Storm a-Brewin'

by Nova Nelson

  A bright orange tabby weaved between her legs as she lowered her wand, and I was able to let out the breath I was holding.

  “Come on in, then. I forget you’re a Fifth Wind and you can’t do jack diddly with a wand.” She waved me in. “Do you even have one?”

  “I do.” It was tucked into the waist of my pants, though if it came time to defend myself, it would probably prove more useful for jabbing someone with it in a pressure point than casting a spell.

  “Tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  While she stepped into the other room to prepare it, I made myself comfortable on the couch in the parlor. The pink and green floral pattern on it had faded over time, and the cushions were flat in the middle, but the wooden armrests were nicely polished and showed care. Maybe a family heirloom? Everything in the space looked a likely candidate for that. The place struck me as a typical grandmother’s house … if it was full of her grandmother’s things. It was like stepping into a time capsule that hadn’t been quite properly preserved. An ornate cuckoo clock hung above the fireplace, but the second hand ticked to the same number over and over again.

  The sound brought me back to the ticking of the silver package Efarine had dropped in the diner. How did clocks work here? It was one of the tiny details I’d never stopped to learn. Did they function through intricate cog work or by magic? Considering how long it takes to become a master clockmaker, I could see how magic would be the more appealing option.

  The orange familiar sat up straight and alert on the floor underneath the clock, staring at me and flicking its tail nonstop. I didn’t know much about cats, but I guessed this one was a boy. That was how it usually worked out between witches and their familiars. If the witch was female, their familiar was usually a male, and vice versa. Two obvious exceptions to that rule were Donovan and Eva, both of whom were the same sex as their familiars, Gustav and Zola. There must be some deeper logic to it that I didn’t yet understand (usually the case), but I didn’t worry much about it.

  I was too busy following my nose right into dangerous situations.

  If cats could glare, this one was. I wondered what was going on in his furry little brain, what he would say to Efarine about me behind my back when she returned to the living room.

  I felt a bone-deep cold surround me at the same moment Efarine’s familiar arched his back, looking around wildly before darting off toward the kitchen.

  My ghost radar dinged right before I spotted her. She was seated on the couch cushion next to mine, staring unabashedly at me. “The other Fifth Wind didn’t want to talk to me,” Perdita said. “In fact, she was quite rude about it. I like you much better. And I’ve been thinking it over, and you might have a point. Might. I’m not sure yet.”

  “That’s great and all,” I whispered. “But now’s really not the time.” Then, before she could disappear: “Wait, is it you?”

  “Is what me?” she asked, blinking unnecessarily, considering she had no real eyes to keep moist.

  “Are you the spirit that possessed Efarine?”

  She chuckled. “Who in the harvest moon is Efarine?”

  “The woman whose home you’re in,” I hissed. “Did you possess her?”

  Perdita looked around, and as she took in the details of her surroundings, a taut frown overtook her expression. “Ew, why would I do that? This place is like the Eastwind Museum of Crones. Yuck. I’m going to get out of here. Chat with you later!”

  She disappeared just as the curator of the museum entered the living room again.

  Efarine set down a silver tea tray on the hearty oak table in front of me before taking a seat in a mismatched armchair to my right. “It still needs a couple minutes to steep.”

  “Great, thanks.” I wasn’t sure where to start, and Perdita’s appearance had thrown me off, so I plunged in with my most readily available topic: “How do clocks work?” I immediately realized how idiotic that sounded. “What I mean is, do they run on magic?” I nodded at the one above the mantel, and her eyes followed my line of sight.

  “Some do, some don’t. Depends on who makes them. If they’re witch made, yes, they always run on magic. The elves insist on making them run without. They take great pride in it. Their need for manual craftsmanship is one I’ll never understand. That one, though, is of course witch made.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s a few hundred years old, and the spellwork is wearing a bit thin. I keep meaning to take it to Ezra Ares to see what he can do about it, but you know how that sort of thing can slip through the cracks, and now I’m under house arrest, so it’ll have to wait a little longer.”

