“No. I wish we’d have been able to get a warrant for his client list but the judge didn’t find the partial emblem on the tiniest sliver of wand enough proof that he’s involved.”
“That’s shit.”
He sighs. “I know. But rules are rules. If we go around breaking them, then no one will want to work with us.”
"I get it." I pull the list towards me and start looking through it.
Almost instantly a few things jump out to me.
"Do you have a pen?" I ask, not wanting to start searching through the towering pile of junk on his desk myself.
"You still don't want to use a quill?" he quips, but pulls out a nice looking biro and hands it to me.
I chuckle. I like this. If he can tease, then it bodes well for our budding friendship. "Thanks."
Without hesitation, I strike through several of the listings.
"Whoa, aren't you going to run them by me first?" he asks.
"That depends, do you know what you're looking at with these wand specs?"
He shakes his head, his curls bobbing as he does.
I nod. "Didn't think so."
"You could teach me?" he suggests.
I laugh bitterly. "Do you have seven years to spare?"
"Seven...years? Why?"
"Because that's how long it takes to become properly certified by the CWC."
"I thought you were properly certified," he says, eyeing me warily.
"I am."
"You don't look old enough to have seven years experience."
I raise an eyebrow. "Did Sasha never tell you it's wrong to ask a lady her age?"
"What? No...argh." He runs a hand over his face.
A soft chuckle escapes me. "I'm sorry, I'm just teasing. But I assure you, I'm fully certified. I made my first wand when I was twelve, and started my training at fourteen."
"Do all witches start that young?" A note of genuine curiosity enters his voice.
"It depends. Some do, some don't. But when you're the one who is supposed to take over the family business, you do. Wand makers are often chosen based on their experience and training, so it's best to have as much as possible."
"Oh."
I cross off another couple of wand owners.
"Do you mind if I do some of my other paperwork while you do that?" Ambrose asks.
"That depends on whether or not you're going to offer me a cup of tea?" I respond.
He looks a little taken aback.
"Black with two sugars please," I say sweetly.
He shakes his head but gets to his feet anyway. "Damn witches," he mutters under his breath.
I lean back in my chair, oddly satisfied by the exchange. Especially because now I can go through the list in front of me in peace.
11
I check the list to make sure we've got the address right, then nod to Ambrose. "This is it."
"Good." He reaches out and raps his knuckle against the sturdy wooden door.
Thumps sound on the other side as the woman who lives here comes to answer it. After another moment, the door creeps open, revealing a portly woman with flyaway orange hair and a tight smile.
"Can I help you? I'm not expecting anything."
Ambrose clears his throat. "I'm Detective Ambrose with the PPD, this is Amethyst of the Gemstone Coven." He shoots me a look that says I shouldn't correct him to the shorter version.
Pity. I truly hate going by Amethyst.
"What do you want?" the woman snaps.
"Are you Daisy of the Flower Coven?"
"Yes."
"Then we have a warrant here that states we need to examine your wand," he says.
"You're not taking my wand." The look on Daisy's face says it all.
I place a gentle hand on Ambrose's arm. "We don't need to take your wand," I assure her. "We can examine it in your home."
She still looks uncertain. "How can I be sure you're not going to break it?"
"Amethyst is a qualified wand maker. I'm sure you'll find her credentials acceptable." He gestures to me.
I open up my bag and pull out my paperwork. It's lucky for him I always carry it with me, or we could have been in a lot of trouble. I hand it to Daisy, who scrutinises every bit of it. I try to resist the urge to roll my eyes. If I were in her position, then I'd want to make sure I was qualified too.
"Fine." She thrusts my wand making license back to me, then pulls out her wand. "But you're not coming inside."
Great. That makes my job harder. Even so, I take the wand from her with the best possible care and attention. This grade of wand deserves to be treated in a certain way, and I'm not about to do anything which risks that. I'm a wand maker first and foremost.
I set my handbag on the floor and pull out my travel wand repair kit, placing it in Ambrose's outstretched hand so I can pull out the magnifying glass.
I use it to examine Daisy's wand, making sure I go over every inch of it. Even though the splinter was small, I’d be able to see if it’s missing or if the wand has been recently repaired.
The larger woman across points at her wand. “Careful. It’s the latest version of this model.”
I run my fingers along the smooth wood, not managing to detect a single blemish on it. Looking at it with the magnifying glass suggested that's what I'd find, but sometimes, nothing can beat feeling for an imperfection. Whoever crafted this wand is as good as I am though, as I feel nothing of the sort.
Disappointed, I hand it back to her and give Ambrose a little shake of the head. “That wand is intact.”
The owner laughs haughtily. “I’d hope so. I paid a lot of money for it.”
Ambrose nods to the woman. “Thank you for your time.”
Before he's even finished speaking, Daisy slams the door shut on us.
“Well, that was a bust,” I mutter as he strikes through another name. “Do you really think if we meet the killer, he’ll let us examine his wand?”
Ambrose shakes his head. “Unless he’s super cocky… But if he runs away, that tells us a whole lot too.”
