The Witch and the Englishman Read online

I couldn’t recall Millicent’s personality in our past lives. But in this life—or, rather, in her current spiritual state—she was as serious as hell. Then again, maybe that was the nature of spirits: a complete lack of humor.

  “Not a complete lack, Allison, but I didn’t come here to joke or humor you. I came here to educate you. To train you. To remind you of who you really are.”

  She appeared suddenly before me, blocking my path to the front door. I gasped at the sudden sight of her, now denser and more defined. One would think I was used to the woman—or spirit—appearing and disappearing before me. But not yet. Maybe someday. And, yes, it was as if a fully formed woman was standing in front of me. Correction: not quite fully formed. She was missing her feet and most of her hands.

  So weird.

  I held my chest. “And half the time, you scare the crap out of me.”

  Millicent didn’t like it when I used words like “crap” or “hell,” let alone, the bigger, more colorful words. This, I suspected, was a holdover from her previous, and slightly more prudish, incarnation. Now, she frowned in mild distaste.

  “I don’t mean to scare you, Allison.”

  “I know, I know, it’s just a lucky bonus.”

  She moved in closer and now I could feel her warmth, which was an odd thing to say about a discarnate entity. Still, when Millicent was particularly energized—and excited—she veritably radiated heat. Granted, it was my heat back to me; meaning, she drew energy from me—and the surrounding household—which was why my lights now flickered and my refrigerator hummed and sputtered.

  She ignored my last comment. Millicent often ignored my jibes and jabs and witticisms. Instead, she said, “Part of your education, child, is to know when to step aside...and when to take action.”

  “And let nature take its course?”

  She nodded. Now she was directly in front of me, so close that I could see the irises of her eyes. They might have flared briefly with a small fire...or that could have been my imagination. Had she had bad breath, I would have known. She didn’t, thank God, mostly because she didn’t breathe.

  Once again, I soaked her in, studying her every feature, and as I did, I had brief flashes—as I often had when she was nearby, and especially when she made a full physical appearance, as she was doing now—of us as teenagers, in a long-ago time, in a forgotten forest, practicing our witchcraft...and loving every minute of it. There was, of course, another witch with us. Samantha Moon. The three of us were something to behold...and something to respect and to even fear.

  Most of what I had learned in those bygone, forgotten days was lost to me. Sort of. With Millicent’s guidance, I was quickly coming into my own, growing more powerful and knowledgeable.

  Samantha Moon? Not so much. My undead friend was now on her own path; that was, she was on the path of the bloodsuckers, which made the witch threesome now a twosome. According to Millicent, we were stronger as three. Anything done in threes was powerful. From prayers to witchcraft.

  Of course, I was presently the only mortal among the three of us, which was a problem. Millicent was still technically a witch, although a dead one. As I’d discovered, her being dead didn’t matter much. She did naturally and easily on the “other side” what I was having trouble doing on “this side.” Still, there were rules in place, rules that limited her involvement in this world—the physical world. She was a force to be reckoned with...and a witch, through and through.

  The same couldn’t be said for my friend, Sam. From what I had gathered, the witchy spark had left her the moment she became something else. Or, more accurately, the moment something very dark and evil had entered into her. It was something Sam was fighting to this day.

  But that was another story.

  The story I found myself in now was one that was troubling...but one that I was determined to do something about.

  “No, child,” said Millicent, who still used her manner of speech from her last incarnation. “Now is the time to step aside. There is great danger in that home.”

  “What kind of danger?”

  “There is a presence, something hidden.”

  “Fine. Whatever. It can just stay hidden. But I’ll be damned if I’ll just let a man die. I can’t do that.”

  “His death has nothing to do with you, Allison. His death is between him...and forces much greater than you and I.”

  I stepped around her, mostly out of respect, although I knew I could have just as easily stepped through her, too. However, doing so would have set in motion a fit of shivering that would have lasted me several minutes.

  At the door, I turned back to her and said, “Well, this greater force is just going to have to back off.”

  “Allison—”

  But I was already out the door.

  Chapter Three

  I was driving.

  Traffic from Beverly Hills to Santa Monica always gets dicey the closer you get to the 405 Freeway. Luckily, I knew all of the shortcuts...and yeah, I might have even used a touch of prescience to find the fastest route through it. Either way, I soon found myself on Wilshire Boulevard, where I passed many beautiful glass buildings that reflected the setting sun. I also passed smaller businesses that reflected, if anything, the proverbial American Dream. There were costume shops and gaming shops and tobacco shops and coffee shops and Irish bars and gay bars and Greek cafés.

  When I passed the fourth Starbucks, I finally took notice and pulled into the drive-thru. I ordered a decaf latte with half and half only, secretly longing for a mocha, but knowing I was going to need all the psychic help I could get in a manner of minutes. So, no caffeine, dammit.

  Now sipping contently, I headed back out into the heavy traffic and put my mind on what I had seen during my initial scan of Billy Turner. Yes, I knew his last name, too. I could have told him that, but I didn’t want to freak him out too much. Besides, I was already freaked enough for the two of us.

