Witch in Progress

by Elle Adams

  12

  I more or less worked on autopilot throughout Friday, anticipating my interviews that evening. Not that the interviewees in question knew I planned to question them. Small wonder that I almost forgot about my first magical theory lesson with Rita after work. I hurried to the witches’ headquarters to find her already leaving.

  “There you are,” she said. “Are you certain you want to do this today? I know you’ve had a rough week.”

  “I do,” I said. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Is there a set theme for the lesson? I wasn’t sure whether to bring anything or not.”

  “Since you’re not on an official curriculum, I thought I’d let you choose the theme.”

  I followed her into the classroom she’d reserved for me, and took a seat in the front row. “That’d be great.” Where to start? There were a hundred magical topics I wanted to know about. “I’m kind of lost on which types of talents are specialities and which can be learned by everyone. Can you give me a crash course in that?”

  “I can,” she said, conjuring a book to her hand. “Primary talents don’t require a prop like a wand. They also can’t be learnt by anyone outside of the bloodline, but it’s possible to find other spells to act as a substitute. For instance, there are truth-sensing spells which would have effects similar to your own ability, but would likely not be as powerful or immediate. Each witch or wizard has only one primary skill, but it’s generally their strongest.”

  Unless they drew the short straw and got stuck with a disappointing primary power. That must suck.

  I listened patiently as she explained the different types of magic. Since primary skills ran in bloodlines, I wouldn’t discover any others—but that was if I assumed fairy magic worked in the same way. It might not. Either way, other skills like potion-making, spells, curses and hexes were more universal. However, most spells could only be cast on the spot. It was much harder to trap them into the form of a potion or charm. What Mr Bayer did was unusual, and he had to be careful not to stray outside the boundaries of the magical laws. Aside from the killer plants, apparently.

  “The most illegal spells are those which rob someone of their own free will,” she explained. “Nasty magic.”

  “What about mind-reading?” I asked. “That seems invasive, to say the least.”

  “Latent powers don’t count,” she said. “Mind-readers are usually only good at that one thing. Nothing else. There’s also a limit. The person has to be within a certain distance. A few feet, I think. It varies.”

  So Blythe talked a bigger game than she demonstrated. Good to know.

  “Can it be blocked?” I asked.

  “Funny you should ask that,” she said. “I heard a rumour Mr Bayer was working on a type of handmade magical shield before he died. It’s something nobody has yet been able to crack. Mind magic is out of the realms of study, because nobody aside from its practitioners knows how it works. It’s also not the type of magic which has an everyday equivalent. You can’t use a wand to suddenly give someone mind-reading abilities.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “That makes sense. Was Mr Bayer interested in that type of magic?”

  “I don’t think there was a single type of magic he wasn’t interested in.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “Not well, no. He kept to himself. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  “You mentioned distance being a factor with mind-reading. Is it the same for all powers?” I’d yet to test the limits of my own ability. What with it being an unknown, I might even be the first to know.

  “Distance?” she echoed. “I can’t wave my wand and levitate something on the other side of town, if that’s what you mean. Magic gets harder the further the distance, but it’s possible to get around that with studying.” She waved her wand in demonstration, knocking the door into the main hall open. “I can probably go as far as the end of the hall, provided there isn’t anything in the way. But witches and wizards can’t cast spells through solid objects, including windows. Does that answer your question?”

  “It does. Thank you. Is spellmaking seriously advanced magic? Can anyone learn it?”

  “Only if apprenticed to a master,” she said.

  Hmm. Odds were, whoever had set up that magical trap had stolen it from Mr Bayer… or he’d set it up himself. But surely someone would have noticed if he was making illegal and dangerous spells.

  “Something on your mind?” she asked.

  I debated, then asked, “I was wondering—is there a homemade spell that can make the ground collapse?”

  “There’s a spell for almost everything. Skill is another matter entirely.”

  Skill… that ruled out at least two of the candidates I’d questioned, and the third knew the least about my attempts at an investigation since our discussion had been brief. He’d also outright said he wasn’t the killer, and I hadn’t picked up on any lies. “Is it legal to set up a booby trap to throw someone into a pit?”

  She arched a brow. “Didn’t you hear the rules? It’s highly illegal to use any kind of magic to do harm.”

  Then it wasn’t Mr Bayer. It couldn’t have been. Someone else had blocked the way into the garden. Unless he wasn’t as benign as he’d appeared to everyone else in the town.

  She returned to her lecture. I did my best to take it all in, but my mind kept wandering over to the suspects, and poor Callie. I was certain I’d missed something, but my magical knowledge was limited to say the least. My two unexpected talents didn’t make up for a lifetime of studying. Maybe I was best leaving the case to the experts, but Steve the Gargoyle didn’t strike me as someone who knew the nuances of magical traps, either. Evidently he hadn’t checked the back garden…

  After I left work that evening, I’d got halfway home before I remembered my date. No time to change, so I hoped my casual skirt and top would do. I made my way the Laughing Pixie, and entered the bustling pub.

