Paranormal Investigations 2: Will Work For Biscuits

Paranormal Investigations 2

Will Work For Biscuits

EH Walter

Copyright 2012 EH Walter

Smashwords Edition

Cover by Tirzah L Goodwin at http://acleverwhatever.blogspot.com

Discover other titles by EH Walter at Smashwords.com

Paranormal Investigations 1 http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/101392

White Christmas - a short story http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/114199

Fallen http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/26601

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Chapter 1: The Wiccans of Barnet

Since going missing for twenty eight days (everyone thought I had been travelling around India when in fact I had accidentally slipped through time) my secretary had been giving me dirty looks. Thankfully, since foiling the plan of several big baddies, including bad ass fairies and a hooded weirdo who was also accidentally now my husband, December had been a quiet month and her dirty looks and sulky silence didn't affect the business. Despite her moods I needed to keep her sweet, she was the only secretary slash receptionist slash botanist I knew who worked for biscuits. December had started on Duchy Originals and we were now back on Costco custard creams, it seems money doesn't last long when you have a heap of outstanding debts to pay off - or so my creditors' lawyers informed me. Still, no matter what - there was always pizza courtesy of my best friend Bob who also happened to be half goat, half human. Bob owed me big time since I saved him from being the main course at the fairy equivalent of Come Dine With Me, so I was never short of a high calorie, high fat food stuff. Rose, the secretary, perked up when food was around, but other than that she ignored me as best she could.

Look Rose, I said one day, we can't go on like this. You are going to have to talk to me at some point.

When you talk to Mildred, she sniffed.

Great, my mad as an aviary of budgies great aunt. The very aunt who had tricked me into working at Paranormal Investigations in the first place, enticing me away from my acting career. Well - okay - aspirations of an acting career. She was not my favourite person even if she was, since the final death of my father, now my only family in the world. She had also not told me of my unwanted inheritance from my mother - to be something called the Seer - although I was yet to figure out exactly what that was. So far it had enabled me to see the dead. Fat lot of use that was. And not always very pleasant either, especially when the dead are fresh out of their graves. She had not told me any of this or that my father had died when I was three and the man who occasionally visited me was him on his last day time travelling through the important parts of my life.

To think that one month ago I had been blissfully, beautifully unaware of fairies, demons, trolls et al. I had also not known I was able to slip through time which, let's face it, could have interesting effects on the ageing process and as long as I went forward I would beat any anti-aging product L'Oréal could come up with. The problem was I didn't know how to actually do it - the only occasions I had done it on my own were haphazard affairs and I had no control over it. Hence the slipping through time. And then there was the fact to consider that I was never meant to have that 'gift' in the first place, it had been something my father was meant to lose when he chose to become human to marry my mother.

I had never before spent so much time in my office, a large abandoned seventies gulag in Cockfosters, because my flat had never felt so lonely. You see, my uninvited houseguest, Bob, had moved out and despite never having invited him to stay (thanks dead dad) I found I rather missed him. Nissa my OCD Brownie was still there, cleaning and tidying up after me, but it wasn't like she was any company - she was so shy I had to pretend she wasn't there apart from leaving a dish of milk out for her every evening.

In the end I gave in and made the call. I used the phone in the reception area so Rose wouldn't miss it. I leant against the desk but found facing the newly refurbished and mysteriously locked office of my new silent partner too intriguing, so I turned back to face my own mouldering office.

Hello Aunty, I said loudly, pulling a face at Rose. She raised her eyebrows at me and reached for her patent leather handbag - biscuit buying time. I waited until she left the office before resuming my conversation with my mad great aunt, the proprietor of Paranormal Investigations. Nice weather in Torquay? I asked.

She sniffed, It's milder than London. Now what have you been up to?

Nothing. Rose has eaten all the good biscuits and we have no new clients.

She sighed, What about... mysterious goings on?

Like?

Anything... mysterious? I saw on the news there was vandalism at Highgate Cemetery.

