days. Would I be the first person to ever die from a phone call? I checked the screen. James! “Hey, how’s everything going? Is Millicent okay? Do we have a baby?”
“She’s fine, and no, no bab
y yet. She’s still a week and a half from her due date, so if we can keep the baby in there a bit longer, it will be better. She’s still stable, and the headache’s gone. She had blood pressure of one fifty over one hundred, but they’ve gotten it down to one thirty over ninety. They’re monitoring her every couple of hours, and they’ll do more tests tomorrow. I just wanted you to know that I’m home, so you won’t have to feed the pups. Unless Millicent calls me, I’m going to be here tonight. I’m going back to the hospital in the morning—there’s nothing I can do there, and I need sleep.”
“Fair enough. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll fill everyone in. And if you need me for anything, let me know.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“How are you holding up?” My brother wasn’t a super stress-head, but he cared deeply about his family. It would be a surprise to me if he managed to sleep much tonight.
“I’m okay. Worried, obviously, but she’s got the best doctor and midwife you could possibly have. There’s nothing else I can do except be ready for her when she needs me, so I’m trying not to panic.” His nervous chuckle sounded almost manic.
“Do you want to come round here and have dinner with us tonight?”
“Nah. I’m going to eat something, watch TV, then get an early night. Thanks for asking.”
“Not a problem. Well, good luck with sleeping, and again, if you need me….”
“Thanks, Lil. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Night. Love you.”
“Night, love you too.”
Shuffled footsteps at the door heralded Liv in her Ugg boots. She’d dressed in a comfy-looking black tracksuit that had bright-yellow sleeves and stripes down the side of the legs. “You’re looking rather bumblebee this evening.” I grinned.
She twirled. “You like? I snagged this at a sale the other day. Bzzz, bzzz.”
I laughed. “It’s cute. James just called. He’s at home tonight, and Mill’s still in hospital. They’re keeping her in until the baby’s born.”
Witchbotched in Westerham Page 4