I Put a Spell on You (8 page)

At about five pm I decided to call it a day. It had been an exhausting week and I was desperate for a hot bath and a night in front of rubbish TV.

I switched off my computer, put on my coat and picked up my bag, then I paused at the door of my office and thought again. Spinning round on the heel of my boot, I marched back to my desk, unplugged my laptop and slipped it into my bag. Then I dug through my desk drawer for the keys to my office, the keys I never used, and took them out. As I left, I locked the door behind me for the first time ever.

I walked down the hall, towards reception and allowed myself a tiny smile. The spa was comfortably busy. Lots of the treatment room doors were closed and inside I could hear a quiet murmur of voices and the soft music we played. I walked past an open room and caught the eye of the therapist, Jane, who was in there preparing for her next client. She smiled at me as she smoothed a clean towel over the bed. And then the plinky-plonky calming music stopped. Jane raised an eyebrow at me, questioning what had happened. I shrugged.

“I’ll go and find out,” I said, walking on.

I pushed open the door to reception and suddenly deafening heavy metal music blared through the sound system.

Two women waiting on the sofas shrieked, and Nancy leapt to her feet in shock from behind the reception desk, knocking over her chair.

I dropped my bag and ran to where the spa’s iPod was plugged in.

Soothing Sounds 2
, it read. Whatever this noise was, it certainly wasn’t soothing. I jabbed at the buttons. Nothing happened.

“Turn it off!” squealed Nancy. I glowered at her and yanked the iPod out of the dock altogether. Nothing happened. She dived past me and pulled the plug out. The music continued to blare.

Women – and one man – were flooding out of the treatment rooms in various states of undress, pressing their hands to their ears. The two women who had been waiting grabbed their coats and fled outside, followed by a flock of therapists and clients. I looked round in desperation, my head pounding and my ears ringing. At a loss about what to do next, I grabbed a pile of robes and handed them out to clients who weren’t wearing many clothes.

“I am so sorry,” I bellowed over the music. “I have no idea what’s going on. Please get dressed and I’ll refund the cost of any classes and treatments.”

Nancy had put on her coat. Now she went to leave and I caught her arm.

“Wait,” I said in her ear, fishing a handful of notes out of the till and shoving them at her. “Take everyone for a cup of tea while I sort this out.”

She took the money and almost ran out of the door followed by a crowd of clients. As she went out, Xander came in, his face a mask of horror.

“What’s going on?” he yelled.

“I don’t know,” I shouted back. “I don’t know what this is.”

Xander smiled briefly.

“I think,” he said, “it’s Iron Maiden.”

I thumped his arm.

“I meant, I don’t know why it’s happening.”

“Can’t you shut it up?” he asked. “Man, it’s loud.”

He put his hands over his ears.

I waved the unplugged iPod in his face.

“I tried,” I said. “It’s still going.”

Xander put his mouth to my ear. I could feel his breath hot against my face.

“Harry,” he said. “Do something.”

I suddenly realised what he meant and cursed my own stupidity.

Raising my arms into the air, I waggled my fingers and muttered some words.

A shower of sparks flew around the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling and startling me. And the music switched off.

Xander hugged me.

“Well done,” he said. “Must have been an electrical fault.”

But I wasn’t pleased. I was relieved the noise had stopped, but something wasn’t right. That wasn’t an electrical fault. No way. An electrical fault wouldn’t have sparked back at me like that when I tackled it with magic. All witches send out sparks when we use magic, but each of us spark in our own way. My silver shimmers are very like my mum’s. Aunty Tess produces a cloudy grey mist and Esme shoots out pink sparkles that I love, but which I can see are pretty hard to disguise. When I’d switched off the music, it had sparked back at me, sending vibrant blue crystals shooting across the room. An electrical fault wouldn’t have done that. In fact, an electrical fault wouldn’t have responded to magic at all. Only another witch could produce sparks like that. I was convinced this was witchcraft. And I had absolutely no idea where it was coming from.

Chapter 11

I didn’t want to think about how much the Iron Maiden incident, as I’d started calling it, had cost me in refunded classes and vouchers for free treatments to apologise for the inconvenience. But, the only silver lining to the whole nightmare was that for a few days everything calmed down. There had been no more loud music, no more power cuts. All my staff were fit and healthy. I tried not to hope that it was all over, but it certainly looked that way.

