by Sam Short
“What is it?” asked Judith. “Is it poison?”
Timothy sniffed at the air, shutting his eyes in apparent concentration. “There’s poison involved, alright,” he said, opening his eyes again. “It’s fading quickly, but I can smell something suspicious.” He sniffed again, and looked at the two witches. “I can smell a strong scent of cacao, which is presumably from the cakes he ate.”
Millie nodded. “We used good quality cacao when the kids and I baked them. That’s not suspicious, though, is it?”
Taking long considered breaths through his nostrils, Timothy closed his eyes again. “It’s what’s in the background which strikes me as unusual,” he said. “I’m picking up the scent of a few herbs which wouldn’t normally be associated with cakes.” He looked up. “In my limited experience of cake baking,” he added.
“What sort of herbs?” asked Millie.
“There’s lavender,” said Timothy, sniffing the air above Trevor’s mouth. “There’s valerian root, too.” He took a series of short sniffs, his nose twitching as he concentrated. “There’s some kava, and a little ginko leaf, I think.”
“I haven’t heard of those last two,” said Millie. “Are they dangerous? Are they poisonous?”
Timothy shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have extracts of them all in my chemistry lab, there’re perfectly safe on their own, but I’d have to do some testing to find out if they’re poisonous when combined. I don’t think so, but I’d need to check. There are so many possible herb combinations that it’s impossible to memorise the effect they all have when mixed with other herbs.”
“Can you smell anything else?” asked Judith.
Smelling again, Timothy used his hand to waft the air above Trevor’s face towards his nose. He sniffed. “Yes,” he said, after a long moment. “My, my. Now that might be interesting.”
“What is it?” said Mille, sniffing the air herself but only getting a nostril full of Timothy’s lemony aftershave. “What’s so interesting?”
“I can smell Saint John’s wort,” said Timothy. “Which can be dangerous to werewolves in large enough doses. It’s not so dangerous that I have to keep werewolf children away from it in my lab, but they are aware that they shouldn’t ingest too much of it when testing the potions they’ve made. It shouldn’t kill a werewolf, though — just make them a little unwell for a short period of time.” He frowned. “But as I say… who knows what concoction was made by mixing a few herbs? Maybe somebody found a way of making these herbs fatal when mixed with one another. I’ll need to run some experiments.”
“What about the cakes and tea on the floor?” observed Judith. “Do they smell of the same herbs?”
Timothy moved towards the two cream cakes and the puddle of tea. “Let’s see,” he said, lowering his nose towards the floor. He murmured something to himself before looking up at Millie and Judith. “No,” he said. “There’s no smell. The tea and the cakes smell normal.”
“If he was poisoned, the poison must have been in the mini-muffin he ate,” stated Judith. “And the muffin I had a bite of.”
“You ate some of the same muffin that Trevor ate?” asked Timothy.
“Yes,” said Judith, “Just a bite. Before I left Dad here alone, and I feel fine, so that proves that the poison wasn’t in the muffin when I left.”
“Or it proves that if there was poison in the muffin, it was designed to target werewolves and not witches,” noted Timothy. “And it must have been a very fast working poison. Sergeant Spencer says that Trevor began making sounds the moment he’d locked the door behind him. Trevor would only have had the time to quickly chew and swallow his muffin before the poison affected him.”
“And before Dad had opened the door, the poison was already a blue foam which was bubbling from Trevor’s mouth. I’d say it was very fast working poison indeed,” noted Judith.
“No,” stated Timothy. “That’s not right. The foam you saw wasn’t poison.”
“It wasn’t?” asked Millie. “Then what was it?” She looked upwards, her eyes following a final blue spark as it rose heavenward. “Oh!” she gasped. “Was it his soul?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Timothy. “It was his soul. That of his wolf, anyway.” He replaced the blanket, which Millie had taken from the cell bed, over Trevor’s body and stood up.
“The soul of his wolf?” said Judith. “How awful!”
