Winging It

by A. A. Albright

  Just as I was trying to think of some way out of it, some way we could carry on investigating, Christine walked into the room. ‘Investigation’s off, kiddos,’ she said grimly. She held up her phone. It was displaying the same suicide note Gretel had just shown me. ‘Justine is satisfied that we’re looking at a suicide pact here. No one’s getting the warrant.’

  ‘But we don’t think it is a suicide,’ I argued.

  Christine shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter what we think. Like I said, it’s over. I’m gonna go help your mother with the mess in Riddler’s Edge.’

  ‘Riddler’s Edge?’ Gretel and I asked in unison.

  ‘Oh. I guess you didn’t watch the rest of the news.’ Christine flicked through her phone, and brought up a Breaking News item. Gretel and I stood gobsmacked, as we watched a building in the other enclave in Riddler’s Edge go up in flames.

  ≈

  No one died, that was the main thing. But that was only thanks to tonight’s Weredog Rights meeting being moved at the last minute. If it had gone ahead in Riddler’s Edge as arranged, I dreaded to think of just how many weredogs might have died.

  Hours later, we stood looking at what was left of the small community hall. The thing about an Inferno spell is that you can’t stop it burning. You just have to wait it out.

  Two male witches, guys barely in their twenties, had cast the spell. They owned up to it immediately. Already, they were in the Wyrd Court, and they would probably be in Witchfield by morning. Their brazenness had sickened me to my stomach. They were proud of what they had done. They even smiled as my coven bound them in magical rope, and said, ‘We’re only sorry there was no one inside.’

  I stayed on after they were taken to the Wyrd Court, to help with the clean-up. I think it was about three when Christine handed me a coffee and said, ‘Maybe the Minister is right, after all. If the stuff that’s been going on lately can’t be classed as a national emergency, then I don’t know what can.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said as I took a sip of the hot drink. ‘But if it is a national emergency, then it’s one that her own policies have caused. And if she thinks she’s going to get through it any easier without Finn – and us – on her side, then she’s an even bigger idiot than we thought. Actually, I might call Finn. Check how he’s coping.’

  As I stared at my phone and wondered what I could possibly say to him, the phone began to ring.

  ‘Hey, Finn,’ I said. ‘You won’t believe it, but I was just about to call you. Weird or what?’

  He let out a world-weary sigh. ‘Yeah. Well, you would have had trouble getting through. My phone’s been ringing off the hook with people asking me all sorts. But listen, I think you and I should talk. Fancy meeting me somewhere for lunch tomorrow? I was thinking the Flying Club in Riddler’s Cove. We can have a chat and feel out the staff about Candace while we’re there.’

  My brain suddenly whirred into action. ‘The Flying Club sounds great. And while we’re on the subject, could you tell me how a witch might go about getting some lessons there?’

  I settled down into a singed chair, and we made our arrangements.

  5. Flying Low

  The next morning, I woke up to a text message from Gabriel:

  Sorry I got so hot-headed with Max last night. I hope you and me are still okay. I’d love it if you could finally come for dinner at my dad’s place. I know you’ll be working throughout the day, so I was thinking maybe eight? I could pick you up on my broom.

  I chewed on my hair, thinking about how to reply. I’d been saved from meeting Gabriel’s father on three occasions now. The first time we were scheduled to have dinner there was a robbery in a book shop on Eile Street. The second time, a beautiful young witch was murdered by her jealous older husband. The third time ... the third time I told him I had a sick stomach. And I did, too. Except that I was sick with nerves instead of with any kind of bug.

  But what was there to be nervous about? Gabriel was so lovely. His father was sure to be the same. And going there on the back of Gabriel’s broom meant I got to wrap my arms around him and smell his cinnamon-scented goodness along the way. I texted back:

  Love to. I’ll see you at eight.

  Beside me, Kitty stirred. She made the cutest little yawn, stretched out, and looked at me with her big round eyes.

  ‘Morning,’ she said. Even her kitten-breath smelled delightful.

  I smiled at her, stroked her fur, and then stroked it a bit more just for good measure. ‘I picked up some food for you last night. Fancy some breakfast?’

