by Mona Marple
“Yes I will.” he says, because the decision’s his to make, not mine. He does similarly thorough investigations of Sandy and Coral’s bags, and tosses a lipstick away that he finds in Coral’s inside zip pocket.
“That was my favourite shade.” she whines as she stands by our side.
“How’s Vera going to get poison inside here?” I whisper to Sage, but she looks wide-eyed at me and shakes her head, a warning. I turn to see Liz watching me closely, eyes narrowed.
“Let’s get this party started!” Sandy exclaims, and we set off into the castle, where the crowd move slowly through what has to be the most terrifying haunted house experience I’ve ever seen. The passageway is close to complete darkness, with life-size monsters hidden into the crevices of the wall. These aren’t your regular Hallowe’en props, these are Hollywood standard, and they’re chilling. I try to keep my gaze focused on the back of Sage’s head, the faint light that emanates from her spirit form.
A woman barges into me from behind and I realise I’ve stopped walking.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you! Too busy looking at the gargoyles!” The woman cries, pointing out a stone gargoyle on the wall next to me. It’s so close I swear I can feel it’s breath, which can’t be possible. I’m so surprised I almost lift off of the ground.
“Aunt Connie, are you okay?” Sandy asks, always the first to check.
“Sorry!” I say, shaking the nerves from my head and falling back in line with my family. “This place is so spooky.”
“Well, it is Hallowe’en.” Coral says, turning to me with a wink.
We’re not in fancy dress, and we’re in the minority. I’m dressed in a black jumper dress, with thick black tights and black boots, so I could say I’m going for the gothic effect, but I still feel underdressed.
The castle passageways are decked out with cobwebs, every nook and cranny home to a web, and I’m sure I see movement in a few of them. It wouldn’t surprise me if Finian paid for someone to trawl an abandoned building for genuine cobwebs, transporting them here in one piece, spiders included.
Finally, we reach the end of the gloomy passages and emerge into a huge space. Closest to us are the dinner tables, each set as if for a gothic wedding. The tablecloths are a deep purple, and an ice bucket sits in the centre of each table holding bottles of water. Each place setting includes a dramatic goblet.
“We’re over here.” Coral says, identifying table twelve. We’re right at the edge of the dining area, close to the makeshift dance floor. A DJ with intricate skeleton face paint presses a button on his laptop and a new song begins, but the dance floor is almost empty.
Along the far wall, a huge trough is filled with green liquid and what appear to be floating eyeballs. I walk across to it, intrigued.
“Ah, Connie, you’ve found the punch!” A dramatic voice calls out, and I turn to see Finian, dressed as the mad hatter. He’s tall enough without the top hat, and I feel slightly dizzy as I gaze up at him. He’s such a character I can’t help but smile at him, despite how on edge I feel.
“This is amazing, Finian.” I gush. “You’ve done an excellent job.”
“Nonsense.” Finian says, in a way that suggests I should shower more compliments upon him. “Now, let’s get you a glass, darling girl.”
He takes a goblet from the table next to the trough, and serves me a ladle full of the foul-looking drink.
“Alcoholic?” I ask.
“Very!” he says with a wink, then kisses me on the cheek. “Have a fabulous time!”
And then he’s gone. I turn back to my table but it’s empty. Sage and the girls are dancing, I see, and again I wish I could capture a photograph with Sage’s image on. I take out my phone and snap away anyway, knowing the girls will remember their mum’s dance moves even if they can’t see her on the photo.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take a goblet of punch if you dare, and make your way inside!” the DJ calls out into the microphone, his voice echoing thanks to special effects. It’s a very different business now, I think, being a DJ. No lining up records and blending one track into the next. Oh no, just set up a song list online and press play.
The girls go off to fetch a glass of punch and Sage takes the seat next to me.
“Thanks for coming.” she says, squeezing my hand.
“I didn’t think you wanted me here.” I admit, cursing myself for being so blunt.
