Broomsticks and Burials

by Lily Webb

  If I hadn’t seen it all with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t have believed any of it.

  After a few minutes of walking, we reached an intersection, and I stopped to take a long look down either side of the street that ran perpendicular to Crescent. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary — except for the massive castle to the west whose pointed spires seemed to sneer down at me.

  “Watch it!” a voice shouted and I let out a scream when something fast and large whizzed past inches from me, sending me stumbling backward. I brushed my hair out of my face to find a woman’s robes trailing behind her as she sped away — on a broomstick.

  “Careful, Zoe, you’re gonna get yourself run over,” Beau said. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to look both ways before crossing the street?” I hadn’t realized he’d come back to rescue me — nor that he knew my name — but I was glad he did.

  “Was she…?”

  “Flying? Yes,” Beau laughed. “It’s the witches’ preferred method of travel, though it’s pretty annoying for the rest of us. Thanks to the election they’ve been more aggressive with their brooms than usual so you can imagine how many accidents we’ve seen lately.”

  “Accidents?”

  “Use your imagination,” Beau said. He took one of my suitcases in his hand and grabbed my wrist with his other to walk me across the intersection like a true southern gentleman. It should’ve weirded me out as much as the rest of what I’d seen, but it was sort of comforting to have someone who knew what they were doing leading me along.

  And, you know, it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous.

  As we approached the next intersection, which seemed busier with foot and air traffic than the last one, a series of buildings reached out at us from across the street like claws. Had they not been surrounded by people in strange clothing carrying brooms, they might have looked normal. Helpfully, they were labeled by historical marker signs similar to the one I’d seen for Moon Grove outside town.

  “What use do witches have for a Town Hall?” I asked, pointing at the sign outside of a multi-storied building across the street.

  “Are you kidding? That’s where all the real magic happens,” Beau said.

  “As opposed to all the, uh, not-magic going on out here?” I asked, choking on the words. Everywhere I looked I was confronted by something new and fantastical, but I still couldn’t believe I wasn’t dreaming. Magic was not only real, it was in use pretty much everywhere.

  “Even magical folks need some sort of official body to keep us in line,” Beau said.

  “Isn’t that what the police are — never mind,” I said, as I realized the police station was right next door, just like it would’ve been in any other small town in North Carolina.

  “Yeah, I’d steer clear of them too if I were you. I mean, you’re a journalist so you’ll almost certainly have to interact with the werewolves at some point, but they’re a prickly bunch,” Beau said.

  “Of course the magic cops are werewolves,” I mumbled.

  “What else would they be? Werewolves are some of the best investigators around. They don’t have supercharged noses for nothing,” Beau said, his brows furrowed, and I realized he was dead serious.

  “You’ve got a lot to learn,” Luna laughed, and I scowled down at her.

  “Whose side are you on here?” I asked. “I mean, it isn’t like you ever tried to educate me.”

  “I was cursed, remember?” Luna asked.

  “Excuses, excuses,” I said.

  “Here it is, the offices of the Moon Grove Messenger,” Beau interrupted, pointing at the building to my right. It didn’t look like much, just a simple single-story brick building with the words Moon Grove Messenger etched in gothic font on its front. How original.

  “After all I’ve seen in this town, I’ve gotta say that’s a pretty anticlimactic office,” I said.

  “Hey, you might be surprised. Don’t judge a building by its façade,” Beau said. “That said, this is where we go our separate ways, though I doubt it’s the last we’ll be seeing each other. We’re in the same business and Moon Grove’s awfully small, after all.”

  “Wait, you aren’t coming in with us?” I asked.

  “I don’t think Mitch would like that very much,” Beau said, staring down at his feet.

  “Do I even want to know why?”

  “Nope. Anyway, here’s my card. Don’t hesitate to call if you need any help on a story or getting around town. My office is just down at the end of Luna Street,” Beau said, pointing beyond me.

  I turned and felt my eyes widen at the sight of the massive building he meant. It was a modern skyscraper that stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of a town that looked like it’d been in a time capsule for hundreds of years.

  “It’s a tad garish, I know, but it takes a lot of people to run a PV network, and they all have to have an office of some sort,” Beau asked, smiling at me.

  “You mean TV network?”

  “No, PV. You know, Paravision,” he said.

  “Right, of course,” I said like I had any idea what he meant. I took his business card, which listed his name, his phone number in the same weird six-digit format Mitch had used, and something called a “p-mail” address. I opened my mouth to ask what that was but thought better of it. If I stopped to ask questions about every little thing I saw and heard in this town, I was never going to get anywhere.

  “It was nice to meet you, Zoe,” Beau said.

  “Likewise,” I answered, and I meant it. Beau was odd, but not necessarily in a bad way.

  “Good luck with your new gig, I have a feeling you’re gonna need it,” he said.

  “No kidding.”

  “And hey, uh, can I give you a bit of unsolicited advice?” he asked.

  “Why stop now?” I answered, and he chuckled. He leaned forward, close enough I could feel the heat coming off him.

  “Whatever you do, don’t repeat the name Harper Woods around here,” he whispered.

