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  Bricking It

  Wayfair Witches Book Two

  by A.A. Albright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  Text Copyright © A.A. Albright 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  Mailing List: http://www.subscribepage.com/z4n0f4

  Website: https://aaalbright.com

  Table of Contents

  1. Tall Tales

  2. Home Sweet Home

  3. The Warlock Arms

  4. Skeletons in the Changing Room

  5. Making Peace

  6. The Lesser-Known Mango Bat (AKA Dizzy)

  7. Fiddle Strings

  8. Wyrd News in the Afternoon

  9. An Pháirc Eile (The Other Park)

  10. Will-ful Ignorance

  11. Testing Times

  12. All Work and Some Rest

  13. Not-So-Simple Spells and Incantations

  14. Play it Again, Christine

  15. We Are Experiencing a Technical Fault

  16. A Flashlight Would Be Handy

  17. Banging My Head Against a Brick Wall

  18. Seat of Power

  19. A Little Help From My Coven

  20. The Source

  21. Rallying Around

  22. Little Miss Perky Nose

  1. Tall Tales

  I hovered outside the door, looking at the sign:

  Today’s Lesson – Tall Tales, taught by Arthur Albright.

  I paused outside just long enough to do a happy dance before pushing open the door. When I walked inside, the room was already full. The man I assumed to be Arthur Albright was sitting at the head of a room full of little children. Okay, so they weren’t all little children. There was a mixture of ages, including a few who could have been in their teens – either that, or they were tall. They had their desks arranged horseshoe fashion around the teacher’s larger desk. He sat perched on the edge, reading from a book.

  I ducked my head, gave a quick wave, and tried to take a seat. I say tried, because there was only one desk left, and this one was definitely built for kids. When my hips refused to fit onto that seat, they were not lying. Trying to play it cool – hard, when a pile of kids are gawking at you and a teacher is waiting for you to hurry the hell up – I sat on the ground instead.

  ‘Welcome,’ said the teacher. ‘I’m Mr Albright. You must be Wanda.’

  I gave an overly eager nod. ‘Yup, that’s me.’

  He gave me a little wave, then looked at the others. ‘Kids,’ he said. ‘This is Wanda Wayfair. She’ll be joining our class for the rest of the week. Say hi to Wanda.’

  ‘Hi Wanda!’

  ‘Hi everyone!’ I cried back happily, grinning like a maniac.

  I know what you’re thinking. What’s with the happy dances and maniacal greetings? Shouldn’t Wanda be embarrassed to be lumped in with a class mostly filled with children? Not only children, but the kind of children who needed ‘a little bit of help.’ Well no, actually. I wasn’t embarrassed. I was delighted.

  From the moment I finally received my magic, a few days before my twenty-first birthday, I’d been itching to learn all the things that had been closed off to me during my childhood. And now, after weeks of being forced to wait, September had arrived, and I was finally here in Riddler’s Cove School of Magic.

  Sure, the Minister for Magical Law wasn’t exactly playing fair. I wasn’t allowed to attend actual school in case my presence provided too much of a distraction for the students. Instead I was to attend a few special classes on afternoons and weekends, along with the students who needed extra tuition.

  She had also decided in her infinite (un)wisdom that it was far too dangerous for me to practise anymore magic until I’d passed a few tests. I was allowed two uses on days when I had classes, and only in order to travel back and forth from the school. Apparently she had some way of tracking whether I used more.

  Never mind that since becoming empowered I had helped my coven, the Wayfair Witches, to track down and bring to justice two murderers. Never mind that I’d managed to perform an incredibly difficult freezing spell, thus helping to save myself, my coven and a few others from being added to the murderers’ kill lists. Nope, none of that mattered to Minister Justine Plimpton. Because I was a Wayfair, a member of the coven whose job it was to track down wayward witches and bring them to justice – a coven that, for reasons unknown to me, Justine Plimpton hated with a furious passion.

