‘Ah … Adeline Albright is your cousin? I thought maybe you were just members of some chroniclers’ coven.’ It was typical for members of covens to take on the coven’s name as their surname. Those murderers I’d mentioned a little while back? Well, we happened to be in Adeline Albright’s house when one of the murderers attempted to kill us all with an Inferno spell. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s doing fine. She’s at that same chroniclers’ conference in America at the moment, but you should pay her a visit at Crooked College when she gets back. She’s got some books of her own she’d love to show you. But as I said, Wanda … these books are just a present. If you want to read them, by all means do so. I wrote a few of them myself so it would make me very, very happy.’
Lack of sleep was probably making me slow on the uptake. I had the feeling he was trying to tell me something, I just couldn’t figure out what. ‘I don’t understand. You said all of these books will be on the test. Why would you be telling me that I only need to read them if I want? Surely I have to read them.’
He grinned, and picked a book out of the side of the wheelbarrow. ‘You could – and like I said, I hope you eventually do – but for now, this one might be all that you need.’
I peered at the book. It was a small hardback notebook with no title on its cover. I opened it up. The first ten or so pages were filled with questions and answers.
Q. What year was Wanda the Wayfarer born?
A. The exact date is unknown, but it is believed to have been somewhere between the Year of the Snout and the Year of the Lemon.
Q. What was the weapon of choice for the Wayfarer known as Gretel?
A. Gretel carried a sword that could draw upon the power of the sun, the moon and the stars, and burn a criminal to death with the merest prick.
Q. Name the current location of the magical mirror that many believe to have been owned by Snow White’s evil stepmother?
A. The mirror currently resides in the Museum of Magical Artefacts.
As I leafed through page after page of questions and answers, my gasp grew ever-louder.
‘Are these what I think they are?’ I asked Mr Albright.
He took a seat on top of the closest desk. ‘Wanda, I have never before in my life advocated cheating. But in this case, I think you’re the one being cheated. You’ve already proven yourself as worthy as your namesake.’ He was referring to Wanda the Wayfarer, who I happened to be named after. ‘And more than worthy of working alongside the rest of your coven. The one who’s playing unfair here is the minister. All I’m doing is levelling the playing field, so to speak. And yes, you can be sure that they’ll be the exact questions on the test. I know, because I’m the one who set them.’
2. Home Sweet Home
I wheeled my wheelbarrow through the streets of Riddler’s Cove, breathing in the salty Atlantic air. Good Gretel, I loved this place. If I had the time right then, I would have walked on the beach, felt the sand between my toes. So what if it was September when the sand was cold and damp and the wind was blowing a gale? A beach is a beach.
But I didn’t have the time for the luxury of damp sand. I only had time to make one stop before I visited my mother, and it was the most important stop of all.
The smell of sweet, delicious baked goodness hit my nostrils, and I pushed my heavy barrow towards Caulfield’s Cakes.
For a moment I stood outside the glass fronted doors, just staring in at the loveliness. There was a little coffee area down the back – that hadn’t been there when I was a kid – with some big, squidgy armchairs and sofas laid out.
There was an older witch – she looked about sixty, but you never could tell with witches – running the show. She had the sort of stout shape that makes you want a big, warm hug from her, and her hair was a lovely shade of brown, piled on top of her head with loose curls escaping here and there. She heaved massive trays from the oven like they weighed nothing, then laid them out to cool.
Hovering around her was a younger witch – maybe twenty-five or so – desperately trying to help. After a moment the older witch said, ‘I’ve got it all under control, Emily. You go and clear some tables, will you?’
Emily sighed, said, ‘Yes Nan,’ and went to wipe down some already spotless tables.
I figured my wheelbarrow would be safe enough for a moment and went inside.
The older witch didn’t look up from her work – she was mixing up a batch of something chocolaty by now – but she did smile and say, ‘Why if it isn’t little Wanda Wayfair. About time you came back.’
