by David Graham
The air in the room was institutional and stuffy, and carried more than a hint of why they were there. A bodily odour was the best way of describing it. Dale detected the sickly aroma of the milking parlour. Air-con would have helped. He was sure glad they’d skipped breakfast. He cleared his throat. “Have the Met interviewed you yet?”
Dai looked at his wife and nodded. “They didn’t get much. Sandra couldn’t speak again and started hitting herself, so they had to sedate her.” Anguish spread across his face. “I’m useless, that’s what, just like Grandmother always said. Christ, I can’t even protect my own daughter!”
Mrs Edwards put an arm around him and made comforting noises. Ceri seemed to be on the verge of saying something.
Dale glanced around the room for cameras. All he could see was the tell-tale sign of water ingress. The upkeep of Victorian buildings sure was a bitch. If hi-tech surveillance existed in the place, they’d certainly hidden it well. “So, what about video?” he asked.
Dai thumped his seat. “They’ve got CCTV, but it wasn’t working. I mean, fuck ...”
Dale wasn’t surprised. This was a no-frills establishment with lax security and no air-con. He pulled up a chair and looked to the room for inspiration. The baby’s parents had to be the starting point. “Dai, did you see anyone behaving suspiciously?”
Dai looked across the bed at Sandra. Her head hadn’t budged an inch since they entered the room. At least tranquillizers were the same the world over.
“Not really ...” Dai said. Deep lines spread across his forehead. “Hang on, there was this midwife. It wasn’t so much her behaviour, but what she was wearing. She had this large wooden cross dangling from her neck.”
Mrs Edwards leaned forward. “That sounds pagan to me.”
“You mean, rituals and stuff like that?” Steve said. Mrs Edwards blanched. Dale guessed what had crossed her mind. Surely not in this day and age? he thought. But if the Scots hated the Welsh that much ...
“Paganism is a collection of ancient religions – witchery included, although it’s invariably benign,” Mrs Edwards said, far from convincingly. Her statement sounded straight out of a press release; ‘invariably’ never meant ‘without exception’ in Dale’s experience.
Ceri raised a hand sheepishly, just like a teenager ready to fess up to something. “Can I say something, please?”
Mrs Edwards shuffled uneasily in her chair. “Go on, cariad, but remember what your great grandmother would say.”
Thanks to Chief Scanlon’s tutelage, Dale was a past master at recognising a loaded message. Wales must be a tough place to grow up when it came to breaking with tradition and grandmothers wielding a wand.
“I think the baby’s been taken because of me,” Ceri said, breaking into sobs.
Dale hoped she’d say that.
“And all because of that fucking cauldron!” she added, smoke as good as billowing from her nostrils.
Mrs Edwards winced at her daughter’s language. “What she’s trying to say is that she and two of her friends were playing with – ”
“We weren’t playing, Mam,” Ceri said. “It was a divination hex.”
“Yes, I know, Ceri bach,” Mrs Edwards said. She sighed. “Unfortunately, they were using Grandmother’s cauldron and it got out of hand.”
Ceri reddened. “Um, that wasn’t the only time.”
Mrs Edwards glared at her daughter and muttered something under her breath. It didn’t sound like any English that Dale knew.
“Dilys and I tried again just before the wedding,” Ceri continued. “Someone sent us a message ... it wasn’t exactly friendly ...” She looked at the floor.
Mrs Edwards tsk-tsked, shaking her head. “So, thanks to you, they now know that witchery is alive and well in Pontypridd. I should have got rid of that bloody cauldron ages ago.”
“When you say ‘they’, do you mean Elspeth Brown?” Steve asked.
Mrs Edwards went ashen. “How do you know about her?” Her voice seemed to be shaking with fear.
“Her Majesty told us about her at the reception,” Dai said. “Of course, you weren’t there, Auntie.”
Mrs Edwards reddened. “Ceri wasn’t feeling well. I told you that, Dai.”
“Well, if you had been, you’d have heard that the Queen believes Elspeth Brown was responsible for the events in the church,” Dai said.
“Oh, dear God!” Mrs Edwards said with a gasp. “That means they must have Siandi Da’aan’s cauldron.”
