by Sam Short
“You were listening in to our conversation?” said Judith, coming to Millie’s rescue. “That’s rude, Timothy!”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” said the chemistry teacher. “I just can’t help hearing things, sometimes! Because my wolf is so powerful, my human senses are very powerful, too. My hearing is exceptional, as is my sense of smell.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “It’s just my peepers which need a little help, but I think my new glasses bring out the grey in my eyes. Wouldn’t you two lovely witches agree?”
“Your glasses do suit you, but you know full well that you were listening to us, Timothy!” said Judith. “Tell the truth!”
Timothy stood up. “Okay. Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t trying to listen to you two, honestly. I was listening out for Trevor Giles. I heard about the disruption he caused in your classroom, Millie, and then about the argument he had in the beer tent. I know Trevor Giles, and I know he has a tendency to turn into his wolf when he loses his temper. I wanted to be certain I was nearby, in case my wolf was required to subdue his.” He smiled at Millie. “I just happened to overhear your conversation as I was listening, and decided to make my move.” He knelt down again and placed his hand on the arm of Millie’s seat. “What will your answer be, Millie Thorn? Will you join me tonight for a meal at The Embarrassed Lobster? Will you allow me to claim you as my treasure?”
Millie smiled at the short man, not wanting to hurt his feelings. He had been very nice to her. “I’m afraid I can’t, Timothy,” she said gently. “I’m sorry. It’s just that me and George —”
Timothy stood up quickly and rolled his eyes. “I don’t need your life story, Millie,” he said. “A simple yes or no is adequate, which you’ve now given me.” He gazed down at Judith and winked. “How about you, Jude... do you like steak?”
“My name is not Jude!” said Judith. “Nobody calls me that! It’s Judith!” She glared at Timothy. “And yes, I do like steak, but no, I don’t want to attend steak night at The Embarrassed Lobster with you. Thank you very much.”
Timothy shrugged. “Oh well,” he said. “A man can try.” He cocked his head to the side, like an inquisitive dog, as a voice announcing the raffle draw crackled over the tannoy system. “Ah! The moment I’ve been waiting for! I’ve got my heart set on winning the two tickets for a day of pampering at the Golden Sands Spa and Restaurant. You get one full treatment and either lunch or afternoon tea. I’ll probably opt for the full body-waxing followed by the afternoon tea option if I win, but I won’t rule out lunch completely. I’d have to see a menu before I made a final decision.”
Judith swallowed the last of the wine in her glass and got to her feet. “Come on, Millie,” she said. “Lets go and watch the draw. I bought ten tickets. Five for me and five for you.” She handed five of the little yellow tickets to Millie, and gave Timothy a thin smile. “It’s not only you who wants to win the spa tickets.”
Chapter 7
Finding a spot at the front of the large crowd which had gathered to watch Fredrick draw the winning raffle tickets, Millie and Judith reluctantly made space for Timothy, who pushed his way between them.
He looked at the two witches in turn and narrowed his eyes playfully. “I’ll be watching to make sure neither of you cast a spell which will help you win,” he warned.
“I wish my magic was that far evolved,” replied Millie. “But even if it was, I’m quite certain that the prize draw is protected from magical cheating methods. And anyway, I’d never cheat.”
“It was a joke,” said Timothy. “Chill out.” He stood up straighter and put a finger to his lips, nodding towards the tall man approaching the prize table. “Shush, it’s Fredrick.”
Fredrick made his way slowly towards the microphone standing alongside the raffle ticket drum, his stiff walk and the sharp angles of his pale face reminiscent of a vulture approaching a corpse on an African plain.
It seemed that Millie wasn’t the only person who held a fearful respect for the vampire teacher — a blanket of silence had fallen over the whole crowd as Fredrick picked up the microphone, an unaware child who continued to talk urged into silence by his anxious father.
Fredrick tapped the microphone with a long fingernail, the amplified clicking sounds scaring the seagulls from their perches among the many chimneys of the old hall behind him. He peered through half-closed eyes at the people before him and attempted a smile. “Thank you all for attending the Spellbinder Hall end of year open day,” he said. “I’m pleased to see so many people taking an interest in their children’s education, and it’s nice to witness the paranormal community coming together to enjoy the fete. I’d like to extend a huge thank you to the teachers and volunteers who set up the tents and stalls… entirely without the use of magic… or so I’m told.”
