Witch in Progress

by Elle Adams

  I’d read the newspaper article and learnt that he was a widower with no children and few close friends, none with a motive for murder. Most had already been questioned. I shouldn’t even be going there, but while my abilities might only extend to being able to sniff out lies and magical disguises, but I couldn’t help wondering if someone else had sneaked into the interview room and planted the poison there. Since the hospital where Alissa worked was down the high street from Mr Bayer’s place, I figured I could at least have a look until she finished work.

  The high street was right out of a picture book. Buildings of stone rather than brick, with old-fashioned signs. They didn’t seem to have any of the normal world’s high street brands or chain stores. I still needed to do some proper grocery shopping, but most places had ‘we only take cash’ signs in the windows. I barely had enough spare cash for bus fare. There were ATMs and even a bank, but when I put my card into the cash machine’s slot, it came up with an error message. Then smoke poured out of the slot. Oh no. I yanked the card free. The back of it had entirely melted.

  “That won’t work here,” said a passing witch.

  “But—all my money is in my account.” All twenty-five pence of it. “How am I getting paid?”

  The witch blinked owlish eyes at me. “Everyone is set up with a local bank account here. You’re the new girl, right?”

  “Yep.” I vaguely remembered Alissa mentioning something like that between cocktails last night, but the details were fuzzy. I stuck my ruined credit card back into my bag and carried on walking down the cobbled street. Every time I thought I’d started to get the hang of my new life, a new problem reared its head. In fairness, the same could be said for life in general—there it is. I stopped beside the sign that said Mr Bayer, Spellmaker. Spellmakers apparently made handmade “spells” for the general public, their purposes ranging from practical jokes to useful things like pens with endless ink or hair-straightening combs. I walked past the shop as casually as I dared. Doors closed, windows shuttered. The interview had apparently taken place in the office upstairs, since the candidates had been tested on magical abilities and Mr Bayer hadn’t wanted to accidentally break any windows. I squinted up at the first floor, tilting my head. Pity my ability to sense magical abilities didn’t extend to being able to see through solid objects—

  The door slammed open and a huge figure shouldered his way out. Not werewolf-huge, but human-shaped. Like a big human. A really big human with wings. Images of stone cliff faces paraded through my head as I took a careful step backwards, but he’d already spotted me.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “I’m Blair,” I said. “Who are you? Wasn’t someone murdered in that shop? What are you doing in there?”

  “I’m the chief of police, and it’s a crime scene. So you’re the one questioning all my suspects.”

  Oops. “I didn’t know you were with the police. You’re not wearing a badge or uniform.”

  He scowled. “I’m undercover.”

  I suppressed a laugh, more out of relief that he wasn’t the killer than anything else. Undercover? He barely fit through the doors.

  “Something amusing?” he asked, cracking his stone-like knuckles.

  I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.” For a second, the image in my mind’s eye flickered, showing something huge, winged and grey. His real form? “Are you a shapeshifter? Or…” What else had wings? “A fairy?”

  His teeth bared. “Gargoyle.”

  Of course—Alissa had said. “Easy mistake to make.” I attempted a smile. “I’m new here.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he said. “It’s lucky Madame Grey’s granddaughter seems to have adopted you. You have a lot to learn about the paranormal laws. We’re not known for letting criminals off lightly. The laws are hard.”

  Hard as stone. No kidding.

  “I got curious,” I said. “Like I said—I’m new in town. I’ve never been to a spellcraft shop before.”

  “And you just happened to walk past this particular store?”

  “Because it’s the only one I’ve heard of.”

  “Do you make a habit of going to murder sites in the normal world?”

  “Nope. Definitely not.”

  So that’s why the others hadn’t called the police to the office. Even a werewolf would be utterly dwarfed by this brute, even in human form. His attitude did not help in the slightest.

  He took a step closer so that he loomed over me. “Stay out of this case, Miss Wilkes. This is paranormal business, not yours.”

