by Sam Short
Willow leafed through the pages until she found the spell we were looking for. "It looks complicated," I said.
"Remember what Granny said," urged Willow. "Think the spell, and then sip the magic from the air like a fine wine."
The symbols and letters that were the spell, made little sense. A triangle here, a cross there, the number nine next to the letter W — but as I silently read the two lines of symbols over and over again, the same swelling feeling in my head occurred as it had when granny had taught me to cast the levitation spell. "Something's happening," I said. "My head hurts."
"Granny said that will pass as you get better at them," said Willow. "Have you got milk in the fridge?"
"Yes," I said. "Why? Have you suddenly developed a liking for it?"
Willow hated milk. She'd hated it since she'd been a baby, and Mum had been forced to feed her sweetened condensed milk — the type that came in a tin. Willow blamed those early days on the sweet tooth that she still needed to placate on a regular basis.
"No. I still hate it, but why don't you try and persuade me to drink some?"
I smiled, and studied the spell again. If I could get Willow to drink milk, I could persuade anybody to do anything. I skim read the symbols over and over, my eyes crisscrossing the page, and my head pounding the same way it did when I drank too much elderberry wine. Granny had assured me that the pain in my head was the spell imprinting itself on me, and when it had seared itself permanently in my mind, I'd be able to access it just by thinking about it. As she'd explained, her dementia problems were due to her thinking about one spell, but another being taken from her mind's muddled filing cabinet.
Willow put a hand on mine. "Remember what she said — when you're ready to cast it, taste the magic in the air and think hard about what you want to happen. Then click your fingers."
I closed my eyes and sucked a small amount of air between my teeth. Granny had said you could taste the magic, but all I could taste was the overpowering flavour of Rosie's tuna flavoured breakfast which permeated the living area. I licked my lips, concentrating on what I wanted Willow to do, and sucked in a little more air. The distinct flavour of metal filled my mouth — reminding me of the taste of a penny piece. Not that I often sucked on copper currency, but it was the flavour that came to mind nonetheless. I clicked my fingers, and the tips tingled with static electricity.
The cushion I was sharing with Willow settled a little as she stood up, and I opened my eyes to watch.
She looked at me with shock on her face, and began walking slowly towards the fridge. "This is weird," she said, opening the fridge door. "I know I don't want to be doing this, but I have to."
I concentrated harder. Willing my sister to drink some milk. She reached into the fridge and retrieved the carton, unfolding the spout, and lifting it to her face. She took a long swallow and looked at me in horror as she began gagging. I immediately stopped the persuasive thoughts, and Willow hurried to the sink, coughing and spluttering as she spat milk down the plug hole. She turned the tap on and shovelled handfuls of water into her mouth. "That was disgusting. I'll never understand why people willingly drink milk," she gasped. "Apart from in tea. With sugar."
"How did it feel?" I said.
Willow scooped more water into her mouth and wiped her lips on a tea towel as Rosie watched her curiously. "It was strange," she said. "It was like the feeling I get when I know I've eaten too much chocolate, but there's still some left in the box. I know I shouldn't, but I have to eat it. The lawyers got no chance if you can pull that off again!"
I smiled, buoyed by my success. "Let's go and find out," I said.
Willow looked at her phone. "It's almost four o'clock," she said. "Let's wait until tomorrow morning, and in the meantime — how about I take your sign to the top of the footpath into town? You are supposed to be running a shop after all."
"I only got back two days ago," I laughed. "I'm supposed to be having some time off, but go on — put the sign out. Let's earn some money."
As Willow carried the A-frame sign up the short footpath into town, I tidied the shop area up a little and went outside with a cup of tea to sit at the picnic bench and wait for her.
Less than five minutes after she'd returned, the first customer appeared at the bottom of the footpath and made her way across the grass towards the boat.
"You put the sign the right way around them," I laughed.
"My name is not Susie Huggins!" Said Willow. "Of course I did."