I felt a sudden warm glow, remembering childhood afternoons with my father, grabbing a sneaky cream cake or muffin from Caulfield’s before heading home for dinner. I approached the counter. ‘Hi, Nan,’ I said, memories of the woman rushing to the fore. She wasn’t my grandmother, but she had always expected everyone to call her Nan.
She finally looked up at me. ‘An apple tart, is it?’
I grinned. ‘A large one. I’m going to visit my coven.’
‘Ah. Well then I’ll give you a super-super large just fresh from the oven. Would you like some of Emily’s home-made vanilla ice cream to go with it?’
I was drooling so much that they’d have to clean the floor after I left. ‘Yes please,’ I managed to say through my mouthful of saliva. ‘Oh.’ I pointed to a tray of chocolate muffins. ‘And could you box up a half dozen of those, too?’
‘Emily,’ called Nan as she began to package up my order. ‘Can you grab a tub of your vanilla for Wanda?’
Emily cast a curious glance in my direction as she moved to the freezer. I had no doubt, looking at Emily now, that she really was Nan’s granddaughter. Their hair curled in the same way, and they had the same bright blue smiling eyes.
As she handed me the ice cream, Emily asked in a quiet voice, ‘Are you working on the case, too?’
There was only one case she could be talking about. It was all anyone was talking about lately. For the past few weeks witches had been going missing, and I wanted more than anything to be able to help track them down. ‘I wish. It’ll be November before I get to investigate something juicy again.’
Emily let out a choking little sob. ‘I guess you haven’t heard about my dad, then.’
Floor, swallow me right now. ‘Em … no. I think I can guess what you’re about to say next, though.’
Her eyes flicked nervously to her grandmother, then back to me. ‘He’s gone.’ Somehow, her voice sounded even quieter than before. ‘He disappeared yesterday afternoon. Just like the rest of them.’
‘Oh.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Emily. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have said I thought it was a juicy investigation. It’s just … I want to be a part of it. I want to help find the missing witches, and I can’t. Minister Plimpton’s orders.’
Emily’s face fell. ‘That’s a real shame. I saw you at Mildred Valentine’s trial. She would have been convicted if it weren’t for you. No one else would have dared to accuse Alice Berry of so much as a fart, let alone of setting Mildred up so she could run off with her husband. But you had the guts to not only accuse her, but to find the proof to put her away. And you survived one of her deadliest spells. I figured if anyone could find my dad, it’d be you.’
I was still trying not to laugh at her ‘fart’ comment. Alice Berry, one of the murderers who I’d helped my coven to put away, was by far the most glamourous witch I’d ever seen – and I really do mean glamourous. She used glamour spells to keep herself looking young and beautiful, but my mother and Christine had a suspicion that – given Alice’s power – she might be much, much older than anyone realised. And Emily was right – no one would accuse Alice of farting. She gave off the distinct impression that natural bodily functions were beneath her.
‘My mother and the rest of my coven are more than capable,’ I said. ‘They’re the ones with all of the training. I promise you, they will find your dad. They’ll find everyone who’s gone missing.’
Nan came
around to the front of the counter, pressing a basket into my hands. ‘Of course they will, Wanda.’ She gave Emily a hug. ‘Come on now, love. We’ll feel better if we keep ourselves busy.’
Emily let her grandmother lead her back behind the counter, and I left the shop feeling a lot worse than when I’d entered. Not what you expect when you go to buy baked goods.
Another missing witch? I scanned my memory. His name was Kevin Caulfield. Nan’s son and Emily’s father. I remembered him, too, from my childhood. He made croissants that melted in the mouth, and a sponge cake with the tastiest sprinkles ever on top. He had wispy blond hair and amber coloured eyes, and always smelled like cake.
I had wanted to ask a million more questions of Emily and Nan about his disappearance, but that was just what the Minister would want me to do. As it was, she was tracking my magic use. For all I knew she had spies watching me too, just waiting for me to disobey her orders.
