We tumbled down the cold stone steps, a tangled mass of human and muscular animal limbs, locked together in a deadly embrace. The werewolf smelled of fire and stale pine, like an old magic tree that someone had torched. Adrenaline protected me from the worst of the pain, but it still hurt like hell. I heard the clink, clink as my wand trickled down the steps along with us, resting tantalizingly just out of reach in the wet night grass of the park.
My arms still held tight onto the werewolf’s neck, desperate to keep those rancid, dripping wolf fangs from me. Not to mention the foul breath of the thing, as its snapping jaws tried to rip my throat out.
I wanted to scream, but the words stuck in my throat. If only I could reach that wand, but I dare not let go or I’d be dead in an instant. I closed my eyes; if my fingers couldn’t get it perhaps if I concentrated….
The werewolf let go and howled. I thought I was free and turned my head to summon my wand properly—but too late, I realized my mistake. The beast still had me pinned to the ground. I was still trapped.
As the wand flew through the air to my fingers, the werewolf’s red, fiery eyes narrowed. I lay terrified as his claws tore into my chest, seeking my heart which was beating as if it would explode. Wand or no wand, it was too late. Pain worse than anything I had ever experienced before enveloped me. The world became stained with my lifeblood, and then all went dark, as the moonlight faded, and I was dead.
* * *
I woke with a gasp, my hand instinctively flying to my chest, feeling for blood but finding only a scar. I wiped the sweat from my soaking forehead with my pajama sleeve, then reached for my phone. It was only five in the morning, dammit.
With a groan, I crashed back hard into my pillows. No decent witch should be awake at this ungodly hour. Especially since our days typically didn’t start before midday. Goblins even later. I closed my eyes, desperate to sleep but afraid to fall back into that dream. How many nights had I had this same nightmare now? Was it a dozen? More?
After fluffing up my pillow more times than I cared to remember, I finally punched it and hauled my rear-end out of bed. Scratchpoop dropped down off the bed with a gentle thud and followed me out into the kitchen. Yawning, I flipped on the light, just as the cat jumped silently up onto the kitchen counter, his tail up high, showing me his butt and expecting food.
“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute.” I said and reached for the kettle. In the mornings I typically liked coffee, but right now I didn’t want a pick me up. I wanted something to put me back to sleep, and that meant tea. A nice, soothing, relaxing, sleep-inducing pot of herbal tea.
I definitely didn’t feel like myself right now. Part-goblin, part witch, I had an acute sense of smell, razor-sharp hearing, greater than human strength, and was stirred when tribal skin drums played at funerals. I was the first to get swept up with hot-blooded goblin anger when surrounded by crowds of my own people––but not today. Today, all I could think of was my pillow, and how much I wanted to hug it.
After filling the kettle with fresh water and flipping the switch down, I dragged my feet to the fridge and opened the door. I reached inside and pulled out a half-eaten tin of Kitty-Kin food. I peeled off the lid and scraped the contents onto a saucer on the counter then dropped it to the floor. “There ya go, you bottomless pit of fur.” Scratchpoop hunkered down and didn’t seem to mind at all as I rubbed his black and white coat up and down. His fur was lovely, thick, and shiny. He was a good cat, really.
Still yawning, I slouched back to the kettle which should be whistling by now, but it wasn’t. I cautiously rested the back of my hand against the shiny metal, only to find it stone cold. Was the darn thing plugged into the wall socket? I checked and it looked fine. I flipped the switch again. Nothing. It was dead. Great.
I sighed and poured some cold water into my mug and picked up my wand from the counter. I touched the surface of the water with the tip, and whispered, “Calida Aqua!” I watched as a goblin-green glow illuminated the cup, and the water began to boil. My grandmother would have tut-tutted at such gratuitous use of magic, but I needed my tea. I knew in my bones already that this was going to be a bad day. And it hadn’t even started yet.
* * *
Harrison, my partner and co-founder of the unfortunately named Goblin Dicks Paranormal Detective Agency—You lose ’em, we’ll find ’em! —was already sitting behind his desk when I arrived. He had just returned from a cruise to Bermuda, which he’d taken on doctor’s orders, and his naturally green skin looked darker than ever. And he looked fit. The dark circles he’d had under his eyes were gone, suggesting restful nights, and his trim physique proved he’d been sensible with the onboard buffets.
