by Amy Casey
“News?”
“The crime scene. We’ve completed our investigation. You’re now welcome to visit it. Just one of you. To see if you can figure out something we can’t.”
I’d soon learn that this kind of participatory policing was rather common in the magic world. The police did their initial work. Then if nothing glaringly obvious showed up, a nominated family member could visit and see if they could view things from a different perspective.
I looked around the room, waiting for the family to volunteer—or rather to fight over the right to visit.
But I noticed something different.
They were all looking at me.
“Any volunteers?” Sheriff Butcher asked.
I took a deep breath and I nodded as nobody else spoke.
“No?” he said. “Then I guess we’ll just have to—”
“I volunteer myself,” I said.
Sheriff Butcher looked at me. Frowned. “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t think we’ve met.”
I stepped over to him. Took a deep breath. Half-smiled. “I’m Stella Storm. I’m Curtis Mudthorpe’s cousin. And I’m here to find out who murdered him.”
Chapter 15
When I got to the scene of my cousin’s murder, one thing became immediately clear.
The way policing was done in Nightthistle was very different to how it was back in Goosridge.
The sun had gone down, but bright lights shone inside the tented area where my cousin’s body rested. Of course, the tent wasn’t a conventional tent—it was more a magic forcefield to stop anyone from the outside seeing it. And the lights were actually being held by little floating fairies, like miniature versions of the awkward dude who’d let me into this place. I still found it all disorienting to be honest. Sure, I’d been aware of my own magic for years, but seeing not just other forms of magic, but other species too… yeah. It was pretty dizzying.
But I had to keep my cool because I had to do whatever I could to appear professional to Sheriff Butcher.
He was standing in front of me, blocking my view of the steps that led down towards the crime scene. His moustache was a work of art, bushy but crafted at the same time, somehow.
He’d told me a few things on the way down here. Apparently, Curtis left a local pub just around the corner before he was set upon. The last duo to see him were Harry the Were and Tegret the ghost. Both had been spoken to, and both had alibis confirmed. They hadn’t left with Curtis. The last they’d seen him was leaving the pub. They still couldn’t believe he was gone.
“Now I want you to understand a few things before you go down there, Shirley.”
“Stella,” I said.
“Stella, sorry. I’m bad with names. Blame it on the age. But anyway. I’m sure you’ll use your common sense. But a few ground rules, okay?”
I nodded. But in truth, I just wanted to stop faffing around and get down there ASAP. And I wanted to know how old Sheriff Butcher was. He didn’t look that old.
“Rule one,” he said. “You don’t touch anything. And when I say you don’t touch anything, I mean you don’t touch anything. You make yourself weightless, formless. You do whatever you can to make sure not a trace of your DNA contaminates the crime scene. Understand?”
I swallowed a lump and nodded. “No pressure then.”
Sheriff Butcher chuckled. “Sorry. I know it’s a faff. But it’s just a part of how we do things. Procedure, protocol, all that. You’ll know how it is.”
“Not too dissimilar back home,” I said.
Sheriff Butcher nodded and smiled a little when I said that. “Where is home for you, by the way?”
“A place called Goosridge,” I said. “You wouldn’t know it.”
“Oh, Goosridge. Near Graveson Manor, right?”
“Wow. Impressive. An outsider who actually knows where our uneventful little town is.”
Sheriff Butcher laughed a little. “I did a lot of travelling in my younger years. And I’m a pub-quizzer, too. General knowledge is just something I get a buzz from.”
“We’ll have to have a showdown someday.”
A smile. “Count me in.”
I looked away. Because in that smile of Butcher’s, I could see something familiar. Something that reminded me of someone.
Steve.
I shook my head. Couldn’t let myself get caught up in any kind of romantic tension while I was here, or anything like that.
“Anyway,” Butcher said. “I’ll leave you to it. Suppose you’ve had enough of my smart-arsery already.”
“Actually, there was one thing.”
He stopped. “Anything.”
I thought about bringing up my mum. This man was a wizard, and my family was very respected. Surely he knew something about her if she was indeed alive, right?
But in the end, I found myself just smiling and shaking my head. “It’s gone. Sorry. Oh. You said there were two things, though.”
Butcher looked puzzled for a second. Then his eyes lit up, remembering. “Of course. Silly me. Rule one, you don’t touch a thing. And rule two, if you do notice anything amiss, you report it to me as soon as. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“I mean, again, I don’t mean to be a fuddy buddy.”
“It’s fuddy-duddy.”
“What?”
“You said ‘fuddy buddy’. It’s ‘fuddy-duddy.”
Butcher rolled his eyes. “Duddy. Buddy. They’re all uddys, right?”
I smiled.
“It’s just there’s certain things you might see and not really interpret much on that I’d know a lot about from my time here. The core of an apple and how that could link to the vamps. A silver slingshot and how only the weres are strong enough to use those.”
“Wait. Vamps like apples?”