  Instead of rising above her hatred, she had decided to give it free rein, banning me from working with my coven in any way in the meantime. I had between now and Halloween to learn what most witches had twelve years to study. If I succeeded, I could finally join in on investigations.

  But hey – I wasn’t going to let the man (or the woman in this case) get me down. Sure, she was acting like a nasty old witch in keeping me from doing what I was born to do. And yeah, I knew perfectly well that this was only the beginning – she was bound to make things extra difficult in the hope that I would fail every single subject. Despite all of that, I entered that class full of kids like I was walking on air. Because no matter how difficult she made things, I would pass the hell out of this class, and every other class between now and Halloween.

  ‘We’re studying the tale of the Wizard’s Graveyard today, Wanda,’ said Mr Albright. He really did look like a nice sort. Wavy hair in a reddish blond shade, glasses he kept having to push back up and a kind smile. ‘I’ll give you some notes at the end.’

  At the end? I inwardly scoffed as I took out a brand new notebook and a pen. I wasn’t going to let a word this guy said go unrecorded. Plus, my notebook was purple and my pen had a fluffy star on top that bobbled when I wrote. It would be a waste not to take my own notes.

  He looked down at a book in his hands – most definitely a kids’ book, with full-colour illustrations and everything, and began to tell the story.

  ‘Long, long ago, in an unknown place, a wizard called Seamus was being bullied by some witches. This made him very sad. But Seamus didn’t do what we should do when we’re sad or being bullied. Children, what should we do when things are getting us down?’

  The teacher looked expectantly around.

  ‘Cramming as much chocolate as possible into my gob usually works for me,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What was that, Wanda?’ He smiled in my direction.

  ‘Me?’ I pointed at myself, lest there be any confusion. ‘I em … I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘Funny, because I thought you said you ate chocolate when you were sad.’ Clearly, he was not one to be fooled. ‘And sure, chocolate can go a little way to making you feel better – I like a bar with a caramel centre myself. But there’s something that can go much, much further. Can anyone tell me what that is?’

  A little girl of ten or so, with glossy black hair in a neat ponytail, stuck up her hand. ‘Mr Albright, Mr Albright! I know, I know.’

  I did my best not to grunt at her. I mean, what kind of grown woman grunts at little girls? But I’m telling you, if you saw this little smart-arse, you would understand my struggle.

  ‘Yes, Candace?’ The teacher gave her a smile that told me that, secretly, he found her just as annoying as I did. ‘Fire away.’

  Candace turned to me to give me a triumphant grin before replying, ‘Of course, sir. The correct thing to do when one is feeling sad, or when one is feeling bullied, is to speak to a family member, friend, trusted teacher or counsellor.’
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  My eyes goggled. I couldn’t help it. Had she actually said ‘When one is feeling sad’? One? I thought only the queen of England spoke that way.

  ‘Very good,’ the teacher said, looking around at the rest of the class – he seemed like he was just as afraid as I was that Candace might offer some more wise suggestions about what ‘one’ should do. ‘That’s all good advice there. But Seamus the wizard didn’t do any of that. He didn’t speak to his parents, or his friends, or a trusted teacher or counsellor as he should have done. Instead, Seamus seethed and schemed, and decided that the only way he would feel better was if he had the same power as the witches.

  ‘So Seamus did a very strange thing. He built a graveyard. And this graveyard was not meant as a peaceful resting place for his fellow wizards. This graveyard was far more creepy. Because Seamus’s graveyard wasn’t just the place you went to when you were dead. It was the place Seamus took you to die. Yes, kids. Seamus killed hundreds and hundreds of witches, buried them beneath the earth and set a throne upon it.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ A skinny kid who looked around twelve stuck his hand in the air. ‘That doesn’t make any sense, Mr Albright. How could a wizard have managed to kill a single witch, let alone hundreds? Wizards are stupid and stinky. Everyone knows that.’

  Mr Albright let out a world-weary sigh. ‘Tommy, we’ve discussed this before. Wizards are not stupid and stinky. Wizards are people, too. And if witches back then had different attitudes, just maybe Seamus the wizard wouldn’t have turned evil.’

