by Sam Short
Fredrick ran both hands through his black hair, as if applying gel. “May I remind you that Florence is a member of the Spellbinder Hall Board of Governors, and a teacher here, Timothy? She is as accountable as the rest of the staff while she continues to occupy those positions of importance.”
“We can start without her, Fredrick,” suggested Edna Brockett, standing stiffly alongside a drinks cabinet in the form of a globe, its lid raised to display the eclectic contents. She licked her lips as she touched a bottle of sherry propped up between two bottles of scotch, before glancing at the clock and quickly withdrawing her hand as if her fingers had been burned. “You and I are both members of the board. We can make decisions about what happens in the town. I’m sure Florence won’t mind.”
Fredrick sighed. “I’m sure she won’t,” he replied. Glancing at the clock once more, he relented. “Very well,” he said. “Let us begin.” He turned his deep-set eyes onto Millie and then Judith, who occupied an old Chesterfield sofa. “Thank you for visiting Mrs Giles this morning. How did she respond to the news of her husband’s death?”
“She was angry and upset,” said Judith. “Like you’d expect.”
Fredrick nodded. “Of course she was,” he said. “But do you think she’ll keep the news of Trevor’s death a secret from the rest of her community until we’ve got to the bottom of the poisoning mystery?”
“I think so,” said Millie, shifting in her seat as a spring dug into the back of her thigh. “It was quite awkward having to ask her, though.”
“It was necessary,” said Fredrick. “Unless you want misinformed and angry werewolves on the hunt for Sergeant Spencer, that is.”
“About that,” said Judith, with a frown. “Mrs Giles is very hostile towards my father and me. She practically accused my father of killing Trevor, and she wasn’t shy about insinuating that I might have had something to do with it, either.”
“Her husband died whilst in your father’s custody,” noted Fredrick. “She’s bound to jump to conclusions. Without motive or proof, though, that’s all they are... wild conclusions.”
Judith dropped her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath and looking in Millie’s direction. Seemingly buoyed by the encouraging smile which Millie offered her, Judith continued. “It could be argued that Helen might be right in thinking that my father and I had a motive for hurting Trevor,” she said. “Something happened last weekend. While Trevor was in the police station. Something I forgot to mention. Something I had almost forgotten had happened during all the chaos yesterday.”
Fredrick raised an eyebrow and straightened his back, giving his full attention to Judith. “Please inform us of what happened,” he said.
“Trevor is a regular in the police cells,” explained Judith. “I’ve lost count of how many times Dad has arrested him. Last weekend was no exception, and I just happened to be helping Dad out with some paperwork when he brought in a very drunk Trevor. He’d been fighting as usual.”
“I have heard that Trevor was no stranger to police custody,” remarked Fredrick. “But what was so unusual about last weekend, Miss Spencer?”
Judith sighed. “He hit me,” she said. “Trevor hit me. It was more like he was lashing out and accidentally made contact with my face. There was no danger of him turning into his wolf — he was far too drunk to do that — much drunker than he was at the fete yesterday when he turned, but I was angry, and so was Dad. We might have said some things we regretted in the heat of the moment, but I can assure you that the whole incident was forgotten as soon as it had begun. Dad and I put it down to an accident and left it at that. Trevor didn’t, though. It seems that he was ashamed of what he’d done. So ashamed that he told his wife about the incident.”
Timothy’s seat creaked in protest as he leaned forward, staring at Judith. “Helen Giles knows that her husband hit you — the daughter of the town’s police sergeant? And then a week later Trevor is found dead in a police cell,” he contemplated, stroking the wispy tufts of hair on his upper lip. “That’s a concerning turn of events. If the vigilante element of the werewolf community were to discover that information, I’d be quite afraid of what could happen. I have a feeling that fingers would be pointed very quickly indeed. Pointed in a direction that could be dangerous to you and your father.”
“And neither yourself or Sergeant Spencer thought to mention this last night?” enquired Fredrick.
