A Trick for a Treat (A Wayfair Witches' Cozy Mystery #3)

by A. A. Albright

  I smiled warmly. ‘No, I remember you. Ronnie Plimpton. Hey, aren’t you the Potions Professor at Crooked College?’

  She opened the classroom door with a wave of her hand and beckoned me inside. Once we were in there, she sank into a chair and plopped her feet up on the teachers’ desk. ‘It’s Ronnie Wayfair now that we’ve all come out of the closet. And yes, Minister Plimpton is really happy about that. And as for why a college professor is teaching you secondary school level Potions … well, that was because the Minister wanted to make this class about as hard as she could make it.’ She grinned. ‘You know, because she hates you. But needless to say, things have changed somewhat since she first asked me to teach you.’

  I looked around at the desks. They were covered with an odd mixture of equipment. Some was similar to what I’d used in my human-world chemistry lessons. The rest of it was old-school witch all the way. Miniature cauldrons stood next to Bunsen burners. Ornate glass vials were lined up next to plain pipettes.

  ‘There are usually a few more witches in the classes the Minister sends me to.’

  ‘I expect there are,’ replied Ronnie. ‘That’s why I insisted on holding these classes during normal school hours. So Justine can’t designate you to one of her extra classes. You’ve missed a lot while you were recuperating from what that crazy old warlock did to you. We only have one week for this class, and if you’re going to pass, you need one to one tuition, Wanda.’ She clasped her hands behind her head. ‘But I’m up for the challenge if you are. What do you say?’

  I shrugged. ‘Sure. What do we do first?’

  ‘You’ve studied the books?’

  I bit my lip and pulled the text books from my bag. ‘The Minister only sent them over this morning. I haven’t had the chance yet.’

  ‘Of course she did.’ Ronnie began to pull at her hair. ‘Bloody woman! Okay. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I mean, it’s not like the recipes and antidotes will be a problem for you anyway. All you were ever missing was the magic to put it all together.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She gave me a conspiratorial wink. ‘It’s okay. I’ve been loyal to your coven for a very long time. I know all about what a little genius you were as a kid.’

  ‘Okaaay. Um – I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ronnie, but I was never a genius at anything. It must be Melissa you’re thinking of.’

  She stared at me for a good few seconds before saying, ‘Oh. Right. My mistake. Let’s just get on with our first class, shall we? I’m going to give you a short series of tests over the week, rather than one exam. There won’t be As or Bs or percentages. It’ll be pass or fail. After all, you’re a Wayfair, so you know perfectly well that when it comes to solving a murder, it’s not a lot of good to get ninety percent of the way there. You solve it, or you don’t. So we’ll start with identifying poisons. You’ll have to know your hemlock from your hot sauce. Once we’ve tested you on that – then we’ll move onto physical symptoms, then antidotes.’ She stood up, walked to a supply closet and began pulling out items, returning a moment later and slapping a few jars of powder down on the table.

  ‘Aconite,’ she said. ‘Known as wolfsbane, monkshood, mouse bane ... the list goes on. Aconitum lycoctonum.’ She pointed to one of the jars. ‘This one literally translates to wolfsbane, and sure, it’ll do serious damage to our furry friends. Every one of these poisons will. But these days, they’ve managed to turn one or two to their benefit. Mix the right ingredients, and we can make a suppressant for werewolves to take when they don’t want to turn. But get even one step wrong, and it’s bye bye werewolf. Or weredog.’ She returned to the supply closet a few more times, bringing more and more potions for me to examine by look and smell.

  By the end of the class my mind was swimming with poisons and antidotes. ‘You seem tired,’ she said. ‘How about you take a drink of this?’

  She poured a vial of golden, fizzing liquid into a coffee mug.

  ‘What is it?

  ‘You tell me,’ she said, giving me an odd look.

  I sniffed the liquid, and the name of it rushed suddenly into my mind. ‘A Short Burst of Happiness?’

  Ronnie smiled. ‘That’s the one. I knew it was all still in there.’ She nodded towards my head. ‘So take a drink of that, go home and relax, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.’

