When I finally stopped eating I just stared at my phone for hours, wondering if Mack would call me. Wondering if I should call him and take it all back.
In the end, he didn’t call me and I didn’t call him, and I finally fell into a fitful sleep, where I had a stream of bad dreams. In most of them Mack was with other women – Julie Rayn featured heavily, but so did some of the She-Wolves. In the last of the dreams, I grew so angry with one of the She-Wolves that I murdered her and drank her blood. So … that was violent and disturbing.
I climbed out of bed at six, because I had a yoga class. And then I climbed right back in again, because I simply didn’t have the energy.
I forced myself to get up at eight and get ready for work. One large unsatisfying breakfast, and one short, unsatisfying shower after, I stood at the mirror, looking at myself.
For years I’d been happy with my reflection. But now? Now I could see that everyone was right. I was paler than I’d ever been. There were large bags under my eyes, and I looked a tad on the skinny side. How was that possible when I’d been eating like a demon for days?
The truth was, I probably could have dealt with what I saw in the mirror if I was feeling anything close to my usual self. But once again I couldn’t help but think that there might be something else the matter. Something I should be able to pinpoint, if only I thought about it hard enough.
As I put on a suit that had grown a little too big for me, I saw Princess watching me carefully from the foot of my bed.
‘Your tummy is growling,’ she said. ‘Which is strange, considering I just saw you eat two bowls of porridge and a breakfast sandwich. And you ate a lot more than that last night. You look as pale as a ghost, too. Maybe you should take a sick day.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘It’s just the stress of the new job. It’s eating away at my energy.’ I pulled out my make-up bag and grabbed one of my glamour wands, pointing it at my face and muttering some incantations. Within a few seconds my pale skin looked a little brighter.
‘See?’ I said as I turned to leave the room. ‘Nothing that a little glamour wand can’t fix.’
≈
Even though I didn’t think it possible, the morning with Miles was worse than the morning before. For one thing, he was there the whole time, looking over my shoulder while I did the many tasks he set. He grilled me, too, asking me question after question about Magical Law and scribbling in a little notebook every time I answered.
I tried to bring up the subject of Goldie more than a dozen times, but every time I did, Miles would hold up a hand and say, ‘Later.’
He’d left his familiar at home, too, and I found myself missing the lizard. He might be cold-blooded, but I had a feeling that little guy was far more warmhearted than his witch.
At eleven a.m. Miles told me it was time to leave. ‘We’re going to see a private client of mine,’ he said. ‘And you’ll have to grab on to me while I click my fingers, because I don’t want to give you the coordinates. I want this to be a surprise.’
I had the feeling it wasn’t going to be a particularly pleasant surprise, but I took hold of his arm anyway. Touching him gave me the oddest feeling. Tingles ran up and down my skin, but they were nothing like the tingles I felt when Mack touched me. They weren’t the creeped-out tingles of dread, either. Honestly, I wasn’t sure where these would be on the tingle scale. I glanced up at Miles, but his expression told me nothing. He just clicked his fingers and took us on our way.
≈
Well, he hadn’t taken me to the pits of Hades, so that was something. Instead we were in Riddler’s Cove, standing outside the community hall. There was a smug little smirk pulling at the side of Miles’s mouth. My stars, it was irritating. Clearly he wanted me to ask why we were here, but I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure.
The door to the hall bore the sign: Head it Like a Boss – a course on getting your coven in order and showing them who’s in charge.
Below the sign there was a laminated sheet of paper saying: Sold Out. Check the Head it Like a Boss website for news on when the next course is taking place.
I turned to him, watching his smirk grow a little wider. ‘I’m guessing you already do have tickets for this. You don’t really seem like the sort to gate-crash.’
‘I’ve gate-crashed many a party in my time, I’ll have you know. I may have even stormed a city or two. But in this case, we’re guests of the speaker. Follow me.’ He took me by the arm again, giving me those same unquantifiable tingles, and led me around the building and in through the back entrance. As we made our way inside, I could hear a strident voice, a voice I recognised all too well.
