Broomsticks and Burials

by Lily Webb

  Almost every one of them was about vampires: their ancient history, their origins, theories about how they were created and how they came to America, everything. It bordered on obsessive.

  The few pictures and clippings that weren’t about vampires were potion recipes and profiles of notable potions masters.

  “I take it you’re passionate about potion making?” I asked as Grace passed me and her heels clicked down the wooden floor toward what looked to be a kitchen.

  “Passionate? Potion making is my life’s work,” Grace said.

  “I have to say, potion making and vampire history make an odd mix,” I said as we entered into what was, in fact, the kitchen.

  It was tiny, which didn’t fit the rest of the house at all, and the only place to sit was at a small table with two rickety wooden chairs. Dirty dishes lined either side of the sink, and the floor looked like it hadn’t been swept in weeks.

  “All witches are conundrums, I’m no exception,” Grace said. “In another life, I studied to be a professor of vampire history. Perhaps unsurprisingly, jobs in the field were hard to find.”

  “Interesting. Do they teach that sort of thing at Veilside?”

  “Yes and no. All students at the Academy learn basic paranormal history and origins, but beyond that, the focus is on magic and the enhancement of their skills,” Grace said. “Would you like a glass of sweet tea?”

  It was one of the most mundane things she could’ve offered me, a southern creature comfort I hadn’t realized I was missing until it was suggested, but somehow it felt wrong.

  “Sure,” I said. It wasn’t lost on me that Grace almost certainly had excellent skills at potion making and that those skills could’ve extended to making a killer sweet tea — literally.

  With a nod, Grace stepped to one of the cupboards and pulled out two glasses, which she then filled with tea from a large container in her otherwise unimpressive and empty refrigerator. She dropped several ice cubes in after the fact from the freezer and passed me the glass.

  “I hope it isn’t too sweet. I’ve always had trouble making tea that anyone other than me likes,” Grace said.

  “I’m sure it’s perfect,” I said. I didn’t dare take a sip until she did.

  As if she sensed my reticence, Grace raised her glass to me and took a deep swig. A few seconds later, when she hadn’t choked to death, I followed her lead. The tea was so sweet it made my lips pucker and my teeth hurt.

  “Seems I still haven’t perfected the art,” Grace said, though she smiled.

  “As long as you like it, I guess that’s all that matters,” I said.

  “With diplomatic speech like that, maybe you should be the one running for office,” Grace said.

  “I just cover the politicians, I don’t ever want to be one,” I said.

  “A wise young woman. Please, have a seat,” Grace said, gesturing at the two chairs and the table placed against the far wall.

  I sat down and almost let out a squeal when I realized the oversized bowl that served as the centerpiece of the table was filled with a thick green jelly — and insect parts were suspended inside.

  “That’s a classic potion. It congeals in the open air and is great for catching flies,” Grace said, pointing at the bowl.

  If she’d clean up her kitchen, she wouldn’t have any creepy-crawlies to catch. But if she could catch flies in a bowl, could she catch reporters too?

  “I’ll keep that in mind. So, it looks like you’re well ahead of Councilwoman Cromwell. What do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s the only logical outcome, given everything else that’s happened,” Grace said, swirling her tea around in her glass.

  “The truth is, the people of Moon Grove don’t necessarily agree that the vampires have any business in the town’s government. With our shared history, as bloody as it is, I can’t say I blame them.”

  “That’s definitely one area where your campaigns diverge,” I said.

  “Diverge? It’s a fundamental difference between us. The people in this town are frightened, especially after what happened to poor Harper Woods. They don’t trust the vampires, and why should they? They’re ready to prove that in this election, and that’s precisely why I’m leading Councilwoman Cromwell.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But I think there’s something else going on too. The rivalry between you seems personal,” I said.

  “Oh, I won’t pretend I’m not fond of Councilwoman Cromwell, and not just because of her enthusiasm for working with the vampires,” Grace scoffed.

  “Frankly, it’s as if her knowledge of history has completely slipped her mind. Has she conveniently forgotten that Valentine and the rest of his Clan were directly responsible for the near destruction of this town hundreds of years ago?” she asked.

  “To be fair, I don’t think many people remember what happened hundreds of years ago, but I guess I’d have to ask Opal about that,” I said.

  “They almost killed us all, that so-called King Valentine among them. She hasn’t forgotten that — how could she? — no, she’s choosing to ignore it for political points. It’s disgraceful.”

  “Maybe. You know, Councilman Cromwell expressed some concern for your well-being when I spoke with her recently. She said you’ve frequently been ill. Is that something you’d like to address?” I asked.

  “I’m well, thank you very much. I may not spend every waking moment in campaign mode, unlike Councilwoman Cromwell, but that doesn’t mean I’m ill,” she said.

  “But that brings me to a meeting you missed on the night Harper Woods was murdered,” I said. Grace glared at me.

  “What are you implying?”

  “Nothing. It just seems odd to me that a Council meeting would be held when one of the members wasn’t present,” I said.

  “It’s true, I wasn’t at the meeting that evening,” Grace said.

  “Why?”

