Old-School Witch Page 4

  ‘Oh. Well … not necessarily,’ I said. ‘Norma said Ben called both of you last night and asked you to meet him this morning. Is that right?’

  He nodded. ‘I didn’t answer the call, mind you, so I only heard about it in a message.’ He searched through his mobile phone and played the message Ben had left. It was eerie to hear the dead man’s voice.

  ‘Hi there, Hector. Listen, can you meet me in the church hall in the morning, around half past seven? I’ve left a message for Norma, too. I really want to talk to the two of you about our next move as regards the school.’

  The message ended, and I said, ‘Thanks, Hector. Norma seemed to think that he’d had a change of mind about searching for the school until you got some experts involved.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. Ben seemed a bit obsessed about going full steam ahead, if anything. Norma was the one who’d been trying to get him to slow down. That’s what their argument was about, as a matter of fact. Norma thought he was rushing into things, and Ben …’ Hector lowered his voice. ‘Well, I don’t like to repeat such language, but Ben said that Norma was the worst knitter in Riddler’s Edge, and that he’d used the scarf she gave him last Christmas to clean his toilet.’

  Wow. Ben sure did have a nasty streak. Insulting Norma’s knitting was almost as bad as insulting her cats. ‘I guess that didn’t go down too well, did it?’

  ‘It certainly did not,’ said Hector. ‘In fact, Norma’s last words – just before she stormed out of the meeting – were, “Insult my knitting, will you? I’ll make you eat your words, Ben Goodfellow.”’

  5. The Crazy Cat Lady

  Just as Hector rushed off to throw up again, Dylan arrived. He had showered and changed out of his running clothes, and he smelled divine. While I did my best not to sniff him too deeply, he confirmed what Hector had told us.

  ‘The page was the map from the back of the book, just like Norma thought. It looks like something else was held over him as he died. We’re getting a match on the fibres, but it seems like it might be the cushion from one of the chairs in the hall. And there’s a fingerprint on Ben’s glasses – a perfect print, in fact – except it doesn’t match anything we have on file, human or supernatural.’ He raised his brow at Greg. ‘I’m guessing by the look on your face that your tech backed up what we already think – there was no magic at the scene?’

  ‘No supernatural activity at all,’ said Greg with a grimace. ‘But Ash thinks there is something weird going on, because get this – Grace seems to have undergone some memory mojo.’

  We filled Dylan in on everything as he ate his chicken salad. When we got to the part where Norma told Ben to eat his words, Dylan’s face grew pale. ‘Well, that’s unfortunate,’ he said. ‘Because right now, Norma is looking very suspicious, and I don’t want to have to arrest her. I mean, it’s not like there’s a whole lot of shops in town, is it?’

  ‘So that’s your biggest worry?’ I let out a derisive snort. ‘Poor Norma might end up in prison, and you’re afraid her son won’t sell you your fancy coffee beans anymore?’

  He shuffled about awkwardly. ‘Well, they’re a very rare bean. He gets them in especially for me. Anyway, we got a time of death.’

  ‘That was quick. I guess it came from Shane, then?’

  He pushed his half-eaten salad away. ‘The Wayfarers are always quicker. Anyway, Shane reckons the time of death was somewhere between four thirty and five this morning. He tends to be accurate about these things.’

  I took a sip of water, thinking. ‘I guess if Ben was eager to speak to them, he might have turned up early to get some tea and coffee going and get things organised, but five a.m. sounds a bit excessive for a half past seven meeting. What about the CCTV? Did Norma and Hector arrive at the time they said they did?’

  Dylan cleared his throat. ‘Apparently, the Neighbourhood Watch oversees the security camera at the church. The person who was responsible this week just happened to forget to load the tape last night. Before you ask, that person was Ben.’

  Greg frowned. ‘Ben Busybody – I mean, Ben Goodfellow – wouldn’t forget a thing like that. And if he did, it’d be the irony of all ironies, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It sure would,’ Dylan agreed. ‘Either way, we’re going to have to question Norma again.’