When I'd first had the sign made, Susie had put it at the top of the footpath on the day I opened for business. Susie being Susie, though, she'd placed it on the wrong side of the path with the arrow pointing into town instead of towards the canal. Luckily, it didn't take too long for people to realise that a floating witchcraft shop on a narrowboat would more than likely be on the canal, rather than in the town centre. Mr Jarvis from the greengrocers had kindly turned the sign around for me when two people had come into his shop asking for directions to my boat.
"How quaint!" said the customer, looking at the Water Witch. "What a wonderful idea — a shop on a boat."
"Oh, there's plenty of them," I said. "There's even floating marketplaces on weekends in some towns along the canal. There's floating hairdressers, floating cafes, floating sweet shops. You name a type of shop, and there's probably a floating version.”
"Well, this is just the sort of thing I've been looking for. I've always wanted to try my hand at witchcraft. Perhaps you could give me some advice on where to begin."
Willow and I led her into the small shop, and she gazed around at the shelves. "I don't know what I'm looking for," she admitted.
Ten minutes later, she left the shop with a smile on her face, a beginner's book on witchcraft, a small cauldron, a chalice, and an athame.
Willow helped me as more people found their way to the shop, and we made a good team, with Willow taking money and giving change, and me offering advice to customers.
As six o'clock approached, and the shops in town began closing, the trickle of customers slowed and I left Willow to count the takings as I made my way up the path to collect my sign.
With the sign under my arm, I'd got no further than a few feet back down the path, when I heard a softly spoken male voice from behind me. "Are you closing?"
I turned to look at him, and swallowed the smile on my face. Short sandy coloured hair, muscles, and tattoos. It was undoubtedly Granny's badboy, but he looked far from bad. His red eyes told the story of a man who'd been crying a lot, and Granny would have been disappointed at the state of his clothing. His t-shirt was crumpled and needed ironing, and his jeans had muddy marks on the knees.
"Y — yes," I stuttered, looking around for somebody to help me if he did turn out to be a crazed murderer. "I'm closing."
His face crumpled. "I was hoping you could help me. I read your sign, it says you can make potions to heal all ills."
I had to get that sign reprinted. The heal all ills line had come back to bite me in the backside on more than one occasion, and it seemed like this time it had attracted a suspect in a murder case. Maybe potions for a wide range of troubles, would be more advisable. Anyway, I certainly didn't have a potion that relieved people from the guilt of murder.
I glanced around again, but the street was quiet. No one was going to help me, and my magic was certainly not at the standard needed to prevent a thug attacking me.
"I'm sorry," I said, desperately searching for a lie. "I need to get back to my boat... I've got to get ready for my self-defence course. It starts in half an hour — I’m trying out for my black belt tonight."
He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Maybe a bottle of whisky would be a better potion," he said, looking at me one last time and turning away.
I ran the full length of the path, ignoring Mabel who yapped at my heels as I sprinted across the grass, and threw the sign on the ground. "Willow!" I shouted, as I leapt aboard the boat, almost losing my footing as I slipped on the dec
king. "Phone Barney!"
Barney arrived quickly, and after listening to my story and radioing the information in to the police station, he came aboard the boat. "Are you okay?" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"Yes, I'm fine. He didn't do anything, it was just a bit of a shock seeing him and wondering if he was the man who'd killed Sam. I've never met a murderer. As far as I know, anyway."
"We don't know that he is. But it does seem odd that he was waiting outside the lawyer's office for Sam," said Barney, "and several people have alluded to the fact that Sam had a gambling problem. Maybe he was being forced to sell his properties to pay off his debts. Sometimes you've just got to put two and two together, but it would make my job far easier if that uptight lawyer would just tell me what he knows."
Barney cursed as he banged his head on a ceiling light. "Sit down, Barney," I said. "Narrowboats aren't made with people like you in mind."
He sat down next to me on the sofa, rubbing his head as Willow brought me a glass of wine. She sat opposite us, on my wicker chair, and leaned forward. "Will they find him?" she said.