  It was lucky that I’d already ‘seen’ what Leopold looked like, otherwise I’d never have been able to pick him out of the crowd of witches and wizards. I scanned the cramped space and spotted him at a table by the window. The rest of the pub was packed out with young student-aged people chatting and laughing.

  “Hey, Blair.” He stood, smiling blindingly. “Glad you could make it.”

  I took a seat. “Is Clare here?”

  “She’s working on the bar. Hey, Clare!” He waved frantically, drawing attention to the fact that my sensing abilities had neglected to inform me that he was younger than me. Thankfully not a teenager, but maybe twenty-one or so. I’d had enough trouble connecting with student-aged people when I was one, let alone now.

  A girl with spiky hair ambled over, spitting on a cloth then using it to clean the glass in her hand. I made a mental note to figure out how to cast a germ-repelling charm or never come here again.

  “You used to be Mr Bayer’s apprentice?” Oops. I probably should have attempted to hide my surprise.

  She blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I work for the recruitment firm Mr Bayer used to hire you,” I explained. “You’re a qualified witch?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t help with spells. Just cleaning the lab, and background work. I left because he decided he wanted someone to help with the actual spellmaking. I’m not great at it.”

  “Was he easy to work with?”

  “Easy? Sure. He wasn’t mean or anything. Overprotective of his spells, though.”

  “Did you ever see what he was working on? I guess you wouldn’t have been allowed into his lab or anything, right?”

  She wiped her nose on the cloth. Yeuch. “Yeah, of course I was. I was the one who cleaned up after him. The only place I wasn’t allowed to go was the garden.”

  And there was my opening. “I heard he has some interesting plants there.”

  “Those horrible things?” She wrinkled her nose. “I imagine they’re running wild now.”

  You might say that. “Is it legal to have traine
d security plants?”

  “They were trained not to attack unless someone trespassed. Wait, who told you that anyway?”

  “I met a lot of people on my first night here,” I said evasively. “I heard a lot of rumours, too. Just got curious about him.”

  I didn’t have to outright lie, and evasions apparently weren’t bad enough to trigger any side effects. One problem solved.

  “It sounds weirdly paranoid, though,” I added. “Did he think he was going to get attacked?”

  “No, he thought someone was going to steal his supplies. Nobody made spells like he did. His shop was covered in defences that would alert him if there was an intruder, too. Nobody could get in.”

  As a former employee, she’d have had access, but she sounded genuine, and she hadn’t lied.

  “So he thought someone might steal his ideas?” I asked. “Another spellmaker?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” she said. “He kept on about how the others had no imagination. He wanted to make real defensive spells. I guess it was his undoing in the end, ‘cause he never told anyone his secrets.”

  “Not you?”

  She shook her head. “Not the actual spell recipes. All I did was clean up after him.”

  Hmm. It didn’t sound like there was a rivalry going on—on Mr Bayer’s part, at least.

  “Did he tick anyone off lately?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “He was mostly a loner and didn’t talk about work outside of the shop. Family’s gone… he had a few friends, but he went out of his way not to antagonise anyone. Sold to everyone. Even werewolves.”

  “Is it that much of a big deal that the paranormals don’t intermingle? I mean, the werewolves and vamps?”

  “No,” Leopold cut in. “Aren’t you going to take our orders?”

  She gave a startled blink. Oops. I’d momentarily forgotten that he’d thought we were on a date. And I’d got all the information I needed. I wouldn’t be drinking so much as a sip from one of these filthy glasses.

  “I’m sorry.” I got to my feet. “I remembered I have to meet a friend soon.”

  His expression drooped. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” I said. “Thank you for your time,” I added to Clare.

  Leopold’s face reddened. “You didn’t even want to talk to me, did you?”

  Guilty. In fairness, he’d dangled the bait himself. “Look, I’ll level with you. Mr Bayer’s killer attacked one of my colleagues and I’m looking for all the leads I can get. Sorry I deceived you.”

  Gathering what was left of my dignity, I half ran from the pub, remembered I hadn’t asked Alissa for directions, and walked the wrong way three times before finding the right street.

  It wasn’t hard to locate the New Moon, the werewolves’ favoured local pub. The sounds of a guitar being strummed inexpertly grated on my eardrums, followed by a drumbeat that sounded like someone dropping a stack of heavy textbooks down a flight of stairs. I didn’t see Alissa, so I found a free table as far from the stage as humanly possible and ordered one of the cocktails I’d liked before—after checking the glasses were clean, that is.

  “Hey,” said Alissa, sitting down opposite me. “I should have warned you they have live music on a Friday night.”

  “Calling that music is stretching the definition a little.” I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t suppose there’s a cocktail that temporarily makes me unable to hear loud noises?”

  “Unfortunately not,” she said. “They haven’t improved much.”

  “Wait. Is one of those people the guy I’m meant to be meeting?”

  “You’ve got it. Bryan’s one of the only members left from the original band. He used to make me go to his live shows for moral support.”

  Her ex either wore thick earplugs or his enhanced werewolf senses somehow warped the racket coming from the stage into actual music.

  “Which is he?”

  “The guy playing the guitar. Yes, I did put an earplug charm on myself, and we broke up after he found out.”

  I winced. “Do we have to wait until they’ve finished playing before we can speak to them?”

