Fearful Fortunes and Terrible Tarot: Wonky Inn Book 4 Page 4

  I agreed. “And the second thing?”

  Penelope flicked a second finger up. “This wasn’t a one-off payment. The record clearly shows this was a direct debit. Cavendish receives the same payment on the first of every month.”

  Gob-smacked I sank back into my seat. “Wow. That’s a lot of money.”

  Shadowmender looked from Penelope to me and then back again. “We do need to be careful what we surmise of course, but yes, you’re right.”

  “We don’t know how long the direct debit has been set up for. It may well be that this was only the first or the second time this amount of money was deposited in Lyle’s account, but it’s plain that the intention is for the payment to be more than a one off.” Penelope sat back, satisfied she’d completed her task of filling in my knowledge.

  What did Lyle do to warrant that amount of money from The Mori, if indeed Astutus were my adversary? No wonder his inn made it through the winter without scrimping and saving. Lyle was having no problem paying his bills. It looked like they were all being covered for him.

  And the cost of the Fayre? No doubt that was being paid for too.

  “He’s just about to host the largest Psychic and Holistic Convention the region has ever seen,” I said. “I couldn’t understand how he was affording it, but now I think I know.”

  This obviously hadn’t passed Wizard Shadowmender by. “And that brings me to what I’m going to ask you to do, Alf,” he said, his face deadly serious. “You can say no of course.”

  I’d momentarily forgotten that the old wizard had a task for me. I shook my head. There was no way I’d say no when the future of my wonky inn depended on keeping it safe from The Mori. I’d do anything to ensure the safety of Whittle Inn and the ghosts who inhabited it.

  “It’s a multi-pronged mission that I’m hoping you’ll be able to help us with. Penelope needs more information about Astutus, so that’s the first thing we need you to keep a look out for. It certainly feels as though there’s a hive of activity and the locus appears to be in or around Whittlecombe.”

  Ears and eyes to the ground then, I thought. That seemed simple enough, although I wasn’t sure how much I was likely to find out given The Mori’s overreaching commitment to secrecy.

  “Secondly, we’ve had some secret intel about this Fayre of Lyle’s. I need you to get in there, amongst the traders and attendees, and find out more for us.”

  Now that was going to be impossible. “I can’t do that,” I said, dismayed. “Lyle’s banned me.”

  Shadowmender glanced at Penelope and then back at me before roaring with genuine merriment. I spotted Penelope’s lips turn up in the ghost of a smile.

  “You give up too easily, Alf. Never say never!”

  Never say never indeed.

  One week later, with the Fayre about to open, I found myself concealed in a caravan on the back field behind The Hay Loft, peering out of thick lace curtains at the other inhabitants of the field as they came and went, getting ready for the grand opening.

  Or rather my alter ego scrutinised the competition, for I had agreed to a magickal makeover for the purposes of Shadowmender’s mission, and the caravan wasn’t just any caravan. Far from it. The centre for Undercover-Operation-Psychic-Fayre, was no less than a genuine Romany caravan. This horse drawn construction, well over a hundred years old, had been beautifully kitted out in glorious bohemian grandeur.

  When I’d initially taken delivery of the caravan and Neptune, the enormous carthorse that came with it, (at a services off the A30, with a B road access I could drive the horse down) I’d spent an excitable thirty minutes simply opening and closing all the little cupboard doors and drawers, peering behind privacy curtains and examining the neat accessories and equipment the caravan had been kitted out with. There was two of everything I could possibly need – glasses, mugs, bowls, plates, knives, forks, spoons, a frying pan and a couple of saucepans, a small larder stocked with provisions, and colourful quilts, pillows and cushions and so on. I loved the sheer eclectic nature of the ensemble. Nothing matched, and yet thanks to the explosion of colour, everything worked together beautifully.

  Neptune and I had clip-clopped down the lane to Whittlecombe, gaily holding up the traffic. I’d waved cheekily at any motorist who glanced my way, and once I’d arrived at the field behind The Hay Loft, I discovered that Wizard Shadowmender had arranged for Neptune to stay at a local stable. He’d thought of everything.

