Chapter 10

  Elderwick is a dying town with most of the businesses shut down and almost no tourists. The few tourists we get are in the summer, mainly people visiting a nearby sea. We are lucky to have a good sand beach, one of the rare few in England, and also a small forest and a hilly area that's great for walks. It has a few camping sites, but again people come mainly in the summer and maybe early autumn. The whole town has to survive based on the income of those few months.

  It doesn't help that the occasional death from supernatural causes has given the town a bad reputation since the government doesn't officially accept that the supernatural exists. They try to pretend it's homeless people or illegal immigrants committing all crimes. The locals all suspect something strange, and the police are certainly sure, but everyone is ordered to keep their mouth shut. The secret government agency, those bastards at Unit 7, step in to make sure people toe the official line.

  Any blogger, or journalist, or YouTuber who even hints there is anything but the plain and ordinary natural beauty in this town finds their blog taken down, their editor threatened, their YouTube channel suddenly banned.

  In extreme cases I've heard of, but I have no proof, people vanishing for a few weeks and then returning with no memory of their supernatural experiences. Whether their memories were wiped in Men in Black style or whether they were just threatened with a hose pipe on the bum, I have no way of knowing. Either way, me and the local cops know very well sure to keep our heads down and not put any hints of the supernatural down on any digital form where it can be scanned by the government.

  I might be giving the impression the town is horrible. It's not. It's a nice place. In the summer, the sea is great, and you can spend hours sitting there. The nearby forest has a lovely river flowing through it, and the view from the top of the hill is heavenly to look at. Whether in the summer season or during the winter when it always snows on the peak. Tourists often come from as far as Europe to climb the hill.

  It is supposed to have an ancient Celtic history, and rumours of Celtic priests who carried out their ancient rituals here have often been reported in the media. Normally, I would think of this as wishy-washy New Age stuff, but with my experience with the supernatural, I now know that the ancient priests weren't doing New Age hippie stuff. I am 100% sure they were fighting evil from the other dimensions just as I am now. I hope they got more respect than I ever do.

  But even in this dying town, there was one place that was shiny and glamorous like an American mall in the 1980s, and that was the new age shop called the Nice Witch of the East. So-called because that's what her owner called herself.

  Her real name was Lady Mirabelle. I don't know if she was a real lady, as in she belonged to royalty, but the lady title was very apt for her. Almost everyone who met her, at least the first time, did go down on their knees and want to kiss her hands. That was the power of Mirabelle. Although most people didn't know why they acted like that in front of her, there was a very good reason that had taken me a few months to figure out even with all my experience in the supernatural.

  The shop was outside the main city, and unlike the main city, the road here was very well maintained. Not just the mayor of the city, but the head of the whole county would scream at any council worker who let even a tiniest of holes damage the road.

  The shop itself was near a beautiful park and some modern flats. This area was really expensive, and only a few people could afford to live here. The park led to a small river which flowed straight into the forest, which was about 10 minutes' walk from here. This was the place to be if you had any money or respect in town.

  The New Age shop sold everything from crystals to books on astrology and psychic healing as well as herbal medicine and love potions. There was a fully vegan and certified 100% organic cafe open for a few hours and always super busy.

  Luckily for me, by the time I reached there, it was late afternoon, and the cafe was closing. The shop only had a few customers and one man who had clearly seen Lady Mirabelle for the first time. He was on his knees, holding her hands.

  “I have a wife I have been married to for 20 years and three children, but I will leave them for you, Lady Mirabelle. I love you; I will do anything for you. Please marry me.”

  Now, in most normal books, this is where I would describe how Mirabelle looked like. But that would not be possible. It is impossible to describe Mirabelle. It's like describing the wind or a storm or a tsunami. All you can say is “Damn!” Just damn.

  And that was Lady Mirabelle, who also called herself the Nice Witch of the East. She was a force of nature, and even the laws of physics bent around her to please her; humans and especially men had no chance.

  “Oh darling, you are so sweet, but I couldn't possibly ruin your marriage. Hey, if you want to help me, you could buy these books I've been trying to sell and these fridge magnets. They're not selling at all, and I've got about 300 of them. These books, the local city guide, haven't sold at all, mainly because no tourist wants to come here. I've got another 50 of these. I would be so honoured if you just buy them from me. Total of ￡700. But honey, only if you can afford it. I don't want such a lovely and beautiful man like you to go into debt.”

  I struggled not to laugh. Mirabelle had what the ancients called Fae Glamour. Nobody could resist her, men or women. In most stories, she would be the villain, and she often liked to use men as her playthings. In every restaurant, she broke the line and took the best seat, and often had the waiters massage her feet while she waited. When she went to the theatre, not only did she get upgraded to first class, the manager would personally bring her food and drinks and never charge her. Once when she went to the Wimbledon, the Queen's bodyguard fell in love with her and took her to meet the Queen. She still has a photo of her with the Queen.

  I knew the shop she was in had been gifted by a millionaire who was in love with her, and that the mayor, the head of the county, and the chief of police all visited her regularly to seek her blessing, as well as hundreds of other people from whom she gathered information.

