Potions Are for Pushovers

by Tamara Berry

  Once, and I’m willing to accept the hand of chance. Twice, and it’s time to take note. In permanent ink.

  “Okay, what’s wrong with him?” I ask.

  “With Lewis King?” Annis blinks at me, the picture of innocence. “Grief, I imagine.”

  A neat parry. I riposte. “Do you know him?”

  “I used to. He spent a few summers here when we were kids.”

  “And?”

  “And people change, thankfully. What a terrible world it would be if our childhood foibles were to be forever held up as judgment against us.”

  It’s as good as a killing blow. Annis might look like the softest, sweetest woman in the world, but she’s also taken the Seal of the Confessional. If she doesn’t want to talk, she won’t. I’d have a better chance of cracking open the vault containing the crown jewels.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by to see if he has any ideas about his aunt’s preferences,” I say, acknowledging defeat as gracefully as I can.

  “What a lovely idea. I’m sure he’d welcome the company.” She checks her watch with a gesture that’s old as, well, time, and smiles once more. “Thank you for doing this, Ellie. It’s very generous. I think the community will rally behind this idea. And behind you.”

  I doubt it, but I don’t argue further. Anything that can help improve my public image is a thing to be embraced with both arms—and possibly a leg.

  “Since the church basement is still taped off, we’ll have to hold the meeting here instead,” Annis adds as she walks me out. “Do you think Monday is too soon? Or should we wait until after the funeral?”

  She keeps up a lighthearted flow of conversation, most of which involves the etiquette of planning a large, public celebration in the wake of a traumatic death. By the time we’re at the door, I can’t decide if she genuinely needs my insight on such a delicate subject or if she’s being kind and pretending to solicit my advice. Either way, I find myself in perfect charity with her.

  Until, of course, she lands one final thrust.

  “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you how pleased I am that you’re taking Lenora MacDougal under your wing.” She clasps my hand in a warm gesture and holds it between her own. The action prevents me from falling over, which is my initial instinct. “To be fair, I’m also terribly jealous. I had hoped one of the kids would show an interest in the church, but, alas, every spring goes by and no one seems to want to help me pass out Bibles and replace candles. I can’t imagine why. I suppose there’s always next year.”

  I blink. “Is, um, Lenora your source of information?”

  “Oh, no. Ian MacDougal and I had a nice chat about it last night. He was a little worried about the less traditional aspects of your vocation, but he came to see the benefits. When I told him how much of your training comes from literary influences, he became quite excited about it, actually.”

  I doubt he’d feel the same if he knew those literary influences were mostly gothic romances, magician handbooks, and a brief flirtation with Christopher Pike, but I focus on the more pressing issue at hand. “But surely Dr. MacDougal would never . . .”

  At Annis’s friendly wink, I falter. “Never say never, Ellie. I’ll admit, Oona can be a bit stiff, but she’s a reasonable woman underneath all that starch. You just have to give her some time to get used to the idea, that’s all. I think you two could be friends.”

  “Why not?” I say with a laugh that’s only partially forced. “With friends like Inspector Piper and Dr. MacDougal at my side, what use could I possibly have for an enemy?”

  Chapter 6

  “Werewolves.”

  As promised, Lenora is waiting for me outside the tea shop as soon as school lets out for the day. There’s a slight mist in the air, which both I and my thatch roof know will turn to rain before long, but the girl doesn’t seem to care. If anything, the damp is filling her with a buzzing, hopping energy.

  “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” I say.

  “Well, you have, but it’s all right. I don’t mind.” She pushes a stack of papers into my hand. “I didn’t have enough time to write five whole pages on werewolves, but I did manage to get four.”

  “Did I, uh, ask you to write five pages on werewolves?”

  “You asked for local instances of the occult, but there aren’t any. Well, that’s not true—there was one newspaper article about a woman from the sixties who said she was abducted by a UFO out by the cliffs, but you didn’t say anything about aliens. And my grandma says everyone saw aliens in the sixties. LSD, you know.”