“That makes sense.” I stare at the page, counting down how many more names we have. “Three more to go. We’re getting closer.”
I just hope one of these wand owners is going to be the person we're looking for, otherwise Grammie will have called in a favour that got us nowhere. At least I'll have gotten to use a fancy machine. That's something at least.
I strike the last name off my list not sure what’s going on. “I was certain this last guy was guilty. He looked so twitchy.”
“Maybe he was nervous,” Ambrose says. “It’s not every day you have police over the floor.”
“I guess… But that’s it, that’s all the people on our list.”
We cross the street to where he parked his car. “Maybe we made a mistake. Are you certain the wood is from a wand?”
“Hundred percent. The lab wouldn’t have signed off on it otherwise.”
He hums and taps a finger against his chin. “So we’re missing something. The sliver isn't from the victim's wand, who else's could it have been from if it isn't the killer?"
“A witness?” I suggest, though I'm not convinced. We should still have been able to find a wand with a chip if it belonged to a witness.
“But why wouldn’t a witness have come forth?” Ambrose taps his chin. “No, something doesn’t make sense. Okay, so the wood is genuine wand… What about Elmer’s logo? Could that be faked?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ve seen his signature. It’s definitely one of his.”
“Even his client list might not help much. The killer could’ve stolen the wand,” Ambrose muttered. “The CWC list doesn’t make the distinction. Anyone on that list could be in the possession of the wand matching the sliver. That’s at least a couple of hundred people. We don't have the manpower to question them all, even on the off chance my superiors would sign off on it.”
I sigh. He’s right. This is a dead end.
How frustrating.
&
nbsp; “So what now?” I ask.
He pulls a face. “We go back to the drawing board. Retrace the crime scene, check the evidence again. See if we missed anything.”
“Okay, let’s go do that.”
“I meant… we, police, we…” He doesn't sound completely convinced, which is my way in.
“Oh, come on. Let me come with. You never know what I might see.”
He chuckles awkwardly. “No offense, but we’re trained officers. You’re just—”
“A crazy witch that makes wands?” I finish his sentence. “Yes, but I’m really good at it and Grandpa Dobromir is a witch. Something you think is irrelevant might mean something to me.”
He hesitates. “Fine.”
I try to hide the smug grin on my face, but it's not possible. "Good. But this time, I'm picking the music."
He groans. "So long as it's not a choice as preppy as you're feeling."
"Don't you worry, I have just the right thing."
12
Some of my excitement for the investigation fades as we approach Grandpa Dobromir's front door. It’s strange seeing the police tape around the house and across the green door.
This is an actual crime scene. I'm not sure I'm ready for what's inside, even if I think I am. But it's too late now. I've convinced Ambrose to bring me along already, if I back out now, then it will ruin any chances I have of getting the Detective to bring me along in the future.
Ambrose pulls the tape down and jangles the keys as he opens the door. A strange smell wafts out of the house and I quickly squeeze my eyes shut, though I'm not sure what help that is to my nose, it seems to help settle my stomach. I don't even want to think about what that is.
The wood floorboards creak as we approach the scene of the crime itself. Neither of us say anything as we walk. Somehow, that feels appropriate when entering a dead man’s house. It adds to the strange, tense atmosphere. It’s like the walls know what happened and they're mourning the loss of the man who lived within them. They won't be the only people. When word gets out about what happened to Grandpa Dobromir, the whole community is going to head into mourning. I hope someone organises a huge wake so we can all say goodbye properly.
I pull myself away from my thoughts as I follow Ambrose into the living room. I make sure to stay behind him. At the end of the day, I've never been at a crime scene before, and I don't know what the dos and don'ts are. Some are obvious, but they aren't the ones I'm worried about. But I trust him to tell me if I make a mistake.
I haven't asked which room the murder took place in, but my gut is telling me it's this one. From the splatters of dry blood, I know I’m right. Dark, brownish patches stain the floor and walls. There are numbered markers scattered all along the place in various colours. I’m not sure exactly what the colour system means, but I’ve watched enough crime shows to know that they mark things the forensics team believes are important to the investigation, and that I shouldn't move any.
“So how would you usually go over the scene?” I ask. Never having done this before, I want a starting point.
“Well, we’d run through the things we know.” Ambrose pulls a notepad from his pocket and flicks through it. “There were no signs of forced entry, meaning the victim probably knew his attacker.”
“Or someone just rang the doorbell and he opened it, thinking it was pizza,” I say, only partially as a joke. I’ve opened the door not knowing who’s on the other end loads of times. Perhaps I'll be rethinking that when I get home. I'm sure there's a spell in one of Grammie's books for a door alarm system.
Ambrose chuckles. “Well, there are no charges on his credit card for any kind of takeaway or delivery.”
“Did you dust the doorbell for fingerprints?”
“We did. Nothing. Nowhere in the entire house, so the killer must have worn gloves.”
“Or used his wand,” I chime in. “If I didn’t want to leave prints, I’d use my wand.” It seems relatively straightforward to me. Technically, our magic isn't supposed to be used against people, especially if we're causing them harm. It's easy enough to use magic on an item then use the item on a person though.
