All the Pretty Witches

by Lauren Quick

  Detective Corder motioned to one of the officers who approached with a plastic bag in his hand. He took the bag and showed Honora the contents. It was a typical square white card. “We found this inside one of her pockets.”

  “A business card,” Honora said, trying to read the mangled print. Suddenly her stomach plummeted as she recognized the type. “It’s mine,” she said. “One of the new ones Jenny and I had designed when we teamed up.”

  “There’s more.” He flipped the bag over, but wouldn’t let her touch it. Something was written in spidery handwriting on the back of the card.

  “What’s it say?” she asked.

  “Find Honora Mayhem. She’s the only one who can help you.”

  Honora closed her eyes and shook her head. She had no memory of giving the girl a card and didn’t recognize the handwriting. Really, the young witch could have gotten the card from a number of sources. To drum up business, she, Jenny, and Sawyer, their steadfast technical expert, handed them out all over the city. The note on the back suggested someone, perhaps a satisfied client, had recommended her to the witch.

  But who and why?

  “She came here for my help. To see me.” A mixture of sadness and guilt churned inside her.

  Detective Corder straightened to his full height, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe or maybe she actually found you tonight. Maybe you were somehow involved in all this. You were working for her and a detection spell got out of hand. I’ve no idea what happened here. The investigation’s just begun.”

  Honora’s eyes widened. That sounded harsh. Like he was suspicious of her. Her lips twisted. “I had nothing to do with this. Detection spells don’t use black magic.”

  “Have you ever seen her before?”

  “No, um. Well. I’m not sure. Maybe.” A frustrated sigh leaked from her mouth. “She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.”

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about. I’ve got a craft waiting for you. Let’s go to the station and you and I can review everything nice and slow.” He motioned down the alley toward the waiting craft.

  “No need for the hovercraft. I can fly. I’ll meet you there.”

  The officer standing next to the detective took a defensive stance, both watching her every move. “No, it’s better that you come with us. I don’t want you to get delayed. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Fine. Can I at least get my purse?” She glanced up at her apartment.

  “You won’t need it. Right this way.” Detective Corder clutched her bicep, guided her to the hovercraft, and slid in beside her. She normally would have been flattered by the snug closeness, if not for his icy demeanor.

  They rode in silence, Honora growing angrier by the second. Did he really suspect her of something untoward? Did their history of working together mean nothing to him? She’d done her civic duty by calling in the crime and waiting for them to show up. Sure, the detective had a job to do, but they were friends, colleagues even. Did that mean nothing? She fumed, her knee bouncing up and down. She took a deep cleansing breath. Yeah, that didn’t work. Calm was not one of her personality traits.

  Once they arrived, Honora was guided through the back of the station. Police headquarters had top-notch security wards and she had to go through all of them. She stood with her arms outstretched as numerous technicians waved their wands over her, enveloping her in a surge of magical energy, ensuring she wasn’t in possession of any suspicious magical devices or spells. Finally, they let her through. Clean as a whistle, she thought. Then they confiscated her wand.

  The technician inspected the chain. “This is odd,” he said and caught Detective Corder’s attention.

  Honora sighed. “No, it’s not. It’s a chain so I don’t drop it when I’m flying. That’s not odd at all. It’s very practical.”

  “Never seen one like this before. At least not for adults. My nana used to tie a string around my wand when I was a little boy so I wouldn’t lose it.” The technician grinned sarcastically. “Yours is fancy.”

  Honora sneered at him. She knew they were taking her wand to run tests for black magic and silently reveled in the fact that it would be clean.

  “You can have it back when we’re done,” Detective Corder said. He guided her through the labyrinth of hallways to a room with a table and two chairs and asked her to wait. Little did Honora know, he’d make her wait for hours.

  “What time is it?” she asked, her voice a growl when he finally entered the room.

  The detective’s jacket was off and his sleeves were rolled up. “We’re investigating a murder. That takes precedent over your social life.” The statement made her sound petty, but she reserved her right to be annoyed.

  “I was trying to help. What can I do for you?” Honora decided to go with respectful and cooperative.

  He set a cup of coffee down in front of her. It was black as tar and smelled burnt like it had been scraped from the bottom of the cauldron.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He flipped open a casebook and waved his wand over the page and inky words appeared on the parchment. “I just have a few questions for you and you can be on your way.” His eyes were bloodshot.

  “Ready.” She sat up straight, hands folded neatly on the table.

  “How’s business?”

  “Great. Never better. The agency is busy. We have loads of happy clients. Well, actually they’re not all happy. I mean they are having to hire a private investigator and that’s usually not a sign of happiness, but they’re very happy with the work we do.” She was rambling. She shifted in her seat; her fingers drummed on the table. Why was she nervous? She was the innocent one.

  “Any strange cases lately? Anything dangerous?”

  She thought for a second. “No. The usual. Some cheating wizards. Embezzlement. A missing witch.”

  “Why do you think the victim had your business card?” Detective Corder leaned back in his chair, studying her face.