Judith shook her head. “We were in shock last night. I’d totally forgotten about it, Dad had too, I suppose. You saw how he acted when we came out of the police station. He was talking about going home for a party.”
“He did seem out of sorts,” admitted Fredrick. “He was acting very out of character. I’m not surprised that something so important may have slipped his mind.”
“As long as the information stays out of earshot of the worst in my community, everything should be okay,” said Timothy, offering Judith a reassuring smile. “We’ll find out what happened to Trevor in no time at all, and put this whole sordid incident to rest, without awful aspersions being thrown at the good names of you or your father.”
“Quite,” said Fredrick, his expression unreadable. “And it seems that Edna may have discovered a clue in the poison, which could be the beginning of the trail of breadcrumbs which leads to the truth about what happened to Trevor Giles.” He turned to Edna and gave a hollow smile. “The floor is yours, Mrs Brockett.”
Edna stepped away from the drinks cabinet, her chin held high. She took a small green bottle from the pocket of her cardigan and held it up for all to see. “In this bottle are the remnants of the magic I retrieved from within Trevor Giles,” she said, spinning the bottle slowly in her hand, the blue orb within the glass glowing softly. “I’ve used my own magic to reverse engineer, if you will, the magic that had been added to the poison that Trevor had ingested. Although I’m not yet sure of how the poison was administered.”
Timothy cleared his throat. “May I interject?” he asked. “I’ve been looking into that side of things.”
Edna nodded, impatience evident in her thin smile. “Please do,” she said.
“I’ve examined the non-magical elements of the poison,” explained Timothy. “My chemistry lab has all the equipment required to carry out a thorough investigation, but even after several tests, I can’t be certain of how Trevor was poisoned. I can’t be specific about which food item the poison was placed in, although after hearing from Sergeant Spencer regarding the speed in which Trevor died after consuming the muffin, I think we can say with some certainty that the muffin was indeed the vehicle for the poison — although I am, of course, basing that assumption on circumstantial evidence.”
“Thank you,” said Fredrick. “Is there anything else you’d like to add before Edna continues?”
Crossing his legs, Timothy made himself more comfortable in his seat. “As well as a lot of alcohol and food, there were a few herbs in Mister Giles’s stomach, only one of which could harm a werewolf when administered in large enough doses.”
“Saint John’s Wort?” asked Millie, recalling what Timothy had said while smelling the air above Trevor’s dead body.
“Indeed,” confirmed Timothy. “Although there was not enough of it in Trevor’s system to have killed him. There was barely enough to have given him a headache, which is why I think the magic Edna retrieved from Trevor must have somehow amplified the effects of the herb, causing Trevor’s death.”
“Where would one acquire Saint John’s Wort?” asked Fredrick.
“It’s a very common herb,” said Timothy, “with many uses. It can be found in most health shops and even supermarkets. It’s often used as a natural way to treat depression.”
“So the person responsible could have sourced the herb from any number of places?” asked Fredrick. “That makes investigating that element of the case a little more difficult.”
“Had it just been Saint John’s Wort I found in Trevor’s system, then I would have agreed,” said Tim
othy. “However, the presence of rarer herbs in Trevor’s stomach, such as kava, ginkgo leaf, and others, leads me to believe that the herbs in the poison were taken from my lab. I have a huge collection which the children use to make potions from.”
Fredrick stared at Timothy for a few seconds, and then licked his lips. “So, the herbs used in the potion may have been taken from your lab,” he said. “That may narrow the list of potential suspects down to the people who have easy access to your classroom.”
“Not if the herbs were taken yesterday,” said Timothy. “It was an open day — parents and pupils were in and out of my lab all day. In fact, I left the door open all day and didn’t lock it until Judith and I had finished in there at about eight-thirty.”
Frederick’s eyes darted quickly to the left, falling briefly on Judith before returning to Timothy. “And what were you and Miss Spencer doing in the lab at such a late hour of the day?”
