Raven (A Very British Witch Book 4)

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Raven (A Very British Witch Book 4) Page 11

by Isobella Crowley


  She hurriedly put a stop to any talk of magic, fearing Amanda might hear, and because they’d basically finished, quickly ushered Cliff to the front door.

  They passed the kitchen on the way there, and Scarlett glanced in, wincing slightly when she saw Amanda sitting at the kitchen table, staring boldly back at her. Cliff saw her too, and gave her a wave with a small smirk on his face.

  God knows what Amanda would think now, Scarlett thought. She shoved at him angrily, trying to get him out of Amanda’s line of sight. After throwing a final wry look back at her, he left the house. She waited until he got into his car before turning back to the kitchen.

  She switched the kettle on and turned to acknowledge Amanda, who was sitting at the table with her chin in hands.

  “Want a cuppa?”

  Amanda shrugged.

  Scarlett frowned. “Well?”

  “Nothing. Yes, I’ll have a drink if you’re making one. Thank you.”

  A few minutes later, Scarlett placed a mug in front of Amanda and another at the opposite end of the table. She sat down with her back to the door, leaving just enough room for the wall of awkwardness.

  Scarlett took a sip of tea and ran her tongue around her bitter tasting lips. “Look, Amanda, it’s not what you think. You’re way off the mark, okay?”

  Amanda shrugged. “It isn’t me you need to convince, is it?”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Amanda took a gulp and rapped her mug against the table. “It means—look, just what do you think you’re playing at?”

  Scarlett decided to keep up the pretense. “Sorry Amanda, still not with you.”

  “Okay, I’ll spell it out for you, will I?”

  Scarlett nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.” She grinned. “I’ve had a long day. Maybe I’m just being a bit dim.”

  “I’m talking about Cliff and Tim.”

  She looked at the ceiling as if trying to think on her feet. “Cliff and Tim? No, still not with you.”

  Amanda took a deep breath and shook her head. “Look. What was Cliff doing upstairs in your bedroom?”

  Scarlett sighed. That question came with too much baggage to even touch. “It was totally innocent, I assure you.”

  Raven came bounding down the stairs and curled up at her feet.

  Amanda looked at Raven and gaped. “Raven was up there?” She waved a hand. “Oh, I don’t want to know.” She softened. “I care about you, okay? You seem to be happy with Tim. I don’t want you to go jeopardizing that without thinking things through.”

  Scarlett sighed. “Why does everyone keep telling me to think things through all the time?”

  “I’m sorry, but what is it? If it’s not that, then what’s going on? I live here too you know, I have a right to know.”

  Scarlett spent a minute tearing herself in two. She wanted to tell Amanda everything, of course she did, but on the other hand, if she knew, it might put the whole operation at risk. It was a tough decision, but she knew the path she had to take. “I can’t tell you, not right now. I’m sorry.”

  “Secrets and lies, all the time. There you go again. When’s it going to end, Scarlett, just when?”

  The words cut her deeply. It was true, she had been keeping Amanda in the dark a lot of the time lately and it wasn’t fair. She deserved better than that. But, for the moment, Scarlett had to think about the bigger picture. “It’s like we talked about, Amanda. I want to tell you, I really do, but there are some things I just can’t.” She dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Amanda leaned across the table and enveloped Scarlett’s hand. “It’s okay, don’t go upsetting yourself. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

  She sniffed. “And we can still be friends?”

  “Of course. Scarlett, we’ll always be friends.” Amanda sat back. “But—”

  “But what?”

  “But why can you tell Cliff and not me, your best friend?”

  Scarlett skimmed over the day’s events, focusing specifically on what she’d told Cliff. “I can’t. Not the whole picture anyway.”

  “Will you tell me eventually?” asked Amanda, her voice filled with uncertainty.

  “Yes, Amanda, of course I will. But I can’t right now, it’s just not safe. It’s for your own good, please believe me.” She stood up and reached for the door. “I need to nip upstairs and get my gear together. Won’t be a minute.”

