Horace clapped his thigh in a great slap. His enormous belly jiggled like a gelatin mold as waves of laughter rolled through him. I’m not sure whose eyes rolled harder at Horace’s terrible joke, mine or the Chief’s. Horace pushed back from the table and stood.
“Well, then. I’ve work ta do, and it sounds like you do, too. I’ll sen’ Mary ‘round wit a coupl’a menus. Always a pleasure, Hattie. Chief.”
Horace gave a jaunty little salute and excused himself from the table. As soon as he was out of earshot, I leaned in close to the Chief. He smelled like fresh soap and woodsy pine. I was hard-pressed to remember what I intended to say.
“Did you hear that?” I finally managed. “Violet’s alibi might be just as much a suspect as she is.”
David nodded. “I suppose when you’re dealing with someone as bitter and unpleasant as Spithilda was, we were bound to come up with a host of likely suspects. That’s why we need to assemble all the facts and gather the evidence. So we can determine the most likely guilty party and prove they did it.”
“Hm,” I mused, tapping a thoughtful finger alongside my cheek. “I always knew Rad was a werewolf. I just had no idea Spithilda was responsible. I assumed it was a hereditary trait.”
We had more than one were-beast running around Gless Inlet. Most were born into their particular affliction. Other than tiffs with the vampires, they caused very little trouble, choosing to live in sort of pack communities at the far reaches of the Isle. Rad was an exception, a lone wolf. In pack mentality, a lone wolf was generally an older wolf, driven from the pack by a younger, alpha wolf.
You might be tempted to feel sorry for Rad, but if you’d seen him flirting with the pretty young waitress at his table, it was quite evident he relished being the sole predator in the room. He flashed the innocent girl a bright, sharp smile and let his well-placed hand slide a bit too far south of proper on the backside of her red skirt.
Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood.
The warning lyrics of Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs echoed in my head. I watched the old sly dog carefully. Chief Trew kept a wary eye as well.
“I wonder where he gets his special elixir,” the Chief pondered. “Have you ever heard of any type of were-suppressant at the shop?”
“Depends on the lore,” I admitted. “There are some who believe that aconite, or wolfsbane as some call it, can help control the effects of the lunar cycle for those afflicted with the were-curse. But, it’s deadly poisonous. Even exposure to the seeds is toxic. They excrete an alkaloid that, if you’re not careful, can cause dizziness, blurry vision, and make you foam at the mouth like a rabid...well, dog.”
“That does not sound pleasant in the least,” the Chief winced.
“It’s not,” I agreed. “And that’s just the pre-show. After that, you can slip into a coma, and then…” My voice trails.
“And then?” the Chief pressed.
“Death.”
A moment of silence hung heavy in the air between us. It was suddenly shattered by the crashing smash of pottery.
“Oh, for tha love o’ St. George, Mary!” Horace bellowed from the bar. Rad’s waitress had dropped her tray, demolishing a half-eaten plate of lamb in the process. She immediately bent over to clean the mess, while the hint of a lecherous smile tugged at the corners of Rad’s mouth.
“I think it’s time we had a little chat with Mr. Silverback, don’t you?” the Chief growled. He stood abruptly and strode towards Rad’s table. He moved so quickly; I scrambled to follow in an awkward jumble of legs and elbows.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our esteemed Chief of Police, David Trew. How are you? And, Miss Jenkins. I do hope the kitties are doing well,” Rad oozed politely.
I felt the sudden need for a shower and an eternal debt of gratitude to Violet Mulberry for keeping this rake away from my dear, sweet Millie. But, Grammy Chimera raised me to be a polite, if reluctant witch.
“They are quite well, as am I,” I respond. “Thank you for asking.”
“Mr. Silverback,” Chief Trew began. “I understand you were escort to Miss. Mulberry at the Mutley Crew Charity Gala last evening.”
Rad smiled slyly. “I enjoyed some time with Miss. Mulberry, yes. We reveled in the festivities then, afterward, a delightful stroll on the sand.”
“Is that so?” the Chief needled.
“Miss Mulberry seemed a little upset that you deserted her on the beach. In fact,” the Chief looked at me for corroboration. “She seemed downright blistered over it.”
