‘It’s not really stealing. Sure, I took it without Grace’s knowledge and against her wishes. But it’s for the good of the whole town. By the way, how are you feeling?’
The cat shrugged. ‘Normal. Why? Do I look weird to you or something? Because it’s not like I’m in love with Princess Preciousbottom or anything. I’m just spending a lot of time with her. And thinking about her when I’m not with her. And dreaming about her every time I close my eyes.’
I grinned. ‘She’s Norma’s favourite, you know. And her fanciest, judging by the little diamante collar I saw her wearing last week. Can she … y’know … is she?’
‘She’s a magical animal, if that’s what you’re trying to oh-so-subtly ask. She chooses not to choose a witch. She says that living with Norma is too much fun to ever give up. But enough about the most beautiful cat in the world. What’s on this flash drive that you totally stole from Grace?’
I sighed. Yeah, I stole it. And I felt bad about it too. But it really was necessary. ‘Adeline and Arthur Albright have digitised all of the old Daily Riddler articles – even the ones that never made it to publication.’
‘Nice,’ said Fuzz. ‘Maybe you can find something about the old murders on there. The ones that are just like these ones. The ones no one else seems to remember remembering.’
‘That’s the idea. Do you remember any similar murders, by any chance? Or any of your other little magical friends?’
‘Nah. I’ve asked around, though, because I could tell you had your knickers in a twist about the whole thing. No joy I’m afraid. The other familiars are just as wired as their witches.’
I frowned. ‘So why aren’t you?’
‘Witch-familiar bond, I guess. You’re not affected by this orange magic that you’re seeing, so neither am I. Go on. Take a trawl through the flash drive. The sooner we sort this mess out, the sooner Princess Preciousbottom will go back to being impressed by me. Right now, all she wants to do is laugh at non-magical cats on the internet.’
Well, never let it be said that Fuzz didn’t have a strong moral compass. Wait, did I say moral compass? I meant he had a strong sense of self-interest, obviously.
But however selfish his reasons, his goals fell in line with mine, so I got right to work. I did have to pause for a moment, though, just so I could be suitably awed by Adeline and Arthur’s organisational spells. They had basically given me one great big magical articles’ database, with options to use a wide range of search terms.
I was guessing that the previous murders, if they ever happened, had happened quite some time ago. The youngest person to have said ‘It’s happening all over again’ was Hilda, and she was at least in her late forties.
There was no way for me to narrow that down just yet, so I typed in: Murder in Riddler’s Edge.
‘Criminy, criminy, criminy!’ I cried out as thousands of stories appeared. ‘How many murders happen here anyway?’
Fuzz shrugged and hopped up onto my lap. ‘Too many for my liking. If you weren’t running around solving them all then you’d be able to enjoy me curling up on your lap a lot more often. So let’s get this one over with quickly, so I can spend my days in Princess Preciousbottom’s arms and my nights on your lap.’
‘Did you say arms? Don’t you mean … never mind. Arms is better. Anyway, I think I enjoy you curling up on my lap often enough as it is,’ I said. ‘It’s always lovely – right up until you dig your claws in.’
‘That’s me showing affection,’ he said. ‘Speaking of delightfully affectionate creatures that love you far more than you appreciate, have you spied the broom lately?’
I sighed. ‘Nah. But it came back after it disappeared at Midsummer. I’m hoping it’ll come back again. Arthur told me it’s not in Arnold’s house, so that’s something to be thankful for. At least he hasn’t stolen it to entice me over there.’
Fuzz wrapped his tail around himself, settling down on top of my pillow. ‘And you can move to the other side of the bed,’ I said. ‘Why do you always hairy up my side?’
He looked me in the eye. ‘You’re very testy these past couple of days, oh witch of mine. Even testier than usual. I know everyone else is relaxing a bit too much, but maybe you could be just a little less prickly.’
‘I’ll be less prickly when I know what’s behind the orange magic,’ I muttered, trying to think up some more relevant search terms. I tried: Women murdered at Pirates’ Pier.
