by Willow Mason
“Always,” I said, escorting him back into the kitchen. “Help yourself.”
Muffin’s face turned panicky again. “If we eat them all, there won’t be anything for dinner.”
“I can try again, later,” I offered, and nearly cried with laughter at the expression that provoked.
“The next time I have an update, I’ll swing by the bakery first to pay you back,” Syd promised as he left. A statement that did nothing to mollify my familiar who cared more for the here and now.
“Good heavens,” she said as a cyclist came to a stop, leaning his bike against the gate. “I suppose you’ll be feeding him, too.” She stalked inside, floofy tail swinging from side to side.
“Can I help you?” I called out to the new arrival—a young man I was certain I’d never seen before.
“You already have.” His voice was full of exuberance, in direct contrast to his black clothing, streaked with artful tears, and about a kilogram’s worth of chain-link jewellery. Tattoos ran up his arms with one even stretching up the side of his cheek. A nose ring completed the ensemble. This was a man who clearly didn’t want a job in a bank.
“How’s that?” I asked while Brody walked onto the front porch to stand beside me.
“Sorry, forgot to introduce myself.” The tattooed man held out a gigantic hand, with grease lodged in the folds of his knuckles. “I’m Hunter Akerman. From the band East Coast Armageddon.”
He shook my hand firmly, then did the same with Brody. When I continued to stare on in confusion, he wrinkled his nose.
“When you went to the radio station with your serial killer warning, the DJ played our song before and after the announcement.” Hunter scratched behind his ear. “Turns out, that was the big break our band’s been searching for.”
“Oh. Good.” I still didn’t know what to make of the man and turned to Brody for help, only to find him still looking puzzled.
“How is that a break?”
“Dude. Our song Killing Season is now synonymous with a serial killer in Oakleaf Glade. We’ve gone from an unknown thrash metal band to number one with a bullet. Close to half a million shares already. The teenagers can’t get enough and we’re only going to grow in popularity as the word gets out.”
“Right.” I nodded in understanding at the connection, though it still baffled me. Then I frowned. “How did you know we had anything to do with that?”
“Ha. Dwight’s been singing your praises. Said it’s the most exciting thing to happen to him on the radio. He’s saved a copy of the broadcast and sent it to a whole gaggle of online stations, looking for a new venture. We could all end up famous because of you.” He stopped talking and sniffed the air. “What’s that delicious smell?”
“No.” Muffin stomped out the door, arching her back and hissing. “No more handing out my dwindling food supply to anyone who comes to the door. Tell him to buzz off.”
But Hunter didn’t need to be told. “Wow, fierce kitten you’ve got there. I’d better move on before he uses me for target practice. If I can do anything to help in future, let me know.”
“Thank goodness.” Muffin continued to hold her claws aloft until Hunter had ridden out of sight. “Now, how about we discuss how you can get a job in a local bakery with a generous staff discount that doesn’t involve you touching any actual food?”
“I don’t think any of us have enough magic for that,” I said, following her inside.
Chapter One
Muffin pushed at the potion bottle until it teetered on the edge of oblivion.
“Do you mind?” I asked, shoving it back into the centre of the kitchen table. “That’s the only sample we have.”
“But it wants to be on the floor.” The kitten’s whisper was mesmerising—soft and seductive. “Can’t you feel that?”
“It wants to be in the pantry,” Brody said, snatching the bottle and holding it to the light. “Now, so long as everybody remembers not to drink the strange blue liquid, it’ll be fine in there.”
Muffin’s face collapsed as my cousin pushed the concoction onto a high shelf and pulled the door closed.
“Are you really planning to use the potion on Lucas?” Muffin asked.
“Not until I know for sure what’s inside it. That’s why I’ve invited Darla Quincey over this morning. Rosie recommended her.”
“A first-tier witch?” Brody’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “My, we’re getting fancy, aren’t we?”
