Legally Red

by A. A. Albright

  While we ate we talked over the case, and I finally read the papers Miles had magicked to me. As it turned out, the murder victim wasn’t the most surprising news I was getting with my veggie burger. Because not only did I recognise the name of the person who had confessed – but he was also the person I was due to interview that afternoon.

  ≈

  Weredogs and werewolves are enemies of old. No one talks about when the fighting began, or why. Another thing that they don’t like to talk about is a certain popular rumour – a rumour that suggests weredogs came about because of some full moon liaisons between werewolves and domestic dogs. Seeing as neither side will agree to testing, it’s a rumour that will probably never die.

  But as much as the two sides argued and fought, I just couldn’t buy the idea that this case was as simple as Goldie said it was. Goldie, by the way, was the name of the weredog who handed himself in for the murder of Decon Phelan. Like the victim, Goldie was also a bouncer, and one I’d met on many occasions when I tried to get into the Water Bowl – the weredog bar on Madra Lane.

  According to Wanda, Goldie wouldn’t say much except that he murdered Decon because he didn’t like werewolves. I’d gone over all of the information – some from Miles and a lot more from Wanda – and I was convinced that there was far more to the story.

  I was also convinced that eating two veggie burgers had been a bad idea, but a full stomach was always a bad idea when travelling to Witchfield. Like all supernatural enclaves, the prison was situated in a sub-dimensional region. But this sub-dimensional region liked to change its position an awful lot. And the constantly changing position meant that you had to follow a ridiculous amount of coordinates in order to magic yourself there.

  And when you did get there the misery didn’t end. The forever shifting prison made my stomach lurch each and every time. You’d think that after all these years I’d finally remember to take a pill beforehand.

  ‘Here.’ Walt, one of the prison guards, handed me a glass of clear liquid on arrival. ‘It’ll settle your stomach, Melissa. I was told you’re here for prisoner 106.’

  I nodded, drinking the potion. My sickness left me immediately. As soon as it did, though, my hunger came back. What was with that? I’d just had two veggie burgers. My enormous lunch was enough to make me extra sick but not enough to keep me full for more than half an hour? That hardly seemed fair.

  ‘You’re pretty much a Wayfarer, so I won’t disempower you,’ Walt said, checking me for magical devices and giving me a little smile. ‘How are you doing, Melissa? You look a little paler than when I saw you last. You getting enough sleep? Eating enough?’

  Oh, how I loved Walt. He was large enough to battle a giant, but he was soft as a kitten – well, unless you got on his bad side. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh, y’know. Keeping myself busy. Cage fighting. Working part time as a bodyguard. Training for the Witch Warrior contest. And of course, volunteering in the local cat shelter. The usual.’ He finished checking me and laid his scanner on a table. ‘You’re good to go now. I’ll take you to the prisoner. But I have to warn you, he’s not saying much.’

  ≈

  Goldie sat in his small cell in the remand wing, lying on his bed with his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. As I took a seat outside the hazy magical bars, on the small stool Walt had given me, he turned his head my way. ‘You’re not the lawyer.’

  ‘I’m his assistant,’ I said. ‘Melissa Wayfair. We’ve met before. Many times, actually. I live with Max and Wanda. You frequently tell me you don’t recognise me when I try to get into the Water Bowl, even though I’m there at least three times a week.’

  He grunted, shrugged, and looked up at the ceiling again. Well, this was going well. I heard that when Goldie turned during full moon, he had the coat of a Golden Labrador and the body of a Rottweiler. Out of those two dogs, I had a pretty good idea which temperament he had.

  ‘Goldie, you’ve confessed to killing Decon Phelan, is that right?’

  He grunted again.

  ‘With … Jinx?’ I felt my nose scrunch up. ‘So many weredogs have been murdered with Jinx. It’s a bit unusual for a weredog to use it in a murder. I thought you guys despised the poison and anyone who used it.’

  I was greeted by yet another grunt.

  ‘Where did you get the Jinx?’

  The grunt changed into a growl. ‘Places.’

