I texted back a quick response. Yeah, I was definitely going to join the old goat for dinner. But I wasn’t going to let him off easy. Come Friday, I’d most likely be leaving Riddler’s Edge forever. Perhaps Arnold’s memory mojo wouldn’t be such a bad thing, after all – at least I wouldn’t be able to remember how much I liked it here.
15. Wizardly Wagon
I stood in front of the Vander Inn, waiting for Greg and enjoying the smell of the sea air. I could see the harbour off in the distance, and hear the sounds of the fishermen going about their morning.
‘You look pretty fresh for a woman who stayed up so late.’
I jumped at the sound of Jared’s voice. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’ I asked as I turned around.
He gave me a wicked smile. ‘It felt a bit big and lonely in my bed, so I thought I’d get up and see you off. Here, I made you this.’ He handed me a flask and a lunchbox. ‘I noticed you didn’t eat any breakfast.’
I felt my face begin to flush. He had actually made me a packed lunch? Only my astronomy obsessed foster-mother had ever done that. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That was really nice of you.’
He seemed like he was just about to reply, when his eyes narrowed. He was looking out onto the road, as Detective Quinn’s car drove by. I looked into the driver’s seat, and the detective was looking Jared’s way, a full-on scowl on his face. As soon as he was out of sight, Jared’s demeanour relaxed.
‘As much as I hope you enjoy your lunch,’ he said. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy your dinner more. Because I was hoping that you’d agree to have dinner with me. There’s a new restaurant in Riddler’s Cove that I’d love to try out. The receptionist from the Daily Riddler owns it. So how about it? You me, and a stupidly expensive bottle of champagne.’
This guy was smooth, I’d give him that. So smooth that my knees were feeling a little jelly-like. And I really did want to check out Malachy’s restaurant. Nevertheless, I was almost relieved that I had an excuse. ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I’m having dinner with Arnold.’
His expression darkened. ‘So he can make excuses for the way he’s been treating his reporters, no doubt.’
‘Probably.’ I shrugged. ‘But I’m going along anyway.’
Jared let out a sigh. ‘Of course you are. Because you’re a decent person who’s always willing to give someone a second chance. But just be on your guard, Ash. Most of the Albrights are lovely. I’d count them among the more pleasant witch covens. But Arnold … well, he didn’t get to be one of the richest media moguls in the supernatural world by playing nice. Oh look – here’s Greg now.’
I glanced out onto the road, where Greg’s purple van was making its way towards us. He pulled up at the kerb and grinned. ‘Hey Ash. Hey Jared – I didn’t know you were back in town. Good to see you, mate.’
Jared grinned back at Greg. ‘Good to see you, too. Hey, Ash has just turned me down for a date tonight. Fancy a boys’ night on the town?’
‘Definitely,’ said Greg as I opened the door and climbed in next to him. ‘I’ll give you a text when I’m done at work.’
≈
‘Welcome to Wizardly Wagon,’ said Greg with a smile as I closed the door behind me.
‘You call your van Wizardly Wagon? I always thought I’d name a car, if I had one long enough. I have a bit of a tendency to crash the poor things before we’ve had the chance to bond. Hey, you and Jared seem to be mates. Don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why there’s a problem between him and Detective Quinn?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said, far too quickly, before pulling two packets of peanuts from his pocket and passing one to me.
I loved peanuts, but I couldn’t eat many unless I had a drink to wash them down, so I opened the flask. It was filled with black coffee that smelled like it had been brewed in heaven. ‘You know, it wouldn’t really matter if you did tell me.’ I was speaking in my most casual tone as I poured some coffee out. ‘You might as well go ahead and spill, seeing as I’ll have forgotten it all by the weekend.’
Greg snorted. ‘Sure – and why don’t I tell you all my deepest and darkest secrets while we’re at it?’
‘Well, I’m all ears. Although I have to say, you don’t seem like the sort of guy who has deep, dark secrets.’
‘I wish that were true.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, did you read the notes I gave you about Witchfield?’
