A Little Bit Witchy (A Riddler's Edge Cozy Mystery #1) Page 16

  I had hoped to shame him into submission, but he kept coming at me, leaning on his cane with one hand and clutching the book with the other. There was no way I was going to touch that grimoire. My fear of him was growing by the second. What would happen if I was his granddaughter? I had visions of a life in a locked room, while Arnold insisted that he was just trying to keep me safe.

  Before he could thrust the grimoire into my hands, I ducked and ran for the window, grabbing a heavy book from a shelf. If I threw it through the window, maybe someone would hear the racket and come to see if anything was wrong. And if they didn’t, then I would crawl through that broken glass, and run for my life.

  I hurled it with all my might, and then cried out in disappointment as the book bounced off the window and fell to the floor. I wanted to fall to the floor along with it, but I wasn’t about to give up. If he thought he was going to force me to stay here, then I was going to show him exactly what life with me would be like.

  I picked up another book and threw it – I knew it wouldn’t break the window, I just wanted to make a very big mess. I threw more and more books, and then I grabbed ornaments, smashing them on the ground. I had just picked up one of the brooms, and I was holding it over my knee, about to snap it in two, when I heard Arnold say, ‘Conáil.’

  As soon as the word left his mouth, my body stilled.

  ‘You … what have you done?’ Even as I asked the question, I already knew the answer. Conáil was an Irish word for freeze. And that was just how I felt – frozen, immobile.

  He gave me a look of wounded innocence. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘But I had to do it. You gave me no choice. It’s just a simple freezing spell. A light one, too. You can still speak. And if you’re a good girl, and promise to do as I say, then I’ll ease it even more.’

  I glared at him, more anger than I’d ever felt before welling up inside. I wasn’t just angry at him. I was angry at my stream of foster families. Angry at the system. Angry at my mother. Angry at myself for daring to hope he would do the right thing.

  As he strode towards me once again, I felt like that well of anger was expanding within me, taking on an energy of its own. It was growing, spreading all through me, until it felt so big I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep it inside.

  ‘No!’ I screamed, the anger spilling into my words. ‘I don’t want to be your granddaughter. Stay away from me, Arnold. Stay away!’

  As I screamed with all my might, his facial expression began to change. His stubbornness turned to surprise as his body was hurled back through the air. He landed against a bookshelf, a strange, dull thudding noise sounding all around him as the books fell to the ground.

  And then … he just lay there. The anger inside me turned to dread as I stared at him, unable to move, unable to check if he was all right. ‘Are … are you all right?’ I asked. I had no idea what I’d done or how I’d done it. All I knew was that an old, frail man was lying on the ground, and I’d been the one to send him there. ‘Please say you’re all right.’

  He let out a long, weary sigh. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not all right. But that’s not your fault. The blame is all mine.’

  I felt my body free up, and a clicking sound came from the door behind me. ‘You’re free to go,’ he said. ‘I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, Aisling. All I ask … all I ask is that you forgive me.’

  I hesitated for a moment. Thoughts and fears were rushing through my mind, banging into one another and creating a right ruckus. This could be his one last ploy. He could be pretending to be contrite just to get me to go over there and touch that stupid grimoire. But he didn’t look like he was feigning anything. He just looked weary, sorry, and sad.

  He sat up and nodded to the door. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ he said. ‘Get out of here and leave me in peace.’

  He was right. What was I waiting for? I pushed all doubts aside and ran for the door, dashing through the hallway, yanking the front door open and rushing out into Riddler’s Cove.

  I didn’t stop running, not until my lungs screamed out and my legs grew weak. By then, I was almost at the market again. And it was at that moment, as I stood holding my chest and panting, that I realised: there was a broom right beside me, hanging in the air.

  24. A Little Bit Witchy

  There was no rider on the broom. It was just hovering there, next to me. And it wasn’t just any old broom. It was a broom with a crooked shaft and uneven bristles. I reached out and, as my hand came in contact with the wood, a spark of electricity flew through me.

  ‘You look like one of the brooms from the library,’ I said, trying to minimise my shivers of excitement. ‘Why are you here?’

  The broom made a funny little judder, and I gasped. ‘So … what’s the plan, broom? You’re just going to stay flying beside me, all the way back to the Vander Inn?’

  There was another judder from the broom.

  ‘Okay then. Do what you want to do. But you’d better be prepared, broom – because pretty soon, the deranged old guy who may or may not be my grandfather is going to come after me and try to get me to touch that book again. Which will lead to a fight. Which will lead to him doing some jiggery-pokery with my memory and sending me back to Dublin. And you can’t come there with me. Because I live in a human enclave. A grotty flat in a human enclave, might I add. There’s barely room to swing a cat. Not that I would. I have a feeling that Fuzz might swing me right back.’

  I kept babbling away as I walked through the town and on into the Wandering Wood. Just like when I yammered to Fuzz, I felt sure the broom was listening.

  By the time I arrived back at the Vander Inn, the evening poker crowd had arrived. I couldn’t face that many people, so I kept my head down and made my way to my room.