“It’s awful, yes,” said Timothy. “But it wasn’t really his soul, so to speak. It had no consciousness. It was energy. The magical energy which gave Trevor the gift of being a werewolf. The sparks it created when it evaporated was simply energy rejoining the ether — where it will remain until called upon one day when another werewolf baby is born. It’s actually quite a beautiful thing... the energy which once made Trevor who he was, for good or for bad, will one day be within another wolf.”
“Is that what happens to every werewolf when they… pass?” asked Millie. “That... foam? Those sparks?”
“No. Absolutely not,” said Timothy. “The reason that it happened to Trevor is because somebody must have possessed the knowledge to mix those herbs I smelt into a very cruel poison. A poison which severed the human part of Trevor from the wolf portion of his identity. When a werewolf dies of natural causes, his wolf and human parts die simultaneously... the human soul, or energy, whatever people like to call it — going wherever it is that human energy goes. The wolf energy leaves the body at the same time — invisible, simply melting into the ether. The foam you witnessed is the result of Trevor’s human portion dying suddenly — with no warning. His wolf energy found suddenly itself with no host and was forced to expel itself from Trevor’s body. The glowing foam and the sparks were that energy.”
“What sort of poison could do that to a werewolf?” said Millie. “And what sort of person would do such a thing?” She opened her eyes wide as a horrifying thought crossed her mind. “What if all my cakes were poisoned? And what if the poison only affects werewolves? What if other wolves eat my cakes and die? We must do something! We must find every single one of my cakes which hasn’t been eaten and destroy them!”
Timothy shook his head. “If it was in the cake he ate, which we won’t know until we’ve had a look inside him, then I don’t believe anybody else is in danger. I’ve been eating the cakes you made all day, Millie. As have other wolves.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I believe whatever poison Trevor ingested was meant for him, and only him. I don’t believe anybody else is in danger. Somebody with a grudge against Trevor administered the poison to him, and him alone, and now it’s our job to discover who that person is.”
“And how do we do that?” asked Judith. “Where do we begin?”
“One of the first things we should do is go and put your father’s mind at rest, Judith,” said Timothy. “He looked distraught when I arrived, and he told me that he believed he’d poisoned Trevor.”
“That’s what he really believes,” said Judith.
“And to be honest,” said Millie, reluctantly, “that’s how it might look to somebody who doesn’t know him. To a person who doesn’t know that Sergeant Spencer is the type of man who wakes up every morning with the intention of helping people and not harming them. To a person who doesn’t know what a deeply kind man he is.”
“You speak very highly of him,” noted Timothy.
“Yes,” said Judith, touching Millie’s arm. “You do. And it’s nice to hear. I suppose my judgement about him could be clouded because I’m his daughter, but hearing you… somebody outside the family, speaking of him in such a lovely way, completely confirms that I’m not wrong.”
“Of course you’re not wrong,” said Timothy. “Sergeant Spencer is heroic, honest, hard-working, decent, and every other quality that helps make up a fine human being.” He paused, and then lowered his voice, looking towards the cell door, as if suddenly remembering that the subject of his conversation was less than twenty feet away. “But that’s what might turn out t
o be a problem for him if we don’t find out what happened to Trevor,” he said.
“I don’t get it,” said Millie. “How will the fact that he’s a nice man be a problem for him?”
Loosening his tie, Timothy frowned. “Not the fact that he’s a nice man. I’m talking about the fact that he’s a man, full stop. He’s a human being… he’s non-paranormal, and when the paranormal community discover that one of their own has been murdered — a rarity in itself, they’ll want to find out who did it. And quickly.” He looked towards the door again, lowering his voice once more. “And when certain segments of the community find out that the only suspect is a human, they’ll want justice even more so than if the suspect was another member of the paranormal community.”
“Why?” asked Millie. “That doesn’t sound right. That sounds...” She hesitated. What did it sound like?
“Intolerant,” spat Judith. “Bigoted. Unfair.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “There are plenty more words for that sort of attitude. Take your pick — they all lead to the same conclusion. Some people will treat Dad unfairly just because he’s different from them.”