I wheeled the wheelbarrow up the hill, past the Witches’ Graveyard where my father’s empty coffin was buried, and all the way out to the west side of town towards Wayfarers’ Rest. My mind was going ten to the dozen, my stomach no longer greedy for all the yumminess I’d just bought.
Suddenly the sun popped out from behind the clouds, shining right down on my childhood home. My mother stood at the front door, with Christine and Melissa (our fellow coven members) by her side. I threw all thoughts of missing witches aside, and ran the rest of the way. The books bounded up and down and my feet hurt a little bit, but I didn’t care. I was taking it all in – the misshapen old house with the upper floors that looked way too wide to be supported by the floors below. The crown glass windows that had been there for centuries. The line of laburnum growing all along the driveway, yellow flowers magically in bloom the whole year long. The big old wooden shed out the back where my father made so many of his brooms.
Panting from exertion, I reached the doorway. After more hugs than I could count, I finally broke free and caught my breath, following the rest of my coven into the house. In all my years in the human world, I had seen this same interior many times. My mother had made a habit of moving close to wherever I was renting. On the outside, the house would look very much like the other houses on the road (except that the garden would be magically overgrown in order to deter visitors) but on the inside, it would be the exact same house as the one I was walking through right now.
But today I knew – this was the real deal. The smell of the sea air drifting in through the open windows, the barley fields beyond, ripe for cutting. My heart felt light, and warm, and happy. I was home.
In the kitchen my mother’s familiar, Mischief, jumped up from his bed and into my arms. I cuddled into him, feeling his purrs against my chest. His partners in crime, Melissa’s and Christine’s familiars, Queenie and Princess, stayed softly snoring in the cat bed.
I slid the ice cream into the freezer and helped with lunch preparations. There was a divine smelling stew, brimming with vegetables from the garden, and fresh-baked crusty bread for dipping. My mouth watered as we sat down to eat.
‘How was the class?’ my mother asked. She eyed the wheelbarrow. ‘Please don’t tell me Justine expects you to memorize all of that in two weeks.’
‘Of course she does,’ I said through a mouthful of stew-soaked bread. ‘And she also expects me to do it without a teacher. Arthur Albright – the Tall Tales teacher – has been unexpectedly called away. He’ll be gone for the next couple of weeks.’
Melissa rolled her eyes. ‘Of course he has. It’s a rotten shame, is what it is. He was the best Tall Tales teacher I ever had. He’s a pretty famous chronicler, too. Oh, and you know his cousin.’
‘Yeah. Adeline. He said I should go visit her at Crooked College once she gets back from a chroniclers’ conference in America.’
‘We could pop into the college while we’re shopping,’ Melissa suggested. ‘Have a look at her schedule and find out what day she’s back.’
‘Speaking of shopping.’ My mother sprang up, ran to a drawer and came back with a little purple purse, passing it to me. ‘This is for your dress.’
I opened the purse. Inside were a lot of coins. I’d been relearning everything that I’d purposely forgotten about the witching world, so I now knew that each thick golden round coin represented about fifty euro, which meant that there was at least five hundred quid in here. ‘This is too much.’ I slid the purse back across the table. ‘I’m twenty-one, Mam. I can buy my own things now.’
I swear to the goddess, her brow went right up to her hairline. ‘How, exactly? You lost your job in Berrys’ Bottlers after getting the owner convicted of murder. I mean, I know your rent is covered by maintenance minutes, but … food, other necessities. You keep returning every bit of money I send to you. How are you surviving?’
‘Bargain Bites,’ I mumbled.
Christine and Melissa looked from my mother to me. As a mother and daughter themselves, they were well used to such drama. Seeing it played out was a different story, though. They looked a tad on the uncomfortable side. Well, I’d swap my own extreme discomfort for their tad any time.
‘Did you just mumble Bargain Bites?’ My mother’s brow dropped. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re back working in that human supermarket again?’
‘Just a few days here and there.’ Once again, I had mumbled my reply. I wished it were just a few days here and there. It was more like every minute I had to spare.