  She made an extra-deep purr, and nodded. As I jumped out of the bed and she leapt down after me, I sensed movement above. Looking up at Dizzy, I saw that he had one eye peeled open. ‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Breakfast?’

  The bat groaned. ‘I’m never eating again. I tried apples last night, Wanda. They were on a tree outside the sleepover. We nibbled them while we were waiting for the girls to arrive. It wasn’t the best idea I ever had.’

  I nodded knowingly. The Lesser-Known Mango Bat didn’t do well with anything other than mangoes. ‘So ... will you be seeing this lady bat again?’

  Dizzy shrugged and closed his eyes. ‘She got a bit narky when I came home to stay with Kitty. I don’t think I want such a high-maintenance woman in my life. Oh, by the way, when you’re making breakfast can you try and keep the noise down? I really need my rest.’

  I left him there with the curtains and the blinds closed, and took Kitty to the kitchen. When we arrived there, we found a note from Max on the table:

  Gone to meet Jasper so I can pick up Wolfie. See you later. Don’t worry – I’ll warn him about the cat.

  As I fixed the cat’s breakfast, I couldn’t help but smile. Wolfie, an enormous Irish Wolfhound, was a dog that Max loved with all his being. He was currently sharing custody of the dog with a rock star werewolf called Jasper Jaunt. Surprisingly, the arrangement seemed to be working out well.

  ‘I have a lot of work on this morning,’ I told Kitty. ‘But I’m definitely going to look into the Candace situation once I’m done with it all. Do you want to come to Riddler’s Cove with me at lunchtime?’

  Kitty stopped eating, and started shaking. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Wanda. Her parents think they’ve got rid of me. If they see us together, they’ll know I’ve asked you to snoop. They’ll be on their guard, and they’ll make it impossible to find anything out.’

  Wow, this was a clever little cat. ‘Okay. Well, I’m going to take a shower and get going. I’ll come home later on to tell you what I’ve found out.’

  ≈

  I arrived at the Wyrd Court at eight thirty that morning, ready to question Johnny Goode. When I got there, Melissa was behind the Incoming desk once again. This time, she wasn’t processing dozens of criminals. Instead, she was grabbing her handbag. Her big green eyes were filled with fury.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I looked around the deathly-quiet room. The holding pen was empty. ‘Where are all the criminals?’

  ‘There was an emergency court session last night – which I was not told about. Judge Redvein sent everyone to Witchfield. Some are on remand, and some – like your Johnny Goode, have already been sentenced.’ She swung her bag over her shoulder and marched out from behind the desk. ‘Something weird is going on, Wanda. The Minister called me a minute ago. She told me I should take the morning off. I think she might be getting ready to give me the old heave-ho. Y’know – now that she’s in charge of the entire universe.’

  I felt an uneasy swell in my stomach. Now that I thought about it, something strange was going on. When I arrived on the steps outside the Wyrd Court, dozens of Peacemakers had been lined up on guard. I initially figured the Minister had caught up with her staffing crisis. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  ‘I’m going to go home and eat ice cream. I mean, I always figured I’d be sailing on a yacht with the man of my dreams when the world ended but ... ice cream comes close. What about you?’

  I swallowed.
‘I guess I’m just going to carry on as normal.’ I gave her a brief hug. ‘But keep some ice cream for me. I’ll probably need it by the time the day is over.’

  ≈

  I was irked that Johnny Goode had already been tried and sentenced. Actually, irked isn’t a strong enough word. I was hopping mad and likely to scream at anyone who looked at me the wrong way. But there was nothing I could do about it, so I just got on with the job.

  Things still hadn’t settled down – the Inferno spell the night before had understandably exacerbated things, and there were fights to break up almost everywhere I went. There was a witch-on-vampire fight in Luna’s Gúnas, a weredog-on-werewolf fight in the Phoenix Park, a wizard-on-witch fight in a yoga class (turns out, lycra can be used as a weapon), and a brawl on Eile Street that involved too many supernaturals to count.