It was Candace Plimpton, a young witch well known to me and to Wanda. Wanda had suffered through school lessons with the kid. She’d even gone out of her way to track her down when Candace’s familiar told Wanda that the girl was missing. On that occasion, it turned out that Candace had been locked away by her mother, because she had learned some of the secrets of the Plimpton coven.
Candace’s mother had been the accountant for the ex-Minister for Magical Law, a woman who also happened to be head of the coven. When Candace found out that her mother’s boss was actually an evil witch who got her kicks from bullying people, kidnapping people, murdering people and so on… well, they hardly wanted the little girl to reveal the truth. Oh, and the person that her mother’s boss had kidnapped? He just happened to be Wanda’s dad.
If it weren’t for the search for Candace, Wanda might never have been reunited with her father. So somewhere among their misadventures, Wanda had grown to like the girl. As far as I was concerned, the jury was still out.
And now she was here? A ten-year-old, giving lessons to grown-ups on how to be better heads of their covens? It was … well, it seemed like a typical Candace thing to do, to be honest.
A gorgeous white cat was sitting by the side of the stage, but she looked at me as we walked in, and then her lovely eyes widened as she recognised me. It was Kitty – the familiar who had asked Wanda to help her find her witch.
The cat jumped up into my arms. ‘Hey Melissa. How’s Wanda? And Wolfie? And Dizzy? And Max? And Princess? And Queenie? And Mischief?’
While she stopped to take a breath, I stroked her lovely white fur. ‘They’re all doing great, Kitty,’ I said. ‘And so is your witch by the looks of it.’
‘Isn’t she just?’ Kitty let out a little sigh. ‘She’s becoming a better witch by the day.’
‘Do you know why the other covens don’t respect you?’ Candace was saying, her voice booming from the small community hall stage. ‘Because even your own coven doesn’t respect you! But you can change that, Mags. And to start with, you have to stop people calling you Mags! You are Margaret. Do you hear me? What’s your name?’
Mags Macey trembled a little – and who could blame her? – but she held her head reasonably high and said, ‘I’m Margaret Macey, head of the Macey coven.’
‘And when you go back to your coven, Margaret, what are you going to say to them? What’s going to happen? What’s going to change?’
Mags cleared her throat. ‘It’s … I’m … we’re … we’re going onwards and upwards. Margaret Macey won’t be cowed down any more, and neither will her coven.’ She pumped her fist into the air. ‘No more coming last at the inter-coven games! No more eating the leftovers at every Winter Solstice ball. No more cleaning the Berry coven offices! No more–’
Candace shook her head, interrupting the woman mid-flow. ‘You get paid to do that last one, Margaret. It’s not being walked over if you get paid for it. You are experts in cleaning.’
‘Oh. Right. Well … we’re increasing our rates for cleaning!’
‘Yes you are!’ Candace grinned and then glanced to the side of the stage, sending a small wave in our direction. ‘And now you can all go off and get yourself some refreshments. I’ll be back in ten minutes.’
Candace took a sip of water, wiped her forehead with a towel, and walked towards us.
‘Melissa.’ She gave me a curt nod. ‘Miles, this is your new assistant? I mean, I like Melissa and all. She’s a great girl. But you do know that every other lawyer she’s worked for has fired her?’ She held up a hand. ‘And yes, yes, I know it’s because you’re good and they’re bad, Melissa. But come on – surely by now you would have learned to play the game.’
I kept a straight face – somehow – and concentrated on the cat.
‘Seems like you’re well-acquainted then,’ said Miles. ‘Which saves me from telling you the backstory, Melissa. You might already know that Candace isn’t happy in the Plimpton coven?’
I nodded. Everyone knew that Candace wasn’t happy in her coven. We’d all received the incredibly subtle clue around the time she started up a youth group called the Anti-Plimpton League. There was also her naughty and nice list the previous Winter Solstice, where she weighed up every single person she met and used her records to decide which coven had the nicest or naughtiest members. It was one of her many experiments to discover a coven better than her own. As far as I knew, the Plimptons had ended up in a three-way tie for naughtiest.