  ‘What? You got it more than one place? Come on Goldie. I need all the details.’

  He glared at me. ‘All you need to know, Witchy-Sue, is that I did it.’

  Oh, he did not just call me that. Ever since I’d first met Goldie he’d been about as pleasant as a haemorrhoid. Giving me hassle when all I wanted to do was go in and have some food. Telling me that witches weren’t welcome on Madra Lane. And now he was calling me Witchy-Sue? For weredogs kids, she was the bogeyman – or woman. Witchy-Sue was the stuff of nightmares and the subject of disturbing poems. Poems like:

  Oh Witchy-Sue

  Does make her stew

  Out of young pups’ tails

  So stay at home

  And do not roam

  Too far beyond the Pale

  Oh Witchy-Sue

  She might see you

  And put you in the pot

  And boil your tail

  Till it wriggles and flails

  And cooks up nice and hot.

  So far today I’d been irritated by a She-Wolf, discovered a dead body, been insulted online, and now I was being compared to the kind of witch who cooked and ate weredog pups. If I was the sort of girl to hold a grudge, I might well walk out right now, the way he seemed to want me to.

  But that was just the problem – no one wanted to go down for murder. I might not have a weredog’s nose, but something about this didn’t smell right. I glanced back down at the notes I’d taken. The body might have been found in Luna Park, but the murder hadn’t taken place there. The Wayfarers weren’t just taking the word of those thieving She-Wolves’ familiars either. They were sure that the murder had happened in another location – one where deer roamed, judging by the droppings on the soles of Decon’s shoes.

  Wanda had told me a few more details that I might be able to use to find out just how truthful Goldie was being. According to Shane, the Wayfarers’ healer slash pathologist, the Jinx had been mixed in with some beer.

  ‘So you got him to drink some vodka laced with Jinx, is that right?’ I eyed him carefully, watching the nervous twitch below his right eye.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah that’s right. I gave him some vodka with Jinx in it.’

  ‘And you just watched him die right there in front of you? In Luna Park?’

  ‘Yeah. And so what if I did?’

  I waved my notebook in front of the wavering magical bars. ‘Well those are some really interesting answers, Goldie. Especially seeing as Decon wasn’t killed in Luna Park. Oh, and he didn’t drink any vodka, either. Why are you lying, Goldie? Are you covering for someone? Protecting someone? Tell me, and I might be able to help.’

  Goldie turned his head to the side and glowered at me. It wasn’t his usual Get away from this establishment glower. This glower went deep. This glower said that a growl, and possibly some bared teeth, might soon be to follow. ‘I misspoke. I gave him beer. Now get lost, Witchy-Sue,’ he said. ‘Before I kill you too.’

  4. Not So Great Granny

  I was due to go over to Mack’s house that evening, but I said I’d pop into Wayfarers’ Rest for dinner beforehand, to let my mother in on how my first day with Miles had gone.

  Wayfarers’ Rest was our coven house in Riddler’s Cove, the enclave where I grew up. Instead of clicking my fingers to take myself straight to the kitchen, though, I took myself to the road outside so I could take a good long look before going in. It was something I’d been doing a lot lately, because it was the kind of house you never grew out of, no matter how grown-up you thought you were.

  It was a gorgeous ol
d building – centuries old in fact – with crown glass windows and a drive lined with laburnum trees. The yellow flowers drooped off the trees like honey, looking so inviting that I could almost forget just how dangerous they could be.

  The upper floors were wider than the lower floors. Beatrice – Wanda’s mother and the head of the coven – would never tell us whether they were held that way by engineering or by good old magic. I doubted it was engineering; the house looked like it should topple over any minute, but it had managed to stand for hundreds of years.

  After about five minutes of staring at the place, I clutched Princess in one arm and my broom in the other, and made my way inside. The house was oddly quiet, considering I’d said I’d be here for dinner. I could smell something cooking, though – Beatrice’s three bean stew and my mother’s chocolate raspberry cake, I thought, judging by the aroma. My stomach started to rumble in hunger. Well, I say started – it hadn’t really stopped all day.

