The Infiniti Investigates: Hattie Jenkins & the Infiniti Chronicles Books 1 to 5

by Pearl Goodfellow

  Chief Trew raised a dubious eyebrow. The Chief had gotten the same hairstyle, high and tight, for the past fifteen years, courtesy of Antonio at the Paisan Pole, the local barbershop. He clearly did not understand all the puffery about hair dos and don’ts. Like I said, we have all kinds on Glessie Isle.

  “And who was the supplier for your particular ‘prescription’?” the Chief asked.

  He sighed, shoulders sagging. “My supplier was Spithilda Roach.”

  I held back a gasp.

  “And how did you know Miss Roach was ‘unavailable’?” Chief Trew pressed.

  “Because,” Rad began. “When I went to see her before the event....she was dead.”

  Well, blow the house down.

  Who’s Afraidy of the Big Bad Wolf?

  “Are you kitten me?!” Shade exclaimed from out of nowhere.

  To the curious onlookers, it sounded more like “Meow, yowl, growl?!”

  Rad snarled, startled by the abrupt appearance of my ebony friend. Shade replied in kind with a prolonged hiss. Apparently, my little moggy mole had been shadowing the Chief and me the entire evening.

  Suddenly, Rad bolted for the door, knocking over tables and patrons alike on a mad dash toward the outside night. The Chief shot me a ‘thanks-for-nothing’ glare and tore after Rad.

  I scooped Shade up by the scruff of his furry neck. “What are you doing here?”

  Shade shrugged two noncommittal paws. “Enquiring minds want to know. Bee-tee-dubs, Infrigore.”

  “Infrigore?” I mumbled.

  No sooner was the strange word out of my mouth when Rad ratcheted in place, frozen like a popsicle. The Chief bulldozed straight over him, and the two landed in a clumsy pile.

  “What the?” Chief Trew exclaimed on the way down. The effect was so instantaneous, to the gawking crowd it merely looked as if the Chief had awkwardly stumbled over his own feet and, in the process, taken his man along.

  Shade grinned a Cheshire smile. “You’re welcome.”

  Ooh, that tricky little tomcat!

  Shade had tricked me into using one of Grammy Chimera’s old spells. It left an odd, metallic taste in my mouth. But, admittedly, also a glow in my stomach.

  “Shade, you know I don’t like using magic,” I whispered tersely.

  “So, don’t think of it as you using magic. Think of it as me using you. So, are you two going to bust this bozo, or what?”

  The Chief already had Rad on his feet, securing his hands behind his back. “The most we have him on at this point is obstruction of justice for failure to report a crime. We’ll have to investigate further if we’re going to charge him with anything more than that.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Rad struggled against his bindings.

  “You let me be the judge of that,” the Chief ordered back.

  “Quick bullet point, Chief?” Shade interrupted. Chief Trew didn’t look all too thrilled with my feline’s interruption.

  “What?” he barked.

  “Not to be the wet blanket, but…” Shade pointed one furry paw toward the window and the quickly setting sun. Chief Trew’s eyes widened.

  “Hattie?” he gulped.

  “Yeah, Chief?”

  “Do you happen to have any wolfsbane at the shop?”

  I nodded wordlessly.

  “You’d better go get it.” Rad started to twitch in the Chief’s grasp. “And quick.”

  He rushed Rad out the door, and I followed quickly behind. I was nearly out the door when I heard the undercurrent of worried whispers start to wave through the Unawakened that had witnessed the disturbance. I stole a worried glance around and then whispered…

  “Obliviscatur!”

  “Man, oh, man, oh, man! Now, that’s exciting stuff! And Hattie used magic? What a red letter mew-ment! Why do I always seem to miss all the fun?” Jet rocketed his opinion at the speed of light. He had just helped himself to a healthy dose of catnip from the apothecary supplies and was now zipping around the shop in a streak of black fur.

  “Millie!” I called. My cherubic assistant obliged with a generous squirt of the water bottle, arresting Jet’s flight path.

  “Hey!” he complained. Loudly. “Don’t discri-MEOW-nate just because I’m faster than you losers.”