"Every available police officer is out looking for him. It's harder in a small town like this without cameras everywhere, but hopefully they'll find him soon. I don't want you staying here tonight alone though, Penny," said Barney. "It's too secluded. Can you go to your mother's? Either that, or I'll stay here with you. They don't need me for the search, apparently."
"Willow's offered to stay with me," I said.
"Even though Mum's making lasagne tonight," sighed Willow. "That's sisterly love right there. Mum's lasagne is the best, especially when she's got the ingredients from the hav — ”
My warning scowl stopped her before she said something that might have given our secret away. It was a silly mistake to make, but she quickly recovered. "From the half decent deli in Covenhill."
I changed the subject quickly. "Are you offering every boat owner on the canal in Wickford your company for the night, Barney?" I teased.
I knew he was going to blush even before he did, but it still made me smile. "No," he said. "Just you."
"I think it's very kind of you, Barney," said Willow, "and I think it's a good idea. Even though we don't know if he did kill Sam – you did say the guy was well built, Penny, and you said he was going to get drunk on whisky. What if he decides he wants a potion after all and comes banging on the door at two in the morning? We couldn't fight him off if he decided to turn nasty."
I doubted Barney could either, but I kept my mouth tightly fastened. "Okay," I said. "It's very kind of you, Barney, but if you think the ceiling's low, wait till you find out how short the dinette bed is. I have a feeling your feet will be getting cold tonight."
Willow and Barney went ashore and threw sticks for Mabel as I prepared a simple meal of chicken wrapped in bacon, and a fresh salad. We ate it on one of the picnic benches and watched as a line of three colourful narrowboats passed by on the canal, their bow waves washing into my cutaway and gently rocking the Water Witch.
"They're probably on their way to the car show," said Willow. "Susie said there's over fifty visitor's boats moored up alongside the field, and hundreds of car owners camping there."
Boat owners moved around the canals continuously, most of them using a continuous cruising licence, which allowed them to moor up in one spot for up to fourteen days at a time before having to move on again. When a gathering like the car show occurred next to the canal, boat owners would come from all over to enjoy the community spirit, helping each other out with odd jobs that needed doing and enjoying the liberated lifestyle that only liveaboards understood.
"Are the police asking questions at the show?" I said, passing Barney some buttered bread.
Barney put together a chicken and tomato sandwich, and took a small bite. "Of course," he said, chewing. "It could have been someone Sam knew who killed him, or it could have been a complete stranger who wandered into town, got drunk, and picked a fight with him for no reason. We're questioning everybody who was camping out there when Sam was murdered, but that's a lot of people. It will take time, and without a witness we're practically blind."
I dropped a piece of cucumber for Mabel, but she sniffed disappointedly at it and looked at me with pleading eyes. I relented, and handed her a piece of bacon fat which she swallowed happily. I threw another piece onto the stern deck of the boat where Rosie was watching us suspiciously. She gobbled it up and jumped onto the roof, licking her lips, and curling up next to a potted plant.
"Our best bet is the man we're looking for," said Barney. "Maybe he's new in town and nobody knows him, or maybe he's from the car show. Somebody will recognise him from his description."
We finished our meals in relative silence, watching the sunset, and listening to the jackdaws chattering in the distance as they prepared to roost. As darkness fell, the three of us stepped aboard the boat carrying our empty plates. Mabel curled up under the picnic bench after thoroughly searching the area for dropped titbits, and Rosie followed us into the middle section of the boat, slumping onto her favourite seat and falling asleep.
I made sure all three doors were securely locked and made Barney's bed up for him. "If you hear anything during the night, wake me up," he said, as Willow and I made our way to my bedroom.
It did feel safer having Barney aboard, and within fifteen minutes of getting into bed, Willow was snoring softly, and I was close behind her.
Chapter Eleven
Barney left early in the morning after receiving a phone call telling him that a witness had come forward – a boat owner who'd seen someone walking along the towpath on the night Sam was murdered. He'd told the police that it had been too dark to see much, and he'd been drinking, but Barney rushed off to interview him in the hope he could jog his memory.
