by Amy Boyles
"Thanks," I said. Well now my feelings were a little hurt. I was superwoman as far as I was concerned.
"But the fact is, you won't be queen for long. As soon as this investigation is wrapped up and we find the killer, they'll appoint a new one. Probably Em."
"Hopefully Em."
He nodded. "But until then you've got to do what queens do. One of those duties is to hear testimony. And that's what I need you for." He tugged me to him, wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead.
I shuddered. A swirl of feeling zinged through my body. I sighed into him.
After a few seconds he slowly pulled away. His shining face peered down at me. "Ready?"
I shrugged. "I guess so."
He led me to a room in what I figured was a corner of the castle. In it waited Jonathan Pearbottom (puke) and Pierre Pompadour, the hairstylist from earlier in the day.
Pierre poked his nose in the air. "Of course you find one of my threads on Gertrude. I styled her hair for the voting. What? Do you think I'm going to use my hands when fixing someone?"
"Um, maybe?" I said.
He flipped the dark ends of his hair toward the sky. "That is because you are too much in the other world and not enough here. I would never think to use my hands to do any work."
Of course not. That would be beneath you.
I didn't say that out loud, did I?
He yanked one of the white cuffs poking out beneath his purple jacket. "I use my power to create hairstyles. It is how all great witch stylists out of France build the hair for the perfection." He flicked his wrist. "But if you think I made that grotesque bubble gum kill her, you are mistaken. If I were to kill someone, I'd have their hair attack them, obviously."
Pierre glanced at us and blanched. "But I would never do that," he said quickly. "Kill someone. I don't have the stomach for it. Murder is something most disgusting."
I slid my hand down the tip of my ponytail. "Prove it. Recreate Gertrude's hairstyle on me. Right now."
Pierre tapped his fingers to his chest. "Here? Now? But what you're wearing. It won't go."
"I'll put on a ball gown later. How's that?"
Roman looked at me, his lips coiling into a grin.
Pearbottom shuffled his feet. "I don't see how that will prove anything."
I cocked my head and did my best Em impersonation. "Ain't I your queen, Jonathan?"
He frowned.
"Then he'll do it."
So Pierre waved his hands in the air like he just didn't care and recreated Gertrude's sweeping updo. It took all of one minute. Sixty seconds later my hair looked fit for a queen. Oh wait, that would be me.
"Now find the thread," I said to Roman.
He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and started picking through my hair.
"Got it," he said in his velvet voice.
Pinched between Roman's thumb and forefinger wiggled a tiny golden thread. He showed the squirming twine to Pearbottom. Jonathan pulled a vial from his pocket. Another yellow thread gyrated inside.
Okay. So here's the thing about threads. When a witch performs magic on another person, they leave a thread on them. Essentially it's a remnant of the magic, and no two are alike. Which explained why the thread on me was identical to the one in the vial. What Pierre said was true at least so far as we knew. He'd built Gertrude's hairstyle for the evening, leaving a trace of his magic behind.
My hair looked exactly as hers had, and there was no doubt in my mind that Pierre hadn't committed murder.
Not that I was looking to help solve a crime.
No ma'am. No thank you. Not this time.
Besides, I wasn't even good at crime solving. Every time I thought I'd found a killer, I was never right. Never. I needed to leave the crime solving to Roman and Pearbottom.
The inspector cleared his throat. It sounded like a motor blending up a frog.
Perhaps I'd just leave it to Roman.
I dusted my hands as if that solved that. "Well, if that's all I'm needed for here, I'm going back to my room."
Roman pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and slid them over his ears. Uh. And just when I was getting used to seeing him without them. "I'll escort you."
"That's okay. I need to learn my way around the castle anyway."
I left the room and wandered back the way we'd come. I rounded a corner and entered a hall of windows. At the far end of it stood the queen's chamber of counselors. They huddled, heads together, whispering about something.