  Princess leapt straight down and into her old bed by the wood-burning stove, joining Mischief and Queenie. Queenie, her mother (and my own mother’s familiar) greeted her with nuzzles and purrs, while Mischief (Beatrice’s familiar) gave her a brief meow and returned to snoozing.

  I glanced out through the kitchen window. I could see lights on in Wanda’s dad’s shed, so I made my way towards the back door, about to go and ask him where the others were.

  ‘I wouldn’t go out there,’ said a voice I knew all too well.

  With a groan of irritation, I spun around to face my great, great, great … let’s just call her my granny. And while she might have a lot of greats before her title, she really wasn’t all that wonderful. In my opinion she barely qualified as decent.

  I had to give it to her though – she sure did look amazing for her age. She wore a long bronze dress, cut close to the thigh, and a pair of Roman sandals. Her long red hair spilled down her back, and tattooed symbols wrapped their way around her arms.

  ‘Oh? And why wouldn’t you?’ I countered.

  ‘Because Aengus is having fun fiddling round in his shed. You wouldn’t want to spoil his fun, now would you?’

  I doubted she actually gave a monkey’s whether he was having fun in his shed or not. ‘I would ask how you knew I was about to go out to Aengus, but seeing as you’re my psychic granny, why bother?’

  She was more than just psychic. Seeing skills ran in my family. My mother was an expert scryer, and I had the ability to read – and influence – minds. Of course, my skills were less to do with being a witch and more to do with the incredibly powerful vampire DNA I’d inherited from the woman standing before me.

  Yes, my granny was a vampire. And sure, the fact that I’d inherited some of her abilities might seem like something I should have mentioned before now, but the thing is, I wished I hadn’t inherited even the tiniest trace of vampirism.

  When a witch mates with anyone other than a witch, the witch gene almost always comes out on top. But even when it doesn’t, the little baby rarely gets the best (or the worst) of both worlds. Supernatural offspring is almost always one or the other. It’s one of magical life’s little mysteries. So when my granny and some unlucky male witch got together all those centuries ago, their kids were – as expected – one hundred percent witch.

  But that’s where the magical mystery got even more mysterious. Because for some reason, many generations down the line, I was born with both sides – witch and vampire. Hybrids like me are rare, and even rarer when the ancestor is as far back in the family tree as my grandmother. I didn’t even know I had vampire abilities until I’d mistakenly compelled a few people when I was a teenager.

  And nowadays … well, nowadays I was trying to forget the vampire side of me even existed. Because the thing about being rare is that everyone wants some of what you have – and the people who wanted what I had didn’t always have the best of intentions.

  ‘If you’re about to ask where everyone else is, they’re out. I convinced them they wanted to go and get a drink at Three Witches Brew. You look pale Melissa. Pale and drawn. How are you feeling?’

  My mouth hung open. ‘I’m feeling fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m not the problem here, Granny. You can’t go around compelling people just because it’s convenient for you!’

  She shrugged, taking a seat at the table. ‘I wouldn’t have had to if you’d agreed to meet me for training.’

  ‘I told you I’m not interested. I came here to talk to my mother and Bea about my new boss. Not to have you wrecking my head with all this vampire stuff. I don’t want to be a vampire anymore. Not even a little bit of one.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Your new boss. Miles Master, I believe. I know of his coven.’ She shivered. ‘A scary bunch, if ever there was one. They’re certainly not fond of vampires, that’s for sure. And tell me, do you get along with Miles? Because if you don’t, then I can teach you some tricks to change that. You have a lot more power than the average vampire. You should put that power to use.’

  ‘Seriously?’ I shook my head, glaring at her. ‘I learned all about the tricks I can do without your help. And the biggest thing I learned of all? Those kinds of tricks just aren’t for me. I don’t want to read people’s minds. I don’t want to plant suggestions. And – for the millionth time, Granny – I do not want to be a vampire. Being a witch is quite enough power for anyone, thanks.’