“I understand how you feel,” said Timothy. “I do, really...”
“But?” said Millie, prompting him. “Go on.”
Timothy gave a nod. “But it’s understandable in some ways. The human race devastated the paranormal community in ages gone by. They burned witches, they hunted werewolves, they put stakes through the hearts of vampires, and their wild stories turned ghosts from the peaceful wandering souls of the dead people that they are, into hideous creatures that should be feared and exorcised. There’s a precedent for the paranormal community to fear even a single attack by a human against one of their own... they fear it could lead to worse. Much worse. As their history has proved is viable.”
“Yes,” said Millie. “But that was history, as you said. Even if people did know of… our existence, I think they’ve evolved past that sort of violent reactionary thinking. I truly believe they’d be more understanding of us than they used to be. More accepting of us.”
“Really?” said Timothy, raising an eyebrow. “There are still cultures in the world who hunt and kill vampires... the awful thing is that most of the people they kill are not actually vampires. They’re innocent people. There are people who hunt with guns for Bigfoot, Yeti, Sasquatch... whatever name they give the creature, which, incidentally, all stem from werewolf sightings. There are cultures in which it’s acceptable to kill a rare animal and use its bones or horns to make potions from. Can you imagine what they’d do with a vampire’s fangs or a mermaid’s tail?”
Millie thought of Lillieth, the beautiful mermaid who had gifted her a magical dress which allowed Millie to grow a fin and breathe underwater. The peaceful mermaid was kind and gentle, and the thought of her having her tail hacked off for use as an ingredient in a potion that allegedly increased fertility, or cured an illness, turned her stomach. She looked at Timothy. “I think I understand,” she said. “But not all humans would wish us harm.”
“That goes without saying,” said Timothy. “But as sad as it may be, some of the paranormal community don’t fully trust any humans.” He placed a hand on his chest and looked between himself and the two witches. “Not all of us, of course, but enough of us to make it unsafe for Sergeant Spencer if word got out that he was the man who’d served a werewolf the poison-laced meal which killed him.” His eyes darkened. “Even more so because Trevor was a werewolf.”
“Why?” asked Millie.
“Let’s just say that although rational beings, us werewolves are very tribal and remarkably quick to anger. I’m ashamed to say it, but werewolves are probably the least tolerant of all paranormal folk,” said Timothy. “It’s imperative that we discover what happened to Trevor before bad rumours begin spreading about the good sergeant. If the wrong sort of werewolf hears those sorts of rumours about Sergeant Spencer, certain wolves within my community will be banging down doors to get at him.”
“Especially after he was seen arresting Trevor,” said Judith, her expression that of worry. “And was heard saying the things he did to him. Things such as the fact that he hoped he’d never leave his cell.”
“Empty words,” said Timothy. “To us — the people who know your father on a personal level, but imagine how it would look and sound to a wolf who Sergeant Spencer has locked up in the past — a wolf with a grudge against him, and let me promise you, with wolves being as quick-tempered as they are, there are plenty of those in Spellbinder Bay.”
“Then we need to find out what happened to Trevor, quickly,” said Judith, her voice urgent. “But where do we start?”
“I’ll call Fredrick,” said Timothy, taking his phone from his pocket and tapping at the screen. “He’s running Spellbinder Hall during Henry’s absence. I’ll tell him what’s happened and arrange for Trevor’s body to be taken to the hall. We can have a proper look at him there — all the facilities required to find out what killed Trevor are present.”
Millie looked up at the high corners of the cell. A tiny red light blinked on the camera that gazed down at them. “We should check the CCTV footage from throughout the station,” she said. “Even though it’s probably a waste of time.”
“It will be a waste of time,” said Judith. “Those cameras don’t record anything. What would be the point? The concealment spell won’t allow any paranormal occurrences to be committed to film or digital software; otherwise sites like YouTube would be full of mobile phone videos which would expose the paranormal world to the rest of the globe.”
