Swotting Up Read online

  3. Ever so Glam

  As soon as I left the library, I rushed to Potions and paid absolute attention to the class. Well … almost absolute attention. Okay, okay, I might as well get it out in the open – I paid no attention whatsoever. The truth was, most of my thoughts were focused on Bess’s familiar. And the rest of them … well, they were wondering what was going to happen, now that this apparently evil book was in the hands of Bess’s murderer.

  What were the instructions Adeline had mentioned? Instructions for what, exactly? I mean, evil was subjective, wasn’t it? For all I knew, the book could have held the recipe for a Brussels sprout casserole.

  ‘Not really up to your usual standard, is it?’ said Ronnie as she looked down into my potion. It was supposed to be Autumn Glow – a potion that perked up the immune system as the chill set in. Instead, it looked a little on the purple side. ‘I guess the murder of Adeline’s assistant is on your mind. Whether she’s doing it with the dean or not, I still think she might be the number one suspect.’

  As well as being a professor, Ronnie was a member of the Wayfair coven, and she assisted the Wayfarer force whenever she could. But when it came to Adeline, her usually spot-on instincts were slightly skewed. Oh, she liked Adeline well enough. But Ronnie was dating Adeline’s cousin, Arthur. And seeing as Arthur and Adeline spent quite a lot of time working on chronicling projects together, I had the sneaky suspicion that Ronnie sometimes felt a little sidelined.

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Her alibi might be the grossest alibi known to witch, but it’s still an alibi. And even if she wasn’t getting busy in the Boudoir Books area with Dean Carmichael, I’d still have a hard time believing she could murder Bess. Adeline is a kind soul.’

  ‘Adeline is a cage-fighting champion, Wanda. She’s known as the She-Devil on the fighting circuit. That and some far less flattering names. Because she doesn’t just send her opponents to hospital – she injures them so badly that they feel like they’re in hell.’

  ‘That’s just over-exaggeration. The fight promoters do it all the time. She doesn’t really injure anyone. She’s very careful with the moves she uses. Adeline wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  ‘Well she did managed to accidentally break the motorcycle helmet I bought for Arthur. A little convenient, seeing as she turns into a right worrywart anytime Arthur gets on the back of my flying bike. And didn’t she chuck a mug filled with hot coffee at Bess’s Bookworm last week?’

  ‘That can’t be true,’ I said, hearing the conviction in my voice slide down by quite a few notches. Dee Dee had told me only a short while ago that Adeline threatened to kill both Bess and her Bookworm over a few stray cracker crumbs. But like I said to Ronnie – her alibi was disgustingly solid.

  ‘Did Terrence tell Finn that?’ I asked. ‘Does that mean he’s okay?’

  Ronnie pulled over a stool and sat next to me. ‘I haven’t heard either way. Another Bookworm told me when I was in there looking for a book the other day. Speaking of Bookworms … this will be the first case of witch murder Finn’s dealt with since you’ve left, won’t it?’ A look of concentration fell over her features, and she began to count out on her fingers. ‘Let’s see … there was a dayturning vampire murdered last week, and a wizard before that, and then there was … Yes, I’m right – this is the first witch murder since you left. Which means Terrence should be coming to look for you fairly soon.’

  I tried to concentrate on redoing my potion – I’d put in too much elderberry, that was the problem – but that gorgeous little Bookworm was still worming his way into my heart and mind. If he wasn’t in the library, then where was he? Sure, familiars weren’t actually much help when it came to solving their witches’ murders. Most of the time they hadn’t seen the murder, heard the murder, or been anywhere near the vicinity when their witch was killed. But they sure were triers, I’d give them that.

  ‘Well, if Terrence does turn up,’ I told Ronnie, ‘then I’ll pass whatever information he has to give me onto Finn, so the Wayfarers can solve his witch’s murder.’

  Even as I said it, I knew I was lying through my teeth. And I couldn’t help but fondly imagine what Terrence’s brand of help would look like – he’d probably suggest some detective novels I could read.

  ‘You all right there, Wanda?’ said Ronnie. ‘Only you look a little bit teary.’