  She gave me a condescending smile. ‘This is because of the Dark Team, isn’t it? Every one of those assassins was a hybrid, just like you. So when they tried to recruit you, you started to fear that they must have seen something kindred in you. Something other than your power. You thought they saw darkness, didn’t you?’

  Have I mentioned that psychic grannies are the most annoying creatures in the world? Well, they are.

  ‘I’m not scared of the Dark Team,’ I said. ‘Wanda put them all in Witchfield. Although she wouldn’t have had to go to combat against them in the first place if it hadn’t been for you.’ I could tell that I was giving her a super-scathing stare, but I didn’t care. Because of my stupid granny and her stupid visions, the Dark Team had tried to force Wanda to marry one of their own. If that didn’t deserve a scathing stare, then I didn’t know what did. ‘You were their seer. You told them about Wanda’s power.’

  And in case you’re wondering, no – Wanda’s not unlucky enough to be part-vampire, like me. She’s all witch – only about a gazillion times more magical than average.

  ‘Well … yes,’ my granny admitted. ‘But only because they would have found out anyway. I didn’t tell them about your power though, did I? That was someone else entirely. I always look out for my own, Melissa, and I’m looking out for you now. I’m here to train you properly, like I wished I could do your whole life long.’

  I walked to the stove to get Princess. ‘Yeah, well you know whose fault that was, don’t you? Tell everyone else that I would have loved to stay – if it weren’t for the rotten company.’

  5. Keeping the She-Wolves From the Door

  You might have noticed that when I was enjoying my little set-to with Marion (She-Wolves’ leader and all-round nutter) we mentioned that my boyfriend had a cabin in the Wandering Wood. The Wandering Wood was a forest situated between the magical enclave of Riddler’s Cove and the semi-supernatural town of Riddler’s Edge. It was called the Wandering Wood because, well, it had a tendency to wander. You could find yourself with a lake at your side one minute, and nothing there the next. Once I’d chanced upon a mountain when I was walking there, but I’d never found the place again.

  There were one or two tried and tested paths through the wood, and on the whole it didn’t mess around too much with supernaturals. Humans couldn’t see it, but if they did wander in, well … I imagine they’d find themselves wandering for an awfully long time.

  The first time I heard Mack had a cabin in the forest, I added it to my long list of reasons never to go out with the rock star. But actually, his cabin wasn’t as creepy as I’d tho
ught. The house was well off the beaten path, at the point where the Rabblesome River joined Willow Lake. The river was more of a stream at that point of its journey (and slightly less chatty by then, too). The house was built on stilts that crossed both the river and the lake, and there were see-through bridges and floors in and around some parts of the house, so that you could see the water below.

  With all of the foliage around the property, and the amazing carpentry that went into the making of the house, it was like something out of one of those fairy tales humans love so much. Witches don’t have fairy tales, but we do have a lot of faery tales – stories of the sióga, or the Irish faeries, who – according to witches – will never be more powerful than us (even though they are more powerful – a lot more powerful – but who ever said all stories had to be based in fact?).

  Being at the cabin was tranquil in some ways, and incredibly exciting in others – because being there meant being there with Mack. And Mack was … well, Mack was Mack. He wasn’t the sort of guy I’d ever imagined I’d be with because, frankly, I could barely believe a guy like him was really interested in me. He was good-looking, he was tall, his ice-grey eyes were bloody gorgeous, and his singing voice sent shivers all through me. As for the way he kissed me, well that just made me lose my head altogether.

  And now that he’d told the world that he thought I was the one … well, I found myself wondering more than ever how I got so lucky. One of these days he was going to wake up and realise he could have any woman he wanted.

  Maybe I was afraid he already had. Maybe I was afraid that he regretted uttering those words on the Magic Music channel. Actually, there were no maybes about it – I was terrified, which was why I’d put off seeing him for days. But I’d been giving myself a jolly good talking to over the course of the broom ride from Wayfarers’ Rest to the Wandering Wood, and I thought that I might just be ready to tell Mack that I was equally crazy about him.