by Willow Mason
Aunt Florentine pushed a notepad towards me. “I inventoried the box of ingredients and these are the items missing.” I glanced at the pad but was helpless—not knowing what any of them were for. “There are a few potions you could concoct with that lot. One for bonding. Another for summoning a woodland fae.”
“You think someone stole items to bond to a fae?”
“Lord, no. That would be a disastrous relationship for anyone.” Aunt Florentine sat in the chair next to mine, grasping my hands between her own. “The last potion you could make is one that would send a witch into the afterlife.”
My stomach turned queasy and the skin on my face dropped several degrees. “You mean…?”
I couldn’t finish the sentence, but my aunt did it for me. “It would make them disappear. Just like Violet.”
Chapter Twelve
My night’s sleep was a bust. Suspicions twisted and turned in my head until they felt like a full-time occupation. Paisley was scornful, standoffish, and wounded by Violet’s actions. But to send her old mistress into a void she couldn’t return from without help? It didn’t seem possible.
“Sorry to get personal but could a cat even put those things together into a potion? It seems more of an opposable thumbs type of situation.”
I opened my eyes wide in the darkness, seeking reassurance. “But you wouldn’t, right?”
Guilt hit me in a rush, taking my mind off Paisley entirely. “I’m so sorry you were left alone for so many years.”
“How many familiars are…?” I struggled to find a word that didn’t sound offensive.
“And you don’t mind that term?”
Genevieve had mentioned the familiars setting up their nests in the forest, right from the day after my arrival back in town. I hadn’t given it much thought until now, even after Paisley joined our ranks.
I rubbed her head, stroking the soft fur between her ears until it stood on end with friction. “I know why you were there, and Paisley, but what about the others?”
“Are a lot of the familiars older, then?”
I froze in place, blood whooshing through my ears so loudly I couldn’t hear another sound.
My memory, still recovering from the shock of returning home and discovering I’d forgotten half my childhood, set up a frantic search.
“Meep,” I said, the feel of the word so strange I thought it couldn’t possibly be correct until Annalisa nodded. “He was Dad’s puppy.”
“I don’t recall Mum having a familiar.”
The name triggered a rush of images. The small lizard who once resided inside my mother’s arm tattoo had delighted me as a child. He’d been naughtier than me—concocting devious schemes then changing colour to meld with the background while everyone ran in circles trying to figure them out.
My fingers traced a pattern on my upper arm; an echo of the inked crest that my mother had once sported. I couldn’t remember seeing it after our abrupt move north. Had she removed it? Wiping out her history from her skin and her thoughts.
“I’d love to see them again. Would they let me visit?”
A light doze carried me through to morning and I struggled out of bed the moment a ray of sunlight crawled over the windowsill. Three cups of coffee later, my body announced it had found the magic ingredient and was now ready to get a full eight hours’ sleep.
Pru’s perky face surprised me. She bustled into the room, full of purpose. Even Patrick couldn’t keep up with her chatter as she made us all a stack of pancakes to share, instantly bonding her to Wendy for life.
I studied Paisley, now fully claimed by the young girl. The aloof attitude had disappeared in a new wave of devotion. She preened as Wendy doted on her—the sound of her purr louder even than Annalisa when she got her first taste of maple syrup.
“I didn’t even know we had these in the house,” I said, digging into my third helping. I needed energy from somewhere and they helped to fill the gap.
“You didn’t.” Pru scanned the table and finally turned the element off, sitting down to eat a well-deserved helping. “I popped out to the service station during the night and stocked up. They’ve got a surprisingly good range.”
I patted my full belly and used the edge of my fork to cut my last pancake into smaller bites. “Weird, I didn’t hear you. I was up for most of the night.”
“Do you always start your mornings like this?” Wendy asked, feeding a bite of syrup-drenched pancake to Paisley. “Because if so, I’d like to stay.”
“Didn’t you want to stay, otherwise?” Patrick asked with a smile.
She shook her head, taking us by surprise. “No. The whole place has the wrong creaks. I don’t know which floorboards to avoid and the closets don’t have any secret rooms stashed in the backs of them.”
Gareth’s face took on its usual pinch of concern. “Does Kelburn Manor have secret rooms?”
“Oh, Dad.” Wendy giggled and slapped his hand. “Of course, not.” She winked at Paisley and the cat shivered with joy, reaching for another bite.
Patrick’s phone rang and he excused himself from the room, returning two minutes later. “That was Sergeant Grosvenor, saying that Solomon turned himself into the station. He insisted he ring us so we wouldn’t bother him by checking in.”
Pru paused mid-chew. “Good. Did he mention what charges they’ll bring against him?”
“No word on that. I doubt the sergeant could tell us, even if he knew.”