  I wiped my eyes. ‘That’s just the potion,’ I lied. ‘Anyway, I think I’ve fixed it now.’

  She looked down into the liquid. It was now the proper shade of burnt orange, and smelled like autumn leaves. ‘Good save,’ she said. ‘Do you want to join me for lunch? I’m meeting your mother and Christine at the Hungry Hippy.’

  I shook my head. The last thing I needed was three members of my coven talking at me for a whole hour. They were happy I was pursuing my dreams, for the most part. But every so often, I’d catch them sending a look of concern my way. The same sorts of looks Finn and Gretel had been giving me. The sort of looks that said they weren’t sure I was where I wanted to be.

  Which might have been survivable, if only I’d been sure myself.

  Either way, I had plans for this lunchtime. ‘I have somewhere else to be,’ I said, cleaning up my area and heading for the door. ‘But next time, definitely.’

  ≈

  After many sessions with Gretel, I was now quite good at glamour spells. Well, I was okay. Ish. Fine – I was terrible. When it came to glamours, I often felt like my magic was having a laugh at my expense. Oh, I could battle and defeat the worst of criminals, no problem. But could I change the shade of my lipstick with a glamour wand? Well, not unless I happened to be in the mood to have yellow lips.

  But Gretel had been a (very) patient tutor. So when I left the ladies’ room at Crooked College that lunchtime and headed to the Hilltop Hotel, my hair was at least half a shade lighter, my waist two inches thinner, and my legs … well, they were a little too long and skinny for my body shape, if I’m honest. They were making me feel a little dizzy, so I stopped walking, and clicked my fingers.

  The Hilltop Hotel was an old-fashioned establishment on Warren Lane, not too far from the college. It had a small restaurant, one that served fairly unimaginative fare. But when it came to food, I was a quantity over quality person. Sad, but true.

  I sat down at the table close to an enormous fern, and opened the menu. There were only two veggie items on there – a vegetable stir fry and a fruit salad – so I was thinking of going for double portions of both.

  ‘Hi,’ said a deep voice.

  I looked up at my lunch companion. He was tall and broad, with dark hair and a moustache.

  ‘Hello, Edwardo,’ I said.

  ‘Afternoon, Miss Jones.’

  I giggled. ‘You are way better at glamours than me.’

  He glanced at my too-long legs, legs which I was barely managing to squeeze beneath the table. ‘I’m sorry to say, but it’s true, Wanda – I mean, Miss Jones. But there had to be one area of magic where I was better than you.’

  ‘So.’ I leant closer to him. ‘You’re sure no one is following you?’

  ‘I’m sure. Now please, I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment to come. Can I finally kiss you, Miss Jones?’

  I bit my lower lip and smiled. ‘You know what? You can, Edwardo. As long as your moustache doesn’t tickle me.’

  Around about now, you’re probably wondering: why was Wanda kissing this moustachioed man? Had she gone and found herself a new lover, one she hadn’t bothered to tell us about? Well, no. I hadn’t found a mysterious new lover called Edwardo. And I definitely hadn’t fallen for a guy with a moustache.

  The guy in front of me was not Edwardo, but Will Berry. And as he drew closer and closer, I wondered: were we ever going to have a normal kiss?

  The first time our lips had locked, we’d both been in disguise. I thought he was my then boyfriend, and he thought I was his fiancée. There had been many almost-kisses since then. Lots of moments where my heart went bumpety-bump and my pa
lms grew clammy. I had enjoyed countless fantasies of how our next kiss would be – and in all of those fantasies, I never once imagined him with a moustache.

  Maybe that was why, when our lips finally met in the restaurant that afternoon, I didn’t feel the same overwhelming sense of longing that I felt during our first kiss. I mean, how could I feel lusty and wanton when there was a moustache tickling my lips?

  But this was Will, I thought. Will, who I had been crazy about since day one. Will, who I had cried over, and sulked about. Will, who I wanted so much that it hurt.

  For such a long time he had pretended to hate me, all because he was afraid of what his father might do to me if we were together. And he was right to be afraid. His father, Kilian Berry, was a mass murderer – a mass murderer who had managed to bind his life to me, and to Will’s mother. If Kilian died, so did we. Will had been working hard to find a way to break the bond, because he was sure that the moment his father discovered our relationship, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill himself, just so that he could kill me and Will’s mother at the same time.

