Witch Is When It All Began (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 1)

by Adele Abbott

  “That’s me.”

  “Sign here.” He passed me one of those ridiculous, hand-held thingamajigs and a plastic stick.

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere on the screen. Don’t matter.”

  “I can’t see what I’m writing.”

  “Don’t worry. Just scribble something.”

  I scribbled ‘Winky the cat’—not that I could read it, and then took the package from him. Although it was only about twelve inches square, it weighed a ton. There was no card or anything else that might have indicated who’d sent it.

  I tore off the wrapping to reveal a black box. The lid was fastened down with tape on each side. I grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen, and sliced each piece of tape in turn. Inside was a leather-bound book, which looked as though it was a thousand years old. On the front, in large gold letters, the title read ‘Spells’.

  Was this some kind of joke? What else could it be? Not satisfied with calling me a witch with her dying breath, my mother must have arranged to have this delivered to me after her death. She really had been a piece of work. I was beginning to realise how lucky I’d been to grow up without her.

  I lifted the book out of the box, laid it on the coffee table, and opened the front cover. My mother must have gone to a lot of trouble and expense to do this. I hoped it had made her happy. What a sicko!

  Chapter 7

  I began to flick through the pages. As far as I could tell the ‘spells’ appeared in no particular order. They certainly weren’t listed alphabetically and there was no obvious theme.

  Just for a laugh, I decided to read a few of them. I started with ‘perfect cakes’. According to the description, it did pretty much ‘what it said on the label’—it created perfect cupcakes. It was a pity that it was nonsense because, as the world’s worst baker, I could have done with some help on the cake front.

  It seemed to me that whoever had come up with the ‘Spell’ book really hadn’t done their research. Everyone knew that spells required things like the wing of bat or the wart of toad. These spells didn’t have anything like that. Instead, the instructions required only that I process a sequence of mental images. For example, ‘perfect cakes’ required me to picture: a golden beach, a waterfall, a blackbird and a ladybird. It all sounded rather ‘hippy’ and total nonsense.

  My phone rang—unknown number, but I recognised the voice immediately.

  “Jill? It’s Aunt Lucy.”

  “Oh? Hi.” How had she come by my phone number?

  “I hope you don’t mind me calling you?”

  “Err. No. That’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry you had to rush off the other day. I guess all of this must have come as a shock to you?”

  No kidding. “Yes, it has.”

  “The rest of the family were disappointed they didn’t get the chance to meet you. We’d all love for you to come over again once you’re feeling up to it.”

  Not a chance. “I’ll have to see.”

  “Of course, my dear. There’s no rush. We’ll still be here when you’ve had time to let it all sink in.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Bye then—”

  “Jill! Wait! That’s not why I called.”

  “Why did you call?” My impatience was beginning to show, but I didn’t really care.

  “I wanted to check you’d received the book.”

  “You sent it?”

  “Yes. Your mother asked me to send it to you—in the event of her death. Normally, you’d have started learning spells when you were a child, but—”

  “But I wasn’t there.” I spat the words. “My mother had given me away.”

  “Jill, I told you. It wasn’t like that. Your mother truly—”

  “Stop! Please don’t try to tell me that she loved me. A mother who loves her child does not use her dying breath to call her a witch.”

  “Jill! Please! It wasn’t like that, I promise. It was—”

  “Complicated. I know. You’ve already said. Well, it isn’t complicated now. In fact, it’s very straight forward. I want nothing more to do with you or the rest of my so-called family.”

  “If we could just meet, I could explain.”

  “Sorry, but no. Please don’t contact me again.”

  “Jill! The book—”

  “I’m going to burn it.” I ended the call. My hands were shaking.

  My phone rang again. What was the matter with that woman? Why wouldn’t she take the hint?

  “I don’t want to speak to you—” I yelled down the phone.

  “Wow!” Kathy said. “What did I do?”

  “Kathy?” I’d been so wound up that I hadn’t even checked the caller ID. “Sorry. I didn’t realise it was you.”

  I plonked myself down on the sofa. The stupid book was still open on the coffee table—taunting me.

  “Are you okay?” Kathy sounded concerned. She obviously thought I’d finally lost it.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Who did you think I was?”

  “Aunt Lucy.”

  “What on earth did she do to make you so angry? It sounded like you wanted to kill her.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Tell me.”

  “She sent me a book. It— I—”

  “What kind of book?”

  “Do you remember I told you what my mother said on her death-bed?”

  “When she called you a witch?”

  “Yeah. Well it seems that she must have had the whole thing planned.”

  “Had what planned? You aren’t making any sense.”

  “She had Aunt Lucy send me a book on magic spells.”

  Kathy laughed.

  “It isn’t funny!”

  “It is a bit. Come on, Jill. Your new family are obviously as nutty as fruit cakes. What does the book look like?”

  “It’s big. Old—Wait! What does it matter what the book looks like?”