  “About that,” I said, finding my in. “Are you aware of what you’re under house arrest for?”

  She chuckled. “Of course. You and a few others claim you saw me walk into that werewolf-ridden diner in the Outskirts—the Outskirts of all places!—to set off … some sort of silver contraption?”

  Ignoring her jabs at not only werewolves and the Outskirts but my diner, I said, “Exactly. I saw you. Along with at least three others, one of whom is a deputy.”

  “Tanner? Oh, that poor boy is still playing dress-up, is he?” She leaned forward to serve the tea, and I resisted giving her just a little smack on the back of the head as she did so.

  “Bloom wouldn’t have hired him if he weren’t up for the job.”

  She paused, the spout of the teapot hovering above one of the cups as she cast me a dubious glance. “You don’t understand how desperate this town is for more law enforcement, then. Nobody wants that job. It should come as no surprise that the only person who applied got it. That Culpepper boy, bless his heart, is the only one naive enough to think he can make a difference.”

  “No,” I ground out, clasping my hands together so I didn’t do something stupid with them. “He’s not the only one. There are plenty of us who think we can make things better.”

  She didn’t look up at me as she poured my cup and handed the delicate china over to me. “I think it’s just wonderful that you believe that.” When she sat back in her chair, her teacup and saucer in hand, I struggled to ignore the smug look on her face.

  How was she that smug? She was the one under house arrest!

  “Although,” she continued, “I will say that it’s nice to know there’s one of us in the sheriff’s department now. Sure, an angel is usually just fine, but that Manchester ... I mean, really! A were-elk in law enforcement? How did anyone think that wouldn’t turn ugly for the witches of this town?”

  “Stu Manchester is a great deputy,” I said, though, admittedly, I’d had to help him out quite a few times lately. Though mostly that was because he was so overwhelmed, trying to handle the whole town by himself while Bloom was barricaded in her office by all the paperwork the High Council made her fill out. Now that Stu didn’t have to work all night and be on-call all day, he was much more functional. And in the end, the man meant well. If he didn’t, Bloom wouldn’t have kept him around.

  “Hmm.” She stared at me over the lip of her cup as she took a sip. “Is that why you’re here, then? Because the sheriff’s department is so adept at its job? That’s why they sent the psychic clean-up crew in? I wonder what they expect someone like you with no law enforcement training to find that they didn’t?”

  “No one told me to come here, Efarine. I’m here of my own accord. Bloom said you claim not to have been there. I know for a fact I saw you there. This, right here?” I motioned between us. “This is me giving you the benefit of the doubt that you’re not a liar. That’s a lot more than most people will give you when they hear what happened. You say you weren’t there, I know for a fact that I saw you there. In my line of magic, this situation has possession written all over it.”

  She chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the pronouncement. “You think I was possessed, assembled a silver weapon, and walked all the way to the most dangerous part of town to set it off in your little inconsequential grease trap?”

  Well, when she put it like that. “
Yeah. That’s what I think.”

  She sighed heavily. “I already told Bloom that I was here reading the whole time.”

  “And how would you know? You could have blacked out for an hour, couldn’t you have? Can’t exactly keep track of the time with that old hunk of firewood.” I nodded at the cuckoo clock, suspecting the descriptor wouldn’t go down well with her and caring very little by that point. I was right.

  The skin around her lips blanched as she pressed her mouth shut tightly.

  “It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’d heard of a possessed person doing,” I continued. Zoe Clementine had tried to drown herself, for fang’s sake. And Oliver Bridgewater had attempted to bury Count Malavic in his coffin, something even the dumbest witch would know not to try, and Oliver was anything but a dummy.

  Oh, and sweet little Landon Hawker had attempted to suffocate an entire restaurant of people. Possession could be a real buzzkill.

  “It wasn’t possession.” A muscle ticked in her jaw after she snapped her mouth shut again. “I would never let myself get manhandled like that by some restless spirit. I don’t deal in such low magic.”

