by Willow Mason
Teri Anson, Isabella’s mother and Patrick’s client, had jet black hair scraped back in a bun so harsh my scalp ached just looking at it. Her eyes crawled up and down the length of my body like a perv in the local pub before relaxing her grip on the door and pushing it wide enough for us to enter.
“You said you’d have good news for us soon,” Teri complained as Patrick took a seat near the window. “I don’t have time for social chit chat with neighbouring coven members.”
After a night of fitful sleep, Patrick had knocked on my door, far too bright and early, to announce he thought it best if I met Isabella’s family. With a mugful of strong coffee in my hand, the idea hadn’t appeared too daunting, but now I was ensconced in Teri’s front parlour, my brain had gone on holiday.
No kidding. The realities of big cat ownership were taking a toll already. Thirty dollars I’d spent on meat the day before and Annalisa acted like she was starving.
“If you’re going to carry on conversations with your familiar, you can go outside,” Teri said with a sniff. “Whispering might be considered polite in your coven, but I can assure you that it’s the height of rudeness in ours.”
It amazed me that a fifteen-minute drive from Briarton got us to the Pounamu Basin coven. A whole separate group of witches with enough numbers to run a functional system.
Considering that Auckland was the most populous city in New Zealand yet could only manage one paltry coven, the feat was breathtaking and a little baffling.
“Sorry,” I said with a gulp while Patrick also offered a profuse apology. “I’m not used to this at all.”
Teri’s gaze narrowed and she peered at me down the length of her nose. “You’re Hetty’s daughter, aren’t you?” When I nodded, she continued, “Briarton used to be a good coven when she was running things.”
I frowned and waved away Patrick’s curious glance. “My mother was never supreme.”
“Supreme is just a title. Hetty ran the show for years, no matter that she spent most of her time closeted in the library, just like my Bella.” Teri arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re doing now you’re home?”
“If we ever get the place open, maybe.” I chewed on my bottom lip, wondering if that was information I should have kept to myself. Teri’s matter-of-fact nod gave me hope the closed library was common knowledge.
“I did have news,” Patrick interrupted, earning himself a black look from Isabella’s mother. “I found your daughter’s body yesterday.”
Teri’s face blanched and she grasped for the side table, her knuckles straining as she clutched the wooden surface.
“Not dead,” I hastily added, shooting Patrick a foul expression. “At least, maybe not.”
“What got hold of her?” Teri straightened her back, letting go of the table edge. “A hunter?”
“A suckling. It left her dried out but my supreme said she wasn’t necessarily beyond resurrection.”
The woman frowned, a deep line creating harsh shadows on her forehead. “But why would her suckling leave after all the trouble Bella took to get hold of one? It can’t survive without a host.”
“Wait.” I held up a hand as the gears in my head ground furiously. “Your daughter wanted a suckling?”
“Of course. Why else would she have one?” Teri stared at me as though I were mad, then waved a hand, suddenly impatient. “Never mind all that. Take me to her at once.”
“Ah.” Patrick stepped forward, holding his hands out to ward off the oncoming storm. “Unfortunately, after I found her, I lost her again.”
“We both did,” I said, standing between the two as Teri’s face darkened. “Someone stole her away.”
“Someone or something?”
When Patrick glanced at me for help, I shrugged. “We don’t know. One minute she was in the car and the next…”
“You’ve got her car?” Teri peered out the window, but it was Patrick’s vehicle parked in the driveway.
“It’s outside my house but you’re welcome to pick it up anytime.”
“Why would I…? What?” Teri’s face fragmented into despair and I reached out to support her as her body crumpled like a wet paper doll.
Patrick hovered anxiously as I guided her to the chaise lounge. “Can we get someone to come over?”
“I’m fine,” Teri snapped, glaring at him. “Except the man I’m paying top dollar to investigate my daughter’s disappearance hasn’t managed to do diddly squat.”
“Can I call your supreme to come over?” I stood back and wrung my hands.
Teri’s face twisted. “Don’t you dare. It’s bad enough the man spoke to my daughter more recently than I did—I certainly don’t need him hovering over my shoulder, throwing judgement on every decision I make.”
Their leader sounded wonderful. I felt a rush of gratitude for Genevieve’s casual and slipshod approach to management. “How recently did he speak to her?”
“A few weeks ago. She called him to arrange a meeting with an antiquarian bookseller in town.” Teri shook her head, her eyes glistening. “Emanuel Snell. He made an appointment to meet with Isabella, something about purchasing books of high value, but apparently she never turned up.”
