by Willow Mason
“Speed and trajectory,” the officer answered, staring around the room. “Did this come in the mail?” He held the baggie up.
“No. It must’ve been pushed through my door while I was sleeping,” I said, giving a start when Muffin pushed her nose against the back of my ankle. “
“And you’ve all had your hands on it, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Hazel said, folding her arms across her chest. “We’ve all held it while we were reading it.”
“And what’s it written with? A marker?”
“Looks like a Sharpie,” I answered when nobody else volunteered.
He nodded and stared around the room again. “Who knew you were living here?”
“Aside from my friends,” I said, nodding to the three women, “I don’t know. Brody from the Tavern Café knew about it because I told him I was named in Esmerelda’s will. He might’ve told others.”
“We could’ve let a few details slip at our dinner last night,” Posey said hesitantly.
Rosie snorted. “After the first two wines, you told everyone who came near our table.” She turned to PC Bronson. “I’d say there’re twenty people who went through the Hillview Restaurant last night who now know Elisa was staying here. Add to that, every twitchy-curtained neighbour along the street.”
“So, all of them,” Bronson said, cracking a smile for the first time. It lit up his face, revealing deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, along with perfectly straight white teeth.
“It’s Oakleaf Glade,” Hazel said, scuffing the toe of her sneaker on the hardwood floor. “If someone doesn’t know Esmerelda’s house has a new occupant, they haven’t been paying attention.”
“But they only know someone moved in here, not your name or anything,” Posey said with an apologetic glance.
“This note doesn’t mention anybody’s name,” Bronson pointed out. “You’re not giving me a lot to go on.”
“I think we’re giving you far too much. What about Esmerelda’s file?” Rosie asked. “I asked Louise to tell you to bring it.”
PC Bronson fixed her with an icy stare, all traces of his previous smile gone. “I don’t take privileged information out on the job with me,” he said, enunciating every word. “Especially not when a layperson orders me too.”
“We’re officers of the court, not laypeople.”
“And if you make a formal request to my department head, I’m sure he’ll give your request due consideration.”
Bronson turned and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I’ll take a spin around the property and make sure nobody’s hanging around outside, then head back to the station. Is there anything else you think I should know?”
He was staring straight at me and I shook my head dumbly, regretful I’d let the twins call him to begin with. Even if the officer hadn’t scolded me, right now it felt like I’d been told off.
“What an unpleasant man,” Rosie said with a sniff the moment the door closed. “And I have a good mind to hold a serious chat with Louise. If she can’t even pass on a simple request, what good is she?”
“Syd would’ve taken this more seriously,” Posey agreed with a vigorous nod. “With the policemen’s charity ball on the cards next month, they should try harder.”
I gave a sigh of relief as the police vehicle drove away from the property and only then remembered the twins hadn’t told me the reason for their visit. “Was there something I needed to sign?”
“No, no. We just wanted to check and see how you were doing,” the two said in unison, making Hazel giggle. “But we will make an appointment for tomorrow,” Rosie said as they edged towards the door. “To go over the remainder of the inheritance.”
“Ooh, that sounds exciting,” Hazel said. “What does that entail?”
“Never you mind, missy.” Posey shook her head and held a finger to her lips. “It’s official business, which makes it none of yours.”
Hazel rolled her eyes and soon after, the twins left, bickering with each other all the way to their car.
“Come on,” Hazel said the moment they were gone, grabbing hold of my hand. “Let’s get back upstairs and see what other treasures your great aunt left behind.”
We spent hours sorting through the rest of the boxes, uncovering a bounty of unworn clothing from assorted decades. “I could do so much with this,” Hazel said with a note of envy. “These fabrics are such high quality, it’s a shame to see them stuck in the wrong style.”
In a corner of the attic, I found a mannequin and Hazel went to work, pinning and tucking all the different articles. Her dexterity with a pin left me wondering why she couldn’t sew in a straight line.
“It’s something to do with fear,” she admitted when I asked, holding out her thumbnail for inspection. “The first time I tried to use a sewing machine, it went straight through the middle.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.” A look of guilt flitted across her face. “I wasn’t meant to use the machine,” she whispered, “so when it did this, I didn’t yell or anything. It meant I was pinned there for a couple of hours until my mother popped her head into the room to check on me.”
“Ow.” I put a hand on my abdomen to settle my stomach, which didn’t appreciate where this story was headed. “It sounds painful.”
“The day of the event wasn’t too bad. It was the infection afterwards that left me terrified. At one point, in the hospital, I overheard the doctor saying he might need to amputate my thumb.”
“You poor thing. No wonder you have a fear of sewing machines. But, if you ever need a seamstress, just call on me and I’ll help. Luckily, I’m free of childhood traumas.”
As the clock edged towards midday, we called it a halt, and I left the house to go shopping. “You want muffins, I’m guessing,” I said as the kitten tromped back and forth over my shopping list. Upon hearing her name, she mewed in delight and bobbed up and down.
“In that case, I’ll have all the fresh salmon.” I’d expected to get a reaction, but the kitten didn’t appear fazed at all.
