16. The War of the Enclaves
It would be an extreme under exaggeration to say I was confused by the change in the detective’s mood. Sure, I’d given him a bit of a hard time about how cranky he was when I first arrived, but I sincerely doubted it was my sarcasm which caused his about-turn. If I were a suspicious sort of person (and let’s face it – I am) then I might begin to wonder if that latest little gift from Darina had been the reason.
Whatever kind of lover’s tiff they were having, I wished they’d keep it to themselves and leave me the heck out of it. If Darina thought Dylan Quinn had a thing for me, then she needed as much help as he did.
But if they needed help, then I did too. Because even though the detective had returned to being his old, obnoxious self, I couldn’t help but miss the nice Dylan. I’d been having fun with him, and I felt like he was enjoying himself, too. We worked well together. Or at least I thought so until he kicked me out of his office.
When I arrived back at the Daily Riddler, Grace was gone. There was a scribbled note from her on my desk which told me she was out of town for the evening, but that if I emailed her my work for the evening edition by six, she’d make sure it was printed.
I held back a small smile as I updated my article, adding in the fact that the Burkes had been taken in for questioning. On any other paper that hit the shops at seven each evening, everything would have been submitted ages ago in order to make the print run. But the Daily Riddler didn’t go through the usual process.
Magic really was amazing, I thought as I finished up and sent my piece off to Grace. I knew that as soon as she’d looked over the piece and made her corrections, the paper would be on the shelves in Norman’s Shop. I’d seen her ‘print’ things before. It involved a lot of finger-wiggling, some complicated incantations, and about ten minutes of her time.
As I packed up my bag, I suddenly remembered my promise to call Jared. Seeing as Detective Two-Personalities had made it clear he didn’t want my help, I had nothing else planned after choir practice. But it wouldn’t be right to spend my free time on another date with Jared – not when my heart wasn’t in it. I was trying to think of the nicest words in which to explain things when I heard a cry of, ‘You did not just do that!’ from Greg’s office.
I rushed towards his door and knocked.
‘Come in!’ he called out. ‘But don’t expect my rapt attention. I’m just about to blow the heads off some members of the Plimpton coven!’
I pushed the door open and saw him at his desk, surrounded by empty crisp packets and drink cans. It seemed I wasn’t the only one whose healthy plans had gone awry. His eyes were glued to his computer screen, and he wore headphones with a small microphone attached.
‘Take that Percival Plimpton!’ he crowed.
I moved behind him and saw one of the characters – a man wearing a pointed cap and an old-fashioned cape – explode on the screen.
Greg pulled off his headphones and looked at me. ‘Sorry. Just had to kill the last of my enemy’s henchmen. I managed to get my hands on some exceptionally powerful elf-bolts, so it was hardly a fair battle. But hey – the right side won in the end.’
I rolled over his spare chair and sat next to him. ‘That’s your War of the Enclaves game again?’
‘Yip. It’s an online game. And I’ve just graduated to level one hundred and one. I’ve never met anyone who’s gotten past one hundred before, so I think I might have a bite to eat before I play again. Wanna grab steak and chips in the Fisherman’s Friend? We could call Jared and Pru, see if they want to join?’
I curled a strand of hair around my fingers, feeling indecisive.
‘Silver sickle for your thoughts.’
I laughed at the unfamiliar phrase. ‘Jared asked me out again. But I was going to call him and tell him no. I mean, I really want to go to this choir practice tonight. And I just … I just …’
He looked closely at me. ‘I know Jared’s got a reputation, Ash, but he does like you, you know. He never shuts up about you. Although I think the more important question is – do you like him? I mean … more than you like Dylan?’
I felt my face begin to burn. Oh, the curse that is pale skin. And I wasn’t feeling flushed with embarrassment, either. I just hated being put on the spot about my feelings, especially when I hadn’t spoken to Jared yet. ‘I’m … well … he’s an incredibly good looking guy, isn’t he? Who wouldn’t fancy him? Look, I suppose I have time to grab dinner before choir. Just give him and Pru a call and see if they’ll meet us at the pub.’
