Forget Me Knot Read online

  Gretel squeaked something unintelligible in reply, while I stared out at the thing that was upsetting Fiodóir so deeply. There was a man, sprawled on the ground close to the threshold, one of his arms outstretched as he clutched his mobile phone, his legs tucked at odd angles as though he’d been crawling towards the kitchen’s back door. There was desperation in his deep-set eyes.

  ‘He looks …’ Fiodóir swallowed. ‘He looks dead.’

  Gretel squeezed my hand and shook her head. ‘He can’t be,’ she said. ‘He can’t be, can he? I mean … nobody dies in Riddler’s Cove.’

  3. Going Batty

  I realise it’s probably time to explain a few things. Because surely, you’re thinking, everyone dies. And in a way, you’d be right. Everyone does die. But in Riddler’s Cove, they take an awfully long time to do it. Most people here wouldn’t pass away until they’d reached at least one hundred and fifty. And as for the younger people – people like the man on the ground, who looked no more than thirty – people like him did not die in Riddler’s Cove, nor in any of the enclaves under the control of my amazing fiancé.

  In the space of little over a year, Will Berry had made the most of his ministry. He had managed to create the kind of perfection of which supernaturals in other countries could only dream. The worst illness anyone ever got was a sniffle, and the Heal All Potion Will had created could banish even that much in the space of an hour. His Heal All Potion was so amazing that it was only bettered by his Age Well Elixir – a mixture which gave all witches a little extra longevity. People said it a lot, and they weren’t exaggerating – since Will became our Minister, we were truly living in a golden age.

  And yet, golden age or not, there was no doubt about it – this man was most definitely dead.

  ‘Maybe … maybe he’s not a supernatural,’ said Gretel. ‘He could be a human, making a delivery. Some companies let humans work for them as long as they’re sworn to secrecy, don’t they?’

  Fiodóir gave Gretel a dubious stare. ‘See, I know you don’t get to deal with a whole lot of crime these days, Gretel, so maybe your investigative skills are a bit underdeveloped because of it. But if this guy is a human, then where’s his Privilege jewellery?’

  Fiodóir had a point. A point that I should have thought of, I supposed – but the truth was, I was just as out of practice as Gretel. Did I say out of practice? Could you be out of something if you’d never been in it in the first place?

  The dead guy was wearing a sleeveless silver tunic-top and black trousers, so if he was wearing Privilege jewellery, we ought to be able to see it. But there was no ring on his finger, and no bracelet on his arm. I pulled out a pencil so I could lift the neck of his tunic without touching him, just to be sure.

  ‘Nope,’ I said with a resigned sigh. ‘No Privilege jewellery. So not only is the guy not a human, but we also now know he’s not any kind of supernatural other than a witch.’

  Just like humans, werewolves, vampires, unempowered witches and everyone who wasn’t a proper witch needed special jewellery to enter this enclave. So in the absence of Privilege jewellery, there was no doubt about it – the dead man had to be a witch.

  ‘Maybe … maybe he’s wearing an anklet?’ Gretel suggested.

  I sighed. ‘Seriously? There’s a lot of Privilege jewellery on the market, Gretel, but I’ve yet to see an anklet.’ I didn’t bother asking her why she was so eager for the deceased to be human, because I shared that hope – I wanted him to be anything other than a witch. I pulled up his trousers, just in case, but I wasn’t remotely surprised to find nothing on either of his ankles.

  ‘Look, we’re going to have to face it,’ said Fiodóir. ‘People here are in perfect health, thanks to Minister Berry. If this man is dead, well then he must have been–’

  Gretel and I held up our hands and shook our heads. ‘No,’ said Gretel. ‘Stop right there. Do not say the m word.’

  The tavern-owner sighed. ‘Fine, I won’t say it. Look, either way, shouldn’t the two of you be doing something other than staring right now?’

  He was absolutely right. We should be doing something. But seeing as I’d never been at the scene of a death before – let alone a death that was a possible murder – I was struggling a little to figure out what that something might be.

  ‘Our scanners!’ I cried. ‘They’ll tell us if there’s anything suspicious in the air.’

