by Willow Mason
Muddled Mutt
Beezley and the Witch Book Three
Willow Mason
Copyright © 2019 Willow Mason
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Contents
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
Also by Willow Mason
Chapter One
“I can’t wait for the mermaid parade this year,” I said to Beezley who’d been sitting on the sofa, unmoving, for so long I expected him to get a cramp. “Then we get the secular Santa handing out gifts to all the children in town. I love it when the holiday spirit gets going. Everyone in town seems so much nicer.”
Instead of answering, Beezley shot through the dog door, barking at the top of his lungs. I crossed to the window in time to see the postie drive by in her single person cart. As if the poor woman didn’t have enough worries on her plate, operating a vehicle with more in common with a ladybird than a car, now she had an annoyed French bulldog hurling abuse as she continued down the street.
It was lucky she couldn’t hear anything but barking. Beezley’s language tended to delve deep into his father’s navy past when he was upset.
“Your mother’s a cockroach and your father’s a weasel,” he spat out as his final invective before trotting back home with a pleased smile on his face.
“Honestly, what’s the poor woman ever done to you?” I asked, shaking my head. “Just because you barely get mail anymore, it’s no reason to take it out on her.”
“She’s keeping things from me,” he said darkly. “I’ve never missed a payment on a credit card in my life until she started on this round.”
I rolled my eyes but knew better than to hound him on the subject. The credit card statement might have been missing from the letterbox for one month, but the email and text reminders from the bank should have sufficed.
Still, he’d been acting weird about a lot of things lately.
“I’ve seen the secular Santa for the last few years,” he said, snuffling around the flowerbed to show a millipede who was boss. “But what’s the mermaid parade?”
I was about to answer when I discovered my cardigan tangled in the rose bushes. “What’ve you been doing?” I howled, pulling it free and sniffing it gently. Ugh. “This smells like you’ve been wrapped in it for a month without showering.”
Beezley headed for the doggie door, scowling. “That’s nothing to do with me and I had a bath last week.”
Indeed, he had. I fondly remembered getting covered from head to toe in used bathwater when he clambered out and shook himself. Inside.
Before I could question him any further, he disappeared indoors, cutting off the conversation. Back to work in front of the television because those mid-morning soaps wouldn’t watch themselves. Actual paying jobs had been thin on the ground lately and he’d become somewhat addicted.
I took the ruined garment around the back of the house, rinsing it out under the garden tap. The worst of the dirt washed cleanly away, but the stink remained. I’d once found a half-eaten fish and chip wrapper down the back of the outside bin, which had probably been there for two weeks. It smelled about the same. Rotting meat and maggots. Even if I couldn’t see any of the little blighters, my nose insisted they weren’t far away.
Into the outside bin, and thank goodness the collection was this Friday, rather than in a fortnight. A cloud of flies rose and drifted away, rather than resettling. If even a fly couldn’t stay in proximity, it had to be bad.
That had been my favourite merino cardigan. Without an impending job on the books, it wouldn’t be replaced anytime soon, either.
In fact, with so little work coming our way, it was probably time I gave DI Jonson a chase to see if there were some witness statements or a research case he could pass our way.
I sent him a text before lethargy or pride could put a stop to the idea. A few months before, we’d had so many jobs I’d turned down some grunt work with a sense of relief that we didn’t need to bother with such mundane tasks any longer. I couldn’t be certain, but the crawling sensation on my cheek could be from the egg on my face.
“If I find out you had something to do with that…” I said, letting the threat trail off because really—what was I going to do? Smack my boss with a rolled-up newspaper to teach him a lesson? Not likely.
“I already said I didn’t.” Beezley rolled over and splayed his legs out, seeking a pat. “I’ve been a very good dog.”
With a laugh, I gave him a belly rub before settling back on the couch to stare vacantly at the TV screen. An infomercial tried in vain to sell me a vacuum cleaner. With headlights! To see under beds! So light! So powerful!
“There’s something in the backyard,” Beezley said with a huff that indicated he wasn’t going to do anything about it.
I sighed and moved to the window, seeing a blur of blue and beige darting by.
The beige colour was a small dog, perhaps a chihuahua. The blue was a silk blouse I couldn’t afford to replace any more than I could my merino cardigan.
“Stop!” I called, barrelling through the door and giving chase. The dog might be tiny, but it had a good head start. Those short legs were fuelled with buoyant energy.
Just as I seemed to be gaining, he darted around a corner and I lost a few metres of ground as I slowed to avoid the chairs and tables of a café. The chihuahua had no such worries, weaving underneath the furniture and between legs with no discernible change in speed.
“Go fetch, lady,” one customer called out, and I growled low in my throat. The dog cut through a hedge and raced across a front lawn. Without thinking, I did the same, earning a startled shout from the owners.