  It was a lot of pressure, maybe too much pressure. Perhaps that was why the kiss felt so empty. I was tense, that was all. Too tense to ignore the facial hair pressing against my lips. Next time would be better. Much better. I was sure of it.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  We sprang apart as the waiter appeared, and as I gave him my order, I couldn’t help but feel relieved for the interruption.

  ‘So,’ said Will, when our orders were taken and the waiter walked away. ‘Wow. That was really something, wasn’t it? It was a kiss worth waiting for.’

  I felt my cheeks flush. The eyes he was looking through might not have been his, but he sure did seem to be projecting a lot of emotion through those imposter-peepers. ‘It was something all right,’ I said. ‘Are you sure it was wise, though?’

  He sat forward, grasping my hands, an excited glint in his eyes. ‘We’re nearly out of the woods, Wanda. The Púca my dad had tailing me seems to have disappeared. In fact, by tomorrow we won’t have to use glamours. I’ve got the final ingredient I need for the spell to separate my dad’s bond to you and my mother. I’m doing it tonight.’

  I gaped at him. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yeah. Tonight. Shouldn’t you be … I dunno … a bit more excited about it?’

  I shook my head. ‘I should. And I would. But Will – sorry, I mean Edwardo – if you’re doing the spell to break the bond tonight, then that means this lunch is really silly. We could have waited, surely. I thought you arranged it because it was going to be ages before we could, y’know, be a … y’know.’

  ‘A couple?’ His Edwardo-mouth was shooting a beaming smile my way. ‘You can say it. I want to be your boyfriend, Wanda. And tomorrow, I hope I can be. And yeah, I suppose I could have forgone the glamours and waited one more day before kissing you.’ He ran a hand over his moustache. ‘But it’s you Wanda. Every second I’m not with you feels like forever.’

  4. Sexy Shannon

  Professor Shannon was known as Sexy Shannon to his female students. Not to me, though. Sure, he was tall and strong, and he had a head of thick, dark brown hair that a shampoo model would envy. But he was also arrogant, irritating and constantly on my back.

  I’d only met one other member of the Shannon coven – Will’s mother, Sylvia, although she had left the coven to become a Berry when she married Will’s dad. The professor was a cousin of hers, apparently, but they were completely different in personality as well as looks. Sylvia was sweet, kind, understanding and she seemed to like me. Professor Shannon … let’s just say no one was going to accuse me of being the teacher’s pet in his class.

  His given name was Erik, and he had worked with my coven a few years earlier. I wasn’t on the scene at the time – I was far too busy hanging out in the human world and pretending that I didn’t care about being unempowered. I know, I know, I’ve matured so much. These days, I was hanging out in the college world and pretending that I no longer wanted to be a Wayfarer.

  But I doubted I was the only one too immature to deal with problems head-on, because whatever had happened between Erik Shannon and my coven had left him with a severe hate-on for anyone with the name Wayfair. No one would elaborate upon the split, and after he left the coven he’d travelled the world in order to learn from other magical societies.

  The only thing that my mother would tell me about him was that he was talented – one of the most talented witches in the world, in fact, when it came to defensive spells. He was in his late forties, but he looked slightly older than that. There were scars on his face and hands that he refused to have healed, and lines around his eyes. But it was the look in his eyes that fascinated me. He seemed haunted, but determined.

  He liked to wear a long, black coat, and enormous, thick-soled boots. He used those big boots of his to conceal a selection of wands, as well as something else – something sharp, pointy and dangerous that came flying towards my face the second I opened the door. My hand shot up and I said, ‘Stop.’ The Knife of Intent halted, two inches from my right eye.

  ‘Ah, Wanda.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Only one and a half minutes late this time. Had it been five, like our last class, you would have had quite a few more knives to stop.’

