by Willow Mason
Let alone tying them up afterwards.
“Who hired you and what are you investigating?”
“I’m not answering your questions until you untie me.”
I scowled down at him. A little respect would be nice. “I’m not untying you until I can work out whether you pose a threat. The only way I can tell that is by you answering my questions.”
“Why did you ask if I’m a witch hunter? Are you a witch?”
“No, I’m not!” I stepped back, frightened by the question. Patrick appeared to think I’d taken it as an insult.
“I didn’t mean to imply anything rude. It was just because you asked about it. I’m usually mistaken for a private investigator, not a witch hunter.”
“Do you know about them, then?”
“Witches or hunters?”
“Both.”
“Yes, I do.” He stuck his nose in the air. “It’s part of my role to be well versed in all manner of paranormal creatures along with those who hunt them.”
“But you don’t hunt paranormals yourself?”
Patrick shook his head, his chest puffing out. “I’m employed to help out families who’ve lost loved ones or have suffered injuries they can’t explain. After investigating, I provide answers and information—what they choose to do with that knowledge is up to them.”
I fetched a glass of water from the kitchen. Although my throat was dry, I also needed a break from staring into Patrick’s hazel eyes. The flecks of green were so vibrant, the effect was quite distracting. Especially when taken into consideration with his broad shoulders. And the way his torso tapered into slim—
I ran back just in time to see Patrick fall out of the side window. Considering the front door was just the snap of a deadbolt away, it was a strange choice.
“Can you go outside and head him off? I’ll chase him from this side.”
But as I ran out the door, I saw it was too late. Patrick was getting into the passenger seat of a vehicle, the driver staring around with nervous glances. The investigator must have flagged the poor man down in the street.
I retreated indoors, wondering how much trouble I’d just landed myself in. If he went to the police now, they’d be here in ten minutes. Where could I run to? The supreme’s house? My aunt’s?
Neither. As I stood there, frantically sorting through options, I realised I didn’t know where either of them lived. Aunt Florentine had once resided in the house next door, but she certainly didn’t now.
About to remind Annalisa I couldn’t do magic, I thought of the pan that had flashed into my hand. Maybe the tide was turning. Maybe being home was reigniting some dormant powers.
Closing my eyes, I willed myself invisible.
Annalisa said just when it felt like I’d managed it.
With a sigh, I tried again.
Another go.
I gave up. “Where are the car keys to Isabella’s vehicle?”
While the panther sloped over to stare through the window at the deepening night, I raced upstairs and found the keys dumped out with my pocket change on the bedside table.
“Ta-da,” I called out as I raced back downstairs. “Now, a few sparkles on the starter engine should be enough to get these to work.”
It was an excellent point and one that instantly made me feel queasy. I checked my watch—only seven minutes since Patrick had fled. There was still time to make some poor decisions.
“With difficulty but I should at least try.” I gave a firm nod, a lot more emphatic than how I felt inside and pulled open the door.
Allison Foreby stood on the front step with her hand raised to knock. She shrieked and jumped back a step, bumping into the young man who stood behind her.
She gave me such a fright, I cried out in sympathy, slamming the door shut in her face. After a few seconds of my heart thumping triple time, a gentle tap sounded on the door.
“Sorry,” I said while opening it up again. “You startled me.”
“We startled you?” The young man guffawed. “You nearly sent us to an early grave.” He pushed past me, acting on an invitation that hadn’t come out of my mouth.
I shuffled aside, then took a larger step away as his body odour engulfed me. Allison caught the wince on my face as she walked inside and turned her cheek to the light, patting the soft skin there. “You were wrong about the timing.” Her mouth curled at the edges in delight. “Turns out it did happen overnight.”
Where spots had been merrily destroying her appearance the day before, now there remained just a few dark healing patches. I frowned in amazement, scarcely able to believe my magic had created such a miracle.
Annalisa sniffed at Allison’s foot and purred loudly as the teenager patted her. Apparently, she’d turned her disguise on again because the girl cooed and said, “Aren’t you a cute little thing?”
I shifted my weight from foot to foot as my nerves stayed on full alert. “It’s great to see my spell worked, but I really must be—”
“Travis needs a spell.” Allison jerked her head at her friend as though I might mistake who she was talking about. “Can you help him?”
“I can pay,” he mumbled, reaching into his back pocket to pull out an EFTPOS card. “Whatever the cost.”
“I’m in a bit of a—”
“Please.” Allison shuffled her feet and wrinkled her nose. “You do know what he needs help with, right?”