The room went quiet.
“That brings us to the next question,” Dale said. “How the hell are we going to find this witch, the cauldron and, hopefully, the baby?”
A few seconds passed.
“I’ve just had a thought,” Steve said. “When Dr Kyriakides showed us those maps of EM radiation, there was a load of new activity. What if that’s related to the witches?”
Steve had gotten their attention. “Go on,” Dale said.
“Well, I was thinking that if we tracked back the activity to the business in the church, we might see where the obliteration hex originated from. Perhaps that’s where the baby is.”
Good thinkin’, Batman, Dale thought. Now all we need is a Batmobile to get to the depths of Oxfordshire. And then he remembered the flat screen on the divine Deborah’s desk.
Thankfully, Dai’s aunt had stayed behind to be with Sandra in the maternity unit. Ceri had insisted on coming with them and Dale had surprisingly agreed to that. There had to be method to his madness. Dai just wanted to be doing something remotely useful.
They’d tumbled out of a black cab with the 86 hectares of Victoria Park straight ahead. The flat screen on Deborah’s desk had displayed an orange blob of intense EM activity at the exact time they should have been getting married in St James’s Church. As Deborah had pointed out, there couldn’t be many Scottish witches, living near the park, dispatching dangerous hexes at 2 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon. The only problem was that the blob covered half a square mile.
“Dai, you take Ceri and head towards that church,” Dale said, pointing at a steeple about a hundred yards away. “We’ll go the opposite direction. See if anything stands out as unusual. Use the radio if you find something.”
Dai glanced behind as he and Ceri commenced their check of the area. Dale and Steve walked purposefully towards a row of houses, as if they already knew where they should be heading.
“Sorry,” Ceri said, looking glumly at the ground. “I’m always messing up.”
“Who says?” Dai asked gently.
Ceri sighed. “My mam. She’s so critical, you know. I can’t do anything right.”
Dai paused to consider that. With teenagers it was best to think before speaking your mind. But he already knew what to say: “Well, I think it’s cool you’re a witch. Granny Betty had always been hoping for the day when the right person discovered her cauldron.” That was a fib, but Ceri wouldn’t know that. “So, what does your mother think about you being a witch? I mean, that’s not exactly usual, even in Wales.”
Ceri pondered for whatever passed for a few seconds in teenage time. “I suppose so. Actually, I think she’s quite proud. She even called me Caridwen.”
“After the Welsh goddess, you mean?”
Ceri nodded. “The way she said it made it sound as if she thought I was Caridwen.”
Dai whistled his approval. “Wow, that is cool.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” Ceri almost sounded pleased.
They’d just reached the church. The building looked dark and forbidding. The board at the front proclaimed it to be a ‘Presbyterian Ministry’, but the letters were a decayed brown rather than burnished gold. Dai couldn’t imagine wanting their daughter baptised in the church’s murky font. The street sign nearby read, ‘Cadogan Terrace E9’. The area had to be home from home for a Scottish witch. There was even a hint of haggis in the air. Dai reached for the radio.
“Dai here. I’m sure this is the street. Over.”
The radio s
quawked Dale’s reply: “Yeah, and we’ve found the house. Over.”
“We’re on our way. Dai out,” Dai said, already starting to run. “C’mon, Ceri bach!”
As they ran, Dai heard Ceri muttering wheezily about wishing she had a broomstick.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Steve asked. “It looks kinda dead.”
Steve was right. A 150 years ago, Number 1 Cadogan Terrace would have been one of the best residences around. Nowadays, similar clapboard houses in the US got turned into heritage B&Bs that earned a few extra bucks moonlighting in American Horror Story. This particular horror fest didn’t have a square inch that hadn’t been pockmarked in some way. The house seemed to have been blasted with shrapnel. Perhaps what had gone up in the church had already descended and done their work for them. And the front door was conveniently open, as if enticing them to witness the evidence of Elspeth Brown’s final destruction. Dale just prayed the baby had been left somewhere safe. But there was no sound of any crying.
“What a dump,” Ceri said breathlessly, as she and Dai arrived outside the house. “How d’you know it’s the right place?”
