Playing Hooky (Paranormal Investigations)

by Rita J Webb

  “I’d need one to make you fall in love with me.” He tugs my hair like he used to do when we were kids.

  I choke back a laugh. “As if you’d want me to. Last time I tried to kiss you, you ran away screaming about my ‘girl cooties’.”

  “I was thirteen and stupid.”

  “You forgot annoying.”

  “You’re both annoying.” Gruff shoos us as if we were pesky flies. “Now git going afore the Ring Master hears ya.”

  Jason dangles his keys in front of me. “Come on. We can start with the bookstore in Anchorage; we can see if anybody else came by asking about love potions.”

  “How do you know this bookstore? You don’t live around here.”

  “Mom brought me every summer.”

  Taylon picks up the black collar lying at the door of the cell. “Here, take the collar with you. If you snap it around her neck, it will teleport her back here.”

  I take a step back, eyeing the collar like a rattlesnake about to spring, its mouth open and its fangs dripping with poison. “You’re not coming with us?”

  “We can’t.” He raises his foot to show me the iron bar strapped around his ankle and then looks around as if afraid someone—probably this Ring Master they keep mentioning—would fall from the sky and beat him over the head.

  I take the collar, and a cold shiver runs up my arm. For something so small and thin, it sure is heavy. Suppressing a shudder, I shove it into my backpack.

  “So who do you think did it?”

  “Probably some secret admirer of your charms. He’s so in love with you, but you won’t give him the light of day.” Jason zips up his coat and heads for the door, bumping my shoulder as he passes by.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “If I was that desperate, I’d do it, but I’m sure I could bedazzle the girl of my dreams all on my own.” He winks at me.

  My heart hammers loudly in my chest, and I’m not sure if he’s being goofy or referring to me. I open my mouth to protest, but no words come out.

  I turn my back to him and close my eyes. I could never date him, I remind myself. If we break up, I’d lose both a boyfriend and my best friend. Besides, he’s too stubborn just like I am, and we would murder each other after the first week.

  And he’s already getting pink love letters from some mysterious woman. That strange feeling digs icy claws deeper into my heart.

  And he’s not even human.

  And he’s been lying to me.

  Chapter 5

  ~ JASON ~

  “WHAT ARE YOU, Jason?”

  My heart sinks at those words. I stare out the window, watching the snow-filled landscape flash by—trees sheathed in ice, two snowmen dressed in cheerful hats and scarves, quiet farmhouses with lights dancing in their windows.

  I glance over at her, and her lips are pressed into a thin line.

  “Emma, I—”

  “All these years, you’ve been lying to me.”

  “I’m me. I’ve always been me.” If she walks away from me now, it would destroy me.

  “We went fairy hunting by the river, but we never found anything,” she accuses.

  “They hid from us.”

  “But you found them on your own?”

  “I guess they liked my charming smile.” I give her my biggest, goofiest grin, but when she looks away without a smile, my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach.

  “My mom said I had to keep it secret.” My voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “It wasn’t safe for me to tell anybody. Not even you.”

  “Why?” Her voice is calm and steady. Does that mean she’s not mad? Or is that the quiet before the storm?

  “I don’t know. She said something about being hunted and needing to hide, but she never told me why or who from. I tried to tell you hundreds of times, but you never believed me.”

  Her eyes wide, she turns to stare at me. “The story about you being found on the beach?”

  “She found me in a little boat with a chest full of gold and jewels, millions of dollars worth.”

  “Was there a note?” Curiosity replaces the anger on her face.

  I furrow my brows to keep from grinning. “Why do you ask that?”

  “All orphan babies left on doorsteps come with notes. Even Swee’Pea did.”

  “If so, my mom never told me about it.”

  “So you didn’t lie to me about that? You really did wash up to shore.”

  “Not to you. I couldn’t.” I speak from my heart. “Not even when I tried.”

  “And what about the girl who sent you the love note?”

  “What love note?”

