The Naked Witch (A Wendy Woo Witch Lit Novel Book 1)

by Wendy Steele

  Bryony sipped the last dregs of thick black coffee from the bottom of her cup. “I think I’ve decided what I’m going to do but I wanted to talk to you both first. Can we keep in touch, when we get back to England?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Because I’m leaving your Dad.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sure about this, Bryony? You haven’t talked to him yet.”

  “I’m twenty four, Lizzie. I’ve done nothing but follow Josh around for the past two years and for what? It’s time I had my own life. You’ve both shown me that.”

  “What will you do? Do you have a place to stay? She could stay with us, couldn’t she Mum?”

  “That’s kind of you but I can stay with my brother in London while Josh and I thrash out some details. We weren’t married but Josh has lost most of my inheritance on failed tours and bad investments. I’ve paid the rent on our flat, paid for everything in fact, always with the promise he will make so much more and pay me back. Patrick, my brother, is a lawyer. I spoke to him this morning. He’ll help me.”

  “When are you due to fly back?”

  “Next week sometime but Marsha said I can stay as long as I want. She’s been so kind.”

  “We could get the train to London and visit, couldn’t we mum?”

  “Definitely. I hope everything works out for you.”

  “I’m starving. Can we get some food?”

  “Maria is making us vegetarian paella for dinner and some sort of trifle cake. Have some fruit.”

  “I’ll get some more of those peaches.” Rowan stood up. “You coming, Bryony?”

  “Sure.”

  They ate their last meal together at a long table. Marsha insisted Antonio and Maria joined them and with Rosi, Teagan and Conor invited too, laughter and chatter resounded from the sun bleached villa. Conor sat happily on Lizzie’s lap, chomping on a stick of celery and dipping his chubby fingers into his bowl of paella before licking it off. Teagan beamed between Bryony and Rowan, spooning in food from her plate and popping tiny tomatoes in her mouth.

  Josh sat adjacent to his mother, opposite Antonio. Before dessert Lizzie rose to her feet, handing Conor to his mother.

  “I wanted to say ‘thank you’ to Marsha for inviting us to her home and to Antonio and Maria for looking after us so well. We’ve visited new places and made new friends and had a lovely holiday. Thank you.”

  The table raised their glasses. “Cheers!” Lizzie sat down.

  “You’re all welcome anytime, dear. It’s been lovely to see you all and spend time with you.”

  “We’ll make it an annual event, shall we? Joshua and his failed relationships!”

  Marsha turned to Josh, the glint in her eye making Lizzie’s heart beat faster.

  “Take a look at yourself, Joshua. You can’t keep blaming other people. When you look in the mirror, do you see the man you want to be?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This isn’t the time to argue and I won’t but think on this. Lizzie is proud of Rowan.”

  “So am I!”

  “So why not make me proud, son?”

  “I get dessert.”

  “I’ll help you, Maria.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lizzie.”

  “We can gather these plates, Maria. Will you help me, Rowan?”

  Josh pushed back his chair.

  “Leave that, Lizzie. I need to talk to you.”

  “Not now, Josh. I’m not spoiling my last moments here.”

  “I don’t want to argue.”

  “Then leave it. Maybe we’ll talk another time.”

  “See! I try to be reasonable and that’s the thanks I get!”

  “Mum doesn’t want to talk now, Dad and I don’t blame her. We’ve had a happy day. Don’t spoil it.”

  “I’m not spoiling anything! Why aren’t you saying that to your mother? She’s the one who’s wrecked my relationship!”

  Rosi left the room with Maria, pulling a reluctant Teagan behind her.

  “You did that all by yourself, Josh.” Bryony’s face was flushed but determined. “Marsha’s right. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

  Josh slumped back in his chair. “Happy, Lizzie, now you’ve turned everyone against me?”

  Unbidden tears scoured Lizzie’s eyes. “All we ever do is love you, Josh and you take it and murder it, hacking it to pieces with lies and deceit. Soon, there’ll be no one left and it makes me sad to think how lonely you’ll be.”

