by E L Wilder
“What is ground keratin of the re’em?”
“You’re looking at the wrong guy,” he said. “Maybe you can consult one of your magical friends.”
“Well, keratin is what your hair and nails are made out of,” said Harper.
“Thatta girl,” said Hazel, kissing her niece atop her head.
“But I confess I’m drawing a blank on the re’em part of it.”
“You’re out of the family,” Hazel teased.
“Look at this,” Harper gasped, flicking the corner of the book. There was a red smudge on the page. Hazel leaned in and sniffed it, and she had no problem picking up the scent despite the strong undertones of ancient book. “Lipstick.”
“I think we’ve discovered somebody that likes books even more than you, Harper,” Tyler said, earning himself another sharp elbowing from Hazel.
“No,” Hazel corrected. “But somebody licking their thumb to turn the pages might have accidentally transferred some here, if they were being sloppy. Which means this book has been used recently.”
“Not me,” said Tyler. “I usually apply my lipstick after I’m done reading.”
“You’re going to leave here with a broken rib,” warned Hazel.
“Should we, like, take a sample?” asked Harper
“This isn’t CSI.”
“Don’t you have a spell that . . .” She waved at the air emptily.
“Your confidence in me is flattering, but my best options right now are to either set the book on fire or tear it to pieces in a mini windstorm,” said Hazel. “I think we have what we need: motive. Though I don’t see where this gets us any closer to uncovering the werespider’s identity and bringing it to justice.”
“Can we bring the book with us?” asked Harper. “There might be something else in here that’s important.”
“Maybe,” said Hazel. “But unless the author wrote the name of our werespider here, I don’t see what else we can learn from it.”
“We can’t stay here forever,” said Hazel.
“I respectfully disagree,” said Harper.
“Time is ticking, people are getting rivened and our werespider is looking to turn them into medicine.”
“So how do we get out of here?” asked Hazel. “I believe our friend is still waiting at the door.”
“Maybe we need to make a deposit,” said Tyler, motioning to the compartment next to the door.
Harper nodded is subdued resignation. She set the book inside, slid the door shut, and latched it. Immediately the door shook and rattled, then they heard the opposing door slam closed. They watched on the map as the dot marked SHELVER moved away from the door, receding into the stacks until it disappeared on the fuzzy edges of the map.
“Oh thank all that is holy.”
“Let’s get out of here before we commit some other library infraction,” said Hazel.
Even Harper, who had found her version of the Happiest Place on Earth, offered no argument.
“Do you think you can find our way back out of here?”
Harper smiled and wagged Hazel’s notebook. “I took copious notes on the way down.”
“I concede,” said Tyler. “You were exactly the right person to bring down here. Let’s get moving before the OCD monster decides to come back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When they returned to the Postern, Hazel saw no signs of the sinister red glow filtering through the nearby trees. Hazel made a mental note to ask Alex about it next time she saw him.
“Auntie Hazel,” whined Harper. “You can’t send me home!”
“I can,” replied Hazel sharply. “And I am.”
“Auntie Hazel, you wouldn’t have found it without me.”
Hazel nodded. “That’s true. I am grateful for your help, but it put you in danger and if Gammy found out, she would kill me. It was irresponsible of me.” She turned to Tyler. “Bring her back home.”
“Auntie Hazel . . .” said Harper, her eyes rimmed with tears.
“No,” said Hazel, firmly. This was not a role she was used to playing—Stern Aunt—but she made sure she was going to play it well.
Harper glared at her suddenly like only a teenager denied could.
“I’ll see you at home when I get back,” said Hazel.
Harper stared at her with deep suspicion. “And we’ll talk about enrollment?”
Hazel considered her niece, then nodded slowly. “Just remember that this is not my decision. You have two very stubborn Bennett women to convince.”
“I’ll convince them,” declared Harper, “I have to. My life no longer has meaning without Silverwell Academy.”
“Let’s go, champ,” said Tyler. The two stepped through the Postern and disappeared with a popping sound and a flash of pink light.
She turned from the Postern and was surprised to see Alex standing in wait.
“The red light is gone,” she said.
“Moved but not gone,” he said. There was a graveness in his eyes that alarmed her. “But I’m not here to talk about that.”
“Let me guess. The Council has demanded my presence again.”
He nodded, unrolling a parchment. Clearing his throat, he read it without a hint of emotion in his voice. “ ‘Hazel Roison Bennett is hereby ordered to appear before the Council of the city of Quark at her earliest convenience or inconvenience, whichever the case may be, as decreed by the Council and its most illustrious Chair Circe Strange.’ ”
* * *
“Hazel Bennett,” said Circe in an imperious tone. “We never expected to see you back here so soon under such auspicious circumstances.”
“Councilor Strange,” Hazel said.
The entire Council was not assembled, just five: the harpy, the fae, the suit of armor, a lithe woman with burgundy skin and a shock of cream-colored hair and bottomless black eyes who had not attended the first meeting. Cass was noticeably absent.
“What is this about?” asked Hazel.
“Ms. Bennett will remember that she is appearing before the Council of Quark and will address it with the respect it deserves.”