“Good time, was it?” I asked.
He barely looked up from his computer. “You’re early.” Only Harrison could make that sound like a fault. Like me, he wasn’t a morning person.
“Meet anyone nice onboard?”
Harrison grunted. I took that as a no. I suspected he hadn’t been looking since his last boyfriend had turned out to be a demon who almost killed him. Had almost killed us both, in fact. Instinctively my hand went to my heart. Would I ever be able to forget?
“Well, you look good. I’m guessing those spa treatments really work.” I always preferred my boss green. Some mixed-up sense of vanity had him change to a more human hue from time to time, but in my eyes, that made him look shifty. The green softened his features and made him look gentler. As far as a goblin could ever be described as gentle. I turned a little green myself once in a while.
“So, what’s cooking? Anything hot?”
January had been dead as a dodo and this month wasn’t looking much better. It was a typically flat time in the business, so I wasn’t horribly worried. And the last demon gig had brought in enough money to keep us in the black for a bit. So, we were doing okay for now, but the pot would soon be running dry. We needed cases, pronto, and we both knew it.
Just as Harrison shook his head, the phone rang. I picked up the receiver since he clearly wasn’t going to.
“Hello. Goblin Dicks Paranormal Detective Agency. How can I help—?” I listened as a leering voice made rude suggestions that would have made a hooker blush. “Yeah, that’s real funny, pal. Get a life.” I slammed the receiver down. Another of those calls.
“Look, Harrison, you sure we shouldn’t change our name? I’m getting tired of these perverted calls.”
“Nope. We’re leaving it just as it is. I just had the name etched in our door and I’m not changing it again. Ignore them.”
Damn. I looked back to the recently etched, frosted window in the upper panel of our door. Goblin Dicks Paranormal Detective Agency was neatly stenciled on the glass, in the tradition of other private dicks throughout history. Sam Spade would have been proud. Still, sometimes it sucked being only the junior partner in our business. Harrison’s word was law, and frankly, Harrison wasn’t always right. At least I didn’t think so.
“Oh, by the way, I got this for you,” Harrison said.
“Oh, what?” I turned around. “Something fun? Or chewy? Or chocolate? I could always eat more chocolate.”
He slid a .38 in a leather holster across his desk.
“Oh, sweet!” Nothing says someone cares for you more than them buying you a new gun. “Aww, you shouldn’t have!” I fluttered my eyelashes playfully. It was fun to tease him.
Harrison grunted. “That toy .22 of yours, wouldn't stop an angry dog. I was looking in the gun shop and saw that. I thought you could use it.”
“Aww. People will say we’re in love.”
I pulled it out of the holster and checked it out, testing the weight and feel in my hand. I liked the balance, and it wasn’t too heavy for me. Plus, it was fully loaded. Bless him; he’d thought of everything. “Thanks, Harrison. You done good!”
I sat at my own desk and turned on my computer. I picked up the framed photo of my mom. It showed her on vacation in Miami and was the first time she’d been away on her own. She was the color of a lobster, but she looked like she was having fun. Next to that was a picture of me from my police days. With my dark hair and trim build, I looked pretty hot in my cop’s uniform. I was kind of a Kelly Garrett from the original Charlie’s Angels. Only greener. Except when I chose not to be.
While my computer booted up, I cleaned out the coffee maker and put in some fresh water and grounds. “Six sugars,” Harrison said without looking up.
“Hey, I’m not your lackey.” Harrison ignored me. I thought about spitting in his mug, but he’d only say it added flavor. Typical goblin.
I sat back down at my desk while the water boiled. There was nothing in my email except junk. And an email from my detective friend, Liam Wells with a funny about a dog trying to lick his own do-das but not reaching. I knew it was his warped way of reminding me he existed. He got one out of ten for trying and I grinned anyway. It was nice knowing someone cared.
After downing the last of my coffee, I shut down the monitor and got up, slipping into my new holster and popping my .22 into my purse. “Hold the fort for a bit, I’m heading out.”
