Witch in Progress

by Elle Adams

  “Thanks. Any chance of something that will bring me luck to stop the boss from showing me the door when she finds out I’m a fairy?” I asked, taking a bite. The delicious combination of apple and cinnamon exploded in my mouth. “I get the impression I was hired to fill a spot vacated by a witch, only I’m not one.”

  “You won’t get fired for that,” said Alissa. “Also, I don’t know if Bethan warned you about those lucky lattes from the local cafe, but they wear off alarmingly fast and don’t tend to pay much attention to other people’s luck. Besides,” she added. “You belong here.”

  Maybe if I kept repeating the same line in my head, I’d come to believe it.

  “Why am I the only fairy?” I asked. “I didn’t meet any last night, and half the town was there.”

  “You’re not,” she said. “There are brownies working for the rich families… trolls… not that you’re anything like them.”

  “I should bloody hope not,” I said.

  They probably don’t normally abandon their children, either. Stories I’d read about fairies involved them stealing other people’s children instead, but I decided not to bring that up. I had the distinct impression that the stories I’d grown up with had skipped over the realities of the paranormal world.

  “Wait—Fairy Falls.” I put down the breakfast bar. “Is this town—were there fairies living here before?”

  “That’s just a name,” she said. “Madame Grey and some of the others know the founding story better than I do. It’s your magic we want to pin down. You mentioned you can tell what type of paranormal someone is without even looking at them. I don’t know if that’s a fairy talent, but maybe that’s a good place to start.”

  I’d told her about my unexpected talent over drinks last night. “Yeah. It’s like I get an image of them in my head. But that’s the only power I’ve shown signs of. I guess I won’t get to start learning magic after all, if nobody knows how fairies’ magic works.”

  She picked up her coffee mug. “You can still learn magical theory, if you’re interested. It can’t hurt to know a few things if you’re going to be staying here. Anyway, you definitely have some latent power, if it awakened that quickly. You can sense the truth of a person. They say the first fairies weren’t able to lie at all.”

  “I can lie.” I made a career—or a hundred attempts at a career—out of it, actually. But that was then. Here, I didn’t feel the need to pretend. If nothing else, that was refreshing.

  Once I got to work, it was to find a huge list of new names to call on my desk.

  “Where’s the boss?” I asked Bethan, who had an equally high stack of papers.

  “In a meeting,” she said around the pen between her teeth. “Check the bottom file.”

  I lifted the papers and found three files. “Is this…?”

  “I got the information you asked for,” she said in a low voice. “The files on the three candidates who were interviewed by Mr Bayer.”

  “Thank you.” I’d invited two of them over for interviews, which had seemed a spectacular idea yesterday. Now, though, I had to wonder if that mood-altering coffee hadn’t removed some vital part of my mental functions. Like the ability to judge whether it was a good idea to invite potential murderers into the office, for instance. “I should think about what to ask them. I can’t exactly start with did you murder Mr Bayer? He died by poisoning, so I suppose anyone could have done it, right?”

  “In theory,” she said. “But the poison was in the coffee mug he left in his office, which was locked at the time. The same room he interviewed the potential employees in, according to the reports. Because he wasn’t found dead until the next morning, they don’t know how much time elapsed between the interviews and his death.”

  “He was alone in there? Nobody thought to check?”

  “He wasn’t married, didn’t have children, and was by all accounts obsessed with work. It’s very sad.” She balanced the files in her hand while she peered at my computer screen. “I did warn Callie to keep an eye out. Who’s the first candidate?”

  I checked the name on the email. “He’s apparently called Wilfred Bloom. Is that his real name?”

  “Yes. His parents really are that posh. A total spoilt brat from what I’ve heard. Might have felt entitled to the position for that reason.”

  “Enough to murder someone?”

  “He’s not a strong lead, according to the police,” said Bethan. “Mostly because he’s a magical dud, according to his records. Born into a prestigious magical family with only bare traces of any gift, and dropped out of university after one term.”

  “And might he be bitter or angry?” I asked.

  “Maybe. You seem to be good at reading people. He also definitely went shopping at Mr Bayer’s place, the week before he applied to the position.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds a bit early to prepare to murder someone if you didn’t get the job.”

  “How do you think killers’ minds work?”

  “No idea, thankfully. I’ll have to speak to him first. Are the police okay with this?”

  “He’s not on the suspect list any longer,” she said. “Not dangerous… I don’t think. But I’d be careful.”

  “So he’s coming in an hour.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on the clock. Oh, I heard about last night, by the way, and it’s cool that you’re a fairy. I won’t hold it against you. Any magic type is good for the atmosphere. I actually think a fairy might be even more lucky.”

  Hmm. I somehow doubted Blythe would agree. At least she seemed to be ignoring me today. But if she could read my thoughts… ack. Don’t think about that.

  Aloud, I said, “I should get these phone calls done before the wizard shows up.”

