by Elle Adams
Before I could ask, Veronica said, “Find him someone—anyone will do—and get him out of our hair.”
That was the plan. If not for the twenty former assistants who were still stuck as mice, and Ava possibly being his victim.
I nodded. “I’ll do my best. But—”
“Believe me when I say the man is not to be underestimated. We’re a small business. He’s the foundation of the town’s entire source of magic.”
And she swept out of the office, leaving me gaping after her. He’s what? Wands were important, there was no disputing that, but they weren’t absolutely essential. Right? The elf had implied as much, though to be honest, this morning felt like a bizarre dream. And in Fairy Falls, that was saying something. As for what Veronica had said? I didn’t particularly want to know what damage a man with hundreds of wands could do. Hold the whole town hostage, even. He had that much power, even though people disliked him.
Was that the so-called Magic Touch?
My head was in the clouds for the rest of the day. I nearly forgot my magic lesson after work, and had to sprint to the witches’ meeting place.
I burst into the classroom, where to my relief, Rita hadn’t left yet.
“Sorry I’m late,” I gasped, falling into a chair in the front row.
“I heard you were busy over the weekend,” she remarked. “You were seen near the forest this morning, too.”
My heart sank. “By who?”
Bangles clattered as she pulled out her wand. “There’s no need to look so alarmed. A lot of witches use the forest, but Helen was concerned you might have got yourself lost in there.”
Of course. Better Helen than, say, Madame Grey, but it figured she’d report me to the other witches. I guess Mr Falconer wouldn’t necessarily assume I was in there looking for clues about the curse. Just as long as she hadn’t seen me near Annabel’s house.
“I heard it’s where the witches get their potion ingredients, so I got curious.” Lucky I could lie, though it might have been better for everyone if I’d permanently lost that ability after all. “Anyway, I ran into an elf. He seemed pretty ticked off about my being there, even though it’s the witches’ forest, right? I thought only the shifters lived in the woods.”
“They own a section of the forest, yes,” said Rita, taking up her position at the front of the room. “And the elves own another section. Unfortunately, they have a habit of trying to extend their territory. They see the entire forest as theirs. We’ve had a contentious history with them, the witches have.”
I’d bet a certain wand-maker hadn’t helped.
“You have?” I asked, curiously. “What have they done?”
“The elves are notorious pranksters,” she said. “We had to set up clear boundaries, otherwise they’d sour the milk and put things in the water supply.”
“That sounds… malicious.”
She grunted. “The witches who lived near their former territory were no better.”
“Were?” I echoed. “It must have ended somehow, if you leave one another alone now.”
“It’s been fairly quiet for years,” she commented. “There was never an open conflict. The elves gradually withdrew over the years, and this is the result.”
Hmm. They’d certainly have a reason to be angry with Mr Falconer, if a misguided one. On the other hand, elves couldn’t curse people. Only witches or wizards could. So unless someone who had too much sympathy for slightly crabby beings who hated humans—enough to screw up other humans’ lives—then I couldn’t see the elves being linked to the curse.
“Are they normally hostile when they run into you in the forest?” I asked. “He seemed to think my being there was ruining the forest and he said wands are evil witch props made for nefarious purposes, or something like that.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” she said. “It’s a common line of theirs that the forests are for the elves and anyone who uses them for any other purpose is selfish. The fact is, though—we grew the forest ourselves. They moved in later and decided to try to claim it as their own territory. While we let them have part of it, since there are so few magical forests left in England, they weren’t originally there. It’s humans—normals—who did most of the damage.”
I turned this over in my mind. “What about the wandwood? He seemed particularly annoyed about wands. Said they caused damage.”
“Certainly not,” she said. “Don’t let their crafty manner and reasonable words fool you. They are notorious for tricking humans, and most of the contact we get from the paranormal police department concerning cases where normals have been bewitched involve the elves in some way. That forest has always belonged to the witches.”
I nodded. “So—how is their magic different to ours? He said his magic was real and ours wasn’t.”
She snorted. “Hardly. The elves’ magic is connected directly to nature in a way ours isn’t. It’s not better or worse, it just is.”
“Are fairies—like me, are we related to the elves?”
“You’re in the same paranormal class, but that would be like comparing a human to a cat. Both mammals, vastly different in almost every way.”
I should hope so, considering my own recent experiences in the pet department.
My ‘real’ un-glamoured form had pointed ears and wings. I hadn’t got a look in a mirror when I’d stepped under the waterfall—Fairy Falls—to take the disguise off. And as easy as it’d been to switch it back on at the time, I hadn’t returned to the falls since. I didn’t feel the slightest connection whatsoever with the elf I’d run into in the forest, and he hadn’t seemed to recognise me as one of the fairies. I couldn’t imagine spending my time lurking in forests to terrify people, or pranking humans for fun.
Never mind the elves. I was certain Ava’s accident was linked with Mr Falconer, but the way even my boss implicitly trusted his ability didn’t sit right with me. The more I dealt with him, the more I suspected there was more at play than a deficit of witches and wizards with wand-making talents. But could I really unravel the situation myself, with no wand of my own?
