He gave me a watery-eyed smile, said, ‘Well, hopefully we won’t have to miss each other for too long,’ and then clicked his fingers, and disappeared.
≈
When I arrived at the Yeats Memorial Garden in St Stephen’s Green, the place was absolutely empty. It was quite a pleasant November afternoon, so this ought to have surprised me. But seeing as, today, there was a roll of brightly-coloured tape surrounding the area, and signs saying, ‘Rat Infestation. Keep Out,’ I guess I could understand why people were keeping away.
It wasn’t going to keep me out, though. This was a distraction spell, no doubt about it – and because we were holding the meeting during the day, when there were so many people in the park, it was a necessity.
When I walked on through and approached the Yeats Sculpture, Melissa was already there. ‘Everyone else is below,’ she told me. ‘I had to take a little trip to the Wyrd Court before I came. Y’know, so I could have a flaming row with the Minister.’
‘Seriously? Did you throw stuff? Scream at her? Tell me everything.’
Melissa grinned wickedly. ‘Oh, I threw stuff. In fact, I made sure stuff is still being thrown. Remember the spell Lassie’s half-sister put on Jasper Jaunt’s house? How the place just kept on getting magically trashed for ages after he disappeared? Well, that is what’s happening to the Minister’s office right now. Anyway, come on – we’re late.’
As we approached the sculpture, an enormous brown rat sidled past, walking on two legs, wearing a Pest Control uniform and eating a packet of crisps. A few feet behind him, a tiny human man with rat-like whiskers and a twitching nose was crawling on all fours, sniffing the ground.
‘Yeah, someone went a little bit over the top with the distraction spell. Three humans have spotted the cock-up in the short time I’ve been here. So ... I guess we’ll have to invent a fake gas leak or something. Do you know the latest incantation for entry? I know I got a text about it but ...’
I brought the latest entry incantation to mind, waved my hands in front of the sculpture dedicated to William Butler Yeats, and began to recite:
‘William, you did love to see
The world beyond the veil
Please let us in so we may be
Below now, without fail.’
The ground beneath our feet began to vibrate, and Melissa and I dropped below to An Pháirc Eile – the Other Park. Common sense said we should have been in some dark cave beneath St Stephen’s Green. Instead, we were in another version of it – same sky, same trees and grass and ponds. In this park, though, we were looking at a statue of Wanda the Wayfarer, instead of the Yeats Sculpture.
Normally we held important meetings in the bandstand of the Other Park, where we had a table set up, but today it seemed the coven were a little too impatient for the short walk there. The memorial garden was brimming with Wayfairs. A few were shouting. A lot were kicking the rocks and punching the air. Most of them, though, were looking at my mother. She appeared exhausted and upset, but she was speaking in a calm voice despite it all.
‘I’ve laid out our choices, and that’s all I’m going to do. I’m not going to tell any of you what to do now. The Wayfairs don’t run that sort of coven. If you want to go, go.’
‘But you seriously expect us to carry on as normal? To go out onto the streets tonight and do the Peacemakers’ jobs for them again? Even though we got no thanks for doing it last time, and this time we could well be arrested?’ The speaker was a tall, skinny guy whose name I was having trouble remembering. It was John or Bob or something like that. He was one of our newer members. The coven had enjoyed a surge in numbers recently, what with the high profile arrests of quite a few murderous witches.
‘I don’t know about you, Jim,’ said my mother. ‘But I never signed up for this with thanks in mind. I do it because I never did like seeing the bully win the day. So yes, I will be going out tonight, doing my best to help in all enclaves. Because mark my words, every single enclave will be a warzone. And tomorrow night might be even worse. We’ve had confirmation from the weredogs that that’s when they’re holding their next rally at the Wyrd Court. They’ve attained thousands of Pendants of Privilege since this mess began. Some from us. Some from their other allies. They have no intention of giving them back and I can’t say I blame them. They have also stated that they refuse to recognise the authority of the Peacemakers, or the Minister’s claim to absolute leadership. Rover – the unofficial weredog leader – has personally told me that the only witch authority they will recognise is the Wayfair coven.’
