Well, Hattie, that was just witchful thinking.
7
Raising Howl
What do you mean he’s gone?!” The Chief’s bellow rattled the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling fixtures. I could almost make out the faint outline of a miniature mushroom cloud burgeoning over his head. He very nearly knocked over the small, potted plant on the corner of Amber’s desk. I scrambled to catch the purple flowering vegetation before they hit the dirt.
Violets. Hmm. I thought for absolutely no reason.
Spithilda’s dog, Remulus, cowered under a desk on the other side of the room, as the Chief went on his explosive tirade. Rad Silverback had walked out of the Glessie Isle Paranormal Police Department several hours before the Chief and I were able to make it back from Portia’s swamp. The Gloomy Arts practitioner had given us some food for thought in the Spithilda Roach case, including a personal connection between Spithilda and Rad Silverback that the werewolf had neglected to mention in our earlier discussions.
Poor Amber’s lower lip trembled, and a well of moisture gathered in the lower rims of her crystal blue eyes. Her small hands gripped Remulus’ leash just a bit tighter. “I’m really sorry, Chief. But, he hadn’t been charged with anything, and his lawyer said we couldn’t legally keep him beyond forty-eight hours.”
“But, he’s one of the prime suspects in a murder investigation! And you just let him walk right out the front door! I would think you of all people would be willing do whatever it took to get this case solved! After all, Spithilda was your aunt!”
The Chief stormed from the room. Amber teetered on the edge of a complete breakdown. As much as I found this curious little woman vaguely repellant, I wrapped a comforting arm around her plump shoulders. I’d known David for a long time. I knew he wasn’t actually mad at Amber. She had simply followed proper legal procedure. He was just upset that this case didn’t seem to be getting any easier to solve.
“I know how you feel, Amber. Losing a family member just…well, it sort of knocks the wind right out of yo...OOF!”
The wind exploded from my lungs as my back made the acquaintance of the GIPPD squad room floor. A wild mass of fur and drool sat heavy on my chest, while I tried to regain regular breathing.
“Remulus! Bad dog! Heel!” Amber voice tinkled in a largely ineffective soprano reprimand. Spithilda’s wolfhound kept himself parked on my chest with complete disregard.
“It’s, yechhhh, okay, Amber. I was planning on taking a bath later anyway. Remulus just saved me the trouble,” I muttered as she tugged with all her weight on Remy’s leash. He whipped around and gave her a low, intimidating growl.
“Remulus!” The big dog turned to me with a sudden sheepish whimper. I sat up and took the leash from Amber’s nervous hands. The diminutive executive assistant was only too happy to oblige. She slowly put the barrier of her desk between her and the large dog.
“I guess I’m just not much of a dog person,” she laughed nervously, a hint of sadness in her voice. “Not like Auntie Spithilda.”
I gave a solemn nod and patted her hand. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Amber. If there’s anything I can do to help, please, just say the word.”
“Thank you, Hattie. That means so much. You see, that’s why I like it here in Gless Inlet. Everybody makes you feel like you’re part of the family.”
“Speaking of family,” I begin. “Was Spithilda the only family you had living here on Glessie?”
Amber instinctively reached for the charm around her neck. It wasn’t the prettiest piece of jewelry I’d ever seen. Okay. It was downright ugly. It looked like a crystal composed of fossilized…well, poop. It was a brittle-looking, dark brown charcoal-like stone. Ugly as it was, it must have been comforting to Amber, as she fingered it continuously as she sniffed. She grabbed a tissue. She dabbed a teary eye.
“Yes, ma’am. She was. I know Spithilda wasn’t the nicest person in the world,” she paused as her breath hitched, then shuddered her shoulders in a heart-wrenching sob. “BUT, SHE WAS FAMILY!”
The sob ratcheted to full-on wailing. Remulus decided Amber had challenged him to a howling contest. He raised his head toward the heavens and joined in.
“Owooowoowoo!!!”
Several of the officers still sitting in the bullpen winced at the resultant cacophony. One smart witch used her wand and flicked her slim wrist around her ears in a perfect execution of the Silentium spell, effectively rendering herself temporarily deaf. She then went back to merrily typing the intake report she’d been working on. I suppressed a nostalgic smile. Grandpa Opal had a similar trick when Grammy Chimera would yammer unyieldingly into his ear.