  After all, I had seen, quite literally, his death.

  If what I had seen was correct—and thanks to Millicent, I had little doubt that it was correct—it was going to happen soon.

  In a matter of days, in fact.

  I considered calling Samantha Moon, but I knew she would be with her kids, probably making them a dinner she couldn’t eat. I also considered calling my other good friend, Bernice, a psychic of a very different type—that is, the not-so-very-talented-type—but she was working the evening shift at The Psychic Hotline. Yes, not all psychics at the Hotline were cut from the same cloth. My experience was that many were shams, although some had a hint of real ability, like my friend, Bernice.

  For now, though, I figured I needed more information. That meant I needed to talk to Billy directly, and in person. There was still a small chance that I had not read Billy correctly, which I doubted. I had to quell that doubt, which was another reason why I had agreed to meet him face-to-face. The fact that he was also cute had almost nothing to do with it.

  Almost.

  I glanced at the address I had written down. Unbeknownst to Billy Turner, I had remained psychically connected to him after the phone call had been disconnected. Once I made a connection with someone, I could stay connected with them as long as I wanted. In this case, I passed in and around his house, noting the house number and street address. Yes, I’m kind of like a superhero.

  Perhaps most disconcerting was the darkness I’d felt in the house, the darkness that Millicent had alluded to. And it was a real darkness, too. Bad things had happened there at one time in the house’s past, of that much I was sure. What those bad things were, remained to be seen.

  Soon, I turned onto his street, which was lined with big homes and big trees and wide patches of bright green lawns.

  A wonderful place to live, I thought. Or die.

  Chapter Four

  Billy immediately answered the door, looking a bit embarrassed and surprised to see me.

  “I’m Allison.”

  “I can’t believe you’re really here,
” he said.

  “I could pinch you,” I said, “if that would help.”

  “Maybe later—wait, sorry, that sounded creepy. It’s just that...”

  “What?” I asked, as I stepped into the big home.

  “Well, I hadn’t expected you to be so, well, lovely.”

  “Hearing you say that in your cute English accent makes me almost believe it.”

  He smiled at that, and as he did so, I saw again what I had seen earlier: the black aura that surrounded him. I could see auras around most people. In fact, I could see them around just about everyone. Auras were an interesting thing, and I was only just beginning to learn about them. From what I now gathered, thanks to my many conversations with Samantha and Millicent, auras were an extension of our spiritual bodies. Most were interlaced with color. The colors often indicated someone’s mood or intention. I was learning to understand what the colors meant.

  There was, of course, no mistaking the meaning of the color black. Samantha had told me the story of her son, Anthony. She had seen the black aura around her son—and had known he would die unless she did something about it. Well, she had done something—something big—and it had changed the course of his life, perhaps forever.

  She, too, had been warned not to mess with her son’s fate...but she had done so anyway. It had been a decision that most people would respect, I believed. I certainly did.

  But, like with all decisions, there were consequences—and now her son wasn’t like other boys his age. Not quite a vampire, he was something else. What he was, exactly, remained to be seen.

  Now, as I brushed past Billy, some of the black residue that clung to his aura attached itself to me, and broke free. I gasped a little and waved it away, where it disappeared in a puff. But before it did, I saw an image that I wouldn’t soon forget.

  “Everything okay?” he asked pleasantly enough. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  I was too startled for even a halfway witty response. I merely shook my head and headed deeper into the house. Except I didn’t find solace in the big, brooding structure. In fact, I received just the opposite impression: a sense of gloom and foreboding.

  I had known Billy was going to die...but I hadn’t known how.

  Until now.

  Sweet Jesus.

  He said, “I would ask you if you wanted something to drink, but I see that you beat me to it.” He motioned to the iced coffee I was holding. I had forgotten I was holding it, and now it was collecting condensation and was beginning to drip. I told him I was fine and asked if he had a trash can. He looked at the mostly full cup and shrugged. After seeing what I had seen, I had lost my appetite...and apparently, my thirst, too.

  He threw out the plastic cup for me—yes, I knew it was coffee abuse. He disappeared for a moment, in the kitchen, I presumed, and then reappeared. He showed me over to his couch, where we each sat on one end.

  The house had a familiar feel.

  It was, of course, exactly as I had seen it just a while earlier. If anything, though, it was far bigger than what I had been prepared for. Bigger and darker.

  “Nice place,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Most people find it kind of creepy. My daughter does.”

  “How old is your daughter?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “And where is she now?”

  “In jail.”

  I’d been so focused on him and his bleak house that I’d forgotten the reason for his call. His daughter.

  “Why does your daughter think the house is creepy?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently, it has a history of creepiness. I guess in the 70s, a few bodies turned up in the basement. And before that, in the 20s and 40s, two different owners were charged with murder. I think one of the owners, in the 80s, died in an insane asylum.”

  “So, what made you want to buy the place?”

  He laughed, or tried to. “I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”

  “Yet, you called a psychic.”