  Such fun! I couldn’t begin to imagine where Shadowmender had sourced the caravan. He obviously had some amazingly trusting friends. To my mind, inhabiting it was a little like being on holiday.

  Or it would have been if there wasn’t serious business to attend to.

  I’d had to tell Charity I’d been unexpectedly called away on urgent family business to London. I hated lying to her, but for the time being, I really had little choice. I’d also sought out Gwyn to spin her the same story, but Grandmama being Grandmama, didn’t believe me for a moment.

  “You can’t lie to me, Alfhild. I can see right through you,” she’d scolded, and I recognised that as a truth on several levels. She and I were much alike, and she could tell when I wasn’t being straight with her.

  “Grandmama,” I’d whispered frantically, “I don’t mean to be evasive but right now I can’t tell you what’s going on. As soon as I can share, I will. I promise.” She stared at me through wise eyes, scrutinising my face. Eventually she’d nodded.

  “Very well.”

  “I need you to work with Charity and make sure the inn remains secure without me. Keep it ticking over and if there are any issues...,” I meant with The Mori or their like, “…then insist that Charity calls Millicent straight away. It’s vitally important—as you know—that the protective circle stays in place around the whole of the grounds.”

  “Of course, my dear. You know we will do everything necessary.” Gwyn had been a magnificent witch in her day, so I’d been told, but I’d never seen a ghost perform magic. Nor had she ever attempted to, or acknowledged she could, in my presence. I trusted her with the running of the inn and she’d be a huge help to Charity, but I needed Millicent to be available for emergencies.

  “And you’re welcome to use my bed,” I said, sniggering quietly, knowing exactly what was coming.

  “My bed,” Gwyn retorted. “The one that you’re borrowing from me until you end up spirit side.”

  “Yes, Grandmama,” I laughed. “Whatever you say. You will look after Mr Hoo for me too?”

  “Don’t worry about a thing.” Gwyn tutted. “Honestly, you must think Charity and I are amateurs.”

  I smiled. “Love you, Grandmama,” I’d said and skipped out of the inn, certain in the knowledge there was nothing that Gwyn and Charity couldn’t handle together.

  My transformation had taken place in a small rundown house in Bristol not far from the IKEA superstore there. Rather than head all the way back to Celestine Street and London, Shadowmender had organised for a Cosmetic Alchemist to meet me at a safe house in the city—about halfway from home.

  From the busy road, I’d climbed the steep steps to the three-storey terraced building’s dusty door and tapped tentatively, my knees knocking thanks to having no clue what was about to happen to me. A rotund lady, middle-aged, with bleached blonde Marilyn Monroe type curls and three-inch-long nails answered the door relatively quickly. She showed me into the front room, chewing all the time on a wad of gum. A battered sofa and an old-fashioned TV with heavy buttons, a stained 1970s coffee table and a worn armchair did not inspire me with confidence. The whole house stank of cheap school dinners, and a faintly unpleasant and acrid musky scent that I didn’t much like.

  What on earth was the house used for under normal circumstances? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  “I’m Alfhild Daemonne,” I told the woman. She looked me up and down from head to toe then back to my head and down to my toes once more.

  “Interesting,” she said, chewing on her gum.

&
nbsp; My left eyebrow twitched nervily as I awaited her verdict, my teeth clenching painfully together.

  “Wizard Shadowmender wants you to have a complete makeover,” she said, and looked carefully at my face. “That’s a bit of a shame because you do have the most beautiful hair.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I think. What about the rest of me?

  “Are you okay with that?” she asked, popping her gum quickly.

  I gulped. “I guess so.”

  “Oh I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” The woman softened and smiled. “You know it’s only temporary, right? I can give you a spell—like a bath bomb—you add it to your bath, and it will transform you right back almost instantaneously.”

  “Oh.” I sighed with relief. “That sounds great.”

  “Good, good.” The woman appraised me once more, then held her hand out. “You look a little nervous, Alfhild. I’m Cordelia Denby, by the way.”

  I relaxed a little. “Call me Alf.”