  Gretel’s eyes widened. ‘My stars, Wanda, you’re right,’ she said as she pulled a long black device from her belt, waving it nervously around. ‘Is it supposed to flash green or red?’ she asked. ‘Because it’s … well, I don’t know which it is. The green light is flashing, but the other light is slightly red and … it’s kind of warm, too.’

  I bit my lip, trying to recall what we’d learned in training. ‘I think that if the scanner glows red and grows hot, someone has tried to hide a magical signature.’ That wasn’t much help, though, seeing as the green button was also glowing, showing a clear magical signature on the dead witch himself. Except the second I tried to bring up his identity, the small screen on the front of the device said: Identity Unknown.

  ‘Crap!’ I gritted my teeth. It was beginning to look like me and that slice of apple tart were never meant to be. ‘So it looks like all we have to go on is the scrambled signature of whoever was here with this unidentifiable dead guy. Because someone must have been, right?’

  I looked around the space. It seemed like nothing much happened at the back of the tavern, other than food and drink being delivered. It was neat but unremarkable. There were plenty of crates and containers someone could hide behind, but then again, a witch would need nothing more than an invisibility spell in order to stay hidden.

  I waved the scanner around. It didn’t seem like there was anyone magical in the area anymore, other than Gretel and Fiodóir. But when the green light shone brighter than ever, as I accidentally pointed the scanner at myself, I groaned. ‘You know what? Forget everything I just said. This scanner is clearly defective. It thinks I’m the most magical person in the area.’

  ‘So what else should we do?’ asked Gretel, as she and Fiodóir looked expectantly at me. I began to worry for their judgement – because if they were considering me the go-to girl for this, then there was very little likelihood that the case would ever be solved.

  ‘Well, there’s no other ID in his pockets, but maybe we could check his phone. The way he’s clutching it makes me think he was trying to call someone just before he …’ I paused, struggling to get the word out. ‘… well, y’know … before he died. Whoever that person is, they might know our dead man.’

  Gretel gawked at me. ‘And that,’ she said, ‘is why you, Wanda Wayfair, are the only unempowered witch on the Peacemaker force. And I mean, how did you even remember all that stuff about the scanners?’

  I sighed as I pulled out my phone to call in some help. Sure, my ridiculous ability to retain information was the excuse for why I was allowed join the Peacemakers. But Gretel knew the truth, same as everyone else. If I didn’t happen to be going out with the Minister for Magical Law, I never would have made it onto the force.

  ≈

  My coven cottage was, as always, the most perfect place in the world. Sure, it was ancient, and crumbling in places, and it kind of looked like the whole thing might collapse if a strong gust of wind came its way. But perfect didn’t have to mean a palace. Old and well-worn as it was, this house would forever be the only place I wanted to call home.

  As soon as I walked through the door, three furry familiars rushed to greet me. Mischief, my mother’s cat, jumped into my arms, while Princess and Queenie, the familiars of Melissa and Christine, wrapped their way around my legs, purring and meowing for attention.

  I cuddled them all close. ‘I might not ever have a familiar of my own,’ I said. ‘But you guys sure do make up for it.’

  My mother, who looked like a slightly older version of me – chestnut-coloured hair and friendly brown eyes – peered up
from where she was standing at the oven door. ‘Good evening, good evening,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you had just as lovely a day as ever.’

  I snuggled into Mischief’s fur, wondering whether to tell her or not. My mother might say she was happy spending her days baking and volunteering, but I was sure she missed the old days, back when our coven were responsible for upholding the law in the supernatural enclaves.

  Sure, the Wayfairs had been absolutely horrendous at their jobs, by all accounts, and my mother often said that the arrival of the Peacemakers was the best thing since sliced bread, but sometimes I just didn’t buy it – and one of those times was right now. I could see that she’d hidden a copy of the Daily Riddler underneath a tea towel, and the newspaper was open on a section discussing the latest meeting of the Wyrd Court politicians. She’d even made some notes in the margins.