“Dale’s just gonna check his intelligence,” Steve said. “But he’ll need Dai’s assistance.”
“Uh?” Ceri grunted. Dale guessed she had problems finding her bearings in the puzzling world of adults.
Dale was almost certain it was where they should be, but Ma Bell seemed to be in a teasing mood. His nuts had been tingling rather than aching, and the only snippet of knowledge he’d been offered was a grainy photo of dubious vintage. Whoever was on switchboard duty enjoyed winding-up her callers. She probably gorged on virtual carryouts while she decided what next to divulge. Dale had tried informing the entangled particles that a poor little mite’s life was in danger, but nothing had started grumbling down below or insinuating its way in up above.
“Okay, dude, I’m ready for the poke,” Dale said.
Dai sighed. “It’s ping, not poke.”
Dale shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s get on with it. We’re running out of time.”
Dai put both hands on Dale’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes.
“This isn’t a gay thing, is it,” Ceri piped up, “‘cos my friend Dilys says – ”
“Shush, Ceri bach,” Dai said. “I’m trying to focus out and zero in.”
“Well, it still looks a bit gay to me,” Ceri huffed.
Dale closed his eyes. Watching Dai perform his hocus focus trick was too damn unnerving, particularly when he was the subject. He had his fingers crossed the kids at his old school weren’t on their morning break. It was all silent so far. Shit! I spoke too soon. Except it wasn’t children taunting him this time. The sound was soft at first, like the gentle rustling of trees in the wind. Or was it rushing water? The brook wasn’t exactly babbling. It was getting louder and he heard laughter, but not of the happy sort. Crackling and cackling was hardly a winning combination inside anyone’s head. And then the image hit him, like a thump in the guts: Siandi Da’aan and her familiar, the witch’s eyes looking so warm and all-knowing; the black cat on her lap on the lookout for prey, ready to pounce on the poor and pathetic. Both were on fire. Even as the flames tore the flesh from their bones, their eyes continued to observe the man who’d put the tinder to the pile of wood and the watcher who’d sat back to enjoy the spectacle.
“Sorry, I’m out of practice,” Dai said with a grimace. His forehead glistened with sweat. “That was tough.”
“Yeah. For me, too,” Dale said, massaging his temples. “Poor bitch.”
“Poor cat,” Dai said.
“Excuse me,” Ceri said petulantly, hands on hips, not wanting to be left out.
“I saw something,” Dale said. The fuller description would have to wait.
“And I saw what he saw,” Dai said. “Your mother was right.”
A look of horror mixed with awe crossed Ceri’s face. “You don’t mean Siandi Da’aan?”
“You got it, missy,” Dale said, “and her cauldron is ready and waiting for us.”
“Don’t call me ...” Ceri started to say, but something ancient and powerful had gotten hold of her tongue.
“So, what’s gonna be our approach?” Dale said. “Low and stealth-like or charging in regardless?”
“Well, they’re gonna be expecting us,” Steve said. “And it’s not as if we’re armed to the teeth.”
Dai put his hand up. “I can try turning up the ping, if that helps.”
“And I’m a witch,” Ceri said, this time as if she meant it.
“Okay, that’s agreed,” Dale said. “We run in hollering our heads off, grab the baby and then get the hell out of the place. But keep a watch for any stray energy streams. And black cats with wandering eyes. This is some mean sonofabitch we’re dealing with.” He’d always been good at psyching up the troops.
They paused briefly on the top step, staring into the depths of the dark hallway. Dale set his jaw, engaged a stance from his ill-fated attempt at Navy SEAL training and imagined himself as Indiana Jones, complete with his hat and whip. There’d better be no snakes. “Okay ... one ... two ... three ...”
True to Dale’s instruction, they ran en masse into the house, making as much noise as they could and headed for any doorway that was already open. It all seemed so easy. They reached what must have been the back room of the house. At least there were no more doors. It was so damn dark. Someone sure liked curtains. Success! There was the cauldron on the table and they could see the baby in some sort of basket. Easy-peasy, grab and run. Wham-bam-slam! Something had stopped them from moving. Their hands should have been hitting thin air, but it didn’t want to give. They were stuck like bugs in treacle.