  Amanda nodded and stared through the window, as if deep in thought.

  +++

  Waiting for Scarlett to start making noises upstairs, Amanda took out her phone and found Tabitha’s number. Her finger hovered over the green icon for a minute while she deliberated over whether or not she was doing the right thing.

  “Tabitha! Hello, it’s Amanda.”

  “Amanda? Scarlett’s Amanda?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “What can I do for you, dear?”

  “Well, it’s your niece.”

  Tabitha groaned. “I thought as much. Go on, what has she got mixed up in now?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. That’s the whole point. It’s just—she’s being all secretive again.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Yes, well you were right, Tabitha. As always.”

  Tabitha laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about always.”

  “Well, I just don’t know what to make of it all. And something else, Cliff was just here a minute ago too.”

  “Cliff?” Tabitha groaned again. “Oh, she’s not back in with him is she?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. But I think she might be, yes.”

  “I’ll have a word with her, I think that’s best. Or I’ll talk to Tarquin about it, maybe he has an idea of what’s going on.”

  “Would you Tabitha? Thank you. That would be great.”

  “Not a problem, dear.” She sighed. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Vixen’s Residence, Banbury Road, Summertown, Oxford

  Tim turned onto the road leading up to the base and sighed. It had been a difficult conversation. He wanted to help her, really he did, but he couldn’t let her continue getting away with that emotional blackmail trick. Once down that road, the relationship could only end in one way.

  His work required a clear head, rational thinking, unhindered by any emotions that might influence his objectivity. He liked Scarlett a lot and the way things were going, he was going to lose her. He’d done the right thing in the pub earlier. Now, he had to pick up the pieces.

  After a few minutes of silent contemplation, he narrowed it down to two choices. He could open up and tell her how he felt or he could show her. The thought of opening up terrified him. Whilst he knew full well that women liked that sort of thing, he was terrified that he might make an utter fool of himself. Worse still, he’d be humiliated if he’d misread the signals. He might end up getting scarred for life.

  He couldn’t do as she’d asked and show the knife to the ME. That would make her happy, but it would show him to be weak. Besides, he didn’t have the knife, she did. There had to be some other way he could help clear Raven’s name. There just had to be.

  After grunting at the receptionist on his way in to work, Tim made his way to his office and booted up his computer. Looking out through his doorway, he could see that neither Gregory nor Moseley were around, meaning he could find what he was looking for without worrying about someone sneaking up behind him and looking over his shoulder.

  He entered Raven’s name and found a huge list of associated records. He typed V* in the name column, to bring up everyone whose name began with the letter V. The search returned only one record, some woman called Vixen. After making a mental note of her address, and that of the property management company, he switched off his computer and left the building.

  The twenty-minute drive to Oxford passed in no time once he’d reached the open road. Driving along Banbury Road, he examined each flat he came across. He s
potted Vixen’s soon enough and made a mental note.

  “Good afternoon,” Tim said as he entered the front office of the property management. “I wonder if you can help me.”

  A heavily made-up woman with short dark hair smiled and gestured at the chair on the opposite side of her desk.

  “Actually, this won’t take a minute,” he said flashing her his identity card. “I’m carrying out an investigation. Could you give me the spare key to an flat belonging to one of your tenants?”

  “What’s the address?”

  Tim told her Vixen’s address and waited for her to fetch the key.

  The woman reappeared, key in hand. “Here you are.”

  Tim dropped the key into his pocket. “Thank you very much.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. You won’t forget to bring it back when you’ve finished, will you?”

  “No, certainly not. Thanks again.”

  Five minutes later, Tim was sitting in his car outside Vixen’s flat. With one hand on the door handle, he paused to consider what he was about to do. He’d just found some woman’s details, lied to get her key and was about to go walking into her flat uninvited. If anyone found out what he was doing, questions were bound to be asked. It might even make the regional papers. Still, what choice did he have?

