Bedsocks and Broomsticks, page 9
part #1 of Omensford Series
Applause sounded behind her. Madam Mim clapped enthusiastically. Agatha, Fi and the detective joined in. Nell kept her smile small, but the satisfaction in her eyes grew.
“That was, ah…” the detective started.
Nell nodded serenely.
“Very well done,” gushed Madam Mim, “the play on the tree of life and the four seasons in one brief moment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better interpretation of the fleetingness of life itself.”
This time, Nell’s nod was one of respect. “That means a lot coming from you, Madam Mim.”
Fi realised she had been standing with her mouth open since her mum had floated down on a flutter of butterflies. “Wow,” she managed. She hadn’t realised her mother had so much power. Judging by the similar guppy look on Agatha’s face, she hadn’t known what their mum was capable of either.
“I hope that shows you I had no motive to kill Goody Winships.”
“Wha–”
Nell interrupted Detective Ledd before he could ask the question. “I wanted to perform this feat of magic at the fete, to prove that I was the better witch. Goody could brew a potion but she… well, let me simply say that I am confident that I would have won best trick had the day played out the way I intended.”
The detective nodded dumbly. Fi didn’t think he knew what he was doing. That was probably the first time he had seen magic first hand outside of Royal Variety performances. Mundane humans, those without magic, tended to ignore it or resent it until they needed something from supernatural beings. It was harder to ignore it in a registered magical village, though. And even harder when you’d just seen a tree grow and die in less than thirty minutes.
Madam Mim gave that small smile again. “I think we’re done here. I will treasure the memory of that illusion and thank you for the tea.” She placed one slim hand on the small of the detective’s back and ushered him around the house to the side gate.
Nell turned to her daughters and crossed her arms. She raised one eyebrow. “You’ll have to find another suspect to badger. Now, are you staying for dinner?”
Chapter 22
Fi parked the vacuum cleaner back at Agatha’s house and kissed her niece goodnight. One didn’t turn down a home cooked roast dinner from Nell Blair and, knowing that her mother would have overcooked as always, Agatha had called Neville and Bea over.
Bea also acted as the perfect distraction for Nell so she didn’t criticise her daughters constantly, although Nell had made veiled hints that it would be nice if the family moved back in. The house had been on its best behaviour too, making sure the chairs were comfortable and the fire was blazing against the autumn chill as night fell.
Overall, Fi thought, as she wished her sister goodnight and headed over to her own small cottage down the hill, it had been a pleasant evening. And her mother hadn’t seemed too upset about being accused of murder, although Fi noticed that the portions of apple crumble and custard that she and Agatha received were notably smaller than everyone else’s.
But knowing that her mum was innocent didn’t help. The detective might be overawed by Nell’s magical powers today, but she was still an easy suspect. She had a grudge and the power to kill Goody Winships and hide it. Fi’s mind tumbled round and round. If it wasn’t her mum, who was it?
Her phone buzzed. She picked up the bulky Nokia. A message from Maxi.
Just read the report from Madam Mim. Sorry I can’t be there - tarfangtula infestation in Camden. Stay safe x
She texted back that she was fine and made a note to buy herself a new phone before she let herself into her cottage and headed straight upstairs to bed. She was exhausted.
Well, did you find anything out?
Fi let out a scream. She had forgotten the wyrm was staying in her house and, as she looked into the accusing emerald eyes, she made a silent vow to call up the animal sanctuary in the morning.
“I found out my Mum is practically a sorcerer, and she isn’t the killer.”
She isn’t? Are you sure? She was Goody’s biggest rival… Cressida sounded sceptical.
“She didn’t do it, OK? Now I am tired. It’s been a long day and I’m going to bed.”
What about finding the killer?
“It’ll have to wait until tomorrow!” Fi stormed upstairs and got ready for bed. She was lying under the thick duvet, drifting off to sleep, when her eyes snapped open.