Nothing. Hmm. I gave it one last go, throwing everything but the kitchen sink into the search bar: Women dead, missing or injured at Pirates’ Pier.
‘Oh, my giddy aunt!’ said Fuzz, poking his nose closer to the screen as he read. Because yes, he can read. Frankly, I was more shocked to find out that he had a giddy aunt. Either way, I completely understood the cat’s outburst. My search had brought up seven articles, going right back to the Year of the Magpie. That first year, three local women went missing, and were last seen on Pirates’ Pier. After that, the articles were about deaths. And the writer of almost every piece, bar the last one, had been Grace O’Malley.
‘I knew she was old,’ said Fuzz. ‘But I didn’t know she was that old. Although now that I think about it, she has made a comment or two that made me wonder if she was in the triple-digit age range.’
He was right about that. But even the nosiest of reporters (like me) knew when something was none of their business. While Grace’s age might be something I’d have to remain curious about, the stories she had written about the murders at Pirates’ Pier were not.
And if the murders really went back so far, what did that mean when it came to Hilda? If she was a witch hunter, could she have access to some way to prolong her life? Or could she simply be carrying on a pattern that others had begun in the past?
Fuzz set aside his worries for his giddy aunt, and I set aside my worries about Hilda, and we read through the articles together. ‘It looks like three women were murdered, every thirty-three years,’ he said. ‘All on the same dates each time. The twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth and thirtieth of October. Interesting.’
I glanced at the dates on the stories. The month and the day were mentioned, but as with all supernatural dates, the way they recorded years was something I was still getting used to. I grabbed my phone and opened up Greg’s app, then did some quick maths on my calculator. ‘You’re right. They happened exactly thirty-three years apart. How did you figure that out so quickly?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve been a magical cat a lot longer than you’ve known you were a witch. This stuff is second nature to me. Wow, look … hardly any of these previous deaths are listed as murders. In the first the women are just said to have gone missing. Some of them are blamed on suicide. One is blamed on freezing to death. Another on having choked on the salty sea air. Ooh, the last one actually is blamed on murder, but it says that it was a mob hit.’
I rounded my eyes. ‘A mob hit. In Riddler’s Edge. Yeah, right.’
‘Ah, but you’re confusing the Magic Mob with the Mafia in the human world. The Magic Mob did used to carry out hits on humans.’ Fuzz scrunched up his little nose. ‘That piece was written by your mother,’ he said. ‘And it’s nothing like her writing style. None of Grace’s articles seem like the sort of stuff she usually writes, either. They’re so blasé about it. Do you think these articles could have been edited by Arnold?’
I shook my head. ‘No. Adeline’s marked all of those with great big red exclamation marks. He only bought the paper in the seventies, anyway, so he couldn’t have had any involvement in the first few. I think Grace and Abby edited themselves this time around – under the influence of that same orange magic that’s floating about right now.’ I peered closer at the screen. ‘Wait a minute – the second one is blamed on food poisoning.’ I read part of the article aloud:
‘After the third unfortunate death at Pirates’ Pier this Halloween, this reporter can finally reveal the cause of death.
All three women – humans visiting Riddler’s Edge for the h
oliday – were killed by eating tainted seafood platters from the Fisherman’s Friend.
The deaths took place over three days – the twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth and thirtieth of October – due to the differing constitutions in each of the victims.
‘Ooh,’ said Fuzz. ‘You think that those deaths are why everyone is afraid of the seafood platter? The people who were around back then somehow got that bit stuck in their subconscious?’
I nodded wryly. ‘Sounds about right. All of the tourists at the moment certainly seem to be enjoying them, and no one’s getting a dicky tummy. But this is crazy, isn’t it? Grace would never have written drivel like this if she was in her right mind. And Fuzz, if there were three murders all of the other times …’
‘Then seeing as tonight is the thirtieth of October, there might be another on the way,’ he finished. ‘Unless you find a way to stop it. Any suspects?’