  “Hey, Blair.” Alissa waved at me from across the street. I gladly turned my back and walked over to her, ignoring the gargoyle’s stony—ha—glare behind me.

  “What a lovely guy,” I said to Alissa.

  “Isn’t he? Roald peed on his feet once.”

  I burst out laughing. “I would literally pay money to witness that. Or I would, if my credit card hadn’t melted.”

  “Ah. I should have warned you not to use it here. Why was he angry with you, anyway?”

  “I’m new here and I accidentally stole his case,” I said. “Can the police tell if people are lying? By magical means?”

  “No,” she said. “What do you mean, stole his case?”

  “Accidentally questioned two of his suspects. Well. It started as an accident. It’s been an interesting day. And I know I shouldn’t have wandered over to Mr Bayer’s shop, but I didn’t know he was in there.”

  She eyed him over my shoulder. “You’re going to make his life difficult, I can tell.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  “Nobody likes Steve. Unfortunately, he’s the best at catching and intimidating criminals.”

  “He seems to have missed this one. I thought he was the killer when he came out of the shop.”

  “That probably didn’t help,” she said. “By the way, I spoke to Madame Grey. She’s ruled that you are magical, and that you’re to be tested for other abilities so we can pin down your likely talent.”

  “Tested?” I said warily. “In what way?”

  “In whatever way she decides.”

  Oh boy.

  I stood outside in the rain, hands spread to the sky. Rainwater drenched me, and no matter how clearly I pictured the clouds parting, they stubbornly refused to.

  “I don’t think this is going to work,” I said through chattering teeth.

  “Focus.” Bangles rattled as Rita pointed imperiously to the sky.

  I tried to focus, but the only thing I could think about was getting indoors as fast as possible. I didn’t think standing outside in a storm was going to jump-start my powers. Even here, the rain turned the roads into mud-drenched hazards. The rain was the first normal thing I’d seen since I’d arrived.

  Supposedly weather-working was common to both witches and some fairies, and since my other ability had awakened without warning, Madame Grey thought I needed an extra incentive. She claimed not to be treating me differently to the other witches, but nobody else was standing outside in the cold, and I doubted people like Blythe were subjected to this indignity. Rita had volunteered herself as my new tutor, and took the job seriously. Very seriously.

  I shivered again, water tracing its way down the back of my shirt. “I’m focusing. It’s not happening.”

  “I suppose not.” She sounded disappointed. “Come back inside.”

  She beckoned me back into the witches’ place, which happened to be the site of the evening classes for the witches who took them. Thankfully there weren’t a dozen curious witches in the empty classroom she’d picked out, and when she pointed her wand at me, the water entirely disappeared from my clothes. Now I saw that she’d somehow remained dry throughout the entire ordeal. I made a mental note to ask how to cast that spell, then remembered I might not get a wand at all.

  “It’s possible that you have an elemental power,” said Rita. She snapped her fingers, with the clank of bangles. “Look at this pen.”


  I looked at the pen which she’d conjured to her hand. It didn’t transform or float or start talking or anything, though none of those things would have surprised me by now. But the pen looked like an ordinary ballpoint.

  “Imagine it bursting into flames.”

  I watched the pen. “If I could make things burst into flames, it’d probably have been triggered during my last customer service job.”

  “Vindictiveness isn’t becoming of a witch.”

  “I’m not one,” I said. Also, Blythe was a shining example of vindictiveness hidden behind a pretty face. “Isn’t my truth-sensing ability enough on its own?” I was actually keen to learn more—though perhaps not in such a hands-on way.

  “None of us have enough experience to tutor you in that,” she said. “Besides, it’s a reactive ability. It runs on autopilot for you, by the sounds of things.”

  “Only since I came here,” I said. “Maybe I’m a defective paranormal from living with humans for so long.”

  “There’s no such thing.” She flicked her wand and the pen vanished. “Your normal upbringing will shift in time. You’ve had your whole world uprooted.”