Lou had emailed to say things had kicked off on the case she was working on. She reassured me that she was still looking at Star’s death, but she didn’t have time to meet up right now. I swallowed my disappointment and told her to ring me when she was less busy at work.

A week after the Iron Maiden incident, I was in Esme’s room, watching her get dressed for a night out with Jamie’s parents, when her phone rang.

“Answer it,” she said. She was trying to get into a posh-looking dress and failing miserably. I looked at the screen.

“It’s Xander,” I said. “Why’s he phoning you?”

I swiped the screen and put it on speakerphone, holding it up to Esme’s face as she twisted round and tried to get her arm through the sleeve.

“Hello,” she shouted.

“Howarrya,” Xander drawled. Esme sat down, suddenly, on her bed, the back of her dress gaping. I eyed her suspiciously. She could deny it all she wanted, but Xander definitely had an effect on her.

“I’m stuck in my dress,” she panted. ‘I can’t reach the zip and there’s no one to help me.” She looked pointedly at me and I stuck my tongue out at her.

Xander laughed. “I’d be there if I could,” he said, his voice low and lazy. “Although I’m not sure I’d be zipping it up.”

I was horrified.

“I’m bloody well here,” I said, putting the phone on the bed next to Esme. “Listening to every word of your disgusting flirting with my as-good-as-married cousin.”

Esme had gone scarlet, but Xander laughed. He loved causing trouble.

“I’ll wear something else,” Esme muttered, wriggling out of her dress. ‘What can I do for you Xander?”

Oh she was all business-like now, I thought, now I was listening in.

“I need some more lessons,” Xander said. “Harry’s letting me do some spiritual counselling.”

Esme looked at me and I nodded.

“You don’t need more lessons,” I said. “It’s fine. I can teach you.”

“Nah, Esme’s doing great,” Xander said. “Can we meet tomorrow?”

Esme didn’t look at me. Instead she pulled on a different dress, one without a zip, I noticed.

“I could do first thing,” she said.

“Perfect,” he said. “How are you getting on with that dress?”

“Xander,” I said in a warning voice.

He laughed again.

“Where are you girls going anyway?” he said.

Esme sat down at her dressing table and covered her red cheeks with foundation.

“I’m meeting Jamie and his parents for dinner,” she said.

I picked up her hairbrush and started brushing her tousled hair. Then I twisted it into a knot, low on her neck.

“Thank you,” she mouthed at me.

“Dinner with the in-laws? Very nice,” Xander said. “Discussing wedding plans?”

“Not much to discuss,’ I said, jabbing a Kirby grip into Esme’s neck.

“Ow,” she said.

I ignored her.

“It’s all done really,” I said. “Apart from Esme’s dress. But she could walk down that aisle in a sack and Jamie would still adore her.”

Maybe I was laying it on a bit thick. Crossly, Esme took the Kirby grips from me and put them down on the dressing table, then she sprayed on some perfume – somehow managing to squirt me in the eye – and stood up.

“Well, good luck with your dinner,” Xander said, not bothering to disguise the laughter in his voice. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow.”

He rang off as Esme twirled around, checking her reflection in the mirror.

“You look fine,” I said. “Bit dull. But fine.” She was wearing a neat shift dress in a steely grey colour that suited her fair complexion and it was short enough to show just a flash of thigh. Her shoes were black patent courts, with vertiginous heels – higher than she normally wore.

She grabbed the top of my arms.

“Come with me,” she said. “Please.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not invited.”

“Jamie won’t mind. Please come. His parents love you.”

“I’ve only met them once,” I pointed out. “And then only for five minutes.”

“Well then they should get to know you better.”

“Will there be wine?” I said.

“Loads.”

“Can I wear this?” I looked down at my skinny leather trousers and floaty, chiffon shirt. “I’m a bit scruffy.”

Esme glowered at me.

“Your scruffy is everyone else’s evening wear,” she said. “Come on, we’re late.”

I picked up my bag and Esme slung her fake fur jacket round her shoulders, then we ran out of the flat and into a cab.

Jamie’s parents were staying at the swanky Scotsman Hotel and we were meeting them in the bar. The traffic – as always – was terrible, thanks to the tram works, but we chatted about nothing much all the way into town.