I sipped my coffee. It didn’t just smell like heaven. It tasted like it, too. ‘Yeah, I looked over it,’ I replied. I did not add that I’d forgotten all about it until I was in the bath this morning. It was completely unlike me to forget to study up on anything. I was the queen of nerds. But spending time with Jared and Pru had thrust it clean from my mind.
Luckily, I read fast, and thanks to Greg’s notes I now knew that Witchfield was the largest supernatural prison in the world. I also knew that its position constantly shifted, so getting there required following a changeable set of magical coordinates. ‘I’m kind of confused about how we’re going to get there,’ I admitted. ‘Witches travel by flying on brooms or clicking their fingers, and it seems like it only exists in some witchy region so … how are a wizard and a human going to get to it?’
He grinned. ‘I’m glad you asked that. Witches aren’t the only ones who can use brooms to travel. Wizards have brooms of their own, too. Better than witch brooms, in fact. The broom itself is way more magical than a witch broom, so you don’t need power to ride it.’
I gulped. ‘We’re … we’re flying a broom to the prison?’
There was a look on Greg’s face that reminded me of a kid at Christmas. He was practically thrumming with excitement. ‘Kind of,’ he said. ‘Except that you’re already in it. It’s an experimental design, though, so prepare for a lot of lurching.’
I gawped at him. ‘Your van? Is a broom?’
‘In a way. I modified the tech that wizards use to make brooms, and installed it in my van. Did you take the travel sickness pills?’
I shook my head, groaning. ‘I forgot to buy any. Hey, when you say experimental design what do you mean, exactly? Have you tested this yet?’
He cleared his throat before replying. ‘I have every reason to believe that this journey will be a success. Maybe you’d better put on your seatbelt, though. Just to be on the safe side.’
≈
About ten minutes later, we arrived in front of the gates of Witchfield Prison. It had been the longest ten minutes of my life, and I was sincerely glad that I hadn’t got much more in my stomach than a handful of peanuts and a cup of coffee.
First, he had keyed half a dozen sets of coordinates into a keypad on his van’s dash. Next, he had pressed a series of brightly coloured buttons. After that, I was too ill to follow a thing he did.
It’s difficult to explain what it feels like to be in a flying van, but I think I can cut to the crux by simply saying that I wouldn’t recommend it. Once we were in the air, the landscape below began to continually shift, coinciding with a series of sickening lurches and flashes of light.
My hair was a mess. My stomach was heaving. But I had gotten there, in one dishevelled piece.
‘Wow.’ Greg shook his head in amazement. ‘I did not think that was going to work. Well? You ready?’
I shot him the sort of look I usually reserved for door-to-door salespeople, and climbed out of the van.
16. Rat in a Cage
No matter how much Greg had told me, and no matter how much I had read, there was nothing in the world that could have prepared me for Witchfield. The building itself was unfathomably big, with walls that definitely weren’t hewn from average stone. The exact building material wasn’t generally disclosed, because avoiding mass break-outs is always an advantage in a prison.
The guards were all dressed like Gretel had been, and they placed cuffs around my wrists even though I had as much magic as a gnat. Greg didn’t get the shackle treatment, but he did get just about every gadget he had inspected, and one or two things were taken from him.
‘But I need that, Walter.’ Greg was pleading with a burly guard and pointing to a sparkly purple wand. ‘It’s an OAP!’
I resisted the urge to laugh. My research had told me that an OAP was an acronym for an object of awesome power. But just because I knew what it meant didn’t make it any less hysterical.
‘You’ll get it back on the way out,’ Walter said impassively. ‘You’re lucky I’m letting you keep anything. You know, your tech is about a million times ahead of anything we have. You ever think of selling any of it to us?’
Greg gave the guard a tight smile. ‘Never in a million years. And if I find out anyone’s been fiddling with my wand while I’m inside …’
Walter laughed, and waved us through.
The prison was split into wings, because there were different requirements needed to suppress the different kinds of power. Greg had assured me that not a single vampire in Gunnar’s wing would be able to read our minds or use their power in any way. I guess I’d just have to take his word on that one.
