Page 19 of Star Witch
He ran a few metres towards the crew, all of whom stared at him frozen in shock. I didn’t think it was because of the strangled sounds still coming from somewhere deep inside him, although they were awful enough. The crew’s combined lack of movement probably had more to do with the blood that was dripping from his hands and staining the patchy grass in front of him.
I ran to his side. Despite the blood, which seemed to be drenching him, I couldn’t see any visible wounds. It didn’t even appear to be his blood. If he wasn’t in immediate physical danger, there were other pressing concerns. It was vital not to touch him and contaminate any possible evidence, but I also needed him to calm down or he’d give himself an aneurysm. He was still wearing his ID badge and, although it was splattered with blood, his name was visible.
‘Marcus,’ I said softly. He kept on screaming. ‘Marcus,’ I repeated. ‘Look at me.’
As if my words had broken the statue-like shock of the others, several people rushed towards us.
‘Back off!’ I yelled. ‘And don’t touch him!’
Security appeared from all directions. Most were running towards us but some were scanning the perimeter, as if expecting to see a horde of attackers appear.Enchantment’s medical team also arrived from the other side of the stage and I was shoved out of the way.
‘Marcus! Are you alright?’ People swarmed around him. The contestants were being ushered away to safety but I spotted a pale-faced Armstrong point to one of the mobile camera units. Without a second’s hesitation, they came running over, already in the process of filming. Somehow I didn’t think this was an appropriate candid-camera moment.
‘He’s fine,’ I said over the hubbub. Physically anyway.
Nobody heard me. I gritted my teeth. Whatever evidence that had been clinging to poor Marcus had already been compromised by the people checking him over. I raised my head and glanced at the trailer he’d emerged from. The door was hanging open; from this distance, there was nothing to be seen inside other than darkness. I flattened my mouth into a grim line. Whatever had spooked him had come from there.
I veered round the crowd and strode over, taking care not to step near Marcus’s bloody footsteps. I didn’t have to get near before the smell of the blood overtook me. It had been strong enough around Marcus, but the reek coming from the trailer was choking. There was also an odd sour tinge to it, which I couldn’t make sense of. One thing was clear: there was no way that the still-screaming Marcus had walked into the trailer while it was like this. Whatever had happened took place when he was already inside.
A gust of wind caught the hanging door, momentarily swinging it shut. The name taped onto it, along with a purple trail of stars for added effect, was Trevor Bellows. For a moment I forgot to breathe. Was that whose blood this was? Sudden fear for Brutus drenched me – although if my contrary cat had got himself killed he could only blame himself.
Rather than risk walking up the steps and entering the trailer, I slipped round to the side so I could crane my head round and peer in. All the curtains were closed and no lights were on so it was difficult to see much but the amount of blood was clear. It covered almost every corner. I couldn’t see a body – Bellows, Brutus or otherwise. On the opposite wall, however, there was something that gave me pause. I stepped back to get a better look. A pentagram. It was lopsided and rather messy but since it had been painted with daubs of blood that was hardly surprising. Winter had wanted evidence of magic and here it was.
‘What the bejesus…?’
I half turned, clocking Bellows. He was staring into his trailer with a horrified expression. Thankfully, Brutus was by his side. The cat sniffed the air then recoiled. Without a sound, he ran away, tail between his legs. Despite the relief I felt that he was alright, the question remained: if it wasn’t Bellows’ blood and it wasn’t Brutus’s, then who the hell did it belong to? There was far too much of it to signal anything other than a brutal and untimely demise. The only saving grace was that I couldn’t see any dismembered limbs.
Bellows took off his hat, dropping it to the ground and running a hand through his hair. Either he was the world’s best actor or he was as shocked as I was. He stumbled forward as if to enter but I grabbed his robe by one trailing cuff and yanked him back. ‘You can’t go inside,’ I said. ‘The police will need to examine the scene first.’
Given the pentagram on the wall, so would the Order but I figured it would be better not to mention that just yet. ‘And we don’t know whether there are any traps. If you enter you could trigger something else.’
Bellows blanched, going even paler than before if that were possible. ‘Uhhhhnnn,’ he said.
I nodded. ‘Yeah, I know.’
Two of the security detail marched up. ‘What is in there?’ the first one asked, even though he had exactly the same view as I did.
His partner had considerably moresavoir faire. ‘We need to seal this area off immediately,’ he barked. ‘Someone call the police too. No one is to enter.’ He twisted back towards the still-moaning Marcus. ‘Find out what the hell happened!’
Morris Armstrong, looking surprisingly gentle, took control. He ushered everyone else back and crouched next to Marcus. ‘What happened?’ he asked softly. ‘We need to know, Marcus. You need to pull yourself together.’
Marcus hugged his arms to himself and continued to moan.
‘There are no injuries that we can see,’ said one of the medical team. ‘But he should be checked out anyway.’
Armstrong nodded and tried again. ‘Marcus, tell us what happened. Why were you in Trevor’s trailer?’
It was the implication that he’d been up to no good that finally broke through Marcus’s brain and encouraged him to pull himself together. Somewhat. He was still shaking like a leaf and his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. ‘I went to fetch Mr Bellows’ stick,’ he said.
We all looked at the wannabe witch. He swallowed and nodded, his purple robes flapping gently in the breeze. ‘My staff. I’d left it here and asked Marcus to get it for me.’
His staff? Who did he think he was? Gandalf?
‘Good,’ Armstrong said. ‘That’s good. What happened next?’
Poor Marcus looked like he was about to keel over. ‘I went inside. I was sure no one was there and it looked empty. I went to the corner and picked up the sti— I mean the staff, and then something hit me on the back of the head. When I came round, I was surrounded by blood. It was everywhere.’
He began to moan. Any second now he’d be screaming again. Someone probably ought to fetch him a cup of sugary tea but I wasn’t going to suggest it. If I said anything, I’d be the one sent off and I needed to find out everything I could about what had happened. Winter would not be happy if I missed the salient details of another murder because I was waiting for the kettle to boil.
