A Little Bit Witchy (A Riddler's Edge Cozy Mystery #1) Page 8

  He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. That’s why. It was Night potion that killed her, not a nut allergy. It mimics the effect of darkness on a dayturning vampire, but intensifies it a hundredfold. The rash and the boils, the quick and painful death that Bathsheba experienced … it was because of the potion. Night potion is a horrific poison, and Vlad’s Boys have been taking the credit for dozens of such murders in recent weeks. Bathsheba’s was the fourth murder to take place on the Riddler’s Express.’

  So Norman was right about the spate. It just happened to be caused by a poison instead of a nut allergy. It was bad enough that these dayturning vampires couldn’t go out at night. But to have someone feed them a poison that affected them in the same way that the darkness would, only quicker? I shivered. I’d never been one of those vampire fan-girls, the kind who dream of a pointy-toothed lover who longs for their blood. But I’d spoken to Bathsheba. She seemed like a lovely woman. Whatever she was, she didn’t deserve to die that way.

  I looked at the detective. ‘So … you’re a dayturner too?’

  He gave me a tight smile. ‘As of very recently. And no, I won’t relate the story of how I came to be that way. There’s … there’s been no government funding for a while, but supposedly that’s about to change. There are some people working to find a cure at the moment, of course. Some charitable organisations and some private healing facilities. No one seems close. Bathsheba, myself and some others on the train were on our way back from a course of treatment at Night and Gale when she was killed. There were two humans on the train – you and Norma. I am a garda detective, and I do work on human cases, too. But any time something supernatural comes up in town, it’s my job to clear it up with the help of the Wayfarers – the supernatural police. Like Gretel, who you sat beside on the train. So she and I had to go through a bit of a charade. Come up with a plausible excuse. Use certain techniques to make sure the humans bought what we were selling. Except that you didn’t. Normally, we’d just perform a memory spell on a human who asks too many questions.’

  ‘But instead you let me bug the hell out of you. Why? Because Arnold hired me?’

  He looked up at me. ‘Yes. Except … except that this is just a trial, Miss Smith. Grace and me, we didn’t think it was going to work out. We thought … we thought your memory would be wiped at the end of it.’

  I stared at him. ‘You’re serious? You were going to wipe my memory?’

  He looked into his glass. ‘Not me. Arnold. Look, I think it’s been a bit obvious that I was never keen on you being in Riddler’s Edge.’ He clenched his jaw. ‘Arnold … Arnold has his reasons, and I get that. But until tonight, I was so angry with him for bringing you here. You don’t seem supernatural. And yet here you are. Seeing things you shouldn’t be able to. Turning up at my lighthouse without your torch going haywire. My lighthouse is on a boundary line, Miss Smith. Riddler’s Cove is the supernatural area. Riddler’s Edge has a lot of supernatural residents, even an enclave or two on the outskirts, but it’s not, on the whole, a magical town. The town receives a little accidental overflow from Riddler’s Cove from time to time, but for the most part it’s … well, normal.’

  My head was beginning to ache. ‘Wait. This place is the witchy town, a town that humans can’t see. Riddler’s Edge, the place where nothing normal has happened since my arrival, isn’t supernatural? It’s what, some sort of boundary town?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, pretty much. Like I said, there are a lot of supernatural residents, but the main areas of Riddler’s Edge are on the map, and fully accessible to humans. This town we’re in right now, it isn’t on any map a human would be able to see. My lighthouse is the last point before the non-magical world ends, and the magical one begins. There are certain discouragements in place, should anyone get that far. Cars break down, unless they’re specifically designed for the area – as mine is. Torches, mobile phones … these things shouldn’t work when a human gets too close to the boundary. Everything about my lighthouse should have made you turn away this evening. Lighthouses in the human world are designed to show people the way. Mine is designed to send them running the other way.’

  I took a sip of my Superbrew. It tasted herby and intoxicating, so I took a few more sips while I mulled over what he’d told me. If he wanted to turn people away, then maybe he shouldn’t live in such a sexy building. Did I just think that? Clearly it was the drink doing the thinking.