  ‘Wanda?’ She pulled out the casserole she was cooking and put her hands on her hips. ‘Did you hear me? I asked if you had a nice day.’

  I concentrated very hard on putting away my helmet and pulling off my boots. ‘Sure. Great. The best.’

  ‘Mm hmm? I know that face, young lady – even when it is doing its best to look at the floor instead of at its mammy. It’s the same face you had when you were afraid you’d be thrown into Witchfield just because you’d illegally read a spell book.’

  ‘I might have been sent there,’ I pointed out, ‘had you not intervened.’

  She threw down her oven gloves. ‘I only did what any mammy would do. Anyway, we both know that all my shouting wouldn’t have got us anywhere if Will Berry didn’t happen to be sweet on you.’ She winked. ‘I’m sure he’ll get around to changing the law soon. I mean, he’s about to marry an unempowered witch. He’s certainly not going to want you or anyone like you to get jail time just for being interested in magic.’

  I nodded a little too enthusiastically. I’d heard of protesting too much, but maybe I was affirming too much. ‘Of course he’s changing the law,’ I insisted. ‘He’s just got so much on his plate right now.’

  ‘Of course.’ She gave me a worried smile. ‘Now come on. Out with it. I know when something’s bothering you.’

  ‘Well …’ I slumped into the armchair next to the wood-burning stove. My mother must have been feeling the same phantom chill as Gretel and I, because despite the fact that it was still incredibly warm, she had some logs blazing. ‘Have you ever seen … well … can you remember …’ I looked up at her. I might as well just come out and ask. ‘When our coven were the police force, did you ever see a dead body?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Wanda … you’re not telling me … has someone been killed?’

  I nodded my head slowly. ‘It seems that way. Not just that, though. But he called here just before he was found, only the call was never picked up.’

  As you can probably tell, my bright idea to check the guy’s phone turned out to be not so bright, after all. In fact, it just made everything all the more confusing.

  After being told that we had no tech people or anyone else at our disposal, it had been up to Gretel and me to finish up at the scene. The scene that I was, even now, reluctant to call a crime scene. It had been the worst day in my memory, and I wished I could just brush it from my mind. But when I’d looked through the dead man’s phone, there was only one number called, and it was the number to this very house.

  My mother looked troubled, staring over at the phone. ‘The phone was ringing this morning, or maybe sometime around lunch. But none of us got to it on time, so we figured whoever it was would call back. What did you say his name was?’

  ‘I didn’t. He had nothing to identify him, and none of us recognised him. We haven’t got a healer on the force anymore, as you know – I mean, it’s not as if we need one, is it? So we phoned the captain up in Dublin, and he said we should deal with it ourselves. He advised us to transport the dead guy to Old Ma Flowers. She’s off until the morning but she said we could leave him in her healing room, so we did. And tomorrow … well, we should know by then what killed him. Maybe we’ll have a match on his fingerprints by then, too, seeing as our scanner couldn’t identify his magical signature. But here.’ I pulled a photo from my bag. Unfortunately it was a photo of a dead body – not the most appetising thing to look at before dinner, I admit.

  ‘I … I don’t know him,’ my mother said, looking carefully at the photo. ‘But I sort of feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before, if that makes sense.’ She shivered. ‘He really is dead, isn’t he? I almost didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen a body.’

  She peered even closer at the picture. ‘Well maybe … maybe he’s just older than he actually looks. He could have been under a glamour spell, or a doppelganger spell, and he’s actually well over a hundred and fifty. In which case I probably do know him – or know him as he looks in his natural state, anyway. And if that’s the case, then he probably died at his natural time.’

  I sat forward. ‘You think that could be it? It could, couldn’t it? Oh Mam, you’re a genius.’