‘I know you’re not happy being a Plimpton,’ I said. ‘But seeing as you’re ten, Candace, you’re going to have to wait a while before you can actually leave. Unfortunately you have to be in whatever coven your parents want you in. It’s the law.’
Candace shook out her shiny dark hair, giving me a smile that was a little bit more scornful than it was friendly. ‘I’m eleven now, as it happens. And yes, Melissa, I’m well aware that I have to be in whatever coven my family decides. That’s why I’ve hired Miles. He’s helping me become emancipated.’
7. One Potato, Two Potato …
We sat in a café called Let’s Go Round the Bend. It was technically in the human world, but as it was right before the turn-off for Eile Street, a supernatural enclave, it tended to have very few humans at its tables. Our meeting with Candace had been brief. Miles had simply wanted her to sign some papers ahead of her court date. A date which just happened to be set for tomorrow.
‘You didn’t seem happy about Candace’s possible emancipation from her parents,’ he said, cutting into his pork chop.
I took a small, ladylike bite of my baked potato. It was delicious, and I wanted nothing more than to wolf it down. But that was the problem. I wanted to gorge myself, and I was not going to do so in front of Miles. ‘I thought you were over here as a public defender,’ I said. ‘Candace’s case isn’t a criminal one.’
He kept his eyes on his plate. ‘The Master coven work in all areas of Magical Law. I’m working pro bono for Candace because I admire her greatly. She’s got a lot of hutzpah. Do you say hutzpah over here?’
‘Not really. If we were being nice then I guess we’d say she’s got a lot of gumption. If we were being honest then we’d say she’s a pushy so-and-so, a bossy boots, a know-it-all, a smug little madam, a–’
‘Yes, yes, I get the picture.’ He pushed his empty plate away and opened his briefcase, searching through his papers till he found what he wanted. ‘Anyway, if you’re worried about not getting enough experience defending criminals, we do have that weredog case right now.’ He passed a file to me.
I felt relieved as I opened the file. Finally I was going to have a chance to talk about Goldie’s case. I could prove his innocence – I just knew it. All I needed to do was figure out why he was pretending to be guilty in the first place. As I began to read the file, though, I grew more confused by the second.
There was one sheet on top, with Goldie’s name and photo, and the words Pleading Guilty written below. Behind that were some forms titled Character References.
‘I have an important meeting this afternoon, so you’ll be on your own,’ said Miles. ‘And I’ll need you to go over to the Water Bowl as soon as we’re done here. Get a statement from Goldie’s employer, and maybe one or two of his co-workers if you can. I insist that they fill in these forms, but they can write a letter to supplement the form if they wish. Then I want you to go through them all and decide who’s going to be the best character witness during the trial. Because let’s face it, if we’re going to get him the shortest sentence possible, we’ll really need to make him look good.’
I closed the file and stared dazedly at Miles. ‘But … Goldie didn’t actually do it. His story is horse crap. If you read what I wrote after I interviewed him yesterday then–’
There it was – that annoying hand-raise of his. It happened so often that I was going to have to give it a name. The hand of interruption, maybe. ‘Melissa, are you telling me how to do my job?’
‘What? No, of course not. But I thought you wanted me to do mine to the best of my ability. Goldie is obviously covering for someone, so surely–’
The hand rose again. ‘Go to the Water Bowl, Melissa. When you’re finished with that, then you can write up a report. Give me your views on how you think we should handle Goldie’s defence. I’ll look over it at dinner tonight and then tell you all the reasons why you’re wrong and I’m right. What fun we shall have. So, shall I see you at my place tonight?’
‘I … yes?’
He stood up, closed his briefcase and threw some money on the table. ‘Good. I’ll text you the address later on.’
≈
After Miles left I ordered a second baked potato. This one I did not eat in a ladylike manner. But even though it came with three toppings and an enormous salad on the side, my stomach was still rumbling when I finished.
I somehow managed to stop myself ordering potato number three, and left Let’s Go Round the Bend, turning the corner onto Eile Street and heading towards Madra Lane. When I reached the Water Bowl, there was a bouncer I didn’t recognise standing outside. Which made sense, seeing as the usual bouncer was in jail.