“I know you weren’t sure about it, but this is perfect. Surrounded by the three people I love most in the world.” she says with a smile.
“I got an eyeball!” Coral shrieks as she and Sandy return to the table. I peer in her goblet and see the eye dancing away in there, and feel queasy.
“I might be sick.” I say, suddenly.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Coral asks, then covers her mouth with her hand. “Sorry! I don’t know why I said that.”
“You always speak before you think.” Sandy says, looking similarly stunned as her words escape from her mouth.
The music stops then, and our attention follows the silence, to the stage that’s been erected. Finian Archbold stands on stage, flanked on one side by my new beau, Taylor. Hmm, I’m not sure on calling him my beau after all. He looks rugged and serious in his dark-framed glasses, and I think he’s making an effort not to look at me. Taylor, that is. Finian’s eyes dart across the whole crowd, beaming at everyone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, witches and ghouls, welcome to this Grand Ball! On this Hallowe’en night, may we join together in fright, for fun and terror… good food and great music. Please give a warm welcome to our star performers this evening, the incredible, but inedible, Vera and the Vamps!”
The crowd cheer as if the lead singer of the band isn’t under suspicion of casting a deadly spell on the town, and I shake my head in wonder. People are so in love with the idea of celebrity they’ll gladly forget their common sense for it.
The band appear on stage, first the unruly young men from the band whose names I can never remember, then followed by Kim Kane. All of them holds a goblet of punch in their hands and, when they’re all on stage, they down the drinks in one, which the crowd appear to find mesmerising as the screams reach fever pitch. Kim steps forward and plays a short riff on his Gretsch, then casts a smouldering look out towards the audience.
“I so wish he wasn’t gay.” Coral murmurs beside me.
“Oh, please.” I scold. “You’d never get a minute in front of the mirror if you were shacked up with him.”
And then, the main attraction, even more tiny than I remember. Vera Warren. Dressed in - oh my God - what appears to be a black thong and a black push-up bra, with a black string vest on top. I can see virtually every part of her body, and I can’t find a single square inch that looks like it belongs to a woman her age. Either her magic is incredibly powerful, or she’s had more cosmetic surgery than I’ve had hot dinners.
“Well hello Mystic Springs!” she shouts, her voice amplified by the tiny microphone that hangs beside her mouth. “Are we ready to party like we’re dead?”
The crowd scream and the lights flicker overhead. I look up, panicked, just as Taylor passes behind me. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and I feel calm return to me.
Come and sit down, I want to urge. Be with me.
At the sound of the chair next to Coral being pulled out, I think he’s heard my silent prayer, but I glance across and see, to my surprise, Violet. She looks at me impassively and sits down.
“You came?” I ask, which has to be the most stupid question I’ve ever asked.
“Looks like it.” she says, then glances down at my hands, which are dancing, jittery, on the table. “Leave off the drinking, okay. It’s a big night.”
For some reason, I nod, and pour myself a glass of water.
The band start with the same song their original gig began with, but nobody else appears to notice or care that it’s the same set they heard a few days ago. The majority of the guests are on the danc
e floor now, a crowd of witches and werewolves strutting their funky stuff under the watchful gaze of Taylor and his team.
“You okay?” Sage asks, looking across at me with concern.
“I just feel strange.” I admit. I’m done pretending. “Something isn’t right.”
“Do you need to leave?”
“No.” I say. “I need to see this through.”
The song finishes and Vera stomps across to the centre of the stage, her eyes locking on our table and a grin crossing her face.
“Ah, if it isn’t my sister. Come on up here, Violet.” she drawls.
Violet remains in her seat, her head bowed, as if she's willing herself to become invisible.
“Come on now, don't be shy.” Vera beckons.
Violet raises her head, meeting her sister’s gaze, then stands to her feet. The revellers on the dancefloor part for her, and she strides through, head held high.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, this is my sister. Isn’t she lovely?” Vera says, circling Violet like an animal hunting its prey. “Let me tell you some things about my sister.”
