Strange Brew

by N C Patterson

  “I’m quite alright sleeping anywhere. Maybe I’ll even get a hotel room,” she thought out loud.

  “That would be great,” I practically gasped, standing up. The thought of her underfoot was overwhelming.

  Her nose did that wrinkle thing again. “On the other hand, what is the point of visiting if I’m not making the most of my time here with you?”

  So much for that idea. I slumped back onto the couch. “I am pretty pooped as it is.”

  “It takes an awful lot of your magical energy to teleport across the country from Salem,” I agreed. “You could have flown, you know?”

  “And risked being seen by a mortal?”

  I tilted my head. “I meant on a plane, not a broom, Aunt Theo.”

  “Oh, good heavens! Fly in one of those mortal made tubes like some sardine packed in with a thousand others? I don’t think so.”

  “You should try it sometime. A lot of mortal inventions are quite stunning.”

  Finishing her round, she took a seat next to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Well, it’s all worth it to see you and make sure life is going swimmingly,” she said, changing the subject from mortals.

  “Great,” I agreed all too reluctantly. “But, you know, I’m in the middle of a lot right now. I still wish you would have called ahead.”

  Her smile finally faded. “My dear nephew. I’m well aware you’re in the middle of something right now,” she said, breaking the ice on the truth of her visit. She scooted in closer to me.

  “You are?”

  “Yes. Tamsin, as the dutiful familiar that he is, informed me of everything.”

  I glared at my poor orange cat. “Everything?”

  He instantly shook his head, and I could practically read his thoughts. He hadn’t mentioned Becca. Thank the magic realm for that.

  “Yes, everything. Tamsin said you killed some mortal and are letting the police just investigate it?”

  I jumped bolt upright. “I didn’t kill a mortal.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Well, that’s a relief. It wouldn’t be the first time a warlock accidentally bumped off some mortal without meaning to.”

  “That isn’t what happened.”

  She stood up. “Then it’s even worse to let those bumbling police officers solve this case alone. They don’t have the capabilities you do in investigation.”

  “You mean magic.”

  “Of course, I do. You can discern emotions, teleport yourself, project your spirit, and even persuade others to tell the truth.”

  “I thought truth potions were outlawed.”

  “They are, but I wasn’t saying to use a truth serum. Persuading a mortal to reveal something, giving them a nudge, is different than the powerful magic of straight up truth serum.”

  Many spells and potions had been outlawed by the Coven of Covens, a group of twelve witches and warlocks who governed over all witch-kind. Mostly magic that was used to manipulate mortals and cause possible damage or ruin to the community were outlawed.

  And they had their ways of keeping an eye on you.

  “Anyway, I came to help.”

  “I don’t need help,” I argued. “I’m leaving this up to the professionals.”

  “We’re professional, dear. We have more life experience than them.”

  “It isn’t right,” I argued.

  My aunt went quiet. Her arms folded tightly in front of her and her lips tightened up into a wrinkled pucker. “Young man, I will not have an upstanding member of my coven, especially my blood-related nephew, end up behind mortal bars. You will be investigating this murder, and that’s that.”

  Why did I feel like I was a teenager again?

  I folded my arms in return. “I will not be investigating this murder, and that’s final.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How did I end up here?” I groaned to myself as I stood in the police evidence room.

  Well, truthfully, I wasn’t actually in the room. I was projecting my spirit into there--like a ghost. Astral projection was a dangerous game, but one that many witch’s undertook. You could stay in ghost form for around ten to twenty minutes. Any longer and the other ghosts start to realize you don’t belong. And if you get caught, they try to sever your tie to your physical body. Not to mention, if you did it more than once in a day too close together, they got suspicious.

  Thankfully, this wasn’t going to take long.

  I was simply taking a quick glance at what possible evidence they had on the murder case--and most importantly if they suspected me.

  I’d argued with my aunt that interfering with a police investigation was against the law, but she insisted I wasn’t breaking any mortal law because they didn’t have regulations for witchcraft. Since I wasn’t actually in the evidence room, it wasn’t possible to be prosecuted for it.

  Somehow, all of that justification didn’t make me feel any better about things.

  Also, I had no idea what I was looking for. I was a coffee shop owner, for crying out loud--not a detective.

  The cramped evidence room had metal shelves all lined up with a random assortment of items on them. Each piece had a tag, and it reminded me of some sort of macabre thrift store.

  “What am I even supposed to be seeing here?” I grumbled to myself. How did I even know if there was physical evidence here in this room? What if there wasn’t any?

  Not to mention, the lights were off. The only light came from a tiny window in the far upper corner, that had bars on it, for obvious reasons, and only gave a dim illumination to my work at hand. Not to mention, if I needed to open a cabinet or move something around, I was up a creek. As a ghost, you couldn’t change anything in the real world--not unless you exerted a whole lot of magical energy.

  If you did manage it, though, it attracted the attention of other ghosts.

  Sighing, I started scanning the shelves for anything that stood out, anything familiar.