  “You’ll be deader than those losers if you mess Hattie up and she spills that wolfsbane all over you,” Gloom grumbled from her perch atop Garden Herbs: Not Just for Salads by Morag Wyrmwood.

  “She’s right, Jet,” Onyx cautioned. “Aconite is a highly toxic substance and Hattie needs to get the mixture just right.”

  “Oh, my goodness. Please don’t die, Hattie. It would be a terrible thing if you died.” Fraidy trembled from across the room. He was too terrified to get any closer to the wolfsbane.

  “Will you chill out, brother?” Jet groused. “You are seriously harshin’ my mellow.”

  Fraidy chose to ignore his brother and pressed even tighter against the far wall. He didn’t like wolfsbane and didn’t like werewolves even more. This was not turning out to be my furry companion’s most favorite evening. Then again, no evening ever really did.

  “I don’t see why you’re helping that dirty, old rogue anyway,” Millie complained. “If he killed Spithilda, I say it’s good for him!”

  “We don’t know for certain that Rad did kill Spithilda. Right now he’s just a person of interest. And I’m not helping him so much as I’m helping Chief Trew. It wouldn’t be a good thing if Rad wolfed out in the middle of the station house. Werewolves aren’t exactly known for their self-restraint.”

  “Tell me about it,” Millie snipped. She was still sore about Violet.

  I blew the dust off Grammy Chimera’s grimoire. I had brought it down from the old sea chest where it had rested in the attic. The chest had come by ship years before with my great-great-grandmother, Glendonite, when she had made the ocean crossing from England to Glessie Isle. The leather straps of the chest had rotted away years ago, much like my taste for practicing magic. The brass hinges squawked in protest as I had lifted the lid and retrieved Grammy’s forgotten book of spells and lore.

  I traced my finger over the tarnished silver pentacle affixed to its cover. I smiled, remembering Grammy had worn a similar protective charm around her neck. My fingers drifted to the small, circular pendant that now hung from my own. I had always loved Grammy’s necklace and would often ask her if I could wear it, and she was only too happy to oblige. I was wearing it that night, in fact. Perhaps that was why I had survived and my parents…

  “Tick-tock, Hattie,” Onyx warned. I hurriedly thumbed through the pages, looking for guidance in just how to craft a lycanthropy potion. As far as I could remember, Grammy didn’t have a particular recipe for the brew, but if I followed her looping, spidery inscriptions outlining which herbs had the desired properties, I could connect enough dots to craft a workable draught.

  “Rosemary,” I read Grammy’s handwriting out loud. It was almost as if I were channeling her ghost. Grammy’s voice resonated through the shop.

  “Rosemary. Excellent for protection and exorcism. Also good with a rack of lamb.”

  Eclipse laughed a raspy chuckle. He had just strolled into the room with Shade. “Yep, that’s our Chimera, alright. Man, that woman could make magic in the shop and the kitchen! ”

  “You said it, brother!” Shade meowed in agreement.

  I started to feel something stir deep inside of me. Something old. Something that made me feel...connected. I stripped some dried rosemary leaves into the old, chipped family mortar. I ground the leaves into a fine powder with the pestle, releasing their piney scent into the air, and measured them into Grammy’s cauldron. Until now, I mostly I kept it around for effect. That, or a potpourri holder. I had to admit; it felt pretty good to use it for its intended purpose instead of as a receptacle for Seaside Morning. I moved back to the grimoire.

  “Peppermint. For purification.” Grammy echoed. Several peppermint leaves into the mortar. Grind. Measure
.

  Then the shop froze with anxious, held breath. It was time for the wolfsbane. I pulled a special mortar, one that had only ever been used for baneful herbs and less sunny magic. I carefully meted out several seeds from the locked storage. I ground them to a fine powder. Maybe it was my imagination, but I was confident I imagined a skull and crossbones floating, forebodingly, over the dark, pulverized seeds. Fraidy covered his eyes with trembling paws.

  “Tell me when it’s over,” his voice quavered.

  I tipped the poisonous powder into the mixture then reached for the bottle of clear, rectified corn spirits.

  “Ooh. My favorite part.” Gloom almost sounded happy...almost.

  I poured just enough of the clear liquid to cover the herb mixture and then stirred.