Millie joined in with the round of applause and nervous peals of laughter from the audience, noticing Trevor Giles meandering towards the crowd from the direction of the refreshments tent, swaying unsteadily as he approached.
As the clapping subsided, Fredrick continued. “Before I draw the winning raffle tickets, I’d like to extend the congratulations of the headmaster and Mister Pinkerton, neither of whom could be here today, to all the pupils of the school. You’ve all worked very hard over the last term, and I think I speak for all the teachers when I say it was a pleasure to teach each and every one of you.”
As more applause rose above the crowd, Trevor Giles swaggered closer to the prize table, a look of bemusement on his face. “Get on with the raffle draw!” he shouted, attracting angry looks from the people around him. “Nobody cares about listening to you talking!”
Fredrick remained silent for a few moments, and Millie gave a little gasp as his eyes flashed black, his mouth springing open to reveal two long thin fangs, the muscles in his neck tightening as he transformed into his vampiric form.
He regained his composure quickly, his eyes human again and no sign of elongated teeth as he spoke. “Mister Trevor Giles,” he said. “I had heard that you were present here today, no doubt taking advantage of the fact that Mister Pinkerton is absent.”
“I’d still be here if Henry was here!” yelled Trevor. “I’m not scared of him!”
Fredrick’s lips curled slowly, and he gave Trevor a long searching stare. “We all know that’s not true. You’re emboldened by alcohol, Mister Giles,” he said. He paused, before grasping the handle of the old raffle ticket drum on the table next to him. He gave it a single turn, the small wooden barrel creaking as it spun.
He put his mouth close to the microphone and spoke again, a hiss in his voice. “There are children present here today, Mister Giles, so luckily for you, I will ignore you for the time being, and continue with the raffle draw.”
“Whatever,” replied Trevor. “But you don’t scare me, vampire!”
His nostrils flaring, and his lips set tight together, Fredrick opened the small door built into the raffle drum, and reached inside, withdrawing a single ticket. He glanced at it and looked up. “I’ll be drawing the tickets in order of the top prize first, so this ticket is for the television set.” He looked out over the audience. “And the number on the ticket is… one-hundred and twenty-four.”
Despite having enough money in her bank account to purchase all the televisions she would ever require, Millie still gave a little squeal of joy as she waved one of her tickets above her head. “That’s me!” she shouted.
“We have a winner!” said Frederick, clearly warming to the role of entertainer. He peered at the front row of the audience, searching for the lucky person, his eyes narrowing when they found Millie. “Oh,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s you, Miss Thorn. Well, congratulations. I suppose. You can collect your prize when I’ve finished drawing the other nineteen tickets.”
“Has he still got a problem with you?” asked Judith, moving her face closer to Millie’s.
“He’s had a problem with me ever since I started dating George,” replied Millie. “It’
s frustrating. And very rude of him.”
Judith nodded. “That’s how they are. Vampires, I mean. They’re very protective of the vampires that they brought into existence with a bite — they’re worse than parents in some cases.”
“And Fredrick seems to be one of those cases,” said Millie. “I suppose he’ll be happy when he finds out that George and I have split up again.”
“You may have lost a boyfriend,” said Judith, “but at least you’ve gained a TV!”
Millie ran her eyes over the crowd, finding the hunched shape of Beth, her daughter standing alongside her, appearing crestfallen as she studied the strip of raffle tickets in her hand. “I don’t need another television,” she said. “But I know a girl who wants one.”
“Three down, seventeen prizes to go,” commented Timothy, watching Fredrick take a fourth ticket from the drum and announce the winner. “I’m still in the running for the spa treatment.”
“As am I,” remarked Judith. “And everybody else who bought a ticket. Don’t get your hopes up, Timothy. You’ll only be disappointed when you don’t win.”