  “Sorry. Look, I’ll come round.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “I’m coming. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  So much for my quiet, relaxing evening. I knew what Kathy was like. She’d insist on trying the stupid spells. I had to get rid of the book before she arrived or she’d be here until the early hours of the morning.

  I took it to the communal skip, which was behind the shops. It hit the bottom of the skip with a satisfying thud. Good riddance.

  While I was there, I decided to buy a packet of custard creams because I knew Kathy would make short work of the few I had left in the flat. It was always the same. She’d say ‘I’ll just have one’ and then proceed to scoff the lot.

  As I came out of the shop, my heart sank. Mr Ivers, a man who could bore for England, was headed my way. It was too late to duck back inside because he’d already seen me. He lived alone and was an avid cinema-goer. It was the only thing he ever talked about. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to the cinema. I watched the occasional movie online, but that was about it. Whenever I bumped into him, he insisted on telling me all about the movies he’d watched recently. And he watched an awful lot of them. Apparently he paid a monthly subscription, which meant he could watch as many as he liked. I’d become good at avoiding him, but today I was cornered.

  “Oh, hello there.” He beamed. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “I’ve been rather busy.”

  I tried to side-step him, but he mirrored my move.

  “Have you seen any good movies recently?” he asked.

  “Like I said before, I don’t often go to the cinema.”

  “You really should. There have been some real blockbusters recently. Last weekend, I went to see Morgan’s Secret. You must have read about it. It stars—”

  “Sorry, that’s my sister. I’ll have to go.” Kathy’s car had just pulled up outside my flat.

  “Oh? Okay. Maybe I—”

  I didn’t hang around to hear what else he had to say.

  “Kathy!” I shouted.
>
  “Are you okay?” She took the bag of shopping from me. “You bought custard creams. Great, I’m starving.” She led the way inside. “I can’t wait to see this book.”

  As soon as I stepped into the living room, I saw it. Right there on the coffee table—the book of spells.

  But how? Someone must have taken it out of the skip while I was in the shop. But who? Was Aunt Lucy stalking me? And if so, how had she got inside the flat?

  Kathy walked through to the kitchen, put the shopping on the worktop, and then came back into the living room. “So? Where’s this mysterious book?”

  “It—it’s there.” I pointed.

  “This?” Now it was Kathy’s turn to look puzzled as she stared at the book.

  “Yes.”

  “This little thing?” She leaned forward and put her hand on the front cover. “I thought you said it was some kind of magic book?”

  I did a double-take. Kathy was flicking through a small hardback book titled ‘Magical cooking in 5 days’.

  I snatched the book away from her. The thin, modern-looking volume weighed almost nothing.

  “Jill? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “This isn’t the book. It’s changed.”

  “Changed?”

  “It shouldn’t even be here. I threw it in the skip.”

  “Are there two books?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  Kathy took the book from me and placed it back on the coffee table. “I think you need to lie down.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “This thing with your mother has affected you more than you’re admitting.”

  “I’m okay.” Was I though? I was beginning to have doubts.

  Kathy led me through to the bedroom, and insisted I lay on the bed. I was too dazed to argue. What had happened? I’d thrown the book in the skip, but it had somehow come back. Or had it? Now it was a different book. Or were there two books? Maybe things would make more sense if I had a drink. “I need vodka.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  “Pour me a vodka.”

  “You’re having tea, and that’s an end to it.”

  See? I told you she was bossy.

  “Here.” She passed me the cup of tea. “Do you want a biscuit?” she said through a mouthful of custard creams.

  “Are there any left?”

  “I’ve only had two—or three—maybe four, but definitely not more than five. And, I’ve hidden the vodka.”

  “Thanks.” Little did she know I had another bottle under the sink.

  “Both bottles.”

  Bum!

  “Maybe I should stay with you tonight,” Kathy said, eyeing up the packet of biscuits.

  “Why? So you can finish off the custard creams?”

  “I’m worried about you. You’ve been acting a bit weird. I could ring Pete.”

  “No! I’ll be okay. I promise.”

  “It’s no bother.”

  “Honestly. I’ll be fine.”

  It took me a while, but I eventually persuaded her that I was well enough to be left alone. Someone was playing tricks on me, and I wasn’t impressed. I stayed in the bedroom for a few minutes after she left just in case she doubled back to check on me—she could be sneaky like that. I hardly dared look at the coffee table, for fear of what I might see. The book was right there—not the cute little baking book that Kathy had seen, but the book of spells. The one I’d thrown into the skip.

  Okay, I needed to recap. I’d put the book in the skip. When I’d returned to the flat, the book was on the coffee table. It had then transformed into the baking book. And then it had transformed back into the book of spells. Confused? I certainly was, but somehow I had to find a logical explanation.

  Someone could have taken the book out of the skip and brought it back to my flat while I was in the shop, but how had they got in? There was no sign of forced entry. Could I have left the door unlocked? No, because I’d had to unlock it when I came back with Kathy. How had the book changed from an old book of spells into a modern, lightweight book on baking? There must have been two books, and someone must have swapped them.