  ≈

  The next few days were exhausting but exhilarating. Making the potions and antidotes felt almost as comfortable to me as flying had. Ronnie was even more exhausted than I was. On top of teaching me, she was working as a Wayfair, a college professor, and as the lead Potions’ expert for the Department of Magical Law. As part of her latter role, she had access to crime scenes from which the Wayfair coven were barred. And as part of my lessons, she took some old crime scene photographs into class, so that I could identify the effects of the poisons by the look of the body.

  ‘Dead witch there,’ she said, pointing at the first photo. ‘Found in Warren Lane three years ago, long before you returned to the fold. Killed by enchanted metal filings, fed to her each day in her morning cup of tea. Metal just like the one used in the shackles Kilian Berry used to supress your power. Ire.’ Ronnie had shown me Ire earlier in the week, and I now knew how to identify it by look, feel and smell. It was comprised of tiny metal filings, smelling like rust and as fine as talc.

  ‘Spot test,’ said Ronnie with a grin. ‘Remind me again what Ire does.’

  ‘In small amounts, Ire takes us slow,’ I told her. ‘At first our magic gets spotty, and we have trouble with difficult spells. Then we can’t do spells at all, even the simplest ones. Then we start to weaken. Then, the day before we die, we start to feel awesome. Convince ourselves it was just a bad flu. And then … we drop down dead with no warning.’

  She smiled, stuck a thumb up to indicate I had passed, then pulled out another photo. A vampire was lying, cold as stone, covered in boils, in the middle of Eile Street in Dublin.

  ‘A dayturner,’ I said. ‘Night potion.’

  Ronnie nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. ‘Two more questions – tell me about dayturners, and why this potion is so horrific for them.’

  ‘Dayturning vampires are allergic to the dark,’ I said, recoiling at the memory of how the Night potion smelled. It stank like gone-off meat. ‘They have to feed by daylight. They get a rash and indigestion if they feed after dark. Night potion mimics and exaggerates those effects a hundredfold. Kills a dayturner within the hour.’

  She gave me another thumbs-up. ‘Brilliant, Wanda. But now ...’ She looked a little tentative. ‘I’m going to show you photos from the most recent crime scenes I’ve been working on. Do you remember what I told you about Jinx?’

  I swallowed. ‘The latest wolfsbane-based poison you’ve discovered. Jinx ...’ I paused. ‘Although it seems like it might have been designed as a werewolf and weredog poison, Jinx doesn’t discriminate. Wolf, dog, vampire, witch or human, it will kill you quickly. And it doesn’t have a cure yet.’

  Although her thumb rose up yet again, there was no smile on her face. ‘Unfortunately not. And the instances of Jinx poisoning have been ramping up in Paris and London. It’s only a matter of time before they reach us. Are you sure you want to see these photos, Wanda? I know that your boyfriend is a weredog.’

  ‘I … what? No. Max isn’t my boyfriend. He’s a friend.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked like she didn’t entirely believe me. ‘Well, friend or boyfriend, it doesn’t matter to me. Either way, tell him to be careful.’ She pointed to a photo. A female weredog was lying on the ground, her blonde hair stringy, her face having an odd pallor. Her hands were lying on her stomach, and there was vomit all over her face and T-shirt. ‘This one happened in an other enclave in London two days ago. Peacemakers over there don’t really care. Peacemakers over here don’t really care. And as a Wayfair, you’re not officially allowed to care. It’s not a witch murder, so you’re supposed to just look the other way and let the Peacemakers do nothing about it. Bu
t I want you to know, Wanda. I want you to know every poison that can kill every supernatural.’

  She went on, showing me one macabre murder after another. In every single photo, I imagined it was Max.

  ‘How close are you to an antidote, Ronnie?’

  Her face darkened. ‘My budget’s just been cut, so with limited staff to help me, I’m a lot further away than I would like to be. I’ve added a few of my most talented students at Crooked College to the team.’ She looked carefully at me. ‘Maybe you could join us. You know, when you’ve passed your other tests.’

  I snorted. ‘Sure – because I wouldn’t be a hindrance at all.’

  ≈

  Despite my lack of confidence, I passed Ronnie’s class and moved straight onto Magical History. I had Liam Oster for that. He was Agatha Oster’s son, but unlike his mother he wasn’t loyal to the Wayfair coven. He wasn’t against us, either. He just wasn’t interested in much of anything unless it was in a dusty book. Unlike Ronnie’s class, he did use percentages to grade.