Leaving Timothy and Judith teasing one another as Fredrick’s amplified voice boomed across the clifftop, Millie pushed a route through the crowd towards Beth and Emma, noting that Trevor Giles had moved even closer to the prize table, and was obviously very drunk.
Giving a broad smile as she reached Emma and her mother, Millie winked at the young witch. “I hear that you had your heart set on winning the television, Emma?” she said.
Emma gave a quick nod, managing to turn her glum frown into a forced smile. “Yes,” she said, “but I’m thrilled that you won it!”
Millie unfolded the winning ticket and held it out. “I don’t need a TV, Emma,” she said. “I want you to have it.”
Emma’s hand darted towards the ticket but stopped at the last moment. She looked pleadingly at her mother as the crowd applauded another winner. “Can I have it?” she asked.
Beth gave Millie a searching look. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You won it, are you certain you don’t want to keep it?”
Millie laughed. “I live in a small cottage, and I’ve already got a TV in my living room, and another in my bedroom. I’ve got nowhere to put a third one, and anyway, you and Emma deserve it for taking over serving duties on the cake stall after my three child labourers deserted me.”
“Can I have it, Mum?” asked Emma, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Please may I have it? In my bedroom?”
Beth gave a quick nod accompanied by a smile, and Millie giggled as Emma wrapped her arms around her in a fierce hug. “Thank you, Miss Thorn! Thank you so much!”
“I hope you enjoy it,” said Millie, returning the young witch’s hug.
“I will, Miss!” said Emma. “And I’ll look after it. I promise I will.”
Leaving Emma chattering excitedly to her mother, Millie made her way back towards Judith and Timothy, frowning as she noticed Trevor Giles standing in front of Fredrick, a look of rage on his face. “Fix!” he shouted. “I should have won the beer and champagne!”
Fredrick spoke slowly into the microphone. “I think it’s a good thing that you didn’t win,” he said. “I think you’ve drunk quite enough alcohol.” Looking away from Trevor, he gave the drum another spin and reached inside for a ticket. “This ticket is for the spa treatment,” he said, “and the lucky number is forty-seven!”
Smiling to herself as both Judith and Timothy’s faces dropped in unison, Millie turned her head as a familiar deep voice gave a loud shout. “That’s me! Although I don’t think I need any spa treatments. I’m beautiful enough as it is.”
“That’s debatable, Sergeant Spencer,” said Fredrick, humour briefly wiping away the stern expression which normally shaped his features. “But congratulations. Enjoy your prize.”
“I wonder who’s going to get those tickets,” said Timothy, nudging Judith playfully. “I wonder who a man like Sergeant Spencer will give his winning tickets for a spa treatment to.”
“Hmmm,” said Judith. She stuck her tongue out and smiled. “I don’t know. I wonder who he’ll give them to.”
“Oh well,” said Timothy. “It wasn’t to be. If I want a spa treatment, I’ll have to pay for a spa treatment. But it’s not the same is it? There’s something nice about being a winner, isn’t there?”
Ignoring Timothy, Judith pointed towards the prize table. “Look out,” she said, “Trevor Giles looks like he’s about to cause some trouble.”
Millie followed Judith’s troubled gaze. She was right, Trevor Giles seemed intent on disrupting the prize draw. He staggered towards the table, and with no regard for the people he pushed past or the prizes he knocked from the table top, he reached for the case of beer and the large bottle of champagne. “I’m taking these!” he stated. “And nobody is going to stop me.”
Wondering where Norman was, Millie scoured the crowd, relieved to see that Francine had taken the boy under her wing, turning him away from the scene his stepfather was causing and leading him towards the car park. “Poor boy,” she said, under her breath.
Fredrick’s voice boomed out over the tannoy system, this time making no effort to hide the disdain he held for the drunken werewolf. “Put those prizes down,” he ordered. “Put them down immediately.”
“Who’s going to make me?” shouted Trevor, spinning to face Fredrick. “You?”
Moving quickly, his eyes darkening, Fredrick strode towards Trevor. “Put those down!” he said. “I won’t tell you again.”
Dropping the case of beer, and the champagne, the bottle saved from destruction by the soft grass, Trevor’s body visibly tensed. “You think a vampire can hurt me?” he roared.
