Loved Up

by A. A. Albright

  ‘Well, now that we have that much to work with,’ said Agatha, pushing her own scrying bowl away. ‘How about we take a break for some refreshment?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Christine said, wiping her hair from her forehead. She looked exhausted. Pulling visions from the past sounds like it ought to be the easiest – it’s already happened, after all. But a vision of the past was a concrete event, an event that belonged to the people in the vision. The future, because it wasn’t set in stone, was open for anyone to see – well, anyone with the power. But the past ... you didn’t just need power, you needed perseverance. The longer Christine did it, the more it seemed to sap from her. ‘And I think I’ll start with a very large red wine.’

  As everyone began to move about, piling food on their plates and filling their glasses, I realised that a few someones were missing from the room. ‘Y’know what, I think I’ll go check on Dizzy, and see where Wolfie’s hiding,’ I said, getting up from the table.

  The others were so interested in the goodies in the kitchen that they barely looked up as I left the room.

  I started in the living room, and although I could see evidence that the enormous Irish wolfhound had been in there (cushions on the floor and a half-eaten tennis ball) the dog was nowhere to be seen.

  Max shared custody of Wolfie with Jasper Jaunt, the bass player from the Call of the Wild. It was an arrangement that was working unusually well, seeing as Max was a weredog and Jasper a werewolf. Wolfie split his time between the two men, and on full moon nights, I usually wound up looking after him – although sometimes one of Jasper’s many girlfriends stepped in to help.

  But whenever we came here to my childhood home, poor Wolfie suffered the misery of being bullied by the household familiars. Mischief, my mother’s familiar, was in the living room right now, looking far too innocent. He was sitting on the rug near the ancient TV, not even licking his behind.

  ‘Seen Wolfie?’

  Mischief shook his head.

  ‘What about Dizzy?’ I pressed.

  ‘Nope – maybe check the attic. The bat’s often in the attic.’

  It was true – my bat familiar usually frequented the attic when we visited Wayfarers’ Rest, on account of the colony of bats that had taken up residence there. But with Wolfie around, the pair would normally stick together.

  ‘And what about your partners in crime? Princess and Queenie?’

  The tabby tomcat looked off into the distance. ‘I don’t own them. Wherever they are, or whatever they’re doing, it’s none of my business.’

  I sighed. ‘Y’know what, Mischief? I sometimes wish I couldn’t talk to familiars.’

  I left him there, still not licking any of his body parts – a sure sign that something was afoul – and checked out the rest of the house. Dizzy wasn’t in the attic, and the other bats that lived there had already headed out for the night. I doubted Dizzy would have joined them. As a Lesser-Known Mango Bat, he didn’t have quite the same taste in food as the carnivorous colony.

  I checked out my bedroom next. Neither Dizzy nor Wolfie were there, but given the fact that my two brooms were knocked to the floor, and a vase filled with early daffodils was spilled to the ground, I sensed shenanigans.

  ‘Wait … daffodils?’ I approached the knocked-over vase, picked up the strewn flowers, and quickly dried the carpet where the water had spilled. I stuffed the flowers back into the vase and took a deep sniff. ‘Yum,’ I murmured, sniffing even deeper. These daffodils were definitely from Gabriel – everything he gave me smelled just like him. I asked him once if he spritzed everything with his cologne to remind me of him, but he just patted his nose and smiled.

  And he hadn’t only left flowers, either. I soon spotted a box of dairy-free chocolates peeping out from beneath the bed.

  Well, now I really was thinking of escalating my opinion from mere shenanigans to something more sinister. Because shock of all shocks – the box of chocolates was unopened. Since when had Wolfie been able to spend more than two minutes in a room with chocolates without at least stealing one?

  I opened the box and stuffed a couple into my mouth, and then a couple more, and then ... wow, those chocolate-makers really didn’t put that many in there, considering the size of the box. Ahem. I threw the empty box into the bin, licked the remaining chocolate from my fingertips and the side of my mouth, and headed to the bathroom to refill the vase.

