Witch in Training

by Elle Adams

  Witch in Training

  A Blair Wilkes Mystery

  Elle Adams

  Contents

  Witch In Training

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  This book was written, produced and edited in the UK, where some spelling, grammar and word usage will vary from US English.

  Cover design by Melody Simmons

  Copyright © 2018 Elle Adams

  All rights reserved.

  To be notified when Elle Adams’s next book is released, sign up to her author newsletter.

  Witch In Training

  Blair is one step closer to finally getting her own wand and becoming a real witch-in-training.

  The only person standing in her way is the notoriously grumpy wand-maker wizard. One small problem: he's just hired her to find him a new assistant, and the job is cursed. With every possible employee turning into a rodent, it's up to Blair to get to the bottom of the mystery.

  Nobody in town likes the wand-maker. There might be a dozen people with a grudge… or he might be hiding another secret of his own.

  Between work, magic lessons, and taking care of her unconventional familiar, she might just sneak in time for a date with retired paranormal hunter and town security guard Nathan, if she could break her bad luck streak for five minutes.

  Can Blair unravel the mystery without a wand of her own? Or is she doomed to spend her life wandless?

  1

  I’d adopted a monster.

  An adorable, fluffy monster, but a monster all the same. Sky the cat sat proudly on my bed, a group of small furred creatures with long tails surrounding him. Mice.

  “You’re supposed to be a mighty hunter,” I told him. “Not build an animal sanctuary. Did you invite those mice into the house?”

  “Miaow,” said the cat, which was the total extent of his vocabulary. Most witches could communicate with their familiar on an instinctive level, but he and I had yet to reach any level of understanding.

  “What’s up?” Alissa, my flatmate, called to me from the kitchen.

  “The cat’s bringing mice in again. Alive. And…” I trailed off, seeing a mouse tail under the bed. “Oh no.”

  “What?” Alissa asked warily. “Did he get into the bubble wrap again?”

  “There’s none left.” My little furred friend had utterly destroyed the re-inflating bubble wrap I’d purchased—partly because I loved the stuff, and partly because I was a walking hazard. Considering my first week in Fairy Falls had been marked by the murder of a client of the paranormal recruitment firm where I now worked, not to mention my being targeted both by said killer and by a vindictive co-worker with a grudge, I’d figured I needed it—and that was without taking my latent clumsiness into account.

  No… there was no bubble wrap. Just mice. And underneath the bed was a stack of pieces of cheese. I didn’t even want to know how long they’d been there.

  “I’m done.” I threw up my hands and walked into the kitchen to join Alissa at the breakfast table. “I’m pretty sure he’s actually feeding them up so he can eat them later. Has Roald ever done that, or is Sky just weird?”

  “He’s your cat,” she said, taking a bite of toast.

  “Thanks.” I’d never intended to adopt a cat in the first place. I was only half a witch, but that was apparently enough for me to get adopted by a familiar who I was starting to worry was actually psychotic. “I told you this was a bad idea. He’s going to bring half the mice and rats in the neighbourhood right to our home. Is it too late to hand him to an animal shelter?”

  “You don’t usually have a choice when it comes to familiars.”

  “Nobody mentioned that.” Nobody had told me a lot of things. I’d often felt several steps behind everyone else in my peer group, but learning I was paranormal was on a whole new level. Let alone that I was half fairy, half witch, a fact that had utterly confused most of the people I’d met since my arrival in the paranormal town of Fairy Falls. The divining spells the witches used usually marked me as one or the other. I’d been invited here as a witch, found out I was a fairy, agonised over accidentally deceiving people and then learnt I was both.

  I might have only found out I was a paranormal a few weeks ago, but I knew entirely too little about my own history. Few witches here in Fairy Falls had known my mother. She’d left more than twenty-five years ago, according to Alissa, before the younger generations of witches had been born—and hadn’t been seen since. I didn’t even know if she was still alive, let alone which of my magical talents I owed to her. I could sense anyone’s paranormal type without seeing their face, as well as being able to sense lies. I could also fly, thanks to the wings hidden under my human disguise—or fairy glamour—but I’d only glimpsed them once. I’d barely begun to embrace my witch side, let alone my fairy one.

  As for my foster parents, who’d raised me since I was three… they didn’t know Fairy Falls existed or that magic was real. I wasn’t sure I was looking forward to that conversation, if it ever happened. The paranormal world had strict rules about what you were allowed to tell normals.

  Alissa said, “I spoke to my grandmother on the phone. She said you’re doing well at learning magical theory, and you might be able to start on the practical stuff soon.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Wait, I’m going to get a wand?”

  “You need one to cast spells, so—yes.”

  I did a happy dance. Sky walked into the room halfway through and gave me a look that said what is that crazy woman doing? I grinned back. I’ll finally be a proper witch.