  I looked back at Grammy Chimera’s instructions.

  “Sift through cheesecloth into a glass bottle. Administer as needed.” I read aloud.

  “Well, you’d better get to administering pretty quick. Look!” Shade pointed. The burgeoning pearlescense of the full moon shone through the apothecary window.

  “Oh, meow,” I gulped.

  “You said it, sister,” Shade concurred. “GO!”

  With that, I stoppered the potion, grabbed my coat, and flew out the door.

  “Oh, no! What if she dies? What if the big, bad wolf gobbles her up? What’ll we do then? We gotta go with her, Jet!” Fraidy prattled.

  “Why not? I had nothing better to do than getting eaten by a monster tonight anyway. It’ll be an adventure!” And, my homebody cat, and my terrified cat scrambled out the door behind me.

  The Chief had evacuated most of the officers from the police station. They were running on a skeleton crew. No, really. Officer Spinefeld was manning the front desk. He was charmed so that Unawakened only saw a diminutive, self-effacing young man with a slight Brooklyn accent. Again, all kinds on Glessie Isle.

  Rad had not yet turned, but nor was he happy. Gone was the smooth, well-possessed man we had met in The Fingernail Moon. Now, Rad was just...well, possessed.

  He paced furiously in the small, cramped cell tucked in a far, windowless corner of the station. His perfectly coiffed hair was now just a perfect mess. Sweat poured in rivulets down his forehead. His eyes had taken on a yellowish tinge.

  Fraidy did a four-footed about face and was ready to charge right back out of the station.

  “On second thought, I’m sure Hattie can take care of herself just fine!” he mewled. Jet stopped him with a well-placed paw.

  “Are you kidding? It’s about to get all Thriller in here. Grab some popcorn!”

  As I rushed across the station toward Chief Trew, Rad leaped angrily at the bars, his nails, thickened and elongated, clawing at the air between the Chief and me. I squealed in terror. Fraidy dove into a trash can,

  The moon lipped over the sill of the station window. A single shaft of silver light crawled toward the cell. We were out of time to get the draught to Rad!

  Suddenly, Jet leaped into the air, grasping quickly for the suppressant and, true to his name, jetted to the Chief in record time. He dropped the bottle into the Chief’s hand. I only hoped Rad still had enough presence of mind to take the draught.

  The Chief moved to unstopper the bottle.

  “Be careful!” I warned.

  Chief Trew took two, carefully measured steps toward Rad’s cell, hand over his unsnapped holster. Not that he had a silver bullet in his service piece. I gulped.

  “Rad,” he began gently. “Hattie’s made you your formula. To help you get through this. Are you going to take it?”

  Rad’s chest heaved with his labored breathing. Yellow eyes stared at the Chief, then at the bottle. Suddenly, Rad’s clawed hand shot out from the cell. The Chief’s pistol cleared the holster in seconds...but, it wasn’t necessary. Rad turned over his hand, palm facing up, and waited for the bottle.

  I let loose the breath I had been holding, feeling a little like a deflating balloon. Chief Trew placed the bottle in Rad outstretched hand, and Rad drew it back into the cell and drank it. We watched anxiously to see the potion’s effects.

  Would the magic work? Could my magic work?

  It had worked at the tavern when Shade had tricked me into accessing a part of me that had lain dormant for so long.

  You were born to be a witch, Seraphim Joyvive.

  Grammy’s voice again.

  I hadn’t used the name Seraphim in a very, very long time. It was the name given to me by my parents. A seraphim was the name of the highest order of angel in the heavens. They were the watchers, the guardians, over those on earth. They protected their charges, keeping them safe from harm, shielding them from evil.

  My parents bestowed the weighty moniker upon me because it was my birth that protected my father from compulsory enlistment in the Warlock Wars, a dark time in the paranormal community that saw many good witches and wizards die horrible deaths.

  “Our little guardian angel,” they had called me.

  I didn’t live up to the name.

  But, that was neither here nor there. What was here was a lycan, and let’s just say, it wasn't the right time of the month for him. If my little potion didn’t work? Well, I didn’t even want to think about the consequences.

