The Case of the Wayward Witch Read online

  When I finally turned in that night, I spent another couple of hours going over my uncle’s hunting manuals, which I knew he’d be happy about. I also spent some time looking over Aunt Jude’s notebooks and map – something I still hadn’t shared with my uncle.

  I’d been right – this Samhain Street place was one of the areas on the map which could only be seen through the magnifying glass. It seemed to be located in Dublin 8, just as Peter Müd’s card said. The necklace icon on the map was situated at a street facing the canal.

  Listening out for Uncle Faster’s snoring, I carefully took the necklace out and, after placing it around my neck, fell fast asleep, dreaming of a whole new world – a world filled with rabid weredogs, warty-faced witches, and danger around every corner I turned. A world that should have scared me senseless. And yet, when I woke up from those nightmares, the only thing I wanted to do was to go there.

  ≈

  I stood by the canal, shivering in the morning air and staring at the street across the road. It looked just the same as always. The point where the necklace icon was indicated on the map had been in between what was once a butchery on one side and a haberdashery on the other. Now, those two businesses had been replaced with a dental clinic and a convenience store.

  The dental clinic was called Gnashers. It was an unusual name as far as dentistry went and, actually, I’d never noticed the clinic until this morning.

  The convenience store, called Big Dog Groceries and Deli, boasted the best vegan breakfast rolls this side of the city. But my stomach was still filled with Martha’s amazing porridge, so I’d have to take their word for it.

  I’d taken off the blue-stoned necklace when I got up this morning. Now, I pulled it from my pocket and, with my heart drumming in my ears, slipped it round my neck.

  ‘Well knock me over and call me Sally!’ I gasped, staring across the road.

  A man beside me, halfway through his morning can of lager said, ‘If you insist, Sally.’

  I shuddered, distanced myself quickly from him and made my way across the road. Where once Gnashers and Big Dog had been neatly joined together, they were now stretched about half a mile apart from each other, with a long line of buildings in between. And on this new, long road, there were yet more new, narrow and winding turnoffs leading into more new streets beyond. The sign at the top said, ‘Samhain Street – Main Street.’

  The other, smaller lanes and cul-de-sacs had names like Deathly Close and Hopeless Hollow. All of this had been detailed on the map, but seeing it in reality was positively shudder-inducing.

  A slightly rancid smell hit my nostrils, and I looked back at the canal. The sky above it had darkened somewhat, and the people sitting on the benches and walking along the water had changed, too. I saw a group of men and women wearing cloaks and huddled together in deep conversation, as a strong and visible vapour rose from the canal and swirled around them.

  Peter Müd had mentioned that Samhain was what many witches called the Halloween festival, but I wasn’t feeling festive this morning. Instead, I worried that my death might well be imminent, because this whole place had a dangerous, murderous vibe that made me want to run back home to my mammy.

  I couldn’t work up the courage to explore all of the smaller lanes just yet – not when there were so many terrifying things happening on the main street. Three men stumbled out of a place called The Rusty Warlock. My first sight of them was terrifying enough – one of them was wearing an eyepatch that wasn’t quite covering the gaping hole beneath, and the other had a tattoo on his forehead that said Death to all Humans. But as my eyes fell on the third man – a guy with quickly lengthening teeth and a body that was becoming hairier by the second, I hid myself behind a flower display and wondered just how much Faster would laugh at me if I gave up now.

  It seemed as though the one with the eyepatch and the one with the tattoo were the instigators, both of them wiggling their fingers and muttering what I could only assume were spells. Whatever they were doing with those finger wiggles and strange words of theirs, it was making the hairy guy howl in agony. I had no idea whether Mister Hairy was a werewolf or a weredog, but he sure was strong. He easily pushed the guy with the eyepatch to the ground, and the one with the tattoo looked like he’d soon be joining his friend.

  I could end this right now. I had the Soul-Sucker in my handbag, along with the navy binder and the dagger Aunt Jude had given to my father. But what if I hurt someone beyond repair – or worse, what if one of them hurt me beyond repair?

  ‘Can you move, please?’