“Sorry,” I yelled back over my shoulder, fixing my attention back on the dog just in time to jump over a low fence at the back of the property and sliding down a bank to end up splashing into a muddy stream. My feet slipped on the mossy stones of the bottom and I soon ended up falling lengthways.
The dog paused at the top of the opposite bank—his eyebrows raised as though surprised I’d lost my footing. He stopped there, panting with his tail wagging like a propeller, only running again once I scrambled to my feet and was halfway towards catching him.
“Please stop,” I called out as the lack of exercise for the past few years took a toll on my lung capacity. Each breath burned its way in before wheezing out. “I can’t afford a new wardrobe, you little thief!”
The dog danced in a circle, mocking me with his dexterity. One of his ears cocked at a sound only he could hear, and he turned, briefly losing focus.
I lunged for the blouse, grabbing a loose sleeve and tugging. Instead of relinquishing his prize, the annoying mutt bit down harder, fighting me for half the only decent work outfit I owned.
The tearing sound that followed made my bank account cry.
“Let go!” I jerked the destroyed garment out of the raggedy dog’s mouth and stared in open-mouthed horror at the damage. Even if I’d been the world’s finest seamstress, there was no way I could repair the rent fabric. Between the drool and the pulled threads, no one else would even tr
y. “Bad dog!”
The mutt responsible cowered at the phrase, his big eyes pleading. With a snort, I turned and stumbled down the side of the creek again.
A fury of barking erupted from the tiny dog, surprising me. How could such a large sound come out of such a small creature?
He ran towards me, then away, repeating the movements until it became obvious he wanted me to follow.
“What?” I waved the destroyed blouse in his face. “Unless you’ve got a piggy bank with enough money to replace this, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I turned my back and continued to retrace my steps. With waterlogged shoes and a stitch sending pain needles into my side, the way back was a lot harder than the trip out had been.
“Grrrrr.”
The dog nipped at the back of my heel and I kicked backwards, narrowly missing his head. “Go on home,” I yelled, pointing farther up the creek, though I had no idea where the criminal-damage-inflicting-canine had come from. “Get out of here and leave me alone.”
I reached the footpath, startling a woman pushing a pram. She increased her speed, shielding her baby’s face with one hand, and I stared down at my outfit, now dripping with mossy creek water with a side-helping of mud.
“Dirt isn’t contagious,” I called after her, pulling my clinging T-shirt away from my body with a moue of disgust. “And I’m not going anywhere with you,” I added as the chihuahua appeared in front of me in a vain attempt to block my passage. One step right over the pup’s head took care of that and I headed home.
“I need a raise.”
Beezley didn’t shift his eyes from the television screen. “The only way you’ll earn more money is if you find us more work.”
How drumming up business became my sole preserve, I didn’t know, but my favourite Frenchie appeared adamant. Unless someone crawled out of the back of the sofa, he wouldn’t be finding us a new case.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked, throwing my silk blouse into the rubbish. “It’s a lovely day outside.”
“Who are you and why did you replace the world’s laziest assistant?”
“Hey. I’m not lazy. I just don’t believe in expending energy where it’s not needed.”
“Neither do I. The footpath isn’t going to care if we’re not walking on it.”
“I thought dogs liked going for walks. Don’t you want to spray your special scent everywhere?”
Beezley gave me another glance, then did an exaggerated double-take. “Even if I did want some exercise, I’m not going out anywhere with you looking like that. Take some pride in your appearance, for goodness’ sake.”
As I tried to think of a witty rejoinder, Glynda called out from the doorway, “Yoo-hoo. Anyone home?”
“The door’s wide open,” I muttered. “You can see us standing here.”
“Just being polite,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she stepped over the threshold. “Been chasing down suspects, have we?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, get yourself dressed in something decent by tomorrow. I want you front and centre for the mermaid parade.”
“The what?” Beezley jerked his head up and stared at the two of us as though we were pranking him. “I’ve never heard of this thing before and now it’s mentioned twice in one morning.”
“It’s a supernatural thing,” I explained. “If the mermaid sees a shadow, she forecasts a terrible summer, that kind of thing.”
Beezley’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “This is a joke, right? I didn’t even know mermaids existed.”
“Well, now you know better,” I said just as Glynda announced, “They don’t,” earning herself a sharp glance from yours truly.
“What’d you mean? Brianna Hawick’s a mermaid so of course, they exist.”
Glynda tipped her hand from side to side. “Bri was a witch, then she double-crossed a powerful warlock and now she’s half a fish.”
“Half fish?” I parroted while my brain tried to fit in the new idea.
“She would’ve been all fish, but her mother was a high-ranking general in the supernatural council and used all the power of her office to thwart the spell.”