Good ol’ Grandpa. He hadn’t needed a spell, though. He just reached up and turned off his hearing aid.
As the howling modulated to a keener pitch, I momentarily wished I had my own wand. Being deaf indeed could prove advantageous in certain situations. Especially when you lived with eight opinionated felines.
But it would be a cold day in hell before I picked up a wand again. For any reason. I’d already been snookered into accessing too much magic today. I could still sense the coppery aftertaste from the Infrigore spell.
Amber’s racking sobs had wound down to hiccupping sniffs.
“I have cats myself,” I replied. “The trick with any animal is just to be firm.”
My inner witch-belly laughed.
Right.
Like any of my cats cared when I attempted to make demands of them. It was their world. I was fortunate enough they allowed me to rent space.
Dogs were an entirely different animal, however. I looked down at Remy’s shaggy head and tried to look in the general vicinity of where his eyes might be under all that hair.
“Remy? Sit.” I kept my tone firm and even, and with probably a little more bass than tiny little Amber could muster. Remy obliged and sat promptly… on my foot. His tongue lolled lazily from the side of his mouth.
“He’s probably just mad at me because the last time he saw me, I took him to Violet’s to get a bath,” Amber suggested, attempting to smile.
I chuckled. “I wouldn’t doubt it. I’m sure he’ll get over it, though. And it’s very sweet of you to take him in,” I praised.
Amber’s eyes popped wide. “Chief didn’t tell you?”
I narrowed my gaze. “Tell me what?”
“That besides your prophetic little dream, Hattie, Remulus may be our only witness in this case. He may be able to identify the killer.” Chief Trew interjected as he strode back into the room.
Over our shoulder, Amber exploded in a sudden fit of coughing. She had taken a bite of the collard greens that had been waiting patiently on her lunch plate. Obviously, they had quite disagreeably gone done the wrong pipe. Her face tinged a dangerous purple.
I scrambled to offer her a glass of water. She quickly grabbed the glass and took several grateful sips.
“Oh, my goodness gracious, Hattie! Thank you so much. I don’t know what happened!”
“I’m just glad you’re alright. You should slow down, though. Chew your food.” I turned back toward Chief Trew. “Now, what’s going on with Remy? It almost sounded like you were about to suggest I…”
“Babysit him until this case is over,” Chief Trew kindly completed the thought. Though, I’m not sure “kindly” is a word I would have chosen.
“What?!?” I exclaim.
“Amber can’t take him,” the Chief continued. “She lives in that shoebox of an apartment over Gabrielle’s bakery.”
Had I been a little less flustered, I might have smiled at the mention of Nebula Dreddock’s former golem. After the Dreddock investigation, Gabrille had been freed, had claimed her true name, and now operated a very successful bakery; Celestial Cakes, on Main Street.
“And, besides,” the Chief continued looking at the dog in question, who was, in turn, looking lovingly and longingly up at me. “It seems he’s really taken a shine to you, Hat.”
“I can’t take him! Did i
t slip your mind that I room with not one, but eight cats? Bringing a dog the size of a small horse into the house will not go over well. Can you imagine how bad it will be when Gloom gets hold of him?” I instinctively reached down to pet the poor dog’s head, as soon as I thought of my one female cat dishing out all kinds of unfair punishment to the mangy mutt.
As if to add insult to injury, Remulus suddenly initiated a slobber-filled, fur-flying shake. A fat, wet glob of moisture landed on my face. A drifting fluff-tuft landed, sticking to the still-warm spittle.
Chief Trew stifled a chuckle. “Come on, Hattie. Do me this favor. For old times’ sake?”
One of these days, I swear, the good Chief’s marker was going to run out. I didn’t care how cute he was.
“Fine. But, just for a day or two! Then I’m calling the folks at Mutley Crew. They can find him a home.” I just hoped the cats wouldn’t put me out on the stoop in the meantime.
“Speaking of Mutley Crew,” the Chief began. “Amber, do you know what announcement your Aunt was going to make at the gala? Violet Mulberry indicated she was scheduled to reveal some big news.”
“I can’t say that I do, Chief. Aunt Spithilda didn’t share a whole lot. Except with Alban Dewdrop.”