  The gate creaked as he opened it and latched silently into place behind him. He walked along the path to the flat block. Once inside the building, he performed a quick scan of the mailboxes. After finding Vixen’s empty, he continued on his way to her ground floor flat.

  “Maintenance,” Tim called, as he rapped on the door.

  Hearing no answer, he unlocked the door and carefully opened it.

  The first thing to hit him was the smell. He knew straight away that he’d stepped into a woman’s flat and the woman in question felt the need to maintain a certain image. This was useful information, but he knew full well the dangers of relying too heavily on first impressions, so proceeded inside with an open mind.

  The flat had an open plan layout, with a kitchen that was marked out from the living room by a change in the flooring. Right in between the two was a wooden dining table with some papers on top. He looked a bit closer. It seemed like Vixen had been trying her hand at mimicking someone’s handwriting; there were a few scraps of notepaper onto which she’d copied out the samples word for word. With each sentence she’d written, her handwriting became increasingly similar to the other person’s, until they were practically identical.

  After taking a photo of the evidence, he continued to examine the rest of the flat. He found photos of Raven pinned to the wall along with pictures of Robert leaving work, and newspaper articles about the area that Raven lived in. Everywhere he looked, there was something linked to Raven and McMillan. He found it hard to imagine how this woman could be completely sane.

  Eventually, he found some handwritten notes, signed with Raven’s name. Looking carefully, he determined that they were the rough details of some kind of project she’d been working on. He took a photo of these, plus several more of suspicious items he’d found scattered around the flat, and made his way back to the car.

  After returning the key, Tim drove back to the base. He wanted to be back before Gregory, so as to avoid having to explain himself. Before he could reach his destination, he had an idea. He pulled over, turned off the engine and took out his phone.

  After calling Scarlett and receiving no reply, he put the phone back on the dashboard and gave the situation some thought. The evidence he’d managed to gather from this Vixen woman’s flat put a whole new light on things. In his mind, the evidence now pointed to the fact that Raven was the innocent party. It seemed his efforts to please her had only gone and served up the need for him to make another apology. He couldn’t work out why he hadn’t thought of it before. Maybe it was because he’d assumed Raven was guilty.

  After trying to call her for a second time, Tim dropped the phone on his lap, feeling elated and disappointed in equal measures. Scarlett was going to be so happy when she found out and, once he’d eaten a considerable amount of humble pie, he would have earned a whole load of brownie points. He had to talk to someone to give them the news. The question was, who?

  “Hello, Tabitha? It’s Tim.”

  “Scarlett’s Tim? Oh, hello Tim, how are you?”

  “Oh, not so bad. Certainly can’t complain anyway.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Anyway, have you seen anything of Scarlett this afternoon?”

  Tabitha’s voice turned croaky. “No. I haven’t. What’s been happening now? Honestly, that girl—she’ll be the death of me one day, just you see.”

  “Oh well, it’s nothing to worry about. I only saw her a few hours back, she can’t have got into too much trouble since then can she?”

  “Can’t she? You haven’t known her as long as I have.”

  Tim chuckled. “No, it’s okay, honestly. Nothing at all to worry about.”

  “Well in answer to your question, Tim, no, I haven’t heard hide nor hair of her all day. I thought she might have been with you. Was there a message you wanted me to pass on, in case she calls?”

  “Oh, no. It’s okay. I just have some news for her, that’s all.”

  Tabitha’s voice turned grave. “News? What type of news?” She finished the sentence with a quiver in her voice.

  “No, no, nothing like that. Nothing to worry about. In fact—it’s good news. It’ll certainly make her happy when she hears it. Make her day it will, her week even.”

  “Oh. I’ll just tell her you wanted to speak to her then, should I?”

  “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Okay then, Tim.”

  “Okay, Tabitha. Bye.”

  “Bye, Tim.”