“Lucinda’s a general?”
“Not any longer. The council doesn’t appreciate its magic being used for unauthorised purposes any more than we were happy to let a voodoo priestess ransack ours.”
“Wait, so if they’d had stronger magic on hand Brianna would still be a witch?”
Glynda shrugged. “Maybe a bit scaly.”
“And if they’d done nothing at all, she’d be a fish?”
“You catch on quick. At this rate, I might let you back on library duty one day.”
“Does Bri have any powers at all above the standard witch ones?”
“She barely has any of those left.” Glynda bent to give Beezley a pat. “The fish part of her has nothing magical about it, so she’s a witch operating at half-mast at best.”
“How does she predict the future, then?” I put my hands on my hips. “It takes a lot of power to cast your eye ahead two months.”
“Forget what I said about the library.” Glynda stepped over and placed a hand against my forehead. “If you’re not running a fever, then I suppose I’ve given your brainpower too much credit. Bri can’t predict the future any more than an octopus can tell you winning soccer teams.”
“Hey,” Beezley said, sitting up with a stern face. “There’s no need to disparage Paul. He got nearly every match right.”
“And now he’s sushi.” Glynda shook her head. “This is a gimmick, that’s all. Something the supernaturals can celebrate while the humans have their Hanukah and Christmas and the pagans are dancing in the fields, welcoming the summer solstice. Every group needs its rituals to cement its bonds, so Brianna the miracle mermaid it is.”
I’ve heard tales before of children having their belief in Santa snatched out from under them. The loss of a cherished figure. The scorn of everyone who found out long ago.
Yep. Suddenly I knew how that felt.
“If she’s half fish, can the warlock who turned her help with Beezley?”
“That’s a better question,” Glynda said, eyeing the door. “But you won’t get anything out of him, I’m afraid. Remember the statue near the water fountain in Queen Anne Park?”
Beezley and I both nodded.
“That’s him. Lucinda turned him into stone halfway during his magic trick on her daughter. Good luck getting him out of that form. His mates certainly couldn’t, and it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
I immediately had a faceful of French bulldog pleading turned on me, like a thousand-watt bulb.
“You heard Glynda,” I said. “It’s not going to happen.” I twiddled my fingers, letting the crimson glow shine. “If I threw my magic his way, he’d probably be concrete dust and the park would be wrecked.”
“How’re your lessons coming along?” Glynda took a step towards the door, showing a marked disregard for my answer. “It sounds like you’re stuck.”
Just a bit. I could use magic to do spectacular things but only if something with drama bigness was required. So far, those events had been few and far between. A blessing, considering the mess we’d be in if they happened more often but still…
Sometimes a girl likes to show off.
“Well, be there on time tomorrow and up front,” Glynda said from the doorway. “I’ve got a surprise for you after the ceremony.”
I opened my mouth to ask what, but she was already halfway down the path.
“Witches are weird,” Beezley announced, plonking himself back in front of the TV and scratching behind his ear. “I can’t believe you all turn out to see a fish swim in the harbour. Big whoop.”
“You’re coming too,” I stated, heading for the shower. “So get prepared to embrace the weirdness. When she turns up near the shoreline, you’ll be clapping along with the rest of us.”
Chapter Two
The next day, the sun wa
s bright enough for me to slather on the sunscreen prior to venturing outside the car. As soon as I did, an Easterly breeze cut me to the bone. Our beach might not be pretty with its collection of rotting garbage and small stones which competed with Lego for their effect on the soles of my feet, but was it a great place to swim?
Also, no.
“What’s that smell?” Beezley asked in a voice full of low-grade horror. “Is your mermaid rotting to death?”
“Oh, don’t.” My stomach was already turning over without such thoughts to give it added oomph. “Isn’t one of your new skills tracking down a scent? Go show me how it’s done.”
“There’s no way on earth I want to track down that odour.” Beezley gagged and I couldn’t blame him.
When the seaweed got caught out at high tide and trapped a load of small sea creatures in its slimy arms, it wasn’t pleasant. Finding out the smell was exactly what he thought it was wouldn’t provide any comfort or joy.
“I remember a colleague telling me years back that he’d bought a boat, and I felt envious.” Beezley shook himself from head to toe. “If I’d known he faced these appalling conditions every time he set sail, I’d have felt pity instead.”
“Come on.” I set off over the crunching stones for the head of the bay. “We need to get a good position or Glynda will have another excuse to yell at me.”
“Like she needs an excuse.”
“Now, now.” My voice skipped into a falsetto. “You don’t understand how hard it is to be the supreme. I work from dawn to midnight and never get a word of thanks.”
“Trying to get demoted again, are we?” Harriet said, clumping up beside me. “What level are you at now? Rock bottom?”