  “You don’t have to try so hard for me.” Unorthodox lessons aside, the witches had made me feel welcome despite not being one of them. “Anyway, this is possibly the best thing that ever happened to me. But… I wondered. In the other paranormal towns, might there be other fairies? I mean, the same type of fairy as I am?”

  Relations? Surely not. Maybe it was for the best that I didn’t know. After all, whoever my real family were, they’d given me up for adoption.

  Her expression softened. “Madame Grey says you’re heavily glamoured. Until it’s removed, we won’t know your fairy type.”

  “I’m heavily what?” I said blankly.

  “Glamoured. It means someone put a spell on you to hide your own true nature.”

  My stomach twisted. “You mean I could be green and hairy underneath this disguise? My boss—I haven’t even told my boss I’m a fairy. It never came up.”

  “Your magical class and paranormal type has no bearing on your ability to do your job. It sounds like it’s come in handy, if rumour is to be believed.”

  Rumour? Oh no. This had Blythe’s handiwork written all over it. But it wasn’t like I’d set out to deceive everyone. Besides, while my truth-sensing ability had given me a headache all day, I had managed to find several employees for highly specialist positions which I couldn’t imagine having done without that reassuring sixth sense in my head telling me which people were trustworthy and qualified, and which were hiding secrets.

  “Maybe it has,” I said, “but it doesn’t mean I know who my family are.”

  “It’s not impossible to find out,” she said. “What do you know of your history?”

  I shook my head. “I was put up for adoption when I was a baby. I don’t remember my life before, if I had one, or my parents. So unless there’s a website for paranormals to connect with long-lost relatives…”

  “There isn’t. We’re generally very close-knit, within our own villages and towns, and covens guard their secrets. I know the covens within this town, but not the others.”

  “Speaking of which,” I said, “is there anyone here who might remember if fairies lived here twenty-five years ago?”

  “Good question. Possibly some of our elder residents, but… I don’t think this is where your parents lived. Someone would have recognised you.”

  Yeah. I guess they would. I blinked hard, angry with myself for getting my own hopes up when I’d known this conversation wouldn’t end well. I couldn’t even remember my first foster family. I was passed around three or four times before my third birthday, from what I’d been told, before Mr and Mrs Wilkes had taken me in. But all those families had been human. Normals.

  What was so terrible about raising a child that my real family had felt the need to abandon me with normal humans? Did they really care so little? No… they must have had a reason. I’d spent my childhood making up stories about my real parents. They were superheroes hunted by a terrible villain and had to hide me to keep me safe. They were on the run from a serial killer. They had top-secret jobs and made the wrong person angry. Harmless stories took on a whole new meaning when viewed through the lens of being paranormal. It was safer to believe they’d genuinely loved me and gave me up against my will, but pursuing that train of thought would only end in tears.

  I pushed the thought firmly aside and returned my attention to the magic lesson. I had a new life here in Fairy Falls, and that was enough, for now.

  I reached work the following morning to find the others gathered in the reception area. The desk had been overturned, papers scattered the floor, and in place of Callie was a man-sized wolf sprawled on the desk. Seeing nobody was panicking, I assumed it was Callie and not Vaughn.

  “What happened?” I asked Bethan, who stood closest to her.

  “Someone came in, startled her, and she shifted. And now she can’t turn back.”

  Callie growled.

  “Who came in?” I took a few steps closer to her, my heart beating faster even though I knew it was Callie. I’d had a bad experience being chased by a huge dog when I was little and since then, I’d always been wary of large furry animals.

  “She can’t talk in that state,” said Lizzie. “She’s too far gone. We have to wait for her to shift back, which might take a few hours.”

  “Oh.” I looked at the upturned desk. “Did the intruder steal anything? Or try to get into the office?”

  The wolf gave another low growl, waved a paw, and knocked over the chair. Oddly, the uncoordinated movement made her look less intimidating.