  “We give them out by the dozens. It’s one way we get clients, besides word of mouth.”

  “What would a young witch like that want with a private investigator?”

  “No clue. The note on the back of the card sounded like she was in trouble.” But he already knew that.

  “Trouble. How so?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know. But a young witch like her could have gotten in with the wrong crowd. Maybe she had a stalker and wanted us to hunt him down. Maybe she was looking for someone.” Honora shifted in her seat.

  “You said she looked familiar.”

  Honora’s gaze dropped to the table. “I think so, but I can’t place her. Why don’t you tell me her name and see if it jogs my memory. You must have identified her by now.”

  “That information is not public knowledge until her family is notified.”

  “And you haven’t found her family.” Honora winced at the unenviable task.

  He nodded.

  “What I don’t get is why someone brought her to your alley. They could have taken her anywhere. The magic circle was complicated and risky to do in public.” He rubbed his chiseled jaw, which showed just a hint of stubble.

  “I don’t know. You can’t actually think that I would kill her, dump her behind my apartment building, leave my business card in her pocket, and alert the police. That’s beyond dumb. That would be just asking for it.” Honora’s voice rose sharply.

  “True. But maybe that’s why you did it. A double move. Have you been depressed lately?”

  Her head jerked up. “No.” What on earth would her mood have to do with the girl’s death?

  “Lonely? How’s your dating life?”

  “Besides none of your business, it’s fine.” That was a lie, but it really was none of his business. She glanced away in a slow eye roll.

>   He cleared his throat, noticing her tell.

  “Okay. Ren and I broke up, but I’m fine. Never been better.”

  “Really? That’s a shame. I liked Ren. Didn’t believe for a second it would work out,” he said, baiting her. But she remained ice cold. “Who are you hanging out with lately? Got a new guy? Witch like you won’t stay single for long.”

  She barked with laughter. “My sisters, my flying club, my business partners. I work a lot.”

  “Are you hanging out with a new crowd, maybe a new club?”

  “No. Why?” Did he have something? She wondered. “The witch was a flyer. I suspected she was.” Another thought struck her. “But she didn’t fly there. She was carried and dumped. I’m right, aren’t I?” Her brain buzzed.

  “Yes. She’s a flyer. Maybe you know her from one of the local clubs.”

  Honora tried to run through a list of the clubs that she knew, trying to remember if that’s where she’d seen her, but nothing sprung to mind. “Sorry. But it’s not like I know all of the flying clubs. There are dozens of them.”

  Detective Corder leaned forward. “That’s all for tonight. But stay local. Now that I know you aren’t dating the North Woods guy, you’ve no good reason to leave town. We might have more questions for you.”

  That’s why he asked about Ren. She stood.

  “You can pick up your wand at the front desk. And, Honora, be careful out there. The autopsy wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was downright strange.”

  “Like how strange?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

  “You know I can’t tell you that.” He shook his head.

  “You could give me a hint.” She grinned. “Hints are totally legal.”

  He smiled wearily but kept his mouth shut.

  That was interesting, she thought as she strode through the station. She’d known better than to pry about a case, but she loved pushing his buttons. Corder was straitlaced, and he also liked to figure things out for himself. One thing worried her. He’d never told her to be careful before. Worried wasn’t a word she associated with the wizard detective, but a black magic murder had a way of making a witch paranoid and curious. And just like that Honora was hooked. After snatching her wand from the officer, Honora lifted into the sky, heading home. It was too late to get anything done tonight. Cooling air washed over her face, but it did little to stop her racing thoughts. She had to know more, more about the murder and the pink-haired witch whom she never had the chance to help.

  3

  Honora woke in a tangle of sheets, her comforter flung to the floor. She stared up at the high ceiling of her loft apartment. There was no use lying in bed a second longer, even if it was the horrifically early hour of eight o’clock. She’d tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of sleep only to be woken by strange dreams—the moaning sound of the wind, the shriek of a dying witch, and the cackle of her tormentors. Honora was taking this case personally. The fact that she already thought of it as a case was proof of that. She should forget about it and move on with her life, but she couldn’t just walk away, even with the police doing their job.

  Truth be told, she felt responsible. Logically, she knew she wasn’t to blame, but she couldn’t help but feel connected to the witch’s death. And all because of that little white business card.

  Honora jumped out of bed and right into the shower before dressing in a pair of jeans, a gray top, and boots. Next she spelled her hair into a long fishtail braid. She’d decided on an unassuming, casual look, so she could mingle and not draw attention to herself. Today she needed to blend, to observe and listen, to gather information, and decide her next plan of action. Barnaby cooed and warbled from the perch in his open cage. She gently ran the back of her finger down the length of his silky feathers, reassuring herself. Time to fly.

  The Witch’s Brew Café was a respite for coffee addicts like herself. Nothing like a little caffeine to fuel her already hyped up curiosity. She ordered a huge double chocolate mocha and slumped into a chair. The shop was filled with an eclectic group of witches and wizards. From the rumpled look of their club clothes and bleary eyes, Honora had a feeling some of them were probably still awake from the night before.

