Old-School Witch Read online

  Any other thirty-year-old might be annoyed with getting such a grilling, but I was loving every minute. Sure, I hid that love under my usual brusque exterior, but it was there.

  The eggs arrived and, as usual, they were perfectly scrambled, and there were many slices of buttery toast on the side. The breakfast looked mouth-wateringly good, and I grinned up at my mother, about to dig in, when the door of the tavern opened once more.

  This time, the new arrival didn’t bother to step in and close the door behind him. He just stood there, looking bedraggled and miserable, as the leaves and sea spray rushed into the room. It was Hector Harte, the local doctor. When I say doctor, I mean human patients only. In a semi-supernatural town, it’s important to make the distinction. Hector was a man in his seventies, who liked to wear colourful socks and ties. This morning’s socks were red, while his tie was blue with green spots.

  ‘Detective Quinn!’ he bellowed. ‘Norma and I found a body in the church hall. You need to come. Now.’

  Dylan glanced down at his food. ‘I know you were being cute when you said we were going to enjoy the eggs at the end of the rainbow, Ash, but let’s face it – the thing about treasures at the end of the rainbow is that they’re just as elusive as the eggs on this plate.’ He stood up and sighed. ‘Do you and Greg want to come with me, or do you want to stay and finish off your eggs?’

  For the first time in my journalistic career, that was actually a difficult question. Even Greg moaned a little and said, ‘But I’m only halfway through.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose we’d better go,’ I said reluctantly. ‘But let’s just get a few more forkfuls in first.’

  2. The Mysterious Box of Bric-a-Brac

  The church hall in Riddler’s Edge was the place where the non-supernatural residents enjoyed knitting circles, choir practices and the like. But it wasn’t always filled with neighbourly goodness. A few months ago, a choir member had been murdered in the adjoining bell tower. A witch hunter had been responsible. As well as being an evil murderer, he had also made me believe I had the voice of an angel, when in truth you might mistake my singing voice for the howling of a troubled cat.

  By the looks of it, a meeting of the Historical Society had been about to take place this morning. There was a banner with their logo (Riddler’s Edge Historical Society – Digging Up the Past) hanging upon the wall, and there was a model of the town placed upon a large table in the centre of the room. I could see the town’s major buildings, with their building dates on little cards placed in front. There were little plastic trees depicting the forest to the south of the church. In front of the forest, there was a card saying: Old school situated here.

  As well as all of that, there was a dead body. It was Ben Goodfellow, who was the leader of the Historical Society. He wasn’t well known to me, but I’d never had a problem with him. Some people thought he should be called Ben Busybody, but I was hardly going to throw any stones in that direction, seeing as I spent most of my time butting into things that were none of my business.

  He was a few feet away from the table, with a swollen mouth. His glasses were askew, and his hands were raised up as if to try and push someone off.

  However he had died, it had clearly been terrifying.

  And he wasn’t having a much better time of it now that he was dead. Six cats were prowling around him, meowing and prodding at his body. At least they hadn’t started eating him yet. Silver linings.

  The owner of the cats was also in the room: Norma Baxter, who ran the local shop with her son (a man called Norman, because why shouldn’t they have confusingly similar names?). This morning, Norma was sitting in a cushioned chair just a few feet from Ben’s body, knitting as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

  ‘Morning, Norma,’ I said. ‘Hector said you and he had found the body, but I didn’t expect to find you still here. I see you’ve brought some of your cats along for the occasion. That’s … nice.’

  She looked up from her knitting. ‘Oh my goodness. I told the six of you to stay put. Princess Preciousbottom, Queen Swishytail, Lady Lightpaws, come to Mammy! And I’m looking at you too, the Duchess of Riddler’s Edge, the Dowager Queen, and the Lady in Waiting! Leave that poor man alone.’

  The cats jumped to attention, three of them hopping into the knitting basket, the other three sitting innocently by her side and licking their paws. The Dowager Queen did look up at me, momentarily, as though to say, ‘I’ve been perfectly behaved all along, and don’t you dare say any different!’

