Witch in Training

by Elle Adams

  “I have three, so I understand.”

  Three cats? I could barely handle one.

  “Do most of them adopt rodents? Or destroy bubble wrap?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Your cat destroyed the bubble wrap?”

  “Yes, I know that’s what it was for, but I was having a stressful week and I’d have liked to keep it. Anyway, I realise that’s the type of stuff cats do, familiars or not, so I guess I’ll just have to hide it next time.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “We’ll think of something.”

  “What, put out a ‘have you seen these rodents’ sign?” I shook my head. “Sky likes being fed and petted too much to leave for long, so I guess when he comes back, I can ask… I know he probably understands English, but he seems selective on whether he responds to me or not. Maybe it’s because I’m not… not a fully qualified witch yet.”

  “I’m told that doesn’t usually matter,” he said. “But I think you’re right about finding them in the dark. I’m sure your cat will come back soon. I’d stay, but I’m actually on guard duty in an hour. But I can stop by on the way back and post a handmade rodent spell through the door?”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  Of course he’d still be working. And I clearly wouldn’t be getting a goodnight kiss, even if I wasn’t covered in mud and leaves.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll ask Alissa. I’m sure someone will be in.”

  What an end to our date. But hey, at least it actually had been a date.

  I entered the flat and switched on the light. No sign of Alissa or Roald. She must have gone out with her co-workers. I sent her a quick message and sat on the sofa, half-heartedly picking a twig out of my hair. At this rate, between the wand-maker, the cat, and the mice, I’d be lucky to get a second date at all.

  And where had those mice run off to?

  5

  I leaned over the hedge, waving the handmade trap. “Here, mousey, mousey…”

  “What are you doing?” Alissa peered out the of the house door, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

  I’d woken up the following morning with a new resolution to get this case off my back before it got any more out of hand. Starting with the rodent trap. True to his word, Nathan had dropped it off on the way back from his shift in the early hours of the morning, when I’d been asleep. There hadn’t been much point in running around in the dark, so I’d had an early night. Alissa must have come back after I’d gone to bed, which explained her red-rimmed eyes and dishevelled appearance.

  By the time I’d got to the end of the story, Alissa was bent double with laughter. She rested her hand on the fence for balance.

  “Yeah, it’s absolutely hilarious,” I said. “Want to help me recover some wayward rodents? How was your night, anyway?”

  “Good. The nurses really know how to throw a party when they’re off duty. We have most alcohol poisoning remedies memorised, so everyone wants to party with us. Did you and Nathan kiss?”

  “Nope, thanks to that cat. He’s still not back, either. Where’s Roald?”

  She swayed a little as she straightened up. “He was on a date last night. Must have been a good one.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Even your cat has a more active dating life than I do.”

  “Hey, you actually got to the date stage this time.”

  “I also lost my cat,” I said. If I couldn’t lure the mice back, Sky was a more obvious target, but even leaving a dish of his favourite food outside the door had yielded no results so far.

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “It’s not unusual for him to go out all night.”

  “It’s unusual for him to chase mice off. Who aren’t actually mice.”

  “Let me try.”

  She ran into the flat, and emerged a minute later holding her wand and a piece of fish. Roald followed, yowling loudly. She waved her wand, then dropped the fish to the floor, where Roald immediately pounced on it.

  A moment later—

  “You made the whole flat smell of fish?”

  “He can’t resist,” she said. “That, I guarantee.”

  “The neighbours will be thrilled.”

  I’d only exchanged a few words with our upstairs neighbours so far. The massive house could fit a dozen families into it, for a massively discounted rate—trustworthy witches and wizards only, thanks to Madame Grey and her slightly blatant favouritism. Not that I was complaining. It was the nicest flat I’d ever lived in—by a mile.

  “Also,” I added. “I doubt that’ll draw the mice back in. You don’t think he… might have killed them?”

  She pulled a face. “Normally I’d say yes, but I think that cat is more intelligent than we knew.”

  “Yeah, maybe he had his reasons. I wish we could communicate. I’ve searched the front and back gardens six times, not to mention the rest of the road.”

  It was the first time I’d ever had a garden and I liked it, but I’d started to wish it was a little less extensive, and with fewer hiding places for rodents.

  “He’ll be back. I think your cat was just trying to sabotage your date. Or cheer you on. Was Nathan going to kiss you?”

  “He was giving kind of mixed signals. Never mind. Clearly I’m destined to be mired in singleness as long as I’m living with that deranged cat.”

  She grinned. “Does Nathan like cats?”

  “He has three.”

  “There you have it: you’re perfect for each other.”

  “I didn’t want one cat,” I pointed out. “Nor any mice who are actually people. Anyway, we need to find them. Their families are probably seriously worried.”

  “You’re right. Hey, mice!” She waved her wand, and the smell of cheese wafted out. I pressed a hand to my mouth. “Okay, that was a mistake.” Her face went slightly green.

  “You might as well put me in charge.” I rolled my eyes. “Couldn’t you brew a hangover remedy?”

  She giggled. “They only work when you’re sober.”

  Oh boy.