Four people having dinner together couldn’t count as a date, after all. Not even in Jared’s eyes.
Greg pulled a lollipop from one of his pockets, unwrapped it, and began to suck. ‘Will do. Oh, and before you ask – I did do some more digging into the green glow you saw. I can’t find any references to it anywhere, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. I mean, you were seeing weird hazes around supernatural areas all your life, and it turned out you were right about that.’
‘Not just areas. Things too, sometimes. Like the first time I looked at a Wayfarer’s truncheon. I’ve started to see it around other things. Like your scanners every now and then. And some wands. Not the green glow, more like the shimmering I see around enclaves.’
Greg frowned. ‘That’s weird. Y’know, I’m not the go-to guy on this sort of stuff. No one in Riddler’s Edge is. We’re all just a big bunch of supernatural misfits here. Not quite human enough for the magical world. Not quite magical enough to want to spend too much time in the witch enclaves. But there are some folks fairly close to home who know everything about everything.’ For some reason, he was looking intently at his lollipop. ‘Chroniclers, you might say. The Riddler’s Cove Tall Tales teacher in particular.’ He popped his treat back into his mouth and, when he spoke again, his words were garbled. But I’m pretty sure he said something along the lines of, ‘The Albright coven know everything about everything.’
I was just about to tell him what the Albright coven could do with their know-it-all-ness, when the sound of a gong being struck came out of his computer. We both stared at the screen. There was a female figure in white, with long titian hair, ringing a silver gong with what looked like a bluebell. There were words below the character: Congratulations on defeating Percival Plimpton. Would you like to invite your friend to play?
Greg typed some commands into his keyboard. I could see what he was writing on the screen: Signed off now. Will play again this evening. Which friend do you mean?
The lady in white rang the gong again, smiling out of the screen as she did so. More words appeared below her: The woman who’s sitting at your desk.
Greg stared at me. ‘It … she …’
I scrunched up my nose. ‘Do you have your webcam turned on? Is someone in your weird game looking at us right now?’
Greg shook his head, his skin paling. ‘I always switch it off when I’m playing – ever since a female orc told me she loved my body. I’m telling you Ash, there’s no way anyone could be looking at us right now. Not unless they’re using a very different sort of technology.’
I looked back at the screen. The character was smiling, nodding, and waving her free hand in a come hither motion. It was just about the creepiest thing I’d ever seen – and considering I’d seen two incredibly macabre murder scenes recently, that was saying something.
‘Do you happen to know who’s controlling that character, Greg?’
He threw his half-eaten lollipop into the bin. ‘No idea who’s behind the character. But I know who the character is. She’s the Queen, Ash. The sióga queen. And I think she wants you to play.’
I stared at her for a moment, feeling dizzy. Grabbing onto the desk to steady myself, I shook my head. ‘Maybe another time,’ I said. ‘Let’s go have dinner.’
17. Green-Eyed Monster
The four of us sat in a large booth at the Fisherman’s Friend, empty dinner plates in front of us and dessert on the way. We were the only p
eople eating in the establishment. The other patrons were either seated around the bar or on stools by the fire and, as usual, they were all drinking pints of stout and ignoring one another.
The Fisherman’s Friend might be in a quasi-magical town, but it was oddly reminiscent of every other small pub in Ireland. Well, any small pub whose landlord happened to walk around the place in pirate costume, with a fake parrot on his shoulder.
As I sipped at my lemonade, I glanced across at Jared. He and Greg were looking at a video on Greg’s phone – something to do with broom-riding competitions, according to Greg. Whatever it was, they were rapt.
Pru nudged me gently. ‘I noticed Jared looking at Lassie McGrath’s jewellery catalogue before we came out,’ she whispered.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold back a groan.
