by Willow Mason
My mind spun with the possibilities. I held a hand up to my throat as it tightened, threatened by the forces at work.
Beezley must know this officer. I turned to check on him in the car again. Whoever had performed the dreadful spell to trap him in the French bulldog body must have thought he was getting close to exposing the truth.
“We’ll go tonight. Don’t tell Beezley. You were right to talk to me alone.” I grabbed hold of Wilson’s shoulder, giving him a shake as I tried hard to suppress a smile of glee. “Once we’ve sorted out these so-called policemen, we can reveal everything to him. They might even change him back.”
Once again, Wilson asked me if I was sure, and once again I nodded.
“A witch and a man with a righteous heart are more than a match for a couple of troublemakers fooling around with occult spells they don’t understand.” Just picturing the spells being loose and used for nefarious purposes made my skin flush red with blood. “We’ll catch them and be heroes for saving all of Riverhead,” I whispered. “It’s our destiny.”
Chapter Twelve
“Where are you two going?” Beezley asked as Wilson and I made a beeline for the door.
We’d helped put away the groceries in a new system I’d designed. Everything stayed in the bottom half of the pantry or was in a cabinet below the sink. I’d also tied thick nylon cords—originally destined to become a washing line—to each handle so he could grab it in his mouth and tug the doors open.
Instead of gratitude, I now had a black look and a head jerk at the computer.
“We’re going to the library to do some research,” I said, neglecting to tell him which one. “The computer is set up if you want to delve deeper into the police files.”
“Have the lab results come through yet?” Wilson asked, giving me a wink.
Beezley hustled off to find out, although he must have known it was far too soon for that.
“We should team up more often,” I said, getting into the passenger seat. I was still pumped up over what Wilson had told me at the supermarket. With each passing minute, I added further pieces to the puzzle. Most might never fit but I still found the larger picture was becoming clearer.
“No, thanks. The police station might be a distant memory to you, but it wasn’t a forgettable experience for me.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Not your fault. I shouldn’t have fallen over, then the spell would’ve stayed in place.” He shrugged. “Besides, it wasn’t too bad in the cells. I got fed and even had a cup of coffee that wasn’t half bad.”
“And you discovered secrets we could’ve spent a lifetime searching for and never finding,” I reminded him. “I swear next time, if one of us has to get caught, it’ll be me.”
The library was still and silent as Wilson drove past. I’d directed him to park well away from the building since, during the evening, every passing car was a nice distraction from the lack of work. I’d built elaborate guessing games around every single passing vehicle and couldn’t imagine it would be different for Harriet.
Her text niggled in the back of my mind. It was another reason to steer well clear of the library, but I’d already committed myself to action. Besides, being scared of Glynda was the reason we were going straight to the target of the crime.
If we were caught, at least we were doing something noble, not partaking in mischief.
“If we cut through the forest here, there’s a path which’ll take us right up to the back door.” It was the favourite short-cut for generations of teenage Romeos to meet up with their Juliets, but it was only foot trodden. In the dim light of early evening, it was difficult to see.
“Can’t you shine your phone on it,” Wilson grumbled as he tripped over for the third time.
Until meeting him, I’d thought I was clumsy, but the man put a new spin on the whole concept.
“It’ll be visible from the kitchenette out the back of the library,” I explained. “And if Harriet’s just filling in time until the place closes, it’s likely that’s where she’ll be.”
“What about a normal torch, then?”
“Do you have one?” Wilson shook his head. “Then why bother to ask?”
“We could go back home to get one and try this later.”
I didn’t need to guess at the current of fear hiding underneath his words because the same jolt passed through my body. Heroes didn’t get that way by being cowards, I told myself. Feel the fear and do it, anyway.
The cliché rolled off me like water off a duck’s back.
“We’re almost there,” I whispered as he bumped into me again. Another stumble. I was beginning to regret not just leaving him in the car and felt sure Wilson would have preferred it that way too. “Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be at the back door of the library. We can hunker down in the bushes and wait until your policemen show.”
“And then what do we do?” Wilson muttered. “Your plans always end before that bit.”
“We overpower them with our awesome abilities and hold them until Glynda gets there with a magic spell.”
“Which hopefully won’t come undone if one of them trips over.”
The words stung so hard my eyes watered. I hated that Wilson had brought up my earlier failure and hated even more that it was true.
For a minute, I wanted to turn and harangue him right there on the path, but common sense prevailed. I kept walking, finding each step on the path with the aid of a sliver of moon that was fast setting.
A true hero would use her earlier failure as fuel for a victory!
A nice point for my brain to land on but one which didn’t come complete with instructions.
“Shh,” I hissed, ducking down into the shelter of a tree. “There’s someone out there.”
Wilson laid a hand on my shoulder as he crouched behind me, the uneven distribution of his weight almost toppling me over. The thought of what a hilarious sight that would be to an enemy kept me upright.