“The bins!” Fi let out a string of curse words. Tomorrow was bin day, and she’d already forgotten the last collection day, so the recycling was practically overflowing. She couldn’t leave it for another two weeks. With another curse, she crawled out of bed and shrugged on a warm dressing gown.
The air was thick with a coming storm, and her powers moved restlessly under her skin in anticipation. She pulled her dressing gown closer as the wind whipped around her. She continued muttering under her breath as she trekked down to the end of her long garden to grab the bins.
A noise sounded in the quiet night. Fi stopped. The crunch of a boot on gravel came again. Footsteps. Why did she keep the bins at the end of the garden? She made a vow to move the bin store to the side of the house before the next collection. A rustling from next door. She gathered her power to her hands and called out.
“Is anyone there?” She hated that her voice came out nervous instead of powerful. She was the daughter of Nell Blair for goddess’ sake. With a cough to clear her throat, Fi tried again, “Who’s there?”
A small, soft whimpering sounded from the other side of the fence. Was there a hurt animal? Fi wished she’d brought a torch. She moved towards the fence and stood on an old tree stump to peer over.
The whimper turned into a snuffle. “It’s just me, sorry if I scared you.”
Fi looked down into Steve’s wet eyes.
“Steve? What are you doing down there?”
Steve stood, took out a handkerchief, and blew his nose as quietly as he could. “I didn’t want Glen to see me like this.”
Fi screwed up her face; she was pretty sure that Glen’s superhuman hearing meant he could hear someone crying at the end of their garden. “But why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
Steve looked away, staring at the opposite fence. Fi knew he wasn’t really seeing the lichen-covered wooden panelling.
“Steve, please, what’s wrong?” Fi reached her hand tentatively over the fence and rested it on Steve’s arm.
“They think I ki…killed her!” he howled.
Fi looked around. If Steve had wanted to keep things quiet, there was no question that he’d just drawn attention to their sleepy street. “How about a cup of hot chocolate at mine?”
Steve met Fi’s concerned blue eyes and nodded once. Fi stepped off her stump and moved away from the fence. Steve put his hands on top of the panel and leapt over in a single bound. The wood shook at the unexpected pressure but stayed upright. It wasn’t fair how athletic werewolves were. Fi led the way back to her kitchen.
Once inside, she warmed the milk in a small saucepan before mixing in the chocolate powder and melting in a couple of squares of dark chocolate for extra decadence. There wasn’t any point in having comfort food if it wasn’t bad for you. She sprinkled in a mix of spices automatically before expertly tipping the hot chocolate into two bowl-sized mugs.
Steve sniffed the cup. “Cinnamon?” he murmured appreciatively before taking a sip and letting out a contented sigh.
Fi smiled, glad that he was calming down. She itched to ask him what had happened and tapped her fingers against her thigh to stop herself from blurting out any insensitive questions. He stayed quiet, staring into the rich brown drink for long minutes. Fi forced herself to sip her own hot chocolate and try to savour the velvety texture and sweet taste instead of watching the werewolf.
“I can’t believe they think I killed her!” Steve finally blurted out, his eyes flashing with anger.
Good, thought Fi, he had moved past sad. “Goody Winships? Why would anyone think you killed her?”
He sighed, the anger leaving his face as quickly as it had arrived. “That detective said that she’d eaten some sort of baked goods on the day…on the day…at the Halloween Fete.”
“That doesn’t mean you killed her!” Even to Fi, that argument sounded weak.
“They must have spoken to someone because they knew that I made most of the baked goods for sale, except the scones of course,” he added with a smile at Fi, “thanks for that by the way, I’m not sure my oven would have coped if I’d had to batch cook them as well.” Fi waved away his thanks and motioned for him to continue.
“And Goody would have had to try my cake as she was one of the judges…”
“So would every other judge and none of them died!” Fi thought for a moment. “Although, the detective told me that she didn’t eat anything from the tents in case there was a conflict of interest.”