  An hour and no mice later, I left Alissa sleeping off the remnants of her night out and went in search of the families of Mr Falconer’s previous assistants.

  I’d had the presence of mind to bring the files home from work, so I had the names of all the assistants who’d met unfortunate fates. It didn’t take too much digging to find out the details of their families, so now I had a plan of action. Starting with the first recorded case of a client he’d hired using Dritch & Co. His name was Oswald Connolly, a member of a prominent wizard family who lived on the other side of town.

  Nobody drove here. Cars didn’t work around magic, and no one had come up with an effective substitute the way they had with computers and televisions. Since the town had no shortage of broomsticks, transportation spells and my new Seven Millimetre boots, it wasn’t impossible to get around, but I sometimes missed modern conveniences. Public transport was admittedly more of an inconvenience around me, considering how often it broke down. Now I knew it was down to the shield suppressing my magic, not to mention the glamour someone had put on me to hide my fairy side from view. It was weird thinking that I’d been carrying it around all my life, yet knew so little of my real family. Looking at the files—the names, the covens, the details—it seemed clear that everyone knew their own histories, their own families. But I didn’t.

  I paused outside the small cottage where the Connolly family lived. It was dilapidated, not the manor I’d expect to belong to a prestigious wizard. From the files, he didn’t sound like a bad guy. Too bad he was probably hiding from my cat under a bush right now.

  What to say to his family? They deserved the truth, but if Mr Falconer kicked me off the job, the curse might never be broken.

  A woman in her forties opened the door. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  She must be his mother, judging by the information I’d looked up. “I wanted to talk to you about your son,” I said.

  “You a friend of his?” Her tone was dismissive.

  I shoo
k my head. “No.” I gathered they hadn’t parted on pleasant terms. According to what I’d read, she was a talented witch in her own right. I’d need to tread carefully. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  She scowled. “He hasn’t come home in almost a year. Why?”

  There really was no delicate way to introduce the subject. “I’m actually working with Mr Falconer now,” I said. “So, er, I’m looking for previous assistants to speak to, to get an impression of what it might be like to work for him.”

  “If you’ve met the man, you’d know. Horrible person. Oswald didn’t see it, though. He said he wanted the prestige of working for the town’s premier wand-maker. Apparently it was more important than family.” She sniffed.

  “So he was ambitious?” I asked.

  She snorted. “You could say that. He wanted to invent all kinds of things. Wands with built-in special effects, weird nonsense that has no practical use. It didn’t do him any good, anyway. Falconer wasn’t interested.”

  No. From what I’d seen of his shop, all his wands looked more or less identical. I’d seen the witches alter their wands after receiving them, adding decorations or different colours, but the basic design appeared exactly the same.

  “There are multiplying spells, aren’t they?” I asked. “Surely he could just set up a machine, or whatever, and leave it to spit out a hundred identical wands?” Like Lizzie’s coffee machine, for instance.

  “That’s not how it works,” said Mrs Connolly. “Those wands may look identical, but the magic they contain is unique. A secret known only to wand-makers. Why else would they be able to choose an individual witch or wizard for their own?”

  I frowned. “Okay, I didn’t think of that. So that’s the special magic nobody else can imitate?”

  “Obviously,” she said. “If Oswald got that far, he never told me. Secrets, was the word he always used whenever he called us. And he wouldn’t say what. The man made him work fifteen hours a day and barely gave him a moment’s peace, but he still acted like he’d been given a solid gold wand.”

  “So he lived at the wand-maker’s place?”

  “Of course he did. It’s a demanding job that leaves no time to visit family, apparently.”

  A life alone with that grumpy old man sounded like a special kind of hell. Maybe Oswald had turned himself into a mouse to get away from it.

  And accidentally cursed the job in the process?

  “Did he seem to dislike the job when he spoke to you?”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “He absolutely loved it. Every call was ‘secrets’ this and ‘classified’ that. He dropped all his other interests and didn’t talk about anything else during the time he worked for that cantankerous old git.”

  “He told you secrets?” I asked carefully.

  “Oh, he didn’t say anything,” she said. “Never gave a straight answer. I supposed he was under some kind of confidentiality agreement.”

  Or spell. Wait—was it possible to put someone under a spell not to tell anyone a secret? Most likely… yes. It’d certainly explain why the secrets of wand-making hadn’t spread throughout the town.

  “So he left—after two weeks?”

  “I suppose,” said Mrs Connolly. “He called us every few days, but when I didn’t hear from him for a while, I began to worry. He wasn’t answering my messages, and my calls went to voicemail. So I called the man himself and he said Oswald had left the country. No messages, no traces.”

  “Did—did you go to the wand-maker’s place to check?”

  “Of course I did. Nothing there either. By then he had another assistant.”

  “Did Oswald mention arguing with Mr Falconer?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “Worshipped the ground he walked on. Never heard anything like it. The fool. I knew it wouldn’t end well for him.”

  “You did?” I said. “I mean, why?”

  “I don’t know. Just the way he talked about him. Like he was royalty. And now… I’ve heard he’s had trouble hanging onto an assistant since then.”

  “You’ve been there since?”

