by Willow Mason
“Perhaps. It’s just unusual, that’s all.” The detective straightened his back, seeming to grow in confidence as he did so. “There’re a lot of strange things happening around the station lately. Beezley’s abrupt departure with no notice is the least of it.”
“Well, he’s not here and has no plans for returning for a while, as far as I know.” I waved the detective aside as I pulled the front door key from my pocket. “Did you want to leave a message for me to pass on?”
“You’re in contact with him?”
The desperation in the man’s voice surprised me. I glanced towards the car and saw Beezley going crazy in the back seat while Wilson failed to subdue him.
“I last spoke to him yesterday,” I said with as much honesty as I could muster. “What’s this about?”
“It’s a case we’re working on.” The detective spun around, surveying the street before he turned back to me. “Who’s that in the car?” he whispered.
“A friend of mine. My car’s in the shop so he’s giving me a lift. Why?”
“Can we go inside?”
I held up my hand to Wilson, five minutes, and he nodded. Once I unlocked the door, I waved the detective through in front of me, casting another concerned glance at Beezley in the car before I closed it behind us.
The man had a contraption in his hand and waved it around the room. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice squeaking in a most unflattering way.
“I’m testing for bugs.” He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, releasing a cascade of dandruff that I’d danced aside to avoid. “There’s so much going on at the station, it’s a case of better safe than sorry.”
“Well?” I leaned over to check the screen of his device, as though I’d know what it said. “What’s the verdict?”
“It’s clean.”
“So?”
“I’ve been working on and off on a series of cases with Beezley. Has he told you anything about it?”
The vibes coming from the man indicated he was genuinely concerned. Also, that he was on edge, and might be paranoid.
Still, that didn’t mean the world wasn’t out to get him.
“The DS talked about a string of accidents he thought might be linked. There were three files of particular interest.”
The relief on the man’s face shocked me but also made me think he was on our side. Beezley’s side. He’s kicked you off the team, remember?
“I put through some samples we got off the latest case and I’ve just had the results back,” the man said. “That’s what I need to talk to him about.”
“Sure. And you are?”
His eyes opened wide. “Sorry. I’m an idiot. Here I am, forcing you inside and doing a lot of double talk and I never ever bothered to tell you my name. It’s Jonson. Detective Inspector Jonson.”
Beezley’s boss. My eyes flicked towards the front door, wishing I could see through to the car beyond. What happened to all the talk of not being believed by the department? Obviously, this man was going above and beyond to try to…
I grabbed hold of the DI’s arm and shoved him towards the door. “Get out.”
“What?” He threw my arm off and spread his legs wide. “What’re you doing?”
“This is private property and you’re trespassing.”
“You invited me in.”
“Well, you’re disinvited. Get out.” When he didn’t move, I shouted in his face, “You’re trespassing. Get out of my house!”
“It’s Beezley’s—”
“I’m looking after the place for him, so it’s mine. What are you still doing here?” A worm of fear wriggled down my backbone. “I’ve asked you to leave.”
“You’ve shouted it in my face, you mean.” His hands balled into fists and I stared at them in horror. I guessed my fear was obvious because he tracked my line of sight and relaxed them, taking a step back. “Sorry, I’ll go. Can you just pass my message onto Beezley?”
“Sure. You want to talk to him about some results. It’s as good as done.” I buzzed around behind him until he walked out the door. When he was on the porch, I slammed it in his face, giving him the clear message.
He’d almost had me. I should have known better than to let him in the house, with everything going on. Was I really meant to trust the word of someone who’d been loitering outside, about to break in when we arrived, over Beezley?
Someone had turned him into a dog to stop him digging into the case. If his superior officer hadn’t been involved in that, he would have visited this place a dozen times already, trying to find out why Beezley hadn’t turned up to work.
Instead, he was visiting for the first time, babbling about samples.
I wondered if he’d tampered with the evidence me and Wilson had seen in the refrigeration unit. If so, all our efforts had been in vain. The lab results wouldn’t show anything that the police department didn’t want them to reveal.
If that man had been waiting at the library for the chance to steal our spells, he might know my face already. I might be next on his hit list. Without magic, without a job, without a home, I had no way to defend myself if he came calling.
My heart thrummed in my chest as I flicked aside the net curtain to check the way was clear. Wilson saw me from the car and waved as I ran to the door and down the front path.
“What’s going—?”
“Beezley wanted me out of the house, so I’m going,” I shouted as I veered onto the footpath, not bothering to slow down. The ache from this morning’s misadventure settled deeper into my muscles but I didn’t have time to baby myself. “I’ll see you around.”
Everything that had gone wrong in my life this week was down to one stupid prank. One stupid joke that everybody in the coven had taken far too seriously.
If I was to stand any chance of regaining my powers and being able to defend myself against the evil forces at work in Riverhead, then I needed to man up and do the one thing I swore blind I’d never do.
I had to apologise to Prissy for what I’d done.