Holy crapola. If they saw me, they'd swarm me, probably whisk me off to some secluded room where they'd read me boring reports about queen things and have me make decisions about goings-on that I didn't know anything about.
The men, without once looking up, strode toward me.
To my left stood a sliding door. I tiptoed over, eased the rumbling wood on its rack and slipped inside. I closed the door as quietly as I could and held my breath.
Blackness engulfed me. I fumbled for a light but couldn't find one. From behind came the distinct sound of a match striking.
I whirled around.
"Well, Dylan Apel, I was wondering when you'd find this room."
A second later a lantern flared to life. Bannock the Butler stood holding a match between finger and thumb. He lowered the glass and blew out the wooden stick.
I wedged my back into the wall.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I only meant to say that sooner or later every queen comes searching for this room."
Bannock slid his fingers up the wall. Electric lights hummed as they illuminated the room.
I glanced around. I stood in what must have been the castle library. Leather-bound books of all different colors lined built-in shelves. Floor to ceiling and side to side, the entire room was a treasure trove of knowledge.
I skimmed my fingers over a line of tomes. Cracked bindings and frayed edges told me they'd been read many times. I peered at one of the titles. The History of Queens, Volume Two. I smirked. Exactly the kind of light reading I wasn't interested in.
"This room is beautiful," I whispered.
Bannock wiped a line of dust from the base of the lantern. "It's one of our guests’ most favorite chambers to visit."
"For good reason," I said. "Are they all about witchcraft?"
He nodded. "Most of them. A few may be related to the outside world, but most of them correspond with spells, potions and the like."
I pulled the one about queens from the shelf and crossed to a leather wingback chair planted in front of the cold fireplace. "Have you read any of them?"
"Me? No. I don't have magic. It wouldn't be any use for me to read them. I'm only a servant here, my lady. Nothing more."
I frowned. "But you've been a servant here a long time."
"Squawk! Servant here!"
Thank you, Polly.
Bannock crossed to the fireplace, clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention. "Still, a servant without magic. I have no need for books about spells seeing as I can't work them."
"Yeah, well, I've got magic but I'd rather be on your side of things."
He regarded me with a gentle, almost sympathetic gaze. "It's easier to see things from your point of view, standing on the outside looking in, than it is to flip the view and try to see it from someone else's perspective."
What? "Sorry. I'm not following."
"You don't know someone's journey until you've walked in their shoes. Though it may look sunnier from their side, most of the time things aren't."
I palmed my hand over the book. "You're saying I should be careful what I wish for."
He smiled. The edges of his eyes crinkled. "I've lived most of my life in this castle, seeing how people either take their powers for granted or try to deny their own natural abilities. Many would kill to be able to wield magic. I've never been one of those. Though I must admit there have been occasions when being able to work a little magic would have made life easier. There were times in the past wh
en I would've wanted to be in your situation more than my own."
I rolled my shoulders back. "So I should be grateful that I'm a witch? Sorry. Can't agree with you there. It's more trouble than it's worth."
"There is much good that can be done with your powers."
I lifted my arms in defeat. "Like what?" I didn't give him time to answer. "Look at me. I'm running away from queenly advisors. I don't want this job, and I don't want to be involved in another murder. Every time I am, someone tries to kill me. It's too much drama, thank you very much."
He quirked an eyebrow. "It doesn't seem to me that you have to worry about murder. They say your power is strong."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "You mean when I blasted Sumi Umi."
"That's what I've heard."
I sighed. "It was all a terrible accident. I never wanted to hurt her." I exhaled, tried to rub away a headache blooming behind my eyes. "Titus, the unicorn king, had given me an opal that was supposed to help me focus my power. He'd told me that no two opals should ever touch. A great disaster would occur because of it. Well, Sumi had me backed into a corner and was going to kill me. She wore a similar opal." I paused. Tried not to get caught up in the emotions that the memory pushed to the surface. "I had no choice. I touched my stone to hers. The explosion that occurred nearly killed us both."