  As soon as the cats were corralled, Norma finally turned her attention on us. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem particularly interested in discussing the murder. Instead, she held up a jumper, covered in tulips, and said, ‘I was thinking this would look well on you, Miss Smith.’

  ‘Oh. Well, thanks.’ I prodded Dylan to stop him from laughing. For all he knew, tulip sweaters could be the next big thing. ‘So … Hector said you and he found Ben’s body. Can you tell us about it?’

  I glanced at the open doors. Hector had come along with us, but he had mumbled something about hating to be near dead bodies, and was now taking some deep breaths before he would enter.

  Her needles continued to clack. ‘Well, let’s see now. Ben called us last night, myself and Hector. Said he wanted to talk to us about the old school. Oh, Greg! I’m actually thinking of doing you a nice jumper too, with a picture of your lovely purple van on it. Would you like that?’

  Greg had been busy taking photos of the scene, and surreptitiously waving a scanner around, but he paused and smiled at Norma. ‘You bet I would. That’d be awesome, Norma.’

  Maybe he was a better actor than me, or maybe he was genuinely enthusiastic about the sweater. Either way, it wasn’t a line of conversation that was going to get us anywhere. Dylan clearly agreed, because he looked sternly at Norma and said, ‘Could we get back to the subject, please? You mentioned something about an old school?’

  Norma gave him a sympathetic gaze. ‘Oh, Detective Quinn! No wonder you’re being a grumpy Gus. You thought I was going to leave you out, didn’t you? Of course I’ll knit you a jumper, too. What would you like on it? Maybe some handcuffs? Or a gun?’

  Looking as though his eyes might soon be about to bleed, Dylan gritted his teeth and said, ‘That’d be great. But what about the old school? The thing you came here to discuss with Ben?’

  Norma sat back, sighing. ‘I see I’ve upset you even more than I thought. I’ll knit you two jumpers. How about that? Now what was it you were asking me again? Oh yes, the old school. Well, I suppose it’s possible Ben was murdered because of it – seeing as this doesn’t look like your typical nut allergy to me.’ She broke off and leaned forward, looking out the door of the hall. ‘Hector! Hector! Would you get in here, would ya? I’m trying to tell the detective and his pals that I don’t think it was a nut allergy this time.’

  I couldn’t fault Norma for mentioning nut allergies. After all, a lot of deaths in Riddler’s Edge were explained away with that excuse. Hector hobbled in, his complexion matching the green spots on his tie.

  ‘Yes. Yes, Norma is right. It wasn’t a nut allergy. But I can’t think what it would have to do with the old school, mind you. Why would someone kill him because of that?’

  This time, Dylan very nearly screamed. ‘Will one of you please tell me what you mean about the old school? What old school?’

  I patted his back and pointed to the model on the table. ‘Over there. It looks like the Historical Society were looking for the ruins of a school in the forest to the south of here. Is that right, Norma?’

  ‘We were looking for it all right,’ Norma confirmed. ‘And we found it, too.’ She pointed one of her needles across the room. She was indicating something close to Ben’s body, beneath a chair. Carefully, Dylan retrieved it – it was some sort of book, possibly an old school yearbook, but it was rather singed around the edges.

  ‘That yearbook is what got him obsessed with finding the school in the first place. He f
ound it in a mysterious box of bric-a-brac at the last car boot sale.’

  ‘Mysterious?’ Now there was a word that aroused my interest. ‘What was mysterious about it?’

  She shrugged. ‘Everything. There was a stuffed bat in there. Two stuffed dogs. A set of false teeth. That sort of thing.’

  That didn’t sound mysterious. It sounded disgusting. ‘Okay, so he bought the box with the school yearbook. What year, exactly?’ I looked questioningly at Dylan.

  He grunted and said, ‘It says “The Class of Nineteen Sixty-Seven, Riddler’s Edge School for the Gifted.” School for the Gifted? I never heard of a school like that around here.’

  ‘Neither had we,’ said Norma. ‘Hence Ben’s excitement. There was an address and a map at the back of the book. It was easy enough to find, once we knew where to look, and we were supposed to start exploring it today. But then, last night, Ben called me and said he didn’t want to go ahead today after all – which was just as well, in my opinion. I mean, I’d been telling him since the beginning that we ought to get some professionals involved.’

