What Will Burn by James Oswald (ebook reader web .txt) 📕

think harassing is a bit strong. We went round to see if he was OK. Poor chap took a nasty tumble yesterday. Sustained some serious injuries.’

The line went quiet for a while, although the screen on the dashboard assured Janie that DI Ritchie hadn’t hung up. By the time she spoke again, they were being waved into the car park by the poor uniformed constable who’d been landed with the job of manning the chain stretched across the gateway.

‘You’ve been working with Tony McLean far too long, Detective Sergeant.’ Ritchie’s tone was terse, but perhaps not as annoyed as it could have been. Janie knew better than to make any response. She didn’t think she’d get such a soft dressing-down from Detective Superintendent McIntyre.

‘Find me as soon as you get in. I want to know everything you’ve been doing. And I want to know why.’

Janie started to say ‘Just parking, I’ll be there in a minute’, but before she could even open her mouth, Ritchie had hung up.

32

‘What do you know about witches, Gary?’

It’s not a bar he’d come to normally, even if it’s not that far from his scabby bedsit. The beer’s way too pricey for one thing, and the punters are all office types in smart suits. For some reason Fielding seems to like it though, and since he’s generous when it comes to the drinks, who’s Gary to complain? All the same, the question catches him off guard.

‘Witches?’

‘Aye. Witches. What do you know about them?’

‘What? Pointy hats an’ long hook noses an’ stuff? Black cats and flying around the place on broomsticks?’

Fielding’s face isn’t easy to read most of the time, but Gary’s not had much to drink yet and he can see the smirk. Bazza’s the same when he thinks he knows better than Gary. Trouble is, he’s usually right but they end up fighting about it anyways.

‘That’s the myth, of course. The fairy-tale witch. The old crone who might well heal you one day and curse you to death the next. That’s not what I’m talking about here.’

Gary doesn’t say anything. Fielding invited him here, paid for his beer. Least he can do is hear the man out, aye?

‘The thing about myths though, Gary, is that they’re usually founded in truth. Even if that truth gets bent out of shape a little with time.’

The smirk’s gone from Fielding’s face now, his expression entirely serious. Is it Gary’s imagination, or is there something different about his eyes, too? They seem to be glowing a dark red colour, but when he looks over his shoulder to see where the light is, there’s nothing to match. Brakes from a passing car reflected through the window. Aye, that’ll be it.

‘Those women camped outside the hotel the other day, remember? You think they might have been witches?’

Gary can’t stop staring at Fielding’s eyes. ‘I . . . I dunno. I mean, they was acting pretty strange.’

‘What about the ones who broke into the conference room?’

The memory sparks in Gary’s mind as clearly as if it were happening right in front of him. The redhead woman. Not much more than a girl really. Shouting abuse at him and Fielding as if they were the monsters, not her and her mad screaming friends. There’d been something about her, hadn’t there? Something more than unreasonable rage.

‘Aye. Thought they were on somethin’ right enough.’

‘Oh, it’s much worse than that, Gary. Those women weren’t high on any drug. No. They were high on their own magic. They’ve sold their souls to the devil, Gary. Given their bodies to him. And in return he has gifted them a power few understand.’ Fielding shakes his head slowly, and Gary can’t help but notice that the red glow doesn’t slide from his eyes as they move. It’s almost as unnerving as the topic of conversation. Is this what he was called here for? To be told women were witches? Well, he knew that already. Kind of.

‘You mean, like spells an’ stuff? Making youse sick or bringing bad luck on you?’

Fielding tilts his head, the smile back but encouraging this time. ‘Well I don’t see you having much luck recently, Gary. Why do you suppose that is?’

‘I . . .’ He starts to speak, but can’t think what to say. It makes sense, after a fashion. ‘Bella? She’s no . . . Surely?’

‘It’s not necessarily her, Gary. Could be a friend of hers practises the dark arts. But this is the thing.’ Fielding leans forward, that gleam in his eyes like there’s a fire deep in his brain. ‘Witches aren’t all old crones with hairy warts and pointed hats. They walk among us unseen. Bear our children then take them from us. Sack us from the jobs we’ve done well all our working lives. Make screeching demands for equal rights when they’ve lived off the back of our hard labour since Eve first tempted Adam.’

‘But how—?’

‘Do we find them?’ Fielding interrupts, although that is just one of the many questions Gary wants to ask. ‘They’re easy enough to see once you know the signs. It’s dealing with them that’s more tricky. Would you like to know how to do that, Gary? How to get back what was taken from you by all those women? All those witches?’

‘I . . . I just want things to go back to how they were, ken?’

‘That’s all any of us want. But what are you prepared to do to get your wish? What sacrifice would you make?’

Gary drags his gaze away from Fielding’s face, looks around the posh bar. The men here are all confident, wealthy, in charge. The few women look at their partners the way Bella used to look at him, back when they first met. They know their place, as they should. There’s a natural order to things, but outside these walls it’s out of kilter. If Fielding is offering him a chance to put that right, then who is he to turn it down?

‘What did you have in mind?’

Interlude

Grey clouds scud across a lowering sky, the wind whipping waves from the Forth, white horses