  The yellow in Rad’s eyes seemed to be diminishing. He had stopped pacing and now sat, quietly on the bench along the wall. He was no longer snarling and growling. No. Now he just looked like a defeated old man.

  But, my potion had worked. It had actually worked! Then I grimaced.

  Onyx will never let me live this down.

  “Rad?” the Chief asked cautiously. “How are you feeling?”

  Rad sat, crumpled in a defeated hunch. His breath was ragged, weary. The years had caught up to him in a matter of seconds, aging him by decades.

  “A bit ashamed, actually,” he rasped throatily.

  “Why’s that?” Chief Trew continued.

  “I should have known better than to go to the tavern so close to moonrise. But, the wolf in me craves the pack. I was lonely. I had to go. I thought I could leave in time to get to my safe sanctuary, but,” he paused. “I was a fool. Just an old fool.”

  “Tell us what happened at Spithilda’s, Rad.”

  Rad sighed. He stood and walked towards the bars. He opened his mouth to speak.

  Suddenly, Officer Calhoun, a handsome young wizard fresh from the Academy, burst into the squad room.

  “Chief! Chief! It’s Maude Dulgrey. At the morgue. She says she’s got something you’re gonna want to see right away. And she said to bring Ms. Jenkins, too.”

  The Chief and I looked at each other. Even Fraidy dared poke his head out of the trash can. What had Maude discovered?

  “Rad, I think it’s best if you sit tight. Just in case something goes wonky with Hattie’s potion.”

  Thanks for the vote of confidence, there, Chief.

  “But, I still have a lot of questions for you.”

  Rad just looked at him, still more than defeated.

  “Watch him,” the Chief ordered Officer Calhoun, who gave a quick salute. The cats fell into step behind us.

  As we walked toward the exit, Jet whispered in Fraidy’s ear.

  “Who’s afraidy of the big bad wolf now?”

  He chuckled all the way to the morgue.

  Dead to Rights

  Solid. Solid as a rock.

  The snippet of the old Ashford and Simpson R&B tune popped into my head as Chief Trew and I stood on the threshold of the imposing granite edifice of the city morgue. I guess I can’t help myself sometimes. My head is a rotating Wurlitzer of old school rock, rhythm and blues, and jazz. Hazards of having music aficionados as parents, I suppose. Dad used to drop the needle on any number of his LPs in the years before the tragedy. He swore by his vinyl, testifying that the warm, chocolate-rich sound was better than anything a CD or compressed MP3 audio file could offer. Our beat-up old coffee table had been shoved to the side on more than one occasion to turn our
living room into an impromptu dance floor.

  Not a lot of dancing went on inside the building before us, however. The dead tended to be a little less lively. Or they had two left feet, like Maude Dulgrey, Gless Inlet’s Chief Medical Examiner.

  No, really. I mean two, actual left feet. When you were a ghoul, such as Maude, occasionally you had to replace a decaying body part or two. Or, a limb that may have met with a certain acid you used in your embalming craft. And, sometimes, you couldn’t always wait for the perfect piece. You just had to make do with what was available.

  Maude may have had to temper her tango, but the coroner was no less spry. She bubbled with enthusiasm at our arrival to her domain, gray lips stretching thin over a toothsome grin.

  “Hattie! Chief! I am so glad you could make it!” she effervesced like we were simply popping by for tea.

  “And Fraidy and Jet! What have you two rapscallions been up to? I’m surprised your brother didn’t join you for a visit.” She reached down and scratched the two cats with a bony hand. Fraidy trembled, more than a little, then scrambled behind my legs. Friendly as Maude was, he wasn’t too keen on being stroked by a spook.

  “Carbon’s minding the shop’s hearth, Maude,” Jet offered, perfectly content to accept a good scratch from anyone; living or dead. “But, he sends his regards.”

  “Well, I guess that just means more treats for you!” Maude gushed with enthusiasm.

  Fraidy’s ears perked at the word. He even poked out his head from behind my leg. “Treats?”

  Maude grinned. “Yes, Fraidy. I think I have salmon-flavored today. Would you like one?”

  For the first time in Gless Inlet history, Fraidy zoomed faster than Jet. He was inside the iron-hinged, wooden door and down the torch-lit hallway before you could say Happy Halloween.