  “Well, I didn’t believe in any of that, at the time.”

  “What do you believe now?”

  He shrugged, looked around the living room, looked up into the dark, vaulted ceiling. As he did so, his black aura swirled and churned. “I don’t know what to believe. My daughter, as soon as we moved in here, well...she claimed to hear voices.”

  “What kind of voices?”

  “Not nice voices.”

  “Evil voices?” I asked.

  “I guess you could say that. They told her to commit crimes, to hurt people, and even to hurt me.”

  “Why didn’t you move?” I asked.

  “I didn’t believe her. I thought she was just being cheeky and wanted to go back home.”

  “To England?”

  He nodded. “Glastonbury.”

  “Why did you move out here to Southern California?”

  “I’m a director.”

  “Movies?”

  “Yes. Short films, mostly. I was nominated for an Academy a few years ago.”

  “Congratulations,” I said, noting that my voice might have trailed off. The reason it trailed off was because I had just seen a very dark shape materialize in the hallway...and then disappear again.

  Very dark, very tall, and very inhuman. It had, I was certain, red eyes. That was all I could make out before it had disappeared again.

  I did not just see that, I thought.

  “You all right?” he asked. “Gawd, you just turned pale. I mean, all the color just drained from your face.”

  I decided to be blunt. In fact, I couldn’t help but be blunt. In double fact, I wasn’t even entirely sure what I was saying next, so startled was I, and, quite frankly, terrified, by what I had just seen.

  “I think your house is haunted, Billy. Very, very haunted.”

  He laughed immediately, and, if you ask me, a little too sharply and quickly. “Blimey! Why would you say such a thing?”

  “I saw something in your hallway.”

  He laughed again...and leaned over and looked down his hallway. “I don’t see anything,” he said, then looked right at me, his face only a few feet from mine. And as he looked at me, a shadow, a very dark shadow, appeared around him. Billy’s eyes flared red. “Maybe it’s a figment of your imagination.”

  Except, of course, the voice didn’t sound like Billy’s. It sounded deeper, guttural...and evil.

  And then Billy blinked, looked at me awkwardly, and sat back on his side of the couch. “What were you saying?” he asked.

  I was, of course, not saying anything.

  Billy, I was certain, had just been possessed by the very thing I had seen in his hallway.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Chapter Five

  I took in a lot of air, and wondered what the hell I had just stepped into.

  A living nightmare, I realized. Complete with devils and haunting and possession and murder and death.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked.

  I nodded weakly. As Billy looked at me, the blackness within his aura swirled and shifted and spread over the couch like an oil spill, oozing slowly away from him, over the cushions and down through the cracks and seams. This was different than the entity I was sure had momentarily possessed him. This was his aura...revealing again that Billy didn’t have long to live.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, averting my eyes, and taking a few deep breaths. “I’m fine, really.”

  “It’s about my daughter, isn’t it?” The fear and alarm in his voice was unmistakable. He sat forward, elbows on knees, and literally wrung his hands. As he did so, the black mass that surrounded him sat forward, too...and wove in and out of his fingers.

  Sweet Jesus.

  I shook my head. “No, I haven’t picked up anything yet about your daughter...I’m concerned by what I saw in your home. You haven’t seen anything strange?”

  He waved off the question. “Me? No. Not really.”

&nbs
p; “What have you seen?”

  He suddenly looked highly uncomfortable. He adjusted the drape of his pants, shifted on the couch, cracked his neck. “Keep in mind, I’ve lived here for nearly two years, and haven’t seen anything.”

  “Until?”

  “Until just a few days ago.”

  “You live here alone with your daughter?”

  “Now I do. I’m alone while she’s in jail.”

  “We’ll get to that,” I said. “First, tell me what you saw.”

  “I haven’t seen anything. But I heard...laughing, followed by weeping.”

  “Is that why you called me?” I asked.

  He looked at me, studied me closely, and then looked away. His pale face nearly glowed in the half-light of the room. A single lamp, in the far corner, was the only source of light.

  He nodded. “I guess I want to know if there is something in the house. But I think you have answered that question.”

  I nodded. “Why is your daughter in jail?”

  He went on, “My daughter is accused of killing a shopkeeper. A jewelry store owner, in fact.”

  I nodded. I had heard about the crime, which had occurred about three weeks ago. Not far from here. I waited.

  He studied me some more, then said, “My daughter—Liz—told me over and over that the voice wanted her to kill. That it loved death. It loved blood.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “And you ignored her?”

  “What would you do? What would anyone do?”

  “Have someone talk to her. Someone like me.”

  “Well, I didn’t. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never believed in ghosts or hauntings or any of that stuff. I thought Liz was going through a phase...a phase that would go away.”

  “And now she’s accused of murder,” I said.

  He buried his face in his hands and suddenly wept loudly. “Please help me,” he said, his voice barely recognizable. “I don’t know what’s happening...and I think...I think there’s a very real possibility that I might be going mad.”

  Chapter Six

  It was later.