“More than you’d believe.”
I shook my head. The weirdness of this place was still revealing itself to me all the time.
“And remember, any questions, any trouble settling in, just ask. I know how jarring it must be, coming to a new place like this. Lots of unfamiliar folk. But you’re welcome here. You’re one of us. You remember that.”
I smiled as Butcher raised a hand and left the forcefield. It was good to have someone around to help me out in case I needed it.
But at the same time… there was still that urge to solve this crime myself. That desire to crack the mystery on my own.
I was going to do whatever I could.
I took a deep breath, looked over at the pub around the corner, and then I stepped down the stairs.
And as I descended, I immediately invoked my weightlessness and formlessness—spells that were much easier to cast in the surroundings of Nightthistle. Something to do with the levels of magic in the air.
The toilets were silent. Nothing but the echoey sound of water dripping. There was a smell of stale urine in the air, and a coldness down here in a place that never saw daylight. Above, a light flickered, the white and black tiled floor damp with mould.
I saw Curtis right by the urinal.
He was slumped over. Eyes closed. He was dressed as I’d seen his ghost. And he looked peaceful.
Except for the stab wound in his back.
I looked at the wound. Then I looked all around. There was something weird about this crime scene, and it took me a few seconds to realise exactly what it was. Blood. There was no blood. It was like this scene had been cleaned.
There was nothing of note around the place. No dropped items. Nothing on the walls. And I was about to turn around and walk away when I saw it.
It was in the urinal itself. And I didn’t notice it. Not at first. Easily dismissed, that was for sure.
But then as I crouched down, I realised it was weird that it was in a place like this at all.
A clump of thick, straight, dark brown hair, stuck right to the edge of the urinal.
I looked at that hair. Wondered whether it had any significance. Accepted that, in truth, I was probably reaching a li
ttle.
But it was something. Something Sheriff Butcher had no doubt noticed already, I imagined.
But something to note all the same.
I made a mental note of that clump of hair as I left the bathrooms. When I stepped outside the protective force field, I saw Sheriff Butcher standing there like a cliche with a donut in hand.
“Anything?” he said.
I told him about the clump of hair. He didn’t seem to take much note of it. Found it a little unusual if anything.
But he promised to take a further look into it regardless.
Little did we know at this stage, that clump of hair would go on to have a significance far beyond anything either of us could imagine.
Chapter 16
Want to know one thing madder than a magical town filled with witches, wizards, vampires, werewolves, and fairies with leaves covering their tackle?
A witchy funeral.
It was the day of Curtis’ funeral. And as much as I’d tried to resist having to go along—not least because it meant wearing those ridiculous brightly coloured garbs that my family always seemed to wear on special occasions—I wanted to get to work on solving the mystery of Curtis’ death. And as far as I could see, spending time at his funeral was just delaying that investigation.
But at the same time, spending time at his funeral was important, too. Because I could get to meet some of the people who knew him. And by getting to meet some of them, I might just learn a thing or two about who was close to him—and who might have killed him.
But for now, I just found myself looking around at my surroundings. I was on a grassy hill. The weather was nicer today. The sun had come out, at least.
And I was standing in some kind of weird circle holding hands with friends of family who I didn’t even recognise.
I looked around at these people. All of them were dressed in their coloured garbs. I wouldn’t say they all looked the same exactly, but I was coming to realise the witches had a look to them that differentiated them from the rest.
I’d asked Aunt Hilda and the others about what I was expected to do at this funeral, but they’d just told me to go with it because I’d soon get the hang of it.
Well, if I was supposed to have got the hang of it by now, I really hadn’t because the circle of witches were all mumbling some intelligible words under their breath as they stared at the body of Curtis.
I muttered a few things, tried to make out like I knew what I was doing. The hands of the circle raised then lowered then raised again. I found myself looking around, scanning the faces I didn’t recognise. I don’t know why I was judging people already, profiling them. But I guess it was just natural that I was categorising attendants here into “suspicious” and “not suspicious”.
They say the ones closest to home are the ones to suspect first, after all.
I looked around and saw Thomas. He didn’t look like he was crying. I remembered what he’d told me in the past—how there were secrets about him that nobody fully understood.
Then I saw Tara. She had that look of anger on her face, like she was just going along with this for procedure.
Then Aunt Hilda, looking broken down, distraught.
Then I saw Sheriff Butcher.
He looked over at me as he said the words. Gave me a little nod. And I nodded back at him. I’d told him about the clump of hair I’d found. He hadn’t seemed too fussed about it, but he’d promised to investigate it closer regardless. I wondered where he was getting with that.
It was at that moment that Aunt Hilda broke the chain and stepped forward.
“And now,” she said. “Now we bathe ourselves in the purity of air. And we ask our lords above to join us as one with our son. With our family. With our friend.”
I didn’t know what was happening. Not at first.
And then I saw Aunt Hilda starting to strip off.