“Alban Dewdrop?” The Chief cocked his head at the mention of the unfamiliar name. “Who’s Alban Dewdrop?”
Amber chewed another bite of the greens and swallowed. “Alban Dewdrop is the Chair of Mutley Crew. He sends out the monthly newsletters from the organization. You know, to let the supporters know what events are coming up for the charity and how contributions are benefitting the abandoned witch dogs throughout the Isles. Aunt Spithilda was the organization’s largest benefactor, and so I believe she was kept abreast of the charity’s every move.”
Chief grabbed his trusty notepad and pen. Hopefully, this new information could shed some light on our investigation. Especially now since Rad had flown the coop.
“Did Spithilda know Mr. Dewdrop personally?” Chief Trew asked.
Amber shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think they mostly communicated by email. As far as I know, they never met face to face.”
“Okay,” Chief Trew said. He flipped his book closed. “Amber, I want you to schedule a meeting for me with this Mr. Dewdrop. Call me as soon as it’s set. I need to track down Rad Silverback. I still have some unanswered questions for him. And, did we manage to crack the password on Spithilda’s laptop yet?”
The inspector’s assistant shook her head in the negative. “Cyphers department are still on it, chief. Not looking good. There’s some seriously deep code that’s keeping any prying eyes far from glimpsing what’s in that computer.” Her shoulders slumped, as if she felt the weight of letting the Chief down. Again with the fiddling of the ugly pendant.
“Ok, well let me know as soon as they crack it.” David looked less than hopeful as he added quietly: “Or, if they crack it.”
“Sure thing, Chief!” Amber chirruped brightly. “I’ll get right on it. And, Chief? Thank you for everything you’re doing for Auntie Spithilda.”
The Chief gave her a warm smile. “Of course, Amber. You’re family. We have to look out for each other.”
Amber gave a sad little smile in reply and disappeared into the warren of cubicles to pursue the task the Chief had assigned her. Chief Trew left the precinct via the front door. I stood, deserted, in the middle of the bullpen holding a three-foot high, one hundred eighty pounds drooling mass of peppered black and gray fur.
The humidity of Remy’s heavy panting had soaked the left leg of my pants. “Well, then, Remy. I guess it’s you, me and eight other crazies, pal.”
He turned a shaggy head toward mine, and let out a nervous whimper.
“So, ready for some fun?” I looked down at my new houseguest.
“Wuff!” Remy barked.
I sighed. “I know. You’re right. This is gonna be ‘wuff.'”
I gathered up the slack in his leash and headed toward the outside evening with the monstrous hairy wolfhound in my hand and toward my humble abode and the waiting apocalypse of black fur.
“Holy Himalayas! Look what the human dragged in!” Although, I could barely hear Jet’s exclamation of startled surprise over the crashing of breaking glass.
I suppose it was foolish of me to hope for a peaceful integration of my new house guest with my eight furrily quirky roommates. As soon as the bell had jangled on The Angel Apothecary’s door, Remy slammed past me and galloped, full-tilt, toward Carbon, who, up until ten seconds previous, had been curled, moaning pitifully on the hearth. What on earth was troubling my little fire-starter, I wondered? I didn’t have much time to ponder Carbon’s ills, however.
“Grrrr-rowf!” Remy leaped on my combustible kitty in a tumbling fit of good natured play. Carbon, for his part, exploded into a black burst of vertical thrust. In an expert reversion of gravity, he clung to the underside of Grammy Chimera’s old chandelier. The crystals tinkled together madly as the wildly swaying light cast shadowy specters the length and breadth of the shop.
“Incipit Flamma!” Carbon yowled from his precipitous perch. A perfect ball of orange-yellow fire rolled end over end through the air and glanced off Remulus tail. A single spark caught a wiry strand of fur.
“Yowp!” Remy cried, crashing headlong into a shelf populated by glass jars of cinquefoil, feverfew, and vervain, just to name a few.
“Millie!” I cried out in alarm, both for poor Remulus whose dark eyes had widened to their whites and for my precious inventory which threatened under Carbon’s little fireball fit.
"No worries, Hattie! I got it!" Millie hopped to it with Jet’s water bottle and deftly extinguished the would-be blaze.
“Not bad, Mil,” Jet quipped from a high step on the stairwell. “If Hattie ever cans you, you have a promising career at the Gless Inlet Volunteer Fire Department.”