“I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of whatever happened to Trevor without the aid of modern technology,” said Timothy, the phone still at his ear as he waited for Fredrick to answer. He cast a final glance at the blanket covered corpse at his feet, before turning to face the cell door. “Before we do anything else, I think we should begin by making poor Sergeant Spencer feel a little better. He’s sitting out there on his own, convinced that he’s killed a man. That can’t be nice for him.” He turned away as Fredrick answered his call, speaking quickly into his phone.
As Timothy explained the situation to Fredrick, Millie took one last look around the cell, hoping that they’d missed something, some vital clue which would scream the answer to the riddle of Trevor’s death at her.
Finding nothing of significance, she scanned the scene once more. There were no further answers forthcoming. The small glass block window couldn’t be opened from inside or out, and the thick metal cell door had only been opened briefly when Sergeant Spencer had served Trevor the meal which lay strewn across the floor. Nobody could have sneaked into the cell and administered a fatal poison to Trevor, and Judith and her father were both certain that there had been nobody else in the police station. It seemed that all available evidence pointed to the distasteful fact that Sergeant Spencer had indeed served Trevor Giles the meal which had killed him.
Following Timothy from the room as he finished his phone call, a dark uneasiness settled in Millie’s stomach, sending icy cold tendrils along her limbs. She had a disheartening feeling that this puzzle was going to be hard to solve, and she had an even stronger feeling that things were going to be difficult for Sergeant Spencer in the following days.
Chapter 11
Still seated behind the reception desk, his hand moving quickly as he scribbled notes on a piece of paper, Sergeant Spencer looked up as Timothy and the two witches approached the desk. “So,” he said. “Did you discover anything of significance?” He shook his head. “No. I shouldn’t be asking that. I shouldn’t be involved until you’ve proved my innocence.”
“Sergeant Spencer,” said Timothy. “I hope you won’t take offence at what I’m about to say, but there is absolutely no way that I’m going to honour your request to be treated as a suspect. I’ll happily help Millie and Judith clear your name if anybody is ignorant enough to believe it was you who harmed Trevor Giles, but I shall not continue with the charade of you being thought
of as a suspect.”
“Me neither,” said Millie. “It’s not right.”
“You can add my name to the list,” said Judith, approaching the desk and reaching for her father’s hand. “Obviously.”
His shoulders lifting, as if being hoisted by invisible strings, Sergeant Spencer allowed himself to smile, confidence reigniting in his eyes. Appearing as if he was going to speak, he remained silent, the quick nod he gave conveying his thanks instead. His shoulders rising further, and his chest swelling beneath his crisp white shirt, he got to his feet. “Okay,” he said. “I understand.” He hesitated briefly before taking a deep breath. “So, did you find anything?”
“We believe the muffin Trevor ate may have been poisoned,” said Judith. “We can’t be sure until further checks have been done, so Timothy phoned Fredrick. He’s coming to collect Trevor’s body.”
“We can perform a full autopsy at Spellbinder Hall,” explained Timothy. “We have all the facilities required, although they’re rarely used. We’ll know more when we have the results.”
“But you agree Trevor was poisoned?” asked Sergeant Spencer. “All that blue stuff coming from his mouth... what sort of poison is that?”
“That wasn’t poison,” said Millie.
“It was his wolf energy leaving his body, Dad,” said Judith. “But Timothy suspects that Trevor was poisoned. He smelled something suspicious coming from him.”
Sergeant Spencer looked at Timothy. “You did? What sort of smell?”
Timothy sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting area, the cheap metal frame creaking as he settled into it. “A strange scent,” he said. “Coming from his mouth. A mixture of herbs. I’m not certain exactly how it worked, if the mixture was responsible for Trevor’s death, but I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it when we... look inside him.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Sergeant Spencer. He indicated the piece of paper he’d been writing on. “I’ve been mulling over everything that happened, and I can’t work it out. Judith and I had eaten the same cakes and drank the same tea that I gave to Trevor. It doesn’t make sense. If Trevor was poisoned, when was the poison added to the meal I served him? There was nobody else here. I would have seen them!”