I tried to put my worries aside and concentrate on playing the dutiful cousin-in-law (if that was a thing). Jamie’s parents were both doctors – his dad ran the GP practice in Claddach, where Jamie had been working when he and Esme got together. His mum was an oncologist in Aberdeen. They seemed to be very nice people. Esme was terrified of them but I’d neverunderstood why.

Jamie was at the bar when we arrived. Esme kissed him hello and I nodded over at his parents.

“You look beautiful,” he said to Esme. “Wine?”

“Yes please,” I said, remembering Esme’s reaction when Xander had phoned. “You look very handsome. Doesn’t he look handsome, Ez?”

She gave me an odd look.

“As always,” she said.

The evening was a big success. Confidence boosted by several glasses of pinot, Esme filled Mr and Mrs Brodie in on her wedding plans.

“Nothing fancy,” she explained. “Just the gallery, and Mum, Suky and Eva doing the catering.”

“It sounds lovely,” said Jamie’s mum, even though it was probably a million miles away from what she’d imagined for her youngest son.

“Tell me, how is Suky doing?” she asked me. Mr and Mrs Brodie had been away when Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer, on what had been supposed to be their retirement trip round the world, and what ended up just being a holiday when it became apparent neither of them was ready to retire quite yet. Esme said they always asked after her, though, and I appreciated their interest now. Lots of people seemed to think it was all fine and there was no need to ask any more.

“She’s doing great,” I said. Esme and I filled her in on our mums’ plans for the gallery and the café, and how well Mum had recovered. Then Mrs Brodie, who’d had a few glasses of wine herself, took Esme’s hand across the table.

“I know your mum and I have never had much in common, but I’d love to get to know her and Suky better,” she said.

“I’d like that,” Esme lied and I stifled a giggle. I couldn’t see Mrs B ever being close friends with Mum or Tess. But stranger things had happened.

Jamie, who had been deep in Six Nations chat with his dad, nudged Esme.

“Is that Lou?” he said, gesturing to the door of the restaurant. It was indeed DI Baxter, looking very different in a sleek black jumpsuit that showed off her smooth, toned shoulders and taut arms. Her short hair was slicked back and she was wearing more make-up than the last time I’d seen her. She looked amazing. I sat up a bit straighter.

“Who’s she with?” Esme asked, trying to see past the waiter who was clearing our plates. “Is she on a date?”

“Maybe,” Jamie said. “She’s with a man.”

My heart, which had lifted, sank again.

“I’ll wave,” said Jamie.

“No,” Esme and I said together. “Don’t interrupt her,” Esme added. But Jamie was already standing up.

“Lou!” he called. She looked round and smiled, then came over, weaving her willowy way through the tables.

“I haven’t seen you for fifteen years and now twice in a week,” she said, kissing Jamie on his cheek. “Hi, Esme.” Esme touched her cheek to Louise’s in a fake ‘mwah’ kiss.

“Hello,” I said. Louise smiled at me and kissed me on the cheek too.

“Good to see you,” she said.

“You too,” I said. We shared a small smile and my heart lifted again.

“Jamie and Louise were at university together,” Esme told her future parents-in-law.

“I remember.” Jamie’s dad stood up and shook Louise’s hand. “Second row, wasn’t it?”

Louise grinned.

“It was. I can’t believe you remember.”

“Join us,” Mr Brodie said. He gestured to the waiter to bring more chairs. “Bring your young man over.”

“Ooh yes, bring him over,” Esme said, obviously eager to meet Louise’s boyfriend. I was surprised by how gutted I was. I’d thought there was a connection between us. Maybe it was just in my head – maybe it was the stress of everything that had happened.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, beckoning to him and pulling up a chair next to me. “He’s my wee brother.”

I resisted the temptation to do a fist-pump.

“Come up this end,” Mr Brodie said to Louise as she went to sit down next to me. “Come and tell me what you’re up to nowadays.”

I sighed, annoyed that I wouldn’t get to chat with Lou. Esme looked annoyed too. I guessed she was as pissed off that Louise’s date had turned out to be her brother, as I was pleased. We strained to hear as Lou introduced her brother Hugo, and they all reminisced about the good old days. I felt awkward and left out and I could tell Esme felt the same. She tried to catch Jamie’s eye, but he was laughing at something Louise had said and didn’t see. Pushing back her chair, Esme stood up.