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Sneak peek of book 7: The Warlock Weapon
The court erupted in a wave of jeers. The presiding judge, Lord Justice Moody, slammed down his gavel; a futile gesture to attempt to bring order to the unruly courtroom. Cameras flashed, feet stomped, fists pounded on the varnished rails of the spectator’s section. Catcalls and harsh whistles hurled through the air like a barrage of derisive bullets.
“Woah, this is getting juicy!” Shade burbled from his seat beside me, his head rotating in an alarming almost three-hundred and sixty-degree arc, so he could better see the madness of the chamber.
“They behave like animals,” Gloom quipped, looking down her nose at the overly-excited crowd.
“I-I don’t want to die here,” rasped Fraidy looking up at me from his seat on my lap.
“Quit it, guys,” I said, giving Fraidy’s head a reassuring rub. “Nobody’s going to die, sweetie,” I assured the timidest of my cats.
We were squeezed onto a bench, three rows from the back of the spectator seats, watching today’s sentencing spectacle unfold. The accused, Barnabus Kramp, sneered at the frenzied crowd, thrusting a defiant chin at his haters.
The judge called for order once more.
Gless Inlet Crown Court had never been so packed. It was hardly surprising. This ruling marked the sixth murder trial for the Coven Isles in as many months. People were starting to sit up and take notice of the strange events that had been plaguing our beloved island chain of late. And, although there were no proven links to connect this spate of murders, the public’s imagination’s overflowed with theories, speculations, accusations and, downright fictions.
“Why is everyone dressed so … so … over-the-top?” Eclipse queried from his place next to Shade. My enigmatic cat swiveled his neck, carefully surveying the packed benches.
I followed his scrutiny. He had a point, and it wasn’t just the spectators dressed up to the nines. The jury too had adorned their finest finery for the day, it seemed.
“Selfie-crowd,” yawned another of my kitties to my left. “This case is big news; lots of people watching. These clowns wanna look beautiful for their social media posts.” Carbon, my pyromaniac kitty, observed cooly.
I scanned the crowd again and sure enough, smartphone cameras, aimed at the face, flashed from the ends of so many extended arms. A lady immediately in front of us, her face caked in Goddess knows how many layers of foundation, turned on her heel toward us, her arm already shooting out to snap the ultimate ‘killer-in-the background’ selfie. ‘Make-up lady’ seemed entirely blind to her peopled surroundings, only stretching her fuchsia pink lips into a Facebook worthy smile. She steadied her hand to capture the alluring image.
“She should have bought a fidget spinner,” Carbon piped up, noticing the selfie-spectator’s struggle with the aim of the lens.
“I think you mean selfie-stick, sweetie,” I said.
“Same thing,” he said, oblivious to his pop culture ignorance.
We watched in quiet fascination as the lady’s makeup caked face appeared in the small rectangular screen before us. She was aiming for full resolution, as she had the camera turned the ‘regular’ way round. Much harder to snap an image that way, as you couldn’t see the target, but, if you wanted a decent facebook post, then this technique was preferred.
The screen’s ‘target’ box found the woman, and despite the fact her face was buried under mounds of cosmetics, the device got a lock on her. In final preparation, the woman’s lips curled into an even more hideous grin. Just before she snapped her memento, I saw a furry face pop up in the background of her composition. Over the woman’s shoulder, Midnight’s head completely blotted out the accused in the dock. He grinned and put his paw-thumb up. The woman snapped, entirely unaware that she had just been photo bombed by an immortal black cat.
I shook my head and groaned inwardly, feeling defeated by the fact that my cat had been seduced by this courtroom circus.
“WE WILL HAVE ORDER!” A loud crack of the gavel punctuated the Judge’s command.
The enlivened crowd finally settled down, and my photo bombing kitty took his place next to his brother’s, sister, and I.
Judge Moody scowled at the court, his gavel raised in mid-air, ready to bring it down again if anyone dared to disrupt the proceedings once more. The Chief Justice cleared his throat.