  “I don’t need your pity!” Josh stormed down the table towards Lizzie.

  Fear rose like a tiger through her veins and her chair fell backwards as she tried to turn and run. Josh grabbed her arm and the world turned slow motion. She heard a grunt issue from her mouth as her back hit the wall. Blood shot eyes glared at her. A yell issued from Josh’s lips as he brought his right arm back. Rowan’s screams echoed in her head. A lightening blow spun Josh’s arm back. A crunch echoed around the room as Antonio’s fist connected with Josh’s nose.

  They sat hand in hand in the departure lounge, eyes blank and lips trembling. Josh was spending the night in a police cell at Marsha’s request. Instead of a loyal son to support her in her final weeks, Antonio and Rosi would be with her. Josh couldn’t even be trusted with the truth of his mother’s illness. Lizzie fought back tears of indignation and sadness.

  They moved into the queue as their row was called, shuffling forward to present their boarding cards. The sun had shone and they’d swum and laughed and rolled in the surf and sculptured dragons in the sand and one day, they would remember this holiday as a good one but now, as they boarded the plane and took their seats both women knew Joshua Martin had spoiled it.

  Tired and grumpy, Lizzie dragged their bags from the carousel and hurried Rowan towards the exit. She sent a prayer ahead for their driver to be there to meet them.

  Rowan saw Sam first and ran squealing towards him. Lizzie saw Richard. Without hesitation, she did the same but without the noise. Enclosed in his arms, tears were unleashed and she was happy to be led from the building but Richard steered them towards a coffee shop. He plopped her onto a seat. She rifled through her bag for tissues and spun her head around but couldn’t see Rowan or Sam. Breathing was difficult, panic rang in her ears and she bit her lip fiercely, the pain startling her as she blew her nose.

  Richard put a small cup in front of her. “Drink. I’ve had them put a drop of cold water in so, go for it.”

  Lizzie took a sip. Strong, black coffee woke her mouth and shivered through her body.

  “Sam’s outside with Rowan. I wasn’t expecting you to know already. Did the police contact you?”

  “Police? Has something happened to Josh?”

  “Josh?”

  “Why else would the police contact me? Richard, what’s going on?”

  Lizzie whined the last three words. The scar on her head pounded as her mind presented her with terrible scenarios. Josh was dead. Nausea rose in her throat. Her mother was dead. Pain seared across her forehead.

  Richard took her hand. “We wanted to tell you before you arrived home. Your house has been burgled.”

  23

  Three times Richard pulled over on the way home for Lizzie to be sick. Her apologies were waved away and cool water provided for her to sip. Rowan whimpered on Sam’s shoulder and he soothed her and gave her tissues.

  She and Rowan sat holding each other on Richard’s sofa while he ran a bath and Sam found a duvet and pillows for the spare room. Lizzie helped Rowan in the bath, gently sponging her back. Wrapped in a towel on Lizzie’s lap, Rowan smelled of honeysuckle and clung like a baby koala.

  Once she was tucked up, Lizzie ran a little more hot water and allowed her tears to make bore holes in the bubbles. A gentle tap sounded on the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I was…would you mind not locking the door? I won’t…”

  “You can come in, Richard.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

 
; “I’m covered in bubbles. Please.”

  Richard sat cross legged beside the bath.

  “You deserve an explanation.”

  “It can wait.”

  “No, you do. Did you get my postcard?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “My ex-husband was at Marsha’s. She’d invited both of us.”

  “Ah, well, I guessed he was there. Rowan said…he behaved very badly?”

  Lizzie nodded. “The worst he could be but…” More tears fell and she lay back in her bath of iceberg bubbles.

  “She said he wasn’t her father anymore, that he’d lost the right.”

  “Sounds reasonable but she doesn’t…Could you pass me a towel, please?”

  Richard leapt up, grabbed the towel off the heated rail and attempted to pass it to Lizzie while keeping his back to her. Even with her skull constraining a tornado, Lizzie’s lips twitched into a smile at his kindness.

