Urban Witch (Urban Witch Series - Book 1)

by R. L. Giddings

  “Didn’t he tell you: I’m at the hospital.”

  He must have sent her there knowing that he was probably going to suspend me. If I couldn’t get re-instated it was going to make our time at the flat very difficult indeed.

  “Are you busy?”

  She made a non-committal grunt. “There’s two of us here now so we’re taking it in turns to sit with Helena.”

  “How is she? Any sign of improvement?”

  I’d heard what Kinsella had said about the Seelie Blade but I was still hopeful. There was nothing concrete linking the blade to Helena’s stabbing. Yet.

  “The doctors came round this morning. They weren’t exactly optimistic. They’re going to try changing her medication later.”

  I looked up at Marcus. “Okay, but no major changes in her condition?”

  “They did a CAT scan yesterday. Kinsella insisted.”

  “Why does she need a CAT scan when they stabbed her in the stomach?”

  “Seems she hit her head pretty badly when she fell. That’s their biggest concern at present.”

  “What did the scan say?”

  “The brain hasn’t stopped swelling. I’m thinking that’s not so good. They won’t know if there’s any lasting damage until after she re-gains consciousness.”

  Perhaps the Seelie Blade was the least of our worries. Although Millie hadn’t actually used the term “brain damage” it was what we were both thinking.

  After an uncomfortable pause Millie said, “How was Kinsella?”

  “He suspended the pair of us: me and Marcus. Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  When she spoke again, Millie sounded sad, which just made everything worse. “Oh, I’m really sorry about that, B. It wasn’t to do with what happened last night was it? You did really well there.”

  “No, it’s to do with the book and some other stuff that’s gone missing from the Ptolemy.”

  Marcus was frowning at me now.

  I continued, “I’m sure it’ll all sort itself out in the end.”

  “How was it left? I mean: what happens next?”

  “Not sure but we’re not allowed back in the office ‘til it’s sorted. We’re just going to get something to eat. Mull things over.”

  “Is that wise?”

  I hadn’t told her about our lunch date yesterday but the idea of the two of us getting together might be enough to put her off the scent for a little while. I didn’t want to compromise her by saying what we were actually doing.

  “We’ll just have to see how things go. Speak later.”

  *

  Marcus paid the cab driver when we arrived at Trafalgar Square.

  I said, “Sorry about that picture back at the office: the one of me and Silas.”

  “What do you need to be sorry about? He’s a good looking werewolf. I wish you both the best of luck!”

  I tried to get a word in then but he was already striding away across the square.

  I struggled to catch up with him.

  “What exactly is your problem?”

  “Like I said: I’m happy for the pair of you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There was nothing in that kiss.”

  That made it sound even worse.

  “Where’s your little friend these days,” I said as we climbed the steps.

  “Who, Terence? He’s technically still off sick. With his hands.”

  Marcus mimed jazz hands.

  “I’m glad you’re not my partner.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, you don’t sound very sympathetic. Those burns can get quite nasty.”

  Marcus stood back to let me go through the door. At least his manners hadn’t deserted him.

  “It’s not that. Don’t get me wrong. He did a good job at the hospital …considering. But I saw his hands before they bandaged them. There was nothing wrong with them.”

  “Oh, so now you’re a doctor now, right?”

  “I’m just saying what I saw.”

  I hadn’t seen him be this sarcastic and remote before. I didn’t like it. The suspension must have hit him harder than I’d thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He was consulting a brochure he’d picked up from a display.

  “We’re going to have to ask someone how to get access to security,” then he continued, “I’m just frustrated, that’s all. It seems like every job I get given these days sees me working with one hand tied behind my back. It’s like Kinsella wanted me to fail. Then Terence took all the glory at the hospital!”

  I remembered the picture of Anja’s body lying at the foot of the stairs. There was precious little glory in that.

  He continued. “So, now I’m the one who ends up suspended while Terence takes a couple of days off to recover. It’s not fair, that’s all.”

  “And what did you expect him to do?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought that he might have bounced back a little quicker. Been more resilient. If only that damn werewolf had come down my stairs, that’s all I’m saying: I’d just like a chance to prove myself.”

  *

  We didn’t speak to each other after that until we’d been taken behind-the-scenes to see the head of security, Brian Izumi, whose office was hidden away deep in the building’s labyrinthine structure. He had been expecting us and spoke quietly and seriously about the stabbing. I had expected him to be a little dismissive of our concerns – the actual attack had taken place on the Underground after all – but he was keen to ensure that no stone was left unturned when it came to identifying the perpetrator.

  To be honest, I was finding it difficult to concentrate. It was very stuffy in his office and my lack of sleep was beginning to have an impact. My eyelids were just starting to close when the pair of them stood up and shuffled out of the door.