  Greg pulled the menu towards him. ‘Well, it’ll just be weird if I go. So I reckon I might grab some cake while you guys go talk to the crazy cat lady.’

  ‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘Less of the crazy. Cat owners are wonderful people.’

  Dylan squeezed my hand. ‘Some of them are.’

  ≈

  ‘This is a little uncomfortable,’ said Dylan, sitting down on Norma’s couch.

  There were cats everywhere. And where there weren’t actual, live cats, there were depictions of them. The too-many cushions on the couch were all knitted, crocheted, or embroidered by Norma, and every single one was decorated with cat-shaped patterns. The walls were covered with photographs and paintings of Norma’s cats over the years. Even the porcelain she used to serve her tea had cat pictures painted on.

  But let it be said once more that I did not share Greg’s opinion of Norma. There was nothing odd or crazy about loving cats. In fact, I’d grown so fond of my own furry monster that I could completely see myself living in a house like this one day. Of course, if it was Dylan’s lighthouse I was decorating with cat cushions, he might have a thing or two to say on the matter.

  ‘You can move a few of the cushions into that box,’ said Norman, Norma’s son. He pointed to a box that was covered in pictures of hairless Sphynx cats.

  ‘I didn’t mean the cushions were uncomfortable,’ said Dylan. ‘The cushions are … interesting. I meant the situation is awkward. I’ve known you for years, Norma.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘But I hope you’ll understand why I have no choice but to question you again about your movements this morning.’

  Norma shrugged her shoulders. She’d been knitting throughout – finishing my jumper, by the looks of things. I could see some purple wool in her basket, so presumably Greg’s was coming next. ‘That’s fine. I know you’ve a job to do. I won’t even complain about the fact that you’ve taken your journalist girlfriend along for a daytrip.’ She winked at me and grinned.

  ‘Well, Miss Smith is an expert in … in criminal behaviour, you see,’ said Dylan. ‘She’s a garda liaison on all of our murder cases.’

  ‘Of course she is,’ said Norma. ‘She’s clearly a very interesting woman, and as I said, I’ve no problem with her being here. Although you should probably practise your lines a bit better, Dylan. Anyone might think it’s a case of protesting too much.’

  ‘Well,’ he spluttered. ‘It’s just …’

  I sat forward. ‘What Dylan is trying to say is that he’s very thankful for your understanding, Norma. He’d also like to ask you where you were between the hours of four and five a.m. this morning.’

  She knitted a bit more, then pointed a needle to the ceiling. We could hear someone upstairs, walking around and running the bath. ‘I was collecting her. My sister Marnie. From the airport.’

  Norman stood up, his hands behind his back. ‘I can confirm that,’ he said. ‘Mam went off and came back with Marnie. I’ve even got a copy of the flight schedule here.’ He grabbed a piece of paper from the coffee table and slid it to me. Dylan looked vaguely affronted, but satisfied himself with reading over my shoulder.

  ‘We all know how long it takes to get to and from Shannon Airport,’ Norman went on. ‘Mam didn’t get back here till just before seven this morning. After that she dropped Auntie Marnie off here, then she caught Princess Preciousbottom sneaking out, so she gathered the cats up and headed to the church hall.’

  I looked down at the flight schedule. Norman was right. The flight was due in at five, and we were almost two hours from the airport.

  A smile of relief formed on Dylan’s face. I wondered whether he was relieved for Norma’s sake, or for the sake of his coffee su
pply. ‘Well, we’ll have to check into it a bit further, but I feel pretty happy about your alibi.’

  ‘Good.’ Norma stood up. ‘Because I’ve run out of red wool, and I need to go and buy some more.’ She pinched my cheeks and grinned at me. ‘I’m doing you a cardigan to go over your sweater.’ She turned her gaze to Dylan. ‘Yours will just have to wait.’

  6. The Room at the Top of the Tower

  After the gardaí had finished up in Ben’s house, Dylan managed to sneak Greg and me in for a snoop – the most unsatisfying snoop in my life so far. Just as with everything else in this case, there wasn’t the tiniest sparkle of magic in the air – nor in the mysterious box of bric-a-brac Norma had mentioned. The contents were just as disgusting as she had described. The false teeth and the stuffed animals stank. Presumably, Ben had just bought it for the yearbook and the ring – a ring, incidentally, which was nowhere to be found.