I'd prepared him a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and toast, and when I'd handed him a whole piece of toast, he'd quickly cut it into soldiers and proceeded to dip them in the runny yolks, licking his fingers clean when he was finished.
When he'd gone, Willow and I got ready for a visit to the lawyers. As Granny had said — leave no stone unturned, and I had a hunch that the information the lawyer was withholding could be important to the case. I dressed in a simple white t-shirt and shorts, and Willow borrowed a short flower print summer dress from me, which did far more for her figure than it ever had for mine.
"Do you need to look at the spell book again?" said Willow, opening the book at the persuasion spell.
I shook my head. "No, it's like Granny said. I know the spell is imprinted on my mind, and I just have to think about it. It's a strange feeling — not like the simple spells we're used to casting."
Willow slammed the book shut, and I sucked a little air into my mouth, tasting copper. I accessed the spell in my mind, and Willow looked at me with wide eyes as I clicked my fingers and she began moonwalking towards the bathroom singing Thriller.
"What are you doing?" I joked. "I thought you didn't like Michael Jackson?"
She hit a high note and span on the spot, scaring Rosie, before moonwalking back towards me. I let my mind go blank and Willow fell laughing onto the dinette seat. "Okay!" she said. "You've got the hang of it, but my wrath will be swift and fearsome when I learn that spell myself — I'll make you do the YMCA dance in the middle of town!"
We continued laughing as we locked up the boat and headed up the footpath into town. It would only take a few minutes to walk to the town centre, and we both needed some exercise. We admired the vintage cars we saw passing through town, although with most of them already at the show, there were only a few on the roads.
Police cars patrolled the area, no doubt looking for the mystery man, and Willow stopped to look at a poster in a shop window asking for information concerning the murder of Sam Hedgewick.
"It's a terrible thing, isn't it?" said a voice from behind us.
"Hello, Veronica," I said, her voice and the scent of her rose water perfume giving away her id
entity before I'd even turned to face her.
She pointed at the poster. "It's awful. Sam's father is beside himself, the nurses in the home have had to sedate him three times."
"Poor man," said Willow. "A parent should never have to bury their child."
"There's a terrible doom and gloom in the home," said Veronica. "I've popped out for a while to get some sun, and to pick some herbal medicine up for Ron." She held up a paper bag to show us.
"Is he okay?" I said.
"He just needs a little pick-me-up," she explained. "That potion you made him didn't help with Snoopy, but it certainly helped him sleep. He needed the rest, mind you — he was always in that gym. He's hurt his hand too, he strained it lifting a weight that was too heavy for him."
"Even Olympic athletes need a break now and again," said Willow. "It will do him good."
"I think he's having withdrawal symptoms from the exercise," said Veronica. "He's very agitated. I hope he doesn't have that thing that body builders suffer from. Now, what was it called again?" She tilted her head as she considered. "Road rage, that's it."
"Roid rage," I smiled. "You're not telling me Ron was taking steroids, are you? I'd have never made him a potion if I'd known that."
"Oh gosh, no! Ron always says his body's a temple. He wouldn't sully it with nasty drugs."
Willow put her hand on Veronica's. "It's not roid rage then, Veronica. He'll be fine."
Veronica nodded. "I know," she said. "It's just a very stressful time at the home. Everybody's concerned about Sam's father, and I overheard a nurse suggesting the murderer might strike again! The nursing home would be a very easy target for him to find his next victim in. Especially on a Wednesday night."
"A Wednesday?" asked Willow, furrowing her brow.
"Spotted dick night," explained Veronica. "The chefs make it for pudding every Wednesday after dinner. It's very rich, and most folk go to bed early after eating it, especially Sylvia. She thinks people don't see her, but she always sneaks a second helping." Veronica's face whitened. "The killer could easily sneak in and knock one of us off!"