Ah yes, that would have been when the big bad assed hoody had tried to resurrect the dead. He had succeeded and now the un-dead dead were managing to live by hiding in the unused underground system of London. He had wanted them for his army - led by Karl Marx, but thankfully Marx had just wanted to get laid. I had stopped him by taking the power out of the resurrection ring. The least said about that the better, but I did not place my wedding list at John Lewis.

So, she continued, anything to tell me?

It was my turn to sigh. My aunt and I had been playing this game for almost two weeks now, she expected me to confess to seeing strange things and I resolutely refused to bow to expectation since she had let me live my whole life without once mentioning my supposed destiny as a 'Seer'. You see, she thought if she told me and I wasn't a Seer I might go crazy or something. Since she was a Seer and also utterly loopy I wasn't sure the two were mutually exclusive.

Well... I said, I could almost hear the silence of her expectation come down the phone, the post came a whole hour late today and that was pretty odd.

Well if that's all Leo I'd best leave you to it. I've got a bowls match in an hour and they can become pretty bloody affairs, I can tell you. I imagined GA Mildred kitting herself out in ice hockey gear for the bowling green. With her it was not entirely out of the question.

With her signature style she hung up without a goodbye. Her clear disappointment with me did not bother me in the least.

The office felt eerily empty without Rose and it was one of those winter afternoons where the light was already fading fast into an almost purple tinged darkness. From the window I could see the bright white glare of the halogen beams from passing cars and the orange of the street lights. Cockfosters hadn't really got into the whole Christmas spirit yet and there were the barest and meanest of lights hanging from every other street lamp. Christmas. I sighed. Another day when I was on my own and the shops were closed. Maybe the Jewish shops would be open and I could stock up on kosher goodies... you could never have enough kosher goodies, right?

I was in the middle of another sigh when there was a delicate rap at the door. It didn't register on my mind at first so I took a moment to respond. A second rap drew me back from my self-indulgent reverie. I smoothed my skirt with the palms of my hands and then pushed the stray bits of hair dancing around my face firmly behind my ears. I cleared my throat and walked to the door.

I opened the door, shiny with its new gold lettering: Paranormal Investigations - no situation too strange it said, Partners M Fey, MLE Fey and R Windsor. I was yet to meet R Windsor or learn anything about him. He was the one with the locked office.

In front of me stood a mousey woman with long brown hair, parted in the middle for that original Woodstock look. Her clothes wouldn't have been out of place on a devout Muslim as they covered almost every inch of skin, however they were in a mixture of floral patterns and cheesecloth. Strings of long beads hung about her neck and crystals from her wrist. Dang hippie.

Paranormal Investigations, I said with a smile which I then decided looked too flippant for an investigations agency and changed it to a neutral expression.

Good, she said and waltzed into the office, jute bag in her arms, floaty skirts swaying behind her like an independent life form.

How can I help you? I asked, trying not to choke on the overpowering pong of dodgy incense that she wafted into the office with her.

She turned to me, then pointed to my office. Is this your office? she asked, May we go inside? and proceeded to enter without my response. She sat herself straight into the chair opposite my desk. I don't think it had been ever used before. It squeaked with surprise as she sat down. A little thrown, I followed and sat in the chair on my side of the desk.

Can I get you tea or coffee?

Do you have herbal?

No.

Green?

No.

Fairtrade?

No.

Then I'll pass.

Okay. I placed a jotter pad and pen before me, I'm Leo Fey, the managing partner of Paranormal Investigations, what can I do for you?

She looked about nervously, chewing on the inside of her mouth as Pearce Brosnan was wont to do in all those Bond films. Before she spoke she dug a large clear crystal out of her bag and set it on the desk between us. There appeared to be no reason for this so I did my best to ignore it. She coughed delicately. I am part of a Wiccan coven, we meet in Trent Park.

Wiccans, weren't they like witches? My thoughts must have shown on my face.

I know what you're thinking Miss Fey, but we're not like that. There are many misconceptions about Wicca, including that we're into sacrifice, ritual orgy and all that codswallop, well - we're not! We look after Mother Earth and follow the pattern of the seasons. We are peaceful.

