other witch - complete series, page 33
The film began: The Notebook. The soft, sad strains of a song began whilst someone rowed across a lake at sunset. Something about the beauty of the scene struck a chord with me and a rock lodged in my throat. I realised I was going to cry before the damned thing had even started.
I watched, wholly consumed by the beautiful love story of Nick and Allie. I was completely undone by Allie suffering from dementia, a disease I knew all too well. Allie’s illness was so complete that she had no memory of her past. That was a fear I battled every day with Mum, that soon there wouldn’t be good days and bad days, only bad days. Then she would be lost to me forever whilst she was still here on Earth beside me.
I sobbed my heart out. I cried and cried for Abigay, for Mum and for myself.
Chapter 16
When I awoke and checked the time, I saw that I had a text message from Oscar. Ria took the antidote, the black veins have disappeared but she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. It had been sent at 6am, my usual waking time. Because of my late night and my crying jag, I’d slept until the rather ridiculous time of 10am. Bastion had ordered us room service: a full Scottish breakfast for him and Benji, and scrambled eggs and smoked salmon for me.
Benji attacked his breakfast with enthusiasm. ‘They usually give me gruel,’ he confessed with a happy smile as he sipped his orange juice. Fury crackled in my veins; when I had a seat on the Council, the first thing I’d do was overhaul golem rights.
I sipped my tea to calm myself. Somehow Bastion had managed to replace my crappy hotel mug with a far larger one which simply had the Scottish flag on it. He had seen my disdainful sniff at the size of the hotel’s mugs and he or Benji must have visited a souvenir shop bright and early.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured, gesturing to the mug. Benji looked baffled, which answered the question of who had bought the mug for me.
As always, Bastion barely acknowledged my thanks. ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked instead.
‘We’re going to find out who killed Abigay.’
He considered. ‘We already know the method of death – black mordis – but we need to ascertain motive and opportunity.’
‘Unfortunately virtually every witch in Edinburgh had the opportunity. The Crone had an open-door policy. Any witch could get an appointment to see her, though we’d need her stolen diary to find out exactly who she was due to meet.’
‘Even so, The Witchery will have CCTV footage. We’ll be able to see who comes and goes.’
‘Yes, but the CCTV only covers access to the restaurant. Unfortunately the accommodation side of the building doesn’t have any.’
Bastion grimaced. ‘It’s still a starting point.’
‘I agree.’ Which is why, half an hour later, all three of us were ensconced in the back room of The Witchery watching grainy CCTV footage.
‘Stop!’ I called, frowning. ‘That’s Abigay’s brother, Tarone Morgan. I’m ninety percent sure it’s him.’ What the hell was Tarone doing in Edinburgh? And if he was here, why hadn’t he shown up at her funeral pyre?
I hauled out my phone and left him another terse voicemail – this time requesting a meet as soon as possible.
We continued to watch the footage. There were a number of people besides Hilary who’d come cloaked and hooded. ‘This has been a waste of time,’ I grumped. ‘Those hooded people could be anyone.’
Bastion disagreed. ‘We spotted Tarone, so that’s something. What’s their relationship like?’
‘Acrimonious. Tarone wanted Abigay to marry and stay in Jamaica to raise a brood of children to continue the Morgan line. She didn’t want to – she claimed she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.’ Much like me.
‘She moved here at least partly for her freedom,’ I went on. ‘Her parents died when she was relatively young and Tarone took over managing the family. He kept the reins tight, tried to dictate whom she dated and which coven she belonged to. She got out from under his thumb by escaping in the dead of night. By the time he found her in England, she’d already established herself as a witch of some repute. She had friends in high places and allies who could be dangerous.’ My mum had been both the former and the latter.
‘He let her stay?’
‘There wasn’t much “letting” involved. He told her to come home, she said no – with a cadre of badass witches behind her, including my mum and Hilary – and he flounced back to Jamaica.’
‘Would that have angered him enough to kill her?’ Benji asked.