“Why isn’t she stopping this?” I whisper.
“She’s a grown woman.” Sage says. “She’ll be fine.”
“Hmm.” I mutter, unsure.
“My sister and I, we’re witches.” Vera says, her voice rising and falling like a valley. “Daughters of the famous - or infamous - Venus Warren, the greatest witch in living history.”
“Play some music!” A man shouts from the crowd, which has begun to disperse. More and more people are returning to their seats, the mood in the castle is restless. I turn in my seat and try to locate Taylor, but I can’t spot him.
Finian Archbold hovers at the edge of the room, watching the spectacle occurring on stage.
Violet moves as if to leave the stage, but Vera grasps for her, her talon-like nails curling around Violet’s arm.
“Don’t be so hasty, sister, I want to tell the crowd some things about you.”
Violet sighs and returns on stage and I wait for whatever terrible secrets Vera wants to reveal.
“You’ve always been the better witch.” Vera says, her face twisting as the words leave her mouth. She gasps and eyes Violet closely. “You moved away and saved yourself and all I wanted was to be close to you.”
The words stun nobody more than Vera, who lets out an awkward laugh.
“Boring!” someone calls from a table near the back of the room.
“Let’s play another song.” Vera suggests, but her voice is a ghost of its former self.
“Let’s not.” Violet says, her own voice powerful enough to be heard without a microphone. She turns to face the crowd. “Let’s play a game instead. It’s called, Solve The Murder.”
Taylor is on the stage in a flash, his eyes darting between the group on stage and the rest of the crowd. He has a tiny earpiece and microphone and he tilts his head, gives a command into the microphone. His words are probably a whisper, and there’s no way I can hear him, but I realise how long I’ve spent watching this man closely and how well I know him.
I lip read what he says.
Bolt the doors.
He’s locking us in here. And something is about to happen. I can feel it. Maybe I don’t know him at all.
I look across at him, plead with him silently to look at me, to meet my gaze so I can look into his eyes and see his soul. So I can know his intentions. But he doesn’t.
“You call this a party?” a voice calls out.
“What is this?” Finian hisses, weaving through the tables towards the stage, his arms raised above his head. “We need the music, now. The food’s almost ready. Please, no dramatics tonight.”
“My name is Violet Warren, and since my mother’s dead, I’m probably the most powerful witch in living history.” Violet says, ignoring Finian, who spins in a frustrated circle and walks away, muttering about kitchen staff and common folk.
As Violet talks, the lights dim and a swirl of purple smoke appears at her feet.
“Holy cow.” someone mutters from the table behind me.
“Finian spares no expense with the special effects!” someone else says.
But these are no special effects, I know. This is one woman - one witch - stepping into her power. I gulp. I may have just created a monster.
“I was asked to help find the person who killed Bruce Skipton.” Violet continues. “I said that as poison started this, poison should end it too.”
A nervousness fills the room. Sandy and Coral look at each other, faces pale.
“How has everyone enjoyed the punch tonight?” Violet asks.
A few people begin to cough and I hear someone gag behind me. It’s too late, I think. You can’t undrink it. I can’t undrink it.
Taylor remains by the stage, arms crossed, gaze not focused on Violet but flitting around the room. In case she’s a decoy, I think. In case this is all a distraction.
“Don’t worry.” Violet says, with a smile. “Nobody’s going to get hurt. I added a little something to the punch. A truth serum.”
Sandy gasps.
“Let’s see if it’s taken effect yet.” Violet says, then stalks across the stage to her sister. “Who thinks my sister’s too old to dress like this?”
Every hand in the castle goes up involuntarily, including my own. I try to return it to the table, and see several other people around the room attempting the same, but it’s no good. Our bodies can’t lie.
Every hand in the room is raised, apart from Finian’s. His cheeks flush. “What can I say? I like the older lady.”
“Well, the rest of you have got it right if you ask me.” Violet says. “And I don’t need truth serum to make me admit that. Put some darn clothes on, Vera.”
