A Very British Witch Boxed Set Page 23

  Stay tuned to the mailing list for when that will be released. I’m excited for you to read it.

  Publishing Direct

  As you may have figured out, when we launch a series, in order for it to do well, we release the first three books in a single month. This is a known strategy that I was taught when I started writing professionally about two years ago now.

  However, since it can take at least a month to get a book written and produced, that means we have multiple manuscripts lying around on hard drives, waiting for the third and fourth book to be almost ready.

  In the last few weeks I’ve been wondering: what if there is a way to get these into the hands of the hard-core fans first, much sooner than they would otherwise hit KU?

  And it turns out there is a way. But you need to be on the email list to receive the links and notifications.

  Not only that, but I think what I’m also going to start doing is sharing these books for free with Patreon members (at the $15 bucks tier and above). These guys already get all kinds of things, like Author Shenanigans videos and private Ellie rants… But wouldn’t it be cool to also give them whole books, long before they hit the public too?

  If you’d like in at this tier, you can find out more here:

  www.patreon.com/ellleighclarke

  If you just want the inside scoop to buy these books (and potentially whole series) before the hit the ‘Zon, then you just need to make sure you’re the relevant email lists.

  For the urban fantasy stuff (and Rex Baron’s new series) you can get hooked up with Izzie’s familiar, Raven here:

  www.isobellacrowley.com

  If you’re into sci-fi, go ahead and get hooked up here:

  www.ellleighclarke.com/molly

  Ok, I think you’re all set. Go ahead and join us in all the places that seem relevant to you, and I’ll look forward to being in touch next time – as Izzie said, a week from when this first book hit the ‘Zon.

  Yours in gratitude,

  Ellie x

  A Very British Witch

  Book Two

  Jade

  Isobella Crowley

  DEDICATION

  For the souls who dream of making the world more magical.

  — Izzie

  To everyone who ever dreamed of making a dent in the universe.

  — Ellie

  JADE

  A Very British Witch 02

  JIT Beta Readers

  Brian Roberts

  Jackey Hankard-Brodie

  Robert Gould

  Robert Brooks

  Chelsea Wright

  Crystal Wren

  Diane L Smith

  Mary Morris

  Nicole Emens

  Tonya Waldron

  If I missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Mary Morris

  Chapter One

  Clarke’s Quarters, RAF Bicester

  Something was wrong.

  As Flight Lieutenant Tim Clarke reviewed his notes from the homicide investigation, he felt certain there were gaps in his record-keeping that he couldn’t account for.

  He sat at the small desk in his barracks room with file folders open in front of him. For more than a week he’d been investigating the death of Bill Knight, a former professor who had been writing a book on the history of Bicester, England. After failing to show for a scheduled meeting on base, his body was found in a fallow field just outside the village.

  He recalled his discussion with the police investigator and the forensic team. In the file folder, he had stacks of crime scene photos, and some official papers and correspondence. There were also newspaper articles and some background information on Knight. Missing however, were his notes about the crime scene itself.

  Tim felt sure he’d taken notes on the state of the corpse but had no specific memory of what those notes said, and couldn’t find them in the files that now lay spread out on his desk and bed.

  The coroner’s report is missing, too, he realized.

  It had been more than a week now, and Bicester wasn’t exactly the murder capital of the UK. Either the coroner was dragging his feet, or there was something odd about this case.

  Tim thought about calling the medical examiner’s office but decided an email would be a more diplomatic approach. He opened his laptop and was about to create a new email when he saw a message from the coroner’s office that was already opened.

  Strange.

  He read the message. It seemed the assistant coroner had resent the coroner’s report on Tim’s request.

  I don’t remember any of this.

  He glanced through the report and one phrase jumped out at him:

  “Animal attack.”

  His pulse quickened. He knew what that meant. “Animal attack” was the code they used for an exsanguination. It was an easy way to bury the truth. Besides, it was the only sensible solution to their dilemma since there was no way in hell he could put down the real cause:

  Vampire attack.

  But why had the coroner written this on the Bill Knight case file? That would have prompted Tim to take certain actions. Precautions. Not least a conversation with the coroner about it all.

  Tim had no memory of discussing the case with him at all. Or letting him in on any suspicions his investigation had led him to believe that it truly was a vampire attack. Which meant the coroner had come to this conclusion on his own, or…

  I got too close.

  That must be it, he reasoned. It certainly explained the gaps in his case files and in his memories. He must have discovered that Knight was a victim of vampirism, and a vampire had tried to cover it up by stealing some of his records and wiping his mind.

  “Compelled” is what they called it. Vampires had a strong power of suggestion that could warp the minds of most humans.

  Damn hostiles.

  He read through his notes again looking for clues, anything that might point to a suspect, but he saw no names at all. No interviews. No leads. It was as if Tim had taken the week off.

