Urban Witch

by R. L. Giddings

  Silas regarded her intently, “One of them was trying to choke you and the other one was getting ready to brain you with a club.”

  “Did you have to kill them both,” it was out before I knew it.

  He smiled. Didn’t even bother to look at me, “And I suppose you’re the sort of person who thinks that policemen should shoot the gun out of the villain’s hand. Are you a vegetarian by any chance? Please say yes.”

  “Don’t patronise me.”

  “I’m just trying to educate you in the ways of the world. Helena seems to have failed you completely in that regard.”

  I felt a growing anger at his callousness. “Don’t you feel anything about … about all this?”

  “They’d have happily killed the pair of you. ”

  “And how could you know that?” I sneered.

  “A predator recognises their own. If I hadn’t stopped them tonight they’d have found other victims. There’ll be very few who’ll mourn their passing.”

  “That might be the case,” I said, my moral outrage sounding a little hollow even to me. “But you just can’t … execute them like that.”

  He regarded me as if I were a child who’d said something impertinent in front of his house-guests. “Why not? Who’s going to stop me?”

  “But what about you? You said it yourself – you’re a predator, just like them. Have you got it coming?”

  He arched his eyebrows. “Most definitely. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m never going to die pissing my life away in some godforsaken care home. And that suits me fine.

  “Come on,” he continued. “How many great novels are going to go unwritten because those two are dead? How many great arias? Try and be a little more discerning. ”

  “Walk with us back up to the road,” Helena said. “I can explain everything as we go.”

  Silas didn’t move. “I need to stay and tidy up. I can’t leave this mess here for some dog-walker to find.”

  “Can’t you come back later?”

  “I’ve got a better idea. If you’ll lend me your mobile I’ve got some people who can take care of this for me.”

  Helena found her mobile but it was out of battery. I offered him mine. Silas took it, punching in the number as we started up the hill.

  I felt a heartfelt sense of relief as we began to leave the area and move towards the glow of the street lights. Plus, I was starting to get warm again. I could feel the blood coursing through my fingers.

  Helena quickly filled Silas in on the events surrounding Brodsky’s death though he didn’t appear to be listening. He held up his hand for quiet and then went off a-ways to have his conversation in private.

  When he came back he smiled as he handed me my phone.

  Helena persevered. “This art dealer, name of Brodsky. Heard of him?”

  “Might have.”

  “He’s got a reputation for dealing in occult pieces.”

  Silas considered this. “Police involved?”

  “They were the ones who found the body. The thing is that when we went to take a look Bronte was convinced…”

  “That the body wasn’t Brodsky’s,” I offered.

  “And I tend to agree with her,” Helena said. “Problem is his head was missing so a positive identification was impossible at the scene.”

  Silas was silent for a while and then he said, “So you think that Brodsky was the intended victim but whoever killed him got the wrong man?”

  “That’s what it’s looking like, yes.”

  “And you think that he was killed by a werewolf?”

  Helena looked at me for support. This was obviously a sensitive area. “We suspect that a shape shifter might have been involved, yes”

  “And what’s your evidence for this?”

  “Don’t start getting defensive.”

  “I’m not getting defensive. I’m just thinking that you’re using this as an excuse to stay in contact.”

  Helena smiled at that. “Convince us that your lot weren’t involved and we’ll gladly leave you in peace.”

  We’d reached the top of the hill by now. It all looked peaceful enough. I was secretly pleased to note that the Chelsea fan had made good his escape.

  “Tell you what,” Silas said. “Why don’t we go and check into a hotel somewhere and talk this through like civilised people. You can even bring your little friend along.”

  He moved so quickly it was frightening. One moment he was talking to Helena the next he was brushing the hair from my face. When I pulled away from him he laughed.

  “I haven’t got time for this, Silas,” Helena sounded genuinely annoyed. “Just tell us what you know. You owe me that much.”

  “Alright. You say he was killed during the day, so it’s unlikely that a werewolf was involved. During the day all of our natural advantages become disadvantages. Plus there’s the state of the body. A werewolf wouldn’t just remove the head. He’d be driven by the urge to feed. He’s more likely to make off with a leg.”

  “Couldn’t he come back later,” I said. “When he’s changed back?”

  “Yes. Which is why none of this makes any sense. Why leave the body at all? Werewolves are social animals; we’re part of a pack. If you can’t clean up after yourself then there are lots of others who’ll happily do it for you. If you’re going to remove the head then why not take the whole body? A werewolf who fails to cover his tracks runs the risk of bringing his entire pack down on him. No pack leader would tolerate that for long.”

  “So, what happens then,” I wanted to know.

  “Probably the Alpha would finish you off. Probably take his time about it – as an example to others. If you know the consequences you’re less likely to break the rules.”

  “But there are Werewolves who live outside the packs, aren’t there?” I asked.

  “Sometimes. But they don’t last long. If they’re new then they have a chance of being absorbed into a pack; though it’s a very slim chance. But an older werewolf? No.”

  “Let me get this clear,” Helena said. “There are no rogue Werewolves operating in London. Is that right?”