  As I neared the bathroom, I spied Queenie and Princess sitting outside. Just like Mischief, they weren’t licking so much as a paw.

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a wolfhound and a bat behind that bathroom door?’

  Queenie, the older of the two cats, shrugged her lustrous black shoulders and sauntered away. ‘No idea. We were just on our way downstairs. We’ve spent the entire evening sleeping on Melissa’s bed. Haven’t we, Princess?’

  Princess nodded, a little nervously. ‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly, following her mother down the stairs. ‘Of course we have. What else would we have been doing?’

  Oh dear. This had to be bad. I pushed at the bathroom door, but found it locked.

  ‘Anyone in there?’

  There was a short whimper of reply. A moment later, the door opened, and Dizzy hung mid-air. He seemed to have opened the door all by himself. He really was a handy bat to have around.

  He hovered at the threshold for a moment, peering from side to side, and then looked back into the room. ‘The cats are gone. Wanda’s on her own.’

  It was only then that I spotted Wolfie. He’d somehow managed to squeeze his enormous body behind the toilet, and his head was buried in his paws. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘but you can’t see ghosts, can you?’

  Dizzy sighed. ‘I keep telling you, there’s no ghost.’

  ‘Cats said there was.’

  The bat flew towards the dog, and gently patted his head with a wing. ‘They were pulling your leg. Just like I’ve been telling you for the last half an hour. Come on. Wanda will show you, okay? It was magic, not a ghost.’

  I cautiously approached, and joined Dizzy in rubbing the dog’s huge head. ‘What happened, Wolfie? Why do you think there’s a ghost?’

  ‘Cats said so,’ Wolfie told me as he began to wriggle out from behind the toilet. After a few seconds, it became apparent that he wasn’t going to do much more than wriggle. ‘Wanda, I can’t get out.’

  I chewed on my lip, examining his predicament. It wasn’t unusual for him to stuff himself into the smallest space he could when he was hiding from the familiars in Wayfarers’ Rest. But this was the tightest space he’d ever managed. He really must have been scared, poor thing. And if he struggled too much and broke the pipe, we could have a plumbing emergency on our hands.

  I stroked his fawn-coloured fur, and murmured, ‘Wolfie’s body, big and strong

  Is lithe and sneaky too

  Into small places, he can go

  And wriggle out easily, too.’

  I let power trickle down through my fingertips while I incanted, and then said, ‘Now try it.’

  He gave me a look that said he didn’t think it was going to work – no way, no how. But nevertheless, he began to shuffle. And then he began to laugh, as his body finally made its way out from behind the toilet. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Just made you a bit more flexible. It won’t last for long though – so try not to stuff yourself somewhere even tighter for the next while, okay?’

  His mouth hung open in a dribbly smile. ‘I love you, Wanda.’

  ‘I love you too, you great big hairy monster. Now, what’s all this about ghosts? What have the cats been telling you?’

  Wolfie began to shiver. ‘Cats were chasing me all over the house for ages. Then Dizzy came down from the attic and told them to stop. We went to your room and snuggled up. The cats were at the door, but I didn’t care because Dizzy was there.’ He turned his goofy smile upon the bat. ‘Dizzy always sticks up for me. Then ... then the stuff appeared. Dizzy said it was a spell, but the ca
ts were at the door looking in when it happened. They said it wasn’t a spell. They said they should know, because they’re proper magical animals, and they can sense magic. They said it was a gh-ghost.’

  ‘Ah.’ I understood now. ‘They tried to convince you that a ghost made the presents appear in my room?’

  Dizzy flew to my shoulder. ‘I tried to tell him they were just gifts from Gabriel, but the stupid cats wouldn’t shut up. Wolfie ran into the bathroom, and he wouldn’t even come out when Max came home to get ready for his change. All I could do was lock the bathroom door to keep the cats out.’

  ‘Oh Wolfie.’ I trailed my fingers through his fur. He stood up, his back nearly level with my chest. ‘You can’t believe a word those cats say. You know by now that witches can send stuff wherever they want with a spell. No ghosts involved. Okay?’