I stifled a snicker. The veneer on Rad’s thousand-dollar smile faded just a smidgen. He wormed uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t seem to mind that a romantic interest had been talking about him as much as seemed to mind receiving anything less than a five-star rating.
“Yes, ahem,” he cleared his throat. “I may have had to curtail our evening rather abruptly, but that is not entirely my fault.”
Rad wasn’t the only one in the room with a keen nose. The Chief’s interest piqued at that last. It had the scent of confession.
“Oh? Really? And who’s fault might it have been?” he posited.
“I - I,” Rad stammered. “I may have had some recent trouble obtaining the...medicine required for my particular problem. My usual supplier was, how shall I put this? Unavailable. So, when the clouds decided to clear last night, I found an immediate and pressing need to depart. I regret being unable to explain the situation to Miss Mulberry. She really is quite lovely. And she does such remarkable things with hair. She is, as you know, a coiffeuse.”
Chief Trew raised a dubious eyebrow. The Chief had gotten the same hairstyle, high and tight, for the past fifteen years, courtesy of Antonio at the Paisan Pole, the local barbershop. He clearly did not understand all the puffery about hair dos and don’ts. Like I said, we have all kinds on Glessie Isle.
“And who was the supplier for your particular ‘prescription’?” the Chief asked.
He sighed, shoulders sagging. “My supplier was Spithilda Roach.”
I held back a gasp.
“And how did you know Miss Roach was ‘unavailable’?” Chief Trew pressed.
“Because,” Rad began. “When I went to see her before the event....she was dead.”
Well, blow the house down.
4
Who’s Afraidy of the Big Bad Wolf?
“Are you kitten me?!” Shade exclaimed from out of nowhere.
To the curious onlookers, it sounded more like “Meow, yowl, growl?!”
Rad snarled, startled by the abrupt appearance of my ebony friend. Shade replied in kind with a prolonged hiss. Apparently, my little moggy mole had been shadowing the Chief and me the entire evening.
Suddenly, Rad bolted for the door, knocking over tables and patrons alike on a mad dash toward the outside night. The Chief shot me a ‘thanks-for-nothing’ glare and tore after Rad.
I scooped Shade up by the scruff of his furry neck. “What are you doing here?”
Shade shrugged two noncommittal paws. “Enquiring minds want to know. Bee-tee-dubs, Infrigore.”
“Infrigore?” I mumbled.
No sooner was the strange word out of my mouth when Rad ratcheted in place, frozen like a popsicle. The Chief bulldozed straight over him, and the two landed in a clumsy pile.
“What the?” Chief Trew exclaimed on the way down. The effect was so instantaneous, to the gawking crowd it merely looked as if the Chief had awkwardly stumbled over his own feet and, in the process, taken his man along.
Shade grinned a Cheshire smile. “You’re welcome.”
Ooh, that tricky little tomcat!
Shade had tricked me into using one of Grammy Chimera’s old spells. It left an odd, metallic taste in my mouth. But, admittedly, also a glow in my stomach.
“Shade, you know I don’t like using magic,” I whispered tersely.
“So, don’t think of it as you using magic. Think of it as me using you. So, are you two going to bust this bozo, or what?”
&
nbsp; The Chief already had Rad on his feet, securing his hands behind his back. “The most we have him on at this point is obstruction of justice for failure to report a crime. We’ll have to investigate further if we’re going to charge him with anything more than that.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Rad struggled against his bindings.
“You let me be the judge of that,” the Chief ordered back.
“Quick bullet point, Chief?” Shade interrupted. Chief Trew didn’t look all too thrilled with my feline’s interruption.
“What?” he barked.
“Not to be the wet blanket, but…” Shade pointed one furry paw toward the window and the quickly setting sun. Chief Trew’s eyes widened.
“Hattie?” he gulped.
“Yeah, Chief?”
“Do you happen to have any wolfsbane at the shop?”
I nodded wordlessly.
“You’d better go get it.” Rad started to twitch in the Chief’s grasp. “And quick.”