  I jumped at the sound of the voice. It was deep, husky, and a little bit dangerous. It had come from a man who looked rather dangerous himself. He had dark brown hair, cut neatly, and blue eyes. He was average height – which meant he had at least a few inches on me – and he had a strong but slightly willowy look about him, the way guys who did yoga sometimes looked. Except I doubted this guy did yoga. He looked far too angry for that. Heck, he even had a scar. It ran from beneath his left eye and ended at his upper lip. It should have been ugly, but obviously I had strange taste in men, because I found that scar incredibly sexy.

  ‘I asked you to move.’ He nodded to a watering can at his feet. It looked very wrong there. If there had been a machete at his feet, or maybe a bloody hatchet, it would have made a lot more sense. ‘I want to water the flowers.’

  I blinked furiously. Did I just think that this guy was sexy? He wasn’t sexy. He was rude. But even though I knew that, I still couldn’t stop staring at his stupid scar. ‘I … there’s a fight,’ I managed to croak out.

  ‘There’s always a fight at the Rusty Warlock,’ he replied. ‘That’s why I work at the Bank instead.’

  I gaped at him, as he pointed to a sign above his head. It seemed that all of these lovely flower arrangements were adorning a slightly rough around the edges pub. I wanted to ask him why in the world a pub would be called the Bank, but instead I said, ‘Well shouldn’t we … I don’t know … call someone to break the fight up? It looks bad. Someone could get killed.’

  He snorted, lifting the watering can and pouring it into the hanging basket above my head. As the water dribbled down onto me, I jumped aside. ‘You wet me.’

  ‘I asked you to move. You didn’t move. And I wouldn’t advise you to call the Wayfarers, love. We don’t appreciate the law here on Samhain Street.’ He turned his head, staring angrily at the street beyond. ‘You already called them, didn’t you? Idiot.’

  I followed his gaze to two people who had just appeared outside the Rusty Warlock. And I mean literally appeared – as in, out of thin air. One was a handsome guy with fair hair, the other a short, cute brunette. They were both wearing what looked like black jumpsuits, with silver breastplates on top. ‘I didn’t call them,’ I insisted. For one thing, I wouldn’t know how.

  The brunette extended her finger, and three golden ropes started to wrap themselves around the brawlers. As well as pasting their arms by their sides, the golden rope also pulled the three men tightly together.

  ‘Thanks, Wanda,’ said the fair-haired guy. ‘I haven’t had my coffee yet, so a binding spell is a bit beyond me at the moment.’ He eyeballed the hairy guy. ‘Didn’t we tell you to stay in Lupin Lane, Gaunt? Unless you want to join your cousin in Witchfield.’

  The guy they’d called Gaunt growled. He was looking less wolfish by the second, with his limbs shortening before my eyes. ‘Oh, so I’m supposed to stay in my own enclave, am I? I thought you Wayfarers wanted all the different supernaturals to get along. Mix and mingle and all that sort of thing. Anyway, these guys started it.’

  ‘You started it!’ hissed the guy with the eyepatch. ‘The second you sold us a bad batch of Moon Blossom.’

  ‘Oh?’ said the fair-haired guy, staring at the man with the eyepatch. ‘Didn’t you lose your licence to sell Wolfbite last year? Around the same time as any werewolf who bought a drink in your bar wound up with stomach poisoning? Remind me again, what is the key ingredient
in Wolfbite?’

  Mister Eyepatch spat on the ground and said, ‘Lots of things in Wolfbite, so there are.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ said the fair-haired guy. I saw his hand go to a small round device at his belt, and heard the sound of a click as he pressed a small button.

  ‘You’ve already bound us!’ cried eyepatch. ‘Now you’re full-on disempowering us as well?’

  The cute brunette grinned. ‘You bet we are. Never can be too careful, can you?’ She grabbed onto the end of the golden rope, clicked her fingers, and disappeared with the three brawlers. The guy with the fair hair clicked his own fingers, and vanished along with them.