  “Oh, dear,” I murmur. It’s a nice, bland response that covers a variety of my feelings, not the least of which is alarm at my pupil’s enthusiasm. And apparent knowledge of hippie drugs.

  “When I didn’t find anything yesterday, I asked the guy at the museum if I could come back before school this morning instead. He came early and let me in.” She flicks the papers in my hand. “Which is when I found the werewolves.”

  “Benji did that?” I ask, suspicious. The young man who works at the museum could hardly be called conciliatory, especially where I’m concerned. I may have once manipulated his boyish crush on Rachel Hartford in order to access some important information for a case. The results were worth it in the end, but I’ll admit my methods lacked finesse. “Just for kicks? Out of the kindness of his heart?”

  She shifts her attention to the strap of her backpack. “Well . . . I did tell him it was a special assignment for you. And . . . I maybe hinted that you’d make it worth his while.”

  I groan. “How much?”

  “I wouldn’t have done it, but you said you needed five pages by today.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty quid?” she says and immediately perks. “But I didn’t tell him when. Maybe I can dip into next week’s allowance.”

  The damp is really starting to seep in by now, so I push the door open and usher Lenora inside. She’s once again carrying the eight-ton backpack, and once again starts shedding her layers the second she walks through the door. I’m ready for it this go-around. By the time we make it to a cozy table near the back, I’ve gathered an armful of scarves and gloves and baggage. I stow them at our feet.

  “You don’t have to spend your allowance, Lenora,” I say, though I’m not so flush with cash that I don’t consider the offer. Just a little. “I’ll go see him in a few days. But let’s keep the bribes to a minimum from here on out, yeah?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “And maybe don’t call me boss.”

  She perks. “Speaking of, I’m supposed to have you sign this time card before we get started. My dad also wanted you to walk me home today, if that’s all right. You won’t have to all the time, but he wanted to thank you in person for taking me on as your apprentice. This is so exciting, isn’t it?”

  She shoves another paper in front of me. This one is an official-looking log with her school’s logo stamped on the top, providing ample space for me to keep track of the hours she works and my satisfaction with her performance. Since I’m not so cruel I’m willing to depress her youthful fervor—and because I did promise I’d help if her parents approved—I fill it out.

  While I’m busy trying to determine what industry I’d call my business, the waitress comes by to take our orders—a scone for me and what amounts to a full high tea for Lenora. It’s a good thing this apprenticeship is an unpaid position, because at this rate, I’m barely going to be able to afford anything except her bribes and meals.

  “So,” she says as soon as the waitress departs. “Don’t you want to know what I discovered about werewolves?”

  To be perfectly honest, I do want to know—and not just because I can’t believe the museum had something as fun as werewolf lore and I never noticed. It’s starting to sound as though this girl is something of a genius. “Sure. Why not? Hit me with your official report, oh apprentice.”

  She giggles obligingly. “Right, so there used to be all kinds of wolves in England, yeah?
”

  “Did there?”

  “Oodles. We learned about it in history class. Only the Henrys hunted them so much, they all died out.”

  “The Henrys?”

  She waves a hand at me. “Number six, number seven—that whole lot.” At my look of confusion, she adds, “They ruled in the fifteenth century or so. It’s all in my report.”

  I nod as though I have the slightest clue what she’s talking about. My knowledge of history is decent—or so I’ve always thought—but the hunting habits of British royalty never figured on the list.

  “The ones they didn’t hunt, they trapped. And they were so good at it, bam! The wolves got wiped out. Extinct.” She punctuates her words with a wide, toothy grin. “And that’s why there are so many werewolves around nowadays.”

  “It is?” I ask, confused. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? They’re getting revenge.”

  I hold up a hand. I might have been willing to play along for the wolf-murdering Henrys, but that last part can’t possibly be true. “Wait a minute—you’re telling me there are werewolves wandering around England as part of a centuries-old vigilante quest? What on earth did you find in that museum?”