  “The pink paper, remember? You crumpled it up and shoved it in your pocket.”

  She’s jealous! This time I can’t help but grin.

  I pull it out and hand it to her. She irons it out with her hands and attempts to read the flourished handwriting, almost too fancy to decipher.

  I don’t need to read it again. I remember every rotten word in that letter.

  Dearest Sir Jason of the Third Ring,

  Forgive me, but I cannot answer your questions about your father. I have quested into my crystal, but it remains dark.

  Ever Yours,

  Ellafarsia Firdaenias del Fantarica

  “Ella is the fortune teller at the circus,” I say.

  “‘Of the Third Ring’?”

  “No idea what that means.”

  For a long moment, she stares out my window as white tree after tree flashes by. What is she thinking about? I want to fill the silence, to bridge the gap between us. But I don’t know how.

  “Have you tried asking about your mother?”

  Raising an eyebrow, I glance at her.

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, obviously, your mom isn’t your real mother. She found you. If you can’t find your father, then maybe you can go at this from the other direction.”

  I grin and she smiles back at me.

  “What Taylon says about human magic really is true,” I say.

  “So you don’t think you’re human.”

  “I think I’m human, but none of the non-human creatures I’ve met think I am. Look, Emma, I—” I look over at her; her blue eyes focus on me. “I’m sorry. You’re my best friend.”

  “Best friends don’t keep secrets.”

  “Never again. I promise.” I cross my heart. “Except one. I am allowed to keep one secret.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I can’t tell you, or it won’t be a secret anymore.” That I love you.

  “Not allowed.” She crosses her arms and gives me her best evil stare.

  I just laugh. “Too bad. I’m keeping my one secret, and you’ll just have to put up with it.”

  “We are so through. When we get out of this car, I’m throwing snowballs at you and then never talking to you again.”

  “Promise?” I grin.

  And this is how all our fights end. She throws something at me, stomps her cute size-five foot, yells and screams, and then I make her laugh. Before I know it, the fight is just play, and we’re friends again.

  At least, that’s how I choose to remember it. There were times when she didn’t speak to me for days, weeks, on end, and I had to find some way to apologize.

  Apologies aren’t my forte.

  Chapter 6

  ~ EMMA ~

  JASON KNOCKS AT the door at the back of a dark alley, at the bottom of a stairway leading down below the ground. The door creaks open, and on the other side, a craggy old woman with stooped shoulders scowls at us. “The door was unlocked. You know it’s always unlocked. I’m an old woman, and you made me come all the way over here.”

  Jason bows his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Mama Maria, but last time, you had ghosts flying around and yelled at me for letting one out.”

  “Who is this?” Grabbing my chin, she pulls my face down to her height and squints at me through glasses almost as big as her face.

  “I’m Emma. Nice to meet you.�
�� I pull away and curtsy to match Jason’s bow—seemed like the right thing to do. With her eyes magnified through the glasses, her white hair sticking up all over, she looks more like a cartoon witch than a bookstore owner, but my mother taught me to be respectful.

  She huffs and turns on her heel, hobbling deeper into the dark room. We leave our skis on her doorstep and follow her inside.

  The wall space is lined with bookshelves, even along the staircase, and more books stack on top of the tables in the center of the room. Dust and cobwebs cover everything, and the shadows cling to the corners as if hiding from the streams of light coming in through the two narrow windows at the top of one wall.

  Green goo bubbles in a cauldron in the center of all this chaos. On a pedestal in front of it, a book is open. The old lady leans over the book so it almost touches her nose and peers at the page. “Marshmallows. No, that can’t be right. Jason,” she shrills. “Read this for me.”

  “Marjoram,” Jason reads.

  “Get it off the shelf over there. I’m too short.”

  “Okay.” Jason drags the step-ladder-on-wheels over to the shelf.

  “Not you. Last time you were here, you knocked over a bottle and let the air inside escape. The breath of a sleeping baby is hard to come by.” She waves her big spoon. “You can get me that orb-weaver spider from the corner over there.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you kill it! I need it alive.”