I tucked her into my top and set off for the supermarket. Halfway down the street, I heard a bang that sounded suspiciously like my front door slamming. With half of my brain telling me I was paranoid, and the other half scared my jar of cash was being burgled, I retraced my steps.
The front door was firmly locked. Nothing out of place. But since my scaredy-cat mind wouldn’t quieten down, I also checked inside. The money jar was exactly where I’d left it.
As I locked the door behind me, pulling the handle to ensure it held firm, I decided a small safe wouldn’t go amiss. “Although,” I told Muffin, “then I’m just as likely to forget the combination and lose access to money in my own safe.”
After the shopping was done, I called my mother, refusing to commit to whether I was returning to my hometown. “I’ve only just found out about the inheritance,” I hedged, feeling guilty. “There are too many things to consider for me to make a snap decision.”
One task I hadn’t taken care of was enquiring about internet connectivity and why my television set only showed snow. At least now I had my book—rescued from the glove box—and I snuggled down on the sofa for a nice read.
My paranoia from midday hadn’t calmed entirely. Every few pages, I gave a start at some noise outside, real or imagined. Once, I even took a walk around the entire perimeter of the section. I learned the property was even larger than I’d thought and thankfully free from intruders.
A lazy afternoon turned into an early night. I swapped the couch for the bed, continuing to read until I turned the last page with a sigh of contentment and disappointment. After laying back, staring at the ceiling and thinking through everything I’d just read, I turned off the light.
“Good night, Muffin,” I said as she pressed her warm fur against my neck.
“Good night, Elisa” she replied. ‘Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Six
I flicked the light switch
straight back on. “You can talk!”
“Of course, I can talk,” Muffin said, stretching out and yawning. “You’re the one who’s been the problem. I can’t believe I’ve been dropping nuggets of wisdom all day long, but it took until now for you to hear me.”
“But…” My eyes darted around the room, looking for some way to prove the phenomenon I was experiencing. “Wait,” I said, jumping out and fishing my phone from my new jeans pocket. “Now, say something into the mic.”
I pressed record and waited. Muffin stared back at me, shaking her head gently until I switched the app off. “You can’t expect me to perform circus tricks,” she said as soon as I put the phone down. “I’m not a monkey.”
“Just wanting some way to prove I’m not crazy.” I sat down on the bed, rubbing my forehead and wondering if perhaps I was.
“A recording won’t do that. You’d just play it back and if you’re bonkers, you’d hear exactly what you wanted to hear.”
“True.” I sat in silence for a moment, then snorted at the thought I was taking advice from a talking cat. “How long have you been able to talk?”
“My entire life,” Muffin replied, tilting her head back with an expression of smug satisfaction.
“That’s not saying much. You only look a few months old.”
“I’ve been around for a lot longer than that. Pixie familiars age backwards, you know. I started off in a decrepit old body and I’ve been alive long enough to become sprightly and young.”
There was so much to unpack in that sentence, my mind started to fizzle. If a plume of smoke had exited my mouth, it would be from my overworked brain.
“Turn the light out,” Muffin said, turning in circles before padding the coverlet and curling up, ready to sleep. “We can talk more in the morning.”
“But… There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep now!” I jumped to my feet and began pacing the room. “This is the most incredible thing that’s ever happened.”
“I agree,” Muffin said with a rumbling purr. “I am rather spectacular.”
“Why couldn’t I hear you before?” I demanded, sitting back down. “My ears are the same as they ever were.”
“Are you sure about that?” The kitten stared at me for so long, I picked my phone up again and turned it into a mirror view.
My ears were even more elongated than they’d appeared that morning and my hair was now bright pink—every hair standing on end. I turned my face from one side to the other, mesmerised by the change. “How did this happen?”
“It’s the inheritance,” Muffin answered in between long yawns. “Once you’d been verified as the youngest daughter of a youngest daughter, the twins performed the ritual and bestowed the full magic of pixie life upon you.”
“You mean the weird dance,” I squeaked, remembering the strange display. “That turned me into a pixie?”
“It let you fully develop. You’ve always been a pixie-in-waiting, it’s just you can’t come into your magic powers until the official ceremony is complete. Even then, it took you a few days to change.” She squinted at me. “And I don’t think you’re fully baked yet.”
“What else is there?” I looked into the mirror app again, then my mouth dropped open in excitement. “Do I get wings? All the pixies in Enid Blyton stories have wings.”
“No,” Muffin said, raining on my parade. “Humans have notorious trouble telling the different supernaturals apart, even when they can see you. Fairies can fly, like the twins. Elves, sprights, and pixies don’t have the same luck.”
“The twins are fairies?” I shook my head. “But I’ve never seen their wings.”
“You’re not fully pixie yet and humans are terrible at seeing what’s right in front of their noses.” Muffin rolled onto her back, easing her limbs out until she stretched to three times her normal length, like fluffy chewing gum.
“Who else in town is supernatural? Are Hazel and Brody and Georgie something strange too?”
“Who’re you calling strange?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Hazel is a witch, Georgie’s a plain human, and Brody is a male pixie, which means he’s barely a pixie at all. Although, he’s enough of one to hear me when I talk to him. Otherwise, I’d never get any decent food.”