“You just got here!” he snarled.
“I know, but it’s not like we’re busy or anything. And my kettle conked out and you know what I’m like without a real cup of tea when I need one. I’m running down to Warlock Derek’s to see what he’s got. I won’t be long.”
Warlock Derek’s Antique Shoppe was just down the end of our street, and he carried a wide range of modern and old-fashioned knick-knacks you could pick up for a song. Truth be told, it was little more than a second-hand magic store, but he carried some good stuff from time to time and I liked checking it out. Last year I’d picked up a pair of Elf-crafted leather boots, wearing them was like floating on air, until one of them developed a slow puncture and I began walking in circles without realizing it.
Harrison’s eyes lit up, almost glowing, making him look like an entirely different goblin. He stood up and grabbed his coat. “Ah well then, now you mention it, I haven’t been down there in a while. I’ll come with you. My Fitbit says it’s time I stretched my legs.”
Yeah, right. I’d bought him the Fitbit for Christmas but since he hadn’t used it for anything other than telling the time, I could only deduce he wanted to come with me to see Derek, the store’s owner. The man was a hot commodity after all. If you were into long-haired warlocks with ponytails, skull rings, and prison tattoos.
“But you haven’t finished the coffee you asked for?”
“Oh well, I’ll finish it later.”
Yeah, right. “Whatever. Well, let’s get going then.”
I waited while he shut down his workstation and fluffed about with his hair in the reflection off the screen.
“You look super,” I said.
Harrison grinned and straightened the collar on his shirt. “Yup, you’re right,” he said. “You lead, I’ll follow.”
A few minutes later we were back down on ground level, walking through Philly’s Changeling Avenue heading toward the store.
It was freezing, and just about everyone was wrapped in thick scarfs and woolly coats, including myself. The sky was a dense yellow, and I would say the chance of snow was about eighty percent. The weatherman had said otherwise. Time would tell, but my money was on Mother Nature.
“So, what’s with you and Derek?” I asked, just for something to say. Harrison wasn’t much taller than I was, but at five-ten he was still tall for a goblin, and had a pretty good bod to boot, albeit stocky. He walked fast and I had a job keeping up with him. “You light up like a fairy fart every time I mention I go there. Got a thing for him?”
“None of your business,” Harrison growled. He never looked more goblin than when he was annoyed. Which to me was kinda sexy, being part-goblin myself.
“Oooh, have I hit a raw nerve?” God, how I loved to tease him.
“Don’t you have better things to interest yourself with other than my love life?”
“Nothing comes to mind. We’re not exactly being rushed off our feet with cases. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
Harrison growled again.
We passed a little girl sobbing on the street. She was crying over a balloon that had just popped though her mom wasn’t paying much attention. She was too busy talking to a hotdog vendor.
“Sic faciet avolare!” I whispered as we walked past her. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as the red balloon suddenly inflated and soared into the air. The little girl was so astonished she lost hold of the string, and the balloon was soon way out of her reach in the sky. Dammit.
The girl screamed even louder.
“That’ll teach you,” her mother scolded as she looked round to see what the fuss was about.
Oh well, win some, lose some. I hurried along as fast as I could.
Derek’s magic shoppe had huge windows chock-full of everything you ever wanted, and a million other things you never knew you did. Its organized chaos of books, knick-knacks, and colorful effusions looked totally right on our paranormal avenue but walk around the corner to the normies cross street and it looked oddly out of place.
A little tinkling bell over the door announced our arrival. It was practically tropical on the inside compared to the sub-zero temperature outside, and there was a warm, real log fire to the side of the counter. It would magically vanish in the summer to make way for more stock, I knew. I headed straight for it, desperate to warm up my hands.
Derek was over in the corner, hanging a pixie box from a hook in the ceiling. He was a very manual warlock, preferring to do a lot of the physical things for himself rather than use magic, but I could see the swarming pixies that came with the box were busy giving him gyp. He balanced precariously on his ladder as he swatted the tiny terrors away, sending a few into a wooden sign on the wall behind him that read, Don’t Shoot, Love! with a peace sign under it. I’d promised myself if I ever moved out of my apartment, I’d get a pixie box of my own. Pixies were awesome for tending your garden, even if they could be a pain in the butt. But right now, I only had a small balcony with a few potted plants overlooking the Schuylkill River, so there just wasn’t a need. Plus, Scratchpoop would probably eat them.