Hazel’s stomach dropped, and she suddenly felt as afraid as she knew Circe wanted her to. Whatever this was about, it wasn’t some minor infraction, and if it weren’t the book, she didn’t know what it could be. “Yes, Councilor.”
Circe organized a stack of papers in front of her, savoring the task if only to draw out the moment. At last, she set her elbows on the table, bringing her hands together and tenting her fingers, and then leaned forward. “While you have been busy mucking around as Wand of the Council, other agents have been busy on their assignments. And while your work has produced no results, we are fortunate that not all our agents are so ineffectual in their investigations. Wand of the Council Cordelia Strange has been dutifully investigating the issue of the lesions that you conveniently only brought to our attention once you were first brought before this Council. It turns out her assignment was ideal because she was able to provide much insight into the process.”
“What?!”
“Furthermore it has been brought to our attention that you have abused your power as a Wand, showing a complete disregard for the laws of Quark and the well-being of its citizens.”
“That’s not—”
“Furthermore, it has come to our attention that you were not truthful in your first encounter with the Council,” she said. “So we will pose the question to you again. Who is your familiar?”
“Clancy,” she said.
“Is Clancy present today?”
“You can see that he’s—”
“Is Clancy present today?”
“He is not.”
“You are aware that Clancy is banned from the city of Quark for corrupting the minds of the youth.”
“What youth?”
“That is information that you are not privileged to hear,” she said. “Suffice to say that a responsible familiar would not plant ideas in the heads of their witches that tempt them to cas
t outside of their abilities.”
Hazel noted that not a single member of the Council looked disinterested in the proceedings—the harpy, the fae, the burgundy woman. Even the suit of armor, Sir Culpepper of the Functionally Deceased, seemed to be leaning dangerously far forward and on the verge of losing balance.
And Circe Strange, who sat at the head of her table, a Seussian smile drawn on her face. “It is time for the Council to move into judicial session. Does anyone carry the motion?”
“So moved,” said Oberon, the fae.
“Seconded,” said the harpy.
“Those in favor.”
The gathered Councilors issues a chorus of ayes.
“Opposed?”
Silence.
“Excellent,” cooed Cordelia. “There is evidence that you not only had knowledge of the existence of lesions on the Silverwell Academy campus, but that you manipulated the investigation to cover up the fact that you yourself were the cause of these lesions.”
“This is ridiculous! Where did you hear this?”
“We have been kept apprised of your malfeasance by a trusted source.” Cordelia. Hazel wondered what Cordelia had been doing all day. Now her efforts were becoming painfully obvious.
The gym doors opened and the clomp of combat boots confirmed Hazel’s suspicions. Hazel turned around in time to catch Cordelia’s venomous glare before she seated herself in the back row. It was not the too-cool, rebellious Cordelia whose company Hazel had come to enjoy, but the officious, cold and calculating Cordelia that wore her last name proudly. How had Hazel been so foolish? Blood was always thicker than water, and Cordelia had been doing nothing more than angling to get back in the Council’s, and her mother’s, good graces.
“Excellent work, Agent Cordelia,” purred Circe.
There was a wave of nods up from the assembled Councilors.
“Good to see nepotism is alive and well in Quark politics,” said Hazel.
Circe banged her gavel on the lunch table. “The agent will be silent! You are a danger to yourself and to others. You have threatened the very fabric of existence. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“You have no proof!” said Hazel.
Circe ignored her. “I recommend that we move forward with punitive measures against Agent Hazel.”
Another wave of nods.
Circe pulled her wand from her knitted poncho, a gnarled black claw of wood, and aimed it at Hazel. “You are hereby demoted, Hazel Bennett.” A bolt of electricity arced toward her, connecting with the badge on her shirt. There was an explosion of sparks, and when Hazel looked down, the badge was gone.
“Agent Alestronos!” said Circe. “Arrest her.”
Alex stepped forward with his head hanging.
“Alex, you’re making a mistake,” pleaded Hazel.
“I’m sorry, Hazel,” he responded. He reached to his belt and pulled a pair of cuffs and reached for her wrist. She pulled away from him and felt a familiar tingle building in her palms.
“Hazel, this will only go worse for you if you put up a fight.”
“Go worse?” she scoffed. “How could it possibly go any worse. I do not submit to the authority of the Council,” she snarled.
“You are mistaken, Miss Bennett,” said Circe. “You submitted to the authority of the Council the minute you agreed to wear that badge.”
Alex grabbed her wrist, and it was like he had pulled a trigger. There was a thunderous clap and a blinding pink burst of energy exploded from her hands rocking the gymnasium with a deafening clamor. When she opened her eyes, she saw that every metal chair had been scattered, the lunch tables overturned. The Councilors lay on the floor, stirring groggily and Alex struggling to free himself from a pile of metal folding chairs.
She didn’t linger. She rushed across the gym and pushed through the double doors, praying her feet would be fast enough to get her to the Postern.
* * *
Hazel ran, the streets passing in a blur until the cobblestones of Quark gave way to the aged stones of the yellowed-brick road. She didn’t stop, even when she grew short of breath and when a stitch worked its way deep into her side. At least the pain in her body came close to matching the anguish in her mind.
