by Willow Mason
“Nowhere to go but up.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. Oh, joy.” Harriet’s voice dropped into a lower register. “Bags I don’t have to sit next to her.”
I followed her gaze and groaned to see Prue picking her way across the stones. “I thought you were friends.”
“Not with the gaping wound of an empty seat on the tier three witch level, we’re not. Prue has a single focus and seems to have forgotten the rest of us have feelings.”
“Oh, look.” I pointed to the edge of the carpark. “She brought Barnaby with her.”
Judging from the scowl on his face, the poor cat was as happy to see the beach as I was to see his mistress.
“How long’s this going to take?” Beezley asked, flopping down on a small patch of sand and rolling onto his back.
“An hour or so.” I laid down a blanket and sat, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it was. “Just wait, it’ll be fun.”
“If this is the witch equivalent of Christmas, then you really should’ve done more research. One of these things comes complete with presents and decorations and a neighbourhood barbeque in the sun. And one of them… Well.”
“Sorry we couldn’t arrange for the beach to be in a better location.”
“Like Nelson, you mean. Or the Gold Coast.”
I lifted one buttock and redistributed my weight, so its twin took the brunt of the stony beach for a while. “Once the mermaid gets here, it’ll be better. Last year, she put on a swimming display that would equal anything Cirque de Soleil could stage.”
“Is the fish monster big enough for me to see from the shore or should I prep my imagination?”
Harriet raised her eyebrows at me, and I shrugged. No, I didn’t know what had got into him. Something small and permanently grouchy judging by what came out of his mouth.
“Bri is easy to spot. Considering this gig is the only paid work she has all year, it’s in her best interest to make it spectacular.” Harriet took a seat beside me, leaving Prue to hang back, standing awkwardly.
As I shifted my weight from one cheek back to the other, I thought it might be a wiser choice. I checked my watch and frowned, leaning forward to scan the horizon. “She should be visible by now.”
“What a pity.” Beezley stood and shook himself, scattering a fine mist of sand over anyone unlucky enough to be within radius. “We’ve missed her. Might as well head on home.”
“Nobody’s missed anything,” Glynda said from behind us, making me jump. She was clothed in a regal dress of myriad shades of blue, covering her in skin-tight glamour from her neck down to her sandaled feet. “Brianna is due to turn up at any moment.”
“Has anybody got a charged phone?” Prue asked, twisting her lips. “My battery’s down to ten percent and I don’t want to miss anything.”
“You should’ve charged it before you came here, then,” Harriet said in a small voice, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got a charger in my car if you want to head back to the park.” She held up her keys, not taking her eyes from the ocean.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make do.”
Glynda stared in bafflement at the two young witches. “It’s nice to see everyone getting into the mermaid spirit. Did both of you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“Is that her?” Beezley said, pawing my thigh and jerking his nose to the right-hand side of the harbour.
I shielded my face with my hand and peered at the low waves. Apart from sea foam whipped up by the winds, I couldn’t see anything.
“Do you think she stopped in at a bar on her way here?” Mrs Eggsby asked, joining our group uninvited. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“It would be the first time on a forecast day she did,” Glynda snapped in reply. “Brianna’s never been a minute late in the past.”
“But she does like a drink.” As a member of the coven elite, Mrs Eggsby had the courage to say what nobody else would dare to. “There’s a pub just down the coast who insist the phrase drink like a fish was invented specifically because of her.”
Glynda strode a few paces away, pulling her phone out and glaring at the sea as she pressed it to her ear. The wind stole away everything she said before I could hear it, but from her expression, the news she’d received wasn’t good.
“We’ll give her another few minutes,” the supreme announced. “Once she’s run half an hour overdue, I think we’ll call it a day.”
“Fantastic celebration you got me off the couch for,” Beezley grumbled. “An hour spent getting sand in my face and freezing my nether regions so we can head back home again is such a treat.”
Glynda raised one perfectly tweezered eyebrow and stared at the dog in wonder. “Perhaps you should stop at the vet on the way home. I’m sure there’s some medication could do miracles for your mood.”
I laughed at the suggestion. “A sedative perhaps? If you slept for a week, you might wake up in a better humour.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my mood,” Beezley announced before trotting away in disgust.
“Taking him to the vet mightn’t be such a bad idea,” Harriet whispered. “There could be something bothering him he’s too embarrassed to ask you about.”
“You mean he might’ve got his period?” I snickered.
“Dogs go through hormonal changes, just the same as humans do, but he’ll be less prepared for them.” Harriet shifted on the rug before giving up and standing. “And I know you were joking, but you mightn’t be completely wrong. I’m sure there’s a canine version of puberty.”
“How old is he in dog years?” Prue asked, earning herself a scathing glance from Barnaby. “What?”
“You mean cat years. They’re at a ratio of seven to one since you humans age so slowly.”
I pursed my lips as I stared after my boss and friend. “I just assumed he ended up the same age of dog as he was a man.”
Glynda shook her head. “Then you assumed wrong. He hasn’t even grown into his paws yet. Harriet could be spot on. He’s certainly acting like a moody teenager.”