“I think the recommendation had more to do with her experience in chemistry than what level of witchcraft she’s achieved.” The words sounded sure when they came out of my mouth, but a wriggle of doubt remained.
Since my arrival in Oakleaf Glade and introduction with the world of supernaturals, I’d only had one encounter with a witch. My neighbour, Hazel. Although she’d only been third tier, she’d also turned out to be a murderer and thief. Not a great representative for the group.
“You’ll be in safe hands,” Muffin assured me as though reading my mind. “Darla works in a compounding pharmacy that serves the entire South Island and never had a single mistake. Someone with her eye for detail and knowledge of chemical structures will work out if it’s safe.”
“Or we could just put a few drops in Lucas’s cuppa the next time he pays one of his unnecessary home visits,” Brody suggested with a rakish smile. “See how it goes.”
“And be up on a criminal charge if it goes terribly,” I answered, giving him a poke in the ribs. “Aren’t you going to be late to work?”
“Nope. But I am running late for a job interview.”
My mouth fell open. “When did this happen?” Another thought occurred to me. “Oh my gosh. You haven’t been fired from the Tavern café, have you? I’m happy to boycott them if that’s the case, only…”
Only, their cheesecake was divine and no other restaurant in town understood the art of a triple-deep-frying their chips to achieve maximum crunchiness.
“Don’t worry. No one’s been fired. I’m just sick of working weird hours for minimum wage.”
“Where’s the interview?” Muffin asked, tackling what should probably have been my first question.
“And what’s the job?” I left off giving Brody the third degree to answer the door—our regular early morning delivery from the town’s best bakery. “Here you go.” I unwrapped a triple chocolate muffin and passed it across to my kitten before taking another for myself. Pet ownership had greatly increased my sugar consumption.
“I’ll tell you if I get it,” Brody said, instantly becoming a man of mystery. After helping himself to an apple muffin topped with a slice of tasty cheddar aged enough to put hairs on his chest, he waved goodbye and shot out the door.
“Perhaps he’s lined up a job at the bakery?” Muffin said in a voice full of hope. “Since you wouldn’t even try.”
“They didn’t have an opening,” I reminded her, pressing my finger against the muffin wrapper to pick up each delectable crumb. “But I should probably look for something. The jar in the pantry might refill itself now, but it doesn’t mean it will forever.”
The money jar my great aunt had somehow magicked into providing a steady stream of crumpled notes had been a delightful find. However, after spending three weeks lounging around at home, interspersed with doses of crime-solving weirdness, I could feel my natural work ethic reasserting itself. A break was nice, but I needed to find something industrious on which to spend my time.
When I first arrived, there’d been talk of an opening at the sewing store in town—a position that would have suited my skills admirably. Unfortunately, the ad was long gone from the area’s tiny recruitment section.
“The library needs an assistant.” Muffin stretched and jumped from the table, running straight for a bright patch of morning sun. “Although I’m not sure if the role is paid.”
“I’m happy to volunteer my services for now.” Especially since I had no idea of how to be a librarian except for shushing. That I c
ould do like a champion. “Once Darla’s been and gone, I might head along there.”
“It’ll be nice to have this place all to myself during the day.” Muffin stretched out full-length and smacked her lips before rolling over to expose her belly to the light.
“Didn’t realise I was cramping your style,” I said while transferring the remaining bakery items into an old biscuit tin. It wouldn’t fool any guests for long, considering each treat was wrapped in the bakery’s name-branded wrapping paper, but it seemed fancier than the paper bag.
“Who’s that?” Muffin jumped to her feet, back arching and her fur standing on end. She skittered away from the door, eyes wide with horror.
My pulse sped up until I saw Darla’s friendly face peering through the window. I waved and opened the front door, standing back as she and a man entered.
“This is Reggie Barr, my partner,” Darla said, waving towards her friend. “He’s just here for moral support.”