So how can I help you?

She looked around again, a clear sign of someone who was afraid of betrayal or being overheard - or both. I need your help, I think there is something wrong in my coven.

Wrong?

She leant forward conspiratorially, I think we have an infiltrator.

An infiltrator? Who the feck would want to infiltrate a Wiccan coven of loonies and weirdos? I coughed. Really - an infiltrator?

I think someone is pretending, the karma has been seriously off kilter for a month now - like someone is shamming. Their falsehoods are making things difficult for us. It's blocking the earth energy.

Why would someone pretend to be a witch?

I don't know - a journalist looking for a story? That's why I've come to you. I want you to infiltrate us in turn and see if you can find out who is spying on us. We've got the Winter Solstice approaching and we can't risk having someone there who might deliberately sabotage the night for their own ends.

Won't I... block the energy?

I'll help you blend in. I'll teach you how to respect Mother Earth.

So you want me to pretend to be one of you?

She nodded. I don't know how these things work... how one pays an investigator, so I made cookies. She produced a well-used Tupperware container from her jute bag and placed it on the table. I try and barter or exchange where possible, I find it keeps the positive energy flowing. You know most of the bad things that happen in the world are because people hoard energy as money.

Really? Well, I normally get paid in... well - how do I make this sound less than mercenary? I work for money. English money. None of those dodgy Euros. Don't worry - I never have a chance to hoard. It goes out as soon as it comes in.

Her mouthed formed an 'O'. Well, I suppose I could rustle together a few hundred. They're good cookies.

Well, how about I take them as a retainer until you get back to me with the rest?

Her head tilted to the side. I think that would be fair. She nodded as if that decided matters.

Right, let me take a few details from you Miss...

Moonbeam

Moonbeam?

Yes.

Just let me get that right, Moonbeam is your legal surname?

Well, it depends what you mean by legal.

You were given it at birth, marriage or changed it by deed poll.

Oh. I never got round to that deed poll thing.

So your legal name would be...

She stared at the floor. Scragg, Louise Scragg.

Thank you Miss Scragg. When does your group...

...coven...

...coven meet?

We meet every Friday evening and for special events as dictated by the holistic calendar or member's needs. We are meeting this Sunday for a baby naming ceremony.

Hmm, Sunday. Jez's day off from the National. He had already moved our date once because he apparently had to spend all day having costumes fitted for his new film. That was complete bollocks because he wore the same shirt and trousers throughout the first two films - although it wasn't long before at least one was ripped off his body. I was half expecting him to cancel on me again, but I still wanted to keep the day free just in case. I had after all - in the face of murderous demons and fairies - pledged to tell him I loved him.

I'm already booked Sunday.

It would be at sun rise, early.

Dammit.

Very well, I might be able to squeeze you in.

She smiled. Good, I feel better having just come here, I think you are the person to help me. Is your name real?

Huh?

Leo Fey? As in Le Fey, enchantress, of the fairies?

Oh I'm definitely not one of them. I should know, I'd met a few of them over the past month. Not a pleasant bunch fairies, sharp toothed and with an urge to eat you if you pissed them off.

Well, I think it's a good omen. You'll fit in well, I suppose running a business like this you have to keep your chakras aligned.

Thoroughly dusted and polished every fortnight.

She ran an absent finger over one of her crystal bracelet beads.

So Miss Scragg, how many members in your coven? Who are the important people?

Well, we have a core membership of five founders, they created the coven back in the seventies, then you have newer members like me and there are about twelve of us who are more or less regulars. Then you have drop-ins, people who just come along for a while because they are visiting the area or seeing if Wicca is their thing. We welcome everyone.

Which would make it easy for anyone to infiltrate you. Who leads the group?

We are a democracy.

But there must be someone who takes the lead, who organises things.

That would be Brian.

Brian. I wrote the name down, more to stop her seeing my smile than to record the name. A witch called Brian. I bet he was a very naughty boy.

"Brian takes the lead at many of our ceremonies, he's