The next afternoon after their dip in the water and the pleasant dinner afterwards, Emmett marched over the bridge to their usual meeting spot with the stride of a man with a plan. There was no greeting today, instead, he immediately brandished a notebook and tossed it at Otto. Somehow, Otto managed to catch it after fair amount of fumbling.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Emmett took his perch on top of the wall, while the demon lounged against it (to any casual observer they looked like a pair of loitering delinquents). “My research notes. I had the opportunity to do some digging into Mrs Wendall while at work. Couldn’t find much in the records apart from the basics, but it turns out my Mother knows her.”

He flipped to the newest page, glancing over the Wendall family address, phone number and census records. “Was this research legal?” Otto furrowed his brows and pulled a face.

He wasn’t comforted by the reply. “Technically speaking, yes,” Emmett said, putting on an innocent smile in response to Otto’s pointed look. “Ethical? That’s a different matter entirely.”

Otto poorly disguised a laugh as a cough, failing to keep the mirth out of his voice. “Christ, Emmett. What did your Mother have to say about her?”

At that, Emmett rested a hand against his shoulder and pointed to a section of the page about midway down. Otto could hear the other man’s soft breaths close to his ear, leaving him a little lightheaded. “Point one to four. She had some...strong opinions.”

1. Mrs Wendall, aka. Maureen Wendall, is apparently a dreadful gossip who almost single-handedly destroyed Mr and Mrs Hughes’s marriage.

2. Her children are ‘hellions’ and they keep damaging their neighbour’s award winning roses.

3. Mrs Wendall is (allegedly) having an affair with the milkman.

4. She (also allegedly) bribed Mr Pratt into letting her daughter play Mary at last year’s Christmas nativity.

“Hm, your mother does certainly paint a picture,” he said, running his thumb across his lip.

“I get the impression they aren’t friends.”

Otto reached up to smooth out the crease of his collar, lips slightly pursed. “What a pain. If her kid has the brooch, we should bite the bullet and see if she still has it though.”

Thanks to Emmett’s questionably obtained information, they easily found the Wendall’s home. It was down a winding lane, large walled houses standing on either side, separated by expanses of orderly gardens, not a leaf out of line. In such a clinically obnoxious place, Otto had to follow Emmett closely, lest he decide to wreak minor havoc with the begonias.

Once at the porch, Emmett reached out and rapped against the front door several times before drawing back. Side by side, they waited in a tense silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Otto saw one of the net curtains shift a little. They heard muffled speech and then the rhythmic taps of footsteps. A click came from the lock and the door swung inwards several inches, caught by the latch.

A woman peered out through the crack, her face pinched as if she’d sucked on a rather tart lemon. Scrutinising them, her thin lips moved. “What do you two want?” Immediately, from the hissed tone, it was evident they weren’t welcome.

Despite the hostility, Emmett put on a valiant attempt at a diplomatic smile. “We just wanted to ask a few questions, Madam. I promise it won’t take more than a moment.”

The chain dropped and the door jerked open, Mrs Wendall filling the frame as she bent forward and crowded Emmett’s space. “I am not interested in speaking to you, Turner. If your rag of a paper wants to contact me, they can bloody well send someone else!” With that, she retreated and slammed the door with so much force that the frame shook.

Emmett flinched and stared at the door for several seconds, taking deep breaths. “Well- er- that’s a dead end,” he said softly.

Otto put his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders and steered him back out of the garden, only stopping when they turned the corner, the garden walls obscuring them from the house’s windows. “She’s an ignorant twit, Emmett,” he muttered, bending his head down. “I doubt she would’ve helped us anyway with that sort of attitude.” Patiently, he stood beside his friend, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

It took a moment to compose himself, but Emmett swallowed and nodded. “Probably,” he croaked.

There was a small noise from above and Otto found himself staring into a pair of large, grey eyes. He immediately stepped away from Emmett and squared up to the wall.

