by Ruby Loren
January stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. “How about a murder mystery twist? Bakery owner missing, presumed dead.”
Simon shook his head and chuckled, clearly not taking her seriously.
“You may have written about me since I got into Hailfield, but don’t forget I had a past before then,” she warned. Simon still looked un-phased. “I don’t know why I’m trying to convince you, but you’ve also written far too much about Leah in your little blog. I think I’ll show her.”
“Go ahead, it would be great to have a new fan. Maybe she’ll even visit me,” Simon said with a grin.
January rolled her eyes. Simon was gay, which probably meant he just wanted to fan-girl over Leah’s ancient witch/vampire status.
“Maybe she could make me a vampire too,” Simon said, dreamily.
January snorted. With the exception of Leah and the very first vampires, witches that were turned didn’t hold onto any of their powers. Whatever the secret to it had been, the first vampires and Leah were keeping it.
“Simon, do you have any idea how hard I am trying right now to not rip your head off? That blog and all related gossip stops right now, or I’ll stop you myself,” January said, hating how limp and lame diplomacy sounded.
Maybe she should have started punching.
Simon nodded, looking thoughtful. “Okay, fine. It was good while it lasted.”
January glared at him. “Don’t try to magically block me from the site, either. I’ll know. Perhaps I should get your father involved,” she said.
Simon’s eyes widened for a moment. “No. Fine, it’s gone.”
January nodded. “Good. Well, I must be…” She trailed off when her eyes rested on the refrigerated cake cabinet for the first time.
She recognised almost every single cake.
“You… these are all my cakes!” She said, realising that Simon had somehow stolen every last one of her recipes that she’d painstakingly adjusted and adapted until they were perfect. It had taken her years, and here he was, reaping all of the rewards.
“When I was moving out, I happened to see that handy folder you have full of recipes. I just copied a few,” he confessed.
“All, Simon. You copied them all!” Without thinking, she opened the display cabinet and took out a carrot cake, baked to her own boozy recipe. To add insult to the injury, she could tell that Simon had also bewitched it with his ‘come back’ spell.
She threw it at his head.
“Whoa! Calm down!” Simon said, dodging with the speed of a cat. Even that wasn’t fast enough for the next cake. A large, coffee and walnut cake, also baked using January’s recipe, hit him square in the face.
“That’s stock! You’re losing me money… ungh!” Simon said when one of January’s heavier recipes; an apple, pumpkin and spice cake, glanced off his forehead. January picked up the centrepiece of the day, a huge chocolate cake that looked like Simon had made it by using four times the amount of ingredients specified on her recipe. It put Bruce Bogtrotter’s chocolate cake in Matilda to shame.
“All of this success that you have right now? You know it should be mine. I would have won Cake Off if you’d been keeping a better eye on those witches - which was what you claimed to be there to do, anyway. But no, I had to stop the death hex and got disqualified while you walked away with the funding and the shop using MY recipe! You know I let that go, but I’d assumed you wouldn’t then carry on using me to further your own business interests.” She shifted the giant cake in her forearms, already planning the trajectory.
“Hey, calm down for a moment. We can sort this out! I have lots of ideas!” Simon said, eyeing the chocolate cake.
January felt his magical attempt to flip the cake, before she saw it. She stomped down, instinctively.
“Ouch!” Simon yelped and looked furious.
“You’re still trying to wriggle!” She started to see red. “What if I turn you into a cat again?” She threatened.
Simon rolled his eyes. “As if. You don’t know how. You just rely on your instincts to use your magic. I write a blog about you! I know everything,” he said.
January nodded. “Then you should know to be afraid. My magic works when I need it, and it tends to give people exactly what they deserve. Who knows what you’ll end up turning into?” She said, dryly.
Simon licked his lips nervously. “Okay, whoa, put the cake down and let’s talk.”
“Give me one good reason why,” January said, unwilling to give up her ammunition.
“I’ll stop writing the blog for good… after I’ve given it a happy ending, of course. How do you feel about marrying the new wolf?” He asked, seriously.
January lifted the cake up a little.
“I’ll stop writing it immediately,” Simon amended, trying to avoid literal death by chocolate cake. “Also, you can have the bakery and do what you like with it. I’m bored.”
“What? You steal my recipes and the best cakes the local bakers make, and now you’re bored?” She couldn’t believe it. Simon had to be the most spoiled brat witch ever.
He shrugged. “There are bigger things in the world. After writing about you for so long, I think I’ve found my calling. I’m going to be an investigative journalist and uncover all kinds of plots and conspiracies in the human world. I’ll be so good at it, people will think I’ve got magical powers,” he said, raising one thick eyebrow.
January frowned. This sounded way too much like Simon getting away without being punished for any of his actions – yet again.
“Seeing as you’re the town gossip, you’ll have heard about King Bob?”
“Of course,” Simon preened. “Didn’t you read the post where I covered the showdown between you two at the vampire club?”
January frowned. How had Simon found out about that?