I wrinkled my nose. ‘If it had, he’d have done it twenty years ago. Not now.’ Unless he believed in serving vengeance cold – twenty years cold.
‘And yet he was seen entering The Witchery and soon afterwards Abigay was dead,’ Bastion pointed out.
Hard to argue with that logic. ‘He’s a person of interest,’ I agreed. ‘Let’s see if we can nail down a location for him by normal means. If not, I’ll try to scry him.’
‘We don’t have anything belonging to him,’ Bastion said.
Damn him for being right. ‘Then you’d best find him, hadn’t you? You’re a tracker – go track.’
His lips twitched. ‘Yes, ma’am, but only when you’re safely back in the hotel.’
As Benji rose to stretch his legs, my phone beeped again with a message from my clinic secretary, Janice: All green for tonight?
Shit. I had forgotten about the clinic. I rubbed a hand over my forehead. Well, at least I’d had a lie-in and I’d still be good to go later. All green. I confirmed. Now I just had to get from Edinburgh to Slough by 9pm.
‘Why are you frowning?’ Bastion asked.
‘I have a clinic tonight,’ I murmured, low enough so that Benji wouldn’t hear. He’s a golem and, as such, his loyalty is to the coven Council whether he wishes it or not. His free will is tightly constrained by rules and regulations – and healing for free is a big no-no. If he found out what I was doing, he’d be duty-bound to report it.
Bastion followed my gaze to where Benji was happily taking some more sausages and understanding lit his eyes. ‘We can leave him here searching for Tarone while we get a helicopter home for “a coven emergency”.’
I hated lying to Benji but it was the lesser of two evils. Telling him about the clinic would put him in an invidious position, so it was for his own good. ‘Okay. Arrange the helicopter,’ I murmured.
I texted Peter Glenn, a potion ingredient grower whom I’d met once at his request. He grows a plethora of exotic flora and fauna at the Palm House in Liverpool. Black mordis kept coming up time and time again. Its ingredients were common – bar the last one. Someone has been brewing black mordis. Have you sold any felfa leaves recently?
He responded almost instantly. I am very careful who I sell felfa to. No one of late.
Can you make enquiries with other growers?
It will be difficult. No one will want to disrupt the status quo.
Black mordis, I replied simply. It is the most deadly potion that has ever been made. Felfa is an ingredient in other potions, too; if it is sliced and not boiled then it can be consumed, but if it is crushed… A lick of magic will activate the deadly toxins and compound the potential for murder.
I will ask, Peter responded simply.
That was all I could do. It might be that this area of investigation would hit a brick wall but at least I’d done everything I could. Not for the first time I wished I had the skill to compel someone to tell me the truth just by looking at them. Drawing truth runes takes an unholy amount of time, and even then you have to get your intended victim to stand or sit on them while they are activated.
While my phone was out, I texted Oscar and told him about the clinic. If Meredith and Ria were okay to be left alone, he could meet me there. And afterwards, I planned to have words with him about my father.
Chapter 17
Bastion gave Benji a list of places where Tarone had spent money during the past week and asked him to use his contacts to track down Tarone’s whereabouts so that we could confront him. Bastion made it clear that Benji should not approach Tarone without us.
Benji nodded solemnly, his chest puffed with pride at the importance of the task laid on him.
For some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Tarone wasn’t the killer. As I’d said to the men, if he’d wanted Abigay dead he could have killed her years earlier. And Abigay had told me that he was a stickler for rules and tradition; everything was black and white to him. From what she’d said, black magic was repugnant to him. I could see him attacking his sister with angrepet – a dagger – but not a black rune. Still, people change. He was on the suspect list, meagre though it was.
Before I went to the clinic, I stole down to the underground city with my bodyguards in tow. I wanted to talk to Eleanora Moonspell, who was also on the suspect list. Eleanora pretty much ran the underground market and she’d earned a huge amount of respect and goodwill in the community. If I had to put money on who would be the next Crone, it would be her or Hilary. People had killed for far less.