“What are you looking at?” he called up to where the eyes had been only seconds before. “I know you’re there.”

A girl peeked over the top of the wall again, the bright red bow wound through her hair leaving the hiding spot redundant. “Mum told me not to talk to him,” she said conspiratorially, jabbing a pale digit towards the other man (who was looking more baffled than upset), “so I got curious.”

Otto craned his neck to meet her gaze, arching an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not very nice of her.”

The girl regarded him, bobbing up and down as if there was too much nervous energy trapped in her toes. “She says the Turner boy is dangerous.”

“So are dogs if you’re mean to them,” Otto reasoned. “You don’t have to talk to him, but I want to ask you some questions.”

The girl chewed on a nail, the cogs in her head whirring. When she glanced up again, she scowled a little and disappeared behind the wall. There was a thud, followed by shuffling and grumbling noises, but then the garden gate further down screeched open and the girl stared out.

“I want money,” was the first thing she said. Cheeky little shit, not even ten and already a ruthless business woman.

Wandering closer, Otto took a levelling breath. “One farthing?”

The girl shook her head and raised finger. “I want the silver one. A shilling.”

Otto let out an outraged gasp. “That's theft, young lady!” he protested, but she didn’t back down, her jaw set.

“I’ll call Mum on you,” she threatened with such certainty that Otto knew she meant it.

Otto glanced at Emmett and they shared a panicked look. Dealing with Mrs Wendall again was the last thing they wanted to do. “How about a sixpence?” Otto asked, turning back.

A small crease lined her forehead and she hummed, before a devilish smirk tugged at her lips. “A sixpence and a thruppence.”

Muttering under his breath, Otto took out his wallet and fished out two coins, holding them aloft. “You win, but you need to answer the questions first and then I’ll give them to you.”

The girl raised an eyebrow of her own, somehow commanding far more sarcasm with that single gesture than Otto had ever dreamt possible. “You might keep the coins and run off; I’m not stupid.”

Damn it, bested by a child. The demon begrudgingly set the coins on the floor, covering them with his shoe to stop her from snatching them and slipping away. This time she nodded with satisfaction and crossed her arms over her pale blue dress.

“What’re the questions?”

Otto could hear Emmett flip to a new page and the quiet pop of his pen lid.

“Were you given a brooch with flowers on it a while ago?” Otto asked.

The girl scuffed at the gravel with her polished shoe. “Yeah, the nice man with the big eyebrows gave it to me.”

“Do you still have it?”

That question caused her face to twist and she silently shook her head.

There was an uneasy feeling in Otto’s stomach at the sudden change in demeanour. He ducked down to her level, lowering his voice. “What happened to it?”

She balled her hands into the fabric of her cardigan, retreating further behind the gate. “The witch,” she whispered, eyes set on the ground. “The forest witch chased me and it got lost. I was too scared to go back for it.”

Otto froze. “Very wise,” he replied. “This witch. What did she do?”

Unwilling to speak, she shook her head and refused to look up.

“I’ll add another thruppence,” he offered, too inept with children to offer any support beyond the monetary kind.
Somehow, it still seemed to do the trick.

“Make it another sixpence,” she responded, her lips pulled tight, “and promise to not tell Mum.”

Otto was fond of displays of petty disobedience, so he gladly took out another coin and added it to the rest. “You have my word,” he replied in earnest. (A person might mistakenly think that as a demon, Otto would be the type to break promises at the same rate as he guzzled down tea each morning. However, as established, Otto was a dreadful demon, so he always kept his word.)

Mollified, the girl glanced at both men one by one and leant closer, her voice falling to a whisper. “Me and my brother went to the forest to play with our friends from school that we’re not supposed to talk to. We were playing hide and seek in the deepest part, down by the river. I was hiding behind a tree, when I thought I heard Kate nearby, so I went real quiet and still. But...then I realised that the person on the other side of the tree was whistling.”