“You’d be surprised how much the younger vampires like to talk,” he said with a grin. January’s mind jumped to Violet. Well, it would serve Gregory right for treating his underlings so badly.
“I suspect that Bob is a fan of your blog, too. After all, how would he have known that I’m an enchanter? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”
Simon laughed. “You’re not actually scared of Bob, are you?” He asked.
January huffed. She wasn’t actually sure how worried she needed to be. Bob seemed halfway between a joke and an actual threat.
“If you think it’s funny, why don’t you challenge him to the magical throne? King Simon would suit you,” she sniped.
Simon looked upwards in apparent exasperation. “All right, all right, you only had to ask. I’ll teach you some dirty tricks that old Bob definitely won’t be expecting. Mainly because I made them up, so he won’t have been able to read about them.” Simon wrinkled his nose and shook his head, muttering something about Bob being the biggest book reading loser ever.
“Fine, but just so you’re extra motivated, I think I’ll take out some insurance. If I’m killed by mad King Bob, your name will go to my own personal bounty hunter, and you’ll be dead, too,” she promised, thinking that Leah would probably be annoyed enough to do that to Simon when she found out about the blog, even without her asking.
“Mmm, I think you’re putting too much trust in Leah again. She fooled you once. Are you really going to let it happen twice?” He asked, putting his head in his hands and resting his elbows on the counter.
“My life is not some made up Soap. Butt out,” she said, annoyed that he thought she was even close to trusting Leah an inch.
Simon waved his fingers at her. “Okay, whatever. So, when do you want to have the bakery by? I suppose it will stay in my name but you don’t have to pay rent, or anything. Just pretend I’m still in charge,” he said.
January tried not to feel too annoyed by that request. It was the rules of the Cake Off competition. Simon had one year for free and probably wasn’t allowed to quit during that time. “I know you’re, uh, between jobs… so you pro
bably could start pretty soon, right?”
“Do you know how creepy and weird it is that you know all that?” January said, feeling like bugs were crawling all over her. It was one big yuck.
“Sensationalism sells the cakes, sweetie,” Simon said.
January glared. “You’d better stick to your promise, and I want my lessons.” She looked down at the enormous cake she was holding. “I’m taking this, too,” she said, flicking away Simon’s ‘come back’ spell, as easily as removing a cherry from the top of an ice cream sundae. Simon threw his hands up.
“Fine! I don’t care. I didn’t make it anyway,” he said.
January looked at him.
Simon tilted his head. “Before you go into the kitchen, there may be a few little spells you need to clear away. Automation and things like that,” he said.
January silently despaired. Not only was Simon stealing everyone’s recipes, he also wasn’t doing any of the work himself.
“You’re completely insufferable,” she told him.
“Thank you!” Simon said with a smile.
It was only the delicious smell of the chocolate cake that stopped January from flinging it at his face.
Still mumbling over Simon’s complete misuse of magic, January pulled up outside her house. She looked across at the slightly levitating cake (she’d figured out that one all on her own!) and decided that one little cake carrying spell was nothing compared to what Simon was doing.
She still had the annoying feeling that she’d gone way too easy on Simon. He was probably laughing at her right now, while he used magic to clean up the mess she’d made. She frowned and wondered if there was a better way to punish him. The thought of the angry little rabbit in Tor’s will occurred to her and she smiled. One day, Simon would learn what it was like to spend time looking after something incredibly ungrateful, that was hell-bent on stabbing you in the back.
She stepped out of the car and felt a wave of magic wash over her. It was so strong and bad that she felt sick. The cake in the car turned rotten and melted into sludge before her eyes. She turned back to look at the house. Her magic bubbled to the surface and she wondered what the heck it had been. January walked forwards across the gravel, feeling for any presences, but there was nothing. Nobody was here.
But they had been, she realised when she reached her door.
A sigil had been painted on her nearly-new lilac door in what looked, and smelled like, blood. She frowned at the curved lines and unintelligible squiggles. What did it mean? A crimson light pulsed from the sign and gave away exactly who had painted it there, but she’d noticed something far more worrying.
What she’d felt hadn’t been a spell or a curse, it had been the aftershock of one. The symbol had been broken by someone scratching a line through the edge. January could sense that it had also broken whatever was intended by the original painter. The question was, who had broken the curse? And how had they done it? The more she looked at the horrible sigil, the more she could tell that it was designed to suck the life straight out of any living thing, as soon as it was triggered - presumably by the subject of the curse turning up within firing range.
Maybe it was Tor, or even Leah, January thought, picking on the two most likely to interfere with something that had been meant to kill her. She would have to find out.
She bit her lip and looked at the bloody symbol, reliving the feeling of bad that had washed over her. If that had been it not working properly, what would the original spell have been like? Had she just had a brush with a curse that could actually end her life?
Of one thing she was sure, this was on a whole different level from dead pigeons and pins.
11
“So, it wasn’t you?” January repeated.
Leah shot her an ‘are you crazy?’ look. “It absolutely wasn’t me,” the witch-vampire replied, smoothing down her glittery mini-dress.