“Oh, Jesus,” I said.
I turned away. Broke the circle.
But then I realised the people holding my hands had broken the circle too, all of them getting their clothes off, stripping to nothing.
I looked away. Quite frankly, I didn’t know where to look.
“Stella,” Thomas said.
“Yeah, don’t make me look in your direction right now. And don’t even think about asking me to strip off, either.”
“It’s part of the procedure.”
“It would’ve been nice to be warned about the bloody procedure beforehand.”
“It’s just flesh, Stella,” Sheriff Butcher said.
“Hey,” I said. “Don’t you bloody well join in too.”
I had images of the only thing on his body being his bloody moustache. I almost puked on the spot.
I squinted. Looked around at this whole circle. And I felt bad. Because as much as my family insisted otherwise, this wasn’t my world. My world was back home in Goosridge. My home was with Rocky. My home was making sweet treats. My home wasn’t stripping off in the nude and dancing around a dead body.
But then I thought about what it meant to my family. I thought about what it meant to Aunt Hilda. Because whether I liked it or not, this was procedure. This was a part of their tradition.
“Can I at least keep my underwear on?”
A few people looked around. Confusion in the air.
“Well?” I said. “Does anyone actually know whether I can keep my underwear on or not?”
“To be honest,” one of the tall, grey men said. “I don’t even know why we do this part. Tradition is tradition, I guess. But yeah. I’m sure you can keep your underwear on, just this once.”
I shook my head, not quite believing what the man had just told me. “So you’re saying you don’t actually have to get naked. You just do it because you enjoy it?”
He looked back at me—I looked into his eyes, okay?—confused. “Well. We all have traditions, don’t we?”
I shook my head. Went to take my shirt off, because at least then I’d be seen to be at least respecting tradition.
But then I saw something.
They were in the distance. Standing at the bottom of the hill, at the edge of a forest.
They were hiding behind a tree.
And although I couldn’t see their face, I could see one thing for sure.
They were looking at us.
And something else.
They weren’t supposed to be here.
Immediately, my hackles rose. My urge to investigate rose. Because why would anyone be here—at a funeral, where they were forbidden?
Why would they be watching?
“Carry on without me,” I said.
Then I stepped past the funeral attendants, to sighs and glares and cries of disbelief.
“Stella?” Thomas said.
But at that point, it was already too late.
I was running down the hill towards the figure.
I had to find them.
And the prospect of a nude dance with a bunch of people mostly older than me certainly wasn’t going to get in the way of my investigating.
Chapter 17
I raced down the hill towards the woods and I felt grateful right away that I hadn’t taken my clothes off after all.
The late morning sun shone down brightly from above. When I’d got here, I’d have killed for a bit of nice weather, but I wanted a bit of rain right now to cool myself down as I ran. Oh well. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
I looked into the darkness of the woods, into the trees. The figure I’d seen watching wasn’t there anymore. I was sure they’d seen me racing my way towards them. Hell, I was sure they’d seen me spot them watching me even way before I started running.
But the fact they’d run away as soon as I’d gone after them made me wonder even more.
Why were they watching?
And why were they hiding?
I reached the woods. The smell of morning dew was still strong in the air. There was a sweet taste to the air, too, something I didn’t recognise.
<
br /> I found myself turning around. Looking for a sign of the assailant. But all I could see was stillness. And I couldn’t hear anything but the singing of the birds and the slight murmur of conversation from back up at the witchy funeral.
As I looked up at the imposing, tall trees staring down at me, I felt vulnerable all of a sudden. Like there were things up there watching me. Like there was somebody just waiting to leap out. Like this was some kind of trap.
But I had to keep looking. Whether I liked being alone in this woods or not, I had to keep searching.
I couldn’t give up.
I owed that much to Curtis.
I walked further into the woods, over to the tree where I swore I’d seen the figure. There were no signs of life there. No signs of movement. No signs that there had ever been anyone here at all.
But there was something.
I reached over to the bark. And I saw it. I saw it just like I’d seen it in that bathroom just a day ago.
The fur.
A small patch of hair.
A shudder crossed my body. Because this had to mean something. I’d seen hair just like this in the bathroom where Curtis had been killed. So it had to tie in somewhere.
I got the sense that the figure I’d seen watching us was more involved than I’d first suspected after all.
I went to turn around and head further into the woods when I saw it.
Movement. Movement between the trees.
Eyes.
Bright, searing eyes, staring right at me.
I felt my body turn numb.
And right at that instant, I felt something else too.
My invisibility spell, cast almost reflexively.
I took a deep breath as I stood there, very still. Even though I was invisible, I didn’t know whether this figure could see me or not. I didn’t know what the rules of invisibility were in this place—whether there were creatures out there that could see through my invisibility spells.
But whatever. I couldn’t let that bother me right now.
I was scared. Course I was scared. A big bright pair of yellow eyes were frigging-well staring at me from the bushes, after all.