  He still didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let me lead him back to my room nonetheless. I felt a bit bad for eating all the chocolate. A treat might have cheered him up. ‘Listen, you just go and relax, okay. I saw some yummy cakes on the table downstairs. I’ll bring one up to you in a while.’ I felt the weight of Dizzy’s stare. ‘And I’ll bring you up some mango, too.’

  The bat rewarded me with a smile.

  ≈

  I recalled Imbolc celebrations from when I was a kid, and this one was seriously lacking. It was eleven p.m., and the Wayfair women were gathered around the kitchen table, each one more morose than the next. I guess a gruesome murder can have that effect. Even I was barely picking at the bowl of crisps in front of me.

  ‘I knew there was something bad in the air,’ said Melissa. ‘I told you all. I told you I felt wiggy. Nancy’s death is just the start of something worse.’

  Agatha drained the last drop of red wine in her glass. ‘You never told me you felt wiggy. Define wiggy. And pretend you’re talking to a slightly tipsy, middle-aged witch when you do.’

  ‘Oh, right. You weren’t here then. I told that lot.’ She glared at my mother, Christine and me.

  Christine was busy looking through the many bottles of wine on the table. She picked up one that was already open, refilled Agatha’s glass, poured one for Melissa and said, ‘When my daughter describes herself as wiggy, Agatha, she means she’s suffering from a case of the heebie-jeebies. A malady she always suffers from when there’s a blood moon.’

  Melissa snapped her glass from her mother’s hand. ‘Yeah. And with good reason. This is a blue blood moon. The second full moon of the month, a supermoon no less, along with the eclipse. Something weird was bound to happen. I mean, who in the world could have known about that power switch?’ She took a sip from her glass, and in an instant her face changed from irritable to blissed-out. ‘Oh, my stars! This is so good. What kind of wine is this?’

  Christine picked up the bottle. ‘Château Toff de Toff! Who among us can afford Château Toff de Toff? This must be one of the bottles from the lot you brought, Agatha. I’m going to pour us all a glass of the little that’s left. No one should go through life without knowing whether ridiculously priced wine is worth it or not.’

  Agatha shrugged. She had brought along a large box filled with a dozen or so bottles of wine. ‘Could be. I didn’t buy any of it myself. I’ve been getting a lot of gifts lately. Good luck presents, of course. Definitely not bribes.’

  ‘Oh no. No one would try to bribe a politician.’ My mother sniggered as she took her glass from Christine. As she sipped, she paused for a moment and her eyes went round. ‘Oh, you’re right, Melissa! It really is good. Money might not buy you love, but it sure does buy a nice bottle of red.’

  I picked up my glass. I didn’t really care how amazing it tasted or how much it might have cost. Now that I’d gotten Wolfie settled down, my mind was back on what happened at Three Witches Brew.

  The brothers had insisted that no one could have known about that power switch. They said it had been forgotten about for centuries, and never written about anywhere. But back when it was first created – well, back then, everyone or anyone could have known about it. Knowledge of its existence could have been passed down through other families. Or ... I took a small, absentminded sip, and then paused. The others were right – this was amazing wine. I downed it far quicker than I might normally, and then tried to focus on the case once again.

  Knowledge of the switch wasn’t even necessarily passed down. There could have been someone who was there when the switch was first created, someone who was still living today. Because vampires lived for a very long time – potentially forever. And there was little doubt that the team of assassins known as the Dark Team were vampires.

  And if a member of the Dark Team was old enough to have been around when Riddler’s Cove and Three Witches Brew first came into being, then that was one vampire we didn’t want to be up against. Because just like witches, a vampire’s power increased with age.

  I was just about to ask the others what they thought about my theory, when my mother stood up. ‘It’s time to do our walk,’ she said. ‘Come on. We’d better get it over with before the men arrive.’

  4. Even Werewolves Know How to Woo

  We encircled the house three times, while my mother began our incantation. The Wayfairs call to Brigid was a fairly sensible one, as these things go, and I half-heartedly joined in with the others and repeated my mother’s words.