‘And what about the others?’ It was Ronnie who spoke this time. Dark glasses were covering her eyes, and she ran a hand through her short black hair, looking jittery. Seeing as it was Ronnie, I was guessing that it was down to too much coffee rather than feeling nervous. ‘I mean, the other others? Jeez, we have to come up with a better name.’
My mother glanced at Christine, who was standing to her left. Christine walked forward, a piece of paper in her hands. ‘We’ve received written declarations of alliance from the dayturners and the wizards. The dayturners are organising their own rally as we speak. It’ll be taking place in a week’s time. Obviously, they’ll be heading home as soon as the sun sets.’
‘Unless they’re thrown into Witchfield,’ said Jim. ‘Y’know, along with all of us.’
‘Look, Jim,’ said my mother. ‘The decision for you and for everybody else is simple. Either we recognise the Minister’s decision and slink away with our tails between our legs. Or we ignore her, and carry on regardless. I know that I’ll be there, at each and every upcoming rally, meeting and march. Not to cause trouble. Not to incite violence. I’ll be there to protect the innocent. But listen, the meeting hasn’t even officially begun yet, has it? Let’s all move to the bandstand for a nice cup of tea, and Christine and I will hand out the addresses and times for the various rallies that are taking place over the next few weeks. You can all check them out, and decide which, if any, you’d like to come to.’
There were a few supportive claps from the crowd as my mother stepped down, but there was less enthusiasm than I would have hoped for. As she and Christine neared us, I could see that they were just as dejected about the lack of bravery among the coven.
‘What is up with them?’ Melissa asked.
Ronnie joined us, taking off her sunglasses and wiping her eyes. ‘Frustration. Every time it seems like we’re getting somewhere, the Minister goes and changes the game. Don’t worry. Most people are still on side. We might lose a few of the newer members, but if they want to go, then they’re not really worth having. They’ve been able to coast a little, with things going so well between us and the Peacemakers for the last few weeks. I guess they’ve only just realised that this isn’t a job you do if you want an easy ride.’
‘And the weredog rally is making people particularly itchy,’ Christine added. ‘Everyone knows that the Peacemakers go harder on weredogs than anyone else.’
‘Actually, that might not be such a big problem as you guys think,’ I said as we walked along the path. ‘I had a meeting with Finn at lunch time.’ I quickly explained Finn’s idea – leaving out, of course, what was going to happen after things went to plan. ‘He’s off to see the sióga queen today, but he’s sure she’ll be on board. Then it’ll be up to me to speak to Rover.’
‘Thank goodness,’ my mother said with a sigh of relief. ‘I’ve been downright flummoxed since I saw the Púca pulling those Peacemaker carriages about the place. At least now we know it’s because the Queen fancies Finn.’
‘He didn’t say she fancies him,’ I pointed out.
Christine shook her head. ‘Of course she does. He’s a fine bit of stuff. I can’t say I blame her.’
‘Ew!’ Melissa scrunched up her face in disgust at her mother. ‘I thought you fancied Kevin Caulfield.’
She laughed and tossed her dark red hair. ‘A woman can look.’
7. Plimpton’s Brooms
When I was fini
shed with the coven meeting, I was thoroughly riled up. Once again, I was supposed to live my life according to the whims of Justine Plimpton. And once again, she could go and whistle.
My mother was right in everything she said. The bully could not be allowed to win the day. And, though I saw the necessity in heading out to help with the craziness that was bound to be taking over the enclaves during the weeks to come, I also figured that there was more than one way to skin a power-hungry witch.
Three people who worked for her had all been murdered. I was one hundred percent certain of that, no matter what Jeff’s note might have said. If I could tie her to those murders, there would be no way her Leadership Clause would be allowed to stand. I had the addresses for the houses and flats where Benny and the Jeffs lived, so I went to check them out.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to find that the boys’ abodes had all been cleared out by the time I got there. The sight of the empty walls and the stripped-down beds made me shiver. It was as if the three of them had never existed. I scoured their places anyway, hoping that maybe a flash drive or even an important scribble on a page could have made it past the Peacemakers. But for once, they had been thorough.