  She nodded. “Three times. He tells the same story every time. Oswald packed up and left town, without another word. Nothing. Not so much as a call.” Her voice trembled. “The low-life abandoned his family.”

  If ever I’d doubted the curse had ruined lives, and Mr Falconer didn’t care, I didn’t now.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I—heard there was some issue with the position. With the wand-maker. I’m looking to get to the bottom of it.”

  “He’s alive, isn’t he?” she asked.

  I nodded. My throat went tight. “Yes. I’m going to do my best to bring him back to you.”

  I left her house, taking in a deep breath. I’d check one more family, and that was it. To find the root of the problem, I’d have to go back further, to whoever Mr Falconer had worked with before he’d first hired Dritch & Co. Because the one common factor was our company. It didn’t sound like he and Veronica had a history, so I assumed he’d hired us because we were the only paranormal recruitment firm in town. Nothing weird there. Except that before then, he’d gone after the clients in person, or hadn’t had an assistant at all.

  That meant there wasn’t a trail of evidence if he had had an assistant before he’d hired us, unless he opted to tell me himself. In theory, anyone who’d been around for more than a year might know, but it wouldn’t do to let too many people guess what I was collecting information for. On the other hand, it was entirely possible that a former assistant of his had been the one behind the curse, out of jealousy or spite. But first, I’d check with another victim’s family to see if the cases were as similar as they looked. Just to cover all bases. The former assistants were all people who’d had something to gain by working with him, but none of them had anything to gain from turning his employees into mice. As far as revenge plans went, it was pretty tame.

  I walked for ten minutes before I reached the home of the second candidate’s family. This one was a fairly nice house with wisteria and ivy growing on the exterior.

  A curly-haired pale young woman opened the door.

  “Hello,” I said. “I’m Blair Wilkes. I’m here to ask you about… your brother.”

  She grunted. “Went to Switzerland. Never came back. Why?”

  “Mr Falconer hired me to find a new assistant and I’m looking into the job history to find the right candidate.”

  “You won’t find him,” she muttered. “He won’t even call his family.” She began to shut the door.

  “Wait,” I said quickly. “Do you know who was the assistant before he applied? Not Oswald, but—”

  “No.”

  The door slammed. I stood blinking at it. I needed to try another tactic. Surely he must have had another assistant before he’d come to Dritch & Co, and maybe someone knew. But my conversation with Mrs Connolly had reminded me that a customer might easily have been responsible, not an assistant. He sold wands to everyone in town, but as Rita had told me, the majority went to the academy, for the new witches and wizards to receive their wands at the beginning of the school year.

  And I’d bet the assistant had been in charge of making that delivery.

  The academy was a brick building with its facade embossed with a symbol of two wands criss-crossing. I’d avoided it in the past, since I hadn’t wanted to give Rita any ideas about signing me up to take classes alongside a bunch of five-year-olds—not to mention Helen worked there—but at least it meant I knew someone there. And right about now, she’d be in the park next door, setting up the stage for the village fete.

  It wasn’t hard to spot the stage, because it filled half the park’s main field. Magical balloons were tied to the trees, flashing different colours, and flocks of paper birds flew around, to the probable confusion of the local wildlife. Volunteers were spread throughout the park, conjuring up props and setting up staging. I found Helen behind a stack of cardboard pieces. I assumed someone had waterproofed them, consideri
ng rain was forecast all week.

  “Hey, Blair!” said Helen, catching my eye. “Did you want to sign up after all?”

  “Ah—no, sorry. I’ve got too much else going on. I wondered… this is going to sound weird, but I’m kind of doing an extracurricular project. For my witch classes. I wondered if we could talk.”

  She beamed. “Really? That’s great!”

  “Yeah.” I felt bad for lying, and not just because it set off my own inner lie detector. “I wanted to ask about wands. Since I’m getting my own. Who’s in charge of ordering the wands?”

  “The head-teacher is,” she said. “But the other teachers chip in, too. We want the best wands for our students.”

  “Of course,” I said. “How does it work? Do you order the wands in batches?”

  “We do,” she confirmed. “On the rare occasion that one of our students doesn’t connect with a wand right away, we keep trying, and if necessary, we take them to visit the wand-maker in person. Without exception, they always connect with one of the wands. Sometimes it takes a little coaxing.”

  “Mr Falconer strikes me as the type of person who would terrify schoolchildren.”

  “He is,” she said. “But the children are excited enough about getting their own wands that they usually forget about him afterwards.”

  “And you add the decorations later?” I asked.

  “Sure! There’s the accessory shop… they sell all sorts of ribbons and other accessories.” She waved her own rainbow-painted wand in the air. “You can even change them to another colour.”

  “But they’re all built the same, aren’t they?” I asked. “They looked that way, in his window display. Same length, same wood. Wouldn’t it be easy for someone else to learn to do the same?”

  “Easy? Certainly not,” she said. “Mr Falconer has the Magic Touch. He can take an ordinary piece of wandwood and make it unique.”

  “Wandwood? Er, is that a tree, or…”

  “It’s a trade secret. They say it’s taken from a certain oak tree from the forest. But as I said, the ingredients are nothing on their own. It’s the Magic Touch that’s the key.”