  Alissa had become my best friend since I’d come here, and I’d lucked out with her as a flatmate. I knew she’d been singing my praises to her grandmother, who ran the Meadowsweet Coven and pretty much owned the whole town. The least I could do was not mess up my witch training. Let’s just say preparatory lessons hadn’t exactly been going swimmingly. Hopefully, that would change when I had a wand of my own.

  I'd been informed in no uncertain terms that the incantations from Harry Potter would not work and would probably result in something breaking. I had to admit, I was afraid that any magic in general might have the same result. I hadn’t grown up in this world, which meant popular culture was my only prior reference for all things witchy. I’d started to worry that it was like the difference between learning a second language from childhood versus learning as an adult. Magic wouldn’t come as easily to me as it would to the witches who’d been raised here, especially considering the hundred-and-ten-page long health and safety brochure. I had the distinct impression they'd added a few dozen pages especially for me, considering the waves of chaos I'd stirred up in the few weeks I'd been living here. Not that it was all my fault, but still.

  I didn’t give up on a challenge. Not when magic was everything I’d never known I wanted.

  “Madame Grey says you’re ready,” said Alissa. “She’s the one who has the ability to recommend you. But the person who gives the final verdict… well. It’s Mr Falconer.”

  I groaned. I should have guessed that Mr Falconer, the notoriously grumpy wand-maker, was the person who could ultimately give the verdict on whether I’d be allowed to wield my own wand or not. “Let’s hope he’s forgiven me for asking him probing questions about past clients.”

  “You were solving a murder at the time. It’ll be fine.” />
  “I didn’t think he and Mr Bayer even liked one another,” I said.

  “He doesn’t like anyone.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Mr Falconer didn’t scare me as much as, say, Steve the Gargoyle, the leader of the local police unit, but he knew what a disaster I’d made of my first week here. I hoped being half a witch was enough to qualify for a wand.

  “The good news is that you can get a broom right away,” she added. “The High Fliers asked me to invite you to join.”

  “Er… I think I’ll pass.”

  She grinned. “Thought so. No harm in asking.”

  “I don’t want to have to be fished out of the lake any time soon.”

  The High Fliers were daredevil Quidditch players, basically. I’d got the hang of my new levitating boots, but broomsticks were a long way off, if ever.

  “So when am I going in for wand testing?” I asked. Wands were incredibly expensive but usually witches got one while they were at school, so the coven would cover the costs for me if I passed the tests. Yet another way I could never repay them for helping one seriously confused outsider.

  “You have your exam soon, right?”

  I nodded, my insides fluttering with nerves. The theory test was fairly basic, but I’d never been much of a fan of exams. “Yep. Rita’s going to tell me at my lesson tonight.”

  “Madame Grey will grade you. If you pass, you’ll be able to head right for the wand shop.”

  “Awesome.”

  I punched the air. Not long until I was a proper witch.

  I all but skipped into work that morning, startling Bethan, my co-worker. While it was a relaxed working environment, most of us generally weren’t alert before coffee. Especially with three of us currently doing the work of four.

  Bethan, who sat at the desk next to mine behind a towering stack of files, sipped from her mug, tucking her straight dark hair behind her ear. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “I’m going to get my own wand. That is, if I pass my theory test,” I admitted. “I’ve been learning the theory for a while, but it’s the first time Madame Grey has hinted I might be ready for practical lessons in witchcraft.”

  “Awesome!” she said. “You’ll be able to help repair the coffee machine.”

  “I doubt that’s covered in basic lessons.”

  Lizzie, our resident tech genius, was responsible for keeping us supplied with coffee, but the technology she created tended to only respond to its owner. Including the possibly-sentient printer in the corner. “Maybe I’ll try learning that frog spell.”

  Lizzie had once made our mutual co-worker, Blythe, temporarily start croaking. While Blythe wasn’t here anymore, she’d left us one hell of a mess to clean up.

  Lizzie herself, a dark-skinned young woman with braided hair, gave me a grin. “That’s a bit advanced for a newbie. Not saying you couldn’t pull it off, but there’s a fifty-fifty chance of that particular spell rebounding on its owner. It’s fickle.”

  “Might wait a little, then.” I still couldn’t stop smiling. I liked my new job here at Eldritch & Co, a recruitment firm which matched paranormal employees to clients who needed specialists with the right type of magic. It certainly wasn’t dull dealing with wizard businessmen or witches in need of apprentices. But I’d wanted to be able to cast spells of my own ever since I’d found out I was a paranormal myself.

  I turned my attention to the client list for the day as Bethan launched into work like a human whirlwind, somehow typing and writing by hand at the same time. Her ability to multitask was down to her family’s magic. I hadn’t a hope of keeping up, so I concentrated on my own list. And the first name.

  Speak of the devil. Mr Falconer, the man who had the power to sell or deny me a wand, was apparently in the market for an assistant again. I was supposed to call him.