  “I was on my way to Town Hall when a feverish cold swept over me like a cloud, and I was concerned I might have something contagious, so I made the decision not to risk exposing the rest of the Council to whatever I’d caught,” Grace said.

  I’d never heard of a cold seizing anyone that quickly before, not even a twenty-four hour bug.

  “Why didn’t you tell any of the other members you weren’t coming? Surely, you could have sent the message somehow,” I said.

  “As I said, the illness came over me quickly and it was draining. I went to sleep as soon as I got home, and I didn’t wake until the next morning,” Grace said.

  “So you were never at Town Hall that night?” I asked.

  “Miss Clarke, if I was present, I think I would remember it,” Grace said.

  “Okay. And you’ve felt fine since that night?”

  “For the most part.”

  “Then why did you cancel the debate earlier this week?”

  “I was ill,” she said, looking away. “Perhaps too much sweet tea. It has a way of upsetting the stomach.”

  Grace smiled at me. I wasn’t buying it, but I apparently wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of her, so I changed the subject.

  “Did you know Harper? Did you ever have any interaction with her?”

  “Of course, here and there. She was at every Council meeting without fail, and she never missed an opportunity to ask questions,” Grace said.

  “That’s what they hire us to do. Did you also know the police found a broomstick belonging to Opal Cromwell near the grave where Harper was buried?” I asked, watching her face.

  Grace stared at me blankly, and I tried to pierce into her thoughts. I heard a muffled, rolling jumble of words, and then something sharp tore through my head like a nail had been driven into my skull. I winced but managed not to make any noise.

  Had Grace noticed I was trying to get inside her head and fought me? My palms slick with sweat, I struggled to pick up my glass and sucked down as much of the tea as I could tolerate to buy myself some time.

  “As a candidate
for Head Witch, I couldn’t possibly speculate on something like that,” Grace said.

  “I understand,” I said, my head reeling.

  “Is there anything else, Miss Clarke? I’m afraid your time is almost over,” Grace said.

  “One last question. You want to win this election, don’t you, Councilwoman Magnus?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have started my campaign if I didn’t,” she said.

  “And you believe that Councilwoman Cromwell’s vision for the future of Moon Grove isn’t the correct one, right?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Then is it fair to say you would do anything to make sure you were elected Head Witch instead of her?”

  “That was three questions, Miss Clark, and I don’t like the direction they’ve taken,” Grace said, standing from the table to stare down at me.

  “If you’re looking for a killer, perhaps you should look no further than our bloodthirsty neighbors who roam the night. You might start with the one who owns the cemetery where the crime occurred.”

  “Lucien Bellerose?” I asked as Vuraz, the spotted grey gargoyle from before, entered the room and leaned against the doorframe, his yellow eyes piercing right through me.

  “Vuraz will see you out, Miss Clarke. Good luck with your story,” Grace said and left me with a grouchy gargoyle, a splitting headache, and more questions than answers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time I walked to Mooney’s Diner on the opposite side of town, my head was still throbbing, though it’d dulled. I hoped it wouldn’t make me a lousy date.

  What had Grace done to me? Popping into people’s minds was never a comfortable thing for me to do, but it also hadn’t hurt any other time. But with Grace, it was different — much different — and that worried me.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have much time to worry about it because Beau spotted me before I reached the front door of the diner.

  He beamed, his perfect teeth and brown eyes sparkling, and waved to me. Clearly, he was taking this more seriously than I was because he was dressed to the nines in a beautiful pale yellow polo shirt and fresh-pressed slacks.

  And there I was with my hair flying in all directions, looking like I’d just crawled out of bed.

  “Hey, Zoe,” he said as I approached.

  “Hey. Look at you, you look great,” I said. Color flooded his face, and he laughed.

  “Oh, come on, you don’t have to flatter me. You look good too.”

  “No, I look like I stuck a fork in a toaster,” I said as I checked my reflection in the glass front door of the diner. I felt as bad as I looked.

  Beau chuckled and shook his head.

  “Well, maybe you just need a good Magishake to help perk you up,” Beau said and opened the door for me. Smiling, I stepped inside and winced at how bright and loud everything was.

  Neon lights were strung along the chrome accents of the countertops, and the booths were designed to look like classic cars. 50’s-era music blared from the radio overhead. It felt like I’d walked through a portal into a time machine.

  “Welcome to Mooney’s!” a chubby, middle-aged and rose-faced man in an all-white uniform and sailor’s cap called from behind the counter.

  “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing at a row of bar stools topped with hot-rod red cushions.

  With his hand on my back, Beau ushered me forward, and I sat down in front of the man, Beau right beside me.

  “Is this your first time here?” the man asked.

  “Yeah,” Beau and I said together before laughing about it.

  “Excellent. As I’m sure you’ve heard, we’re known for our Magishakes, and we’ve got plenty of them,” the man said. He waved his hand, and two folded menus showing a seemingly endless list of milkshakes appeared on the counter in front of us. Was he a warlock?

  “Are you the owner?” I asked.

  “Sure am. Name’s Merrillian, but most people just call me Mooney,” Mooney said, smiling.

  “Why Mooney?”

  “Because of my cheeks. People always say they look like two big moons shining back at them,” he said.