Chapter Eighteen
I raised my hand and lowered it three times before gathering up the courage to knock. While waiting for a response, I searched through my handbag for some pain relief and knocked back two tablets, dry.
Now I just needed to wait one hour for them to work.
“I’m coming,” Prissy’s overly sweet voice sang out. “Just getting out of the bath.” She gave a coquettish giggle that hurt my stomach, then opened the door dressed only in a towel.
Her eyes widened in shock and I realised with a sickening feeling that she’d been expecting someone quite different at the door. Someone male for a start. Or maybe not. I don’t judge.
“Can I come in for a minute?”
Shock transformed into fury and Prissy’s lips twisted. “No, you can’t. Get out of here before I call Glynda and have her do something even worse to you.”
“Worse than stripping my magic?” I gave a laugh and tossed my hair, so the pageboy cut shimmered. “I’d like to see her try.”
“There are plenty of worse things waiting for you if you don’t quit bothering me. And that goes for everyone in the coven.”
She slammed the door, hitting my foot where I’d lodged it in the door jamb. The pain rivalled my earlier experience, but I must have been building up my tolerance because this time only a few tears slipped free. “I really must talk to you.”
“And I have nothing to say to you.”
Despite her words, Prissy relaxed her hold on the door, letting it slip fully open. She grabbed hold of the top of her towel instead, belatedly coy.
“I must apologise to you,” I said, closing my eyes against the mockery I expected to follow. When silence greeted me instead, I cracked open one eye in suspicion. Prissy’s face appeared calm, gentle even. I wouldn’t trust that expression as far as I could throw it.
“My behaviour following the death of your beloved familiar was unacceptable. Not only did I break with cove
n protocol, but I forced you to re-experience what must be one of the worst events in your life.”
The evil witch who lived in the back of my brain wanted to point out that in comparison, I’d suffered far worse at a far younger age. I tried to keep my mind fixed on the point of my visit. If I wanted to get into a measuring contest, I might win my way into a defeat.
“You can come in,” Prissy said in a grudging voice. “I need to go get changed.”
As I walked inside, I hoped whoever Prissy had been hoping to impress with her scantily clad body would have the decency to delay for another few minutes. I didn’t need some warlock barging in here with high testosterone and even higher opinions.
My life might be at stake if I couldn’t get my magic back.
“Was Jeremiah your first familiar?” I called out, already knowing the answer.
“He was. Right now, I think he’ll be my last.”
Prissy sounded choked up and my face twisted into gag mode. I held a hand over my mouth until it got itself reassembled. No wonder I’d never apologised before. My entire body rebelled against the action.
Think of something nice to say, you fool. Be contrite!
“I remember him from the coven meetings. He’d sometimes do those little dances and make everybody laugh.” I picked up a bereavement card from the mantelpiece and opened it. “Sorry for your loss, petal. Jeremiah was the life and soul of the party and will be sorely missed. Much love, Glynda.”
Well, barf. When my familiar died, Glynda had leaned over at the funeral and said, “Do you ever feel like the universe is telling you not to be a witch?”
I probably wouldn’t have attached much significance, having suffered from foot in mouth disease myself a lot over the years, but she’d repeated the same phrase at my mother’s funeral.
Prissy blew her nose and gave a small cough. “He was great that way. Jeremiah could always raise my spirits.”
Truth be told, I didn’t remember much about the silly toad at all. At least, not before he died. The line I’d trotted out was just one I’d overheard at his wake. While my mind wandered, and I tried not to yawn openly, my ears had eavesdropped on a few conversations.
The only memory I had of him alive was that he was as ugly as sin. Squat and ill-proportioned with skin that bubbled with warts. The only reason I could think of for someone to pick him was either to lick his back to get high or kiss him in the hope he turned into a prince.
At a guess, neither would have worked.
“Sit down,” Prissy said in a sharp voice as she re-entered the room. I followed her instruction, miming meekness as I took a seat on the couch. “Now, what was it you wanted to say?”
I thought I’d already said it. But fine. I could recite this apology until the cows came home if need be.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Jeremiah—”
“What you did.”
“Okay, what I did with Jeremiah. Please believe me, if I thought for one moment that was going to happen, I never would have started the spell.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“Um, hm?”
Prissy’s brow pulled down with such force I thought her face was about to fold in on itself. “What was your plan? Your intent? When you started to recite an occult spell to raise my precious Jeremiah from the dead, what did you think would happen?”
“I just thought he’d come back to life. Like a gift to you.” I held my hands out, palms upwards. Think innocent thoughts.
“A gift?” Rage mottled Prissy’s clean-cut features and my stomach took another deep dive into my abdomen as I understood this apology was not going well.
“If it had gone right.”
“Why did you think it would go right? Had you ever tried the spell before?”
“Ah, no. No, I hadn’t.”
“But you thought it would be fun to try something completely forbidden by our coven? Forbidden for good reason.”
“Well, now I didn’t know it was for good reason. There are so many rules to follow and half of them just seem made up.”
“You turned my toad inside-out.”