“Don’t tease me, Harriet,” a female voice called out. “If you saw someone out here, I’m happy to come along and help you look but if you’re just pulling a prank—”
“I saw someone,” Harriet replied in a stubborn tone. “And if you want to wait inside while I look by myself, you’re welcome to. It was your idea to come outside.”
The nervous titter from the other woman told me who it was, better than her high-pitched voice had. Priscilla Clarke. Or Prissy as I’d always called her.
She knew all about pranks. The one I’d played on her a few days before had been what drummed me out of the coven.
Fury rose in my gut as I listened to the two witches exchange reassurances in the deepening dark. I should be the one out there, searching for movement at the edge of the forest. I should be the one taking care of the spells so no numbskull of a policeman could steal them away from under my nose.
That last thought hit me like a slap. Those two ninnies were outside, chasing phantoms, while they left the occult spells unprotected within the library walls.
I grabbed hold of Wilson’s shoulder and prodded him to move to his right. With the loud noise of Harriet and Prissy stumbling and kicking their way through the undergrowth, it was easy to place them at my left-hand side.
We could circle around the library and walk in through the front door and those two wouldn’t know a thing about it.
I could only hope we weren’t too late.
As we clambered over the short fence that marked the edge of the property boundary, I hunkered over and ran to the nearest sheltering corner. Once there, I pressed myself flat against the wall and signalled back to Wilson to follow. The streetlights here made it bright enough he could easily see me.
Anyone else could see me too, but as I scanned the length of the road, I didn’t see any movement. If the policemen had arrived before us, they were either inside the library or lying in wait.
I prayed it was the latter.
“Keep an eye out,” I instructed Wils
on as we crept along the wall and edged up to the next corner. I peeked around, seeing a clear path to the front door. It was closed, but I felt certain my magic would be strong enough to pick the lock.
The songs from the spells inside called out, crying to be set free. They were loud, too loud. Harriet either hadn’t been doing her job, or they were aware someone was coming to collect them.
I’d see someone in hell before I let them steal my precious babies away.
The run from the front of the library to the front door stretched out in the same sickening way as the tunnels when the spider was chasing me. Just because I now recognised the sensation, didn’t make it any less unpleasant.
When I arrived, huffing and puffing and shaking, at the front door, I hit out with my magic a tad too hard. The lock melted to the ground, dripping down the front of the door and leaving a smouldering trail.
I turned the handle and burnt my palm. With a second to recover, I hitched up my sleeve to cover the area and tried again. This time it turned, and I pulled the door open, falling inside.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Glynda greeted me. “Harriet was right. She told me you’d never obey her instruction to stay away.”
I tried to open my mouth and explain. Tried to warn her of someone worse who was coming. The echo of footsteps reached my ears, and I leaned out the door to see Wilson sprinting away.
Only fair, I suppose. Now I was in lockup and he was free and clear.
“Glynda,” I said, my palms out in supplication. “I swear, I can explain everything. We just need to make sure the spells are safely locked away.”
“We don’t need to do anything, dear. The punishment for breaking and entering coven property using magic is the same as it's always been.”
“What’s that?” The frustration and exclusion I’d felt when Silla told me of the knowledge I should have learnt bubbled up. “Is this yet another thing you kept from me?”
“She means, you have to give up your magic.” Harriet pushed past me, Prissy following close on her heels. “Every ounce of white magic swirling in your body must now be siphoned out to stop you breaking our coven laws again.”
The two young women stared at me with pity while Glynda tapped her foot with impatience.
Prissy gave me a hollow smile as she whispered, “You’ll be a standard human,” then shuddered.
My body mimicked hers, doubt and horror swimming through my veins. “You can’t do that.”
“I can,” Glynda said, raising her hand. “If you wanted to stay a witch, you should have obeyed our laws.”
A spurt of electricity shot out of her fingers, growing and sparking with greater and greater power. It encompassed me in a field of bright white light, blinding me. I felt my power adhere to the intrusive force, binding with it, then screamed as the electricity withdrew, tearing every bit of magic from my body.
“Don’t worry,” Prissy simpered. “You’ll make a good human. You’ve got exactly the right attitude.”
She leaned over, staring into my blank face as she delivered the final blow. “You’re so clueless, you’ll fit right in.”
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of scrabbling claws roused me from my funk the following morning. Beezley’s bark had been almost constant since about eight o’clock. He seemed to believe it was a decent time to start the day, something with which my own body clock vehemently disagreed.
It was the fact I couldn’t hear what the dog was saying, beyond barking, that brought home the truth. Despite spending the entire night with my eyes squeezed closed, wishing as hard as I could, I’d woken this morning with my magic still missing.
The penalty seemed extreme.
There was no way for me to know if the police had succeeded in stealing the spells last night. I supposed with the furore I’d caused, the officers might well have chosen another night for their heist.
Not that it mattered if they’d postponed. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to stop them now. A text to any witch in the coven would go unread and unanswered. Any door would be slammed in my face. To associate with me would leave them facing the same penalty.