  “Hard night?” the waitress asked and placed a mug topped with a mound of whipped cream on the table.

  “Does it show?” Honora cupped the warm mug in her hands.

  “Nothing a dark chocolaty brew won’t cure.” The waitress smiled kindly and strode off.

  Honora took a deep drink and let the warm liquid seep into her body and calm her frazzled nerves. She knew she’d seen the dead witch before but couldn’t place her. Pink hair should have been an easy giveaway, but she couldn’t remember. What she needed was a memory potion to jolt her mind. She could always head out to Willow Realm and see if her sister Vivi could hook her up with a potion. Her sister’s shop, The Potion Garden, was booming and Vivi was always experimenting with new potion ideas. Surely she had something, but Willow Realm was a hike and Vivi was probably busy. Maybe her hunky sheriff boyfriend was over and Honora didn’t want to barge in. Really she didn’t want to see them fawning lovingly over each other.

  Honora would have to find the witch the old-fashioned way—brainpower, detecting skills, and searching. She racked her brain, starting with her days at Haven Academy. Images of old faces glided across her mind’s eye, none of them jogging her memory. Next she thought about her sisters and their friends and acquaintances, but got nothing. Then she remembered her early days in Stargazer City as a young struggling bounty hunter before her days as a PI. She’d worked for a grouchy wizard in a dive shop in the magic district. Her heart jumped.

  “Butter!” she yelped a little too loudly, garnering stares from the groggy-eyed witches and wizards slurping their coffee around her. That was where she’d seen the pink-haired witch. The witch had worked at her old boss’ bounty-hunting shop. Honora sighed with relief. Now she had a nibble, a clue to lead her to figuring out who this witch was and why someone would want to kill her. She dropped some gold on the table to pay for her drink and headed out. She wasn’t about to let the opportunity to find out who this witch was slip away.

  Honora flew to the outskirts of the magic district where Wizard Butterfield still ran the old bounty-hunting shop. As she dropped down into the seedy rat-infested alley, a smile bloomed across her face and not because she was particularly keen on furry little vermin, but the nostalgia of her first real job as an investigator washed over her. Butter, as his friends called him, had given her a chance when no one else would. Well, actually, she hadn’t given him a choice, sitting for hours in his office until he caved. She strode up to the white door of the weather-beaten building and knocked.

  With a shimmer of magic, the wood surface shifted and the face of a grizzled and grumpy wizard appeared. He harrumphed, “Her highness as returned to her lowly beginnings.”

  “Butter, good to see you, too.”

  “What do you want?” He wasn’t one for chitchat.

  “I need some info on a witch who worked here.”

  “Sorry. I don’t give references. Too many have come back to bite me in the butt.” His face disappeared.

  “Butter! Butter!” Honora knocked on the door, harder this time. “I don’t want a reference. Just some details. Come on.”

  She knocked again. Butter had a stubborn streak and she’d forgotten to bring his favorite bacon, pickle, and grilled cheese sandwich as bribery. “Butter, she’s dead.”

  Honora waited. The face slowly resurfaced in the wood and the bolt shifted, the door swinging open. He was stubborn, not heartless.

  Honora navigated the narrow hallway that led to the office. The waiting room was exactly as she remembered with the same tattered chairs and sofas. There was a giant stuffed moose head mounted on a plaque on one wall. It was Butter’s familiar tha
t had technically passed away years ago. Bereft, he cast a magical spell on it so the illusion of the animal lived forever in its current stuffed and chatty state. It blinked at her with watery black eyes and smiled widely with his huge block teeth. “Mayhem’s back. Trouble is close behind.”

  “That old curse is dead,” Honora said. She felt if she kept saying it, that it would be true, but as hard as she and her sisters tried, the old Mayhem curse was never far away. The moose was right—trouble was an old friend to the Mayhem witches.

  “If the curse is dead then why are you looking for information on a dead witch? Sounds like your life isn’t all daisies and sunshine,” Butter said. His inner office was accessible by a small window embedded in a wall. His freckle-covered head poked out of his cubby. He grunted at her. His face was prickly with brown stubble and there was a mustard stain on his chin. At least she hoped it was mustard.

  “Hello, Butter. It’s been a long time,” Honora said and sauntered to his window. A huge desk covered in parchment, quills, ink bottles, and thick books dominated his tiny office. His giant book of clients was sprawled across the debris. Butter’s quill hovered over the page.

  “Name!” he bellowed.

  “Honora,” she said, teasing him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Not your name. The dead witch’s name.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I just remember her from here. She had pink hair. That should narrow it down for you.” Honora drummed her fingers on the window ledge. The moose snorted behind her.

  Butter let out a long exhale and wiped a handkerchief over his face. “That’s a shame. A real shame. You said she’s dead?”

  “If it’s the same witch I think it is, but I need a name and a picture if you have it, so I can be sure.”