We were led straight to Gunnar’s cell, and a couple of seats had been set up outside for us. I say cell, but the bars weren’t exactly what you’d call solid. I could barely see them at all, other than the usual kaleidoscope haze that let me know when magic was at work. Either way, we could see and hear Gunnar through the bars, and he could see and hear us.
‘Hello, Gunnar,’ I said brightly. ‘How’s prison life treating you?’
He glared at me. ‘Is that some sort of joke? What in Dracula’s name are you doing here, anyway? You’re a human. I can smell your stink a mile away.’
‘Hey! I used a very nice lime-scented soap this morning, I’ll have you know. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about how delightful I smell. We’re here to interview you for the paper. We’re doing a special piece in Friday’s evening edition, and we’d like to get your point of view on the matter. We’d like to know why you have a particular dislike for dayturners, why you’re such a surly waiter … that sort of thing.’
Gunnar looked away from me and spat on the floor. Lovely. The dishwater-grey prison uniform didn’t have a very high collar, and I could see his tattoo more clearly than ever. ‘It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? That tattoo of yours. I mean, if I was about to commit a bunch of murders, I’d probably try and be less obvious about it. But here you are, wearing your Vlad’s Boys affiliation loud and proud.’
He spat again. Greg was messing about with filters, taking photos while I talked. I doubted many people would enjoy seeing a picture of a spitting murderer, so I had to assume he was doing something wizardly.
‘Another thing I find interesting,’ I went on, ‘is the fact that you were only on duty for three of the recent murders. I guess that means you’re a lot more talented at the whole vampire thing than you look, or else … or else there’s someone else involved. Another member of Vlad’s Boys, maybe? One who isn’t dumb enough to wear a tattoo?’
He was still looking away from me, but his fists were clenched with agitation, so I pressed on. ‘I bet Detective Quinn’s already offered you a deal. I mean, that’s the kind of thing I’d do if I were in charge of the investigation. See if I could get you a couple of years off your sentence in return for info on the other killer. Or killers. Maybe even a whole heap of years off for information on who’s actually running Vlad’s Boys. Because that’s a big secret, or so I’m told.’
His undead eyes flashed towards me. ‘And it’s going to stay that way, human.’ He sat forward on his bed. It looked narrow and uncomfortable, but he hardly deserved a thick mattress and a king-sized bed. ‘I might be in a cage right now, but that doesn’t make me a rat. I admire the people I work with. I’d go so far as to say I even care for one or two of them. And I do not rat out my people. I know all about the human world. I know that loyalty is just a word your leaders use to suppress the masses. But vampires, vampires know the true meaning of loyalty. It’s just one of the reasons why we’re the superior species.’
‘Species?’ I glanced down at my notes. ‘You think you’re a species? You’re not a species, Gunnar. Vampirism is a virus. A virus that’s constantly changing. And you know what I think? I think no one actually knows why the dayturner strain came about. I think that you could wake up tomorrow, and be the very thing you hate.’
His jaw started to saw, and he stood up and punched the air. ‘Get out!’ he cried, his teeth elongating into very sharp points. ‘Get out before I show you what a vampire really is.’
I stood up, placing an even smile on my face. ‘I think we have quite enough for the article,’ I told Greg. ‘Are you happy with the pictures you’ve taken?’
‘Very,’ he said, slinging his camera around his neck. ‘Let’s go and get a nice lunch, shall we?’
‘Somewhere fancy,’ I added. ‘And outdoors. I do like to be able to sit outside and enjoy the fresh air while I eat.’
17. The Best Man for the Job
Well, I was enjoying the fresh air, if you count rolling down the window of Greg’s van while we sat in the train station carpark. The journey back from Witchfield had been just as sickening as the journey there, and if my lunch hadn’t been so darned delicious, I doubt I would have been able to stomach it.
‘I’ll check out the filters while we eat,’ Greg said through mouthfuls of one of my sandwiches. There had been four in the lunchbox, so I decided it would be selfish not to share.