  The only explanation that made even a lick of sense was that someone must have got into the flat, and they must still have been there when Kathy and I returned. But how come I hadn’t seen them make the switch? Could whoever it was still be in the flat?

  I went into my bedroom, and picked up Dad’s old golf club, which I always kept under the bed. The flat wasn’t very big, and there were a limited number of places that anyone could hide. I checked the bathroom and then the spare bedroom. Then I checked all the large cupboards and the walk-in wardrobe. Finally, I had a quick look around the garden. All clear, but I was still convinced that someone must have been in the flat while I was in the shop.

  I found the number of a local locksmith and gave him a call. He said he could be with me within three hours. I considered taking the book back to the skip, but I didn’t really want to leave the flat again until the locks had been changed. As soon as they had, I’d get rid of the stupid book once and for all.

  Chapter 8

  This was the final straw. Kathy knew how much I hated different types of biscuit being mixed together, and yet she’d put the remaining custard creams in with the digestives. There was no way I could eat them now. The only other biscuits I had in the flat were ginger-nuts, which are nice enough, but not when you had your heart set on a custard cream. The shops would probably be closed by the time the locksmith had been. Great! Thanks, Kathy!

  What was that?

  I thought I’d heard a noise coming from my bedroom. I didn’t see how anyone could be in there because I’d searched every nook and cranny. Still, I wasn’t about to take any chances, so I walked on tip-toe over to the bedroom door, turned the handle as slowly and quietly as I could, and stepped inside.

  There was no-one in there.

  Time was dragging. I wished the locksmith would hurry up so I could relax and enjoy what was left of the evening. I flicked through the pages of the book of spells while I waited. Who’d written this thing? Obviously, someone with more time than sense.

  I spotted a spell titled ‘invisible’. It was one of the shorter ones. According to the crazy book, it gave you ten minutes of invisibility—yeah—of course it did. This was obviously some kind of wind up to see if anyone was gullible enough to actually try it. There was even a warning that after the invisibility had worn off you had to wait another thirty minutes before you could repeat the spell.

  Okay, why not? It’s not like I had anything else to do while I was waiting. I began to follow the instructions, picturing the images one by one: a rainbow, a white feather, an eagle, a lion, and so on.

  Thank goodness there was no one around to see me making such a fool of myself. When I’d finished, and even though I knew it was totally bonkers, I glanced down—just in case I’d turned invisible. Well, what a surprise. There I was—not invisible at all.

  The knock on the door made me jump. I slammed the book closed, and slid it under the sofa. I didn’t want the locksmith to think he was dealing with a nutter.

  He was middle-aged with a round face and ruddy cheeks. A big man, he looked as though he enjoyed his food. The logo on his overalls was of a robin holding a key. The name of the company was, unsurprisingly, Robin Security.

  “Hello?” he shouted straight at my face.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hello?” he shouted again.

  What was wrong with this guy?

  “Hi,” I said, and waved my hand in front of his face.

  “Anyone in?” He started forward, so I took a step to the side.

  A joke was a joke, but this had gone far enough. “Excuse me,” I said, in my sternest voice. “Do you mind?”

  “Hello? Anyone home?” He peered into the kitchen, and then turned back to the living room. He was staring straight at me, as he wiped a hand across his brow. He looked almost as conf
used as I was. If I didn’t know better I’d have said this was one of Kathy’s wind-ups, but she didn’t even know I’d called the locksmith.

  The front door was still open, and I heard footsteps in the corridor. I stepped out just in time to see the last person on earth I needed right now. Mr Ivers was headed straight towards me. I was already running through my list of excuses when he walked straight past me without a word—without even a glance. That now familiar cold sensation began to run through my veins. It wasn’t possible. I knew it wasn’t possible. And yet, apparently, neither the locksmith nor Mr Ivers could see me. There had to be an explanation, and preferably one that hadn’t just arrived on the crazy town bus.

  The locksmith had apparently given up trying to find me, and had taken a seat on one of the sofas. He checked his watch, and tutted to himself. What was I supposed to do now? As I made my way past him, he never even flinched.

  I stood in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom. All I could see was a reflection of the room behind me. It seemed that if I looked directly at myself, I was visible, but to other people, or in a mirror, I was invisible. But I couldn’t be invisible—that was impossible! There had to be some other explanation. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe Kathy had slipped something into my cup of tea and I was hallucinating. Maybe I was running out of maybes.

  I sat on the bed for what felt like an age, not knowing what to do. Then I looked back at the mirror, and noticed that my feet were visible. And then, my legs. Then, my body. And finally, my head. I was visible again! Or had the drugs worn off? I didn’t care.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! I’m visible!” I yelled.

  “Hello?” the locksmith shouted from the next room. “Is someone there?”

  “I couldn’t find you,” he said when I walked back into the living room.

  “Sorry about that. I was—err—under the bed.” What else was I supposed to say?

  “Under the bed?”