  They weren’t wrong.

  “Anyway, I’ll give you two a chance to look things over. Give me a holler when you’re ready to order.”

  “Thanks, Mooney,” I said. He smiled and nodded before walking down the counter to greet someone else.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Beau asked.

  “Yeah, it’s cute,” I said. “Though it’s kinda weird that a warlock would decorate a store with all these cars and other human stuff. Don’t you think it would make more sense to use brooms?”

  “Maybe,” Beau laughed. “But some magical folk have a fascination with human stuff.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Check this out, they have a Magishake for pretty much everything. Energy, focus, helping you sleep,” Beau said as he scanned the menu.

  “Do they have anything for headaches?”

  “Funny enough, they do,” Beau said. He pointed to a deep purple shake flecked with gold specks and topped with a miniature crown called The Royal Pain.

  “Clever,” I laughed. The description claimed the shake dulled the brain’s pain sensors by raising the other senses in the body. Sounded good to me.

  “I think I’ll have one of those. What are you going to try?”

  “Spookies and Cream sounds fun,” Beau said. “It’s supposed to help get rid of anxiousness.”

  I found it on the menu. It was an orange-and-black striped shake with a ghost ornament. Cute.

  “Are you anxious?” I asked.

  “Maybe a little,” he said, looking away from me.

  “Ready to order?” Mooney interrupted, sparing Beau from himself.

  “I’ll have The Royal Pain, and he’d like the Spookies and Cream,” I said.

  “Excellent choices, my new friends,” Mooney said.

  He pulled a wand out of his back pocket and set to work waving it at the machines on the counter behind him. They whirred to life, and the various ingredients floated around Mooney and into the blender. When the drinks were finished, two huge glasses appeared on the counter in front of us and the blender’s jar emptied itself into them.

  “Wow,” I laughed. There was no way I was going to be able to drink it all.

  “These are massive, way bigger than the menu showed,” Beau said. “But something tells me we both need it.”

  “Definitely,” I agreed and took a sip of the purple freeze. The throbbing in my head faded until it was nothing more than a dull knock — just like magic. The shake tasted like a mixture of blueberry and strawberry, not too sweet and not too bland.

  “It’s delicious,” I told Mooney, who stood waiting with bated breath in front of me. He beamed.

  “How about yours, young man?”

  “Amazing,” Beau said. “It tastes like pumpkin pie.”

  “That was the inspiration. It’s hard to be afraid of anything when you’ve got a good slice of pumpkin pie. Enjoy, my friends!” Mooney said and left us to ourselves.

  Beau took another long sip of his shake and let out a sigh. Whatever magic the shake had must’ve kicked in fast because his eyes lifted and he seemed more comfortable.

  “There, that’s better. So, how was your week?” he asked.

  “Crazy,” I laughed.

  “Mitch working you to the bone already, huh?”

  “No, not really. I’ve been more busy with, uh, extracurricular activities,” I said. Beau narrowed his eyes at me.

  “You mean the Harper thing?” he whispered, though he didn’t really need to thanks to the music.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “I take it you got a hold of the source you asked me about?”

  “Sure did. He wasn’t immediately helpful, but he eventually pointed me in what I thought was the right direction,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He told me he overheard some vampires talking about
a deal that was struck between them and Opal Cromwell,” I said.

  “Whoa, that’s big,” Beau said. “Have you confirmed it?”

  “Not yet, but I don’t think he’s lying,” I said. “The only question is, what kind of deal did she make and who did she make it with? Ugh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about work the whole time, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”

  “No, actually I do. I’ve been wondering ever since I gave you his phone number,” Beau said. “You know, I’ve never trusted the vampires’ so-called King, Valentine.”

  “He seems pretty hard to trust from what I’ve seen,” I said.

  “Yeah, even before he burst into the Council meeting this week he was on my radar,” Beau said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Opal really did cut some sort of deal with them. Valentine and some of the other vampires are so old they have more money than they know what to do with, so it fits.”

  “I wouldn’t either, but I can’t prove it. Not even with her broomstick,” I said. Beau turned to me in his seat.

  “Her what?”

  “Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you that part yet. Yeah, Deryn told me the police found a broken broomstick near where Harper was buried. They’re claiming it’s Opal’s,” I said.

  “Then it must’ve been her, right?” Beau asked.

  “That’s what I thought too, but I talked to her personally yesterday, and she seems to think her broom was stolen,” I said.

  “Stolen?”

  “I know, it sounds crazy, but I believe her.”

  “Why? She’s a politician, are you sure you can believe anything she says?” Beau asked. He had a point.

  “I, uh, have ways to know when people are telling the truth, and even though I couldn’t use them on her, I still believe her. Besides, she was in a Council meeting the night Harper was killed,” I said. “She had notes from the meeting to prove it.”

  “We could partner up on this to really get to the bottom of it. I want to know what happened to Harper as much as everyone else does,” Beau said. “I have a ton of contacts around town.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Beau, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s dangerous. I don’t want anyone involved that doesn’t have to be. Whoever killed Harper is still out there, and I don’t doubt for a second they’d kill again,” I said.