  By the time twelve o’clock came around, I was exhausted, but the day wasn’t even half way through. So I chugged down an energy drink, clicked my fingers, and took myself to Riddler’s Cove.

  I’d been at the Flying Club as a child, but I didn’t remember it looking so imposing. I guess I was just so excited to be anywhere with my father that nothing else mattered. Looking at it now, as an adult, I wasn’t quite so excited.

  The women and men I could see from the gate were dressed in expensive clothes. When I say expensive, I mean three months’ salary wouldn’t have bought me even one shoe kind of expensive. All that was missing were the flashy cars outside, and the place would be almost identical to a members-only golf club I had once worked at in the human world. No doubt that, when I saw the witches’ brooms, they would be equally costly.

  The most disturbing thing of all, though, was that for a flying club, very few people seemed to be doing any flying. There were a few kids outside, but most of the grown-up members were in the bar. Though it was barely noon, champagne was being guzzled and gin was being gulped.

  Now, I’ve got nothing against gulping and guzzling, but if I were stinking rich, I’d much rather spend the day on my broom, and save some of that champers for when my bum was too bruised to fly anymore.

  I located the reception desk, and made my way there. I’d met with snooty receptionists before – the witch at Swanks in Dublin being just about the worst – but this girl took snooty to a whole new level. She wore a neat green suit, with a broom-shaped brooch on her lapel. Her hair was plum-coloured and neatly cropped, and her perfume was strong enough to make me sneeze.

  She looked me up and down. And then she looked me down and up, just for good measure. ‘You’re Wanda Wayfair, aren’t you? Can I help you with something? Perhaps you’re lost?’

  I gave her my most winning smile. ‘I’m exactly where I need to be. I want to book lessons, please.’

  For some reason, she focused on the ceiling when she replied. ‘Lessons are for members only. And membership is one hundred gold rounds a year. To be paid up-front.’

  I pointed at a diary on her desk. ‘I’ve been invited as a guest. My name should be down there. Don’t guests get five free lessons? Try before you buy and all that.’

  She gave her diary the most cursory of glances. ‘Who would invite you to be a member? Oh. I see. Finn Plimpton. Well his membership might soon be cancelled, so I suppose you had better toddle on and get all your free lessons in now. Like a good little leech.’

  ‘Hey, listen.’ I leaned across the desk. ‘I can take snobby. Snobbishness is just too ridiculous to bother arguing with. But nastiness? That I can argue with all day long.’

  She sniggered. ‘Oh, I’m sure you can, Wanda. But you might be best off saving your energy. News is, you and your lot will be back on the job market before long.’ She pushed a badge towards me. It was about as big as my Pendant of Privilege had been, and just as ugly. It said Guest in bright red letters against a yellow background. ‘Wear this at all times whilst in the club. A beginners’ lesson is starting in five minutes.’

  ≈

  It was a crisp day on the beginners’ field. Young witches were lined up, dressed in sensible trousers and warm sweaters, with snazzy looking hats, scarves and boots to ward off the chill. I noticed quite a lot of ear muffs, too. I pulled my hat down over my ears, hoping that it’d do the job.

  ‘Nice broom!’ A willowy woman of about thirty approached me. ‘Wow. I haven’t seen one as good as this since ...’ She paused and put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh. But you’re his daughter, aren’t you?’ She extended a hand. ‘I’m Amelia Albright,’ she said. ‘And I am so honoured to meet you. I was a huge fan of your father’s. And now to see you here, with one of his brooms.’ She shivered. ‘As you can see, I’m ridiculously excited. I’ve been hoping I’d run into you for a long time now.’

  I looked more carefully at the woman. She had light red hair, just like Adeline and Arthur Albright. ‘You’re the teacher? But ... I thought that all the Albrights were chroniclers.’

  She let out a light burst of laughter. ‘That’s true, but I’m going against the grain. Never was one for the books. You do know this is a beginners’ lesson, Wanda?’

  I chewed on my lip. ‘I’ve been flying a wizard broom since I became empowered. I’ve had this witch broom for months now.’ I felt myself hugging the broom closer to me, as though it could stave off my embarrassment. ‘But I’ve never actually flown it.’