  “We don’t know,” Bethan said. “She was the first of us to arrive here this morning. I assume she knocked the desk over, but there’s no way to prove it.”

  Callie disentangled herself from the desk, knocking it fully upside-down in the process. She let out a growl that might have been an apology.

  Bethan padded over to her, pulled out her wand, and conjured a pen and paper to her hands. “Can you draw a picture of the intruder?”

  Callie’s paw-like hand tried to grab the pen and nearly knocked Bethan over instead. She growled again, her fur standing on end. Even knowing what the real woman under the wolf mask looked like, I didn’t want to stand too close. She was huge, and those teeth were as long as my feet, easily. I did my best to picture her as smiling and blond, not fanged and furious.

  “Okay, how about I ask you some questions and you nod if I’m right?” I said. “Was the intruder male? Nod—no, growl, if I’m right.”

  Callie whined. Hmm… what does that mean?

  “What is going on?” The boss walked in, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

  “There was an intruder,” I said. “He startled Callie into shifting, and now she can’t turn back.”

  Veronica turned to Callie. “We can’t have that, can we? Shift back, Callie.”

  “She can’t, I don’t think,” said Lizzie. “I’m not sure she shifted on purpose.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Callie wouldn’t shift unless she was being attacked,” Bethan said. “Even if another werewolf came in. And if it was another werewolf, they’d have fought. There’s no blood.”

  “Is anything missing?” the boss asked, eyeing the piles of papers beside the desk, drenched in spilled coffee.

  “No idea.” Bethan moved to start picking up the papers. “I can’t imagine the intruder made it into the office with her in the way. I assume they fled when she shifted, but there’s no way to tell.”

  The door opened and Blythe walked in. “What’s going on?” Of course, her accusing stare went immediately to me.

  Callie growled.

  Veronica let out a long-suffering sigh. “Will you all please tidy up the mess while you wait for Callie to shift back? I assumed you were done inviting dangerous individuals into the office.”

  “Some of us k
new better,” said Blythe, continuing to glare at me as Veronica returned to her own office.

  “I highly doubt it was one of the candidates who broke in,” I said. “One was innocent and the other would have turned into a wolf himself if they came to blows. There aren’t even any hairs on the floor. Have you reported it to the police?” I asked Bethan.

  “I don’t think my mother wants to,” she said quietly. “She won’t admit it, but the murder made her paranoid, and this won’t help a bit.”

  No kidding. I didn’t particularly want Steve the Gargoyle sniffing around and finding out just how much information I’d gathered on the murder. But the break-in added a new dimension of urgency. There were rarely fewer than three people in the building, but if one of the people we’d questioned was the killer, all of them knew who we were and where we worked. Maybe even where we lived.

  Not a pleasant thought. At all.

  “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Blythe demanded. “I’m taking a wild guess that she was involved.”

  “No,” Bethan said. “The intruder broke in before any of us got here. Can you help us clean up?”

  Callie whined and waved a paw at the discarded papers, sending them floating across the floor. I picked up several papers, but the ones soaked in coffee were a lost cause.

  “She didn’t have to be directly involved,” Blythe said snottily. “A non-witch being here is destroying our vibe. Bad luck affects everyone in the office. It’s lucky Callie was here.”

  Callie growled under her breath. I shot Blythe a glare and returned to the paperwork, trying to ignore her words. But the thoughts remained. Maybe the intruder had come here as a direct result of my meddling.

  What if I really had brought bad luck down on everyone just from being a fairy and not a witch?

  9

  The next few hours were hectic. Firstly, we had to clean up the mess, while Bethan took Callie home to the pack until she turned human again. When she did, she’d be able to tell us who the intruder was. Then we might solve two crimes in one fell swoop. Or werewolf growl. But the atmosphere in the office was subdued all morning. Even the printer seemed gloomy, making the occasional whining noise from the corner. I didn’t know how I got through two hours of phone calls, and I’d totally forgotten about my third interview until Bethan knocked on the office door, telling me there was someone to see me.