  Once again, I patted Dylan’s back. He’d known Norma longer than I had, so he ought to have learned by now that she would get to the point. Eventually. But maybe I ought to prod her a little, so she’d get there quicker.

  ‘So Ben didn’t want to go ahead with whatever you were all doing today, after all?’ I questioned. ‘And he only called you and Hector to talk about it. So you and Hector found the body, and then …’

  ‘I got here about ten minutes before Hector, as a matter of fact,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you that now because there’s CCTV in the grounds of the church – after Heather Flynn hanging herself in the bell tower. Anyway, it was your fault I got here early, Aisling.’

  ‘My fault?’

  ‘Well, your cat’s fault, I suppose. I caught my Princess Preciousbottom trying to sneak out with him. How they got the cat flap open I’ll never know.’

  I looked over at Princess, who gave me a sweet as syrup meow.

  ‘So I bundled her up with my other ladies and thought I’d better get them all far away from your little Fuzz. So I came here earlier than we’d arranged. I thought it would be nice to get the tea going before Ben and Hector turned up and … well, I was a bit shocked, as you can imagine, which is why I didn’t sound the alarm myself.’

  She sure didn’t look shocked. She looked as calm and together as ever. Then again, she did live in Riddler’s Edge, a town where the supernatural mingled with the humans on a daily basis. Like every human here, Norma had no idea what really went on beneath her nose – and the town’s magic seemed to make sure things stayed that way.

  But this death … I peered closer at the body. This didn’t seem supernatural. I was half sióga, and it was the faery side of my nature which enabled me to see magic. And I couldn’t see the merest trace in the church hall this morning. What was swelling his mouth up like that, though?

  ‘This doesn’t look like it’s you know what,’ I whispered to Dylan. ‘I can’t see anything that I might normally see. This might just be a perfectly normal, human murder.’

  Greg joined our huddle. ‘I’m not picking anything up,’ he said. ‘Nothing supernatural about this. But we do need to get Ben’s gob open so we can see what’s in there.’

  ‘I mean, it’s a very unusual death, isn’t it?’ Norma went on, raising her voice over the sound of her clacking needles. ‘It knocked me for six, what with the map being torn out of the yearbook that way and stuck into his mouth.’

  Dylan looked closely at her. ‘How do you know it’s the map?’

  She stared back at him, unflinching. ‘Because I’ve seen and heard nothing but this yearbook for the last couple of weeks, Detective Quinn. That’s how I know. When I saw it this morning, it was open to the back of the book, exactly where the map was, and that page was torn out. It’s a simple process of deduction, and I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.’ She looked searchingly at him. ‘Although maybe you ought to read a few detective stories. They might give you some ideas.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Dylan with an edge to his voice. ‘And were there any other valuable clues that I may have missed, Norma?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘His ring is gone.’

  ‘His ring?’ Dylan frowned. ‘I don’t recall Ben being the type to wear jewellery.’

  Norma rolled her eyes. ‘You stood in line behind him at the shop yesterday and you didn’t notice the ring? Ooh, Detective Quinn. I’m a little bit worried that this case isn’t going to get solved. Although you have brought Miss Smith along, which is probably a good idea. I get the sense she’s got a better head for this sort of stuff than you do.’

  She switched her attention back to me. ‘I know you would have made note of this ring if you’d seen it, Miss Smith. He found it in with the bric-a-brac. Big, ugly thing, so it was. A horrible red stone, the colour of those lollipops Greg likes so much. The metal was a bit tarnished, and I can’t say it was the sort of gold I’ve ever worn, but I suppose gold would be the only way I could describe it. There were all of these swirls around the metal, too.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible, so it was. I’ve no idea what he saw in it.’

  I bent closer. There was definitely a mark on the pinky finger of Ben’s left hand, like he’d been wearing a ring that was a little too tight. His skin was flaking and red there, too, as though he’d been allergic to the metal.

  ‘And he definitely wouldn’t have taken it off himself?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Norma had begun to knit again. ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t think so. He was obsessed with the thing. Wasn’t he, Hector?’