  In spite of her tendencies to make money off her Glamour, I knew that at heart Mirabelle was one of the good gals. She often helped me out in tricky cases, never asking for money even when I knew that it had cost her a lot of money to get me the information I needed.

  Mirabelle took the hapless customer to the checkout till where she rang up ￡700 of junk she couldn't sell for him. He took out his gold American Express credit card to pay for it. At least he wasn’t poor, I thought to myself, fighting the struggle to not to laugh.

  To suppress my laughs, I moved to the other corner of the store where a dumpy girl wearing an oversized Scooby-Doo hoodie and baggy trousers (clearly too long for her) was arranging the books. She was the exact opposite of Mirabelle: While Mirabelle executed charm and beauty and grace this girl seemed to be sucking any joy from the air. I wondered why Mirabelle had hired her.

  Mirabelle read my mind and answered. “Because she's cheap, she is only 17 years old, so I pay her half-rate and she works overtime without pay. Also, I hope to turn her into a glamorous and sexy girl one day. It is a hard job and it'll take me many years, but I have hope.” We both burst out laughing.

  The dumpy girl didn't smile and continued working. There was something strange and wrong about her, and if I had met her on the street, I'm sure I would have crossed the street to get away from her. She was dangerous, I could tell. I filed her for later.

  Mirabelle's love-struck customer was being gently pushed out the door by her. “Thanks, sweetie,” she said. “It was so lovely to see you. Why did you come in a month's time when I have more fridge magnets?”

  At this, I couldn't hold my laugh anymore and I had to hold the table to steady myself. “Jesus, Mirabelle,” I said, “That's sleazy, even for you.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  ““No, it's not, honey.” she said with a look that made my breath stop.

  Her face glowed like the sun, and her beautiful hair was like a dark river flowing from the ocean. I wanted to fall down on my knees and worship her, to say I'd do anything for her. But then the moment passed. I suspect because she turned her charm off rather than because of any special skill I had.

  “He is filthy rich, owns three cars, cheats on his wife, spends thousands of pounds visiting high-end escorts and strip clubs. He can afford to help me out a little. The month has been a bit slow, the sales of my new vegan recipe sausage roll have slowed down since those European tourists left. I need to make up the shortfall. He is as good a mark as any,” she said with a wink. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

  “Ah yes! I'm looking for a book on Vedic Astrology, especially one that uses the sidereal zodiac. Also, I need my aura cleaned, I believe my chakras have become blocked the last few weeks, especially my sacral chakra. Can you do some quick Reiki healing for me?” I said smirking. While I couldn't resist her glamour, I couldn't mess with her just as she liked to mess with me.

  She put her right foot on my groin and pushed hard till it was painful. “Oh honey, I could clear your sacral chakra in twelve seconds if I wanted to. But don't bullshit me. I see that look on your face. Now tell me why are you here? You're on a case, aren't you? What happened?”

  “Murder most foul.”

  Her face went dark, and I quickly told her about the two cases and my suspicions. She nodded and listened patiently. “Come into my office,” she said. “Let's talk in private.”

  Her office was where she did her readings. She locked the room and offered me a chair.

  “You are right about that fake detective; it's clear he has been up to no good and is trying to trick you into finding his girlfriend. Why is anyone’s guess.

  This girl Eve also sounds suspicious and you are right to be very wary of her. Do you want me to track her down? If you get me the plate of her Mercedes, I can try to track down if she is who she claims to be.”

  “I think she is who she claims to be. I've seen her photo on the official Oxford University site, and I doubt that could be faked.

  It's more that I suspect her motives of being here and the fact she suddenly turned up when two interesting cases did. Also, the fact that she seems so resourceful and intelligent for someone who is basically a recent graduate. But I can deal with her. She's not an immediate threat. The bigger threat is the cult that is sacrificing homeless people. I don't know how to track them. That's why I came to you. You seem to run the local intelligence agency and know more than the CIA or MI6 about what's happening in the area.”

  She burst out laughing, “Oh darling, you give me too much credit! But you are right, I do hear things. But I haven't heard of any cult or any suspicious people moving into the area. Though if they're well dressed and speak eloquently, they could just be pretending to be businessmen or chartered accountants or something. That said, I can still help you. Did you say there were seven mirrors in front of the dead woman?”

  “Yes. I don’t know why.”

  “It usually means there were at least seven cultists there at the sacrifice. Maybe eight, but certainly seven. Each one looking into their own mirror. That means we have a group of at least seven people who have moved into the area. And that should be easy to track. Give me a few minutes.”

  She took out her phone and made a few phone calls. Each time, the person on the other end (usually a man, but once or twice a woman) expressed their deep and passionate love for her, saying they would do anything for her. She asked them the same information: If any group of seven men had moved into the area, all respectable men but living together.

  After a few calls, she hung up and turned to me. “I was calling estate agents and property dealers in the area. If this cult is new to the area, as I suspect they would be, they must have rented a place. And if I know anything about cults, they'll be suspicious and want to live together. So you have seven men possibly eight moving into an area trying to rent a big house. That would be noticed, and I'm sure we'll find out where they're living even if you don't know what to do with them.”