A black-clothed figure stood with its back to them in the corner. It turned and threw something silvery into the cauldron. It said a few words, but they didn’t sound like any language Dale knew. Guttural, primeval, angry. A small orb rose from the vessel and started spinning, sending out flickers of plasma-like energy. The figure threw back its head covering and grinned, although its teeth were blackened stumps.
“Jeez! That’s Virginia Ironside!” Dale said.
“Principal Davies!” Steve said.
“It’s Major Chisholm!” Dai said.
“No, it’s Miss Donn!” Ceri said.
The four of them looked at each other and then back at the figure. Now, the figure looked like the Queen and it waggled a white-gloved finger at them.
“Christ, you’re gullible. That’s the oldest trick in the book, although honed to the nth degree by yours truly.” The Queen’s doppelganger fixed Ceri with a gimlet eye. “I bet you never discovered that in Granny Betty’s potions book. And to think she called it ‘Recipes’. Huh! What a joke. Oh, and by the way, I gave you a ‘Fail’. Such a shame you didn’t complete your project. So, do you want to see some real magick, young witch?”
The figure uttered a few words under her breath and the baby rose until she was a few inches from the ceiling. Dale looked for wires, but he couldn’t see any. The baby seemed more dead than alive.
Dale shook his head. “I don’t geddit, lady. Why d’you want a helpless baby if you’re so goddamn powerful?”
The figure laughed. “‘I don’t geddit”, she said, mocking his voice. “You call that English? Jesus H. Christ!” Suddenly, the voice was that of Virginia Ironside, PA to the Principal at Staley High School. “Is that better, boys?” she said, leering, in a grotesquely exaggerated Mid-West accent. She glanced at her chest. “Sorry ’bout the boobs. They’re a bit flat these days. Not that that’d interest you gay boys, of course. I can rustle up a porn star if you’d like. I’m just so fucking versatile. Oops, there’s a child around. Jesus, can you imagine what it’s like listening to snivelling kids for all those years? The only thing that kept me going was the man you destroyed. Yes, you!” She pointed a finger angrily at Dale and Steve. “How dare you destroy our lives!” The figure abruptly switched her attention to Dai. “And d
on’t think you’re getting off the hook, matey, whippersnapper from the Valleys and lapdog to Her Majesty. Oh, we know all about your intimate titty à titty on the bench at Balmoral! I should have locked you away in the white van for good – or fed you to your pigeons. Hocus focus. What a laugh! And don’t get me started on that bloody play and Christopher’s witches.”
The orb had begun to wobble ominously on its axis. The figure turned to the other side of the room. “Oh, mother, you might want to watch this. It should get rather interesting.” The accent had switched to Scottish. She flicked another handful of something silvery into the cauldron. The orb added some ominous whining to its activity. “I said, watch this, you old hag!” the figure yelled. A high-backed chair in the far corner turned slowly by itself. There was a pile of black clothes and a hat on it. A smell of burnt fur and flesh filled the air.
Dale couldn’t quite put his finger on how he decided their strategy, but it had become a now-or-never situation, and he was damned if some power-hungry bitch of a witch was going to have her way. Working in Kansas City had its advantages when it came to dealing with crazed old ladies. A few flicked looks exchanged between the four of them and the plan was set.
“That’s better,” the figure said. “She’s rotting in hell quite nicely. Now, where was I?”
That was the last thing the witch said as any of her multiple personalities. Dale guessed that Dai’s ping must have made its mark. Being confronted by flashbacks of your very worst deeds would scare the bejeebers out of the hardiest soul. He’d never forget her look of outright terror. Steve leaped forward as soon as the barrier came down and caught the falling baby. Ceri threw the cauldron at the figure. The witch didn’t exactly explode. Instead, she appeared to flicker between all her 101 identities and then lost cohesion. What had been Elspeth Brown became smoke that drifted slowly upwards and through the ceiling. The smell of smouldering hair lingered in the air.
“That’s my girl,” Dai said, taking the baby in his arms. She woke up, stretched her tiny arms and made contented cooing noises. “I think I should get you home to your mother.”