The sour odours wafting over from Travis were so strong I inclined my head. “Yeah, I can take a guess.”
“And it only took you a second to do me.”
I closed my eyes, trying to push aside the thought that half of Briarton’s constabulary could be beating a path to my door right now.
As much as I felt sympathy for Travis, his scent was overpowering enough that I wished he’d stayed outside. With a quick nod, I held my hands out, hoping my fledgling powers still had some charge in the battery.
“Abracadabra and all that jazz.” Hardly the words to inspire confidence but half my brain was still attuned to Patrick. I wriggled my fingers and a cloud of sparkles sprung forth, making a beeline to Travis. “Body odour be gone!”
Judging from the expression on the teenager’s face, he was about as impressed as Allison had been.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “The ritual is absolute rubbish, but the effects are amazing.”
“How much—?”
“No charge so long as you leave here right now.” When Travis opened his mouth to protest, I held the door wide and shooed them outside, clicking the deadbolt for good measure.
A good question I didn’t have even a mediocre answer to.
“He’s not my sweetheart and if he’d called them, they should be here by now.” I checked my watch to confirm and gulped when I saw how little actual time had passed. It felt so much longer.
Any time trouble had come to our door, my mother had always put the kettle on, so I did the same now before cutting up a rump steak for Annalisa. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer that cooked?”
She shot me a look of pure disdain.
Any thoughts I had around fixing my own dinner disappeared in a rush. A knock at the door sent them skating even further out of reach.
“Police. Open up.”
My hands shook as I walked to the entrance, the tremble climbing up my limbs and cascading along my spine until every movement was jerky. I plastered a wide grin on my face and pulled the door open. “Can I help you?”
One female officer stood beside Patrick while a male in uniform hovered back by the police car. “We’d like to take a look inside your vehicle.”
“Mm-hm.” I tried to keep my face calm as my insides shuffled around, searching for a place of safety. “That’s not my car.”
“You were seen driving the vehicle earlier today,” she said in an assertive voice. “Are you saying it’s stolen?”
I wanted to say yes, except that would swap the crime of carrying around a dead body to that of vehicle theft. “No. I just don’t have the keys.”
The policewoman stared at me with a steady eye, then switched her attention to the hall table. The one I’d dropped the keys onto earlier. I’d left it too late to stuff them into my pocket to hide.
“I mean, I have them, but…” My words dried up under her unflinching gaze.
“Please open the boot of the vehicle, madam.”
The officer stepped aside to let me past, then followed close behind as my reluctant feet walked to the car. I sorted through the individual keys, hoping to stall for long enough for a brilliant plan to spring into my head.
Would Genevieve’s spell still work, even now I’d moved the body? My twisted stomach told me no even as my hopeful heart insisted, yes. Even if it did, Patrick could probably convince them it was there using his equipment. That was his job, after all.
Perhaps I could will Isabella to become invisible to the beeping machine? Sure, I hadn’t been able to perform a similar trick on myself a few minutes ago, but it might work this time.
“Have you tried pressing the fob?” The officer sounded curter with every passing second. “Whenever you’re ready, madam.”
I could use my one phone call to tell the supreme I’d mucked everything up and beg for her to sort everything out. That seemed like the best bet.
“Now, I can explain everything,” I stated confidently as I beeped the car doors unlocked and reached into the driver’s side to pop the trunk. “You see…”
“Explain what?” She waved her partner closer, and they both peered into the boot.
Patrick rushed forward, plunging his hand into the space, his face falling as it reached the matting unimpeded. He shuffled along, pushing the officers out of the way as he scanned the interior with his equipment—not registering a single beep.
My mouth dropped open, mimicking his expression exactly.
The boot was empty. The body—spell or no spell—had vanished.
Chapter Eight
“Making a false police complaint is a serious business,” the female officer lectured Patrick as she wrote up her notes. “We’ll let you off with a warning this time but if it ever happens again, we may prosecute.”
The paranormal investigator had ceased his protests a few minutes ago and now stared around with a bewildered expression. I recognised it well, chiefly because I had a matching look on my face.
“What did you think would be in there?” I asked with open curiosity as the police car pulled away from the curb. “Illegal drugs? Suitcases full of money?”
He swallowed a few times, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a float on rough water. “I thought you had someone locked in there,” he finally admitted, a flush spreading up his cheeks and creeping across his nose. “To be more specific, I thought you were holding Isabella Anson captive.”
My throat tightened so hard I began to wheeze. “What made you think that?”