  Keeping up with Izumi proved difficult as he moved purposefully along the corridor and had the disconcerting habit of leaning left before taking a sharp right. He made no discernible effort to ensure that we were keeping with him. I was already regretting the fact that I’d opted not to wear my trainers that day when we finally arrived at our destination: the room where the video surveillance monitors were kept. I say “room” but someone had put in a stud wall to split it into two halves, though it did have an inter-connecting door.

  “What is he showing us?” I whispered when Izumi stepped out to talk to one of the technicians.

  “The video footage!” Marcus seemed just as impatient with me as I was of him. “Were you not listening?”

  I decided to keep my mouth shut and just observe. Marcus was fascinated by all the equipment and kept asking pertinent questions, which sort of annoyed me. It worked a treat on the technicians though. They appeared to enjoy the attention he was lavishing upon them and, before long, both technicians were crowding around as Izumi clicked onto a series of jpegs.

  It was difficult to keep track as they kept switching their attention from one monitor to the other as they reviewed footage from the various rooms. All the images were in colour and were surprisingly sharp.

  “That’s them there,” Marcus pointed out, almost touching the screen.

  Izumi was obviously not as technically proficient with the video monitoring equipment as he would have liked and needed one of the other technicians to re-wind the image for him. It would have been much easier if he had surrendered his chair to the technician who kept blocking the screen as he leant over but Izumi showed no sign of relenting.

  I forced myself to try and make sense of what we were watching and was shocked when I saw Helena walking towards the camera accompanied by a tall man wearing a pale rain -coat.

  “This is from Saturday then,” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Marcus said pointing at the date in the corner of the screen. “They’ve gone through all of the day’s footage and put this together for us.”

  I was impressed. It must have taken hours. Quite a contrast to some of the bigger companies who still refuse
to release security footage, even to the police. It was nice to find people who actually took pride in what they were doing.

  Izumi addressed me directly for the first time since we’d met, “This is the best image of the couple. We managed to match it with the images of them outside the building. You’re sure this is them?”

  “Well, that’s definitely the woman,” Marcus leaned closer, giving nothing away. “Bronte? Is that the man?”

  I leaned forward, not wanting to make a mistake. The man in the picture looked quite gaunt.

  “It looks like Brodsky but I’ve only ever seen an old photo.”

  Marcus asked, “Is there any chance that we could have a copy of this when we’re done?”

  “This is your copy,” Izumi said picking up a disc in a clear plastic case. “Anything we can do to help.”

  “Do you have other footage of them together?” I said.

  “Of course, but you must understand that we don’t have cameras in every room, it’s not viable to monitor them all.”

  I didn’t know that but still, this might give us a few more ideas about what exactly they might have been doing there. “Could you show us some more?”

  “Of course, it all comes with timings. What would you like to see?”

  I exchanged a glance with Marcus. We were in a really privileged position but neither of us appeared to know how to make best use of it.

  “Can you show us when they first entered the gallery?”

  Izumi started scrolling through images on his screen. “The man, yes but so far we’ve been unable to identify the woman’s arrival. We have a lot of visitors on Saturdays so they take a lot of finding.”

  “So, they entered separately then?”

  “It looks that way, yes.”

  A thought struck me, “Would it be possible to show the footage where the two of them first met?”

  “Let me just have a look.”

  With a little help from one of the technicians he managed to punch up a series of video clips which showed enticing glimpses of Helena and Brodsky the art dealer. I kept hoping that he would play one of the images but he kept flicking through until he found the one he wanted.

  Initially, there was no sign of anyone, just a long shot of a painting mounted on a wall. I perked up when a woman walked into the shot from the left but she was dark haired wearing a sweater and jeans listening to an audio guide. Not Helena then.

  Then, from the bottom of the picture Brodsky appeared. He stood off to one side looking relaxed and casual as if waiting for someone. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Helena appeared from the left. She had her back to the camera but I was pretty sure that it was her. They shook hands. Brodsky seemed delighted to see her. His features became more animated and expressive; the consummate salesman. The idea that he would be dead within the hour left me feeling uneasy. During the course of their ensuing conversation Helena took what looked like a long, thin jewellery box out of her bag. She opened it with her back to the camera so that we couldn’t see inside but the effect on Brodsky was immediate.

  As he moved forward to examine the contents more closely, Helena snapped the box shut and turned back in our direction.

  “Did you see that?” I said.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Marcus asked.

  “You’re thinking it’s the knife,” I said.

  “What else would it be?”

  “Would she have had enough time to steal it from the Ptolemy and get it here?”

  “Plenty of time. She could have squeezed in some shopping on Oxford Street if she’d fancied it.”

  My mind was spinning. Had Helena been working for the opposition all along?

  If so then getting me to bring up the Book of Lost Souls had been little more than an excuse to flatter my ego. She wasn’t interested in the book at all, she just wanted to gain my confidence. It would have been ridiculously easy for her to steal my Ptolemy ID once she’d done that.

  It all made sense.

  That was probably why she had taken the book from me. She didn’t want me trying to return the book by myself over the weekend because if I had done so then I would have quickly realised that my ID was missing.