He rushed Rad out the door, and I followed quickly behind. I was nearly out the door when I heard the undercurrent of worried whispers start to wave through the Unawakened that had witnessed the disturbance. I stole a worried glance around and then whispered…
“Obliviscatur!”
“Man, oh, man, oh, man! Now, that’s exciting stuff! And Hattie used magic? What a red letter mew-ment! Why do I always seem to miss all the fun?” Jet rocketed his opinion at the speed of light. He had just helped himself to a healthy dose of catnip from the apothecary supplies and was now zipping around the shop in a streak of black fur.
“Millie!” I called. My cherubic assistant obliged with a generous squirt of the water bottle, arresting Jet’s flight path.
“Hey!” he complained. Loudly. “Don’t discri-MEOW-nate just because I’m faster than you losers.”
“You’ll be deader than those losers if you mess Hattie up and she spills that wolfsbane all over you,” Gloom grumbled from her perch atop Garden Herbs: Not Just for Salads by Morag Wyrmwood.
“She’s right, Jet,” Onyx cautioned. “Aconite is a highly toxic substance and Hattie needs to get the mixture just right.”
“Oh, my goodness. Please don’t die, Hattie. It would be a terrible thing if you died.” Fraidy trembled from across the room. He was too terrified to get any closer to the wolfsbane.
“Will you chill out, brother?” Jet groused. “You are seriously harshin’ my mellow.”
Fraidy chose to ignore his brother and pressed even tighter against the far wall. He didn’t like wolfsbane and didn’t like werewolves even more. This was not turning out to be my furry companion’s most favorite evening. Then again, no evening ever really did.
“I don’t see why you’re helping that dirty, old rogue anyway,” Millie complained. “If he killed Spithilda, I say it’s good for him!”
“We don’t know for certain that Rad did kill Spithilda. Right now he’s just a person of interest. And I’m not helping him so much as I’m helping Chief Trew. It wouldn’t be a good thing if Rad wolfed out in the middle of the station house. Werewolves aren’t exactly known for their self-restraint.”
“Tell me about it,” Millie snipped. She was still sore about Violet.
I blew the dust off Grammy Chimera’s grimoire. I had brought it down from the old sea chest where it had rested in the attic. The chest had come by ship years before with my great-great-grandmother, Glendonite, when she had made the ocean crossing from England to Glessie Isle. The leather straps of the chest had rotted away years ago, much like my taste for practicing magic. The brass hinges squawked in protest as I had lifted the lid and retrieved Grammy’s forgotten book of spells and lore.
I traced my finger over the tarnished silver pentacle affixed to its cover. I smiled, remembering Grammy had worn a similar protective charm around her neck. My fingers drifted to the small, circular pendant that now hung from my own. I had always loved Grammy’s necklace and would often ask her if I could wear it, and she was only too happy to oblige. I was wearing it that night, in fact. Perhaps that was why I had survived and my parents…
“Tick-tock, Hattie,” Onyx warned. I hurriedly thumbed through the pages, looking for guidance in just how to craft a lycanthropy potion. As far as I could remember, Grammy didn’t have a particular recipe for the brew, but if I followed her looping, spidery inscriptions outlining which herbs had the desired properties, I could connect enough dots to craft a workable draught.
“Rosemary,” I read Grammy’s handwriting out loud. It was almost as if I were channeling her ghost. Grammy’s voice resonated through the shop.
“Rosemary. Excellent for protection and exorcism. Also good with a rack of lamb.”
Eclipse laughed a raspy chuckle. He had just strolled into the room with Shade. “Yep, that’s our Chimera, alright. Man, that woman could make magic in the shop and the kitchen! ”
“You said it, brother!” Shade meowed in agreement.
I started to feel something stir deep inside of me. Something old. Something that made me feel...connected. I stripped some dried rosemary leaves into the old, chipped family mortar. I ground the leaves into a fine powder with the pestle, releasing their piney scent into the air, and measured them into Grammy’s cauldron. Until now, I mostly I kept it around for effect. That, or a potpourri holder. I had to admit; it felt pretty good to use it for its intended purpose instead of as a receptacle for Seaside Morning. I moved back to the grimoire.