“And because I’m desperately nosy,” Reggie added with a good-natured grin, white teeth flashing through the disguise of a dense moustache and beard. His chestnut hair was fashioned into short dreads, ending just above his shoulders, and he wore a pair of old-style dungarees, carefully worn and torn in all the fashionable places.
“Get out,” Muffin said, rearing on her back legs and hissing. “There’s no place for your sort around here.”
“Muffin!” I picked her up, feeling her muscles tense, fighting against the move. “Don’t be so rude.” I mean, the guy was obviously a hipster, but that was no reason to kick him out.
The kitten struggled out of my arms, backing into the lounge.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, shaking my head as Muffin retreated into the far corner, almost out of sight. “She’s usually welcoming to strangers.”
“No worries.” Reggie clapped his hands together, beaming. “Since I’m just tagging along for the ride, I can wait in the car if you prefer.”
“We’ll be in and out in five minutes,” Darla said, putting her hand on Reggie’s arm to stop him going. “Then your familiar can have the run of the house again.”
“The potion I’m worried about is in here,” I said, trying to ignore the prickles running up and down my spine. Whatever Muffin had experienced on sight, I now seemed to be getting a low-level dose. With a shiver, I grabbed the bottle off the high shelf and thrust it towards Darla.
She pulled out a pair of thick, horn-rimmed glasses and peered intently at the bottle. “This came from a monster hunter?”
“A vampire stole it from Blake Stone, the man who—”
“I know who he was,” Darla said with a wave of her hand, cutting me off. “The ratbag ended up getting exactly what he deserved.”
A stake in the heart seemed a bit overboard to me, but I kept my mouth buttoned. An aura of certainty radiated off the witch, leaving me feeling even more out of my depth than usual.
“I should be able to handle this in my lab,” she said, glancing up from the blue potion. “I can reverse engineer the exact recipe to find out what we’re dealing with. Even if it won’t work for your friend, it’ll give us a better idea of what the monster hunters are up to.”
She pulled the cork out and took a tentative sniff of the contents. “Hm. There’s something sharp in there.” Darla turned to her partner, lifting one eyebrow. “Maybe a smidgeon of Hemlock?”
Reggie’s nose twitched with such vigour I was afraid he was about to sneeze. “Valerian, salvia, mugwort, and wild dagga at a minimum.” He tilted his head to one side, eyes closed as he sniffed more deeply. “There’re so many hallucinogens in the mix I’m not surprised the hunters see things when they take it.”
“You can get all those ingredients just from smelling?” I was as surprised as I was impressed. “Can I take you down to our local KFC and get the list of secret herbs and spices?”
Darla laughed as she pushed the cork back in to seal the bottle. “Are you a fried chicken connoisseur? Because Reggie’s services don’t come cheap.”
“We’re more into muffins,” a small voice called out from the connecting doorway. Muffin sat on her hind legs, licking her paw and patting the fur around her ears. “But don’t bother getting us a recipe. Elisa has trouble following instructions.”
“That might be true, but it’s still uncalled for.” I gave her a puzzled frown. The small kitten was just as much of an extrovert as I was, and even her snark was usually good-tempered. Something was awry.
“I probably should’ve called first,” Darla said as she stowed the potion in her enormous handbag. “But it’s been so long since I had a familiar, I tend to forget about them.”
When I continued to stare at her in confusion, she laughed and gestured towards Reggie. “My friend here’s a werewolf. Probably why your kitten hated him on sight. But what he lacks in feline appeal he makes up for with his sensitive nostrils.”
Darla continued speaking, but the words turned to static buzzing in my ears. A werewolf? I shot a sympathetic glance at Muffin, deciding next time I should follow her advice, and never mind the rudeness.
“No need to look so worried,” Reggie said, beaming again. This time, his smile opened so wide his tongue hung out. “I’m harmless. Even if the full moon’s due tomorrow night, I don’t hunt pixies.”
“But do you hunt kittens?”