Patrick lifted the equipment secured around his neck with a leather strap. “This did. Isabella’s family hired me to find their missing daughter, and I programmed in all her details, even down to a sample of her DNA.” His mouth pulled down at the corners. “I could’ve sworn I had an accurate bearing on her. Right up until the moment they popped the trunk and…” he waved at the empty boot.
“How long has Isabella been missing?”
“Three days.” Patrick checked his watch. “Or closer to four now. Her mother is distraught, and this is the second time I’ve thought I had a lead on her with nothing to show for it.” He put his hands on his hips and stared forlornly at the footpath.
My airpipe reduced to a pinprick, and I staggered to my front porch, collapsing on the steps. Her family. Somehow, I’d managed to leave them out of all my equations. “Do you think Isabella’s a witch?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed and his chin jerked up. “What makes you ask that?”
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to think. This man wasn’t the enemy; he shared the same goals as me. I’d already told two teenagers about my witch status. Letting one more human into the secret wouldn’t hurt.
Probably.
“I lied to you before. I’m a witch, too. There have been witch hunters at work in this area. Apparently, our supreme was caught within the last year or so.”
His face hardened. “What do you mean, ‘Apparently?’ That’s a pretty big thing not to know for sure.”
“I only came back to Briarton a day ago.” It seemed like a year. “This is all hearsay.”
< It’s true.> Annalisa poured herself through the gap in the door and padded along the porch to join me.
I rubbed the scruff of her neck. “How did the witch hunters kill her?”
Patrick frowned while Annalisa stretched out, her front claws extending to their full length. I thought he was concerned about the panther, then it dawned on me he couldn’t hear my familiar speak. “She just told me—”
My explanation barely got going when Patrick swayed on his feet. I grabbed hold of his wrist and insinuated myself underneath his armpit. “Come inside. I’ve just boiled the jug for a cup of tea.”
After safely seating him at the kitchen table, I reheated the kettle and plonked teabags into two cups. Ignoring the age-old question of whether the milk went in first, I poured boiling water over the top and set one mug in front of Patrick, who smiled gratefully.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” he murmured as I took a seat opposite him. “Every time I think I understand how the supernatural world interacts with my own, it surprises me.”
“It surprises me and all,” I whispered before doling three teaspoons of sugar into my brew. I pushed the container towards my guest. “Help yourself.”
I tried to ignore any judgement contained in the shudder as he demurred. By the time I’d downed my first cup and started on my second, he’d regained most of his colour.
“I can’t understand why my equipment was so wrong,” Patrick said, standing to rinse his cup out in the sink. “I may not be blessed with supernatural powers, but the meter has been one hundred percent reliable up till now.”
“Ah.” I wriggled on my seat and drained the last gulp from my mug. “Your equipment was spot on. Until recently, I had Isabella Anson’s body st
ored in the boot.”
When Patrick opened his mouth, frowning, I held up a hand. “Before you ask, I had nothing to do with her demise.” Now it was my turn to frown. “And my supreme says we might still be able to save her, so I’m not sure what Isabella’s official status is.”
“You had a cloaking spell on her.” Patrick uttered the words as a statement, a relieved smile on his face. “That explains everything. Earlier today, when I first met your… um…”
“My familiar, Annalisa.”
“Quite. When she bumped into me, I thought I’d found Isabella in the woods.”
“You had.” I rubbed at my temple where a pulse was throbbing, perhaps deciding whether to turn into a headache. “I was there watching you the whole time. But it’s not a spell that’s keeping you from seeing her now. She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
I twisted my head to the side so I wouldn’t have to keep looking at his enquiring expression. “Yes, gone. Sometime between when you came around with your machine beeping and the arrival of the police, Isabella’s body disappeared.”
“Not a spell?”
I nudged Annalisa with my toe, pressing my lips together to hide a smile. “If it is, it’s a spell that’s working on me, too.”
“And is that likely?”
I drummed my fingers on the table, unwilling to admit how much about the world of witchcraft I didn’t know. “Probably not.”
“So now we’re both searching for a missing woman?”
“A missing witch.” Correcting him didn’t make me feel any better. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join forces?”
Patrick leant against the sink, his lips pursed, letting the silence grow uncomfortable. Just as I was about to speak and cut the tension, he gave a curt nod. “I suppose it makes the most sense, but I’d like to know everything you’ve done up to now.” His hazel eyes drilled into mine, a not entirely unpleasant sensation.
I poked my tongue out at the panther, a gesture that left me feeling equal parts satisfied and childish. “Take your seat again, then,” I told Patrick. “And I’ll fill you in on the story so far.”