When I left my lesson, I nearly collided with a figure who appeared outside the door as suddenly as a gust of wind on a clear day. He wore dark clothes, possibly to hide bloodstains, and had pointed teeth and pale skin along the lines of a waxwork model. Vincent the vampire was the oldest resident of Fairy Falls, by a few hundred years, and had apparently spent several of those years perfecting the art of sneaking up on people.
“Blair Wilkes,” he said. “Here for a magic lesson?”
“I—yes, I am.” I never felt entirely at ease around the guy. Probably because he drank human blood, even if it did come from the blood donations at the local hospital and not through the jugular. He’d also given me his business card once, as a direct challenge to a group of werewolves who didn’t like me much. Supposedly, I was meant to pick one side over the other, but I tended to just avoid both of them. On the other hand… “I was actually looking to talk to someone about town history.”
“Were you really?” he asked.
Until about five seconds ago, nope. I’d heard a rumour that vampires could read minds, but surely he hadn’t been waiting for me. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, he spent a great deal of time hanging out in the history section of the local bookshop. Apparently he had memory issues after living such a long time, which meant he might not be able to answer my questions, but it was worth a try.
“Okay, so I was talking to Ava,” I said. “You know, the seer.”
“Oh, her. I’m frankly surprised people still go to her for prophecies, considering she didn’t foresee her own fate.”
“That’s not nice to say. You’re immortal.” And a complete—
“Careful, now.”
I took a step back. “You are reading my thoughts.” And I thought I’d seen the end of that when Blythe left Dritch & Co.
He tilted his head. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Obviously. H
ow long have you been doing that?”
“I merely get impressions when you’re particularly… agitated.”
Is that supposed to make me feel reassured? I pushed down the thought. “If that’s the case, you probably know what I want to ask you.”
“No, I can’t say I do. You went to see the old seer, like so many before you.”
I frowned. “She gives out prophecies that often?”
“Fairly often, yes. She’s the only living seer in the town, despite her condition.”
And there I was thinking I was getting special treatment. “Right. I wondered… did you ever know Mavis Lynch? The former wand-maker?”
“That’s too recent history,” he said, in a disappointed tone. “There are better centuries. I could tell you about the fifteen-hundreds.”
“Er, that sounds interesting,” I said. “But I wanted to know more about wand-making. Was it always such a closely guarded secret?”
“Yes,” he said. “Since I’m not a wizard, I know nothing of it.”
Lie.
His gaze sharpened. “That is a remarkable gift you possess.”
“Now you’re reading my witch skill?”
Why did I think it was a good idea to talk to him? Why?
“You ask of wand-making. I do recall an incident a few decades ago, in which a large number of wand-makers retired from the craft at once. I believe there was memory loss involved. The craft has always been restricted to a few individuals… yes, I do remember. There was once a coven who specialised in the craft. But one day… it was gone. I believe they died without ever passing on their knowledge.”
I became aware my jaw was hanging open and closed it. “They all forgot? All of them? Who?”
Wow. What had Mr Falconer done?
“Yes, they did, or so they say,” he said, sounding bored at the very thought. “I can’t say I know what the issue was. Perhaps they tired of the craft.”
“You just said they lost all memory of the craft. Did they do that themselves?”
“I often wish I could forget,” he said. “Perhaps this is my punishment.”
“Save your brooding,” I said. “You’re seriously saying that an entire coven of witches forgot the craft of wand-making?”
“You exaggerate. There were never many who knew it. Four or five at most.”
“And somehow Mr Falconer is the only one left?”
“I suppose he is.”
“And everyone uses his wands, without questioning why nobody else makes them?”
“Questioning?” he echoed. “It was decades ago. Fifty years, at least, which is not, I believe, relevant to your task.”
“Task… can you please stop doing that?”
Ignoring me, he added, “And yes, the younger generation use his wands. The older ones do not.”
“And some of us might not get one unless we find him an apprentice,” I finished. “You knew that, didn’t you? You read it from my thoughts the moment you saw me. And you—you must have known the truth all along. What really happened when Ava tried to become a wand-maker?”
He regarded me with that oddly still face, blank of emotion. “The truth is, I don’t know. Old Ava’s thoughts are jumbled and she has some fairly vivid delusions. The most frequently recurring memory of the event matches the public story.”
My heart sank a little. Could my ability distinguish truth from lie when the other person honestly believed they were telling the truth? Where was the limit?
“Have you at any point read anything in anyone’s head about a curse?” I asked.
“Not that particular curse, no. Curses don’t personally interest me. I prefer more direct ways of dealing with my enemies.”
He smiled, and his fangs were a little too prominent. I resisted the impulse to back away—with vampire speed, he could catch up to me in approximately four seconds.
“It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Blair.”