  They had taken everything important.

  “Dammit!” Tim slammed the file folder on the desk.

  He paced the small room, trying to think of what to do next. It was hard to think. His brain was foggy, and his thoughts came slowly. It was hard to concentrate, but pacing helped get the blood flowing to his brain. After a few moments, he found some clarity.

  Tim knew he needed to retrace his steps. To rediscover the trail he’d lost. But whoever had messed with his brain and his papers hadn’t left him any good leads to follow up on.

  Think, dammit, think…

  The police report said that when they found the body they suspected a murder. This made sense. The body was found buried in a field. Someone had buried it. But who? Probably the murderer, or an accomplice.

  But the coroner’s report called it an animal attack.

  Would that fit with the known facts?

  Obviously, an animal would not bury the body in a field. That had been done by a human.

  Or a vampire, he thought.

  Tim crossed into the small bathroom and splashed some water on his face, trying to clear some of the fog from his head. It didn’t work.

  This was my case.

  Tim went back to his desk and sat down. He picked up the stack of crime scene photos and went through them one by one. Something in the images would jog his memory.

  One of his files was labeled “interviews.” There wasn’t much in there but photos of Bicester citizens with their names written on the back.

  He’d been through the files. There was no record of the interviews themselves, but he would certainly have interviewed the locals when Bill Knight was first reported missing. Standard procedure.

  According to the official correspondence, Knight was reported missing first, then Tim was assigned the case, and finally Knight had turned up dead. While this case was still a missing person’s, Tim must have conducted numerous interviews. He had probably talked to everyo
ne in this file. If so, one or more of these faces could help him remember.

  He went through them, studying each face intensely. He paused at one in particular. It was a pretty young woman in her mid or late twenties. She had fair skin, long dark hair, and an easy smile. He turned the photo over and read the back:

  “Scarlett Slater, 28. Wine shop.”

  I know her.

  The more he looked at her photo, the more he felt sure of it. Scarlett Slater was important to the case in some way.

  He set her picture aside and looked through the others.

  Another one caught his interest. It was an older woman this time, possibly mid-fifties. Her features were similar to those of Scarlett Slater. A relative, maybe?

  Turning the photo over, he read:

  “Tabitha, aunt of Scarlett Slater. Allotment.”

  Allotment? He wondered why that was important enough to note. There were allotments outside of town, but Bill Knight’s body hadn’t been found in any of them. He’d been buried in a farm field. What was the connection there?

  He sensed the faint murmurings of a memory. He had seen these faces before and probably spoken to them. The fact that he had their photos in the file and couldn’t connect them to his past was further evidence that someone or something had played with his mind.

  It was looking more and more likely that Knight’s death was the work of a vampire. That meant that this was not a battle against mental decline but a war against a cunning and dangerous adversary.

  And Tim Clarke was trained for war.

  He stood up from the desk once more and paced the small room. It was late now. He could see darkness and moonlight outside his window, which faced the central woods of the garrison.

  His head felt sluggish, but his body was tense from the frustration and the not-knowing. His investigation and his own condition were puzzles that needed to be solved, but he could feel himself winding down. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself, and that frustrated him more than anything. Tim was a man of action. He liked to move, to get things done.

  He thought about going to the gym, but it was too late to work out. The garrison kept strict hours for everything. Sneaking into the gym late at night would earn him a reprimand if he were caught. Plus it would hinder him getting to sleep at a decent hour.

  The rec room was an option, but that was full of squaddies and he didn’t feel like dealing with them at the moment.

  I could use a drink though.

  It would clear his head, and might even loosen the tension and allow him to sleep. The garrison had a bar, but it would be closed by the time he got there, even if he hurried.

  Tim grabbed the TV remote off the desk and turned on his television. He flipped through the channels quickly, not looking for anything in particular, just seeing what his options were. When nothing grabbed him, he flicked it off.

  What he really needed was to reestablish a routine. A sense of normalcy. Every investigation was different, but this one had really interrupted the flow of his days, it seemed. Not that he could remember the specifics.

  If he were honest with himself, though, he had kind of enjoyed it. He could remember some of his feelings. The case had given him a good reason to spend more time in town. He’d been hanging out at local pubs and cafes. A kebab shop, even. These were the life and soul of his after-hours drinking sessions. Not that he drank that much. Usually. But it was nice to have people around. New experiences, new friends.

  Glancing around his spartan studio room, he suddenly felt isolated and lonely. These days he was all work and no play.

  I need to get the hell out, he thought, and ambled to the shower to get himself ready.

  +++

  Slater Residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett Slater sat on her bed with her door closed and her book open. She often read mystery novels in bed before sleeping, but this book was much heavier than her normal fare and held more mysteries.

  It was her Aunt Tabitha’s grimoire.