  Man, she really knew how to throw a not-so-subtle jab, didn’t she? I wasn’t sure why she hated me so much, but the why seemed irrelevant in the face of her animosity. There wasn’t any point in getting sore about it. I was here to get information. “It happens to the best witches, don’t worry. If a malevolent spirit wants to possess you, there’s not much you can do. It wouldn’t be admitting any weakness of magic or breeding to simply admit that it’s possible you lost a little time while you were reading.”

  She sipped her tea, staring at the faded rug that might have once been peach. Something was on the tip of her tongue, I could feel it. I waited silently to keep from scaring her.

  And then, as soon as she spoke, I regretted giving her space.

  “It’s Landon Hawker, isn’t it?”

  “What?” I accidentally sloshed hot tea down my hand and yelped, setting the cup on the tray before I spilled more. I sucked the scalding liquid from my hand and stared at her.

  She was grinning victoriously. “The fifth witch in your little illegal circle. It’s Landon, isn’t it? That’s been my guess since the start, at least. There’s a reward, you know.”

  “A reward? For what?”

  “For information that leads to the conclusive discovery of the North Wind.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh please. Everyone knows you formed the first complete circle Eastwind has seen since the end of the last war. You’re obviously the Fifth Wind involved—too good for every existing circle, I see—that unmanageable waitress of yours is the South Wind, Deputy Do-Good is the West Wind, and Donovan Stringfellow, slumming it below his pedigree as usual, is the East Wind. That much is well documented by multiple eye witnesses.”

  “Suddenly multiple eye witnesses count for something?”

  She ignored it. “So the question is who is the last one. It has to be a North Wind who isn’t already part of another circle, and that leaves very few options. Considering Landon has been seen around Sheehan’s with you in the past and has been meticulously keeping to himself lately, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not him,” I said without a twinge of guilt for the lie. “Nice try.”

  “Ah, but there is a new circle?”

  Swirls. I had sort of implied that, hadn’t I? Oh well. Everyone already suspected it. Some busybody witch knowing wouldn’t change anything. “Yes, there is. But you won’t find out who the North Wind is, and it doesn’t matter. We have no plans of performing another connection ritual.”

  She chuckled. “Oh sure. No one ever plans on that. It’s a thing of necessity! You’d be surprised how often it proves necessary, though.” She smirked. “Now that I’m under house arrest, I have all the time in the world to figure out how to prove it’s Landon. And when I do, I’ll claim the reward and be so set I never have to go back to work again.”

  I stood abruptly. “Not gonna happen. Sorry to ruin your plan.” Her familiar hissed at me as I made for the door, but Efarine remained seated and watched me go. As I was reaching for the handle, I paused, realizing I’d forgotten to ask one crucial question. “Who is offering the reward?”

  “Nobody knows. It was published in the paper anonymously. Five hundred gold pieces. Clearly someone wants to figure it out very badly. My guess is they want to eliminate the threat before you five reckless outcasts can accidentally murder us all.”

  My mouth fell open, and I snapped it shut. There was so much to say all at once, so instead I opted for not wasting my breath on her, flung the door open, and didn’t bother closing it behind me.

  I was no closer to discovering what had happened in Medium Rare, and now I understood just how much danger we were all in if suspicions about Landon turned into something more solid and provable.

  Eastwind wouldn’t just mistrust us, they might actually try to kill us.

  Then it occurred to me. Even if they didn’t find the fifth witch, all they had to do was take out one of the rest of us and the circle would be broken.

  I had to keep a more vigilant watch on things from here on out. And, unfortunately, I probably needed to keep Grim around more often, no matter how much bribery it took.

  And I suspected it would take a lot.

  Chapter Seven

  As the front door of Sheehan’s Pub came into view, I spotted Eva and Donovan through the dusk rain as they approached from the other direction. They held hands while Donovan positioned the umbrella so Eva remained completely dry while his shoulder hung out, exposed. They’d gotten the letters I’d sent earlier that afternoon, once I’d returned home from the visit to Efarine’s.