‘You’re a witch,’ he said, sniffing. He was taller than Goldie, with dark hair in a Mohawk, dyed black in the centre and brown at the sides. A badge on his shirt said ‘Dob.’ I had no idea what it might stand for, or if it was actually his full name, but right then, all I could think about were Dobermans. ‘This is a weredog bar.’
‘I know, but I come here all the time,’ I said. ‘My housemate works in there.’
He sniffed again. ‘Max, is it? Thought he lived with the Wayfarer.’
‘He does. He lives with me too.’
‘I don’t know what that lad is thinking, I really don’t. As if one witch isn’t bad enough.’ He stood aside. ‘You can go in. But any trouble and you’re out.’
It was about a quarter to two when I entered. Normally this far into lunchtime, the Water Bowl would be full up – and noisy, too. There were a lot less customers than usual today, and they talked in subdued tones, looking uncomfortable and tense.
‘Melissa.’ Max beamed at me from behind the bar. I could see him looking over my shoulder, a hopeful glint in his lovely brown eyes.
‘Wanda’s not with me,’ I said.
‘Oh. That’s … I wasn’t expecting her, anyway. I’m surprised anyone’s come in today at all. A weredog doesn’t murder a werewolf every day. Or any day, usually. You’ve heard about Goldie?’
I nodded, taking a seat on one of the many empty stools.
‘I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you about it last night,’ Max went on. ‘But you were in bed when I got home.’
Yes, I was in bed when Max got home. I was eating an enormous bowl of popcorn when I heard his key in the door. I’d been meaning to go down and talk to him, but I finished the popcorn and started on a jumbo chocolate bar instead.
‘Wanda says the new job you got is with Goldie’s lawyer,’ Max went on.
‘It is, yeah.’ I help up the file. ‘And I’m here so I can get as many of his co-workers – and hopefully Rover, too – to fill in these character statement thingies that my boss has written up.’ I pulled one out and handed it to Max.
He looked down at it, frowning. ‘One of these questions asks how likely I think it is that Goldie might of
fend again. Again? Melissa, I’m not sure Goldie offended in the first place. I know he can be a bit gruff, but there’s a big difference between gruff and murderous. You know the poison used was Jinx, right? As in the poison that weredog-haters have used to kill us far too many times. If Goldie was going to kill someone, then that’s not the way he’d do it.’
I pulled a bowl of peanuts towards me and started to eat. ‘I’m a bit dubious about all of this myself, Max. But Goldie insists that he’s guilty, and Miles – the lawyer – isn’t giving me much leeway here.’ I clutched my stomach, as an almighty hunger pain set in.
‘You all right?’ Max reached across, tilting my head up so he could look at my face. ‘Melissa, you look really pale. Have you eaten anything today? Can I get you some lunch? We’ve got baked potatoes with all the toppings.’
I suppose I could have told him I’d already had two of those – but that would lead to a serious discussion, which would end up with me going to see a healer. ‘A baked potato sounds great,’ I said. ‘Actually, could I have two? I em … I barely had any breakfast.’
Max patted my hand. ‘I’ll give you some extra salad and garlic bread on the side, too. I’ll pass these forms out to the rest of the staff while you eat. And when you’re done, I’ll take you to see Rover.’
≈
When I’d finally finished my enormous second lunch (and a serving of banana fritters for afters) Max told me he’d take me to Rover’s office.
Rover was the owner of the Water Bowl, and the unofficial leader of the weredogs. Not just the pack in Madra Lane, either. I doubted there was a single weredog in the country (possibly the world) who wouldn’t roll over for Rover.
The door to the office was open, revealing the most un-office like office I’d ever seen. Sure, there was a desk, but most of the space was filled with couches, TVs, and a large round poker table. Right now, half a dozen weredogs were playing cards, while Rover was lying on one of the couches, squeezing a tennis ball while he barked down the phone at someone. ‘I’m telling you, I want to talk to him. Now!’
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