  After the disappointing search of Ben’s house, Greg, Dylan, my father and I went off to check out the old school.

  Dusk was soon to become darkness, but who wanted to be at home with their feet up in front of the telly when they could be driving around in a creepy forest?

  The big surprise was that we were able to drive. Some recent work had been done by the Historical Society, but it was clear that they hadn’t needed to go to too much effort, other than trimming back some trees. The school was only a mile or so into the forest, and there was a tarmac road leading all the way to the gates.

  ‘I can’t believe this road’s always been here, right through South Forest,’ said Greg. ‘It’s like the school’s never actually been hidden, and yet nobody wanted to find it. Until now. I mean, I’ve been in this forest dozens of times, and I’ve somehow managed to ignore a road that’s always been there.’

  ‘South Forest is the name?’ I looked out the window of Greg’s Wizardly Wagon, at the trees to either side of the woodland road. ‘They called the forest to the south of the town South Forest? That’s …’

  My dad laughed softly. ‘Unimaginative? Yeah, well to be fair there was a time when this place was known as Safe Forest, because no werewolves or vampires came this way. But that was back when humans knew about the supernatural. But you know, this is Riddler’s Edge. So in Randall the Riddler’s time, when witches declared themselves the be all and end all and said that only witches were allowed to live in their enclaves – like the one in Riddler’s Cove – supernaturals started to spill out all over the nearby countryside. It makes sense that a school would have been built here, because the students certainly couldn’t go to school in Riddler’s Cove, and any human school just wouldn’t meet their needs. What doesn’t make sense is why there are no wards up to hide it from the humans.’

  ‘No wards that you and I can see,’ I said. ‘But there is some sort of spell on this school. There must be, otherwise people wouldn’t be having so much trouble remembering it existed. And …’ I lost track of what I was about to say, and instead I pointed a little way ahead of us. ‘My stars!’ I exclaimed. ‘That is the biggest boulder I’ve ever seen.’

  Greg brought his van to a halt, and we all jumped out, walking towards the huge stone which sat in front of the school gates. There were high walls all around the school, and these gates seemed to be the only entrance. ‘It’s big, all right,’ said Greg. ‘But is it magical?’

  My dad and I examined the stone. It was tapered a little at the top and quite oblong, almost like something from Stonehenge, but despite how strange it looked, there was nothing magical about it.

  There was a padlock on the gates, but it was so old and rusted that it would be easily removed. Beyond, we could just about make out a building. It was large, a house that had been built far earlier than the nineteen sixties. The building even had turrets, for criminy’s sake.

  ‘Y’know,’ said Greg. ‘We could get a closer look if we all piled back into the van.’ He wiggled his brows up and down, grinning like a crazy person. When it came to his van, he was always rather enthusiastic. He was also incredibly proud, and with good reason. The purple Volkswagen was more than just a pretty vehicle – it was capable of flying, very high, and very fast.

  I carefully examined the gate. ‘Maybe there’s no need. We could squeeze around the stone, and a simple push would be all it took to break the lock on the gate.’

  ‘But we don’t want the murderer to know we’re snooping about,’ Greg pointed out. ‘We want them to think we’re not taking the school connection seriously.’

  ‘But of course we’d take it seriously,’ I argued. ‘A page from the yearbook was shoved into Ben’s mouth. It’d be weirder to the killer that we weren’t interested in checking out the school.’

  I thought I’d made a pretty great point, but Greg just gave me a knowing look. ‘Nothing to do with the fact that you get a little motion sickness when you’re flying?’

  ‘I only get motion sickness when you travel at hyper-speed. And everyone else gets sick at that speed, too. Even you have to take a potion to settle your stomach. I have no issues with flying. I’ve flown the Wizardly Wagon on my own before. In fact, I’ve even flown on a broom.’ Yeah, yeah, I know – you think me doth protest too much and all that.