  She giggles again. “I know, right? It was this cool old book from the Castle Hartford collection. Anyway, the werewolves are crazy mad about all their cousins being murdered, which is why they keep popping up every few decades. I would be, too, wouldn’t you?”

  “Furious,” I agree, since it’s no more than the truth. I’ve gone to rather extreme lengths to take care of my sister, so I can hardly judge all of werewolfkind for doing the same. However, I am a rational adult who doesn’t believe in shapeshifters, so I add, “But are you sure this wasn’t a young adult novel you mistook for folklore?”

  The way her face crumples in on itself is all I need to tell me I’ve taken a misstep. This child is obviously possessed of a keen mind, and even more obviously given rare chances to wheel it out and see what it can do. I’ve met her parents. They’re hardly the types to indulge in paranormal pursuits.

  “How silly of me. Of course it wasn’t.” I tap my forefinger on my chin. “The Hartfords would never have sent anything like that to the museum. Vivian keeps all the juicy stuff for herself. Keep going, if you please. This is starting to get interesting. What else can you tell me about werewolves?”

  “Oh, lots of things,” she says, her voice caught on a breath. It quickly pries loose. “They don’t eat humans, since they’re human, too, but they will bite someone to protect themselves or if they want to turn them. To find a mate, yeah?”

  If I were a werewolf, I could see how that might be a rational way to get dates. I nod my encouragement.

  “Which means they prefer to eat game—stuff like deer and rabbits—but they’ll settle for almost any kind of meat. And always the heart. The heart is their favorite part. They’ll even leave everything else behind in their rush to get at it. Let’s see . . . Oh! You can only kill them with a silver bullet, although that one might not actually be true. Lots of people think you can hunt them the same way you can any old wolf.”

  “Wait a second.” I hold up a hand to halt the overflow of information headed my way. “Go back to that bit about the heart.”

  “Cool, isn’t it? They claw right in through the rib cage and grab it. It’s a good source of iron. Oona makes me drink these horrible beet and spinach smoothies to get my vitamins, but I think I’d rather do it the werewolf way.”

  I close my eyes and try to conjure up the image of Regina’s slain form. I didn’t stare long enough to make a survey of all the organs, but something about the way the pig’s body had been left, all torn open and exposed, causes me a momentary pang.

  But it’s only momentary. After all, I don’t believe in stuff like this—that’s the cornerstone of my entire worldview. Those who can’t do teach. And those who don’t believe make a pretty convincing show of it for cash.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’ll take the report home and read it over on my own time,” I say. “But thank you for this. You’ve been very . . . thorough.”

  “Cool. What should I research next? Vampires? Loch Ness? I should probably warn you that I did a report on Nessie last year, and I’m pretty sure the whole thing was a hoax. I re-created the picture in my bathtub using my dad’s old Nikon.”

  I mentally survey my index of witchcraft and psychic lore for a topic that isn’t so far-fetched it will get me kicked off this apprenticeship gig before it gets started. Nothing pops up right away, so it’s fortunate that we’re interrupted by another ravenous teenager come to drain my purse and the tea shop’s display case.

  “Rachel!” I cry, grateful for the distraction the newcomer provides. “It’s good to see you. Want to join us?”

  “Of course I do. Why do you think I came all this way?” She turns to my companion with a look of polite inquiry. “It’s Lenora MacDougal, right? Your mum’s my doctor.”

  “She’s everyone’s doctor,” Lenora says. “And you’re Rachel Hartford.”

  “The one and only.” Rachel gives a mock bow, which means she misses the look of rapture the younger girl gives her. Since Rachel grew up isolated among the splendid decay of her ancestral home and all its riches, she has no idea how valuable it—and she—are in the eyes of the rest of the world.

  Lenora knows, though. That glowing adulation in her eyes leaves no room for doubt.