  “Can I have a jar to catch it with?”

  “No. Use your hands.”

  “Why?”

  “The recipe says so.”

  Jason arches an eyebrow. “Can I see that?”

  “Who is the witch here? Me.” She swats him on the arm with her wooden spoon.

  “Okay, okay.” With a sigh, he heads toward a dark corner.

  She turns on me and raises her spoon.

  “I got it!” I climb to the top of the ladder. Hundreds of glass bottles are packed into the space, and I pick up one after the other, sneezing from the dust. One is marked cat piss; another ground dragon scales; another dried snake intestines. I shudder.

  I find one marked marjoram. At least, I think it is. The label is smudged and faded, but I can distinctly make out the M at the beginning of the word. I squint my eyes to see through the dusty glass, but I can’t tell what is inside. Even if I could, I don’t really know what marjoram looks like.

  Clambering back down the metal stairs, I hand it to her. She peers at it through her thick glasses. “You sure this is marjoram?”

  “I think so.”

  “What did you say?” She cups her ear and leans closer to me.

  “I said, I think so,” I say louder.

  “No need to shout. I’m not deaf. And stop being so wishy-washy.”

  She unscrews the cap, sniffs it, and then shrugs, dumping the entire contents into the bubbling brew. “It could be marjoram, but it might be mushrooms. I had a bottle of poisonous, green ones I dried out last winter on the solstice. Oh well.”

  Leaning out over the cauldron, she stirs thrice counterclockwise, using the wooden spoon with a handle about as tall as she is. Then she scoops a bit and brings it to her mouth for a taste.

  “No!” Jason and I scream at the same time.

  She blinks at us. “What?”

  “You just put something that may be poisonous in there,” I say.

  “How else will I find out if it was the right ingredient? There’s a Cure Poison potion up on my shelf somewhere. If I pass out, you can dump it down my throat.” She slurps it up, hacks a bit, wheezes, and thumps her chest. “See, it is good. Though I don’t think that was marjoram or mushrooms. Maybe moldy socks.”

  “She’s insane, isn’t she?” I whisper to Jason.

  “That’s right,” he whispers back.

  She scowls at us. “I may be old, but I’m not blind or deaf.”

  “Of course, Mama Maria. I wouldn’t dream of saying you are,” Jason says.

  “Where’s my spider?”

  Jason holds up a huge spider by one of its legs. It squirms.

  She grabs the spider, tosses it into the cauldron, and stirs twice clockwise, once counterclockwise. “So you’re here looking for the siren, I take it.”

  “How did you know?” I gasp.

  “Someone was here looking for love potions. A girl. Which means she would need the blood of a siren or a succubus or certain types of fairies. A boy would need an incubus or a naga. Maybe a manticore, if he’s desperate, but that is more likely to impart strength. Since you visited Mikey’s M&M Circus today, I assume the siren was stolen and you want to help Taylon.”

  “So, a girl? What did she look like?” I lean forward. “Wait, how’d you know about the circus?”

  “I’m a witch. I have my sources.”

  “Ravens watching us? Or did you scry us in your crystal ball?”

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t have a crystal ball or ravens.”

  “Then what?”

  “You stink of unicorns.”

  “The girl,” Jason prompts.

  She scowls. “I want a price for this information.”

  “What?”

  “Blood.”

  “Blood? Whose blood? Mine?” I ask at the same time Jason says, “No.”

  “Not your blood, girlie. Your blood is just human. But Jason’s—” She steps close to him and sniffs. “Now his blood is rich with magic.”

  “No.” Jason crosses his arms. “We’ll owe you a favor. One favor for the two of us to fulfill together. Not a favor each.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “A favor.”

  “A favor that brings no harms to babies, children, or small animals and is within our realm of possibilities,” he says.

  “And we have the right to veto any request,” I add. You never know what kind of a favor an insane old witch might ask of you. Veto power may come in useful.