"Then you discovered the opal was a fake," he concluded.
"Boy, news sure travels fast."
He chuckled. "You don't have to be an inspector to figure that out. Titus would never relinquish an opal to an outsider. Your magic and yours alone caused that explosion."
"I guess," I grumbled. "But I didn't mean for it to happen, and I don't want it to ever happen again."
Bannock nodded toward the book in my lap. "You may gain some guidance from that."
"About what? How to be a Queen Witch? No thanks."
"So you don't want that, either."
"Not interested."
"Not interested!"
I shuddered at the screeching voice on my shoulder. "Please excuse the bird. He's latched on to me, and I can't seem to get rid of him."
Bannock dusted a shelf with his hand. "If you don't want to be Queen Witch, there are ways around it."
I jerked up in the chair. "There are? Tell me!"
Bannock pulled a watch from a waist pocket in his vest. He clicked a button to open it, surveyed the time and closed it back.
"If you need to be somewhere, I can walk with you."
"Oh no, my lady. I can be a moment late. But if you really want to stop being the queen, there's only one way."
I gnawed my lower lip. "How?"
"Find someone to be a character witness. Of course they'll have to say you're unfit for such a position by defaming you. But that's one way out of it."
A cloud of thought parted, and a ray of inspiration broke through. "Can it be anyone?"
Bannock nodded. He crossed to a rear door. "As far as I know. Good luck."
I rose from the chair and hugged the book to my body. "Well, Polly," I said. "It looks like I may be able to get out of here. All I need to do is magic up the best character witness ever and get the counselors to see me as a vile, terrible person." I snapped my fingers. "And I know just who to get."
"Who!"
Wait. Was that a question? I ignored it and said, "The Mouth of the South herself. Jenny Butts."
NINE
Jenny Butts pumped her arms as she took in me and my family. "Y'all. Y'all. Y'all. I cannot believe we're in a castle."
We stood in the middle of the Queen's Hall, a long rectangular-shaped room that had, of all things, a throne at one end. Guess who was sitting on it? That would be me. The chair itself was made of some sort of yellow metal. I didn't want to think it was gold. I really didn't.
Because I might be tempted to steal a chunk and sell it at Mike's Gun and Pawn when I got back home.
Perhaps no one would notice a sliver missing from the bottom.
Anyway, I sat atop a red velvet cushion that lined the back and seat. I had to say, it was totally comfy. So comfortable that I could have propped my legs over one arm, snuggled into the chair and fallen right to sleep.
But I had work to do.
"What do you mean by calling this nonmagic here?" one of the counselors hissed in my ear.
I waved my hand at him. "Calm down. We're going to erase her memory as soon as this is over. She'll forget everything."
"Why is she here?" he asked.
I glanced at his puffed red face. He was bald, like all the other counselors. Was that a fashion trend I wasn't aware of? Or did working around witches make you bald? My guess was that they'd pulled their hair out from frustration. It probably wasn't easy dealing with queens. After all, Em could be a royal pain in the derriere. Probably the others were, too.
Anyway, light reflected off his bald pate right into my eyes. I squinted. "She's here to prove I'm not worthy of being Queen Witch." I pointed at Em, who stood in a corner. "That woman's your queen. I'm no better than an imposter."
"This is unprecedented," he argued. "You've been made queen in the interim."
"I don't want to be queen in the interim," I snapped. "And in a couple of minutes, you won't want me to be, either."
I turned to Jenny, who stood with mouth open and eyes wide. "Oh, I just love Europe. Am I in Scotland? I'm in Scotland, right? I always wanted to visit there. Who doesn't love a man in a kilt? I know I don't. Dylan, have you seen any around? ’Cause I don't see any."
It seems bringing folks in to Castle Witch was okay. It was the leaving that was off-limits. So when I asked my grandmothers to bring Jenny, they'd recommended making her think she was on vacation somewhere. With me and my family, no less. More like a nightmare than a fantasy trip if you asked me.