  “All decent.”

  In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of a red faced woman with hair on top of her head like an electrocuted pineapple.

  “I’m wide awake now, after that coffee. Let me find a robe or something and I can fill you in.”

  “You sure you don’t want to leave it until the morning?”

  “I’d…I’d like to tell someone.”

  “Okay.”

  “Actually, Richard. I really want to tell you.”

  The blush scurried across his face. “Don’t go rummaging through your bags with Rowan asleep. I’ve a robe you can borrow. I’ll get it.”

  The lilac light of dawn tinged the sky as Lizzie and Richard huddled together on the sofa. She told him everything. She sensed his curiosity over the photo but he held back, allowing her to finish her story. He held her tightly as she wept for Marsha.

  “So it was a holiday of sorts but littered with emotional torment?”

  “Seems about right. And now a burglary as well. Plus I’m worried about my mother. Oh, and I’m supposed to be back at work on Monday. Actually, that’s tomorrow!”

  “Oh, Lizzie.” Richard hugged her again and she let him.

  Rowan and Sam stirred them, noisily making toast in the kitchen. Lizzie woke first to a pressure on her back and Richard snoring gently behind her. She wriggled from beneath the duvet. Among the pillows and quilt, Richard looked like a cherub resting in the clouds.

  She ignored the grinning children in the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl.

  “You sleep well, Mum?”

  Lizzie nodded. “We crashed out after talking into the early hours. My head hurts. Still can’t think straight.”

  “There’s filtered water in the jug in the fridge. You’re dehydrated, Mrs M.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” She helped herself. “Anyone else?”

  “I’m good. What are we going to do, Mum? Sam says the house is safe now. Richard changed all the locks and had the broken window fixed but the police wouldn’t let him clear up.”

  “Dad said they want to know what’s missing.”

  “It’s going to be hard to tell though. ‘Morning.”

  Richard stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

  “Would you come to the house with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I want to come, Mum. You won’t know what stuff of mine is missing.”

  “Okay. Do we need to contact the police first?”

  Richard shook his head. “I pulled a few favours. I’ll make a list of what’s missing and take it to the station. They’ve dusted for prints but the break in was clean. The burglars knew what they were doing and maybe, what they were looking for.”

  Lizzie sipped her jasmine tea in the garden. Music flowed through Rowan’s open window and Lizzie heard her laugh.

  “She sounds better,” said Richard.

  Lizzie nodded.

  “And you’re sure? The only things missing are the photos from your bedside and your contract from work?”

  “They must know I’ve been working for you. I’m in danger. Rowan’s in danger.”

  “No, I wouldn’t allow that.”

  “But we are, Richard. Edward Brown had my house burgled because he knows I’m helping you.”

  “I’m sorry I involved you. I had no idea they would link us together.”

  “Maybe they haven’t but who else would want my contract and family photos? Looks like I’m the next one to be blackmailed.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I sound so mean but I’m not having a go. You’ve done so much and if you hadn’t come to feed the chickens, I might have come home to this but getting involved with the Browns has…Richard, is Edward Brown still married?”

  “I believe he and his wife have an open marriage.”

  Lizzie delved through the spare room of her mind. If only she’d had time to use the filing cabinet in there. Under the bed, in a dust covered box, she found it.

  “Edward Brown’s wife is called Anita.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I met her in Spain. Richard, I have to visit my mother.”

  She needed him with her but her mother was often condescending to strangers. Lizzie was surprised and delighted how Richard used his charm.

  “It’s so kind of you to come with Elizabeth. I so rarely have the opportunity to meet her friends.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you and glad to see you looking so well. Lizzie’s been so worried.”

  “Has she? I told her not to. They were routine tests. Something to do with my liver.”

  “And the new doctor suggested them?”

  “That’s right. Dr Warrington, Giles Warrington.”

  “Is that the new private practise on the high street?”

  “Oh no! Dr Warrington is from London.”