“If this childish behavior continues, there will be no verdict given today. So, I can trust that you will all remain seated and quiet while the ruling is passed down.” It wasn’t a question, and the judge wasn’t kidding. The shuffling of feet and a few quiet murmurs were the only response.
I sat with my hands curled into Fraidy’s fur, my stomach clenching, hoping for the maximum sentence for this low-life killer. I gave a silent prayer that this was the last murder the isles would see. At least for a while. As I mentioned, this trial marked the sixth of its kind in as many months. To say that trouble had found our archipelago is an understatement. The Coven Isles had been in the grips of a lunatic murder spree for over half a year now. Tensions were high, and people wanted answers as to why the peace of this island chain had been so terribly disrupted of late.
In case you don’t know me, or what I’m doing here at this high-profile murder trial, I’ll fill you in on a few pertinent details.
My name is Hattie Jenkins, and I’m a witch from a long line of sorcerers and mages. It is not a torch I like to carry, however. I recalled the painful memory. A tragic event that had muddied an otherwise near-perfect childhood. I had engaged with my inner witch-power. I’m not lying; I gave it everything I had had. I had consciously opened every channel in my body so that I could receive the full extent of my inner sorceress. So that I could save my parents. But, no matter how passionate I had been, the magic had done nothing to stop the unfolding of the catastrophe. The whole sorry affair had made me resistant to the ways of the necromancer. So, as much as I can, I steer clear of magic and witchcraft. Admittedly, this isn’t always possible. For starters, I was the current guardian to eight, immortal, magical cats. Magic was in their blood, and The Infiniti did whatever they could to encourage me to avail of my powers. And their coaxing had gotten considerably louder since the start of the killings. Their cajoling was made worse by the fact that they could talk. A lot.
To an ‘Unawakened’ person’s ears -- someone who doesn’t possess the craft of magic -- they would just hear a series of meows, purrs, and kitty-chirps. But, to anyone who practiced sorcery, they’d realize my cats spoke real words in perfect English.
As stated above, collectively, my clowder of kitties was known as The Infiniti. Onyx, the wisest of my crew, and The Infiniti’s self-appointed leader preferred the term The Lemniscate as a name for them all. An archaic word that my sage cat refused to drop. A lemniscate, in case you’re interested, is the symbol for infinity. Rather like the number ‘8,’ but rolled on its side.
I had a few of The Infiniti with me today in court for moral support. After all, they were the ones primarily responsible for getting this Kramp character up on the stand in the first place.
My cats, like most felines, loved to snoop, and they had, each of them, been instrumental in the eventual convictions of the five killers who came before Barnabus Kramp.
Not to show off or anything, but I had also been a pretty significant player in these arrests and convictions. Which is kinda strange, if you think about it when it’s
herbology I’m trained in, not criminal investigation.
A legal aide handed the Chief Justice a stack of papers, which the judge shuffled fussily before him. Moody looked nervous.
The bailiff took to the floor, issuing the usual standard: “All rise.”
I saw a pale Zinnie Kramp stand up from the bench at the front of the court. Kramp’s wife looked frazzled. And severely rumpled. Her face, her hair, her expensive clothes. She looked like she’d slept in a ditch for the night. She stood next to a hulk of a man dressed in tweed. The giant offered Zinnie a handkerchief. No, wait, it was a slip of paper. I craned my neck around selfie-woman so I could better see the transaction. Mrs. Kramp took the proffered paper, and scanned it briefly. The tweed-mountain stuck a pen under the stressed looking woman’s nose. She took it wordlessly and put it to the paper, while the well-dressed man’s mouth worked silently. I wondered what he was telling her, and I also wanted to know what Zinnie was signing.
The judge cleared his throat.
This is it. This is where Kramp finally gets what’s due.
I spotted David in the stands below me. Usually effortlessly good-looking, my friend looked ashen. His broad shoulders slumped in a resigned posture.
Something was wrong with my friend. Why won’t he let me in?