  Even though there was nothing to look at anymore, I still kept staring at the spot where they’d been. I figured that the brunette and the fair-haired guy must be the Wayfarers that the flower-waterer had mentioned. So they were the law around this place, then. Well, they were blooming amazing, if I did say so myself. Their outfits made them look like superheroes.

  ‘Why are you gawping?’ asked the flower-waterer. ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen Wayfarers before.’

  I attempted a nonchalant laugh. ‘What? Me? Never seen Wayfarers before? Any more jokes?’

  I sauntered out onto the street and said, ‘Well, see you later Mister Rude.’

  He rolled his eyes, muttering, ‘Not if I see you first.’

  9. Dead Like Ned

  Ned’s Necromancy was only a short stroll from the Bank, but although it was just after nine, the shop seemed to be closed. The door was covered in signage – most of it seemed to be listing out the terms and conditions of shopping there. The list of terms seemed endless, but the writing was too small to make out what any of those terms might be.

  There were other signs on the door, mostly advertising courses in necromancy, but somewhere in amongst it all I noticed two far less official advertisements. These were hastily scribbled on yellowing paper, looking like they’d been there quite a while. One said: Workspace to rent.

  And another, just below that, said: Room for rent in the flat above the shop. Non-smoker preferred. Must like dogs and candles.

  Well, I liked candles, and I definitely didn’t smoke, so that was a start. I knocked at the door and rang the bell, but no one came. After a few minutes of waiting, I peered through the windows of the shop. There were lights on, but I couldn’t see anyone inside. A few seconds later, the door was drawn open by a pretty blonde in a long, flowing skirt, a flowery blouse and a pair of bejewelled flip-flops.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked upon her loveliness.

  ‘Why are you loitering out here?’ she asked. ‘And more importantly, why are you smiling?’

  ‘Because when I saw that the shop was called Ned’s Necromancy, I expected to see someone scary. But you’re all hippy-chick and whatnot, aren’t you? I mean, you’re wearing flip-flops, so …’

  Wowser, it seemed like I might not be cut out for this, after all. I’d only just met this woman, a woman who could be connected to Diane, and already I was spewing verbal diarrhoea. ‘But then again, Ned’s not really a woman’s name, is it, so … maybe you’re not Ned?’ I finished weakly, deciding it was about time I shut the heck up.

  ‘I assure you, I am Ned. Nedina is my full name, but I hate it with a passion. And speaking of names, who in Hecate’s name are you?’

  ‘Katy,’ I replied. ‘Katy Kramer.’ As soon as I said it, I wanted to sink into the ground. Uncle Faster always went by the name Granger, just in case anyone recognised the name as that of a witch hunter. And I’d been going to say Granger too, but my real surname came out of my mouth before I knew what was happening. It was all the lying. It was getting to me. I wiped my forehead and sucked in some air, preparing to flee. But Nedina didn’t seem to have any reaction, whatsoever, to my surname.

  ‘I see your point about my clothing, though,’ she said. ‘Most people think I ought to wear black, what with being the proprietor of a necromancy supply store. But I favour a sunny outside these days. All the better to cover up how dark and dreary I feel on the inside.’ She let out a theatrical sigh. ‘On the inside, I’m as dead as the people my customers attempt to bring back to life.’

  ‘So you’re saying that this is a real necromancy business? You actually bring people back from the dead. The dead dead? You’re not just some dodgy medium?’ Aaand there I went again with the verbal diarrhoea.

  Her lovely nose wrinkled. ‘I’m a small in most dress shops. And I assure you, my supplies are definitely capable of bringing the dead dead back to life. It’s not my fault if no one’s figured out how to use the supplies properly yet, now is it? Look, what do you want, anyway?’ She began to ease her way further back into the shop, looking perilously close to slamming the door in my face. ‘Because a batch of Infernal Candles has come in and I’ve got to restock the shelves.’

  Whilst I fully deserved to have the door closed on me, I couldn’t let her go. Not when I’d just begun. This address was the only clue I had as to Diane Carey’s whereabouts and, scared to bejaysus though I was, I couldn’t give up before I’d found her. ‘I want a room,’ I said quickly. ‘You’re looking for a roommate, aren’t you?’