“That’s what Glen said,” a look of pride stole onto Steve’s face, and he lit up as he spoke of his partner. “But then the detective asked how I’d felt when she beat me in the baking competition,” Steve’s bottom lip started to wobble.
“I mean, I was disappointed, of course, but it was just a baking competition. I would never even think of killing anyone! And then the detective said it was in my nature…”
Fi’s jaw dropped and she reached out to hold Steve’s hand. She had never known a more sensitive man. Anger blazed through her, and she fought to control the sudden surge of energy that swept through her body. How dare anyone suspect this gentle giant? How dare a human use outdated prejudices against him?
“Ouch!” Steve withdrew his hand quickly. Fi shook her own hand as if that could help dissipate her power. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was too late. Power crackled from her and jolted towards the sockets in the small kitchen. The light bulb exploded, raining glass onto the round table.
Fi sighed and found the matches she always kept in one of the kitchen drawers. She lit a pillar candle and apologised to Steve.
“Sorry, it happens sometimes when I get too emotional…”
Steve looked around with wide eyes but kept silent. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her power before.
“I’ll just check the fuse box…” Fi lit another candle and scurried out of the door to the fuse box in the hall. She checked. Dammit. She had blown the fuse. Again. She grabbed a spare and changed it with the practised ease of someone who had to change a fuse about once every three months. The lights came back on. Except the one in the kitchen. Fi dug out a spare bulb and changed it quickly.
Steve was looking amused now. Which was a step up from crying. “Madam Mim had a similar reaction, but she was a bit more controlled.”
“Really?”
“She said that if the detective was going to be prejudiced about dealing with magical beings, she was going to have to submit a report to the Magical Liaison Office. He calmed down after that, which was just as well. Glen was about to shift and bite his head off!”
“So, he admitted you’re not a likely suspect?”
“We-ell, he said I wasn’t to leave town. As if I could leave; Zadie’s got her recorder recital coming up at school this week.” Steve turned his face to the window, looking fondly at his own house.
Fi winced. She had heard Zadie practising her recorder songs. If the werewolf was enthusing about watching her perform, he was either deaf or a great dad.
Steve sighed again. “I suppose it was all a bit much for me. I mean, I’ve never been accused of murder before! And Glen’s been so angry about it all, I didn’t want to get upset in front of him. Silly of me, really. Anyway, thanks for the hot chocolate, I’d better go. I’ve still got to put the bins out and Glen’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.” Steve headed outside into the chill night air. He turned on the threshold and swept Fi into a huge hug. “Thanks for listening.”
Something pricked in Fi’s memory. “Glen said you bought potions from Goody.”
Steve nodded. “They were meant to help with the, ah, effects of the full moon, but I don’t know if they ever really worked. I mean, we still have to get a babysitter every month. Thanks again.”
He leapt the fence and Fi heard the familiar trundle of a wheelie bin being moved along gravel. Fi swore. The bins! Pulling her dressing gown around her, she headed back out into the night.
Chapter 23
Fi was curled up in bed in her comfiest, brushed cotton pyjamas and fluffiest bedsocks when she heard the first rumble of thunder crash through the night. She smiled. She loved storms. The raw, unbridled power of nature thrilled her.
She felt the prickle on her scalp as her hair rose in response to the electrical charge in the air. The covers landed in an untidy heap on the floor as she ran to the window and flung it open. She whooped as a flash of lightning filled the dark night sky. Her power itched through her fingers. A thought whispered in her mind; she could ride the storm.
She wasn’t living under her mother’s roof anymore. She could run into the garden and let wave after wave of lightning bolts flood through her, drawing her own power up into the atmosphere. It was tempting, oh so tempting.
The last time she’d channelled a storm had been the time she’d felt most in control of her power. She wrapped her arms around herself, clamping down the electricity that threatened to rise through her body and explode into the night. She took half a step away from the sash window before stopping. The memory of the dark July night flashed through her mind. It was the first, and only, time she had felt right rather than resenting her gift.