  “Why?” I asked, and Beau pulled back to stare at me like I’d asked something so stupid he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

  “Just trust me on that one. It’s a sensitive subject, and you and your arrival are already hot topics around town. Keep your head down,” Beau said. “See you around, Zoe,” Beau said and left in a hurry like he’d been prodded by a hot poker.

  What happened to Harper Woods, and why didn’t anyone tell me about her?

  “Zoe Clarke, is that you?” a voice called from behind me, and I jumped. I turned to find a stout, broad-shouldered man with a long, tangled brown beard standing outside the Messenger offices. His thick, hairy arms were crossed over his chest.

  Werewolf. The word flashed through my head several times like a faulty neon sign.

  “As far as I know,” I quipped, but judging from the thin line his mouth turned into, the werewolf didn’t find it funny.

  “You must be Mitch?” I asked, and he nodded with a grunt that bordered on a growl as I wheeled my suitcases up the sidewalk toward him.

  “Nice of you to finally join us,” Mitch said. “I take it the ride went well?”

  “Other than the weirdo driver giving me the sniff down like I was his next snack, yeah,” I said, and my face burned as I realized my faux pas. “Er, no offense.”

  “Come in, we’ve got a lot to cover.”

  Mitch really wasn’t kidding when he said we’d hit the ground running, was he? Maybe that wasn’t all bad.

  Somehow, I’d ended up in a world full of magic — a world in which everyone was already talking about me for some reason — so getting to work doing something I was familiar with was what I needed.

  “I’m not paying you to stand out here and admire the scenery,” Mitch said from the front door but didn’t wait for me before he went inside.

  “He seems cuddly,” Luna said, and I snorted.

  “Most editors are,” I sighed. “I can only imagine what else I’m gonna find inside that office.”

  “
Oh, you know, witches, warlocks, vampires, fairies, maybe a few goblins. Nothing too unusual,” Luna said.

  “You’re joking, right?” I asked.

  “A talking cat is one thing, but a joking one? That’s a stretch,” Luna said.

  “You know, I’m starting to miss the days when you didn’t talk,” I said.

  “Get used to it. No cat’s ever gonna get my tongue again,” Luna said. “Now come on, I don’t want you on Mitch’s bad side.”

  With a suitcase in each hand, I walked to the front door of the Messenger’s office and pushed it open with my shoulder. The familiar whirl of phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and people shouting across the newsroom filled my ears, and for a moment I felt like I was back in my element — until I realized everyone’s keyboards were typing on their own, paper was zipping between desks over everyone’s heads, and none of the other employees were humans.

  It was gonna be a long day.

  Chapter Four

  “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mitch said, his arms still crossed over his chest. Though I didn’t think it was possible, a hint of a smile appeared on his face.

  “Wait, are ghosts real too?” I asked, my pulse quickening. Werewolves and witches were one thing, but I didn’t know if my heart could handle the possibility of being haunted.

  “Probably not the kind you’re thinking about,” Mitch said.

  “That’s all I really want or need to know then,” I said, and Mitch chuckled. “What happened to the person you were supposed to send to meet me?”

  “Oh. The staff’s tied up with deadlines and must’ve forgotten. But you seem to be handling this much better than I would’ve expected,” Mitch said. “Moon Grove hasn’t seen an outsider around town in quite a few years.”

  “I’ve been told it’s an exclusive community,” I said.

  “Only out of necessity,” Mitch said. “Where did you say you’re from again, Lumberton?” Mitch asked, and I nodded.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Then I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why we have to keep all this under wraps,” Mitch said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the chaos that was the Messenger’s newsroom.

  No, he didn’t need to tell me at all. I could only imagine what might happen if some poor clueless southerner wandered into this town. I thought I was pretty open-minded, but everything I’d seen so far in Moon Grove had put that perception to the test.

  “Yeah, somehow I don’t think the good God-fearing southerners around here would take too kindly to news of the devil’s influence in their backyards,” I said, and Mitch laughed, full-on this time.

  “Good, you’ve got chutzpah, I like that. We need more laughs around here, things have gotten too serious lately,” Mitch said.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I said, and Mitch smirked. “Is it because of Harper?” I asked, and what little color on Mitch’s face I could see sprouting through his beard vanished.

  “You weren’t supposed to ask that,” Luna groaned as she sank down to the floor and covered her eyes with her paws.

  “This town loves to talk, doesn’t it?” Mitch asked. “Is she your familiar?” What the heck was a familiar?

  “No, it’s my cat, Luna. I just learned she can talk today, among many other things. It’s a long story. Anyway, what kind of reporter would I be if I didn’t ask hard-hitting questions?” I asked, pretending like I knew more about Harper than I really did, a classic reporting tactic that usually worked best with politicians.

  Mitch sighed and looked over his shoulder for eavesdroppers.

  “Point taken,” Mitch said. “Look, I’ll tell you what I know, but not here. It’s still a little raw for the rest of the staff. Come with me to my office.”

  Evidently, werewolves weren’t immune to pressuring questions either.

  “Sure thing, boss,” I said, and carefully wheeled my suitcases through mazes of cubicles as Mitch led us to the back of the newsroom where the only workstation with a door waited.