It would fit with the increased consumption of TV. I supposed I should be grateful there wasn’t doggie social media for him to be immersed in every hour of the day.
“I’ll pop by the vet’s office on the way home.” In front of company, I hid the wince as I calculated how much that particular visit would cost and turned to Glynda. “What did you want to talk to me about today?”
“First things first.” She glanced at her watch and surveyed the empty harbour again with a huff of frustration. “Since it doesn’t seem Brianna’s turning up under her own steam, I’ll need someone to hunt her down for me.”
“Payment up front,” I said with a smile, holding my hand out. “Two hundred cash deposit and I’ll take a cheque for the daily rate of four hundred at a minimum two-day retainer.”
“Isn’t there something you’d like to trade instead?”
“Such as? I’m done with lessons and we’re in a negative cashflow situation at the moment.”
“How about an appointment to third tier member of the coven?”
Prue’s intake of breath was so loud I laughed. “That’s an appointment by committee. If you think you have the numbers to put me through—black magic and all—then I’d say it was going to happen, anyway.” I tilted my head to one side, studying Glynda’s face. She’d be a dab hand in poker, I’d give her that.
But so would I.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “But I don’t have my chequebook on me.”
“That’s cool.” I linked my arm through her elbow, ignoring the appalled expression on her face. “You’ve got your phone so you can get online and direct deposit the money.” Chequebook was rapidly changing into a turn-of-phrase more than something I expected a client to have.
“You were just joking about the appointment, weren’t you?” Prue asked, her face pinched. “Because I have to say it would be a terrible idea.”
Harriet skipped a few steps to catch up with me. “I
think it sounds marvellous,” she said, casting an impish grin at the other young woman. “Would that make you the youngest appointment to the third tier?”
“We won’t find out,” Glynda snapped, wrenching her arm away from mine. “Not without Bri. She has a casting vote in any appointment.”
“Is that another enticement?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Because I’ve got to say, I’m happy to work just for the cold, hard cash.”
As my ankle turned, the stony beach underfoot getting the better of me, Harriet caught my arm and helped keep me steady. “There’s money in the appointment,” she whispered. “Everyone in the elite gets paid a stipend for their service to the coven.”
“Really? I thought the whole thing was just to get a better seat at the coven meetings?”
Prue shot a disgusted glance my way before peeling off from the group to go and sulk in her car.
“Can you two stop talking about an appointment that might never happen?” Glynda opened her car door and sat in the driver’s seat, legs outside. “Do you have your account number handy?”
“It’s preloaded under Beezley and the Witch.” If I smiled any wider, my dimples would be in danger of coming out. “Just load it across with the code mermaid and I’ll know where to assign the funds.”
“And you’re not going to offer me a coven discount?”
“Already applied.”
With a low growl, Glynda finished the transaction, then turned the screen to show me the acceptance page. “And if you can’t locate her within the two days I’ve just paid for, forget about it.” She pulled her legs inside the car and started the engine. “Brianna’s mother will need to know I’m doing something, but she’s not worth more than that.”
I jerked back as the car took off, momentum slamming the door shut. Memories of past mermaid forecast days flooded into my mind. Warmth. Excitement. Anticipation. With one swipe they were wiped clean and today’s disappointment etched in their place.
Then my phone vibrated, and I pulled it out, smiling at the bank notification. Our current money worries could be pushed back a few weeks and if Glynda changed her mind, we might last out the month, riding high.
“If the vet doesn’t charge me an arm and a leg,” I muttered, remembering my promise. Beezley sat in sullen silence next to the car, growling when a passing witch came too close.
“Ready to go home?”
“I’ve been ready for ages.” Beezley aimed for the passenger seat while I held the door open but missed, catching his chin on the edge while he fell down. With a quick glance around the car park to tot up who’d witnessed his embarrassment, he tried again, this time landing in the seat.
I hadn’t noticed until now, but he was growing pudgier by the day. Those long hours spent in front of the telly were taking their toll.
“I thought it’d be a good idea to have the vet check you over before summer hits,” I said, wincing against the anticipated argument. But Beezley just slumped in the seat, not even trying to see over the dash. “This week, if he can squeeze you in.”
“Whatever.”
And there it was. Fully fledged teen disengagement. I felt silly for not reading the signs before. “But we have a job on. Find a missing mermaid and restore the sanctity of the parade day for all the supernaturals.”
“Did you get the payment?”
“Up front, as required.”
“Wake me when we get there, then.”
I was about to nudge him into saying where exactly he thought we should be going, but he yawned and shook himself. “And I hope if this pub serves giant fish ladies it won’t object to giving a beer to a dog.”
The pub it was, then. I hoped the veterinarian wouldn’t have space on his appointment calendar until tomorrow at the earliest. The last thing I needed was a telling-off for letting a teenager drink.
Chapter Three
“Yeah, I’ve seen her,” Jesse, the bartender and owner of the Rusty Nail Bar and Bistro said with an uninterested nod. “You might say she’s a regular.”
“And she was here today?”
He pursed his lips and glanced along the counter, giving a relieved sigh as he saw a grizzled man tilting an empty glass. While Jesse dealt with his client, I lifted Beezley onto a bar stool.