“Brody’s like me?”
“Not quite. He doesn’t have magic powers and never will. The only way for a male pixie to come into powers is if they’re granted by a female relative. If you hadn’t qualified for Esmerelda’s inheritance, Brody stood to gain the lot, but here you are.”
“Oh.” I nodded, thinking back to our first encounter. “That’s why he got all grumpy at the café when I said why I was in town.” While I stared at the wall, a horrible thought dawned. “You mean, if I’d turned down the offer and never come here, Brody would’ve inherited the house as well?”
“Exactly. Nobody can force a pixie to take their dues. If you’d stayed up in Nelson, he would’ve been next in line. It’s hard for pixie families to have daughters—something genetic—so there are often cases where there’s no youngest daughter of a youngest daughter to take over the family line. That’s where the male pixies step in.”
I’d already experience some guilt at being the sole beneficiary of the estate while my cousins went without. To find another cousin, here in town and fully aware of what he was losing, made my stomach ache.
“What did you think about the note?” I asked. “Did anybody read out to you what it said?”
“I can read,” Muffin said, giving a sigh as she sat back on her haunches and began cleaning her ears. “To be honest, the note worried me.”
“Were you here when Esmerelda died?”
“I was, but she locked me into the cupboard beneath the stairs earlier in the day. If I’d known she would fall…”
“She locked you in a cupboard?” I gasped in horror. “Did she often do that?”
“Esmerelda used to squirrel me away when her friend, Miss Campbell, visited—for my safety. That old battle axe didn’t like cats and wasn’t afraid to show it.” Muffin stopped licking her paw and stared at the coverlet. “But it’s been a while since that last happened. This time it felt different. It’s almost like she knew what was going to happen and didn’t want me to see.”
My voice was hushed as I asked, “Can pixies predict their own deaths?”
“Nobody can. That would throw the entire world out of order.”
Muffin grew so upset, I tucked myself back under the covers to let her snuggle with me. “Maybe Miss Campbell paid another visit and everything else was just bad timing?”
Muffin made a snuffling sound. “That’d be difficult. She’d been dead half a year by then. No, Esmerelda was definitely up to something.”
Although I didn’t want to dwell on the awful subject any longer, I always wanted to protect myself against whoever had sent the note. “If she was killed, who do you think did it?”
“Someone mean.” Muffin’s eyes closed for longer with each blink. “Esmerelda never said or did anything to deserve such a fate. She was the nicest woman I ever knew.”
I chewed on my bottom lip as Muffin fell loudly asleep beside me. Although I didn’t know the full story, my mother’s increasing concern about me staying here wasn’t just based on wanting her family to live close by. There was some bad blood in our family. In the past, sure, but time hadn’t healed the wound.
Until I’d received the letter from Rosie and Posey, I hadn’t heard the name Esmerelda in many years. The last time I remembered anyone discussing her was at a family gathering. My Uncle Pete had mentioned how much his Aunt Esmerelda had always appreciated a hangi. With my mouth watering in anticipation of the feast buried underground, cooking upon hot stones, I could sympathise.
There’d been a sharp chorus of hushing sounds, and Great Aunt Dimity had sadly shaken her head. Esmerelda was her sister—younger by just sixteen minutes—and they hadn’t spoken in years.
From what Muffin had revealed
, I guessed the rupture came from Esmerelda accepting the pixie inheritance. I could imagine how galling it must have been for Dimity to miss out altogether due to nothing more than a twist of fate.
And sixteen minutes.
With my mind playing out old memories, I turned off the light and fell asleep. In the middle of a strange dream involving floating toadstools and stars dropping from the sky, I woke, lights flashing all around me.
I gave a cry and sat up in bed, all traces of my dream state disappearing. A whooshing noise ran through the room, sending a shiver dancing down my spine.
“Who’s there?” I cried out as the overhead light flickered on and off again like a weak strobe. “Is that you, Auntie Esmerelda?”
A howl was the only answer. Next to me, Muffin was on her feet, back arched, and fur standing on end. She hissed at the corner, giving a yowl when I reached out to stroke her.
“It’s okay,” I said in as reassuring a voice as I could manage. “We’re okay. It’s just some malfunctioning lights.”
That was when the ghost began screaming above my bed.
Chapter Seven
I screamed back, with my hands over my ears and my eyes screwed up tight.
Muffin jumped out of bed and fled from the room, her nails scratching on the wooden floors as she ran. It only took me a short fight with the bedsheets before I did the same, grabbing the duvet for protection as I plunged headlong down the stairs to make for the sofa.
Only when the covering was over my head, did I take a moment to breathe.
Then something jumped on my shoulder.
I gave another shriek, throwing off the duvet and running for the kitchen, flicking on light switches as I went.
“It’s only me,” Muffin called out, tearing into the room, hard on my heels. “What are you yelling about?”
“The g-ghost!”
“Big was it?” Muffin padded over and rubbed her head against my ankles. “All I saw was the light flashing and the wind howling through the room.”