In fact, they had been far too thorough. There wasn’t even a boot print on the ground. All there was, was a strange energy in the air, one that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. I had the eerie feeling that I wasn’t alone.
The neighbours were reluctant to answer questions. The few that did talk said that they hadn’t seen any Peacemakers – or anyone at all – enter the boys’ residences since the night before. And then, the only visitor was Darren, the Peacemaker who found the note at Jeff’s place. Wow – convenient much?
Other than that, they told me that the boys spent most of their time at work. All of their families confirmed the same – their jobs were extremely important to them, and until recently all three of them had loved going to work. I doubted it was down to the ambience that the Minister created in the workplace. So I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because it was one of the few places, other than the Water Bowl, where they could spend time together without fear of reprisal. Either way, my next port of call was clear. I was going to have to head to Plimpton’s Brooms.
≈
I checked my watch as I stared at the shopfront. It was in Industry Row, an area of Warren Lane that looked like an average industrial estate. I had worked in a dozen of them in the human world. Berrys’ Bottlers had been in one. It was a bit of a shock, though, to see this kind of place in a witch enclave. Most of the buildings I had seen were architecturally stunning. And if they weren’t stunning, they were at least interesting. Industry Row, however, broke the mould. Plimpton’s Brooms looked just like the rest of the businesses in the estate: a low, square building with a shop at the front and a warehouse at the back. They could have been selling carpets or fireplaces.
I watched most of the staff trail away for the day, and finally approached the door with a wide smile on my face. As I went to push it open, a slim, stunning-looking vampire stood in my way.
She had black hair that snaked down to her waist, the usual dark eyeshadow and lipstick, and an outfit that I would have had trouble squeezing a single leg into.
‘Sorry, we close at five,’ she said.
‘Oh, darn it! I really need a new broom. I had my first flying lesson today and it didn’t go so well.’
She arched a pencilled brow. ‘You should really learn some glamour spells if you want to try this sort of thing. I mean, it’s not like your face hasn’t been on the news a thousand times.’
I gave her an innocent shrug. ‘What does that have to do with my needing a new broom?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Come in. I’ll answer your questions, Wanda. I want to, as a matter of fact. I don’t care what the Minister says. She’s a crap boss and a terrible person. As far as I’m concerned, I want the Wayfairs investigating this. Benny and the Jeffs were my friends.’ She pulled me into the building, and locked the door behind us.
I followed her to a shiny reception area, and she pointed to a couch in front of a glass-topped coffee table. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’
I shook my head and glanced down at the brochures. A young male witch – maybe fourteen or so – was riding a sleek-looking broom. The caption read: Want to make your friends jealous? Ride a Plimpton’s Broom to school.
‘I’m Fontanella.’ The beautiful vampire extended a hand. ‘I’m the first point of contact for customers. Which means I do all the work and the salespeople get the commission. But the job does have its perks. Or at least it did, until last night.’ She lowered her head, and tears began to stream down her cheeks, taking quite a lot of her eye make-up along the way. ‘I’ve already started looking for something new.’
I magicked up a box of tissues and passed it to her. As she stopped the ribbon of black make-up in its tracks, I glanced behind her. I could see a warehouse, stacked with long, slim boxes.
‘I em ... I heard that the boys worked in a broom-making factory,’ I said when she had steadied herself.
She sniffled and nodded, standing up. ‘Of course. I’ll take you there.’ She marched towards an elevator and I followed her in. She pressed a button marked with a large B and, with a lurch, we began to descend. We emerged into an enormous, underground facility.
‘You’re welcome to take pictures,’ she said. ‘For your investigation.’
‘Oh. Thanks.’ I pulled out my mobile phone and began to capture all of the equipment and work areas. I recognised some of it from my father’s broom-making shed – of course the equipment here was far more modern-looking, but it all seemed to do the same thing.