My mother pushed her bowl away. ‘I will get my revenge on Justine Plimpton. Mark my words. One of these days, that witch will be sorry she ever crossed the Wayfairs.’ She pointed to the purple purse and it disappeared from the table. A moment later, I felt a heavy weight in my pocket. ‘But let’s forget about her for now. It’s tradition for the family to buy their child’s initiation clothes. And their training wand.’ She grunted. ‘Not that you actually need one of those, but the Minister says you have to have one so … you’d better buy one of those too, I suppose. You’ll need it for your Simple Spells and Incantations class.’
For a whole semi-second I managed to bite back my question. The strain was too much to bear, so I finally asked, ‘Why does the Minister for Magical Law hate the Wayfairs so much? She does everything she can to make this coven’s job just about as difficult as it can be. She’s made sure we can only investigate witch crimes, when we used to investigate all supernatural crimes. She’s reduced the bonus you get per arrest made. She clearly doesn’t want me joining the team or working on warrants. But the Wayfairs get good results – amazing results, considering all of the cutbacks. It doesn’t make sense for her to antagonise this coven so much. She should be down on her knees thanking us for all we do.’
My mother’s face clouded over, rousing my curiosity even more. But she said nothing. After a minute, it was Christine who replied. ‘Oh, who knows what goes through that woman’s head. But listen, don’t worry about it. There’s nothing we can do, seeing as technically, she didn’t change any laws. She just happened to use one particular poem as the basis for her assertion that Wayfairs only ever went after witches, and not all supernaturals. It was all perfectly fair.’
‘Sure. Perfectly fair. Basing a change of law on one kids’ poem. Never mind there are hundreds of other poems where the Wayfarer went after rogue vampires, werewolves …’
‘Well, that’s the Peacemakers’ job now.’ My mother spoke with finality. ‘We should be glad we still have the witches to rein in, I suppose.’
At the mention of Peacemakers, I shuddered. From what I’d seen of them so far, they did anything but make peace. ‘Well … you’ve got another witch to add to the missing list I see.’ Darn it – I had been dead set on not mentioning the case. Oh well, in for a penny. ‘I heard about it at Caulfield’s. Kevin went missing?’
Christine nodded. She also, I noticed, wiped her eyes. ‘Yes, he’s the latest. He disappeared right off the street in broad daylight. We’re very worried about him. There are no leads whatsoever. He was there
, and then he wasn’t.’
She moved to the freezer, still wiping her eyes. I hoped she was about to pull out the ice cream, but she had something even better – a tray of ice-cubes, also known as Frozen Stares. Melissa rushed to prepare one of her mother’s scrying bowls – a beautiful rowan bowl with a crystal star at the bottom, and moons and suns carved about the edges. Once it was in the centre of the table, Christine dropped a snowflake-shaped ice-cube into the water, and we watched it melt.
‘I had a vision of it just before it happened,’ Christine told us in a hollow voice as the vision began to play.
We all stared into the bowl. There was Kevin Caulfield, walking along Grafton Street, a cake box in his hands. He was whistling to himself, looking as jovial as I remembered. He’d lost a bit of weight since I was a kid, and his clothes were very dapper. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile phone, looking down at the screen and smiling.
‘That was me,’ Christine said through tears. ‘I’d phoned him to warn him what I’d seen. It then became part of the vision, even though it hadn’t been to begin with.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s the way Time works.’
I stared down. No sooner had he looked down at the phone, seemingly about to answer Christine’s call, than he was just … gone. No puff of smoke. No Kevin. No nothing. It wasn’t unusual for a witch to disappear into thin air. But usually, they snapped their fingers in order to do so. This was clearly different.
‘Apparently he was making a delivery to a property on Warren lane,’ Melissa said. ‘Except he never made it. And no one has heard from him since. The coven can’t officially start looking for him until forty-eight hours have passed but … needless to say, our mothers are paying no attention to that rule. Especially seeing as he’s just one more in a rapidly expanding list.’
Bricking It (A Wayfair Witches Cozy Mystery #2) Page 2