’Only Hilda. But before I confront her, I’m going to show all of these articles to Grace and Dylan. Seeing the proof that this happened before has to snap them out of their complacency, right?’
Fuzz shrugged his little shoulders. ‘You can try. I have other plans tonight, but if you need me I’ll be there.’
I grabbed my bag and rubbed his head. ‘I know you will. You’re my little fuzzy hero.’
≈
I left my bedroom door ajar, though I knew perfectly well Fuzz could get in and out even if the room was shut down tight. He was a regular little Houdini, and I’d given up on asking him how he managed his entrances and exits. According to him, maintaining an air of mystery was important in the witch-familiar relationship.
The house sounded eerily silent. When I first came home the dining room had been so loud and busy that I’d forgone dinner, but now I couldn’t hear a soul. Hmm. Maybe they were playing Hide and Seek?
As I passed by Dave the genie’s room on the second floor, I saw that his door was open. I couldn’t hear any noise from within. I wished he was there. Of all the people I’d spoken to in the last couple of days, Dave had been the only one who seemed like he might be immune to this new magic in the air.
I knew I needed to get to Dylan and Grace as quickly as possible, before murder number three had a chance to happen. But if they still wouldn’t listen to reason, even after I showed them proof of the same sorts of murders happening before? In that case, having someone else on side might be necessary.
‘Dave?’ I tapped lightly on his open door. ‘Dave, are you in there?’
The door swung open as I tapped. When I saw what was inside I went weak at the knees and said, ‘Fuzz’s giddy aunt!’
16. Impervious?
What I saw in Dave’s bedroom made my stomach churn with nerves. Why would the genie have so many photos of the recent murder scenes? Without thinking, I walked in to take a closer look. There were dozens of pictures, blown up and pinned to his walls. And what was most concerning about them was that a great many of them seemed to have been taken before the crime scene was cordoned off.
I glanced around the rest of the room, and saw a couple of books on his bed. The first one was called: No Power? No Worries. The tagline beneath the title said: Feeling powerless? Let this book show you how to steal all the power you could ever want.
The second book was called: Doing it in the Dark – Learn how to make dark magic light up your world.
I flicked quickly through both books, my stomach feeling sicker and sicker with each passage I read. I knew that dark magic existed. I knew that there were objects and spells that were highly illegal. Wealth spells, immortality spells, love spells … they were all strictly regulated for a reason. And this book told me how to do it all.
Did I want to force the man or woman I loved to fall for me? Heck no!
Did I want to live forever? Double heck no. I couldn’t even keep up with the latest trends now. Imagine having to do that for thousands of years. When the latest generation were wearing hover-flops and spacesuits, I’d still be in my trusty old sweater dress and boots.
But if I thought those spells were dubious, then the ones at the back of the book were far, far worse. Did you know that all you needed to create three hardworking zombies was five tonnes of dragonbone, three cups of soil from the Grave of Gravalda the Ghoulish, and a sprig of fresh thyme?
And if you wanted to send your worst enemy to the Dimension of the Damned, well you just needed the blood of seventeen seventy-year-old virgins, the toenails of thirty alcoholic wizards, and the pencil-case of Orla the Organised.
I was in the middle of a long spell of shudders when I felt the air behind me shift, and a voice said, ‘I didn’t want anyone to find this.’
I paused mid-shudder and spun on my heels. ‘Dave,’ I said with a gulp. ‘I … I knocked. But then the door swung open and I … well …’
‘And you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?’ he said. ‘You had to come in and have a nose about. I can’t say I blame you. I have quite the chilling collection, I know. But before I explain what I’m doing with all of this stuff, I’ll need you to take off that Impervium locket you’re wearing.’
I stared in horror at the genie. I liked Dave. He had been the one who gave me the wishing coin that meant I could steal one precious night with Dylan. But if he really thought I was about to hand over a magical locket that protected me from harm, well then he’d clearly not been paying attention during our previous encounters.