  ‘Once we actually entered the woods, you couldn’t see them without a Ring of Privilege. But ... you could see something. I have the feeling you’ve been catching glimpses of the supernatural world for a very long time. I’m starting to think that maybe Arnold was right to hire you, after all.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, slurping yet more of my drink. ‘I feel so validated now. I totally forgive all of you for considering messing with my memories.’

  He snorted. ‘Anyway. Like I said, Gunnar is the only suspect. End of. Vlad’s Boys have already claimed responsibility for dozens of dayturner murders. Gunnar is in a supernatural prison right now, and he’s not answering any of our questions. But I think we can build a pretty strong case.’

  I looked down into my tankard, wondering where the rest of my Superbrew had gone. I missed it already. It made me feel happy, strong and ready for anything. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thanks for telling me. Hey, how about I go buy us another round of drinks? Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a bit of a curious cat. I have a lot more questions.’

  He groaned. ‘I’ll just bet you do. But let me buy the next round. You won’t have the kind of currency they take in this place.’

  12. Fuzz

  The poker game was off to a start by the time I returned to the Vander Inn. I looked briefly in to say hello, but I went up to bed soon afterwards. Partially because I wanted to be well-rested for the morning, but also because I knew I’d spend the entire game staring at people and trying to figure out what kind of supernatural they were.

  Detective Quinn had told me more during our second drink and on the short drive home. But I felt like there was so much he was holding back. Sure, I now knew that there was actually such a thing as a weredog, and that wizards were a whole different thing to witches.

  I also knew that my hosts – Nollaig and Pru – were vampires. I probably should have been more put off by that, but surprisingly I wasn’t. I liked Pru and her mother instinctively, and I was pretty sure that if they did want to suck my blood, that they’d at least ask politely first.

  But I was still confused about Detective Quinn. He talked about becoming a dayturner recently. But he was a member of this community long before. And he lived in a lighthouse that was on the boundary between Riddler’s Edge and Riddler’s Cove, so he must have been supernatural already. Right?

  More importantly than any of that, though, I couldn’t help but wonder why Arnold hired me in the first place. I was the fourth reporter on trial here, and none of the others had worked out. The odds were that I wouldn’t, either. Which meant that, come Friday, Arnold was going to try to turn my brain to Swiss cheese. I was feeling more than a little angry about that.

  With so many thoughts running through my mind, I thought I’d never drop off – but I hadn’t taken the most comfortable bed in the world into account. It was like sleeping on a cloud. Actually, a cloud might be a little bit damp and porous. Maybe a marshmallow? When I woke I felt more refreshed than I had in … ever. All I wanted to do was skip along to the Daily Riddler and demand a meeting with Arnold.

  Just as I was getting dressed, though, I noticed something lying on an armchair in the corner of the room. Something that hadn’t been there before. ‘Hey there, kitty,’ I said as I walked towards the sleeping black cat. I glanced around the room. The doors were firmly closed, as were all the windows. ‘How did you get in here?’

  The cat raised its head, and peered at me through yellow-green eyes. It began to purr, and jumped down off the chair and brushed itself against my legs. I picked it up and began to strok
e the lustrous black fur – on further examination, it was definitely a he. I kept him in my arms as I walked downstairs. He was so warm and fluffy that I wished I could keep him in my arms forever. But no doubt he belonged to Nollaig or Pru, and he’d just gotten stuck in my room last night when I tipsily closed the door without noticing him there.

  Pru was laying the table for breakfast when I entered. ‘Hey Ash,’ she said, smiling. ‘Mam’s just gone up to bed for the day. I mean … because she’s sick. Hey, who’s your little friend?’

  The cat meowed.

  ‘He’s not yours?’ I asked. ‘I found him in my room.’

  Pru shook her head. She was dressed in what I was coming to think of as her usual uniform – a gypsy shirt and jeans, and a lot of silver jewellery. ‘Never seen him before in my life. Cats tend to stay away from us. Because … um …’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I sat at the table with the cat on my lap. ‘I know you’re vampires. Although I’m confused about why you’ve all been keeping it a secret – seeing as Arnold’s probably going to wipe my memory on Friday.’