The catty retort earned him a fat, wet dose in the puss from Millie.
I rushed to hook a finger under Remy’s collar and stroked the scruff under the poor dog’s neck. "Now, Remy, you can't go jumping on the cute kitties. I know you just want to play, but these guys just aren’t used to alpha dogs.
Jet chuckled sarcastically. “Alpha? He’s more Zulu, I’d say.”
Onyx slinked into the room, drawn by the ruckus. I'm sure he felt it rested on his furry shoulders to ensure I didn't decimate Granny Chimera's shop and destroy the Opal legacy.
"I'm not certain bringing that furry oaf into our little shop was your wisest decision, Hattie," he gently admonished.
I considered his words. Then I considered the last forty-eight hours I'd had. First, there was the bizarre prophetic dream. Then, I had been tricked into using magic by Shade. I had been forced to open Granny Chimera's old grimoire and craft a dangerous werewolf potion so Chief Trew, the would-be love of my life, didn't get his face chewed off by Rad Silverback. I'd been required to pay a less than congenial visit to Portia Fearwyn's Hall of Horrors. (I mean, what were those claw marks about?) And, now… this disaster.
I looked around at the strewn contents of my inventory littered all over the floor. I decided to serve Onyx a piece of my mind. In fact, I served up the whole darned elderberry pie!
"Our shop? Our shop? I'm pretty sure it's my shop since Grammy Chimera left it to me! And, while I appreciate your opinions, you know what opinions are like. Everybody's got one and nobody thinks theirs stinks. So, stick yours in your tuna can, Onyx. I can pretty much let anyone in my shop I darn well please. Besides, with Spithilda gone, Remy's all alone in this world, and Grammy Chimera taught me if someone needed your help, you give it...without reservation."
“Speak for yourself, hun,” Gloom treaded softly into the room. She yawned apathetically. “Care to know why there aren’t more canine familiars in our magical little world?”
“I suppose it won’t matter if I say ‘no,'” I groaned.
Gloom leaped into Grandpa Opal’s old blue wingback. “Not a speck.”
&
nbsp; She started to groom herself with a disinterested paw. “You may recall a nasty bit of magical history known as the Salem Witch Trials.”
Fraidy, who had disguised himself as a muff around Millie’s neck when all the hullabaloo started, shuddered. Millie was now sporting bright purple curls, by the way. And, just for clarification, it was not my creative toner that was responsible for her grapealicious do. The recent brush with bold color extremes had somehow unleashed Millie’s self-expressionism. This color was called Great Grape Ape. Probably from the Florid Lights range. To each his own, I guess.
“The Salem, gulp, Witch Trials?" Fraidy shivered. "Who could ever forget? What do you think started the Wars in the first place?”
The Burning Times was a sore topic of conversation for many magical folk. It was a dark period when the Unawakened perpetrated unspeakable acts of horror, against magic and non-magic folk alike. Ignorance was the most dangerous weapon ever placed in the hands of man. And, indeed, witch. Because didn’t we have our own brand of prejudices, blaming practices and suspicions, much like the Unawakened in those dark times?
But, for as much evil that was effected on humans suspected of witchcraft in that era, the tragedy of the so-called “familiars” was as equally crushing.
Gloom licked a paw and smoothed a ruffled hair like she was The Divine Sarah about to deliver a monolog from Zaïre. She daintily cleared her throat.
“Druida Stone was telling me just the other day about a gruesome Massachusetts incident back in 1692. One poor pitiable pup got himself executed. Snuffed. Annihilated. Why? Because some cuckoo, little curly-haired thumb-sucker accused the dog of trying to bewitch her. I mean, come on. He was a dog. They still haven’t grasped the concept that they can’t catch their own tails, let alone master the artistry of witchcraft.” She sniggered looking at Remy in a focused stare. Good grief, her reign of terror has already started.
"Rowf?" Remulus cocked a confused head sideways.
“Aren’t you a regular cup of sunshine,” Eclipse observed as he glided into the room. Sometimes, I had half a mind to ask Eclipse to blank Gloom’s memory. This was one of those times. Maybe she wouldn’t remember what a pill she could be.
The Violet Countercharm: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 2) Page 7