Vera Warren turns beet red, but says nothing, as if she doesn’t trust her own tongue any more.
“Is there a point here?” Taylor asks then, striding across the stage towards Violet. I’m entranced by him, by the way he commands the room in his understated way.
“Yes, Sheriff.” Violet says, and the emotion in her voice causes the mist around her feet to swirl higher, gathering speed and energy. She glances down for a moment, as if only just becoming aware of it, and the mist lowers. “I’m going to find your killer for you.”
Taylor clears his throat and looks out towards the audience. He finds my gaze, locks his eyes on me, but shows no emotion. He’s in work mode now, I can’t reach him.
“Can we hurry this along?” He asks. “If it’s a gimmick, it’s in poor taste. I don’t have time for your rivalry with your sister.”
Violet shakes her head and moves towards the edge of the stage. “Fine. Solve the case yourself, Sheriff.”
“Wait!” I call, rising from my seat. Taylor looks at me. Violet looks at me. In fact, it feels like every man, woman and beast looks at me. “She can do it, this isn't a gimmick.”
“She’s never had the balls for public displays of witchcraft.” Vera sneers from the stage. “Have you, sister?”
I watch the storm pass across Violet’s face, the conflict between her quiet, comfortable life, and the power she hides within her. If I expect theatrics, I’m wrong. Violet has nothing to prove to anyone, I realise. Her powers are so strong that they speak for themselves.
“Fine.” she says, but she continues walking away from the stage, as if this confrontation barely interests her. She reaches our table and stands at the side of her chair. As she pulls it out and begins to lower her body into it, she speaks. “Bruce Skipton’s killer, remain standing.”
The room is full of commotion as chairs scrape along the floor and the people not near chairs collapse to the floor. I see Taylor, stunned, sitting on the stage. Vera hasn’t so much sat down as been thrown down by her sister’s magic, and I can see even more of her body than I could before.
It takes a moment for me to scan the crowd before I find the one person who remains standing.
“You're under arrest.” Taylor calls acr
oss to them, but he can’t get to his feet to make an arrest. The truth serum hasn’t just affected our words, but our bodies, and it’s our bodies that have left us physically unable to stand if we’re not the killer, while the killer remains unable to sit down.
“There’s no evidence. This won't hold up in a court of law!” the killer says, but they can’t deny the truth. They dart off the stage and across the room, but the exit door is locked.
“Still wish he wasn’t gay?” Sandy whispers across the table to Coral, as we watch Kim Kane dart around the room, attempting to flee.
“Why did you do it, Kim?” Violet asks.
“It was his own fault.” Kim admits, attempting to clamp his mouth shut after he has began to speak. “He just turned up in the dressing room, said he’d tell the press what he’d seen. I couldn’t let him ruin my reputation.”
“What had he seen?” Violet asks, taking the question right out of my mind.
“I was eating steak.” Kim admits, his face pained to admit such a travesty. He begins to cry as he trudges slowly back towards the stage. The spell is wearing off, and he is able to lower himself and take a seat on the stage steps, where he places his head in his hands and sobs as Taylor walks across the stage, handcuffs ready.
“Maybe he’s not so dull after all.” Sage says with a wink.
19
Sage
Igor’s finally gone back into hiding, and I don’t miss his creepy face one bit. What I do miss is the space by the front door being used to house a mechanical butler, instead of my daughters’ suitcases.
Packed and ready to go, and I know it’s for the best. But I don’t want to look at those cases and picture their contents. I know that Sandy’s packed the sweaters she brought with her but never wore because our idea of cool isn’t the same as the bitter cold back home in England. I know that Coral’s packed her make-up; the eyelash curlers and the tweezers with a cartoon llama on the end. I know the guest bedroom will still smell of them, vanilla and sunshine and chai, but the smell will fade. Soon, I’ll walk in that room and it’ll be hard to imagine they were ever here.