“Nah,” the man said, ducking his head to avoid my gaze. “I’m so out of shape nothing needs to worry.” He patted his belly, which didn’t look the slightest bit flabby to me. “It’ll take a year’s worth of effort at the gym before I can look forward to fresh rabbit again.”
“Yeah, you slowpoke.” Darla gave him an adoring smile before turning back to me. “It’ll take me at least a few hours to break down the exact ingredients. Then we can run a test on a willing subject to find out what the formula does to human perception.”
“You test on humans?” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
“Well, the only alternative is animals and, apart from familiars who can already see supernaturals, they’re not easy to understand. Have you ever tried to interview a guinea pig about their experiences?” Darla rolled her eyes. “You can’t get a word of sense out of them.”
I giggled at the image of a witch interrogating a wee animal. “Point taken. What if it hurts the subjects?”
“I won’t feed it to anybody unless I think it’s safe. I’m a witch, not a scoundrel.”
“Though some days it’s hard to know the difference,” Reggie whispered to me, earning himself an elbow to the chest from his beloved.
“Somebody’s coming,” Muffin called out in a worried voice. “Were you expecting anyone? It will do my reputation irreparable harm if I’m caught in the company of a dog.”
“Wolf,” Reggie growled while I walked to the door, frowning out the side window. Usually, it was Muffin who told me who strangers were since she knew practically everyone in town.
But she didn’t know the two people standing on the footpath, frowning at their phones before glancing at the front of my house. I threw the door wide open, my happiness overriding the deep concern surging through my body.
“Mum!”
Chapter Two
“If we’re in the way, let us know,” my mother said, poking her head into every downstairs room while I trailed along behind her. “We can always get a room at the pub in town if you don’t have space. I’d hate to impose on you.”
“Stop it. I’ll hear no such thing.” I closed each door my mother opened, trying to remember if there was anything magical on display that shouldn’t be. Since my mother would have pixie blood in her veins, even if it wasn’t dominant, she might catch an eyeful she wasn’t prepared for. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. In fact, I’ll take you upstairs right now and show you the spare room.”
“Nonsense. You sit down and have a rest. Me and Ben will have a quick tour around the rest of the house, then we’ll pop into town and organise a motel.”
> “But I want you to stay here,” I protested, falling into my mother’s passive-aggressive dance with the ease born of old habit. “I insist that you stay here.”
“No. I won’t hear of it.” My mother opened the back door and stared into the yard, frowning at the creepers growing over the back fence. “Ben! Did we pack the clippers? That ivy will grow so heavy it’ll pull the wall down, then you’ll have much closer acquaintance with your neighbours.”
Ben Neal gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, love. I told her to give you fair warning we were coming, but she got a bee in her bonnet about the trip and wouldn’t listen.”
If one of my faults was being nosy, my mother’s was complete ignorance of any feedback received through her ears. Along with that ran a deep streak of stubbornness, which annoyed me no end because I’d inherited the exact same trait.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked, giving up and deciding I might as well wait out the inspection in the peace of the kitchen. “We’ve got a nice array of muffins, too, if you’re hungry.”
“Sounds great.”
Ben nodded to the other guests as he settled in at the table. Although he’d never officially done the deed and married my mother, he still insisted on introducing himself as my stepfather.
“We should probably go,” Darla said with a glance at her watch. “I’ve got a long list of medicines to prepare and ship out before the last courier pickup.”
“You’re a chemist?” Ben’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed the witch’s hand, forcing her to take a seat. “Excellent. My doctor diagnosed me with sciatica but doesn’t have a clue on how to manage the pain. What would you recommend?”
“My dad suffered from that,” Reggie said with sympathy. “Got so bad he could hardly work.”
“It’s a trial.” Ben’s eyes twinkled. The only thing he loved more than comparing war wounds was detailing their effect on his daily life. How my mother coped with knowing every twinge and ache, all day long, I couldn’t imagine.
“Elisa! Do you have a man living here?”