“Was that when she went missing?”
“No. Before.” Her eyes drifted into un unfocused state before she shivered and stamped her foot. “Anyway, it’s my daughter and it’s up to me how to handle it.” She moved close to me, shoving a finger into my face. “You can help Patrick, so long as he doesn’t charge me extra for the privilege, but I don’t need your interference and I don’t need hand-holding from my supreme.”
“Why would you insist that a human run this investigation when any witch would have a thousand times the advantage?” A horrible thought struck me. “Didn’t you want your daughter found?”
“Get out of my house.” Teri pushed at my shoulder, shuffling me towards the door. “And you.” She whirled, freezing Patrick with a frosty glare. “I told you not to talk to anyone about what you were doing. If you try something like this again, you can kiss your entire fee goodbye.”
After one step outside, the door slammed shut, deadbolt clanking home.
It sounded like a fine idea to me.
Chapter Nine
“Isabella’s a scholar,” my aunt said a few hours later, placing her phone face down on the counter. “If we do ever get the chance to revive her, I vote we keep her.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You can drive two hours to Canterbury University if you want scholars. What makes her different?”
“A scholar of witchcraft, my dear. Not a standard graduate subject.”
“What’s there to study? Either you’ve got magic or you ain’t.”
Aunt Florentine pressed her lips together. “Each coven has its own way of performing magic and contributing to the national good. We might fly under the radar to most humans, but our rituals and celebrations are just as much a part of the cultural psyche of this country as any other group.”
I wrinkled my nose, wondering if my ex-boyfriend would claim the same for his new pack. Just because you always did things a certain way didn’t make them right or lend them special significance.
“Go ahead and scoff if you want,” my aunt said, reading my expression like a Netflix thumbnail. “But try casting a spell from any other coven and see how far you get. There are intricacies woven into every piece of magic, from spell to potion, that vary so much between our groups that they’re barely recognisable as the same.”
“So she studied the differences between witches?”
“That and the similarities.” Aunt Florentine tilted her head to one side. “Your
mother did likewise before she hauled you up north and buried you in the middle of a city with almost no witches.”
I hesitated for a second before saying, “Teri mentioned that. She said Mum practically led the Briarton coven.”
“From a knowledge standpoint, she’s right. From an organisational point of view…” Aunt Florentine trailed off into a shrug. “It’s a pity I didn’t know earlier that Isabella was hanging around Briarton. She would’ve been a real asset to have for accumulating our community knowledge into text, now it’s been so long since we had access to our library.”
“Could I try to open the door again?”
My aunt gave me an appraising glance. “Any time you want. You know the way.”
“I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
She burst into laughter. “Step anywhere you like. Until we can get that confounded building open, we’ve lost our entire memory. It’s amazing how much I relied on being able to pick up a spellbook whenever I needed to. Like the internet nowadays, I suppose. Nobody needs to remember a fact when they’ve got the world at their fingertips.”
“How many books are still in the community?”
“Just those in Agatha’s possession. Half a dozen, tops.” Aunt Florentine picked her phone up again and scrolled down a list of contacts. “They’re in high demand but they’re on such esoteric subjects, they’re useless. Apart from one encyclopaedia from a set of seven, they’re too outdated to do any good.”
I flashed a guilty glance at the book I’d casually tossed on the sofa. Note to self: store the volume in a manner more befitting the last remnant of practical magic information for Briarton.
Aunt Florentine snorted in delight. “Your familiar’s got quite the tongue on her.”
“Something she should keep in check until we’ve paid the butcher another visit.”
I stared at her wide-eyed. “This is you helping?”
Patrick had dashed off after driving me home from Teri Anson’s place. He’d quoted something about needing to check his equipment—
“Silence,” I ordered, a blush creeping up my neck. “We’re meant to be finding out about Isabella, not sniping at each other.”
“Mary Windemere should be able to dish some dirt,” Aunt Florentine said, holding her phone to her ear. “Her daughter married into the Pounamu Basin coven.”
“One of the twins?”
“Yeah. The other’s down in Antarctica doing some research project.” She winked. “After you stole their familiar, they had a bit of a falling out.”
Her tone indicated that was an understatement but as the call connected, I couldn’t follow up. Aunt Florentine frowned after her usual greeting pleasantries and wandered into the hallway, then upstairs, her muffled voice giving nothing away.