  ‘You’ve never flown one of your own father’s brooms!’ she exclaimed. ‘My goodness, how did you resist?’

  ‘Actually, it isn’t. My father’s, I mean. It was just a birthday present from someone.’ From Will Berry, to be precise, but I wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

  ‘Oh. I wonder who made it.’ She shook her head. ‘Listen to me. I’m an insensitive eejit is what I am. The last thing you want to be doing is listening to me go on about your dad. Come on. Follow me and I’ll get you started.’

  ≈

  It shouldn’t have surprised me to see that the other witches in the beginners’ class were all a lot younger than me. There was a pair of twins who couldn’t have been more than six or seven. The oldest of the bunch – a skinny boy called Roger – looked about eleven. They’d all had at least one lesson before, so I was the newbiest of the newbies.

  The class started with safety checks. That went okay ... for the first two questions, anyway. Did my broom’s magic feel strong? Check. Did my broom look in good condition? Check. Did I have a flying incantation at the ready? Nope. I could remember about a hundred suggested incantations I had read about, but the more wasn’t always the merrier. Sometimes, the more choice you had, the more difficult it became to make a decision.

  Did I have a warmth spell at the ready? Um ... maybe. See previous answer.

  Did I know how to pair my body to the broom, thus eliminating the problem of falling off? Well, that one would be an extra-fat nope.

  I guess my panic was written all over my face, because Amelia left the others to her helper – a cute young witch called Saoirse – and came to give me some individual attention.

  ‘I guess it seems a lot more complicated than a wizard broom.’

  ‘You said it.’ I looked miserably at the broom. From the moment Will gave it to me, I had been desperate to fly. And I loved flying, too. It was effortless on my wizard broom, but I recalled being on my father’s brooms when I was a child. I might not have been the one keeping us in the air, but nevertheless the feeling of flying was exhilarating. So why couldn’t I even swing my leg across?

  ‘I remember when your father went missing. You were only ... what? Eight or so?’

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘I was a teenager,’ Amelia went on. ‘And absolutely obsessed with flying. I was entered in the junior version of the Everest Climb that year. Under Sixteens’ Advanced. The order of it used to be different back then – the main event came first, then the beginners’ and junior competitions afterwards. They changed it ... well, after that year. Anyway, I never actually went through with my own race, in the end.’

  I gave her a perplexe
d glance. ‘They didn’t cancel the rest of the competitions. I remember how the organiser said my dad would have wanted the show to go on or some nonsense like that.’

  Amelia nodded. ‘You almost have it word for word. And I bought into it. I was there, on the starting line with all of the others. And just as the countdown began, I felt something I’d never felt before. I felt nervous. I sat there on my broom, thinking – if a guy like Aengus Wayfair could run into trouble, what about me? I started imagining all of the things that could have happened with your dad. Did his broom fail? Did he lose control of his magic? I ran off, saying I had food poisoning. It was months before I flew again.’

  ‘Oh.’ I started playing with the broom’s bristles. ‘But then you did. Eventually. Obviously.’

  ‘Obviously. I’d like to tell you I had some epiphany, but the truth is that the itch got to me again, and I couldn’t ignore it. I missed flying so much. I felt like I couldn’t breathe without it. Like no amount of food could satisfy me. No amount of wine could make me drunk.’

  I brought my eyes to hers. Everything she said about flying was just what I felt – even though I’d been doing it the easy way. And maybe she was right. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, I was worrying about all the things that could go wrong. With a witch broom, it was all down to me. Sure, witches who made brooms imbued them with a certain amount of magic. But only enough so that it could bind with the witch who flew it. My magic alone was what would send me into the air. My magic alone was what would keep me there.

  ‘Here on the beginners’ field,’ said Amelia, ‘we have certain precautions in place. You can’t fly above six feet, and if you fall, the ground is designed to give you a soft landing. So I really don’t think that this first lesson will be difficult for you, Wanda. In fact, having heard one or two things about your power, I’d say it’ll be only too easy.’