Chief Para Inspector Trew raked a shaky hand through his hair, his fingers lingering for just a bit longer on his unusual white streak. The chief had ‘acquired’ this snow-white flash of follicles at the exact time we had started working together on the Millicent Pond case. I remembered the day well. We had found Millicent’s fried remains on the beautiful Crystal Beach on Cathedral Isle. When the cops had shown up, I was more than a little surprised to see the lightning design streaking through my friend’s hair. David had brushed me off at the time; had told me he’d been at the hands of Violet Mullberry, our resident coiffeuse. I knew this not to be true, however. Violet would rather die than NOT share ‘hair gossip’ as juicy as this. I can’t be certain, but I think this was about the time I started noticing my friend’s odd behavior and strange physiological traits. The white streak of hair, his skin feeling hot to the touch, his general ill-ease, and regular bouts of stomach pain.
I continued to gaze at the man of my dreams, my stomach knotting at the sight of his obvious agitation.
WHAT is eating you, my love? I wanted to scream at him. But, with all the crazy happenings just lately, there never seemed to be a suitable time to bring up a conversation about these more ‘subtle’ affairs. We’d been lifelong friends, and, newer still; partners in the recent murder investigations But, still he wouldn’t share his turmoil with me.
David lowered his hand from the phantom-flash in his hair and dropped his head. His hands reached out for the bench in front of him, and he gripped it until the whites of his knuckles popped.
I had no idea what the heck was going on with him, but ‘it’ seemed to be worsening. If only he'd open up to me. I mean, we’d been working snugly alongside now for more than six months. You’d think the guy would know I could be trusted, right?
I cast my mind back to our first ‘outing’ together as crime investigators. David had requested my help as a herbal consultant to the murder case of Nebula Dreddock. Nebula had been somewhat of a celebrity A-lister, and her case had aroused a lot of public interest.
Since Nebula’s demise, however, I’ve been brought in as consultant to the ever-increasing murder investigations. So, as strange as it is for someone who works with herbs, I’m still working with David as the bodies rack up.
Goddess, these are strange times. I shuddered, trying to shake off the prickle down my spine.
I pulled my attention away from the chief of Gless Inlet Para Police Department and settled my gaze on the accused. Barnabus Kramp. A vile man of great means, and connections to the slimy, yet very influential, Governor of Cathedral: Gideon Shields.
As you probably know already, Barnabus murdered his co-worker, who was also one of Shields’ right-hand people; the fierce Morag Devlin.
Morag had been a major player in Shields’ cabinet of top lawyers and had met her end in a spectacularly public way. The Cathedral Governor’s recently deceased lawyer tumbled from the Ferris Wheel on the opening night of the annual Mabon Fair. It had been a particularly distressing case, as, at the time, I had tried to stop her fall in mid descent. I had invoked magic. A magic passed through me from my late Grandma Chimera. The Chimera Charm had failed, however. Morag plummeted, her body collapsing in a heap of broken bones. For some time I had thought I had been the one responsible for her untimely death.
Just one more reason to believe that magic isn’t safe in my hands.
I shook my head. How had I gotten myself so wrapped up in all of this … this… weirdness.
Magic, murder, Fae mischief, Unseelie hostility, now burgeoning rumors of Warlock activity.
Strange times, indeed.
I was ripped from my flights of fancy by foot-stomping, and a raw throated roar. My hands flew to my head as missiles zipped past my ears toward the newly sentenced Kramp.
“Wha .. what did I miss?” I pleaded with my cats. Holy Goddess, how deep had I been plunged in my own hopeless thinking.?“It’s hardly the time to be drooling over the Chief Para Inspector,” Gloom spat. “While you were dreaming of happy ever after’s, that clown just got a paltry two years in Steeltrap for involuntary manslaughter.” My female kitty’s face looked like a dark cloud as she turned and stormed out of the courthouse.
I swallowed. I didn’t have words. Goddess, I couldn’t even form a thought for a second or two. My head was reeling. Two years? Involuntary manslaughter?
No. This didn’t make sense.