  Scarlett had recently learned she was a witch. She had often joked that her aunt was a witch, and only half-believed it. It had never occurred to her that she could be a witch herself.

  The events of the past weeks had been a series of shocks—a killing, an investigation, a revelation that some of her friends and family were not who she thought they were—but nothing had been so unsettling as the discovery that she was not who she thought she was.

  I’m a witch. She had repeated the phrase to herself throughout the day, as if turning it into a mantra would make it any less strange.

  But of course the truth was in the spells. If she were truly a witch, then she would be able to do the things that witches were said to do.

  Her aunt had explained to her that being a witch was partly hereditary, but that it took knowledge and practice. Tabitha told her that Scarlett had rejected that knowledge as a child, though she could not remember any of it. She had not been raised to be a witch but had not studied the craft. Instead, she had chosen to assimilate into the normal human world, to fit in with her friends at school and at work.

  I’m not really a witch, she reasoned with herself. I’m a potential witch.

  That felt more real to her. More honest. More… acceptable. She had been born with a gift that she had never used. Or if she had ever used it, then it had been in a blundering and ignorant way.

  Now, she felt the strong desire to understand herself, to learn who she really was and what she was capable of. Not having had her mother around had always left her with this question. Now though, that feeling was more pronounced. Her mother had died when she was very young, and Scarlett had been raised by her aunt.

  Then something else occurred to her:

  My mother was a witch!

  She was still processing all the new information. She felt a jolt of adrenaline as she remembered this vital piece.

  Her aunt had confirmed it the other day, but said little about the circumstances of her mother’s death. It seemed there were some things that Aunt Tabitha was not yet prepared to talk about.

  The knowledge that Scarlett came from a family of witches made her want to know more. Tabitha had given her a grimoire to study. It was not the largest of the set her aunt possessed, but she said it was good for a beginner.

  “Simple spells,” Tabitha had said. “The craft has its own syntax, or language, if you will. You must start small with the basic building blocks and work your way up to the harder and more… dangerous spells. Don’t rush it, dear. Like any art, you must practice slowly and deliberately, being careful not to rush too quickly through the fundamentals. The fundamentals must be mastered first. Slow and steady.”

  It was well into the evening now and Scarlett’s eyes were beginning to tire. As she read the book she couldn’t help but look ahead at some of the more advanced spells, to see what might be possible. It seemed this grimoire was focused on the basics and did not go much beyond levitation and fire-starting. Disappointed, she flipped back to the page she had been reading in the front.

  One of the good things about this beginner’s grimoire was that it required no special objects like wands, crystals or enchanted broomsticks. The magic was mostly verbal, or required the use of mundane household objects.

  What she really needed, she thought, was to stop reading and to start doing.

  She flipped through the pages until she found a spell that interested her and that she had the right elements to practice with.

  Scarlett had always loved the mirror scene in the classic Disney movie Snow White, so naturally her eyes were drawn to the words, “Mirror, mirror…”

  It was in a section on summoning the flagae, who were spirits trapped in mirrors. Apparently, that was what was shown in the movie, and the spell in the grimoire had some similarities. The words were in Latin, though:

  Speculo speculum

  in pariete

  ostende mihi…

  She translated the Latin using Google.

  Mirror, mirr
or

  on the wall

  show me…

  At the end of this, the spellcaster was supposed to name a person, place or thing, and the spirits in the mirror, the flagae, would summon a vision of the thing you wanted to see. You could interact with the person or thing in the mirror, but this later step was for a more advanced witch.

  Reading further, Scarlett learned there was a bit of ceremony required. The witch or sorcerer was supposed to sit or stand in front of a mirror, which did not have to be hanging on a wall, though this was strongly advised for the beginner.

  The witch was instructed to put a bowl of water in front of the mirror and put a candle in front of the bowl. That is, between the witch and the bowl. There was a line drawing to illustrate the proper relation of the objects. The candle should then be lit, and the words spoken while gazing into the mirror:

  Speculo speculum

  in pariete

  ostende mihi…

  Finally, the candle flame should be dowsed in the water bowl, and the witch should put her fingers into the bowl, swirling them in the water while gazing into the mirror as the image appeared.

  I can do this, Scarlett told herself.

  Glad that Amanda was staying at Ronnie’s, she padded downstairs and retrieved a bowl from the kitchen. She chose a ceramic one. It was plain white, without decoration. She wondered if a wooden bowl might be better, but the grimoire didn’t say. Anyway, she didn’t have a wooden bowl. This was going to have to do.

  Scarlett filled the bowl with water and brought it to her room. She placed the bowl on her dresser, in front of the mirror.

  Looking over the dresser, she cringed at the sight of her makeup and jewelry scattered over it.

  Scarlett paused her spell work, to clear off the top of her dresser completely. It took nearly half an hour, but the dresser looked much better without the clutter. Now there was nothing to distract her concentration from the mirror.