We set out for Pru’s house a few minutes later. Jared met us at the door and given his dishevelled state, had experienced a night about as restful as mine.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, squeezing his hand after unlocking the front door. “Even if Andrew can’t be physically restrained, having a bit of muscle on hand feels safer.”
Jared’s cheeks flushed with colour, the bright red extending up to the tips of his ears.
I calculated there were another seven minutes to go until Andrew’s scheduled reappearance. While I shared a pot of coffee with Pru in the kitchen, Jared cleared the dining room of any obvious weapons. The stark appearance, compared to the knick-knacks piled in every other room of the house, made my heartbeat tick high in my throat.
A small kiwi popped out of the wall clock, announcing its nine o’clock call. I straightened my back
, catching Patrick’s eye as we counted down the seconds.
At five minutes past, I released a long breath. “Well, it appears we might have—”
“What are you doing here? I told you to catch my killer. DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT ME AT ALL?”
“We did catch your killer,” I said, nodding to Pru whose face was streaming with tears.
“Solomon Armstrong was the man responsible,” she said, pressing a hand to her abdomen as Andrew’s face turned thunderous. “He handed himself in to the police, this morning.”
It was as though the poltergeist couldn’t hear. “THERE’S A MURDERER ON THE LOOSE AND YOU’RE DOING NOTHING!!! WHAT IF HE STRIKES AGAIN? HOW WILL YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELVES?”
Pru struggled to swallow. “But Andrew, he’s not going to hurt anyone else. The whole thing was just a stupid accident. A prank gone wrong.”
“HOW CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?”
Andrew unleashed an anguished roar and overturned the table. Thanks to Jared’s planning, there was nothing on it to go flying, but the show of power was terrifying just the same.
“WE CAN’T JUST STAND BY. SOMETHING DREADFUL IS COMING? CAN’T YOU FEEL IT?”
“All we can feel now is you, mate.” Jared walked towards the apparition, hands out in an attempt at placation. “Calm down. Have the poltergeist equivalent of a bevvy, why don’t you?”
Andrew span in place for a full minute, making me dizzy. He then hurled himself at the wall, giving a yell of fury as he passed through it. A clatter sounded from the next room over, then he reappeared, clutching a hairbrush in one hand and a mirror in the other.
“Now’s hardly the time to take up hairdressing.” Jared tried to pluck the silver-backed mirror from the poltergeist but howled with pain as he made contact.
Real silver, then.
In a breath, Jared changed. His shoulders hunched as he grew taller, the hairs sprouting on his back brushing against the stippled ceiling. His jaw elongated as his mouth crowded with teeth.
Great. Our monster tally doubled in a second.
“Don’t hurt him,” Pru yelled, clutching at her face.
“He’s dead.” Patrick’s voice was tight as the muscles in his neck stood out in sharp relief. “What more hurt can be done to him?”
Jared growled, the sound making my insides clench as hard as a fist. I’d only seen him in this state once before—an interaction that had caused me to flee our years-long relationship as though it was a one-night stand.
Andrew had power. Jared had strength.
Patrick held out his machine, tilting his head to listen more closely as it tittered out a stream of beeps and clicks. “The reading is off the charts,” he muttered, pulling a plastic baggie from his back pocket. A vial nestled inside, and he held it up, tugging the cork stopper out of it with his teeth.
“Both of you back down or I’ll hit you with this,” he shouted, holding the unimpressive container aloft.
Jared’s head swung towards him, eyes glowing and his teeth multiplying in a ferocious grin.
Andrew rushed forward, pushing the werewolf while his attention was diverted. “Doesn’t look good for you, little doggie.” He smacked him with the side of the hand mirror, making Jared shiver as his cold non-flesh passed through him.
“It doesn’t look good for either of you.” Patrick shook his hand, letting some of the liquid spill out of the vial. “This is holy water. Neither of you stands a chance against it.”
The two monsters froze, Jared being the first to burst into laughter. He clutched his sides as the fit took him over. The same way I remembered him watching a rerun of the office. The British version.
“What?”
The poltergeist dropped his hairstyling weapons to the floor, shoulders shaking. “You mean water, don’t you? Just water that’s been babbled at by a—a what? A priest? A minister? An old man in a back alley who told you what he wanted you to hear?”
“It’s the most—”
“No. Don’t sprinkle me with tap water,” Jared cried out before howling with laughter again. “It burns. It burns.” He mimed writhing while his body shrank back to its normal size. “Or rather, it really really really helps with burns.”
Patrick shrivelled under their combined mockery, turning aside so their barbs could land on his broad shoulders.
“Hey, leave off, will you?” I said when their behaviour became too obnoxious to stand for another minute. “It’s a pretty common thing to believe.”
“You’re lucky most of your cases up to now have been nutjobs rather than honest to goodness supernaturals.” Jared wiped a hand over his face, smothering a chuckle to death before it could get hold. “Meet one of my pack in a back alley on a bad day and they’d tear you to pieces.”