  “He must have come highly recommended for you to travel all that way.”

  “He comes to me. Such a nice man. Much more understanding than Dr Houghton.”

  Richard nodded and sipped his tea. Lizzie had never seen a little finger extended so far.

  “It’s all about trust. Professions providing a service to the public rely on it.”

  “Most definitely! Doreen trusts Dr Warrington and so do I. She’d rather fly from Spain than see a foreign doctor!”

  “I don’t know a Doreen, Mum.”

  “Before your time, Elizabeth.”

  “And you can always trust an old friend, Mrs McCartney.”

  Patricia McCartney leaned forward from her chair in the conservatory and Richard did the same. “Sometimes it’s difficult to know who to trust, Mr Parker. So many secrets and lies.”

  “I know them well from my profession. Lies compound until there’s a web of them, tying people up and choking them and the hardest kept secrets often cause the most harm.”

  Patricia McCartney sat back, her mouth prim and tight.

  “She put you up to this.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Elizabeth McCartney, you’re a wicked girl!”

  By the time she and Richard returned, Sam and Rowan had tidied the kitchen and found pizza in the freezer. While it cooked, Lizzie moved the heaps of clothes and boxes from her bed into a pile under the window, salvaging two dresses with matching jackets that, with a press with a damp cloth, would get her through two days at work. Hung in her wardrobe with shoes and bags beneath them, Lizzie flopped down onto the bed.

  “I’d say you’re not seeing my room at its best but truthfully, it was a tip anyway.”

  “Then don’t put it back. Come to mine this week and we’ll put a coat of paint on here this weekend.”

  “Thank you, but I need to be here. Be lovely if you don’t mind having Rowan for a bit though.”

  “Be my pleasure. Sorry I couldn’t get further with your mum.”

  “She’s not easy to fool, which is a joke as I’m sure this new doctor isn’t who he seems.”

  “Any evidence?”

  “The opposite. Rowan can’
t find a trace of him online.”

  Finally, they left, Sam thrilled with his t-shirt and Richard bemused but intrigued with his deer skin frame drum. Lizzie walked from room to room, a ghost in her own house. Defiled and ransacked, it didn’t feel like home anymore. An involuntary cry rose from her lips and she ran to her cabin at the bottom of the garden.

  The scent of wood and patchouli greeted her and cool air slapped her in the face. She dropped to her knees in her undisturbed Sanctuary. Emotion pounded her, rolling and tumbling her over the floor until she sat cross legged before her altar.

  She stilled her breathing, allowing her body to find its rhythm, retuning her with the earth. She lit the candle in the arms of the goddess and from a small drawer, unwrapped a lapis lazuli eight pointed star. Clasped in her hands, Lizzie called down the goddess Ishtar, one of the greatest goddesses of the Middle East but it was one aspect of her in particular Lizzie sought.

  “Light of the world, goddess of goddesses

  Torch of heaven and earth,

  Bestower of strength

  Hear my prayer.

  Great Hanata

  Give me the power

  To face my enemies

  With truth on my side.

  Great goddess, Ishtar

  Goddess of love and war

  Bathe me in your healing light

  Hear my prayer.

  Mighty Ishtar

  Warrior goddess

  Fill me with light

  So I may face the world.”

  Within the confines of the wooden shed, Lizzie allowed the goddess’ power to wash over her. Courage, guidance and love coursed through her, heat bursting from her fingertips. From the warrior goddess, she drew protection and imagined herself triumphant in the face of her enemies, not all-conquering but empowered to stand up for what she believed to be right.

  24

  She was summoned to Edward Brown’s office by a message flashing on her computer screen. She stood in front of the mirror in the ladies for more than five minutes, regulating her breathing and summoning her courage. She knew Edward Brown had violated her home, or more likely had sent someone else to do it. She didn’t know why he had stolen the contract or her photos but she knew her father and Edward Brown were connected. His face, and her mother’s, within a montage of faces also containing Brown’s, was proof enough for her.