  ‘But don’t worry about it too much,’ he assured me with a nasal laugh. ‘I don’t expect you to become a historian. I was quite clear with the Minister on what my class would entail. I shall make sure you’re not as much of a moron as her Peacemakers, and that will be that.’

  When the Magical History test came, I was a little disappointed. I’d been studying like crazy, and the information seemed to be sticking in my brain as though I’d always known it. The questions on the test, though, hardly covered any of what I had learned. The test did exactly as Liam Oster promised: it asked simple questions, proving that I was not a moron. Yay me.

  But despite the fact that I had now passed a total of three of the Minister’s compulsory exams, I couldn’t help but worry. Until now, the classes had been simple enough – enjoyable, even. With only Simple Spells and Incantations to go, I feared that the fun times were coming to an end.

  4. Jasper’s a Jerk – Again

  With my third test finally over, I wandered through the town towards the market. I didn’t know exactly where Lassie’s stall was situated, but Max was so tall that I knew I’d spy him before I spied the stall. Sure enough, I saw his shaggy brown head towering over all else in the market, and made a beeline in his direction.

  Of course, even if I hadn’t seen Max, Lassie’s stall would have been easy to spot – given the colourful Lassie’s Jewellery sign affixed to the top. The background was a deep shade of purple, with the lettering done in an ornate silver script.

  Max and Lassie both looked up, smiling, as I neared them.

  ‘So?’ Max questioned eagerly. ‘You passed?’

  I nodded. ‘Three down, one horrible one to go. How are things here?’ I pointed to the sign. ‘I love that.’

  Lassie nudged Max. ‘A certain stationery-obsessed weredog did that for me. My old one wasn’t quite so nice.’ She held her arms out, and I went in for a hug. ‘And things here are brilliant, thanks to you, Wanda!’ she added with a squeal. ‘Max is just about the best assistant a girl could ask for.’ She let go of me and looked up fondly at her cousin, causing his complexion to turn deep red. ‘And after weeks of nagging him to come visit me, I get him for longer than I could have hoped. And as well as making awesome signs and labels for me, he does all the heavy lifting. What more could a girl ask for?’

  I gave her my best humble shrug. In truth I was a little confused. Max had missed Lassie like crazy. If she had been nagging him to visit her for a while, then I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d put this visit off. Sure, Riddler’s Cove wasn’t exactly weredog friendly, but they both had pendants. And if Max wanted to avoid the market, he could have visited her at her flat in Riddler’s Edge instead.

  The stall was laid out with a wide array of jewellery, but I found my eyes going to the small, black, studded rings that Lassie wore on her fingers. I held my finger out. ‘I have one of those,’ I said, showing her my ring. ‘Rover gave it to me.’

  ‘Oh yeah. It looks so good on you. Wow, you must have impressed him, though. He doesn’t give my collars to just anyone. The few witches he lets hang about in Madra Lane usually get much uglier ones.’

  ‘Your collars?’ I looked down at the ring.

  ‘Lassie designed those,’ Max said. ‘Forgot to tell you.’

  I began to look more closely at the other jewellery she had for sale. I’d been dying to visit her stall since coming home, but I hadn’t dared move away from my books. ‘I mean Max said you were a jewellery designer, but he didn’t tell me you designed these.’ I waved my black ring in the air. ‘And he definitely didn’t tell me your stuff was so amazing. It’s a real pity you can’t design a new Pendant of Privilege.’

  Lassie held up the snot-green pendant that hung around her neck. ‘A three-year-old could improve on these. Hey, I was just about to pack up. Seeing as you’ve passed yet another test, how about you let me buy you a coffee and a slice of cake?’

  I looked around the market. It was emptying out, and most of the other stalls were already closing up. ‘Well, I hardly ever say no to cake. But only if you let us help you pack up.’

  ≈

  Caulfield’s Cakes didn’t just sell delicious cake over the counter. There was a café area down the back, too, where you could sit with a slice of cake and a cup of whatever took your fancy. Comfy looking couches, chairs and tables were laid out, and I’d been eager to give the place a try. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. The café was packed when we arrived, but we managed to squeeze into a table near the toilets. Despite the other customers who didn’t seem to have ordered yet, Emily Caulfield made straight for us.