  My dad tilted his head to the side. ‘You know, the sióga don’t do very well on brooms, as a matter of fact. We have other ways of flying and travelling. Ways your granny happens to be planning on teaching you in the next week or two.’

  I fixed a smile on my face. I’d opted to take lessons with my grandmother so I wouldn’t be hogging all of my father’s time. I might have been without him for thirty years, but so had my mother. My selflessness, though, was probably going to have a time limit on it, because the classes with my granny were … well … let’s just say she didn’t get to be the Queen of the Sióga because of her light and sunny nature.

  ‘Really looking forward to that,’ I said. ‘But I’m only half-fae. And the witch part of me does like flying. Y’know … when the conditions are optimal and I’m not in a super-fast flying van.’

  Greg patted my back and handed me a bottle filled with a bright green liquid. ‘Your travel-sickness potion, my lady. And I’ll fly slowly. Just for you.’

  As it turned out, he did fly slowly. But even if he’d flown at snail’s pace, it wouldn’t change the fact that the school was just as lacking in magic as we’d feared. After he set the van down we climbed out, walking around the exterior of the school before cautiously heading inside.

  This place had been huge at one stage, and probably quite magnificent, too. As well as the turrets, there was a wide, beautiful doorway and large airy classrooms.

  The fire damage was evident in almost every room, and my father had to use a little bit of magic in order to let us examine the upper floors. It was strange to see so many abandoned books, toys and clothes, blackened with both the fire and a few decades worth of mould.

  There were charred wands on the desks in one of the classrooms, and the blackboard read: Wizarding Spells to Counter Bullies.

  ‘Pity they couldn’t teach them a spell to counter a raging fire,’ Greg mumbled.

  I looked sharply at him. ‘Actually, you have a point.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘You do,’ my dad agreed. ‘If it was a normal fire, a school full of supernaturals would have had no problem dousing it. And if it was a magical fire – an Inferno spell, maybe – then it would have left a trace of itself. Something Ash and I could still see to this day. Everything here would have left a trace. We should still be seeing those traces – and your equipment should still be seeing auras, Greg, no matter how faint.’

  Dylan’s eyes narrowed as he gazed around the classroom. ‘You’re right. Magic always leaves a trace, even if most of us can’t see it. And a spell powerful enough to burn down this school – and then to make us forget about it – should have left something.’ He picked up a nearby text-book, and it fell to ash the moment it was touched. ‘These poor kids, all gone, and we don’t even remember
them. What about the class photo, Greg? There are no bodies here. So were any of the kids in that picture declared dead?’

  Greg looked bleak. ‘Yeah. Yeah, they were. Not in any newspaper records, but there is a death certificate for a lot of the students, and the teacher too – although the death certs don’t mention a fire. They all say Sudden Death Syndrome, and it doesn’t look like anyone ever questioned that. Whatever spell has been hiding this place has also been keeping any curiosity the families might have at bay, too. There’s three students that I’ve still to track down.’

  Dylan grunted and nodded to the corridor. ‘Shall we go to the next floor in the meantime?’

  Sombrely, we made our way through the rest of the building. Finally, we came to what seemed to be the last area to explore. A winding staircase led to the top of one of the school’s towers. The steps were mostly destroyed, but my father managed to make all of us hover safely, all the way up. When we reached the top, Dylan cautiously pushed open a door, and we followed him in.

  This room had only minimal damage. There was a double bed, a large desk, and a seating area by the window.

  ‘Notice anything strange?’ my dad asked.

  While both Dylan and Greg looked around, I nodded to the bookshelves and the wardrobe. ‘This room was cleared out. Everywhere else has books, wands, clothes and whatnot. There’s nothing personal in this room.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘So the question is …’

  I shivered, finishing his question. ‘Did the person who had this room move out before the fire, or after it?’ I looked at my dad. ‘I know one thing for sure. This room gives me the heebie-jeebies. I can’t see anything, but I sure can feel a whole lot of badness in the air.’

  My father squeezed my shoulder. ‘Me too, kiddo. Me too.’