  He was walking up and down now, chewing the inside of his lip. “No, there aren’t. You have my word on it.”

  We were back on the road now. Street lights had never looked more appealing. Silas continued pacing back and forth, his discomfort obvious. He wasn’t used to being cross-examined but, for some reason, he was willing to tolerate it for Helena’s sake.

  “I’ll have to ask around. Find out what I can and then I’ll let you know. Clever little trick, though – bringing your little monkey along.”

  “Sorry?” I said.

  Silas gave me the full benefit of his, frankly, devastating smile. “Didn’t Helena tell you about us? I suppose not.”

  “Silas,” Helena warned.

  “No, Helena, she should know. I think that’s only fair,” he walked around me, his hand lightly touching my waist. “You see, you were her insurance policy: a presentable young female with more spirit than common sense. Helena knows me too well. If I were going to attack either of you she was gambling that I wouldn’t be able to resist your nubile charms. She’s thinking that, in a pinch, you’d buy her enough time to make good her escape.”

  I was taken aback. Helena had warned me about but falling for his mind games and yet something resonated in what he said. I folded my arms and feigned disinterest.

  “Don’t believe me?” he said. “That’s your prerogative. Just be sure to ask her to show you the gun before you head off home.”

  He took the Prada bag draped over Helena’s shoulder. She didn’t resist.

  He reached in and took out an efficient looking automatic pistol. He made a play of checking the sights. “Loaded with silver bullets, no doubt. It’s nice to see that you haven’t under-estimated me.”

  If his intention had been to rattle me then he’d succeeded. I looked across at Helena. She’d taken the gun back now and was assiduously avoiding looki
ng at me. I’d been in genuine danger all this time and hadn’t known it. Who to trust? At the moment, the person I most believed was a werewolf.

  And then he was walking away, giving us a little wave.

  I ran after him, ignoring Helena’s attempt to stop me, “Would you have attacked me if I’d been on my own?”

  “Ask her. Though I could understand if you choose not to,” he looked down at me, stroking my arm, “You can kiss me now, if you like. That is if you have no more questions.”

  That was when I had my little wobble. My skin felt hot and flushed. In fact, my whole body was yearning for him. I wanted to rub my fingers through his hair, wanted to feel his body, wanted to taste his mouth…

  I looked into his eyes, now dark brown where previously they’d been bright silver. He was so perfect that I actually wanted to cry. He seemed aware of this, his eyes mocking. To kiss him would have been the worst possible thing that I could have done. It would destroy any standing I might have had with Helena, though at the time, that seemed like the least important consideration. He was intoxicating.

  It was Helena who broke the spell when she came over and pulled me away. We watched in silence as he strolled back towards the Common. A motorbike roared past breaking the spell.

  “I need that drink now,” I said. Helena followed me across the road.

  There was a Mexican restaurant opposite. It was busy inside, even for a Friday night. I went straight to the bar and ordered a bottle of beer for myself. I didn’t bother asking Helena if she wanted one.

  “Was there any truth in what he said?” I said after I had taken my first drink.

  “It was never my intention to use you as bait. That’s ridiculous.”

  “So why bring me along in the first place?” I failed to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.

  “I didn’t want to tell you about the gun, which was a mistake. I thought it might make you nervous.”

  “You’re damned right. I would never have gone along with it. But you knew that didn’t you?”

  “Werewolves need incentives,” she was picking at a bowl of cashew nuts on the bar.

  I looked at my watch. 9.40. Still early.

  She continued, “I brought you along because, honestly, I knew you’d smell good to him. It’s all about scent with a Werewolf.”

  *

  When the cab dropped me off it took me a while to get my bearings. We’d travelled back from the Common mostly in silence with me struggling to stay awake. Ten minutes from home I’d lost the fight and dozed off so that Helena had to wake me when we arrived.

  We were both a little short with one another as we said our goodnights.

  My new street looked different at night. The houses on each side mirrored the other: cosy, two-storey terraced housing each with a postage stamp sized front garden. Each house had its own basement flat so you had to climb a flight of steps to get to the front door.

  There was a white Ford Transit angle -parked further along the road and I imagined that it probably belonged to my dad. The good news was that my dad wasn’t still sitting in it so he’d managed to get inside at least. The street was surprisingly quiet. It was 10.30 on a Friday night yet there were only a few lights on display along the street. There was the hum of traffic coming from the main road which ran adjacent to ours but the noise was minimal. I had expected it to be much louder, so this was a pleasant surprise.

  I found my keys and opened the street front door.

  Later, as I was letting myself into my own flat it struck me that I’d forgotten something. I’d left Helena’s champagne bottle in the mini-cab. The door to my flat opened to reveal my dad standing there in his shorts.

  “I thought you’d never get here,” he said.

  I gave him a hug. “Sorry about messing you about. Did you get sorted?”

  As the door closed behind me he swept his arm back in a theatrical flourish.

  There were boxes everywhere. Lining the hallway, stacked up in the kitchen, there were even some boxes in the bathroom.

  “Where did all this come from?” I was astonished.