  She swallowed. ‘Who told you that?’

  I pointed at the door. ‘It says “Must like dogs and candles.” And I do.’ I grinned. ‘I really, really do.’

  ‘Why don’t I believe you?’

  Fluff her, anyway. She had an uncanny ability to separate truth from lies. It was almost as though she had some sort of magical ability. Oh, wait … were witches psychic? I seemed to remember something along those lines during Uncle Faster’s endless droning.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ She gently flicked a finger against my forehead. ‘It’s like you go into random reveries while you’re in the middle of a conversation. It’s incredibly annoying. Look, I think we’re done here, don’t you?’

  My eyes rounded. ‘No! No, don’t go yet, Ned. I just … I was feeling guilty because I’d stretched the truth a little. As regards my love of dogs, I mean. So in the interest of honesty, I should tell you that I did have a tragic childhood experience with a poodle who stole my chocolate bar. But I refuse to believe all dogs are like Foo-Foo. Just because she couldn’t keep her paws to herself doesn’t mean they’re all the same. It’s time for me to move on, you see. Move past it. Embrace some pals with paws once again.’

  ‘You talk a lot,’ she pointed out. ‘The way people do when they’re nervous.’

  Darn her, anyway. She really was psychic. Or empathic, at the very least. ‘Well, of course I’m nervous. I’m nervous because I came here in search of a place to live. I need to find somewhere to move into as soon as possible, but all you’re doing is fobbing me off. What’s wrong? Has the room gone?’

  ‘No.’ She looked down at the ground. ‘No, it’s still there. It’s just … well … it’s a bit small for you, I think. How did you hear about it again?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I saw about it. There, on the door.’

  ‘Well, I really want it to go to someone who’ll rent the business space as well, so it looks like you’re not a suitable candidate. Sorry.’ She went to slam the door, but I put my foot in the way, stopping her.

  ‘But I do want the business space,’ I lied. ‘That’s why I was interested in this room in particular.’ That and the fact that, the sooner I got inside this place, the sooner I could search for Diane Carey.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ She looked me up and down. ‘And what sort of business is it you’re in?’

  ‘I’m … I’m a private investigator.’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘We don’t like the law here in Samhain Street.’

  ‘No. No, and neither do I. That’s why I’m offering my services. People who don’t want to go to the …’ I searched my brain for the name the annoying flower-waterer had used when he referred to the people in the awesome jumpsuits. ‘… the Wayfarers. Well, those people can come to me, instead. I’ll get to the bottom of anything, so I wil
l. No interfering law enforcers need get involved.’

  As she pulled a magnifying glass from her pocket, I did my best not to stare. It wasn’t quite as pretty as Jude’s, but it was decorative nonetheless. She lifted it to her eye and stared at me. ‘According to my Aurameter, you’re not a witch, and you don’t seem like a vamp or a werewolf either. What are you? Wizard? Weredog? Unempowered?’

  Oh fluff! Uncle Faster had been sure wizards were male witches, so how could I be one of those? And he’d said weredogs were the worst of the worse, so I didn’t want to be one of those, either. ‘Em … the last one,’ I said, desperately trying to exude confidence.

  ‘Hmm. I thought so. Well, you’d need a whole lot of magic to be a detective around here, which means you’ll probably be fairly useless at that kind of work.’

  ‘Not at all. I’ve trained hard. Honed my skills. I’m very experienced in many methods.’

  ‘So you are a wizard?’

  Double fluff. None of this was making sense. How could I be a wizard and be unempowered? And was unempowered anything like disempowered? Uncle Faster’s books hadn’t mentioned either of those words.

  ‘Look, I’m telling you I want to rent your workspace as well as your room.’ I placed my hands on my hips and did my best impression of indignation. ‘Don’t you want to make any money?’ Assuming, of course, that the coins I’d found in Jude’s Toolkit would be the right currency. Even if Ned took euros, though, I didn’t exactly have many of those. How much could a room above the creepiest shop in Ireland cost?