I let the dank chill wash over me. Benji gave a happy hum and wiggled his shoulders; I guess the coolness agreed with him because it was all he’d known for a very long time. He held out a hand to stop me from moving forward. ‘I’ll go ahead and scout out the market. Wait here.’
He didn’t wait for me to agree before his clay form rolled over his clothes, subsuming them until he stood naked. Golems aren’t anatomically correct; although he was male in nature, he was not – well, male in nature.
He stepped forward and disappeared into the walls and my mouth dropped open. I’d had no idea he could do that. He had been made by dozens of acolytes and witches working together, but I’d never seen any runework that would enable him to become one with the walls. Was he becoming part of the walls, or was he merely travelling through them?
‘Neat trick,’ Bastion commented.
‘Did you know he could do that?’ I asked, aghast. I hadn’t known that and I’d helped to make him.
Bastion shook his head. ‘No, but it could definitely come in handy.’
We waited in silence. Bastion was visibly edgy and his hand was floating near a blade on his hip. I guessed cold steel was his equivalent of a safety blanket, though it was equally unnecessary; I’d seen Bastion perform a partial shift and transform his hands into talons that were ready to rip out throats effortlessly, so a knife was somewhat superfluous. Though, as he’d said, he couldn’t throw his claws so maybe it wasn’t totally superfluous.
‘Okay.’ Benji’s distorted voice came from the walls themselves. I glanced around but I couldn’t see him. ‘I’ve checked and there are definitely no ogres in the underground city. The market is all clear.’
He stepped out of the walls, concentrated for a moment and brought his black suit forward again. It was immaculate, without even a hint of the clay that should have covered it. ‘That is so cool,’ I said. Mindful of his need for human contact, I gave him a smile and a pat on the arm.
He grinned broadly. ‘I’ve got some skills, Am.’
‘Of that I have no doubt, my friend.’
Benji took point and led us to the underground market. Bastion stayed at the rear, still vibrating with tension, his eyes jerking this way and that, constantly assessing everything around us for a potential threat. It must have been exhausting.
The market was unusually busy. Stalls lined the square courtyard but groups of witches were huddled drinking tea and coffee from the pop-up café. Everyone wanted to be together, to have the feeling of community. There was safety in numbers – or so they assumed. Safety was illusory, I thought, as I fingered the potion bomb in my pocket.
I spotted Eleanora Moonspell at the main potions stall and made my way to her. Her warm, welcoming smile disappeared the instant that she saw me approaching and she grimaced. Always nice to have a fan. She stepped aside and tapped her assistant on the shoulder to tell him to take over the stall whilst she dealt with me.
‘Moonspell,’ I greeted her coolly.
‘DeLea,’ she responded just as glacially. ‘I suppose it’s no surprise to see you here.’
‘And why is that?’
She snorted. ‘Everyone knows that you’re investigating who killed the Crone.’
‘And why should that bring me to your door?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Because I’m going to be the next Crone,’ she asserted confidently. ‘Hilary and Beatrice might think that they’re in with a shot but they’re not. They are Council members and the Council will want them to stay there. It will be far easier to replace the Crone with someone from outside the Council than to recruit more Council members, especially when we are already down one Symposium member. Look how long it’s taken them to do anything about that! It’s just logistics.’
She folded her arms. ‘Regardless of that, I would never have killed to obtain the position. Whatever you think of me, you must know that. Like you, potions have been a huge part of my life’s work but I have never taken a shortcut. I believe in working for what you want to attain.’
I didn’t quite follow her logic about the hiring policy. Either way, someone would have to be recruited either to be the Crone or to be a replacement Council member. I didn’t see the point in arguing with her, however; there was a more pressing question. ‘And what if what you want to attain is the Crone’s position?’
She leaned forward. ‘Then I would have cemented a position in the market, made myself invaluable to the community and waited for the current Crone to die.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Of natural causes,’ she clarified hastily. ‘You can look at me as hard as you want, but it’s a waste of your time and mine. Abigay and I had our differences but we both had the interests of the witch community at heart.’