  Hector looked about to throw up. ‘What? Oh, yes. The ring. Never understood what he saw in it. Listen, are we done here yet?’

  ‘Calm down, Hector.’ Norma shook her head in exasperation. ‘You’re a doctor. A doctor who’s been unfortunate enough to see my bunions, so this should be a breeze in comparison.’ As Hector did his best to pull himself together, Norma looked back at us. ‘Hector arrived to find me beside the body. Then he ran off to find you lot – probably to throw up his breakfast while he was at it – and I kept watch. I mean, you never know, do you? The murderer could have come back at any time. Hector’s got a ridiculously weak stomach for a doctor, but mine is lined with lead. If the killer was still around, well … I have knitting needles, and I know how to use them.’

  Dylan turned to Hector. ‘Well, weak stomach or not, it’s good that we have a doctor on the scene. What do you think, Hector? Did you take a closer look at Ben’s mouth?’

  Hector patted his forehead with his tie. ‘Good God, no. And I don’t intend to now, either. In fact, if you don’t need me anymore, I might go home and have a lie down.’

  3. Some Boring Old Murder

  Norma left the scene soon after Hector, with a promise to answer any more of our questions should the need arise.

  ‘Don’t worry, Detective Quinn,’ she said with a wink as she picked up her knitting basket. ‘You might not be smart enough to figure this one out on your own, but with me and Miss Smith to point you in the right direction, you’ll soon get to the bottom of things.’

  Two of my favourite Wayfarers, Gretel and Shane, arrived when she was gone. While Shane examined Ben’s body, Gretel got to work on scanning the room. I doubted they’d find anything. If my fae eyes couldn’t find magic, it usually meant there was none to be found. Even so, there was something about all of this that just didn’t sit right with me

  ‘Have you guys heard of this Riddler’s Edge School for the Gifted?’ I asked, pointing to the school yearbook. ‘The Historical Society were about to go explore it today, although that might be off the cards now that Ben’s been murdered. Dylan and Greg are drawing a blank as far as the school is concerned.’

  ‘Nope,’ they said in unison.

  ‘Although neither of us were alive in nineteen sixty-seven,’ Gretel added, peering at the class photo. ‘That was … what … the Year of the Walru
s?’

  ‘It was,’ Dylan confirmed, waving his phone in the air. ‘Nothing’s coming up in an internet search, either.’

  ‘I’ll go research it,’ I said, giving him a quick kiss. ‘And maybe talk to some people who were around in the Year of the Walrus. You should find a way to hold that lot off, though.’

  I nodded towards the crowd gathered around the door to the church hall. Hilda was there, of course, along with some other curious locals.

  ‘I’ll keep them at bay,’ he promised me. ‘Us lot can have a sniff around first, make extra sure there’s nothing lurking at the scene before we hand this over to the human authorities.’

  Greg shivered. ‘There’ll be something lurking. In this town, there always is.’

  ‘Well, I hope not,’ Dylan replied, pulling me closer and kissing the top of my head. ‘But either way, you need to be careful, okay? I’m worried about this, Ash. I don’t know why, but I am.’

  ≈

  Dylan might not have known why he was worried, but I did. It was the same reason he’d been worried for weeks now. Darina Berry, his ex-girlfriend (and quite possibly the leader of the elitist vampire gang known as Vlad’s Boys) had done a runner.

  None of it made sense. Why would a witch be a leader of a vampire gang? And why would she arrange for those vampires to set Dylan up, and turn him into a dayturner? Strange though it sounded, it seemed that from the little evidence we had, that was pretty close to what had happened.

  Now, Dylan was back to being a good old unempowered witch, thanks to my fae blood. It seemed as though the origin of the cure was remaining under wraps, too, which was a relief. The Queen of the Sióga had worried about the truth getting out. And she was right to worry, seeing as fae blood cured more than just the dayturner virus – it removed all aspects of vampirism. If that knowledge got into the wrong hands, it could be used against vampires. And if the vampires had a problem with the abilities of sióga blood, then they might well take it out on the source.