  “Yep. Want to get some food? My treat. You shouldn’t have to pay to listen to this.”

  I had to agree with her there. We ate and sipped our drinks while waiting for the never-ending set to draw to a close. Nobody asked for an encore, but they got three anyway. Despite the cocktails, my energy was flagging. When a table closer to the stage cleared, Alissa and I moved there.

  “Thank you for listening!” the lead singer howled into the microphone. “And now for the final encore!”

  A quiet groan rose up from the corner, where the other patrons had started some sort of game. At first, I thought they were playing at pool tables, but the balls appeared to be floating around, as the patrons tapped them with wands.

  The wolves didn’t seem to sense their audience’s lack of enthusiasm, because they launched into an energetic number that was the musical equivalent of a brick being thrown around in a washing machine. I was on the verge of walking away when the song finally drew to a close, and the band traipsed off the stage to lukewarm applause.

  The guitarist spotted Alissa right away, and sidled up to our table. Like the other werewolves, he was huge and muscular. Attractive, I supposed, but after hearing him playing guitar, I’d be keeping my distance.

  He bared his teeth at her. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “What did you think of the set?”

  “It was… different.”

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted, before he could unintentionally force me to lie again. “We’re actually here because I’d like to speak to you.”

  “You’re Blair, right?” he said, eyeing me with interest.

  “Yeah. I’m new here,” I said. “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but my co-worker is a pack member and is—well, kind of stuck in wolf form.”

  “Oh, Callie,” he said. “I sometimes want to do that myself. Run away into the forest, away from all responsibilities…” He leaned on the table, and it was difficult to say if his leer was directed at me or Alissa.

  “She’s trapped,” I said, annoyed at his dismissiveness. “Have you ever dealt with a situation like that before?”

  “I don’t know. Ask a witch. Alissa, want to come for a drink?”

  “No, she doesn’t,” I said.

  “You?”

  I nearly threw the drink in his face. “No, I have one right here.”

  “Then I’ll join you.” He pulled out a chair.

  “We’re leaving, unless there’s someone else in the pack who can tell us if it’s possible to reverse the spell on Callie,” I said. “That’s all we’re here for.”

  He shrugged. “Your loss.”

  Another werewolf, a huge blond guy, appeared behind him. “You’re Blair?”

  “I am.” I didn’t think I’d met him, but he looked similar to the blond crowd at the hospital. Oh no. “I just wanted to know if Callie’s spoken to any of you yet. That’s all.”

  The werewolf got right in my face. “I heard you went on a date with the hunter.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. Does it matter?”

  “It matters because he’s a murdering scumbag.”

  Whoa. “Whatever issue you have with him, has nothing to do with Callie. I wanted to know if she’s spoken to any of you yet. That’s all.”

  He looked at me like I was out of my mind. “No. You need to mind your own business, newbie.”

  “She’s my co-worker,” I said, in my best ‘reasonable’ tone. “Our office was attacked. If we find out who cast the spell on her, then we can reverse it, and we’ll have caught the intruder, too. I like Callie and I don’t want her to be stuck like that forever. And I don’t want the burglar to go after my friends, either.”

  He leaned over. “Not my problem. Leave Callie and the pack alone, human.”

&n
bsp; And he stormed off.

  “Sorry about him,” said Alissa, in a low voice. “I knew the pack leader wouldn’t be here, but I forgot the others might not like that you were on a date with Nathan.”

  I groaned. “It wasn’t a date by any stretch of the imagination. I nearly passed out on a shop floor and he felt sorry for me. Are the other paranormals going to come after me or shun me because of him?”

  “Only rival suitors, maybe.” She grinned. “I’m joking. But I’d cheer you on.”

  “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

  Her eyes glittered with amusement. “See how you feel when it’s not so overwhelming.”

  “Or if I feel it’s worth making enemies over,” I said. “Does the whole pack hate the paranormal hunters?”

  It didn’t sound like the type of profession one went into to make friends, but if I spent any more time with Nathan, would it turn the other townspeople against me?

  “No, not the whole pack. Only people who have a personal issue with him, I guess.”

  It sounded that way, from how that werewolf spoke. But he and Callie seemed to get on fine. “He’s not a paranormal in the usual sense, right? I mean, he’s not a witch, or a shifter, clearly. Or a fairy.”

  She snorted. “Nope. I’m trying to work out how to explain… there are a certain number of humans—not many—who are born with the second sight but no magical powers. They can see us and interact with us, but have no magic of their own.”

  “Has he made enemies in all the paranormal groups, then?”

  “Enemies? Not at all. The wolves don’t like hunters, but most of them aren’t petty enough to carry a grudge. The other paranormals don’t care. He’s one of us.”

  “Because every unattached woman wants to score with him? That’s the impression I’m getting.”

  “No. I mean, yes, but you’ve seen the competition.” She gestured at the stage, and I shuddered. “Anyway, it sounds like he likes you.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. See if the novelty wears off first. Clumsiness is an endearing trait until you have to live with it. He’s probably put me in the ‘hazard’ category by now.”

  “I think that spot’s reserved for the monsters, to be honest.”