Pru shuffled closer to me on the seat. ‘Look, I can see why you’d be wary of him. But I have to be honest – he’s not being his usual self with you, Ash. Much as it makes me queasy to say this … I think he might actually like you. I’ve never seen him make even half this much effort with a woman before.’
I couldn’t think of a reply. I should have pulled Jared aside and spoken to him by now, but he’d been so charming and lovely when he arrived. I glanced covetously into Pru’s alcohol-filled glass, wishing I’d ordered some wine. Dutch courage and all.
‘But I’m guessing you don’t return his enthusiasm?’ Pru said in a low voice. ‘Well, if that’s the case, then make sure you put him out of his misery sooner rather than later.’
I looked steadily at her. ‘I will. I’ll talk to him when I get back from choir. I promise.’
≈
As I made my way to the church hall I had a lot on my mind. But very little of my thinking was centred on Jared – my head was too full of Dylan and the murder case for that.
I knew exactly what Detective Dopey would say about me coming here tonight. He’d tell me to butt out, and to leave the case to him. But I doubted he’d say that because he genuinely believed it was solved. Darina Berry had something on him. Something big enough to make him think he needed to push me away again.
Well, I wasn’t going to be pushed. Not this time. He could call me Miss Smith all he liked, but I was going to keep on calling him Dylan. And I was going to keep on investigating Heather’s and Rachel’s deaths, too.
As I walked through the door into the hall I heard people running scales, while someone played the organ. It sounded as though they were having quite the fun time, despite the fact that two of their members were dead and another two had been questioned for murder.
‘Ah, Aisling.’ Dean paused in his organ-playing and beamed at me. ‘I was afraid you’d be too busy preparing the latest salacious stories to join us. I’m glad you could make it. We were just about to start singing the Ballad of the Dread Pirate Brian. Care to join us?’
I nodded quickly, taking my place in the ever-shrinking line.
‘I’ve got some music pre-recorded,’ said Dean, coming to stand in front of us. ‘So I’ll conduct you while you sing. Aisling – I’d like you to take Rachel’s place singing lead, if you’re comfortable with that.’
I pulled at my collar. ‘Not really. Rachel had a beautiful voice. She sounded like an angel.’
Marius, the postman, nudged me and grinned. ‘You sound like an angel, too.’
‘If you think that, then I reckon you need to get your ears syringed,’ I retorted. ‘I’m warning you guys – as soon as you hear me singing solo, you’ll seriously revise your opinion of my voice.’
Dean gave me a dismissive wave of his hand, pressed play on his stereo, and began to wave his baton along to the music. We all began to sing the first verse. Of all the sea shanties I’d come across, this was probably my favourite. Sure, it was about a horrible pirate who did all the things that horrible pirates did – but in the end, the Dread Pirate Brian got his comeuppance.
‘Oh, Brian was an awful man
For the seas he was not made
But Brian sailed on anyway
And kidnapped many a maid.
Along the sea he went by day
And sailed by night-time too
Stealing, bedding, drinking lots
Then puking in the loo.’
The others looked expectantly at me. Oh dear. It was time for me to croak and screech even louder.
‘The seas were awful rough that night
When Brian met his match
A lovely maid that he once took
She took his life right back.
Lily Rose that was her name
She was stronger than you’d think
When Brian tried to bed her twice
She chucked him in the drink.’
The rest of the choir were supposed to join me then, but instead they stared in awe.
‘You really do sound like an angel,’ said Marius.
‘You do,’ agreed the town’s florist, a woman named Hilda. ‘You’re even better than Rachel.’
Well, there was only one conclusion I could come to – they all needed their ears syringed.
There were refreshments again after the session, and I chatted with the choir members, trying to find out as much as I could about Margaret and Mossy. It seemed that the florist had suspected Mossy’s feelings for Heather.
‘You could see the way he looked at her,’ she said. ‘All moon-eyed. I heard Margaret didn’t just kill Rachel. I heard she killed Heather too, in a jealous rage.’ She dunked a biscuit into her tea, looking enthusiastically at me. ‘Is that true?’