  Figuring I might as well get our notorious problem client over with first, I dialled his number.

  “What?” growled Mr Falconer. My paranormal-sensing ability kicked in, telling me, helpfully, that he was a wizard.

  “Hello,” I said, with my best customer service voice. “This is Dritch & Co. How may I help you today?”

  “I know it’s bloody Eldritch & Co. I called you.”

  So much for being nice. “Yes, this is Blair. Can I help you?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then why call me?”

  “I’m looking to hire your services. I heard you fancy yourself an investigator. I need a new assistant.”

  Uh-oh. I’d heard the last one had quit., which explained why he was calling so soon after he’d last hired us a few weeks ago. I hoped my ability to provide someone who could put up with his attitude wouldn’t have any bearing on whether he let me have a wand or not.

  “A wand-making assistant?” I asked. “What’s the criteria?”

  “Top level wizards only.”

  “You mean witches or wizards?”

  “Are you deaf? I said, wizards only.”

  Two strikes against him. “Do you think witches are less competent than wizards, Mr Bayer?” I asked.

  “No,” he growled. “They’re not right for this job.”

  “Any reason why? Madame Grey and her coven run the whole town. They’re the best there is.”

  “Tradition,” he growled.

  He could shove that where the sun didn’t shine. “I will assemble a list of the best candidates.”

  Though given his attitude, it was likely that no witch would go within a mile of him. What a miserable old man.

  “Do that,” he said. “I want grade fives only. Graduates of the Lancashire University of Spellcraft. Highly ranked in every specialist area of wizardry. No other commitments or relationships with any coven other than their own.”

  “Is that all?” I asked, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Want me to call the ones who can recite the Lord’s Prayer while bungee jumping as well?”

  There was a dial tone as he hung up. Oops. I scowled at the phone.

  “I wouldn’t mess with him,” Bethan said.

  “I can’t help it. He’s just asking for trouble. Did you know he refuses to work with women at all?”

  “Oh, he’s known for that,” Bethan said, not batting an eyelid. “That’d be because the Meadowsweet Coven charged him over an infraction. He’s still bitter about it.”

  “But they still buy their wands from him?”

  “Yes. Since he refuses to train anyone else to make wands and nobody does it better, we don’t have any choice but to keep buying them from him until someone else comes along. We’re secretly hoping he’ll train up an assistant who will take over, but nobody can stand to be around him long. I think the last candidate moved to France.”

  “Great.” I wished there was something I could do to help. But I didn’t want to subject any of my fellow witches to his attitude. “Right, I’ll get the list together. He’s not asking for much, is he? And that’s assuming these highly ranking wizards can put up with him. Didn’t he only hire us a few weeks ago?”

  “Yeah, they never last long,” commented Bethan. “You might have to sift through previous candidates first.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Half the first list of candidates had already either turned down interviews, failed to secure the position, or angered the man so much that he kicked them out. There was also a witch who’d tried to sneak in by disguising herself as a man, but no magic could fool the wand-maker’s eyes.

  What a piece of work.

  I made call after call, heard excuse after excuse, and eventually, called the man himself again.

  “Where’s my candidate?” he growled.

  “We’re working on it,” I said. “Is there a major wizard family in this town you haven’t started a feud with?”

  “Yes. Mr Franklyn.”

  “He said you should do something unmentionable.”

  “Are you trying to be difficult, Miss Wilkes?”

  “Nope.” Not me, anyway.

  “Then try harder.”
>
  He hung up. Bethan gave me a pitying look. “I can hand you over some of my candidates if it helps. Pretty sure I have a fifth level wizard here somewhere.”

  “Wait, are you sure?”

  She nodded. “It’ll get him off your back. I imagine wand-making pays well, if you can ignore the guy’s personality.”

  I’d have considerable difficulty holding my tongue if I’d been in their position, but it wasn’t up to me to decide. “I’ll call him.”

  I took the paper from her, and dialled the number of Bethan’s most promising candidate.

  “Are you interested in learning the art of wand-making?” I rattled off my speech, making it sound as appealing as possible, and finishing by mumbling Mr Falconer’s name.

  “Sure,” said the candidate. “That does sound like what I’m looking for.”

  “Wait, you want to?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then I’ll give you his number.”

  Success! Now he had no excuses. I was one step closer to a wand of my own.

  On the way back from work, I took a detour via the high street to meet Alissa, who worked at the local hospital. It was easy to spot the wand-maker’s shop on the corner—a gloomy place that looked like the sun had never shone on its brick facade. Wands were lined up in the window, but not in a particularly artful way. All of them looked the same—like sticks filed down to the same shape. I’d seen witches and wizards decorate theirs with accessories, but they must buy them somewhere else. One wand lay separate from the others, in its own case. Unlike the others, it was bright silver and decorated with ribbons that surely hadn’t been applied by the wand-maker himself. I peered closer—