The sandwiches were stuffed with fresh tuna, sundried tomatoes and a whole lot of yumminess. There was even dessert, some sort of apple crumble with cream.
‘How did he whip all this up this morning?’ I wondered. ‘And more importantly, how did he manage to fit it all into such a small lunchbox?’
Greg grinned, the gap between his teeth filled with something green. ‘Jared’s always been an amazing chef. And the lunchbox is bigger on the inside. Wizard tech.’
I shook my head in amazement as Greg leaned over and pressed on the bottom of the lunchbox, making a second, far larger layer appear. It was even bigger than the first, and it was filled with fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. ‘I wish I was a wizard. Hey, I haven’t asked Pru this in case it’s rude, but … I always thought vampires just consumed blood. And that they only went out at night.’
Greg wiped his hand and hooked his camera up to his laptop. ‘They’ve evolved to be able to stand daylight over the years, but they much prefer the dark, and some vamps say their eyes sting during the day if they don’t wear sunglasses. And as for blood, they need it to survive. But they like everyday food, same as the rest of us. There’s a rumour the Vlad’s Boys gang only drink blood. No other food or drink. But I doubt it’s true.’ He began to type quickly, somehow managing to steal three of my cookies at the same time. ‘So, I wasn’t taking normal photos of Gunnar, but I guess you figured that out. Grace would rather wear a pair of jeans than run a photo of one of Vlad’s Boys. She has this idea that criminals get off on the exposure.’
‘I agree with her,’ I said, managing to snatch the last cookie for myself. ‘So what were you doing? All of Gunnar’s abilities are subdued while he’s in Witchfield. What could your filters possibly pick up?’
He slurped some coffee. ‘You know the way Grace was trying to see your power through her Aurameter? Well, I had this theory that all supernaturals have a unique aura around us. And it turned out, I was right. I’ve managed to fine-tune my software so that I can read auras as clearly as I can read fingerprints.’ He pointed to the screen, where a photo of Gunnar in his cell had loaded. ‘See that hue around him? How it’s all orange and brown and scary looking? My first few trials only picked up things like that. Standard vamp aura. Not super-evil, just your run-of-the mill stupid young vampire. But.’ He began to type in some commands, and the colours around Gunnar intensified. On the right side of the screen, some sort of script was running. It seemed to be listing out the strength of each colour in the aura.
‘So you think that by refining it this much, you can identify a unique
aura for every supernatural?’
‘Exactly. And I’ve found a way to sync it up with crime-scene photos, too. Every recording of telekinetic activity has a unique signature. It’s just been impossible to narrow down. Until now.’ He opened up the photos he’d taken in the aftermath of Bathsheba’s murder, and did some more frantic typing. Within a few seconds, a banner stretched across the screen: Zero Percent Match.
Greg paled. ‘Either my program isn’t worth the hundreds of hours I’ve spent writing it, or else … or else Gunnar used no telekinetic power whatsoever on the day Bathsheba was murdered. All of that telekinetic energy my filters picked up … it belongs to someone else entirely.’
‘And if Gunnar didn’t use any of his vampire powers,’ I said, my mind running a mile a minute, ‘then how on earth did he get rid of the evidence?’
≈
As the train pulled into the station after its latest Dublin to Riddler’s Edge run, Greg and I stood waiting for the driver. He got off, a wide smile on his face, wiping the sweat from his brow with a red neckerchief. I almost squealed right then. Not only did he have a red neckerchief, but he was also carrying a shovel, and he had coal stains on his hands.
‘It runs on coal!’ I gasped.
The train driver grinned. ‘Of a sort. I only have to add one shovel at the start of every journey. Good thing too, or I wouldn’t be able to manage it on my own.’ He tipped his cap. ‘I take it you’re the new reporter, seeing as you’re here with our Greg. What can I do for you both?’
I was too busy taking in the train driver, so Greg spoke. ‘Ash is writing an article for Friday’s evening edition,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be quite a comprehensive piece on the murder investigation so far.’
A Magical Trio Page 26