  “I hope you ordered something grand,” Rachel says as she scoots into the chair next to Lenora. She’s so busy settling in that the magnanimity of that, too, is lost on her. Lenora looks as though she’s about to pass out from the ecstasy of it all. “Since Uncle Nicholas left, there isn’t a lick of food in the house. Not anything I’m willing to eat, anyway.”

  The waitress comes by then with a three-tiered monstrosity of cream cakes, tarts, scones, and an array of puff pastries. The two girls lose no time demolishing the bulk of it. Even though there are more than five years between them, the bonds of clotted cream and jam are unbreakable. They’re fast friends before the final bite has been cleaned from the plate.

  They’ve also begun an in-depth argument over the merits of heart consumption for iron intake and werewolf transformation abilities, which means I’ve lost this battle long before it’s even begun.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted an assistant, Ellie?” Rachel demands, a frown shadowing across her face. “My gallery internship is only part-time. If you need help, you know I’d be happy to step in.”

  “She’s not really my assistant,” I say, the words automatic. But that just means the hurt look transfers to the younger of the two, and I realize I’m trapped. “Um, she’s more like an apprentice. Because I don’t pay her anything.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.” Rachel pauses and licks a crumb from the side of her mouth. “So if I said I’d work for free, you’d let me be part of your team?”

  “Well . . .” I begin.

  I’m cut short by Lenora’s gasp of excitement. “That would be so amazing! We could be like a team. Potions R Us.”

  I might balk with every fiber of my being, but Rachel finds nothing odd in this idea. “Ooh, or Paranormal Investigators Incorporated.”

  “The Werewolf Hunters.”

  “Werewolf Huntresses, you mean,” Rachel corrects her.

  “Yes! That’s it.”

  I’m lost before I ever get started. “You guys, we don’t know for sure that there even are werewolves.” Since I now have not just one, but two sets of beseeching eyes thrown at me, I adopt an academic tone and add, “What I mean is, one source document isn’t enough to prove anything conclusively. You need more evidence to corroborate it.”

  “You mean, like pictures?” Lenora reaches for the ubiquitous backpack, where I’m fairly certain her father’s Nikon is being secreted for yet another round of cryptozoological studies.

  “Witness accounts.” Rachel nods and starts scribbling notes on her napk
in. “Ooh, or other werewolf books that back up the same theories. Was there a resource page in the one you read already?”

  With that, there’s nothing left for me to do. Whether I like it or not, I’m now the proud employer of two unpaid young ladies who are far too good at this for my peace of mind.

  “So, which one of those things do you want us to do next, Madame Eleanor?” Lenora asks, leaning eagerly over the table. “Do we set a trap? A stakeout? How do you lure a werewolf out into the open?”

  Both girls look at me with an expectant air, fully confident not only that I have an answer to that question, but also that I’m willing to share it with them.

  “I’m not sure luring a werewolf anywhere is a good idea,” I say and am confronted with two crestfallen faces. Quickly amending my plan, I add, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if you poked around a little—academically-speaking, I mean. Let’s leave the stakeouts for later, once we have an idea of what we’re dealing with.”

  The more I think about it, the better I like this plan. Even with their enthusiasm, I doubt they’ll find anything else worth note, and this will keep them indoors and out of trouble. Plus, research. That’s educational, isn’t it?

  “Go back to the village museum and look for historical records of animal attacks—it doesn’t matter how long ago,” I add. “Anything that went unexplained or unsolved will be of particular note.”

  “The village museum?” Rachel strives to hide her interest.

  “It’s as good a place as any,” I say, hiding my sudden smile. Maybe I won’t have to resort to giving Benji that twenty quid after all. With my strong powers of divination, I’m starting to suspect his crush might be mutual. “You can also try the library, but I doubt it will be as helpful.”

  “And when do we report back?” Lenora asks, her pen poised over a notepad and a look of eager inquiry in her eye. One thing I can see about the future: whatever this girl ends up doing as a profession, she’s going to be amazing at it.