“I’d drank a lot of wine,” said Judith, speaking before Timothy could. “And then Dad phoned me. He was hungry but couldn’t leave the police station because Trevor was in a cell. That’s when I took the cakes over. I was too drunk to drive, though, so Timothy made me a sobering potion. I went to the chemistry lab with him while he made it.”
“I see,” said Fredrick, studying Judith. He looked as if he was going to say something else, but chose not to at the last moment. He looked at Timothy again. “If the herbs were taken from your lab, why would such a mix of them be added to the poison? You already stated that from the list of plants you found inside Trevor, only Saint John’s Wort is damaging to werewolves. Why would other harmless herbs be added to a poison designed to kill one of your species, Mister Huggins?”
“To disguise the taste?” offered Timothy. “Or maybe the other herbs became poisonous when magic was added to the mix. As you know, Fredrick, magic is a complicated business.”
“Or maybe the poison wasn’t designed to kill a werewolf?” offered Judith. “Maybe it wasn’t meant for Trevor at all? Maybe it was meant for somebody else? Maybe the mix of herbs and magic was intended to kill somebody else, or something else.”
“I find that hard to believe,” said Timothy. “Werewolves are not the simplest of the paranormal species to kill. We don’t die easily, and I find it hard to imagine that a poison meant for a non-werewolf would kill one of us. It seems implausible. It’s my belief that the poison found inside Trevor was designed intentionally to sever the tie between Trevor and his wolf energy.” He looked at Millie and Judith. “You both witnessed Trevor’s wolf energy leaving his body.”
“Yes,” said Judith. “It wasn’t a pleasant sight.”
“Would you allow me to speak again, please?” said Edna, impatiently, stepping forward. “As I think I can prove that the poison was meant for a werewolf, and I also think I can prove that the poison was not necessarily in the muffin.”
Chapter 20
The room fell silent, and then Fredrick spoke. “Then why didn’t you say so before?”
“I was trying to explain when Timothy asked to interject,” said Edna, scowling. “I’m too polite to interrupt.” She raised an eyebrow in Timothy’s direction. “Unlike some of us.”
“Well, the floor is yours once again, Mrs Brockett,” said Fredrick with a wave of his hand. “Please enlighten us with what it is you have discovered.”
Displaying the little bottle in her hand, held upright between finger and thumb, Edna began. “As I was attempting to explain, I managed to reverse engineer the magic contained within this bottle. It was difficult, as are most things where magic is concerned, but after a couple of hours, the spells that had been used began to speak to me.”
“Speak to you?” asked Timothy.
“Not literally, Mister Huggins,” snapped Edna. “Metaphorically. What I mean is that I began to understand how the spells worked. I began to discover what elements had been used in the magic.” She glanced at Timothy and Fredrick in turn. “For the non-witches amongst us, that simply means that we can narrow the magic down to a certain type of witch. Some witches are better at using fire or air as an element to power a spell, others enjoy using the sun.”
“And which of those elements has been used in the spell contained in your little bottle?” asked Fredrick.
“None of the elements I just mentioned,” said Edna, spinning the bottle and gazing at the blue light trapped within. “The magic contained in this bottle was cast using the elements of the moon and water.” She placed the bottle on Fredrick’s desk and pursed her lips. “And what better magic to add to a poison designed to kill a werewolf, than magic cast using a moon element? Which is why I believe the poison that Trevor ingested was intended to be harmful to a werewolf.”
“That does make sense,” said Timothy. “The moon is of great importance to werewolves. It heals us and gives us strength. Any magic that uses the moon as a source could potentially harm us.”
“I agree,” said Edna. “And although the moonpool provides the catalyst for all magic in our town, it is not the same as using the power of the moon for personal spells. In fact, it can be quite difficult to harness the power of the moon directly. It takes a skilled witch, and knowing that the moon was utilised in the magic inside this bottle allows us to narrow down the list of witches who potentially cast it.” She dropped her eyes and looked at Judith. “Perhaps Miss Spencer could help us with that task?”
“Why should Miss Spencer be able to help with that particular task?” asked Fredrick.