  Since the rain still hadn’t let up, I’d convinced Ruby to cancel our lesson and sent word to Oliver that I would read ahead a chapter in the textbook if we could take the night off. I probably wouldn’t, but what could he do about it?

  He was happy to agree, though. After all, things with him and Zoe seemed to be heating up fast, and they were both probably thrilled he didn’t have to spend his evening with another woman.

  I nodded hello and held the door open for Eva and Donovan. It would have been ideal for Tanner to be in on this discussion, but he was working, so I’d fill him in later.

  I’d considered suggesting we meet somewhere other than Sheehan’s, since Grim refused to go there due to the inexplicably sticky floors and general dimness of the place that, when combined with his pitch black fur, meant he was tripped over more often than he was petted.

  But the pub, for all its rowdiness and the occasional brawl, was one of the best places in town to have a low-key conversation without being heard. The other option was Lyre Lounge, where hardly anyone ever went, thanks to its gaudy decor, overpriced drinks, and poor choice of music. I’d met Liberty and his girlfriend Emagine there not too long ago for a private meeting, and it had worked well, but most of that was owed to the fact that the genie was able to create a shield around us that kept our conversation from being heard outside of it, but more importantly, kept Echo’s loud music from getting in.

  I thought the odds of getting Eva and Donovan to meet me at Lyre on a perfectly good night for cheap drinks was minimal, and after suffering through Efarine’s pretentiousness and elitist attitude, I didn’t think I could stomach more of it from Echo Chambers, the satyr from Avalon who seemed to view handing out subtle slights as a sport.

  We grabbed a round of beers from Fiona at the bar then searched around for a good spot where we wouldn’t be overheard. It was a weeknight, and the pub wasn’t especially crowded, though I suspected some of that had to do with the undercurrent of fear that was heightened with each highly publicized crime.

  The first to be exploited for political gain had been Grace’s disappearance. And while it was later proven that the body discovered right outside the Scandrick werewolf compound wasn’t the North Wind’s (or any
one’s at all), the seed of fear had already been planted and taken root, and it’s ten times harder to correct inaccurate information than it is to distribute it in the first place.

  Then, there was the love spell. While it hadn’t been blamed on a witch or a were, and while both of the town’s genies had been proven innocent, the person who was actually behind it, an archetype, was never disclosed publicly. Bloom believed the mention of an archetype in Eastwind would cause more fear than it alleviated, but I wasn’t so sure. Uncertainty gave rise to speculation, and plenty of Eastwinders had seized on that opportunity to blame whoever they already trusted the least, reinforcing their own biases.

  And now there was an outright attack by a witch in a werewolf neighborhood. I could see why so many people were afraid.

  But that didn’t mean I thought it wasn’t stupid.

  It wasn’t like there’d ever been a time when Eastwind had zero crime—no attacks, no theft, no murder. It’d always been this way, but thanks to what appeared to be concerted efforts by the Eastwind Watch and the lovely High Council (backed by the Coven), people suddenly believed every single crime meant something.

  If something was stolen from a witch, it couldn’t just be that he had something valuable and someone else wanted it. No, now it was seen as a direct attack on all things witchy. And if someone fought a werewolf who hit on their girlfriend, well, that was clearly further evidence that the entire town of Eastwind hated all weres.

  Even though I could see the nasty direction the fear was heading and how ridiculous it was, I didn’t have a clue what I could do to stop it.

  “There’s one,” said Eva, pointing to the corner where a large round booth was open.

  “Perfect.”

  We carried over our drinks and scooted in, Eva in the middle.

  “What did you want to talk to us about?” Eva said. “They haven’t found the North Wind yet, have they?”

  Donovan scoffed. “If they had, you wouldn’t need Nora to tell you. They’d be banging down our doors.”