“Whistling?” Emmett prodded, the scratch of his pen audible.

“Kate can’t whistle.”

For a sentence so short, it made Otto queasy.

“I thought we were alone in that part of the forest,” she continued. “But I could smell this awful stink as the witch got closer. I think she heard me breathe, because suddenly she pounced at me and grabbed my scarf. The witch had these horrible glowing red eyes, long teeth, and was covered in fire and mud. I thought she was gonna drag me away and eat me! I punched her in her ugly nose though and ran off.”

Otto and Emmett listened in muted horror. Otto looked like a gaping fish as he tried and failed to formulate words. It’d gone from a missing brooch to a potential kidnapping far too quickly.

“And then what happened?”

“Oh, I found my friends and we ran back to Kate’s.” The girl’s tone was suddenly back to normal, matter of fact and business-like. “Her mum made us tea and biscuits, which was really nice because my Mum bans biscuits. We were even allowed sugar in our tea! Later, I realised that the witch managed to steal my scarf, and the brooch was on it, but I haven’t looked for it.”

Feeling a little whiplashed, Otto made a ‘huh’ noise and nodded vaguely. “When did this all happen?” he asked.

Drumming against the gate, she paused. “Erm, two weeks ago?”

That was horribly recent, another piece in an unsettling jigsaw puzzle. Straightening back up to his full height, Otto pushed the coins towards the gate and lifted his shoe. “Spend it wisely, kid,” he said.

The child scurried out, gathered up the bounty and then scurried back in. Holding her treasure with a glowing reverence, she grinned at the pair. “Thanks, misters!” And with that, she disappeared.

Emmett snapped his notebook shut and Otto slid his wallet away. They both looked at each other for a moment, before Emmett scratched his neck.

“We should let someone know, shouldn’t we?” he said with a frown.

The demon mirrored his discomfort. “Probably. The kid could’ve gotten hurt.”

Emmett glanced along the quiet lane, lingering for a moment on the clumped trees visible beyond the farmer’s fields, dark and foreboding as evening drew closer. “There’s a phone at mine and it’s not too far away. I could leave a message with the authorities.”

The building was a street or two away, the front door shielded behind an archway long devoured by climbing ivy. The entrance hall was a little room with a board on one wall, a line of post-boxes beneath it and a glimmering new rotary phone sat on a table pushed to the other side. A slight hint of mustiness filled the air.

While Emmett made the call, Otto distracted himself with some healthy snooping, peeping into each post box and reading the passive-aggressive noise complaints pinned beside the apartment rules (a couple he recognised as Emmett’s handwriting, so he spent a few extra moments snickering over them).

Emmett let out a harsh sigh as he set the receiver down.

“Not good news?” Otto asked, shifting his attention.

The man shook his head, hands shoved into his pockets. “Apparently the word of a child isn’t a good enough reason to do anything. They thought it was the work of an overactive imagination based upon her description of the witch.”

Otto let out an incredulous noise. “The kid was almost swiped!”

The look Emmett sent him was resigned, foot tapping against the ugly visitor’s rug (the pattern reminded him of artfully arranged chunks of vomit). “It’s a small village. People don’t expect that sort of thing to happen here. The worst crimes we see are occasional thefts and vandalism,” he explained, reclining against the off-white wall. “At least we made decent headway with the brooch hunt. Shall we call it an evening?”

“Yes. No need to linger on things.” Otto nudged one of the notices back into alignment and dithered, not yet willing to say his goodbyes.

The journalist pretended to mull over a thought for a moment, glancing to the stairs. “Could I perhaps tempt you to a spot of tea before you head back?” he asked.

Otto did his best to not appear too eager. “Oh, yes, all right.” He finally gave in with an impish smile. “And here I thought it was the demon that was supposed to tempt the mortal.”

Emmett pursed his lips in an attempt to hide how they curved. “Come along, you wily fiend.”