Judith spoke before Edna could. “Because I specialise in lunar and water magic,” she said. “And we witches tend to swap spells with one another — mostly with other witches who utilise the same magical elements as we do.” She smiled at Edna. “I’ll compile a list of all the witches I know who use the moon as the main element in their spells.”
“Thank you, Miss Spencer,” said Fredrick.
Millie concentrated on the warmth in her chest, gaining comfort from the magical energy which resided there. She’d taken a while to understand which element it was that her magic responded to, and had finally surmised that the feelings of warmth, and the hot tingles she experienced whenever she cast a spell, meant that she drew mostly on the element of fire.
Feeling the warmth gain heat behind her breastbone as she concentrated on the hot little ball within her, Millie watched Fredrick as he scribbled something on a piece of paper on his desk, using a long white quill as a writing implement.
His eyes fell on Judith, and Millie felt the same discomfort she’d felt when she’d seen the vampire watching her friend after Edna had performed the magical autopsy on Trevor’s body.
Fredrick didn’t look at Judith for long, but during the few seconds his eyes had been on her, Millie had once again seen a flash of suspicion behind those long eyelashes. She took a deep breath as she considered reading the vampire’s mind for a second time. No. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair on Fredrick, and it wasn’t fair on herself. Fredrick was entitled to his thoughts, whatever they were, and reading minds was a drain on Millie’s energy. Energy she needed if she was to help find out who had killed Trevor, and disprove any accusatory thoughts that Fredrick may have been having about Judith.
Not really wanting to admit it to herself, through a sense of loyalty to her friend, Millie could understand why Fredrick might be having thoughts that led him to ponder Judith as a potential suspect.
If Millie hadn’t known Judith as well as she did, she might have shared similar thoughts with the vampire. Trevor had hit Judith, after all, a detail which Judith had failed to mention until Helen had brought it up. Judith had taken the cakes to the police station, too, after having been in the chemistry lab with Timothy, with access to all the ingredients in the poison. Not forgetting that she possessed the magical capability to cast a spell over them using moon magic.
She gave her head a quick shake. No. She mustn’t think like that. She bit her bottom lip, the pain making her wince, but having the desired effect of banishing so
me of the unwelcome thoughts from her mind. She bit it again, harder this time, as the most unwelcome thought refused to budge from its entrenched position in her mind — the awful thought that screamed at her, hurting her head and making her ashamed that her mind was capable of generating it.
She closed her eyes — willing it away, but with no success. She shook her head, there it was again. That thought. Harassing her. Upsetting her. It flashed bright in her mind once more. If Judith had something to do with Trevor’s death, then so did Sergeant Spencer. So did your father, Millie! You might be the daughter of a murderer, Millie!
“Millie?” came a concerned voice from beside her. “Are you okay?"
She opened her eyes, her lip hurting, aware that everyone in the room was watching her. “Yes... yes, I’m fine,” she said, offering a smile.
“Are you sure?” asked Judith. “You were murmuring to yourself, and I can see a mark on your lip. You looked as if you were biting it.”
“I’m fine, honestly,” said Millie, running her tongue over her bottom lip in an attempt to relieve the soreness. “I’m probably just a little tired.”
“Then we shall continue,” said Fredrick. “Although I imagine that we’re all tired. None of us had the luxury of much sleep last night. Miss Thorn can leave if she likes, though. Maybe she’d prefer to be tucked up in her bed than helping us get to the bottom of a murder in Spellbinder Bay?”
There it was again. The disdain which Fredrick so often showed her since she’d begun dating George. “I’m fine, thank you,” retorted Millie, narrowing her eyes at the vampire.
“Very well,” said Fredrick. He smiled at Edna. “Please continue, Mrs Brockett. You had enlightened us about the presence of moon and water magic within the poison, and you had eluded to the fact that the muffin may not have in fact been the vehicle for the poison.” His brow furrowed as he looked at the witch. “Please explain how you reached that particular conclusion.”
