Page 8 of Dark Desire (Dark Souls Spin-off Short Story)

“Actually, it’s not you that we are interested in speaking to, Evie.

But I would love a cuppa if you’re offering.

” PC Mawdly’s brown eyes swept over to me as he leaned back on the heels of his shoes and placed his hand on his hip.

“We’d like to speak to this young lady here. If that’s alright with you?”

He was speaking to me. Looking at me. My eyes had bulged. My throat had closed. Shit. Shit. Shit. Act innocent . This couldn’t be about the fae that attacked me last night, who I then buried in the graveyard. How would they know?

“Of course,” I found my voice from deep beneath the hysterical panic that was building within. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Both officers approached my desk, looking me over with quiet suspicion, and I swallowed thickly. “I’m Officer Mawdly and this is Officer Blaid. And you are Darcelle Knightsbridge?”

Why did he make my name sound like a trick question?

“Uh, yes.”

“If this has to do with Betty, this is just ridiculous. Let me guess, Beryl phoned you?” Evie shook her head and folded her arms as I glanced between them. Who the fuck was Betty?

“Actually, no. This isn’t about Betty, though I should ask: where were you on the night of 19th December, Miss Knightsbridge?”

“Um, at the church. Where I live. I never go anywhere after dark,” I replied quickly, my eyes darting between Evie and PC Mawdly. “Who is Betty?”

“If this isn’t about that damned cow, what is it about?” Evie snapped. “You are scaring the poor girl, Harry.”

“It’s PC Mawdly when I am on duty,” he scolded her, causing Evie to roll her eyes.

“And it’s pain in my backside when you are not,” she muttered under her breath, but the entire room heard it. Pretty sure that was intentional. Harry, or PC Mawdly, shot her a warning glare as she sat back down behind her desk. She mouthed to me behind her hand, ‘Ex-husband number one.’

Ah. Brilliant.

The officer straightened, making himself seem just that little bit taller and met my gaze.

“You’ve been renting the old parish for the last two months, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And can you talk me through your morning today, Miss Knightsbridge?”

I glanced over to Evie, who gave me a shrug. “I–I, uh, woke up at around half seven and showered, got dressed and had breakfast.”

“In the church?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Yes. In my home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes,” I answered slowly. What on Earth was this about?

“And then what did you do?”

“I left the church around half-eight and made my way to the village. I stopped at the cafe to pick up a coffee for Evie and me, then came straight here. I’ve been here ever since.

” Officer Blaid was scribbling everything I said into her notepad as I looked between them.

“Sorry officer, but what is this about? Am I in some kind of trouble?” I fluttered my eyelashes slightly, trying to appear innocent.

“And you didn’t notice anything unusual this morning as you left the church?”

“Unusual?” I baulked. “Like what?”

“Anything…disturbed?”

"Oh, for the love of all things mighty, will you just spit it out, Harry!” Evie shouted, losing her patience. He glared at her over his shoulder but seemed to agree to put me out of my misery.

“This morning, a report came in that a grave in the cemetery had been disturbed. Frank Tippel’s grave, to be precise.

Would you happen to know anything about that, Miss Knightsbridge?

” His dark eyes bore into mine as I blinked rapidly.

My heart started pounding, and I swear I could feel the blood draining from my face.

“Um, sorry, I, um, I don’t understand. What do you mean by disturbed?

” I squeaked. He was dead. The fae was most definitely dead before I buried him.

I triple-checked. Shit . Had they found the body?

Was I about to be arrested? However long I had left was going to be spent in a jail cell and not riding that beauty of a beast in the sea.

No. I couldn’t go to jail. Not today. I had to perform the spell tonight! I had to make things right!

“I mean exactly that. Someone had dug up Frank Tippel’s grave. All the dirt was removed and piled on the sides right down to his coffin.”

“Oh my goodness! That is awful! Who would do such a thing?” Evie gasped.

My eyes swerved from her back to the officers. So, wait. There was no body? They didn’t find the fae man?

“That is…terrible,” I agreed as a little twitch sparked in Harry’s cheek, causing one side of his moustache to lift.

“Yes. So you didn’t notice anything unusual when you left this morning? There hasn’t been any suspicious activity around the area?”

“No!” I shook my head. “Everything was the same as it always was. So this happened…today? After I left the church?”

“Our report came in at around ten in the morning. Someone passing the church noticed the grave and reported it. Thankfully, Mr Tippel’s remains appear to be undisturbed, but we have cordoned off the crime scene and will need to bring in the forensic team to collect and examine any potential physical evidence.

Meanwhile, we must insist that you stay elsewhere. ”

“What?” I shrieked. No, I couldn’t stay elsewhere. Everything I owned was in that church, and I’d spent weeks meticulously casting protection wards and my own defence magic to keep out anyone who wanted to cause me harm. It was the only place I felt safe. Fuck!

“She can stay with me.” Evie stood up and moved to stand beside me, placing her hand on my trembling shoulder.

This couldn’t be real. Where the hell was the fae?

Doubt began to creep into my mind. Maybe he was alive and had crawled out.

A shiver ran down my spine. No. No one could survive being buried under that dirt all night.

The grave was okay this morning; I even checked it as I walked past. But it just didn’t make any sense…

“Okay then.” Officer Mawdly’s deep voice pulled me back into the room, which I swear was beginning to spin. “Before we go, can I ask what is with the hanging twigs and crystals you have placed around the church?”

“Oh,” I giggled nervously. “I am very spiritual. They are used to warn away evil spirits and welcome good ones. I know, not everyone believes in that stuff but living with the dead in the back garden, I wanted to make sure they didn’t see me as a threat.”

“Like ghosts, you mean?” PC Blaid asked.

“Spirits. Yes.”

“And you don’t practise any spiritual rituals? Anything that might require you to tamper with a grave?”

My mouth dropped open. “No!”

“Harry, honestly! This is unbelievable! Of course Darcie didn’t dig up that grave. She’s been here with me the whole day!”

“Well, we do not have a time as to when the crime was committed, only that it was reported this morning. Until we have gathered any further evidence, we are just questioning suspects.”

“So I am a suspect?” I gasped.

“Oh, come on! A suspect of what? Moving a pile of mud?” Evie scoffed.

“The desecration of a grave is a serious offence,” Harry argued, turning to his ex-wife. “This kind of damage could carry a three-month imprisonment and up to ￡2,500 fine.”

“I didn’t do it!” I stuttered, even though technically I did much worse. “Can I at least go back and get some clothes?”

“PC Blaid can escort you back now, but you need to be prompt. We will be in touch. I see this is upsetting for you, Miss Knightsbridge, but don’t worry—if you are innocent, as you claim, I am confident we will find out who did this.

If you remember anything, no matter how small, please get in touch. ”

I bobbed my head because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Evie gave me a quick hug, and I followed PC Blaid outside as she led me to her police car. Locals stopped and stared, open-mouthed or gossiping, as I climbed into the back feeling as though I had committed a crime.

I mean, I had killed a man. But it was self-defence. He was sent to kill me. What was I supposed to do? But the bigger question was, where the hell was that dead man now? And who the hell moved him?

As we began to drive through the narrow streets, I looked out the window at all the spectators who had travelled down for the festival.

One familiar face in particular caught my eye.

The small, gaunt old woman standing on her doorstep made eye contact with me and smiled.

But it wasn’t a warm reassurance. It was a smile full of victory. A smile of malice.

Beryl Dorestone looked delighted to see me in the back of a police car. My eyes cast down at the numerous placards stacked outside her cottage, ready to be handed out to the festival-goers. My nostrils flared when I read the one on the very top.

Burn the witch.