  I was impressed. The woman had multiple skills. She didn't just use her glamour and sex appeal to get around. She had actual brains and could think fast when needed. She noticed me admiring her and gently moved her hand through my hair, which for no reason made me feel like crying. It always did.

  “Now tell me about the other case,” she said, “Why are you so sure that this detective was fake? You told me he acted angrily when he saw you and punched you, which I agree is suspicious behaviour for someone who claims to be a police officer. But maybe he was just having a stressful day. Why are you so sure that the case isn't supernatural?”

  “Because I already solved a case of a woman vanishing with a mirror in the room just a few weeks ago, and I find it quite suspicious that he turns up with the same story. No, I don't think his wife or sister vanished into a mirror. I think he just read the story online on one of the many supernatural conspiracy websites that are around. I don't know why those fascists at Unit 7 don't take them down.”

  “That's quite simple. The more conspiracy theories there are, the more people will think it is all silly and refuse to believe it. In a way, these conspiracy websites are helping the government suppress all information of the supernatural. If you go to these websites, they have theories like a pizza parlour that's secretly a place where aliens have sex with human women to create the next president of America. Who can take these guys seriously? It just works in the government's interest. I am still a little surprised he came to you instead of going to any of the other private detectives or the police.”

  “Clearly he needs a fall guy - some idiot he can pin the murder of his girlfriend on to.”

  As soon as I said it hit me like a sack of bricks: Murder. Yeah that would explain it. That is why he was so panicked and scared; that's why he couldn't remember the name of his sister and why he had to make up that bullshit story of her vanishing into a mirror.

  “What is it, honey? asked Mirabelle. “You have that look in your eyes.”

  “I think I've solved the case of the fake detective. I just now understood who that guy is and why he came to me out of all the other private detectives. It's not just because he wanted a fall guy. I think he was planning to murder me and he would've killed me by beating me to death if Eve hadn't been there. Even though she is just as suspicious as him, her presence saved my life as killing two people would've been too messy for him. That man is very dangerous. I believe he has committed one murder and may soon be planning to commit another: Mine. I'll have to get the police involved.”

  I took a deep breath. “And that's a good news. A standard murder is something I can explain to the police. I can go to them with some evidence, give them all the clues, and let them do their stuff. Once I point them in the right direction, they will find the forensics and DNA evidence to convict him. That is a good part. Now, the bad part is the homeless woman. I don't think the police will be very interested, and I doubt they will arrest a cultist no matter how much evidence I give them.”

  “Yes, especially if these people are pretending to be respectable and live in a good house and speak proper English. The police won't even question them, let alone ever arrest them. And if you go with your cult theory, they'll just laugh at you. No Royce, you'll have to deal with this another way.”

  She took out a small ritualistic knife from under the table and put it in front of us. “Let me know and I'll help you to do what needs to be done.”

  I touched her hand with kindness. “No Mirabelle, I could never ask that of you. You run a good respectable place here and the job you do is too important. Somebody needs to be the eyes of our unofficial group and look out for the evil doers. I will be the sword.”

  A moment of silence passed between us.

  “You are right,” I said, looking at the knife, “I don't think the police will solve this. I'll have to take care of the cult myself. If they've committed one murder, they've crossed a line that should never be crossed, and it'll only get worse from here. I need to be the one to stop them.”

  And we both knew I'd have to kill them. It would be messy and dirty and the police would get involved. There would be questions, but there was no way around it.

  If possible, I would try to take them out in a way that looked like they had committed ritualistic suicide or poisoned themselves. But who was I kidding? That never worked. Cultists were smart and knew how to deal with people like me from a mile away. I wasn’t the only person who fought these groups and people better than me had died and were buried in unmarked graves.

  No, it would get dirty, and I'd have to call that horrible woman from the mirror to help me out. At least she was in no way subtle.

  Mirabelle knew about her, of course. “You will call her for help, won't you? I cannot stop you, but please promise me, and I really mean it, promise me that you will come here to rest after you have. I know your mind shatters and you go crazy when you call her. Come here, I'll hide you for a few days and take care of you. Promise me?”

  “If it comes to that,” I said “I'll come here and hide with you.”

  “Good,” she said, just as her phone started ringing. She answered it, took a notebook and a pen, and wrote down the address. “Thanks, sweetie,” she said as she hung up and tore the page out of her notebook.

  “I have the address. Only one group of seven people has moved into the area in the last three months, and my contact is very suspicious of them. They always keep the doors locked and the windows shuttered, and never talked to any of the neighbours. This is where they are, but Royce be careful - it's a farmhouse outside of town, very deserted, and with no witnesses or help nearby. It will be impossible for you to approach it unobserved, even if you go in in the dark of the night. My contact tells me they have hired a private security to patrol the grounds. And I'm sure they'll have supernatural defences closest to the actual house.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That really helps. It's nice to know I need to deal with two different types of threats: The security people who might call the police but won't otherwise harm me, and the cultists who will certainly murder me. Now that I know, I'll be prepared on how to deal with both. This is where I leave you, Mirabelle. Goodbye.”

  She gave me a beer hug and whispered in my ear: “Go do what needs to be done, Royce. May the Goddess be with you.”