‘The Jeffs worked down there.’ She pointed to a messy area at the back. There were coffee cups and crumbs, model brooms and posters. Apparently the guys had been into a show called Witch Wars. The posters mostly featured a stunning, green-eyed woman in a tight black dress, with a witch’s hat set askew atop her head. She reminded me of Melissa.
‘I ... I haven’t been able to bring myself to clean it all up. Cleaning was Benny’s job – or one of his jobs, I should say – but I used to help him. And a Peacemaker has already been here today. So if there was any evidence, she might have taken it already.’
‘She?’ I asked as I prodded around their work area, opening drawers. ‘Did she tell you her name?’
Fontanella shook her lustrous head of hair. ‘No. But I would know her if I saw her again. She actually took off her helmet, which none of them ever do. Of course, it was probably so she could see better. I mean, she kept pushing doors that clearly said pull. And she tripped over her own feet at least three times.’
‘That’ll be Gretel, then,’ I said, as I got to the bottom drawer. There were a number of bright red folders inside, all labelled Facility B.
‘That’s here,’ said Fontanella. ‘We call the warehouse Facility A and this place Facility B.’
‘Oh, right.’ I opened the folders. There was nothing in any of them. ‘How come these are empty?’
She laughed croakily. ‘Those boys. I used to give them new folders every week. They were supposed to log every broom that passed their way. Of course, come Friday they would have done nothing. So all four of us would wind up staying here and working late.’
I felt my brow furrow. ‘But ... wasn’t Benny the cleaner? Why would he be filling out records?’
‘Oh, he was the cleaner all right. But our delightful boss also expected him to be the Jeffs’ assistant whenever it was needed. He worked Quality Control for the Jeffs – he examined the brooms for visible scuffs and the like, before Jeff the witch gave them a flying test. No wonder he was so depressed, with all he was expected to do.’
‘Depressed?’ I stared at Fontanella. ‘I haven’t heard anyone else say Benny was depressed.’
‘Well ... of course he was.’ She wiped away a few more tears from her eyes. ‘I mean, he killed himself. They all did. And who co
uld blame them given how they were treated in this place?’
I pushed the drawer closed, disappointed that there was nothing else of interest at the workstation. ‘Fontanella ... you said you wanted the Wayfairs to investigate. But if you agree that the boys killed themselves, then what exactly is it that you think we need to look into?’
‘Well, this place, of course,’ she said, as though it was obvious. ‘The working conditions here. The way that poor Benny and Jeff the wizard were treated. They were told they weren’t allowed to hang out with Jeff the witch outside of work anymore. The Minister thought it would turn the customers off. And there was Benny and me. We were ... we liked each other. Last week we had our first date. We went out to the cinema – a human cinema, so that we wouldn’t be seen by anyone supernatural. But somehow, the Minister knew about it. I sometimes think she knows everything. The next day she told me that if I continued to date Benny, then she’d see to it that I never worked again. She’s ... she’s ... she’s just the most horrible woman I’ve ever met. It’s her fault, all of it. She drove Benny and the Jeffs to suicide. Surely something can be done about her.’
I thought about asking Fontanella about the glitch that Jeff the wizard had mentioned. But if she believed they had committed suicide, was there any point? Tears were streaming once again. The eye make-up was all but gone. I patted her back. ‘There, there,’ I said. I’d heard someone say that in a movie once. The upset character had been very comforted by the words.
Fontanella pulled away. ‘I don’t want your pity. I want my Benny back!’
8. Hybrid
When I arrived in the hallway, the house was quiet.
‘Max?’ I called out. ‘Dizzy?’
There was no reply, so I made my way up the stairs. ‘Kitty? Anyone?’
No reply to that, either. I pushed open my bedroom door. The room was completely empty. Worriedly, I ran into my en suite bathroom. No kitten there, either. I fought to calm myself down. Maybe she had gone out the back to go to the loo. I was just about to make my way outside when I heard an enormous snore from beyond Max’s bedroom door.
Winging It (A Wayfair Witches' Cozy Mystery #4) Page 6