Ambrose sounds surprised. “Even for this?”
Oh, he seems unsure about this too. Maybe this isn't the kind of thing mages do with their magic. I don't know enough about it to be sure, but I've always assumed they're more direct about it. I'm not sure why.
"Definitely. Especially if I was feeling arrogant."
"Hmm. How?" He seems genuinely interested in my input, which helps banish the rest of my uneasiness about being here.
“Easy. You make the knife fly and scrrtchh—” I emphasise the sound by moving my hand along my throat. “Throat cut.”
“Huh. That would explain the blood splatter pattern.” Ambrose waves me over and gestures to some of the stains. “Look. We were trying to determine if the killer attacked him from the front or back but the splatter or cut wasn’t conclusive. A knife coming from a distance might explain that. I hadn’t considered that.”
I feel proud of myself already. I’m really helping.
“Are there any other stab marks around where Grandp— the victim got attacked?” I ask. “Any witch can levitate items but a direct, controlled attack like that isn’t easy. This killer would have to be skilled.”
“Could you do it?” Ambrose inquires as he walks over to the wall and examines it closely.
I hesitate, unsure if I should tell him the truth. “Yes, I could but I know a lot of people that wouldn’t.”
He shoots me an amused look. “So you’re really good then?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“I’m not. I guess there’s just more to you than meets the eye.”
“A lot more,” I say, carefully walking around the house. “I don’t see any other marks or signs of much struggle.”
“Me either,” Ambrose admits. “Initial report says the ritual carving was done after he was dead. Isn’t that weird?”
“I wonder why… What’s the significance of the emblem?”
“We haven’t figured that out. From what we can tell, it’s just the emblem of an old coven. We’ve tried to find any surviving relatives but it seems like that coven has no members anymore.”
“Maybe it’s a signature?”
“But why take the time to mark a body like that? Weren’t they worried they’d get caught?”
“Grandpa Dobromir is a notorious hermit. Perhaps they knew nobody would miss him for enough time that the magic traces would fade.” I walk around the living room, trying to see if anything is out of place.
"Magic trace?" he echoes.
I nod. "When I do a spell, I leave a sense of myself behind. Someone familiar with my magic, say Grammie, would be able to tell it was me."
"Can you feel a trace here?" he asks.
"Yes. But it's not one I recognise, sorry."
"And is it your magic or your wand that leaves it?"
I frown. "A combination, I think. Imagine it a little bit like your natural scent and your cologne. You smell like the sea..." I trail off briefly as a blush rises to my cheeks. "...but your cologne smells more like old spice. It suits you, by the way," I say flippantly, hoping it'll cover up the fact I've basically admitted to noticing.
Thankfully, Ambrose nods along, more interested in what I'm saying and the implications on his crime. "So, having a wand you don't normally use..." he prompts.
"Could stop someone from recognising your magic trace, yes. This could be someone I know, but if they used a different wand, then I'll have a harder time identifying them."
"I'm guessing this one isn't familiar to you?"
I shake my head. "Sorry."
"It's okay, I didn't really expect it to be."
I restart my walk around the room. For a violent crime, the house certainly doesn’t reflect it. Sure, it has blood stains everywhere but not a cushion is out of place. There are no signs of struggle or even an indicator that someone’s been here.
Either they didn’t touch anything or they knew exactly where to put things back.
I start to take note of things further outside my immediate vicinity, but it's all the same there. The curtains don’t look like someone rushed past them to come in or run away. I take a closer look at the shelf I recognised, looking at every item. There are so many gifts here, most from covens I recognise. Grandpa Dobromir might have spent most of his time on his own, but he certainly wasn’t isolated from the community. In fact, he probably knows— knew more people than the Hexagon.
Ambrose scribbles down some more notes and taps the pen against his lips. “I think the key of this is about the emblem. If we can figure out the significance and meaning, maybe that’ll tell us the motive of our killer. I’ve searched online but I can’t find anything on it other than it belonging to the Wind Coven. If he carved it into the victim’s chest, there has to be more meaning to it though. I wish we could find out but there isn’t a centralised point for these kinds of things.”
I’m not surprised. Most paranormals are secretive and prefer keeping their knowledge hidden. Witches, included. Technically, the Hexagon doesn’t even recognise the authority of the PPD.
“I have lots of books about witchcraft at home,” I suggest before I can stop myself. “It’s basically a small library. Grammie doesn’t like the rise of ebooks,” I explain before he can ask. “Maybe one of them will shed more light on the symbol.”
Ambrose scratches his head. “That’s not a bad idea.” He checks his watch and nods. “We’ve got time for that.”
"Excellent. I'll tell Grammie to put the kettle on."
13
I pat Herbert on his head, tickling him between his stone ears. Even if he can’t purr, I know he’s enjoying this. I can tell from the way he vibes. Maybe that makes me an eccentric old woman before my time, but I don't think so. Herbert is part of the family, and I won't have anyone say any different, especially if they haven't gotten to know him yet.
Hexes and Vexes (Amethyst's Wand Shop Mysteries Book 1) Page 6