Of that I had no doubt – but was it the best interests of the witch community or the black witch community? ‘Did you go to the ceilidh the night before Abigay died?’
She frowned at my line of questioning. ‘Yes, but Abigay didn’t come.’
‘Who did?’
She snorted, ‘Better to ask who didn’t. All the movers and shakers were there bar Abigay and Hilary. They sat drinking together in The Witchery rather than socialising with the rest of us.’ She sniffed. ‘But the rest of the Council were there. I should know because I spent most of the night talking with them.’
‘Trying to secure the Crone position?’
She glared. ‘No, the Crone position wasn’t vacant then. I was trying to get an invitation to be tested for membership of the Symposium.’ Dammit, that was my role. The last thing I needed was Moonspell throwing her hat into the ring. Kassandra was good competition but Moonspell would be damned hard to beat and, like me, she’d worked hard to build a reputation and a solid base of allies.
‘If it wasn’t you who killed Abigay,’ I asked baldly, ‘then who was it?’ I needed more suspects. Moonspell wasn’t off the list but she was further down than she had been before we’d had this chat.
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘I’d look harder at Hilary and Beatrice.’
‘You said it yourself – they’re less likely to become the Crone than you are,’ I argued.
‘Yes, but they don’t know that. They’re delusional and they think that their seats on the Council are an advantage. They’re completely wrong, of course. I’ve spent years doing hard graft, serving the community. I’m the obvious choice.’
‘And if you don’t get invited?’
She threw up her hands. ‘Well then obviously I’m going to bomb the world,’ she huffed sarcastically. ‘If I don’t get the position I’ll try again when the next Crone dies, and I’ll set my sights on a position on the Council in the meantime. Failing that, maybe it’s time for me to become a Coven Mother. I have plenty of avenues open to me, but all I know is that I’m done peddling wares in the underground market. I want to see some damned daylight, not to mention that I’m getting too old for the long hours the market requires. I want a cushy job.’
I thought of Abigay’s role – becoming the Crone, losing her name, serving the Goddess’s whims. It wasn’t a cushy job; it was a difficult one. I’d always thought that Eleanora Moonspell would be a good Crone but now I had my doubts. If she was looking for the path of least resistance, then the Crone’s path wouldn’t be for her. I knew from Abigay how hard the job was. She had constantly travelled up and down the country, sorting out disputes within the covens that the Coven Mothers couldn’t resolve. And she consulted the stars and the Goddess for the best direction to guide the Council to maximise the witches’ success in the future.
No: the Crone’s job was a lot of things but cushy wasn’t one of them. As it had turned out, it was also pretty deadly.
Chapter 18
I left Edinburgh very reluctantly. Bastion had sourced us a helicopter so at least we didn’t have to use Griffin Air again or spend six hours driving back down south. I hated leaving Benji, although he was far from vulnerable. He hadn’t been above the surface all that much, and the outside world was fast-paced and violent. He was still a little naïve and I honestly wanted to keep him that way. It was part of his charm.
I didn’t want to cart Grimmy up and down the country, nor did I want to leave him in a hotel, so I gave my bag to Benji and explained that it held something very dear to me. Shocked, I watched Benji lift his shirt and push the bag into his clay body. His shape was distorted for a moment then it rippled as it redistributed itself and he became an inch or two taller. Cool.
I gave him a big hug before boarding the helicopter and he promised me that he would be careful. That would have to suffice. I felt a bit like a proud mother letting my child loose upon the world; creating Benji was probably the closest I’d come to motherhood, but now he was far more than the runes that I had once painted painstakingly onto his prone form.
Once we were in the helicopter, Bastion surprised me by pulling out another book. This one was entitled Fiery Waters and the blurb told me that it was a forbidden romance story between a fire elemental and a water elemental. I thanked him and took it happily. The stress of the day melted away as I lost myself in Jack and Sam’s love story.