  The Defensive Magic room was one of the largest in the college. It was laid out like an amphitheatre, with tiered seating surrounding a circular floor. Right now, fifteen other students were spread out over those seats, all looking my way. It might have been nice if one or two of them seemed worried for me – possibly even relieved that I’d stopped the Knife of Intent from blinding me. Instead, they looked annoyed. And that annoyance had nothing to do with me being late – it had to do with me being me. I shuffled to find a place, muttering, ‘Sorry, Professor.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said with a vicious grin. ‘It’s Ronnie who’s to blame, no doubt. I heard her on the phone today with her other coven cohorts, planning on inviting you to a nice cackly lunch. Keep you late for another little chat about re-joining the Wayfairs, did they?’

  There was an intake of air as all the other students focused on our not-so-private talk. One girl even pulled out a bag of popcorn. I wasn’t sure why they were so fascinated. Professor Shannon and I had an exchange like this every other class. ‘I didn’t go to lunch with Ronnie, so it’s not her fault I’m late. And I never left my coven, Professor. I just left the police force. Which is known as the Wayfarers now, not the Wayfairs.’

  ‘Is it really?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Big difference. It must have been so hard for Beatrice to consent to such a major name change.’

  ‘Is this really the time and place to be talking about my mother?’ I said. ‘I mean, weren’t we supposed to be getting on with protective bubbles today?’

  He tilted his head to the side, studying me. ‘I was going to give a lesson on the use of protective bubbles. But then I heard that you’re already quite good at those. You used one when you and your cohorts were fighting off the former Minister’s attempts to murder you all, I believe.’ He let out a theatrical sigh and ran his hands through his hair. ‘That makes nine out of nine classes where you’ve already been practised in the spells I’m teaching. It hardly seems fair to the other students, does it?’

  I gave him a tight smile. ‘I’m not practised in anything, Professor. I was unempowered until I was twenty-one, and seeing as we didn’t have a decent Minister like my mother back then, I wasn’t entitled to a magical education. And since I got my power, I’ve pretty much bumbled my way through with help from friends and family. I was hoping that this class would teach me the right way to do things.’

  He tapped a simple wooden wand against his hand. When I first came to one of his classes, I’d been surprised to see him use a wand. Before the advent of the Wayfarers, when my coven, the Wayfairs, were the major crime-fighting force in Ireland, all of the members had been such advanced witches that they didn’t need wands. But according to my mother, Er
ik had always used one. Like every other occasion when I’d brought him up, she hadn’t elaborated.

  ‘Well, I’m glad to see that you’ve kept your humility, despite all the so-called amazing things you’ve achieved, Wanda. You’ll need it for today’s lesson, I think. Because as I said, we won’t be studying any namby-pamby protective bubbles. We’ll be studying Sliogán spells instead.’

  There was another intake of breath. I didn’t join my classmates in their outward display of shock, but I sure was curious. Sliogán was the Irish for shell. The kind you found on a beach, and the explosive kind. There were names for similar spells across every language in the world. Sometimes those names were whispered. Sometimes they were said with obvious derision.

  There was a tall, skinny student called Alan sitting next to me and, as he often did in class, he stuck up his hand. ‘Excuse me, Professor but … isn’t the Sliogán spell a myth?’

  Erik’s face gave an amused-looking twitch. ‘Is it? If so, Alan, it’s a myth that pervades. A myth that is talked of in hushed tones in every magical culture in the world. A spell with such strong defence that it can withstand anything your enemy sends at you, even from afar. A spell that can be protective or offensive, subtle or explosive. For instance, the most powerful Mage Monk in Tibet has had many attempts on his life. And yet, even from his deep, dark cave, he is able to strike his enemies down – no matter how far across the world they might be.’

  ‘No such thing as the Mage Monks,’ said Jessica Berry, the girl who was sitting on Alan’s other side. ‘Another myth. There are monks who are magical, sure. But there is no evidence whatsoever that there’s a temple of monks in Tibet who have developed their power so that they’re on par with the sióga.’

  Erik smirked. ‘So you acknowledge that the Irish faeries are more powerful than witches, Jessica. I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a member of the Berry coven express humility. In any case, the Shell spell or the Sliogán spell – whatever you want to call it – it is only as impossible as you make it. So we’re going to practise it now. Alan and Jessica, you can be my first volunteers.’