***
She had been in control, dancing on the wet grass, embracing the wildness of the tempest. The wind whipped round her, causing her soaked cotton nightie to press against her skin. She raised her hands to the sky, allowing her power to flow free into the night sky. Her skin tingled with electricity. She laughed and released her magic in joyous sparks of magic.
As the storm crashed overhead, Fi found she could almost direct the lightning. She released a blast of energy into the sky and the storm responded, sending lightning back to her. She screamed as the bolt hit her. Her heart pounded against her chest, but it hadn’t hurt, more been a shock to her system, a power overload. She laughed at the overwhelming intensity, but it wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat.
Instead, she focused on using her magic to send the lighting to specific spots in the garden. It was easier to direct it to trees and taller structures. The smell of charred wood filled her nostrils, mixing with the scent of fresh rain.
She’d felt she could control anything…up until she couldn’t. Her hand aimed for the house’s chimney. Lightning struck and the house slammed its shutters in response. She stared, guilt piling up inside. Fi turned back to the garden, better to stay away from using the house for her magic practice. Then she heard her mother shout from the window.
In her surprise, electricity shot from her hands towards the window. She’d heard the scream. A combined shriek from her own mouth and her mother’s voice merged with the rolling thunder. With electricity still coursing through her body, Fi ran into the house to her mother’s room to find Nell curled on the floor, staring at the shutter hanging from one hinge, flames flickering even as the heavy rain fought to put it out.
Fi tried to apologise. She reached out to her mother. But the electricity was still there. It shot through her arm and into Nell. Her mother had cried out in pain. Fi moved forward, but Nell lifted one manicured hand and stopped her. Fi flinched from the hurt and, worse, the fear, she had seen in her mother’s eyes. But her mother recovered quickly, retreating behind her haughty persona.
“You will never try to control a storm again. It’s too dangerous.”
Fi was too upset and too ashamed to argue. And worse, her mother was right. She was dangerous. She couldn’t control her power. She didn’t need to exacerbate it with a storm.
***
Fi turned back to her window with a heavy weight inside her chest. Best not to even think about riding the storm. She could damage something, or worse, hurt someone again.
She folded her arms and rested against the windowsill, trying to ignore the prickling under her skin as her power sought for release. She clamped her lips together and rubbed the back of her calf with one sock-covered foot, as if that would relieve the building pressure.
She wouldn’t give in and use her power. But she could still watch. She stayed there until the storm blew itself out and the sky turned from black to the ghostly grey of the early hours of the morning. Only then did she head back to sleep.
Chapter 24
Fi stretched out and opened her eyes. She screamed. An inch away from her face, the small golden wyrm was staring at her with large emerald eyes. Goddess, would she ever get used to having a pet in her house?
Good, you’re awake.
“We need to set some boundaries,” Fi grumbled as her heart slowed back to its usual pace. “Like no staring at me while I’m asleep. It’s creepy.”
The small animal continued to look at her. Fi sighed and stretched.
“I suppose you want breakfast. What do you even eat?”
I prefer Welsh coal, or a well-cooked steak will do.
“Er…” Fi reached for her smartphone on autopilot before she remembered that she’d fried it. She tried to remember what she had in the house. “How about some, er, burnt toast?”
The wyrm looked at her.
“Or I might have some bacon I could fry up…”
Cressida flicked her tail and jumped off the bed. Bacon will be acceptable. She disappeared down the stairs.
Fi rubbed her eyes and headed to the shower. Seven minutes later, she felt ready to start the day. She selected a podcast on her phone and perused her clothes. Normally, she wore black tops with leggings or jeans to give off a smart vibe when she took calls for her job. Today she wasn’t logging in to work. Her hands drifted towards a red sweater dress. Might as well wear her favourite colour. It might even bring her luck in the job search. She pulled on a pair of leggings and chunky socks. Then she paused and opened up her laptop. She searched for the wyrm sanctuary. Fi cursed to herself; they didn’t open until later. She quickly inputted the phone number into her phone before joining Cressida downstairs.