  Pru’s eyes widened, and she dropped into a seat opposite me. ‘He’s going to what now?’

  She seemed genuinely surprised, even a little angry. ‘Well, that’s what he’s done with the previous reporters he’s trialled – according to Detective Quinn anyway.’

  Pru scrunched up her nose. ‘You know we all just call him Dylan, right? We’re not very formal around here. But honestly, Ash, I had no idea that’s what happened to the previous reporters. Any time Arnold asked us to put one up, he asked us to keep shtum on what we were until they got comfortable. He said he wanted to break things to them gently or whatever. And when they didn’t stay on, I figured they’d just decided the place was too weird for them.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s not what happened.’ I reached for a slice of toast and began to butter it, thinking carefully. Why was Arnold asking the supernatural residents to keep their true nature a secret if I was going to be forced to forget I ever even met them? ‘But don’t worry about it. You only did what you were asked. Hey, I’m not really sure what to do about this gorgeous guy then, if he’s not yours?’ I stroked the cat. ‘Should I try to find his owner? Or feed him? I’ve never had a pet, so I really have no clue.’

  Pru shrugged and poured herself some juice. ‘We’ll leave the window in the kitchen open so he can come and go as he wants – although, I really did mean it when I said that cats tend not to like me and my mam, so it’s super weird that he’s here in the first place. I’ll leave out some food for him and, I dunno, maybe put up a sign in the shop? See if someone is missing him? But you know what cats are like. The place they are is usually the place they want to be.’

  ≈

  I arrived early at the Daily Riddler, but the door was open so I knew I wasn’t the first. When I strode towards the desk that had been allotted to me, I spied Edward, the cleaner, and Roarke, the guy who wrote the puzzles. For some reason, the two of them were hiding under the desk adjacent to mine.

  ‘Hi guys,’ I said. ‘Something interesting down there?’

  Edward put a finger to his lips, while Roarke pointed towards the staircase. A moment later, I heard the sound of something crashing in Grace’s apartment. Another moment passed before I heard angry shouting. It sounded like Grace and Detective Quinn.

  ‘How long have they been at it?’ I whispered.

  ‘Half an hour,’ Edward whispered back. ‘Although I was running the vacuum cleaner for a while so it could be even longer. I didn’t see Dylan arrive.’

  ‘I think it’s about you,’ said Roarke.

  As if to underline his assertion, I suddenly heard Grace scream, ‘And what am I supposed to do about Aisling now?’

  ‘I reckon you might be right,’ I said. ‘Are Malachy and Greg up there too?’

  Roarke shook his head. ‘They were,’ he whispered. ‘But now Greg’s pretending to fix something in the server room, and Malachy’s off making everyone some chamomile tea.’

  I sat at my desk and turned on my computer, thinking that I might take this chance to get a better look at the newspaper’s private network. Greg had told me it was down, but given everything I’d learned last night, I was pretty sure he was lying. Just as I managed to navigate myself as far as the password screen, I heard my name screamed aloud once again.

  Decision time. I could sit here and try to sneak my way past Greg’s network security (and, let’s face it, I was never going to manage that), or I could go up there and demand a password. Actually, I could go up there and demand a lot more than just a password.

  I didn’t think on it too long, in case I talked myself out of it – instead I threw my bag on my desk, marched up the stairs and knocked loudly on Grace’s door.

  ‘I can tell that you’re both really enjoying your little tiff,’ I called out. ‘But seeing as I’ve heard my name mentioned a dozen or so times, I figure this might be something I ought to be in on.’

  The shouts lowered to intense whispers, and then Grace pulled open the door. ‘You can come in, Ash,’ she said. She turned to the detective. ‘And you, Dylan, can most definitely get out.’

  He scowled at her and left the apartment, not even looking my way as he thundered down the stairs and out of the building.