  Tommy rolled his eyes. ‘Agree to disagree, sir. This is a stupid story. A wizard couldn’t have managed to capture all those witches. There’s no way.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mr Albright smiled. ‘But there is.’ He pointed his finger at the book and an image from it began to float at the head of the classroom. It was a pair of shackles, joined together with the sort of chain that wasn’t messing around. ‘Seamus could kidnap any witch he liked, because he had these shackles. They were made with a metal that suppresses a witch’s power. The person who controlled the shackles could order them to snap around the wrists of any witch they liked. And once they were on, you couldn’t fight back. Anyway. Let’s get on with the story.’

  The image of the shackles disappeared and Mr Albright continued. ‘The throne that Seamus built was covered in symbols, symbols so scary that I’m not allowed to tell you about them, but symbols that helped the throne – and anyone who sat upon it – draw the magic from the graves below. Kids, do you remember the Tall Tale yesterday, about the evil warlock called Malachy Berry?’

  As the kids nodded, I shook my head. I didn’t know the Tall Tale of Malachy Berry. I didn’t know anything, it seemed.

  ‘Well,’ Mr Albright went on, ‘Seamus’s throne was filled with so much power and evil that even Malachy Berry would have quaked in his boots. Seamus sat on that throne each and every day, stealing the power from the witches he had killed and buried in the graveyard. He got so much power from that throne that he might well have changed the whole world. Instead of witches ruling over all of the enclaves, wizards would have been in charge. Why, this graveyard might even have given Seamus enough power to enslave the entire world. But then … can anyone guess what happens next?’

  The students shook their heads.

  ‘Well, what happened is what all too often happens when anyone decides to use an object of awesome power too frequently. The throne did what many such magical objects do – it began to control the one who used it. Seamus already had more than enough power to do what he had set out to do, but he wanted more. Seamus got greedy. So he went out once again, and he decided to take one more witch. This time, he captured a witch called Carline Von Brandt with his magical shackles, and as he was flying her to the graveyard on his broom–’

  ‘Wizards weren’t allowed to fly back then!’ Tommy shouted out. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed to fly now, my dad says.’

  Mr Albright clenched his jaw. ‘Well, luckily for wizards, your father is a pub landlord and not the Minister for Magical Law, Tommy. Nevertheless, Seamus did have a broom, fashioned by his very own hands, made from birch wood cut from a magical tree. And by all accounts, this broom made him a faster flyer than any witch at the time. Carline Von Brandt was terrified, sitting on the back of the thing. She felt sure that if she didn’t die in the wizard’s graveyard, she might well die in a broom crash! She struggled and struggled, trying to free herself, but she grew tired, and feared that all was lost. She resorted to the only thing she could. She called on the ghost of Wanda the Wayfarer to come to her aid. Some say she did it out of pure desperation, not believing anything would really happen. But I think she must have believed in Wanda with all her heart. Because all of a sudden, she looked up into the sky, and saw the ghost of the original Wayfarer smiling down upon her. Even in death, the Wayfarer had come, because you know what they say?’

  Candace stuck up her hand. ‘I know it, I know it! “If ye do bad, then ye must beware, for wandering Wanda is everywhere.”’

  ‘Very good, Candace. And that night it was certainly true. Wanda the Wayfarer’s ghost sent two bolts of lightning – one to destroy the magical shackles suppressing poor Carline’s power, the other to destroy Seamus the wizard’s broom. When the shackles broke, Carline was able to use her magic again and fly gracefully to the ground. But the evil wizard’s body smashed to the earth and came apart like a pumpkin.’

  Tommy stuck his hand up again. ‘And what happened then, Mr Albright? Did a necromancer reanimate him so he could be tortured?’

  Mr Albright’s eyes grew round and he coughed. ‘No, Tommy. A necromancer did not reanimate Seamus’s corpse so he could be tortured. Seamus the wizard was buried in the graveyard near Witchfield prison, along with all other wrongdoers.’