  +++

  Aunt Tabitha’s Residence, Bicester, England

  Tabitha pulled out a chair and sat down at her kitchen table facing Tarquin. The worktop to her right was covered in a vast army of jam jars containing pickled vegetables. The sun shone in, making her left eye squint, exacerbated by her attempts to sneak a glimpse through the window at her garden, just to ensure that annoying blackbird hadn’t returned to eat her seeds.

  “You okay, Tabitha? You look a bit distracted.”

  “Oh yes, just thinking. Scarlett came ‘round on Saturday.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. She was helping me with the pickling. Said it took her back to when she was a child.”

  Tarquin glanced at the jars on the worktop. “Looks like she was an efficient helper.”

  Tabitha nodded, then glanced at the worktop next to the window. “She stood there, talking about when she was a child and all. Took me right back, I can tell you.” She sighed. “Seems like only yesterday.”

  Tarquin’s expression told her that he knew exactly how she felt. “Great memories, Tabitha. But there’s many more to come.”

  Tabitha nodded. “Well, I certainly hope so. Has she been around your bookshop again recently?”

  “No, not since the other day. Haven’t seen a thing of her since. It almost seems like she’s a bit too quiet.”

  “Mmm,” said Tabitha, nodding to herself. “I had Tim on the phone earlier. Wanted to know if I’d seen her. Sounds like she’s done another of her disappearing acts on him. And, funnily enough, Amanda called too. Apparently that Cliff’s been sniffing around again.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to think. I really don’t.”

  “Cliff? I thought all that was ancient history now?”

  “You and me both,” she let out another sigh, “I always knew something was wrong with that child.”

  Tarquin chuckled. “Now come on, you don’t mean that. You can’t make insinuations like that about your own niece.”

  Tabitha leaned forward across the table. “I would just feel better if I knew where she was. After talking to Tim I’m starting to feel like my concern is well-founded.” She made long, purposeful eye contact with him.

  He rais
ed his eyebrows. “Scrying spell?”

  Tabitha nodded. “Yes, let’s do a scrying spell.” She rose to her feet. “One minute Tarquin, I think she left her jumper on Saturday.”

  Tarquin nodded. “Let me know if you need a hand finding it.”

  Tabitha walked into the living room and found it right away under a cushion.

  Tarquin looked up. “You got it?”

  Without answering, Tabitha dropped the sweater on the table. “You ready, Tarquin?”

  Tarquin got to his feet. “I certainly am.”

  The room filled with a kind of chanting that sounded like it predated the earliest known language. Tongues rolling, purring, all kinds of strange noises, both of them in perfect harmony. A tremor shot around the room, getting stronger by the second. The lights dimmed, then shone so brightly that they had to shield their eyes. They touched fingertips, closed their eyes and concentrated.

  Tabitha was the first to break the trance. “It’s no good,” she said, panting, “there must be some kind of blockage.” She shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts. “No, not a blockage, more like—distortion.”

  Tarquin decided he needed a break too. “I know what you mean, Tabitha. You don’t think she’d… ”

  “Oh, no, she wouldn’t know how. She’s barely floating feathers.”

  Tarquin took a deep breath and puffed out his chest. “Let’s give it another go. Ready?”

  Tabitha stood up straight and focused. “I’m ready.”

  They started up with the chanting again. Just from his expression, Tabitha could tell that Tarquin was stronger this time. He just had a steely kind of look in his eyes that told her they were going to succeed, no matter what.

  Taking strength from Tarquin’s newfound show of confidence, Tabitha upped the ante and it wasn’t long before their chanting began to rock the room. First, the roof rattled, then the walls wobbled, then the tremor returned, sending the table and chairs sliding across the floor.

  No sooner had the shaking subsided than Tabitha felt her legs start to tremble and buckle at the knees. She reached behind her to steady herself on the kitchen sink. The water came on, filling the sink faster than it could drain, rebounding and splashing up off the steel sink, spraying Tabitha’s arm until it dripped. When the cold water engulfed her fingertips, she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer. This was taking far too long.

 

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