  She rubbed her temples, looking suddenly tired. ‘Wanda, that’s the explanation I’d like it to be, and I certainly hope that when you see the body again in the morning, it’ll have returned to its non-glamour or non-doppelganger state. But let’s not get our hopes up, okay. Because yes, when I was in charge of the police force, we did see dead bodies. A lot of them. That’s why I know Will Berry was right to hand our duties over to the Peacemakers. The Wayfairs made a right hames of things, so we did, and he’s turned all of that around. No more murder, no more illness. But Wanda … there are people in this world who don’t want things to be all sweetness and light. People who have so much badness in them that they have to spread some of it around. But either way …’ She rubbed my shoulder with a warm and gentle hand. ‘Either way, it still doesn’t explain why he was ringing our house. But in the end,Will will sort it out. He always does, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said with a small smile. ‘He always does.’

  ≈

  After a dinner of my mother’s three bean casserole, followed by a slice of apple tart (okay, two slices and quite a lot of ice cream) I headed to my bedroom.

  Sitting on my bed, I tried my best to ignore the two cuddly toys I’d left lying against my pillow. One of them was a cat called Minx, the other a bat called Dizzy. Talking to these toys was a strange habit I’d revisited lately – one that I thought I’d left behind with my childhood.

  As a girl, I used to chat with Minx, pretending that the toy was my familiar. But the bat was a new and altogether stranger addition. I’d picked him up when we were policing a vampire fairground a few days ago. He was a small, brownish-black thing with the sweetest little face, and everyone I knew thought I was a weirdo for liking him so much – and for being positive that he was a him and not an it.

  I blamed my impending marriage. I was afraid of becoming a grown-up, and so I was acting like a child instead, that was all.

  ‘Hey Dizzy,’ I whispered, picking up the little bat. ‘So what do you think of all this, then? Dead bodies in Riddler’s Cove. Weird or what?’

  The bat’s face remained blank – well, of course it did. If I actually thought he was about to talk back to me, then I was the one going batty.

  I placed him back on the pillow and moved to my wardrobe to get ready for my date. Usually, this was a wonderful point in the evening – I’d be brimming with excitement, looking forward to spending a few hours with Will. But this was one date that I honestly wished could be over already.

  Will was taking me to an exclusive screening of the first episode in the latest Witch Wars season, and although I loved the show, I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy it quite so much tonight.

  Fancy clothes were required – Will had bought me a floor-length gown – and I couldn’t believe that watching the show in a gown would be half as enjoyable as watching it in my pyjamas. I was just deciding how much air I’d have to breathe o
ut before I could squeeze into the dress, when I heard music drifting from Melissa’s room. I pulled on my robe, made my way to her open door and peeked in, trying to stay quiet.

  Melissa was my best friend and coven-sister. She was tall, slim and stunning, with long, dark red hair and gorgeous green eyes. Right now, she was dancing around the room with something pressed to her chest, humming what I knew was a Call of the Wild song. Her hair flew out behind her as she spun, and I heard her whisper, ‘In another life, Mack McAdams, you and me are together.’

  As the song came to an end, she stopped spinning, saw me standing there, and jumped.

  ‘I … I was just …’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said, taking a seat on her bed. ‘You’re not the only witch in the world who has a crush on Mack. I mean, he’s the hot singer of the most famous werewolf rock band in the world.’ I nodded toward one of her posters, where Mack was standing tall, growling into a microphone. He was a handsome guy, with close-cut blond hair and cool grey eyes. A long-haired, skinny bass player was standing next to the singer, jutting his hips and pouting his lips. ‘Now, if you’d told me you had a crush on Jasper Jaunt, I’d have some serious concerns about you.’

  She laughed and came to sit beside me. I could see what she’d been clutching then, as with a red face she laid it aside – it was a small, plastic model of Mack McAdams. Seeing as I’d just been talking to my imaginary bat familiar, I was hardly one to judge.

  ‘Have you heard about the concert tomorrow night?’ she asked quietly.

  I nodded. ‘Me and Gretel saw the poster in Three Witches Brew today.’

  She shuffled closer. ‘Darrell was going on and on about it at work.’ She put her fingers in her mouth and mimed being sick. I couldn’t say I blamed her. Melissa had passed the LOL exams, and was therefore qualified to become a legally operating lawyer. But with the current lack of crime, there was no legal work for her to do. To make ends meet, she was working as an assistant for Will’s enemy, Darrell Plimpton.