Apparently Fleetwood Mac meets the ASOS rubbish bin was the look they were going for at their first gig with James Phoenix. January was dressed in a black fringed top with a ridiculous, floaty tulle skirt. They’d tried to give her a top hat, presumably in homage to Stevie Nicks, but she’d drawn the line there. The less she drew attention, the better.
“But I’ve already asked Tor, and he said he didn’t break the curse either.” January bit her lip, thinking back to their conversation.
Tor had asked about the curse, and after she’d described it to him, he’d told her two things. The first was that it would have been very dangerous and difficult to break the curse, as it could have been triggered accidentally. The second was that it was one of the few pieces of magic big and bad enough to potentially cause her serious damage i.e. kill her. It was high magic and it was leagues above the voodoo and hoodoo that Lewis had found out, to his cost, had no effect on her.
She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew why Bob had decided to go in with the big guns instead of just giving an average death curse a go. Simon’s blog could still be the end of her.
“You must have a guardian angel,” Leah said.
January wasn’t sure whether or not she meant that literally. Leah had been around for a long, long time. Perhaps she knew a thing or two about the potential existence of celestial beings. January decided she didn’t actually want to know.
“Nice to see that your ‘protect January mission’ is going well,” January hissed back, privately adding this information to the pile of evidence that suggested Leah was still working for The Clan as their spy and would stand by and watch if any convenient opportunity to let January die arose.
“Hey, even I’d be done in by a curse like that,” Leah said, shutting January up. The drummer shook her head. “He’s either incredibly good, or incredibly lucky - the guy who did it. It’s just as easy to kill yourself when you put something like that together. Not to mention the forces of darkness…” She trailed off, and January could have sworn that she looked almost wistful. January decided that the less she knew about mysterious forces of darkness, the better.
“Good luck, ladies!” The curly haired guitarist said, smiling and nodding at them both before he walked forwards onto the stage. The curtain was down. January and Leah both took up their positions in the near darkness, guided only by UV light sensitive strips on the stage. January tried to shake off her annoyance with Leah and focus on the show they were about to play.
Leah counted four with her drum sticks and January started the chugging, one note bass line that would build into James’s now number one hit, ‘Black Wolf Shadow’. The man himself walked out onto the stage and the lights went up, nearly blinding January, as he started to sing.
Yeah, baby would you sell your soul?
Cold as ice, you want to be on fire.
When all you touch turns to solid gold
Lay your hands, lay your hands, lay your hands on me…
January blinked away the glare and looked out at the crowd. It was more people than she’d ever played to before, and all of them looked like they were having the time of their lives.
All, except one.
In the middle of the already dancing mass, one man stood with his arms firmly folded. Below his thick-rimmed glasses, a pout was permanently fixed on his face.
King Bob hadn’t come for the music.
January winced and then did the only natural thing, which was to smile his way. She didn’t know how she’d done it, but the score was definitely one-all.
As the set went on, January found James Phoenix more annoying by the second. He seemed to split his time between insulting the audience, trying to chat up any females within spitting distance, and then coming to the back of the stage and flirting (disastrously) with Leah. The crowd, who had started out so willing to love James and his music, were now mostly looking like Bob. A lot of arms were crossed, and a lot of frowns were on faces. January only hoped that if there was a lynch mob, they’d leave the band out of it.
It was while she was scanning the audience for any potential
violence starters that her eyes fell on another familiar face. Joe Milan, leader of the Witchwood wolf pack, and her alleged boyfriend, stood to the left of the stage, looking up at her. He raised a hand a little. January smiled back, hoping he couldn’t tell how tense she was. There was a magician in the audience who wanted to kill her, and the crowd were getting more and more riled up by James Phoenix.
When James finally told them to ‘sod off and have a good night’, January almost breathed a sigh of relief.
“So… are we done here?” Leah said when they were backstage after the show had ended.
“Feel free to quit any time. I could not care less,” January said, zipping up her new, second-hand Fender Jazz bass.
Leah groaned. “Come on! You’re just sticking this out to annoy me. You know this is ridiculous and reckless. I saw that stupid magician, too.”
January raised an eyebrow. “Do you fancy sorting him out for me?”
Leah crossed her arms and growled. “Did you not see how much defensive magic he was wrapped in? I’m actually surprised that people didn’t start exploding out of their skin whenever someone in the audience got within touching distance. That’s not to say that I couldn’t take him down. It would just be exceedingly inconvenient, so I’m not going to bother.” She looked down at her nails.
January rolled her eyes. “Right. So that decision is nothing to do with you admitting earlier that the curse on my door would have probably killed you, if you’d been there?”
Leah raised her eyes from her nails. “He doesn’t scare me,” she said, flatly. “If you had checked the area before getting out of your car, you would never have been in danger. Whoever it was that saved your bacon, clearly knows you have no clue about magical precautions.”
“Then maybe someone with your infinite experience could prove they’re not talking out of their behind and go and kill that idiot!” January said, raising her voice a little too much. The guitarist popped his head out of the dressing room and came to join them.