She hadn’t felt this wretched since the last time her personal failures had been splashed across the tabloids. She had already burned bridges by running away from her Hollywood life, and she was vaguely aware that she was doing the same thing now. She had been rebuked and now she was running away. But what choice did she have? Clancy had called on her to investigate, and she had failed in the worst possible way.
She crashed into the Dimwood and at last came upon the ruins of Merlin’s tower.
She stopped in her tracks.
The Postern.
Her gaze fell to the wall where the archway stood. Had stood. Except there was no archway, no portal. Instead, the ground was littered with the stones that had once formed the Postern archway.
No, this couldn’t be right. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
She rushed forward and picked up the stones, trying to put them back in place, but they tumbled back to the ground.
“We told you we don’t like your kind here,” said an awful voice that made her shiver. She turned to see Oddlump and his scary band of brothers emerge from the ruins of Merlin’s tower. She was disappointed to see that being riven had not kept Oddlump from his despicable antics. Though he did look distinctly worse for the wear, his orange pallor had grown ashen. “
“It’s a shame you can’t return home now,” he said, cackling. His redcaps bounced up and down gleefully. “What happened to your badge? Fallen out of favor with those rotten politicians, have we?”
“Oddlump,” she said, proceeding carefully. “I’m trying to help you. You’re not well—”
“Talk, talk, talk,” Oddlump said, grinning a broken-toothed smile. “No more talk.” At long last, the redcaps pulled the cleavers from their belts and brandished them.
Oddlump took a step toward Hazel.
The action sent the redcaps scurrying forward in a horrible wave. Without thinking, Hazel raised both her hands and unleashed a torrent of wind that scraped the leaves from the forest floor and scattered both the redcaps and the pieces of the Postern like bowling pins.
Oddlump withstood the onslaught, but when she turned and disappeared into the forest, he made no attempt to follow her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The front door of Harmony House opened almost as soon as Hazel knocked. She came face-to-face with a young woman roughly Harper’s age. Her auburn hair was swept up into a messy bun, her mint-green eyes were framed by a pair of chunky blush-pink glasses, and her freckled face was completed by her gap-toothed grin. “Oh, hi!” the girl chirped. “If this is about rush week, you’re about two months early, despite what you may have heard. Hecate House has just been spreading rumors. We are not currently accepting early applicants.”
Hazel faltered. She had expected Cass to open the door and to understand everything just by looking at Hazel’s face—the same way that Gammy used to—but here was this young girl in sweatpants and a tank top.
“Is Cass here?” asked Hazel.
“Mamma Cass?” the girl asked, scrutinizing her a little more closely. “Do I know you from somewhere?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Yeah, she’s here. Who should I tell her has come calling?”
“Hazel Bennett.”
At that, the girl nearly dropped her bowl. “Oh snap!” she said. “Like the Bennetts? Wait here. No, Maisie!” she said, scolding herself. Then opening the door wide, added, “Come in! Please!”
“Okay . . .” Hazel stepped inside, casting one last glance behind her to make sure she hadn’t been followed.
The entryway of Harmony House did not correspond with any part of the original caretaker cottage structure. Everything was wrapped in or carved from wood—spiraling staircases, nooks, and crannies, doorways, all of which hinted at secrets just out o
f sight—things folded and tucked away.
“I’m Maisie,” said the girl.
“Hi, Maisie,” she said. The girl seemed nice enough, but Hazel didn’t have time for idle chitchat. “I really need to talk to Cass . . .”
“Oh, right! Follow me.” The girl hurried off down a hallway and Hazel followed closely, not even pretending to listen as Maisie chattered about how exciting it was to meet a Bennett, especially since she had heard the Bennet line of witches had lapsed.
Hazel had expected to be led to some stately office befitting a woman who was a member of the Council and the head of a coven, but instead Maisie brought her to a sun porch, a conservatory of glass and wood and brick, lush with plants. A set of double doors on the far wall were flung wide open, inviting a cooling breeze inside, and overlooking a wide grassy lawn. Cass sat in a wicker chair, dealing a deck of playing cards onto an ancient wooden card table.
When Hazel entered, Cass looked up and smiled. “Miss Bennett,” she said warmly, continuing to deal out her game. “Thank you, Maisie dear.”
“You got it, Cass,” said Maisie, smiling and disappearing back into the house.
“That girl has a gift for gab,” Cass said. “Fortunately, she has a big heart to back it up. Miss Bennett, I was hoping you would pay me a visit. Please, sit down.”
“Mrs. Prim—Cass. This is urgent.”
“Talking takes about as long sitting as it does standing,” Cass said, peering over her half-moon spectacles, her lips pursed.
Hazel bit her lip and complied, taking the chair on the opposite side of the card table.
“Solitaire,” said Cass, waving at the cards in front of her. “It requires a lot of patience, a bit of luck, and an open eye. Like most everything else.”
“I didn’t know where else to—”
“Your Gammy used to play cards with me. Taught her everything she knew about wheeling and dealing.”