  The click of a lock announced the door opening and light from the hall flooded the room. I let out a yelp of surprise, jumping behind the nearest shelf. I realized how silly it was, seeing as I was a spirit and no ordinary mortal would be able to see me.

  Still, I remained behind the shelf, peering through bagged items at the two people who entered the room. I instantly recognized Detective Miner and my own girlfriend, Becca.

  “Did you get a chance to contact those two suspects?” he inquired.

  “I’ve talked to Ryan Progan so far, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of the other.”

  I assumed the other was Jacob. More than that, I couldn’t help letting a little smile come to my lips. It seemed the detective was allowing Becca to participate on the case after all. Maybe he was trying to keep her as uninvolved in my portion of things as possible, but he had her help.

  That was a good sign, I hoped.

  “Progan agreed to a face-to-face interview?”

  Becca nodded. “Yes, sir. He seems pretty cut up about the whole thing, seeing as the victim was his best friend.”

  “Was he?” the detective questioned with a raise of one eyebrow. That suspicion of Ryan was definitely there--but I personally had a difficult time imagining the gentle fellow hurting anyone, let alone his best friend. Maybe even his only friend.

  “Anyway, he works at a local restaurant with his girlfriend, and he said I could meet him there after his shift today.”

  Girlfriend? Did she just say, girlfriend?

  I could feel my heart back in my body speeding up. Ryan Progan, the timid and socially awkward man who always seemed to resent his playboy best friend had a secret girlfriend all his own? Had Nathaniel known about this?

  “Girlfriend?” the detective asked, clearly also very interested in this development.

  “That’s correct. In fact, he mentioned on the phone that he was with his girlfriend the night of the murder.”

  The detective’s lips tightened, practically disappearing behind his beard. “Convenient,” he grunted.


  I had to agree. It was a decent alibi, but would it hold up when push came to shove?

  “Did anyone see them together?”

  “According to him, they were having dinner out. My assumption is we could track down a waiter or host who remembers them.”

  “Good. Call the restaurant and ask them for a list of everyone who was working that night, along with contact information.”

  “On it, sir.” Becca glanced at her watch. “Progan said his shift ends at six this evening. That gives me time.”

  “No, I’ll head over a little before then,” he said.

  “Oh, sir. I thought I was going to be doing this interview.”

  “I want you here, at your desk, where I can find you.”

  “But, sir.”

  “No buts, Baker. You’re lucky I’m letting you help as much as you are, seeing as how deep your boyfriend is in all this.”

  Becca’s face turned into a scowl. She was likely considering whether to argue or not, but knowing how stiff of a conviction my girlfriend housed in that head of hers, I already knew the outcome. “While I agree, sir, I don’t see how interviewing other suspects, and potential witnesses has any bearing on my boyfriend.”

  “It has every bearing. Adrian Eliphas was having a late meeting with the victim when the murder happened. He was found on the scene with the body, albeit knocked out. More than that, both of our other suspects are customers of his. I don’t want your relationship swaying your judgment or leading them on in an interview.”

  “Sir, I would not--”

  “Enough. Your help on background checks and phone calls--here, from home base--is good enough this time around.”

  This time, she bit her tongue while his eyes remained trained on her, making sure she completely understood and wouldn’t go off on her own on this one. After it was certain the message had gotten across, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Patience is a virtue, officer. Do what I say on this case, and do it well, and I promise you I’ll have you in the saddle on the next one.”

  “Understood, sir,” she said with a sigh.

  “Now, I need a look at that murder weapon,” he noted.

  I instantly perked up my ears at this new development. The murder weapon was in here?

  “It’s filed right here, right where I left it after getting it back from the lab.”

  “And no prints, correct?”

  “Not a one,” she confirmed, motioning to a bagged item on the shelf.

  Getting in closer to where they were, I had a peek for myself. What I saw was a heavy sort of metal statue, the kind you might see on a shelf or desk--one that looked like a comic book superhero. The top of it had blood stains.

  I chewed my lower lip. Whoever committed this murder really wanted it to look like Ryan, someone who had gushed over the rare comic book, had done it.

  “The blood?”

  “We’re waiting on a match from the lab, but they’re pretty certain it’ll line up with the victim’s own blood.”

  “Very, well. Come on then,” he noted, and both left the room.

  That was one thing for sure. I needed to talk to this supposed girlfriend of Ryan’s before the police did. She’d be able to clear her boyfriend once and for all.

  “Hey, who are you?” a gruff, yet somehow distant and whimsical sounding voice asked. I turned to see a man dressed in a long trench coat and a fedora standing near me, a smoking cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

  More than that, he was partially invisible--seemingly floating just above the tile floor. He was one angry looking ghost.

  “Toodles,” I said, snapping my fingers.

  In an instant, I was back in my own body.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Marvelous, daaa’ling. Just marvelous,” my Aunt Theo gushed as I sat up from where I laid on the couch. Coming back from astral projection was always a jarring experience. It was like coming out of a coma or waking up from anesthesia after surgery. It took a good half-hour or more to ultimately come to your senses and have your balance back.