  I finished up my last call and put the file aside, preparing to go and meet this so-called wizard. En route, I picked up some coffee. I had a feeling I was going to need it. Not that the phone calls were particularly strenuous, but every time someone answered, my weird sixth sense insisted on bombarding me with images of their paranormal species. Werewolves, vampires, even a troll or two. A potential murderer, though? I needed all the fortifying energy I could get.

  Worse than a potential murderer, if possible, was Blythe, who stood next to my desk wearing a winning smile as though she’d picked up on my train of thought. Which she probably had. “Hey, fairy.”

  “You know that’s not actually an insult to me, don’t you?” I said. “What is your problem?”

  “You’re killing our vibe.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “You’re not even a witch. You’re a pretender.”

  “I’m not a pretender if I’m perfectly aware of what I am.” Even though I wasn’t. But the point still stood. “Excuse me. I have to interview a client.”

  Thankfully, she stood aside to let me pass. Callie’s voice drifted in from the lobby. There he is. My heart drummed with nerves. Interviewing a potential murderer, even one with a ridiculous name, had seemed fine in theory… not so much in practise.

  I expected a wizard to look a cross between Gandalf and Harry Potter. This guy looked more like the unholy outcome of a union between a broom and a leather couch. Unnecessary levels of leather, and his hair looked like he’d never combed it in his life. He smelled oily, and if I’d run into him in another context, I’d have slowly backed away. Not least because his eyes were such a vivid shade of purple, he must be wearing contact lenses.

  “Welcome to Eldritch & Co’s office. You must be Wilfred.” I showed him into the interview room.

  “Nice place.” He planted himself in my interviewing chair. It’d been mine for all of five minutes, but still.

  “Thank you. Can you please move to the other chair?”

  I needed to let him know I was in charge. Relax. You’re a witch. A fairy. Whichever.

  “Right.” He slumped into the other seat, leaving mine smelling of oil. Ugh. “What’s this about?”

  I perched on the edge of the seat. “You know you’re here for
a job interview, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  I couldn’t imagine why he’d got rejected from the last one. “So, you’re interested in spellcrafting positions. Can you tell me why?”

  “Dunno.”

  “You’ll need to give me some details if I’m to get your application ready. Your records…”

  Actually, his records made me look like a stable employee. He hadn’t lasted in a job longer than two weeks, and his CV had more holes than a piece of cheese. The paper smelled about as bad. Most employers would toss it away immediately.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  I resisted the urge to thwack him on the head with the file in order to get a non-monosyllabic answer out of him. “I’m here to get you a job, and to be frank, it sounds like you don’t want one.”

  “I need one. Just not the ones you keep emailing me about. I don’t do spellcrafting.”

  Apparently, he didn’t mind people knowing he wasn’t magically accomplished. “We have it on record that you used our services several times, including last week when you were interviewed by Mr Bayer.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Bayer? He died, right?”

  “Yes. A few days ago. Did you want to work for him? Because if you aren’t interested in any of the positions we’re offering, you can request others, or…” Stop wasting my time. “Find something more suitable.”

  He scuffed the floor with the toe of his boot, which was polished black with some fancy-looking dials on the side. “Do you have any idea who my mother is?”

  I’d skimmed his file long enough to work out his place in the scheme of things. “It sounds like she’s a powerful witch. But you didn’t inherit the gift?”

  “No.”

  A prickling sensation travelled across my shoulder blades. He lied.

  I knew it as surely as I’d known the last client was a werewolf from the phone call. What was I now, a lie detector? I looked down at the file in my hand. He was listed as a magical dud, but he kept being pressured into applying for jobs which required a high magic skill level. None indicated he didn’t have powerful magic. And his mother sure seemed interested in pushing him into making the best use of his talents.

  “Are you sure?”

  “If you knew my mother, you’d know she wants me to work in the spellcrafting business and nothing else,” he said. “I’m doing this to get her off my back.”

  “So you don’t actually want to be a spellcrafter?” I had limited sympathy for people who had been given every advantage possible in life yet acted like total brats, but on the other hand, maybe I saw why he kept resisting. His mother should have cut off his allowance. Now that’d be more of an incentive.

  “No,” he said.

  “Then let me help you find something more suitable.” I lifted the file on the pretext of rereading it, while debating how to get back to the topic of Mr Bayer’s untimely death. “What do you enjoy doing? You must have ambitions.”

  I expected another monosyllabic response. Instead, he said, “I don’t want to be an official wizard. I want… I kind of want to open my own bakery.” He looked down as though embarrassed.

  “I can help with that,” I said. “But you need to brush up on your interview technique. Also, you might want to wash off the smell on your CV. It’s a little off-putting.”

  He smirked. “It’s a spell designed to repel people.”

  You probably don’t need it, to be honest. “Overkill,” I said to him. “Believe me. Just being honest is enough.”

  “You think I haven’t told my mother? She doesn’t care.”

  Truth. It wasn’t just that his words rang with sincerity—I knew he spoke the truth. The same way I’d known the next interviewee was a werewolf. But did my apparent ability to detect whether people were magical or not extend to being able to tell if they were innocent of a crime?