  Kinsella had been keen to take me on not because he was interested in what I had to say. He just wanted someone from outside the department to keep an eye on Helena. He could have had no idea that the whole thing was going to back-fire so terribly.

  But that also meant that I wasn’t there because of my abilities. I was there because my ID provided easy access to the Ptolemy’s vaults. If that were true then that meant that Helena was a traitor.

  Marcus turned to Izumi, “Is there another camera in there? A different angle. I’d like to see what’s inside the box.”

  Izumi looked up at the two technicians both of whom shook their heads.

  “That’s it,” he said. “We’ve only got the one camera in there.”

  “Can you zoom in?” Marcus was saying. “On the box?”

  Izumi complied, enlarging the detail and then brightening the image. The box appeared to be an antique in its own right. The wood showed obvious signs of decay. The corners had fractured and split, its surface discoloured by spots of white fungus.

  None of which helped identify what was inside of it.

  Then I noticed something. Helena’s other hand was inside her bag making a space for the box. There, inside the bag.

  “Could we just fast-forward a bit?”

  Izumi seemed to be losing interest. He hit fast-forward and we watched Helena take something out of her bag before placing the box inside.

  “Can we go back?”

  Izumi complied freezing the image and zooming in until Helena’s hand dominated the screen. When he played it again her hand moved forward, exiting the frame too quickly to follow. Izumi had to backtrack in order to find it again. Then he froze the image.

  “What’s that?” Marcus pointed.

  “That’s interesting,” Izumi said. “Didn’t see that before.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Izumi was in no mood to be rushed. He was thinking. “That’s one of the wooden tokens we use downstairs in the cloak room. They give you one of those when you check your bag in. It’s nothing special but it would be nice if we could get a look at the number on the back. Shame her hand’s in the way.”

  He tried to isolate the image to get a better look but, in the end, it proved impossible. The token was only visible for a few seconds before Helena placed the box inside the bag and then slipped the token in. All the time her hand obscured the number.

  But that didn’t bother me.

  I already knew the number.

  *

  When we got to the basement I was distracted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and I looked over longingly at the cafeteria. I still hadn’t had lunch and I was in need of a sugar rush. Marcus must have been able to read my mind.

  “We can get a coffee after you’ve finished showing me whatever it is you’re going to show me,” he said.

  The cloak room area was much more substantial than I’d imagined. The dark wood front desk was a lesson in tasteful design and the front row staff were good looking and attentive. Beyond them were racks of coats with rows of lockers beyond that. It was staffed by two women in their twenties; one dark, one blonde. We waited behind a woman who was retrieving two small suitcases.

  “Can I help you?” the blonde woman asked.

  Marcus made to step forward but I snaked in front of him.

  “I’m afraid I took this home by mistake,” I produced the wooden token I’d taken from Helena’s handbag the previous day.

  The woman smiled as if that were a regular occurrence, moving towards the lockers while Marcus and I exchanged nervous glances. She disappeared around the back and we had to control our excitement until she eventually re-appeared.

  When she did so, she was carrying a large brown paper shopping bag. She held one hand underneath it as if afraid
it might tear if she didn’t.

  “There you are,” she said placing the bag in front of us before turning to her next customer.

  Marcus picked up the bag eagerly. He wanted to look inside there and then but I was more cautious. I grabbed his arm and walked him across to the open-plan cafeteria which occupied its own little enclave over in the corner. Light streamed down creating a strangely muted effect and the customers were all comfortably spread out. Marcus ordered a skinny café latte while I went for an iced coffee and a pain au chocolate.

  The cafeteria was reasonably quiet even though there was a steady stream of people heading out through the gift-shop. We sat as far away from everyone else as we could manage. We must have looked besotted with one another, too excited with our latest purchase to wait until we got it home to ogle it. No one was going to disturb us.

  Marcus placed the bag reverentially between us.

  When we looked inside we saw a thin parcel wrapped in discoloured paper and secured with a piece of twine.

  “Brown paper packages tied up with string…” I said.

  He gave me a withering look. “What?”

  “The Sound of Music,” I explained. “It’s a line from a song.”

  “We need a knife.”

  He went back to the counter and returned carrying a white plastic knife, “This is all they had,” he complained. “But I did manage to pinch this.”

  He produced a big cake knife. It had a serrated edge that was a little dull but, with some sawing, it did the job. I only had to cut through a few strands and then the rest of it sort of came apart. Not wanting to dirty my jeans, I transferred the package onto the table, pushing the cake and coffee cups to one side. The package was wrapped in three layers of brown paper each one older and more discoloured than the last.

  Inside was a puzzle box. A brand new puzzle box. The cover was from a pre-Raphaelite painting I didn’t recognise. But I don’t think that it had been bought for the picture.

  It was the sort of thing they probably sold in the gift-shop.

  The lid lifted straight off.

  Inside, was a knife. Its blade swaddled in the same parchment used on the outer wrapping. What I could see of the blade was most unsettling. It didn’t seem to be made of metal.