“Peppermint. For purification.” Grammy echoed. Several peppermint leaves into the mortar. Grind. Measure.
Then the shop froze with anxious, held breath. It was time for the wolfsbane. I pulled a special mortar, one that had only ever been used for baneful herbs and less sunny magic. I carefully meted out several seeds from the locked storage. I ground them to a fine powder. Maybe it was my imagination, but I was confident I imagined a skull and crossbones floating, forebodingly, over the dark, pulverized seeds. Fraidy covered his eyes with trembling paws.
“Tell me when it’s over,” his voice quavered.
I tipped the poisonous powder into the mixture then reached for the bottle of clear, rectified corn spirits.
“Ooh. My favorite part.” Gloom almost sounded happy...almost.
I poured just enough of the clear liquid to cover the herb mixture and then stirred.
I looked back at Grammy Chimera’s instructions.
“Sift through cheesecloth into a glass bottle. Administer as needed.” I read aloud.
“Well, you’d better get to administering pretty quick. Look!” Shade pointed. The burgeoning pearlescense of the full moon shone through the apothecary window.
“Oh, meow,” I gulped.
“You said it, sister,” Shade concurred. “GO!”
With that, I stoppered the potion, grabbed my coat, and flew out the door.
“Oh, no! What if she dies? What if the big, bad wolf gobbles her up? What’ll we do then? We gotta go with her, Jet!” Fraidy prattled.
“Why not? I had nothing better to do than getting eaten by a monster tonight anyway. It’ll be an adventure!” And, my homebody cat, and my terrified cat scrambled out the door behind me.
The Chief had evacuated most of the officers from the police station. They were running on a skeleton crew. No, really. Officer Spinefeld was manning the front desk. He was charmed so that Unawakened only saw a diminutive, self-effacing young man with a slight Brooklyn accent. Again, all kinds on Glessie Isle.
Rad had not yet turned, but nor was he happy. Gone was the smooth, well-possessed man we had met in The Fingernail Moon. Now, Rad was just...well, possessed.
He paced furiously in the small, cramped cell tucked in a far, windowless corner of the station. His perfectly coiffed hair was now just a perfect mess. Sweat poured in rivulets down his forehead. His eyes had taken on a yellowish tinge.
Fraidy did a four-footed about face and was ready to charge right back out of the station.
“On second thought, I’m
sure Hattie can take care of herself just fine!” he mewled. Jet stopped him with a well-placed paw.
“Are you kidding? It’s about to get all Thriller in here. Grab some popcorn!”
As I rushed across the station toward Chief Trew, Rad leaped angrily at the bars, his nails, thickened and elongated, clawing at the air between the Chief and me. I squealed in terror. Fraidy dove into a trash can,
The moon lipped over the sill of the station window. A single shaft of silver light crawled toward the cell. We were out of time to get the draught to Rad!
Suddenly, Jet leaped into the air, grasping quickly for the suppressant and, true to his name, jetted to the Chief in record time. He dropped the bottle into the Chief’s hand. I only hoped Rad still had enough presence of mind to take the draught.
The Chief moved to unstopper the bottle.
“Be careful!” I warned.
Chief Trew took two, carefully measured steps toward Rad’s cell, hand over his unsnapped holster. Not that he had a silver bullet in his service piece. I gulped.
“Rad,” he began gently. “Hattie’s made you your formula. To help you get through this. Are you going to take it?”
Rad’s chest heaved with his labored breathing. Yellow eyes stared at the Chief, then at the bottle. Suddenly, Rad’s clawed hand shot out from the cell. The Chief’s pistol cleared the holster in seconds...but, it wasn’t necessary. Rad turned over his hand, palm facing up, and waited for the bottle.
I let loose the breath I had been holding, feeling a little like a deflating balloon. Chief Trew placed the bottle in Rad outstretched hand, and Rad drew it back into the cell and drank it. We watched anxiously to see the potion’s effects.
Would the magic work? Could my magic work?
It had worked at the tavern when Shade had tricked me into accessing a part of me that had lain dormant for so long.
You were born to be a witch, Seraphim Joyvive.
The Violet Countercharm: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 2) Page 4