  “We normally encourage clients to play to their strengths,” I said. But competence did not equal interest. I could play piano, but had zero interest in taking up lessons. “I think we both know you’re underplaying your real talents, and that’s not helping. What’s your magical gift?”

  “Memory. I can read a book and then recite it back to you word for word. I’ve never had to study for a test in my life.”

  My brewing sympathy evaporated. “You poor thing.” Oops. Professional face on, Blair.

  “I’m a grade five wizard,” he muttered. “Yes, I know that’s the top level, and no, I’m not interested in using those talents at all. Having a good memory has no practical use whatsoever. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in stuffy classrooms or magical workshops.”

  “Did you tell that to Mr Bayer?” I asked.

  “I’m pretty sure he knew soon as he saw me. What does it matter?”

  “It matters because he was murdered,” I said.

  His face went purple. “You think I—I’ve been a pacifist since I was a kid. The whole reason I didn’t want to work with him is because you have to use live toads and rabbits in some of his spells and I wouldn’t do it.” He gave me a defiant stare.

  He’s telling the truth.

  Okay. This was too far. I couldn’t read minds, let alone tell if people were lying. I thought witches had only one primary talent—but nobody had said anything about fairies having the same limitation.

  “All right,” I said. “You also look a little intimidating in all that leather. That, combined with your lack of cooperation… can you blame me for getting a little on edge? I’m new here.”

  “Fine.” He folded his arms. “So the police have no leads on the killer?”

  “No. Only that he was poisoned at some point on the day of the interview… hence the questions. When your name came up on our call list for this week, I felt I had to check.”

  “Oh.” His expression cleared. “I don’t know anything. I left immediately after the interview.”

  “When you were at the interview, did you see anything strange?” I asked. “I have a couple of the other clients coming in for interviews today and I’d like to be forewarned if they’re dangerous.”

  He bowed his head. “I didn’t see anything, but you might want to talk to Vaughn, the other candidate. He threw a real temper tantrum after he got rejected. Cursed up a storm.”

  “What, you mean actually conjured up a storm?” I asked warily. He was the guy who my weird sixth sense had identified as a werewolf, so probably not.

  “No. Yelled a lot. Got kicked out by Mr Bayer’s security.”

  But didn’t turn into a wolf? “Call the office again if you remember anything else, okay?”

  As I showed him out, Bethan signalled to me to come over to her. After closing the door, I walked to her desk.

  “I overheard part of the interview,” she said. “Looked him up. Looks like his mother does want him to go into the spellcraft business, but nothing about what he wants. But he certainly seems to have a thing against animal cruelty. He’s given most of his wealth to charitable causes.”

  So he had told the truth. But could I trust my instincts? “Do fairies have the ability to tell if people are lying or not?”

  “Wait—did that happen to you?”

  “I’m not sure. But I knew he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want the job. He also said the werewolf dude was angry about not getting it and threw some kind of tantrum.”

  “Wait—he’s the one coming over this afternoon?”

  I nodded. “I handled a wizard, so a werewolf shouldn’t be a problem.”

  At least, I hoped not.

  7

  It was considerably more difficult to focus on my job after the interview. Partly because of my upcoming second interview that afternoon, and also because during every phone call, I still kept getting images and impressions of everyone’s paranormal type, along with uncomfortable prickling sensations whenever they said something that was less than truthful.

  I’d come to learn very quickly that people lied. A lot. They ranged from little white lies to
full-on fabrications. I was sympathetic to these people, because being paranormal doubtless meant fewer opportunities if they were a smaller population and they all got on in the normal world as badly as I had. It wasn’t like I hadn’t bluffed my way through a few dozen interviews myself, but when I’d worked in recruitment with regular people, I hadn’t had the nagging sixth sense blaring in my ear every time someone told a fib. Knowingly sending unqualified people into dangerous positions didn’t seem a wise thing to do either, but it really did make doing my job difficult.

  During my afternoon break before the interview, I went downstairs to forewarn Callie. I figured one of the others had updated her by now, but I’d check in case I was violating any rules without being aware of it.

  “Hi,” said Callie, looking up from the reception desk as I walked past. “I heard you’re having an eventful day. Was that wizard who walked in a client?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Speaking of clients—did Bethan tell you we’re interviewing a werewolf yet?”

  “She mentioned it, but she said he’s not with the pack.” She moved a stack of papers across the desk. “I’ll be able to sense what he is if we meet face to face.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “We can always tell. You haven’t met the pack yet?”

  “No.” I’d mostly met witches and wizards last night. “There’s just one pack?”

  “One pack of werewolves. We’re like family.”

  So this guy had defied the trend if he hadn’t disclosed what he was. “Did Bethan also mention that he might be slightly unstable?”

  “That he’s a murder suspect? I can hear you through the office door, you know.” She looked more amused than annoyed. “I won’t envy you if Veronica finds out. How unstable, exactly?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “He seemed fine on the phone, but supposedly got into a heated argument with one of the other interviewees at Mr Bayer’s place. So I want to be prepared. How would I go about protecting myself against an angry werewolf?”