Suddenly, and with shredded clothes falling to the ground around him, Trevor was no longer human. In his place was a werewolf, slightly hunched as it balanced on its muscular hind legs, its eyes yellow and its teeth bared in a vicious snarl. It moved menacingly towards Fredrick, a roar building in its long throat.
Millie took an instinctive step backwards, a pressure wave moving the air beside her. She quickly looked to her left, stunned to witness Timothy adding at least three feet to his height and a few hundred pounds of muscle to his frame. His clothes shredded as quickly as Trevor’s had, and coarse hairs swiftly carpeted his body. He opened his mouth in an angry roar, long thick teeth shining white against the vivid red of his gums.
Propelling himself forward with strong hind legs, he launched himself towards Trevor, skilfully avoiding the few people in his path. He slammed into the other wolf with a crunching thud, forcing the creature to the ground, leaning over it, his face centimetres from his opponent’s snapping teeth, thick drool dripping from his mouth.
The smaller wolf writhed helplessly on the floor, snapping at Timothy’s face with sharp teeth, and slashing at empty air with long claws on its hind legs. Timothy’s wolf retaliated by placing strong jaws over the throat of the smaller animal, his growl reverberating across the clifftops as he shifted his weight and pinned the other wolf ’s flailing limbs to the ground.
As the crowd moved away from the battling werewolves, parents turning children’s heads away from the vicious spectacle, the weaker wolf suddenly transformed — no longer a terrifying animal, but a semi-naked man screaming in pain beneath the weight of a monstrous creature. As swiftly as Trevor had changed, Timothy transformed, too. Now much smaller than the man he straddled, he stepped away from his defeated adversary, hiding his modesty beneath a long coat handed to him by a helpful bystander.
“You shouldn’t have done that!” shouted Fredrick, approaching Trevor, “that was unacceptable! Wait until Henry hears about this, I’m putting you into the dungeons below Spellbinder Hall until he returns from his trip. Then we’ll see what he wishes to do with you.”
The alcohol obviously still fuelling his bravado, Trevor appeared remorseless. “You don’t have the power to lock me up, Fredrick. Only Henry has the right to put a member of the paranormal community in
the dungeons.”
The muscles around his mouth twitching, and his eyes still black, Fredrick leaned over Trevor. “You’re right,” he hissed. “I don’t have the power to lock you up, and until Henry returns, there’s nothing I can do.” He stood up, his features reverting to human. “However, I know a man who does have the power to lock you up.” He smiled at Sergeant Spencer. “I think Mr Giles may be guilty of disrupting the peace,” he said.
Taking his handcuffs from his belt, Sergeant Spencer nodded. “And he’s drunk and disorderly,” he said. “Put your hands behind your back, Trevor,” he commanded.
Remaining on the floor, Trevor reluctantly turned onto his front and allowed the policeman to cuff him. “Look at you,” he said, twisting his neck to look over his shoulder at Sergeant Spencer. “The local bobby on the beat. You think you’re so important, don’t you? You can lock me up tonight, Sergeant, and you might think you have authority over me, but one of these days I’ll get you back for all the times you’ve locked me in that cell of yours.”
“You’re nothing but trouble,” said Sergeant Spencer, pulling Trevor to his feet as a man draped a coat over him. “And if I have my way, you’ll be in a cell for longer than one night. In fact, if I had my way — you’d never leave my cell and you’d never trouble this town again.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Spencer,” said Fredrick. “Please take him away.”
Taking Trevor Giles firmly by the arm, the big policeman dragged him towards the car park where his patrol car stood waiting. “It will be my pleasure,” he said.
“You can lock me up,” yelled Trevor, “but that doesn’t bother me! I’ll be out again in the morning and free to do what I want.”
“We’ll see about that,” replied Sergeant Spencer.
“What does that mean? Are you threatening me?” yelled Trevor. “Are you saying I’ll never leave my cell? I suppose I’ll have an accident, won’t I?”
“Quiet!” said Sergeant Spencer, forcefully guiding Trevor towards his car. “Nobody wants to hear what you have to say.”