  My room. I sighed. It wasn’t my room. It never had been. It was just a lovely dream that I’d enjoyed for a while. Arnold was sure to have gotten over his shock by now, and if his actions over the last thirty years were anything to go by, then he wasn’t going to stay docile for long. He’d be speaking to Grace any minute now, telling her that I needed to touch the grimoire or get out of town.

  And if that was the case, I really shouldn’t be cut up about it. Sure, I’d met some people who I liked a lot. But there was also the small matter of the supernatural-on-supernatural hatred, the steady stream of murders, the local humans who were oblivious to the magic that was happening all around …

  And then there was Detective Quinn. He was the grumpiest, rudest man I’d ever met. And I was including my old editor John in that assessment.

  All in all, it might be good to get back to normality.

  When I opened the door to the bedroom, the cat was sleeping on the bed. ‘Hey Fuzz,’ I said, scratching behind his ears. ‘I won’t bother asking if anyone let you in. Your ways and means can remain a secret. I don’t think you’ll be too surprised to hear that my meeting with Arnold didn’t go all that well. I refused to touch the Albright coven grimoire and then sent him flying against the wall. So … I’ve had better job interviews.’

  Fuzz purred, rubbing his head against me, sending a lovely wave of calmness my way.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Things will work out the way they’re meant to. You and me will stay together, somehow. No matter what Arnold does.’

  He stopped purring suddenly. His ears pricked, and he turned to look at the open door. I followed his eyes there, watching as the broom flew right in and settled down on the bed beside the cat. Fuzz began to purr again, and then he rubbed his head against the bristles and lay down next to the broom. Well, of course he did. And of course I was convinced that the two were having a conversation while they lounged. Because … y’know … I was in the kind of town where anything was possible.

  I was just about to check on the train timetable when my mobile phone began to ring. The number of the Daily Riddler flashed on the screen. You know that saying about your heart being in your mouth? Well, that was how I felt just then. Te
rror and hope intermingled, and I knew for certain: I wanted to stay here so badly that it hurt.

  I swiped to answer. Before I had a chance to say a thing, Grace began to talk.

  ‘I’ve just been speaking to Arnold,’ she said. ‘He told me you refused to take the test. Well, good for you. And I mean that sincerely, Ash, not sarcastically – though I’m aware that my tone sometimes fails to differentiate between the two. But I am sincere. I think you did the right thing. I like you, Ash. You’re a good egg.’

  I laughed softly. ‘Well, that’s nice, I guess. You might have to like me from a distance, though. Did he tell you what’s going to happen now? I’ve been wondering whether he’ll suddenly appear in the Vander Inn. And I can’t just sit here, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for my memories to disappear. I think it might be best if I just get on the next train. Oh, and also – did he happen to mention a broom?’

  There was a pause, and then Grace said, ‘He did mention that one of Abby’s brooms had decided to follow you home, and he told me you’re welcome to keep it. He also said you and he parted on bad terms, but I thought he would have at least tried to make his position clear. You’re not going anywhere, Ash. Well, unless you want to.’

  I held the phone away from my face and prodded a finger about in my ear. I had to have heard her wrong. ‘Come again?’

  She let out an irritated tut. ‘I mean, I’ve already had words with Arnold, but I’m going to have even more words with him as soon as I can. Ash, I don’t know what you said to that silly man. All I know for sure is that you refused to take the test. But whatever happened between the two of you … well … it seems to have been the kick up the behind he needed. He wants you to stay on. Based on your journalistic merit, according to him. He says the choice is yours, but either way he won’t try to interfere with your memory.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. A moment later I added another, ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. Quite. Listen, I have to go now. But I hope I see you on Monday morning. Nine sharp. Oh – and I should probably tell you now while I think of it – I lied to you today. Your piece wasn’t just satisfactory. It was wonderful.’

  ≈

  It was Monday morning, and I sat in the dining room of the Vander Inn, chowing down on a big bowl of porridge and chatting with Pru. Nollaig and Jared were up in bed, and there were no other guests.

  Pru’s breakfast was a red smoothie, and as she drank it my mind travelled back to the previous Monday morning, when I met Bathsheba on the train. Detective Quinn had assured me Donald would be treated leniently, and I hoped it was true. I already had a series of articles in mind that I intended to write if he went to trial. Public opinion mattered, and I knew that if enough people understood why Donald helped his wife to die, then a trial might go his way.

  I felt positive about the outcome. I felt positive about everything, in fact. Outside, the sun was shining and the birds were singing, and I knew I was exactly where I ought to be.

  Pru put on her sunglasses and smiled. ‘I’m going to work up in Dublin today,’ she said. ‘There’s a big fête taking place on the posh side of the city. Sometimes I feel like I’m stealing candy from a bunch of great big human babies, seeing as I can read their minds. But I figure, that’s what any fortune teller does – right? We just tell people what they already know. Like last night when I told my brother that you wouldn’t go out with him if he were the last man on earth.’ She pulled her glasses down a touch and wiggled her eyebrows at me. ‘Because you wouldn’t. Would you?’

  I shrugged, digging into my porridge. ‘You’ve already told me you’d never stoop so low as to read my mind, so I guess you’ll just have to figure that one out for yourself.’