  Grace moved to her desk, tossing back her hair and doing her best to appear composed. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Dylan should never have brought you to Riddler’s Cove last night. No matter how many trees you saw.’ She picked up the same magnifying glass she had peered through yesterday, and handed it to me. ‘This is an Aurameter. It allows me to see if a person is a witch or not. I can see their power through it. It’s like … this enormous aura surrounding them. If the person is a powerful witch, then looking through this should almost blind you. If they’re your average, work-a-day witch, then you’ll see a nice golden glow surrounding them. If they’re without power, well then … you’ll just see their pores.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘And I’m afraid that all I could see when I looked at you were pores.’

  I picked it up and raised it to my left eye, looking at Grace. Then I dropped it, shook my head, and picked it up again. No, I hadn’t been imagining it the first time – Grace was surrounded by a line of gold. It was stunning.

  I could hear chatter downstairs – it sounded like Malachy and Greg. They must have come out of hiding after the detective left.

  I rushed to the stairs, the Aurameter in my hands, and peered through it at them both. They were standing around with Edward and Roarke, probably talking about what was going on upstairs. There was nothing to see, though, when I looked at Malachy and Greg. I might as well have been looking through an average magnifying glass. I looked at Edward and Roarke next. Edward had no glow, either, but Roarke had a faint golden shimmer.

  I could hear Grace rush out after me. ‘What are you doing?’ She snapped the Aurameter from my hands. ‘You can’t make yourself have power, Ash, much as you want to. And whilst I might not care about anything except the fact that you’re a decent reporter, Arnold isn’t looking for a decent reporter. He’s looking for … for something else.’ She flounced back to her desk and I followed, sitting across from her.

  ‘Okay, I’ll be asking you about what it is that Arnold wants in just a second,’ I said. ‘But first – how come Greg and Malachy don’t have the same golden glow as you? Oh, yeah – Greg’s a wizard, right? His power isn’t innate. Or something. But what kind of supernatural is Malachy? Or is that a rude question?’

  She blinked, her false lashes causing a bit of a butterfly effect. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’m talking about what I saw when I looked through the Aurameter. You have the lovely golden glow you were talking about. Not blinding, but pretty fandabidozi if I do say so myself. But Greg and Malachy … well, I imagine if I was standing a bit closer, all I’d see was their pores. Roarke has something too, but it’s fainter than your glow.’

  She swallowed. ‘You … you see through the Aurameter?�
�

  ‘Isn’t that what it’s for?’

  She swallowed again. ‘Aisling … you … you shouldn’t see through the Aurameter. Only an empowered witch can see through the Aurameter. And I’m telling you, you have no power. Like Dylan told you last night, Greg is a wizard. He gets his power from outside sources. Hence no glow. Malachy is a vampire. We need different devices to see their powers. Edward’s a weredog, and they don’t really have any powers other than howling at the moon and having a great sense of smell.’ She paused. ‘You definitely see a golden glow when you look at me and Roarke?’

  ‘I definitely do. Much fainter with Roarke, though. What does that mean?’

  She looked completely unsure. Of course, that was the exact moment that the cat decided to make appearance.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I said. ‘This cat turned up in my room this morning. Cute, isn’t he? I think Pru’s going to post an advert in the local shop to see if anyone’s missing him, but maybe we could run something in the paper, too.’

  She stared from the cat to me. Then she raised a finger, swirled it about, and magically closed the door to her apartment.

  ≈

  Five minutes later, we were still locked inside her apartment together, and Grace had yet to say a thing. The closed door told me that she wanted to say something, though, so I figured I might as well just hang out with the cat and wait.

  ‘You know …’ she said after the sixth minute.

  ‘It’s just that …’ she added after the seventh minute.

  ‘Okay,’ she said after ten minutes had passed. ‘I’m just going to lay it out on the table. Dylan has explained why he told you what he told you last night. He told me you see a haze surrounding supernatural areas. Well, you shouldn’t. That haze is what we refer to as a veil of mist spell. One of many methods we use to keep the entry points to our enclaves hidden from the world. It’s the same haze that supernaturals who aren’t witches sometimes see when they look upon a witch enclave without some form of Admitaz – that’s the green stone in the ring you’re wearing.’