I concentrated very carefully on my own dunking. It was a delicate art, was dunking. Too long and the biscuit would break off. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m sure the gardaí will make a statement if or when someone is charged.’
She smiled triumphantly, as though I’d confirmed her thinking. ‘I knew it! I can tell by the look on your face. And it makes sense, too.’
‘It does?’ I questioned. It didn’t make sense to me. None of it did. Sure, Margaret had motive and opportunity. And yes, all of the evidence was stacked against her. But until I knew the cause of that green glow, I would never be satisfied that the culprit had been caught.
‘Oh yes. It does. You mess around with the dark arts the way those three women did, and you’re bound to get burned.’ She shuddered. ‘They might have called themselves white witches, but as far as I’m concerned there’s no such thing. I’ve always said witchcraft is evil. And this whole mess proves I was right all along.’
I must admit, I was annoyed by my conversation with Hilda. These murders were a work of evil, but that didn’t mean that witchcraft should shoulder the blame. I could hardly tell her that I knew quite a few witches – most of them good – so instead I made my excuses and moved around the room. But while the others might not have had much to say on the subject of witchcraft, they didn’t have much to say about anything else, either. By the time the choir members started to file out of the hall, I had learned nothing of use.
As I was making my way out onto the street, Mark, the guy with the tractor obsession, was following close behind.
‘Hey Aisling,’ he said with an odd little laugh. ‘I was hoping to get you alone. There’s something I want to talk to you about. About the murders.’
‘Fire away,’ I said. ‘I’m all ears. I’m also full to the brim with clichés, apparently.’
He looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. Not here. We should be alone while I tell you this.’ He glanced over his shoulder, back into the church hall. ‘You never know who might be listening.’
I looked into the hall. We’d been the last two to leave. ‘Unless you mean the skeletons and statues in the graveyard next door, I’m pretty sure we’re alone, Mark. If there’s something you think could help the case, maybe we could go together to the garda station?’
‘No!’ He shook his head wildly. ‘Not there. You need to come with me. I can’t save everyone, but I can save you.’ He let out that
same odd little laugh. But this time, his laugh wasn’t the only thing disturbing me. His eyes had been blue the last time I spoke to him, I was sure of it. But right now, they were green and glowing. ‘I want to save you,’ he said. ‘You’re the prettiest.’
Just when I thought I couldn’t shudder anymore, Dean pulled up beside us. He was in the church mini-van, and he had Dean Danger and the Danger Boys playing on the stereo.
‘I’m on my way to the Fisherman’s Friend for a pint,’ he said. ‘Anyone want to join me?’
Mark shook his head in a twitchy manner. ‘We’re going to my place. You’re not invited. Come on, Aisling. I want to tell you something secret.’
His eyes looked greener than ever. But going to his place wasn’t an option. I was curious, but I wasn’t stupid. I needed to tell Dylan about this.
‘Tell you what,’ I told him. ‘I’ll just go and grab Detective Quinn, okay? Then we’ll meet you back here and you can tell the two of us whatever it is you have to say.’
He shook his head, muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath, and shuffled away from the church hall.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Dean said with a smile, turning down the stereo in the mini-van. ‘Or maybe do – he was like that with Heather, too. Maybe he’s harmless enough but … maybe he’s not. I guess it might be worth mentioning to the detective. I heard he thinks he has the right killer in Margaret. But sometimes things aren’t quite as simple as they seem.’
‘You might be right,’ I agreed. ‘I think I’ll go chat with him now. Have a nice night, Dean. I’ll see you at the next practice.’
As I made my way out onto the footpath, Dean opened the passenger door of the van. ‘Come on – get in. I’ll take you to the detective before I head to the Fisherman’s friend.’
‘No thanks. It’s only a short walk to the station.’
Dean gave me a pleasant smile. ‘That might be so. But it’s a much longer walk to Rachel’s house – and that’s where I saw him heading just a few minutes ago.’
Witchy See, Witchy Do Page 11