Life sucked. It didn’t help to know most of it was my fault.
“I can’t understand a word you’re saying so stop yelling at me,” I shouted at Beezley. It shut him up for about two minutes, then the barking and scrabbling at my door began again.
It was the visual my mind provided that got me opening the door. The oak wood panelling on the door should have been something Beezley cared about more than me—after all, it was his house—but I couldn’t stand the destruction.
“What?” I shouted, on my worst behaviour. To be fair, my attitude had been so low for the past few days. the dog probably didn’t notice much difference. The words Prissy had delivered last night might have been cutting but even I couldn’t dispute they were true.
“Woof, woof,” Beezley said, sitting on his hind legs and gesticulating. “Woof!”
“Oh, this’ll be painful,” I muttered, heading for the computer. “Can you type in what you want to say?”
Apparently not.
“I need an app,” I said, typing in a search although I guessed there’d be nothing on the market. To my happy surprise, I proved myself wrong. “Hold on a sec.”
In a few minutes, I’d downloaded the app to my phone and held it up to record Beezley’s latest round of barking. On the screen, a pulsing button flashed ‘translating’ before coming up with a result.
“Could I have a TreatieWise Canine Treat?” was the apparent translation. Not something that supported the urgency written over Beezley’s face. I grew more suspicious when I saw the app creator was also named TreatieWise.
My hope demanded I retest it but after five variations on the same theme appeared on screen, I gave up and deleted the useless app from my phone with a vicious click of my thumb.
“It’s no use,” I said as Beezley restarted his barking with renewed vigour. “I can’t understand a single word you’re saying.”
He pulled a newspaper off the table, some of it already torn in long strips where he must have struggled to pull it from the plastic wrapper.
“I’m not reading that entire thing,” I said, sitting down with a solid thump. “If there’s anything interesting in there, I’m sure it’ll be on the telly.”
Beezley dragged the paper across, then used his back legs to shuffle through the oversized pages. Despite my continued commitment to full-on grumpiness, I leaned forward with renewed interest.
Finally, he stood and tapped on a page, barking excitedly. Even without a translation engine embedded in my head, I could tell he’d found what he wanted me to see.
“Funeral notices,” I read along the top, then shifted him aside to scan down the page. “Fenella Wainwright, Hester Funeral Home, twelve-thirty.” I flicked the edge of the page down, staring at Beezley over the top. “You wanna go to a funeral? I’ll need a black dress.”
While he stared on, keeping quiet for a change, I rubbed my finger and thumb together. “It’s above and beyond to expect me to finance work outfits from my own purse when you haven’t paid me a single red cent so far.”
That triggered a new burst of furious barking but if Beezley was telling me where he hid the cash under his mattress, it wasn’t getting through.
“How about you owe me?” I stood up, wiping dog hair off my jeans and walking over to start some morning coffee. Beezley rubbed himself against my calf muscle. “Oh, you want some, do you? Isn’t this stuff poison to dogs?”
A quick check on the internet confirmed it was, along with a host of things I’d never think to worry about.
“Hey, you better get up here and commit this list to memory,” I told him as I kept my coffee well out of his reach. “I mean, I’ll do my best, but it’d be nice if you knew what to look out for, too.”
A tentative knock came on the front door and I guessed before peeking out through the net curtain who it would be. “Wilson, good to see
you.”
“Are you okay?” He shuffled his feet on the front step. “I didn’t mean to cut and run last night, I just—”
I held up my hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about it. I guess we can take turns to get caught doing stuff we shouldn’t. Did you hear that, Beezley?” I called back over my shoulder. “You’re up next.”
“Doggie prison,” Wilson said with a snigger. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”
I guessed from Beezley’s furious barking he objected, and I suppose he was right. At least in prison, nobody killed you if you weren’t claimed at the end of the week.
“Let’s get a proper collar for you on the way, so nobody steals you away.”
“On the way where?” Wilson asked, still on the front doorstep. I pushed him further back and checked his car was parked on the curb.
“We’re attending Fenella’s funeral,” I explained. “And first we need to go shopping for appropriate attire.”
“Oh, okay.”
Wilson turned away, appearing downcast.
“You can come if you volunteer to be our chauffeur for the day.”
He brightened and clapped his hands together. “I think I can manage that.” Wilson waved his hand down at his black fleece pants. “And I’m already dressed for the occasion.”
In an appropriate black dress—far longer than I would have chosen for any other event—me, Wilson, and Beezley turned up outside the funeral parlour with plenty of time to spare.
I might not understand Beezley, but I could guess his reasons for attending. Pay attention to the guests, see if anyone’s out of place. Try to listen in to conversations. Try to pinpoint if somebody had turned up to gloat.
Yeah, I watch plenty of true crime TV. I was prepared.
“You can’t bring the dog inside,” a funeral director told me at the door. “There’s a bike stand around the side where you can tie his leash or leave him in the car.”