  ‘That was quick,’ Lassie said in surprise. ‘I thought we’d be waiting an age.’

  Emily gave a shy little grin. I guessed her age to be twenty-five-ish, but her mannerisms sometimes made her seem younger. She brushed her brown curly hair out of her face and smiled at me and Max. ‘Your friends saved my dad from Kilian Berry,’ she said to Lassie. ‘They’re always going to get special service here.’

  ‘How is Kevin, anyway?’ I asked.

  Emily rolled her eyes. ‘Loved up. You know his first date with Christine got knocked on the head because of the whole being kidnapped by a warlock thing? Well, they’ve finally rearranged.’

  ‘Oh? Christine didn’t say.’

  Emily smirked. ‘Neither did Dad. But what with the new shirt and slacks he’s bought, plus the restaurant reservation I found written down … anyway, it’s happening tomorrow night, and as far as I’m concerned it can’t come soon enough. He’s been bouncing around the place like a hyperactive puppy. Thankfully he’s off visiting one of our suppliers right now, so I’m getting a bit of a break.’

  I laughed gently. ‘Christine doesn’t seem to date a lot. It’ll be good to see her with someone.’

  ‘What about your mam? I’ve never seen her with anyone either.’

  I let out a sad sigh. ‘I don’t think you’re going to. She never got over my dad. Anyway.’ I blinked back my tears and looked down at the menu. ‘I’m going to have a coffee – that’s a given seeing as I can’t keep my eyes open today. But which cake I’ll have along with it, now that is another story.’

  Emily leaned close to Max and pointed to some items on the menu. ‘All of the ones marked V are vegan,’ she said. ‘And we’ve got pretty much every kind of plant milk there is.’

  ‘Chocolate soy?’ Lassie asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Chocolate soy milk. Chocolate almond milk. Chocolate rice milk.’ Emily reddened. ‘I got a few new things in when I heard Max was coming to visit. But it’s all gone down surprisingly well with the customers.’

  ‘Two chocolate soy milks, then,’ said Max. He raised his brow at Lassie. ‘And some ginger cake?’

  Lassie nodded. ‘Ooh, you’ve got dairy-free ice cream too.’ She winked at Emily. ‘I guess you got that in for my handsome cousin, too.’

  Emily’s colour deepened. ‘I … well. Y’know … So, Wanda, what cake will you have
?’

  I hadn’t quite decided, but I said, ‘I’ll have the ginger cake too,’ just to save her from any prolonged embarrassment. ‘Thanks, Emily.’

  As she scurried away, I wiggled my eyebrows at Max. ‘Emily Caulfield? She’s pretty.’

  Max seemed perplexed. He glanced over at Emily, who had made her way behind the counter. ‘Is she? I guess. Why?’

  Lassie and I shared a laugh. ‘He’s always been like this,’ she said. ‘Totally oblivious to how cute he is. I mean, I don’t get it myself, but some girls like messy hair and clothes that have never seen an iron.’

  I nudged Max. ‘They do, y’know. I hate suits and all that stuff. So did you get to know Emily when I was in hospital?’

  Max’s confusion intensified. ‘I guess so. I mean, she was always visiting her dad and I was always visiting you, so we chatted sometimes on the way in and the way out. You don’t think …?’

  Lassie and I nodded our heads in unison and said, ‘Oh, we think.’

  By the time Emily returned, her face was redder than ever. And now, thanks to Lassie and me, so was Max’s. Luckily, the place was so busy that she could only stop to chat for a second or two before she had to rush off and take another order.

  We dug in straight away. There was coconut ice cream to go with the ginger cake, and it tasted amazing. She had poured Max’s and Lassie’s chocolate milk into tall, thick glasses, and they slurped away happily while I sipped at my coffee. Hopefully it wouldn’t keep me awake tonight, because I really needed to catch up on some sleep.

  I was just fighting to keep my eyes open, when we heard a commotion at the front of the shop.

  We looked up and saw a tall, beautiful woman at the counter, shouting at Nan. Emily’s grandmother was not the type of woman you shouted at. Even if she wasn’t beloved, she also made the best cake in the world, and you do not bite the hand that feeds you delicious cake.