‘Gotta give you a big fat no on that one, Dave. And before you try and take it off me, I should just warn you – I haven’t eaten any dinner, so I’m feeling very irritable.’
His eyes widened and he took a step back. ‘Wait, you think … oh my stars! Aisling, I just want to test a theory, that’s all.’
‘And what theory is that?’ I asked, clutching the locket. ‘The theory of how gullible I am?’
‘Y’know what? You’re right,’ he said. ‘You really should keep it on. The second I heard the words coming out of my mouth I realised how ridiculous they sounded. Especially since you’re probably a little bit freaked out about all of this.’ He waved his hands around the room and then flopped down on the bed.
‘Well, duh. Of course I’m freaked out. It seems like you somehow managed to take photos of Cora and Evelyn before anyone else got there.’
He nodded vehemently. ‘I did! Because it took the gardaí an age each time to put up the tape and seal off the scene. It was obvious from the second they found that first tourist’s body that something was wrong with the people in this town, and I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on. That’s why I’ve been reading these books and studying the crime scenes. I’ve tried to go to Dylan Quinn for help. I’ve approached the Wayfarers, too. But they’re acting like idiots, Aisling – everyone is right now. Well, everyone except you. That’s why I asked you to take off your locket. I wanted to know if that’s what’s protecting you from whatever’s affecting the rest of them. Because it’s either that, or it’s the fact that you’re part sióga. But if it’s the locket, then maybe we can figure out a way to extend the chain, make it protect a few more people. Dylan maybe, so we’ll at least have a cop with a gun on our side when we go to try and stop the third murder from happening.’
‘You think there’s going to be a third murder?’ I eyed him carefully as I spoke. ‘And why is that?’
He pulled a crumpled pile of papers from under his mattress. ‘I went through the library archives in Riddler’s Cove. They keep some old copies of the Daily Riddler there. I spent all last night searching – seeing as the librarian was holding a Burn the Boring Books Party I figured I’d better get it done before she burned down the archive as well.’
I flipped through the pile. He had managed to find copies of the papers that detailed the last two instances on Pirates’ Pier. Was this good sleuthing or something else?
‘So you see why I was a little bit abrupt when I asked you for the locket, right? I think that these murders are sacrifices, once every thirty-three years. The
y always come in threes, which means that there’s going to be another. Tonight. If your locket can get Dylan back to normal so he can help us stop it, then we need to give it a shot.’
I brought my locket to my mouth, nervously chewing the chain. Dave knew I was part fae from the first time we met. And from that moment on, I’d liked him. He was probably right about the sacrifice thing. But maybe the reason he knew it was a sacrifice was because he was the one doing the sacrificing. I really didn’t think so, though. If they were sacrifices, then the place they were left had to mean something, didn’t it? Because it was always Pirates’ Pier. And as far as I knew, genies and pirates didn’t move in the same circles.
‘Do you think it could have something to do with the ghost ships? A sacrifice left for them?’
He nodded. ‘That’s what I was thinking. I don’t know why and I don’t know who could be doing it. I just know that they need to be stopped.’
‘You don’t have any Impervium, though,’ I pointed out. ‘So how come you’re not affected?’
‘Well, it’s not because I’m the criminal mastermind behind all of this, if that’s what you’re thinking. I figure it’s because I’m a genie. We have a natural immunity to most magic. Our only real vulnerability is having our lamps broken.’
I didn’t know if that was true or not. What I did know about genies was that they could live for hundreds if not thousands of years. ‘Look, Dave, I want to trust you. But you’re practically immortal. And I already know you’ve been to Riddler’s Edge before. You could have been here many times for all I know. I’m not taking my locket off. Sorry.’
He gave me what seemed to be an understanding nod, but for all I knew it was the smile that a serial killer gave his victim before he pounced. ‘I get that. I do. I haven’t been here many times before. Only the once. And honestly? If I’d known Nollaig had been single all this time I never would have left. Look, the locket is my best idea. If you have any other suggestions as to how we can get the detective to return to normal, I’m all ears.’
Shiver Me Witches Page 11