  “Rightio, Alf.” She gestured at the door. “What we’re going to do is head on upstairs where I have a special room. You’ll take you clothes off in the waiting area, put on the robe that’s provided there and then when you’re ready just slip through to the treatment room. Let’s go.” I followed the woman out of the dank and dismal living room and climbed the carpet-less stairs to the next floor, our footsteps echoing around the largely empty house.

  “Here we are.” Cordelia held the door to the changing room open. It was clean, at least. Little more than a cupboard, it had been freshly painted, and a stool had been provided to perch on. A second door opened into the next room. A long white robe awaited me on a hook, and there was additional space for me to hang my own clothes. “When you’re ready just come through that door. It will be dark. Take two steps in and close the door behind you and after that I’ll guide you through the rest of it.”

  She disappeared, and I closed the door after her. I quickly undressed and slipped into the robe, tightening the cord around my middle. Taking a deep breath, I opened the second door. As I did so, the light in the changing room flickered off behind me and I was plunged into darkness as Cordelia had promised. I took two steps in and waited. The door closed, and I felt a hand reach out to take my arm.

  “I’m just going to slip you inside this tent. Can you feel the material in front of your face?” I reached out and my hands made contact with something silky. “That’s it, just take another step forward, and yes, you’re in. Good.”

  The material was arranged behind me.

  “Now, just take the robe off for me, lovey.” Grimacing, I unknotted the robe and slipped it off. Cordelia must have reached for it because a second later it had been tugged free of my grasp. I heard a zipping noise as I was enshrouded by the tent.

  Thankful for the dark to spare my blushes, I waited patiently, listening to Cordelia moving around the room. I recognised the sound of chair legs scraping against a wooden floor, then a whirr and a click, and a couple of red lights appeared on a console in the corner, illuminating the room ever so slightly. As I’d thought, I was standing in the centre of a tall circular tent, little more than a silk transparent curtain really. Numerous machines surrounded me. Cordelia was sitting in a state-of-the-art leather chair, like something you might use if you were playing an all-immersive computer game. She sported a pair of thick goggles and had a keyboard to her right.

  “What are you planning on turning me into?” I asked, my voice quaking along with my knees.

  “Oh, Alf,” Cordelia grinned, obviously relishing this aspect of her job. “You’re all set to become Fabulous Fenella the Far-Sighted. Just turn slightly to your right, my love. Chin up. Great stuff.” She tapped a couple of buttons on the keyboard, and I heard a couple of the machines whirl into life. The tent rippled around me, trembling in a sudden violent breeze.

  “Yeeha!” Cordelia sounded for all the world like some strange demented cow-girl. Her chair twisted and rolled as she thumped keys on her keyboard, making the lights on the console dance. “Let’s do this!”

  Fabulous Fenella the Far-Sighted had her own decorated booth at the Psychic Fayre to match her luxurious and quirky caravan. She—or rather I—stood outside the booth admiring the newly painted sign that spoke of my skills as a fortune teller, using none other than Shadowmender’s Christmas present to me. He’d insisted I utilise his scrying orb as a crystal ball.

  I’d swapped my usual black ensemble—long black skirt and jacket over a black t-shirt, accompanied by wild red hair—for a calf-length midnight blue dress that buttoned through the front, with matching slip on shoes. This in turn corresponded with my blue-black sleek bobbed hair and deep blue eyes. I’d been aged, but only to about forty or so. I wore my hair twisted in a headscarf, and large silver hoop earrings. My lips were thinner, and my cheekbones more pronounced. In fact all of me was more pronounced because I was slimmer than I’d ever been as an adult. I quite liked that aspect of it, but memories of super-slender Penelope Quigwell supping at her mean beef broth reminded me of the sacrifices I’d have to make in order to remain slim.

  And given that immediately to the left of my booth, there was a young woman selling freshly baked brownies of every flavour imaginable, I wasn’t entirely up to the challenge of remaining penuriously slim.

  To the right of me, a small A-board announced Kooky Kahlila was ‘in residence’ in her booth. It turned out that the middle-aged woman currently hovering next to the entrance, nibbling on a melted caramel brownie and wearing jeans and a fleece jacket was none other than Kahlila herself. She spotted me reading her sign and skipped over to say hello.