And he vanished, swift and quiet as a ghost. I stared after him. What had he come here for, then? Probably, when it came to vampires, I didn’t want to know. But I did need to get the witches’ version of the story. Would Rita know? Maybe she would, and yet…
The doors to the lobby opened and Alissa came in. “Is something wrong? I saw that vampire leaving…”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said. “I was just asking him about the history of wand-making. Is your grandmother around?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Did you know the witches who used to create wands lost their memories?”
She blinked. “No. Was that what you and the vampire were talking about?”
“Yes. He doesn’t remember it very well, but he’s convinced that the coven who used to hold all the secrets of wand-making suddenly forgot all about it. Decades ago.”
“Yes. He doesn’t remember it very well, but he’s convinced that the coven who used to hold all the secrets of wand-making suddenly forgot all about it. Decades ago.”
Her brow furrowed. “Sometimes his memory is as dodgy as Ava’s, so I wouldn’t take his word for it.”
Hmm. If wand-making came with the risk of losing one’s memory, I wouldn’t be keen either. Never mind turning into a mouse. “Where is Madame Grey? I really need to ask her about this.”
“She’s at chess club.”
Everyone had more of a social life than I did. “Might she have left her office open?”
She gave a firm head-shake. “No, she always locks the door. And Rita has the only spare key.”
I groaned. “You know, I’m wasting my time. The most likely place to find answers is in the hands of the man himself. Does he never leave the shop at all? Except when he goes into the forest and annoys the elves? Wait, how often does wandwood need to be gathered? Someone mentioned the full moon…”
She gave me an eye-roll. “You know that’s when all the shifters take on their animal forms and lose all memory of their human selves, don’t you?”
Ah. “Don’t worry, I need to solve it before next week, otherwise I can say goodbye to any chance at getting a wand. I just want to see what he’s hiding in the shop. He must have evidence he’s hiding from me.”
Her expression turned calculating. “You know… there is another possibility. I can brew a transportation spell.”
Of course. “That’s a much more practical idea.” More so than my attempt to gather ingredients for a tricky invisibility potion.
“Not that I’m trying to encourage breaking and entering. But he’s always out in the forest in the evenings. Every single day, rain or shine.”
“Wait, he is? I thought he and the elves hated each other.”
“I’ve no idea what he does in there,” she said. “But he’s often in the forest all night. I think this is the best shot you have.”
“I agree. I can’t get him to admit who was his assistant before this curse kicked off. Unless it was Ava, or her granddaughter, but I can’t get through to either of them. How easy is it to make that transportation spell?”
“Not too hard,” she said. “It requires a few props. But I can help.”
“Thanks,” I said, gratefully. “I’ve tried the human route. I think it’s time to try the magical one. Unless I can put him under a spell to spit out the information?”
Alissa’s brow wrinkled. “No spell will work on him. He’ll notice, or those sentinel wands of his will. No… the best bet is probably to sneak in. Much less risky.”
“Let’s hope so.”
8
With Alissa’s steady hand guiding the process, putting the spell together was relatively simple. I felt vaguely foolish standing on the floor of an empty classroom surrounded by leaves interspersed with various herbs, but she was confident the transportation spell would get me right into Mr Falconer’s back room. Then all I needed to do was poke around. And not get caught.
Alissa was certain that he wouldn’t be present, but my luck had taken a severe downturn lately. My nerves spiked as she pointed her wand at the circ
le of leaves.
“Make sure you keep your attention on the room,” she said. “Don’t let any other thoughts in.”
“Got it,” I said. “Just get it over with. I’ll be back when the spell runs out.” The spell wasn’t likely to be comfortable, but options were limited.
I held the image of the shop in my head, as clearly as I could, and—
Bang.
My head cracked off stone. I groaned, rolling across rain-wet earth. Ow. I hadn’t landed inside Mr Falconer’s shop, but outside it. Either the spell hadn’t been precise enough, or his shop was spell-proof. I’d bet my non-existent wand on the latter. In fairness, it had been a long shot. I picked bits of leaf out of my hair and rubbed mud from my face, smearing it down my neck in the process. It was the second time that week that I had reason to be grateful that there were no witnesses around.
Wait a moment. Maybe I’d be able to find those missing mice. I trod carefully down the side of his shop, looking under the hedge.
“What are you doing?” Mr Falconer demanded, emerging from the bushes like a particularly solid and angry ghost.
Oh no.
“I was looking for the mice,” I said innocently.
“You know where the bloody mice are.”
“Not all of them.” I took a step backwards away from his glare. “A few of them showed up at my house, before you hired me. They ran away. I thought they might have come back here, so I wanted to check. If we undo the curse and the mice are gone, they won’t be able to turn human again. There’s no way into your shop, so I thought they might be outside.”
“You thought wrong.” He shook his head. “You’re pathetic. Feeling sorry for those idiotic creatures?”
“They’re people,” I pointed out. “And your curse got them stuck like that. I thought you wanted to set them free.”
His fists clenched, and sparks shot from the wand I belatedly noticed he had clenched in his right hand. “They were all disappointments in the end. I want this curse off my job so I can hire a real apprentice who won’t make a complete mess of things.”