“By accident.” I reached out to take Prissy’s hand, hoping to forge a connection, but she snatched it away, her lips pulling back with disgust. “I didn’t know that was even possible.”
“Well, now you do. Now we all do. And instead of apologising, you had the gall to laugh.”
“Only out of shock. You can’t believe—”
Prissy stood up as her front gate slammed shut and the clack of high heels sounded on her path.
I sat bolt upright. Those heels didn’t belong to a warlock. “Look, you’re obviously expecting company. Why don’t you let what I’ve said sit with you for a while, and I’ll come back later and—”
“Glynda. Thank goodness.” Prissy ran over to the door while I turned, my mouth opening but not finding any words. “She just barged in here and started talking about Jeremiah. I was only just getting over… the… tragedy…” Her voice trailed away into sobs while she looked back, an evil glint in her eye.
Under other circumstances, I might have been impressed. As it was, her timing couldn’t have been worse.
I jumped to my feet, bowing my head in deference. “Lovely to see you, Glynda. I just came over to apologise to Prissy about—”
“She gloated about raising him from the dead. Said she knew the coven rules never applied!”
Hey, now. That’s going a bit too far.
“When I asked her to leave, she said she’d try it again but this time she’d mix poor Jeremiah with another dead familiar from the cemetery.
Wow. Just, wow.
“I said nothing of the sort.” I stood up and brushed down the front of my jeans, wishing the pills I’d taken earlier would sort themselves out and get to work. They now had my crestfallen hopes to patch up, not just an ache in my groin and the pulsing pain in my foot.
“Don’t worry, Prissy. You know I’ll sort it all out for you.” The words coming out of Glynda’s mouth might have sounded soothing, but her eyes were staring daggers at me. “Why don’t you go have a nice lie-down and I’ll check in on you later?”
Prissy sobbed her way into the bedroom, leaving Glynda and me in the lounge alone. But not for long.
“Come on,” Glynda said, turning on her heel.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I scrambled to catch up. My hand reached for my phone, wondering if I should text Wilson an SOS message. If I don’t return, you’ll find my body…
“We’re going to sort your nonsense out, once and for all.” Glynda stopped short, leading me to bump into her. She grabbed my chin in her hand, squeezing it hard enough to hurt while she stared straight into my eyes.
“I’m going to tell you all about your father.”
Chapter Nineteen
Glynda sat down in my lounge, acting like she’d repossessed the place already. “The other witches might question why you felt compelled to do what you did with Jeremiah,” she said, handing across a mug of hot tea. “Unfortunately, I’ve been expecting it all along. Your mother was a very nice witch, very accommodating, but she was never strong.”
I tucked my chin into my chest, hiding my expression. Glynda might be the leader of the coven but it didn’t mean she knew everything. Her words right now were a flagrant lesson in just how much she’d misunderstood my mum.
Accommodating? No. The woman was unyielding. Weak? I’d have backed her against three Glynda’s in a fair fight.
But protestations would just prolong whatever lecture Glynda was desperate to deliver to me. While I still held a faint hope of manipulating her into giving me back my powers, I’d keep my lips buttoned.
“Your father, on the other hand, he was a powerful warlock. If only he’d been on our side, he’d have made a great asset.”
And just like that, I tore the buttons away. “What’d you mean, our side?”
“I mean the side of white magic.” Glynda sat back in her chair, gent
ly blowing on her tea before taking a sip. “Your father used black magic. He was a bad warlock. As his progeny, I’ve long expected you to become a bad witch.”
“But…” I put the mug down on the floor, not caring if my foot jerked and knocked it over later. This house only belonged to me for another couple of days. I should spray paint slurs over the walls and overflow the bath to drip through the ceiling.
I wouldn’t but I should.
“Don’t worry about not knowing. Your mother begged the coven not to tell you and we agreed.” Glynda shook her head, though her smile kept growing. “It’s the one regret I have as leader of our coven. That I let her talk me into keeping her secrets.”
“Amazing you’d let her do that since you claim she was so weak.”
“Don’t sulk. It doesn’t suit you.”
I crossed my arms, ready to blurt out how I wasn’t sulking and realised it would just feed straight into her game. She was distracting me from the point with all her barbed jabs.
My father was a bad witch?
I mean, I knew he sucked as a human being. He was rotten as a dad. By the time I started kindergarten, I’d given up asking if he’d ever come to a birthday party or phone me to say hello.
He’d written himself into nothing more than a footnote in my life. A man who left before I was born and never cared enough to check in later.
A bad man. A failed man. But a bad witch?
“How’s that even possible?” I said, clutching for straws. “There’s a law against congregating.”
“There is now.” Glynda took another sip of her tea. “Until your mother’s foolish dalliance, it never occurred to us we’d need one.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not a bad witch. I’ve only used white magic.” With a rueful grin, I added, “At least, I used to.”
“We can no longer play fast and loose with the rules, girl. I’ve pandered to your mother’s memory for long enough. We promised to care for you as though you were one of our own but you’ve never fit in. Surely, you felt that?”