“I can’t say I remember seeing her this morning, but she was here last night,” the bartender said, rejoining us at the far end of the counter. “She in trouble?”
“She’s a no-show for an important job—something she’s never been late to before.”
“And you think I’ve got her stashed out the back or something?”
I held my hands up to either side. “Just trying to find out her movements, mate. There’re no accusations here.”
“Hey, Warwick? You remember what time the wheelchair girl left yesterday?”
“Wheelchair girl?” Beezley whispered to me, frowning. “Is that some weird spell she’s put them under?”
I shrugged, but the disguise seemed a stroke of genius to me. It saved the neural network having to go into overdrive every time Brianna went out in public. Nobody looked twice at a disabled chick; not close enough to see the shape under her rug didn’t resemble legs.
“Dunno,” was the only response Warwick could come up with after an intense bout of staring at his rapidly emptying glass. “Don’t remember.”
“Yeah, nor me.” Jesse came back to stand in front of us, refilling a jar of straws and looking miserable. “She defo came in here, but I can’t remember seeing her leave. Usually, she needs a bit of help to get rolling.”
Beezley huffed a sigh and turned to go, but I jerked on his leash. The blank look on the two men’s faces as they discussed how nothing had happened could easily be the neural network operating at full power.
There were cameras in all corners of the bar, and I’d noticed two mounted on the outside. “Do you mind if I look at the camera feed, just to make sure? Her family’s worried and if I can tell them I saw her leave here, safe and sound, it’ll help set their minds at ease.”
Jesse appeared startled at the thought.
“I’m not interested in anything else that went on in here,” I assured him. “Just the wheelchair girl.”
“I don’t know,” he said with great reluctance, an emotion that eased when I pushed two twenties across the counter. “It should still be on the hard drive until next week unless the tapes got out of order and it’s wiped.”
“Sounds great.” I followed his pointing finger into a back room that had me briefly wondering if something very bad was about to happen. Luckily, the worst thing to assault me was the odour of damp mould. “Can I grab a beer while I watch these?”
When he returned with the brew, I’d sorted out the viewing system and queued up the footage from the previous night. Once Jesse closed the door, I set the beer in front of Beezley—much to his delight—and fast-forwarded through the early evening hours until Bri rolled into the bar.
“She’s pretty.”
“Yeah. Her mother was a beauty queen and Bri sure takes after her, apart from in the leg department.”
“How long ago did all that happen?”
“Before my time. I didn’t know until Glynda told us and I’ve been watching Bri’s appearances in the harbour from the age of six.”
On the screen, Brianna wheeled herself to a corner of the room and set to work on the half-dozen glasses arranged in front of her. It would’ve been a lot cheaper to just buy a bottle of discount whiskey from the off-licence and set herself up at home, but perhaps she enjoyed the company.
In the first few minutes after her arrival, three men had wandered over to her table, being dispatched with a silent, two-word invective that my lip-reading skills suggested both began and ended with the letter f.
Pickling might be a real thing, as judging from the video, Brianna appeared to be in her early thirties. Given her mother’s retirement and her own long history as the mermaid forecaster of Fernwood Gully, she must have a decade on that, at lea
st.
I shot a glance at the glass in front of Beezley, wondering if it could work magic on my complexion, too. I’d seen a wrinkle just the other day. Not one of the lines that formed due to changeable expressions but a real one. One that stayed even as I forced my face to relax. One that turned up in my selfies.
“What’s the ratio of men to women in this place?” Beezley asked with a guffaw as another few men approached Bri’s table and were quickly rebuffed. “Do you think her hobby is telling men no?”
“It’s every women’s hobby,” I muttered, but it wasn’t true. The last man to approach me in a bar had been the owner to kick me out, right on closing.
Just one reason I didn’t hang around pubs much. Another being a lack of funds, even though I was a lightweight when it came to drinking.
After half an hour, I fast forwarded through the footage, sure we were on a hiding to nothing. Almost as soon as I pressed the button, the entire screen lit up like Guy Fawkes’ night.
“What was that?” Beezley jumped to attention beside me.
I rewound the video, tensing in anticipation as I played it back.
Brianna sat in the corner, nursing her drinks. A man approached, back to the camera, his face concealed. He sat, ignoring the mermaid’s gestures and her shouted abuse. When his hand gripped onto her forearm, the screen lit up.
“Go back. Show me again, slower.” Beezley jumped into my lap, stepping onto my knees to be closer to the screen. I closed my eyes, lights dancing across my eyelids. When I opened them, the flash showed again onscreen.
At a third of normal playing speed, the video caught a split second before the room exploded into light. The hand on Brianna’s upper arm took most of my focus, then I saw the man toss something into the air from his free hand. Boom. Light.
Beezley didn’t have to tell me to run it again, I got it done, slowing it down still further. This time when we reached the end, we both gasped.
Brianna stood and shielded her face with her arm as the powder or potion or whatever-on-earth-it-was struck. She stood and the nanna rug across her knees fell away.
She stood on two legs, not a scale in sight.