"Jenny, there aren't any men in kilts."
She coiled one of her Marilyn Monroe curls around her finger. "Uh. Well, I guess regular old men will have to do."
Old men? Before I even went there, I tossed the image of Jenny and a geriatric boyfriend from my head. Some thoughts were better left unexplored.
"Jenny, listen. I need you to tell these people all about how ridiculous I am. How they don't need to think highly of me."
Jenny puckered up her red lips. She tapped a finger against them. "Well, I know all about why folks shouldn't put any stock in you, Dylan. If that's what you're asking."
I gritted my teeth. "That's exactly right."
Jenny flapped her hands to and fro as she spoke. "Well, in kindergarten Dylan snuck a look at the teacher's lesson plan. She was trying to cheat on an exam of shapes. In middle school she told Suzie Watts that her bottom smelled and convinced her to put baby powder down her drawers."
My cheeks flared with humiliation. "What else, Jenny?" I said. "Something more substantial."
"Oh, I know," Jenny said. "Dylan thinks she's better than everyone else. I've offered her friendly advice on how to increase the sales of her shop, but she always blows me off. Doesn't want to listen. She even had the audacity to tell me that my very successful class on how to catch a man was ridiculous. That I don't know anything about catching a man even though I have a date every Saturday night and all Dylan has is cobwebs in her girly parts—"
"Thank you, Jenny. That's enough," I said, rubbing my temples. I glanced at Grandma. "Perhaps it's time for Jenny to go home."
"But I haven't seen a man wearing a kilt yet," she whined.
"Keep looking. Grandma?"
Grandma shuffled over and placed a hand on Jenny's shoulders. "Time to go on a little trip," she said, escorting Jenny from the room.
I turned to the counselors. "Well? Convinced I'm not ready to be queen? I know I am."
The counselors murmured among themselves for a moment. The lead one, the one from earlier, cleared his throat and said, "None of this evidence was damning enough to remove you from office. But don't fret, I'm sure the murder will be solved and a new queen will be crowned."
I rose, fists
clenched, cheeks inflated like soccer balls. "How could it not have been enough? Didn't you hear what she said. I told someone she smelled, and I don't get any action."
"Yeah," Reid said. "My sister's pretty much a loser."
I shot her a look of death.
She shrugged. "Don't you want out of here?"
Good point.
The counselor shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we've made a decision. You will remain in office. Until then, perhaps we can discuss some of your duties?"
"Uh. I have pressing matters with the investigators."
I headed toward the door. From her place in the corner, Em crossed over to me. "Good try, chickadee," she said.
"Those men must bind their decisions in steel."
She shrugged. "They're not so bad."
I ignored her. "I mean, who wouldn't listen to Jenny Butts?"
She smirked. "You."
I tipped my head toward her. "Got me there." I paused. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you reinstated."
Em rubbed the bangles on her left arm. Her bottom lip quivered for half a second. "Thanks for trying."
I sneaked a glance at Em. Her shoulders sagged, and her normally bright eyes looked dull, lifeless. Usually she was composed of hellfire and brimstone. Well, at least hellfire. But now Em appeared deflated, as if the election had beaten her. It made me sad. Yes, sad.
So I did something I would normally never do.
I gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. I was surprised a winged pig didn't fly by a window, because I'm pretty sure offering Em comfort of any kind was on my when-hell-freezes-over list of things to do.
"Don't you worry about me, chicklet. I'll be fine."
"I'm not worried," I said quickly. "Just offering encouragement."
She smiled but said nothing.
We reached the doorway and I turned left.
"I thought you were goin' to find Roman," she said.
"I am."
She thumbed to the right. "Then you need to go that way."
"Why? What's that way?"
Em folded her arms and leaned onto one hip. The soft clanking of bangles echoed in the castle. "Why, his house."
***