  “You must be Fabulous Fenella the Far-Sighted,” she said, holding out her hand, spiky black nails armed and ready.

  “The very same.” I smiled, feeling like the biggest fake possible, but curious about her casual attire. “And you’re Kooky Kahlila?” I nodded at her sign.

  “Yeah, well, kind of.” She giggled. She had a strong Essex accent, reminiscent of a few people I had known in London who hailed from Canvey Island. She hung on to each word for dear life, clearly pronouncing each—lazy on the first syllable, emphasising the last, and creating plurals when there really didn’t need to be any. I found her instantly charming and likeable.

  “My real name is Carole Jones. Can yous believe that? There is nuffink mysterious about the name Carole. Am I right? So I ‘ad to become Kahlila. It sounds right exotic, don’t it?”

  I laughed, genuinely amused—her warmth seemed infectious. “Yes it does.”

  “And what about you, Fabulous Fenella? Are you mysterious as well as fabulous?”

  “Oh I’m both those things,” I said and winked. I was pleased my voice at least still sounded like me even if I looked nothing like myself.

  “You’re a crystal ball gazer?” Carole asked, examining my colourful sign with interest.

  “Yes. When it wants to show me things.” I’d been secretly hoping that no-one would pay any attention to my sign, or trouble themselves to visit my booth. That way I wouldn’t have to try to be fabulous or mysterious. I’d only ever used the scrying orb at Christmas when I’d been attempting to track down Mara the Stormbringer. But needs must. I was undercover. Wizard Shadowmender had assured me that I knew enough magick to be able to coax the orb into action.

  That remained to be seen.

  “What about you, Kahlila?”

  “A bit of this and a bit of that, you know how it goes. I do a bit of spiritual healing.”

  “What’s that exactly?” I asked, curious as to the form spiritual healing would take.

  “I can make a person well by using a spirit guide. You know some folks, they don’t really like taking pharmaceuticals, so mine is an approach that can work for them.”

  “You’re a shaman?”

  “That’s right, Fenella. I am.” She moved her hands through the air outlining her head, crossing over her heart and then dropping them gracefully towards the ground. “I allow a spirit to enter me,
to flow through me and then I channel that energy in such a way that I can empower others.” It was a neat movement, vaguely yogic. Very new-age.

  I’d heard about such complementary therapies in the past, but I’d never come across a real shaman before, so this was quite exciting.

  “Wow, I’d love to know more about that,” I enthused. I loved the idea of working with spirits to bring about health and wellness. I wondered whether I could channel any of my ghosts to rejuvenate another person. Then I thought of Gwyn’s stern face and decided it probably wouldn’t work. She would scare the poor patient to death.

  “Well we should get together over coffee and maybe swap a session or two. After all, we’re here all week, ain’t we?” Carole laughed gleefully.

  “We are that,” I said.

  I spotted Lyle in my periphery vision and shrieked inwardly, forgetting that he wouldn’t recognise me in my current state. “Can you just excuse me for a minute, Kahlila? I need to head back to my caravan to grab a few things.”

  I didn’t wait for her response, just hot-footed it through the damp grass, returning to the camping field as fast as my new-to-me little legs would carry me.

  An hour or so later, after fortifying myself with a strong cup of tea and half a packet of chocolate hobnobs, I ventured out of my hidey-hole in search of some other new faces.

  The Fayre had yet to officially open but there were quite a few people milling around already. For the main part they were store holders and suppliers. There were several smaller vans dropping off supplies to the stalls that needed provisions, and at the entrance and rear of the main field there were several large catering vans setting out their own spaces.

  There was the usual food on offer. Good British fare: fish and chips of course, pies, seafood—along with several US style vans, offering burgers and pizza. There was a small hot dog stand, with a candyfloss booth next door to it, spinning wisps of pink sugary sweetness into gossamer fairy wings. None of these seemed particularly healthy or holistic to me and spoke volumes about Lyle and the culinary choices presented at The Hay Loft.