  ‘Speaking of unscrupulous vampires,’ said Pru, ‘I think I ought to teach you to block. My brother is not above fishing about in that lovely brain of yours – so he can pretend that you and he just happen to like all the same music and movies. I should warn you though, just like not all vampires can read human or witch minds, well … not all witches can block vampire intrusions. But we could give it a try.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re forgetting something, Pru. I’m not a witch. I’m a … well … I don’t know what I am.’

  She didn’t respond. She was too busy looking over my shoulder. I turned to see what was so interesting, and a bubble of happiness rose up inside.

  It was Fuzz, arriving in the dining room – sitting right on top of the flying broom, no less. What did I tell you? Riddler’s Edge was the sort of town where anything was possible.

  Pru giggled and reached out to stroke the cat. ‘Sure. You’re not a witch, Ash. Tell you what? Why don’t we just call you a little bit witchy for now?’

  ≈

  You’ve reached the end of A Little Bit Witchy. I hope you enjoyed this read. If so, join my mailing list to keep up with the very latest releases: http://www.subscribepage.com/z4n0f4

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  If you’d like to find out a little more about Ireland’s supernatural inhabitants, turn or swipe the page to find the latest Extract from the Compendium of Supernatural Beings.

  Extract from the Compendium of Supernatural Beings

  Edition 5002.

  Year of Publication: the Year of the Woodpecker (otherwise known as 2018 AD).

  Chronicler: Adeline A. Albright (Senior Chronicler and Librarian, Crooked College, Warren Lane, Dublin 2)

  Major Supernatural Beings

  Witches:

  Witches, both male and female, are considered the most magical of supernatural beings. Their power is innate and (almost always) inherited. It would not be possible to list all witch abilities in this compendium, however many witches choose to specialize in one particular area. In the Year of the Lotus (2017 AD), Materialization was the most popular subject at Crooked College for the second year in a row. The Society for Senior Witches stated that this was ‘proof that witches are sliding further and further towards the pits of hell.’

  Most witches belong to covens. Whilst each family may legally form a coven of its own, it is more usual for the smaller, newer witch families to join the covens of the larger, more established families.

  Due to increasing pressure from other supernatural factions in recent years, witches have recently made their enclaves accessible to all other supernaturals. Whilst all supernatural enclaves (sub-dimensional regions) have always been accessible to witches, until recently the witches have kept their own enclaves closed to all but a privileged few.

  During the Winter Solstice of the Year of the Lotus, Agatha Wayfair, the now deceased Acting Minister for Magical Law, issued updated versions of the Pendant of Privilege to all Irish supernaturals. The old (and some would say ugly) jewellery was redesigned, and there is now a choice of rings, necklaces and other jewellery which will grant the wearer access to the witch enclaves.

  Warlocks:

  The warlock movement has been around for centuries. It began in the Year of the Snout (2001 BC), when a small group of male witches formed the Warlock Society. Their original manifesto has been lost to the ages, but it is widely accepted that their modern manifesto is representative of the society’s early beliefs: that men are unfairly represented within the matriarchal structure of witch society, and recognition of their unique male capabilities is important to society as a whole.

  Warlocks are (genetically speaking) witches. They’d just rather not be reminded of that fact.

  Wizards:

  (Note: This edition of the Compendium is only the second to include wizards in the Major Supernatural Beings section. To find references to wizards in compendia prior to the Year of the Lotus, the chronicler suggests you begin looking under the section labelled: Others)

  Wizards can be male, female, or anything else they like. They are also known as mages, shamans and wiccans, and are often overlooked. This is due to the fact that wizards are almost always of human origin. Their power is
neither innate, nor inherited. A wizard’s power is hard won and, because of that, deserves the utmost respect.

  In February of the Year of the Woodpecker, wizards were finally granted equal rights, and they now have access to all major magical enclaves, tomes and educational facilities. Considering how far their power advanced without these privileges, this chronicler predicts an interesting future for wizards. Already, wizards are expert at harnessing and directing the elements, and utilising OUPs (objects of unusual power), OAPs (objects of awesome power), AUPs (areas of unusual power) and AAPs (areas of awesome power). With their new legal rights, they are sure to progress further.

  Wizards traditionally reside in the human enclaves, most often working in science and technology – though a small few run candle stores, yoga studios, holistic centres and the like. In recent years, witches have – somewhat – relaxed their attitude to wizards. They have been free to work in witch enclaves for a number of years, but now they are also free to reside there. As yet, very few wizards have made the move, preferring to remain in the enclaves that have always been open to others.

  As of December in the Year of the Lotus, there were more wizards working in the magical devices sector than there were witches. Sales of wizard-made brooms have now surpassed witch-made brooms.

  Mages: See entry for Wizards

  Shamans: See entry for Wizards

  Wiccans: See entry for Wizards

  Werewolves:

  Werewolves are an example to us all that, with the right attitude, you can make a curse work for you. There are many conflicting chronicles of how, when and why these beings were hexed. Werewolves themselves have a long-standing policy of neither confirming nor denying any single chronicle.