My cheeks burned with shame at Gloom having caught me thinking of myself and my lusty whims. Maybe she was right. Maybe I shouldn’t always have my head in dream-land when it came to Chief Trew. I made a silent pact with myself that I’d focus on any further sinister unfolding event on the isles instead of wishing and dreaming of the day that I could call David my husband. I needed to be helpful to the Coven Isles. And, to do that, I had to stop thinking of my sorry love-life.
I stood on my toes to better see the debacle at the front of the courthouse, but could only see a wave of flailing arms and fists, and the whizzing blurs of hurled rotten vegetables. I noticed Judge Moody depart in a streak of billowing black robe. Preferring to escape the belligerent rabble for the peace of his chamber.
“This is a joke,” Eclipse whispered shaking his head.
David pushed his way through the crowd toward me. I straightened my shoulders and said another silent prayer to my resolve. My near lifelong longing for the chief didn’t matter now. What mattered was the peace of Glessie Isle and all of the neighboring isles. I hoped that with this Kramp clown behind bars now, things would settle down.
But, two years, Hattie?
“Hat?” David shouted over so many heads as he was involuntarily shoved toward the exit of the law building. “Meet you outside,” he called over his shoulder as he passed.
“C’mon guys,” I mumbled to my cats. “Gloom’s outside already, let’s go.”
The verdict had obviously taken its toll on my kitties, as not one of them pounced or leaped for the crowd’s hurled missiles. They looked as defeated as I felt, as they trotted obediently behind me, their eyes downcast.
We met Chief Trew on the outside, where the crowd’s anger was slightly more diluted with the gusting wind of a cloudy October day.
“This is insane,” David said, raking his hand through his hair again. “Shields has to be behind this.” The chief’s jaw twitched. I could see his temples throbbing.
“Does he have any connections with Judge Moody, do you think?” I asked.
“Well, this is something we’re gonna find out,” Midnight offered. Middie’s face was pinched with a look of determination. “I’m not coming back home tonight until I find some intel on this Moody, guy.” Midnight was the king of intel. Or, gossip. He could
n’t distinguish between the two, but sometimes the little guy came back from his dead-of-night romps with exceedingly useful information. I ruffled the fur behind his ears. “Good work, sweetie,” I said.
I exhaled.
“How’s Kramp getting to Talisman?” I asked. “Is it a prison convoy? Private?”
“He’s in a police vehicle now, being driven to Glessie Docks. From there he’ll be boarded onto a small, armed watercraft owned by Steeltrap Penitentiary. He should be behind bars by about …” David looked at his watch. “Bran the blessed!” He nearly shouted, tapping vigorously at the face of his timepiece. With one deft hand, he took it off and slipped it into his pocket.
That was another weird thing going on with the chief. His watches kept breaking down. Don’t ask, because I honestly don’t know.
“Four p.m,” my friend finished.
Okay, so maybe I had just promised my undivided focus to the good of the patrons of the Coven Isles, but I gave it one final effort with the man I loved. I stood in front of David.
“I’m going to ask you one last time, David Trew. What is going on with you? Tell me!”
You know, you should never confront someone for answers when you’re brimming with invested passion. My friend’s face looked aghast at my full frontal assault.
He whirled on me.
“How many times do I have to tell you? EVERYTHING’S FINE!”
I reeled backward from seeing my best friend’s face contorted, so hideously, into a mask of fury.
David’s turn to let out a loud sigh.
“Hat, I’m sorry. I’m fine, really,” he moved toward me, but I took a step back. The chief’s shoulders slumped. “Look, if I feel really bothered by what’s going on, I’ll tell you, deal?” He held up his hands in a peace gesture.
I nodded, trying to hold back hot tears.
I felt his hand brush my cheek then. “Hattie.” His voice was so soft. “Things are … well, you know how they are. They’re whacked right now. And, I’m under pressure to find out what’s going on. The stress .. well, I’m probably not eating too well. So, I’m getting a few nasty bouts of indigestion. It’s really nothing to worry about, kiddo.” He lifted my chin until I was looking up at him. I didn’t let a tear fall. I met his eyes, staring, unblinkingly, into the steely blue lagoons there.
The Chimera Charm (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 6) Page 22