  ‘Cailleach she might stick around

  The wand might go unused

  Till fairer days, the crops will wait

  For Brigid’s time to move.

  Spring will come in its own time

  This the Wayfairs know

  But a bed is made for Brigid

  Through sun or rain or snow.’

  We finished our circles of the house, and we were just about to head back inside when we heard the first of the men arrive. Well, first we heard him arrive, and then we heard him pace up and down outside the garden gate.

  I peered through the darkness. It was Arthur Albright, the Tall Tales teacher. I knew he had a crush on Ronnie, but since she’d dragged him under the mistletoe at the Masked Ball, nothing else had happened between them.

  A tender look passed over Ronnie’s face. ‘He really is lovely, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘A proper, shy, gentlemanly sort of a guy. There aren’t many Arthurs in the world, more’s the pity.’

  I glanced at Ronnie. She was wearing her usual uniform – skinny jeans, biker boots, and, well ... a lot of black. I think her one criterion when buying clothes was that her outfit matched her hair. I owned a lot of black myself. It was slimming, but more importantly, it was a lifesaver on early mornings. Because when your eyes were too squinty to decide if a yellow skirt was really a good match for a purple blouse, then black was your friend. But I doubted Ronnie cared much about whether her shirt matched her jeans. Most days, her mood was just as spiky as her hair, and she looked like she was one enormous cup of coffee away from exploding.

  So the girlish sigh that was escaping her mouth right now, coupled with the lovelorn gaze in Arthur’s direction, was a little unexpected. But she was right about one thing – he really was a lovely guy.

  ‘He’s shy all right,’ I agreed. ‘So shy he’ll probably have worn a spot in that footpath by tomorrow morning.’

  She nodded decisively. ‘You’re right. I should make a move.’

  She leaned in through the open front door, grabbed her motorcycle helmet, and ran outside. A moment later, I saw Arthur holding tightly to her waist while she flew her bike into the sky. Arthur’s face had an expression that was somewhere between somebody help me and I can’t believe my luck.

  Ah, romance. As we all stood and watched them fly off into the night, Agatha suddenly grabbed her coat. ‘Y’know, there’s a curator at the Museum of Magical Artefacts that I suddenly feel the need to go and see.’

  ‘You go girl!’ Melissa patted Agatha on the back. ‘Stuff this waiting around for the guys nonsense. We should all take Imbolc by the horns.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Or, y�
��know, by whatever body parts we want to.’

  Agatha let out a wicked cackle, waved at us all, then clicked her fingers and disappeared.

  ≈

  The next half an hour was a little more traditional. My father called in for my mother, and they promptly ran upstairs – which wasn’t at all disturbing. Despite my embarrassment, I was happy for my parents. Their relationship had a few hiccups over the years – hiccups the size of ex-Minister Justine Plimpton, who was now deservedly in prison after kidnapping my father, and keeping him imprisoned for years while we believed he was dead. Okay, maybe hiccup was putting it mildly.

  But now they were where they were always meant to be – together. If I ever doubted that true love was real, all I had to do was look at my mam and dad.

  Shortly after that display of loved-up wonder, Melissa and I were subjected to yet another. This time it was Kevin Caulfield calling for Christine. The baker uttered some romantic words that made Melissa hold her hands against her ears, and he was soon after dragged up to Christine’s room.

  Melissa and I retreated to armchairs by the fire. I wanted to have a serious conversation with her, about so many things – my suspicion that my boyfriend’s father might not be all that he seemed, for the most part. And my own feelings of wigginess, too.

  But no sooner had we sat down, than the first of Melissa’s admirers began to call. I guess it was to be expected, what with her being just about the most stunningly beautiful person in the entire world. From that point on, Melissa didn’t have time to sit down for more than three seconds, let alone have a serious chat.

  She gave each and every guy the polite thanks but no thanks treatment. Considering almost every guy under thirty (and quite a few way over that mark) came a-calling, I thought Melissa would be a lot happier than she was. But with each caller, she grew more irritated. The only time that she perked up was when the first howl began.