  It was just one more reason it was a problematic and dangerous magic trick.

  I’d spent the last thirty minutes laying there and telling Tamsin and Theo what I’d learned. I’d omitted the little conflict of interest about my girlfriend. It seemed that my aunt didn’t know about my mortal girlfriend and I intended to keep it that way as long as possible.

  “Now, where is this restaurant where the girl and her boyfriend work?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I think I’ve head Ryan mention Antonio’s before. It’s an Italian joint here in downtown. Pretty dang close to here, in fact.”

  “Then you must head over there immediately and talk to her. She may shed some light on what has really been happening.”

  “If you’re hoping she is going to rat out her boyfriend as a murderer, I can tell you I doubt it will happen.”

  Aunt Theo rolled her eyes and flipped her hand. “Oh, these mortals. Always so loyal to one another.”

  “What? Like we witches and warlocks aren’t? Why else would we have a coven and an entire Witch’s Reed to protect us from being found out?”

  “Well, I’ve seen first-hand what the truth about us does to mortals. Makes them vicious and angry.”

  Setting my feet on the floor, I stood up. “You know, Auntie, they’re not all like that.”

  “Aren’t they?” she stated more than questioned.

  “Anyway, I’m getting out of here. Make yourself at home. I don’t have much food in the house, so if you get hungry, give me a call.”

  “Oh, are you taking the crystal ball with you?” she asked.

  “No, on my cell phone, Auntie.”

  She wrinkled up her nose. “Infernal things don’t even work half the time. They are no replacement for a proper looking glass or crystal ball. Don’t you have a small looking glass in your wallet?”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, stepping into my slip-on loafers and heading for the front door.

  “Well, why ever not?”

  I paused, looking back at her from the entryway at the bottom of the skinny staircase. “Because you’re the only witch I’ve talked to in years.”

  I stepped out before I could hear her gasping.

  “You know, if you’re not careful, she's going to find out.” I was walking down the sidewalk and letting the sun warm my face when I heard the voice. I turned to see Tamsin on my heels.

  “About Becca?”

  “About all your mortal friends. I think you gave her quite a shock admitting you’d stopped spending time with your own kind.”

  “Well, none of this would be happening if you hadn’t called her up on the crystal ball. Worse yet, I bet she used up all her magic for the next two weeks--which means I’m stuck with her for a while.”

  “I was only doing what was in your best interest, Adrian. While I may not be a traditionalist like Theo, I do feel uneasy letting that detective solve this case. Call it a gut feeling, but I think he is hoping to pin this whole mess on you.”

  “I know that. I heard him basically say as much at the police station today,” I agreed, continuing walking toward the restaurant.

  “So, you see why I called,” he said, trotting next to me. It came off as sort of an apology.

  “You could have asked first,” I snapped, watching a couple of crows nest together in the eave of an old brick building.

  “You would have said no.”

  “You’re right. Now I’m going to have to figure out some excuse to keep Becca away from the house for the next couple weeks, at least, if not longer. She might get suspicious, maybe even hurt.”

  “Maybe for the best.”

  I glared at my cat, and he chuckled.

  “Sorry. Kidding.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “Okay, partially kidding. Anyway, she’s going to be busy with this whole murder case.”

  “Yeah, right. If that detective gives her anything worthwhile to do.”

  “Kn
owing a man like that, he’ll have her chained to her desk until all hours doing paperwork and research for this whole thing.”

  I paused, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets. “I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad, at least for me. I just don’t want her to get overworked or feel neglected. If anything, she might need me more.”

  “Then, perhaps, it is time to tell Theo?” he questioned, looking up at me pointedly.

  “Not on your life.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Excuse me. Does Ryan Progan work here?” I stood at the host’s podium in the entryway of the fancy little restaurant. Antonio’s was located in an old downtown neighborhood, hidden among traditional two-story houses. The restaurant was considered a hidden gem of the community.

  A real Italian family owned and ran the place, and it showed.

  It didn’t feel like your usual run-of-the-mill stereotype. Not like the corporate chain restaurants. No, the place was decorated with antiques, pictures, and other items from the old country. In fact, it sort of felt like visiting an Italian grandma and being served some of the best food imaginable.

  Becca and I came often, but I’d never noticed Ryan before. I guessed maybe he didn’t work in the front of the place.

  “Yeah, he’s one of our cooks. So what?” the hostess asked, chewing on some gum with her mouth open. Looking all too disinterested in her job, she leaned on the podium like she was half asleep.

  “Is he here now?” I wondered, not thrilled with her level of customer service. If she had been one of my baristas, I would be pulling her into my office for a chat about being polite while greeting patrons.

  But she wasn’t my employee, so I let it slide.

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the open service window from the kitchen. “Hey, Paulie? Ryan back there?”

  “No, he went on break,” the chef replied in a thick Italian accent. “Think he walked down to the comic shop or something.”

  “Of course, he did,” she said, smacking her lips and turning back to face me. “He ain't here.”