  “Fine. You two take the fun out of it.” She mumbles something under her breath. “She was human, and looked like any other human girl. She could have been this one right here, if she’d had pink hair too. Now be gone with you. I have work to do.”

  “Not enough, Mama.” Jason’s voice holds a thread of menace. “Not if you want your favor.”

  “Fine. She was blonde with green eyes, and she had a cute little pug nose and the smile of a sweet angel. But I swear an evil seed hides in her heart.”

  “Where do we find her?”

  “I sent her to the Hunter to help her find the blood ingredient she would need.”

  “What did she give you for that information?” Jason asks.

  She cackles. “A lock of hair, the foolish girl.”

  “Where can we find this hunter?” I ask.

  “You mean, THE Hunter. He hangs out at Bailey’s Bar.”

  “What does he hunt?” I ask.

  Jason clears his throat. “Vampires. Werewolves. Witches. Trolls. You pay him; he’ll hunt it for you. My mother says to stay far away from him.”

  “And she’s right too, dearie.” Mama Maria turns her back on us while stirring her pot and mumbling obscenities to herself that would make a sailor blush.

  “Incantations,” Jason mouths to me.

  I’d never thought those words would be for chanting spells.

  We wind our way through the mountains of dusty books and let ourselves out into the snowstorm. I cough as the cold air hits my lungs and tug my scarf over my nose.

  We strap skis on our feet and slide down the alley. Hunching down into my coat, I dig the ski pole into the snow and propel myself forward—away from Mama Maria’s and away from the truck. Toward Bailey’s Bar.

  I wonder what creatures I’ll find this time.

  Snow flurries swirl around us in the afternoon sun, lights playing on the silvery surface, some spinning slowly, others dashing wildly. My world has turned as upside down as the mad snow dancing in spirals.

  Chapter 7

  ~ JASON ~

  LIKE THE WITCH’S bookstore
, Bailey’s is hidden in an alley behind smelly dumpsters and old wooden crates. A drunk, cradling his bottle in its brown paper bag, watches us make our way up the alley.

  “Who are you? What do you want in my alley?” he slurs, rising to his feet and wobbling toward us.

  “Looking for Bailey’s. Mama Maria sent us.”

  The wobble disappears, and he stands upright, saying without slurring, “Why didn’t you say so? It’s right through that door.” He points to the bare wall.

  I take Emma’s hand and lead her toward the empty wall. I glance around, trying to figure out where the door really is, but when we step within five feet, the wall shimmers and wriggles until it congeals into a new shape: a large, metal door with a sliding peephole. I rap my knuckles and then step back and wait.

  The peephole slides open and two black eyes stare out at us. I mean, all the way black, from corner to corner.

  “What do you want?”

  “To talk to the Hunter,” Emma says.

  “We want no trouble from a human . . . or from him either.” The gaze flits to me, and scowling, I fold my arms.

  “We won’t make trouble.” She gives her sweetest smile. Unlike Angelina, her smiles are sincere.

  I snort and she elbows me in the gut, hard enough I gasp for breath. Sweet to everyone but me. To me, she gives all her feisty stubbornness.

  He looks her over, from the pink hair to her fur lined ski jacket, to the school bag over one shoulder. “No alcohol. We don’t serve minors.”

  “I’m not a minor. I turned twenty-one today.”

  “Even worse. You’re not getting drunk for the first time in our bar. We’re not responsible for a lit’ling like you.”

  The door swings open, and we step inside. Whoever was on the other side of the peephole, he’s already gone.

  Inside, a smoky haze blurs the room, and although it isn’t even five o’clock, every table has somebody hunkered over a bottle of beer or whiskey. A band plays Celtic music, the kind that worms into your feet and makes them dance the jig even if you don’t know how. The strains of the fiddle wrap around the music of the guitar, accordion, and bagpipes and around my heart, and I can’t help but fall in love with the sound.