  ‘But what about Seamus’s graveyard?’ Candace questioned. ‘Where’s that, Mr Albright? Can we take a class trip there? I want to see the throne.’

  ‘Unfortunately not, Candace. Seamus took his secrets to the grave. The whereabouts of the Wizard’s Graveyard have never been discovered. Now, run on home and enjoy the rest of your day. Our next Tall Tale will be about another great Wayfarer, Gretel.’

  As the kids ran out of the classroom I was still scribbling in my notebook. I didn’t notice Mr Albright approaching until he was sitting on the floor in front of me.

  ‘You’re taking this seriously,’ he said with a smile. ‘Just what I like to see.’

  I looked up at him as I shoved my notes in my bag. ‘I kind of have to. It’s not like it’s a chore, though. I loved every minute of your class. I can’t wait to find out about Gretel.’

  He looked away from me. ‘Yes, well. That’s the thing. I believe your Tall Tales exam has been set for two weeks from now?’

  ‘It has,’ I replied. ‘After that it’s Simple Spells and Incantations, followed by Potions, followed by Magical History.’

  He gritted his teeth. ‘Good goddess, the Minister really has it in for you Wayfairs.’

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ I said with a shrug. ‘But I’m not going to let her get me down. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to learn all of this stuff. The next class is on Monday afternoon, right?’

  He did the looking away thing once again. ‘Well, that’s what I was trying to tell you before your enthusiasm took over. You see, last night I received a call from Justine Plimpton. I’ve suddenly been called away to chronicle an event in America. Apparently, I’ll be gone for the next two weeks.’

  ‘Oh. Well … I guess it must be a big event.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘It really isn’t. It’s a chroniclers’ conference, filled with hundreds of chroniclers all chronicling said conference. It does not need to be covered by me as well.’

  I resisted the urge to bang my head against my bag. So what if this was one of the spanners I’d been expecting the Minister to throw in the works? There was always a work-around. ‘Well, that’s all right, isn’t it? It’ll just mean a schedule change
, right? Simple Spells and Incantations will move forward and … and I’ll do your class after that. Right?’ While I gave him my brightest smile, my stomach was churning.

  ‘I applaud your spirit, Wanda. But I think even you know it’s not going to be that straightforward.’ He took off his glasses and polished them so hard I thought he’d break the lenses. ‘The Minister was quite firm when she phoned me yesterday evening. Your Tall Tales exam will go ahead as planned, two weeks from now. And before you ask, no substitute teacher has been supplied for you to study with in the meantime. You’ll have to go this one alone, Wanda.’

  I finally succumbed to the allure of banging my head against my bag. Frankly, I could have done with something harder. ‘Well then I guess that it’s a good thing Minister Plimpton has told me I can retake any classes I fail. Next year.’

  ‘Goodness. Well wasn’t that a kind offer for her to make?’ Mr Albright pushed his glasses back on and gave me a funny little smile. ‘For some reason though, I don’t think it’s going to come to that. Wait here, would you? I have something for you.’

  He stood up and wandered into a supply cupboard, returning a moment later with a wheelbarrow full of books. He picked up a small pile from the top. ‘These ones aren’t currently on the curriculum – they might just make an interesting read. Something to give you an idea of just how tall some of our Tall Tales are. But as for the rest of them …’ He blew out some air and pointed down at what remained in the wheelbarrow – there had to be nearly a hundred books there. ‘… these ones are on the curriculum. And the Minister has told me you’ll be expected to have studied each and every one of these books in time for your exam.’

  I gawped down at the piles of books, feeling slightly sick. ‘I won’t ask you why they’re in a wheelbarrow,’ I said.

  ‘Because I was gardening when the Minister phoned me and filled me in on her oh-so-wonderful decisions regarding your education.’ His smile grew slightly broader. ‘But you know, I’m actually just giving the books to you as a present. To thank you for all you did in stopping my cousin and her house getting burned to a crisp.’