  “Where do you think? I put your stuff from home mostly in the kitchen. The stuff from your other place is in here.”

  The living room looked smaller than when I’d last seen it, though that’s hardly surprising, the last time I’d seen it the place had been stripped bare. Now it was stacked to the ceiling with various laundry bags, boxes and furniture. We had to squeeze past a stack of large card-board boxes just to get into the living room. My brown sofa – the first piece of proper furniture I’d ever bought – was covered with various piles of clothes with the contents of my old wardrobe draped over it.

  I was horrified. “Where’s Millie going to put all her stuff?”

  “Well. There’s her bedroom. I didn’t put anything in there.”

  I went into the kitchen, the work surfaces covered with plastic containers filled with food from my old flat. He’d done a really good job. I felt awful.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked.

  “I’d love one.”

  It was the least I could do. But I’d have to find everything first. I searched inside a big box which contained my quilt and nothing else. There was no sign of any tea bags on the work surfaces. I switched my attention to the over-head cup-boards and discovered a box labelled: Kitchen.

  Tea, coffee and sugar. There was even a jar of skimmed milk. I was just starting to feel smug when I remembered that I didn’t own a kettle. My dad came over with a small saucepan.

  “You get this lot sorted and I’ll find us some cups.”

  *

  Eleven o’clock the next morning I was standing opposite the estate agents. It was a bright cold morning, the previous day’s heat no more than a pleasant memory. I’d been there for fifteen minutes and was starting to wish that I’d arranged to meet Helena somewhere indoors.

  I’d been woken by the sound of my phone vibrating letting me know that I had a message. I tried to ignore it but eventually gave in and picked up. It was from Helena. She wanted to meet me in front of the estate agents at eleven. I was genuinely relieved that she hadn’t wanted to come to the flat. She seemed the type of woman who would be intrusive when it came to other people’s privacy yet guarded when it came to her own.

  The high street was very busy at that time on a Saturday morning and no one gave me a second glance standing outside the newsagents. There was no sign of Helena outside the Estate Agents’ and, since I didn’t want her to have the advantage over me, I decided to stroll up and down the row of shops. After about fifteen minutes of eyeing up everyone who stepped out of a shop I went into a bakers’ and bought myself a chicken salad sandwich. I was trying to be good.

  I had planned on doing a quick supermarket shop in order to reward my dad with a cooked breakfast but Helena’s message had scotched that.

  I scanned the people going about their business. There was a woman who looked a little like Helena from behind who was pushing a pram. Not impossible but I just couldn’t see Helena ever pushing a pram. I even took out my phone and checked it for messages but there was nothing. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume she’d been caught in traffic but that was looking less and less likely with every minute that passed.

  I waited until half past and then I rang her. I was put straight through to Voicemail so I left a message. There wasn’t much else I could do. My mouth was dry from the sandwich and I fancied a coffee. There was a Costa further along the high street but they didn’t have any tables outside and I couldn’t risk sitting inside and missing her. The longer this went on the more worried I became. Though we hadn’t parted on the best of terms I didn’t think that that would bother Helena: she was too focussed. She’d do whatever it took to get the job done. She wasn’t looking to develop a friendship; that much was obvious. Our little falling out might make things awkward to start with but she had texted me for a reason. I was sure that everything would become clear when next we spoke.

>   I was getting used to second guessing myself. It was hardly surprising considering my upbringing. Having a human for a father was always going to count against me. The bizarre thing was that it was always my mother’s name which opened doors, whether I was aware of it or not. Just such a pity that she’s such a violent sociopath.

  Ah, well, no family’s perfect.

  I was still mulling that over when I glanced across at the estate agents and saw Marcus Rolfe walking in.

  The traffic was heavy but slow moving so I was able to cross both carriageways fairly easily.

  What was he doing here? Helena must have sent him. Whatever it was that was so urgent must have happened before she had a chance to collect me herself. I stood outside the estate agents for a while watching Marcus charming the receptionist. He was wearing a short blue raincoat with a white t-shirt underneath. He looked very relaxed.

  Must have gotten his wires crossed somewhere, thinking that he was supposed to meet me inside. I hadn’t helped matters though by hiding away on the other side of the street. Things would be a whole lot easier if I knew who to trust. Why couldn’t Millie be a field agent?

  I’d sent her a text telling her I wouldn’t be there when she arrived. There’d been no sign of her parents when I’d left. I just hoped that my dad could handle everything. I’d left him working on the bed.

  I realised that I’d been staring at Marcus for the last few minutes. Then I realised just how pretty the female receptionist was that he was talking to. Was Marcus starting to look like a bit of a player?

  Oh God, you’re not jealous are you? Things were going from bad to worse. The previous night I’d gone to pieces over a werewolf and now I was getting possessive about a guy from the office.

  I was quickly losing what little self-respect I had. But he really was very fanciable – and that was the problem. From the way he was talking to the receptionist it was clear that he knew it.

  It wasn’t until he emerged from the shop that I approached him.

  “Thinking of moving into the area? You’d best not delay, prices are definitely on the rise.”

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said.