“A threat that doesn’t make you superior to anyone.” I crossed my arms and turned to Andrew. “And if you’ve finished making fun of my partner, could you fill us in on your so-called murderer? Solomon played a prank, sure, but he’s hardly a danger to anyone else.”
“Well, someone is.” The poltergeist swelled as his anger returned. “I know what called me back to this place and it wasn’t a slap on the wrist type of event.” His body rippled and contorted, a swirling maelstrom taking over the centre of his torso. “A KILLER IS ON THE LOOSE.”
Pru stepped forward as I retreated, flinching. “You mean it could be someone else who was murdered?” She snapped her fingers as Andrew twisted and writhed, growing larger by the second. “Concentrate!”
Andrew collapsed to his previous size as suddenly as if she’d pricked a balloon. He opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and put a hand to his head, sticking a finger straight through the mirage of his skull.
“I can’t get it out.” His voice sounded mournful. “I know there’s a murderer and Solomon doesn’t fit the bill.” His shoulders slumped. “I think… Maybe the killer has nothing to do with me, after all.”
He appeared so downcast, I wanted to pat his shoulder to assure him everything would be okay. I mimed the gesture, a full foot away from the poltergeist so I wouldn’t accidentally poke into his non-body, then jumped as my phone rang.
“Desdemona? It’s Wes here. You need to get down to the shop immediately. Things just got exponentially worse.”
Chapter Thirteen
Melancholy engulfed me as soon as I walked through the door. Behind me, Patrick stopped fiddling with his tracking device long enough to wipe away a tear, before unhooking the mic and holding it out.
“What precisely was your…?”
His speech faltered as I shook Wes’s hand. When I turned to see what was wrong, I saw it. Six-foot-high letters. Bad Witch.
“It appeared this morning,” Jac said, gripping his partner’s hand so tightly that Wes winced. “Out of the blue. One moment, I was hanging a new pastiche mural on the brick wall and the next…” He tilted his head at the abomination.
“Do you know what it’s…” My voice clagged up and I had to cough to clear it. “What it’s made from?”
The dark stain covered the brickwork, turning a bright green as it passed across the wall hangings and decorations displayed for sale. A photograph of the Paris skyline, tastefully developed in black and white, now appeared like Shrek had thrown up all over it. A long drip sagged from the base of the frame, growing fatter as I watched, until gravity laid claim and it splashed to the floor.
“Where’s Wendy when you need her?”
Wes glanced at me with a face full of hope. “She can help?”
“Probably not. She’s just not afraid to lick things off walls.” Remembering the syrup container from the hallway at Kelburn Manor, I peered into the nearest litter bin. Nothing there.
“Can I check your kitchen?”
If our ghostly tagger was into decoration with foodstuffs, that seemed the next logical place.
“I’ll come with you,” Jac said, disentangling himself from Wes. “We could all do with a nice brew.”
“Substitute nice for strong, and I
’ll join you,” Patrick said, trying to force a smile before the next wave of sadness tugged it off his face. “Geez. I wish we could dial the emotion down a bit.”
“Have you found out anything that might help?” Jac asked as I followed him into the kitchen. He peered at me with a raised eyebrow while I lifted the flap on the rubbish bin, finally having to abandon my attempt to be dainty and take the whole plastic lid off.
I was too ashamed to admit we’d downgraded their investigation to chase down a prankster. A probable mistake, given their case was now linked to Violet’s disappearance. “We’re still doing some research.”
“What are you hoping to find in there?” The edge in Jac’s voice made me back up a little.
“Sorry. We’ve just seen similar graffiti on a house near here and it turned out to be made by raspberry syrup. I don’t know what the green stuff is, but I hoped to find a clue nearby.”
Jac went into full bristle-mode. “Are you insinuating that we created this stunt ourselves? You know, I might like attention when I’m out clubbing but I’m not some desperate sad-sack who’d waste everyone’s time and money for a bit of fake notoriety.”
“Goodness, no.” I held up a hand, then choked back a sob as the sadness emanating from the store intensified. Since Jac endured this far more often than my limited exposure, I supposed he deserved some leeway with his moods. “I’m sure the message was put there by a spirit or a poltergeist or magic or… or something. Gareth and Wendy said there’s appeared right in front of their eyes.”
I replaced the bin lid and wiped my hands on my jeans. “Not that knowing what their message was made from helped us work out anything.”
“How similar was the graffiti?”
“Same height. Same words. Different colour.” A piece of banana stuck to my palm and I nudged Jac aside to wash in the sink. “Do you know Violet and Carson?”
He pushed me back out of the way to fill up the kettle, facing away from me as he replied, “Not that I know of. We do meet a lot of people, though, and I’m not the best with names.”