  “Watch your head,” Mitch said as a tablet computer zoomed through the air toward another reporter’s desk. I ducked just in time to feel it whoosh past.

  “Sorry. You’ll get used to that stuff eventually,” Mitch said as he unlocked his office door, which was odd, to say the least. Why would the editor-in-chief need to keep his office locked?

  “You know, that’s the second time today I’ve almost been killed by a flying object,” I said. “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

  Mitch smirked and held the door open for me.

  “Come on in,” he said, and rushed to close the door behind Luna and me. Had it not been for the pictures of the full moon hanging everywhere, it would’ve looked like any other office space. I would’ve thought a werewolf wouldn’t want to be reminded of the moon, but what did I know?

  “It’s better than a broom closet,” I said, shrugging.

  “Don’t let the witches hear you say that. Their broom closets are practically their altars,” Mitch said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Zoe, if you’re gonna make it at this paper, you’re gonna need to work on your gullibility,” Mitch said as he sank down into the leather chair behind his desk.

  My heart skipped a beat when I noticed the deep slashes gouged into the arms of his chair and the front of his desk. Beau said it was a full moon last night, so did that mean…? Mitch followed my eyes and tried to hide the marks with his massive arms. It didn’t work.

  “Anyway, have a seat. I’m sure you must have a million questions,” Mitch said. I parked my suitcases against the wall by the door and sat down in one of the two chairs opposite Mitch. Luna hopped up into the other.

  “Sure do. First off, why didn’t you tell me about, well, any of this stuff when you called to offer me the job?” I asked.

  “I didn’t realize it was necessary. Everyone paranormal knows about Moon Grove,” he said. “Why else would you have applied to work here?”

  My cheeks tingled. Clearly, he had no idea I was as desperate for a job as his paper was for a reporter — or that I wasn’t “paranormal” in the slightest.

  “Well, I hate to break it to you like this, but I’m pretty dang normal. I’m not a witch, I’m not a shifter, I’m not anything but a boring farm girl,” I said, and Mitch narrowed his eyes at me.

  “You must be some sort of paranormal. You wouldn’t have been able to get into town or be sitting across from me right now if you weren’t,” Mitch said.

  “Wouldn’t that have been a shame?” I asked, and Mitch chuckled.

  “Well, I did warn you it would be overwhelming,” he said.

  “Yeah, but you failed to mention in which ways,” I said. “I mean, I know this is super cliché, and everyone probably makes this dumb joke, but I seriously feel like I walked through a portal into Hogwarts.”

  “Hogwarts? What’s that?” Mitch asked, and the air seeped out of my lungs. Okay, so the people in Moon Grove knew as much about my world as I did theirs. At least we were even in that regard.

  “Never mind. Point is, I think this has all been some big mistake. I dunno what you thought you were getting when you decided to hire me, but you might want to reconsider. I clearly don’t belong here,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t have hired you if I thought you couldn’t handle it,” Mitch said.

  “Is it really that? Or is it because you had no other takers?” I asked, and Mitch blanched. “That’s what I thought,” I sighed.

  “It’s not exactly what you think, though,” Mitch said. “This paper used to be well-regarded, and people would’ve killed—” Mitch paused and cleared his throat.

  “Sorry, bad phrasing. People would’ve given anything to work here.”

  “I’m guessing that bad phrasing had something to do with Harper Woods,” I said.

  “See? You’re catching on quick,” Mitch said.

  “What I didn’t tell you is that I read your mind for that tidbit,” I sai
d, and Mitch’s eyes went wide.

  “You did?” he asked.

  “Now who’s the gullible one?” I asked, and he scowled.

  “Not funny,” he said.

  “Okay, fine. Let’s say I decide to believe I’m not trapped in some waking nightmare and that this is all real. Let’s say I decide I want to work here. The only way that’s gonna happen is if you tell me everything about Harper Woods. And I do mean everything,” I said.

  Mitch looked simultaneously scared and impressed. Good. He shuffled in his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk.

  “Mitch?” I asked, and he sighed.

  “She was killed. Two weeks ago. The cemetery staff found her buried in a grave meant for the last Head Witch, who passed away from cancer recently,” Mitch said, his voice low and small.

  Witches could get cancer? Well, that certainly explained the need for the election Beau mentioned — and why he told me not to name drop Harper. I slumped back in my chair, struggling to absorb it all.

  “Why? Why would anyone kill a reporter?” I asked.

  “Oh, I can think of plenty of reasons, but Harper in particular had a habit of sticking her nose in places it didn’t belong,” Mitch said, and the hair on the back of my neck rose.

  I could relate. Though my last boss swore he had to let me go due to “unforeseen economic troubles" at the company, I didn’t buy it then or now. That’s what I got for chasing a story about a bribe among the company’s higher ups — and probably why no one wanted to hire me for months afterward.

  “You mean someone killed her for doing her job?” I asked.

  “More or less. Harper was working on a story, something I told her over and over again she should leave alone, but she wouldn’t listen to me or anyone else,” Mitch said.

  “What was the story?”

  “I’m not discussing it,” Mitch said. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s done.”

  A light bulb went off in my head. If Harper worked here, Mitch was her editor too.