The second Derek turned to face us I knew something was up. The handsome warlock looked surlier than usual, and he couldn’t hide whatever was bothering him from his customers, which was odd. He kept looking over Harrison’s head toward the door, clearly expecting someone else to come calling.
Harrison must have noticed it too because his usual awkwardness around men he fancied was gone and his gait had turned strictly business. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone else was there, but we were alone.
“What can I get for you?” Derek asked, clearly trying hard to sound normal. Too hard. He stared at me, then my partner, no doubt wondering if we were here for business or pleasure, as he knew our particular line of work.
“I’m looking for a kettle,” I said. “Mine died this morning and I can’t live without my morning brew.”
Without coming down off his ladder, Derek looked surprised, then pointed to the far corner of the shop where he kept most of the non-magical stuff. He then returned his attention to securing the pixie box. Another red flag. Though not overly chatty, I couldn’t remember a single time when he hadn’t at least spent a few minutes catching up on the local gossip with me. He’d always enjoyed a good natter and between us, we had a pretty good idea of what was going down in town. Maybe having Harrison with me was putting him off? Perhaps my partner wasn’t his type after all. Oh well.
Convincing myself he was probably just having a bad day, I sauntered over to the corner he’d pointed out, and left Harrison where he was to ogle the warlock’s butt, or strike up a conversation, whichever pleased him most.
On the way I passed a rather pretty little glass ornament. It had a round base and a long stem and was a purplish red color that looked rather unusual. The truth was, I wasn’t given to knick-knacks, but I thought it would look pretty nice on a shelf in my bathroom. I turned it around and upside down in search of the sticker. $15.99 was a bit steep, but it wasn’t that bad. I put it down and decided to think about it. Maybe if I found a cheap enough kettle, I could buy them both.
I spotted the kettles right in the back, surrounded by some seriously jaded electrical items that were clearly not magical at all. Some of them looked to be thirty years old and were as likely to burn down your house as make you a cup of tea. But then maybe their age spoke to their reliability. I toyed with a few, not liking anything in particular, they just wouldn’t go with my kitchen decor. Don’t get me wrong, I was no Betty Crocker, but even goblins liked things to look nice.
Out of the corner of my eye, on the top shelf in the farthest corner, in the darkest place, (which appealed to my sense of magical destiny), I spotted an old-fashioned silver kettle, the kind you put on a stove and didn’t have to plug in at all. It was too high for me to reach, so I pulled out my wand and said, “Veni ad me!” Not that I needed to say anything at all. A simple summoning spell like that I could conjure in my sleep. Bigger things, yep, I needed to say the words.
The kettle was a big fat round one, quite old, with a hint of rust around the spout. It was nothing I couldn’t fix with a little magic easily enough, and I kinda liked it didn’t require a lead to boil water. Just a good old-fashioned stove.
Behind me I heard the doorbell tinkle again, but since I was focused on the kettle I didn’t think to turn around. I soon wished I had.
Harrison shouted, “Get down!” But he was too late. His words came just as the whoosh of an evil spell zoomed around the shop floor, coating us all in a nasty black dust as the spell bomb danced around the counters and shelves, seeking its mark. And then BOOM! The small, ball-shaped bomb found Derek, and there was a terrible crash as the warlock went flying, and screeching pixies cried out, saved only by the circle of glittering energy Harrison managed to conjure in time to save them all from a nasty death.
Even so, the blast was powerful enough to send me sprawling, knocking the kettle out of my hand. It flew through the air, landing with a loud crash amid some glass and shiny whatnots in the middle of the store. Glass shattered everywhere, and I stayed down, face to the floor, while the splinters and shards came tinkling down, their pretty music a mockery of the mayhem around us.
* * *
Don’t stop now. Keep reading with your copy of WITCHY WAY TO MURDER, by City Owl Author, Adrienne Blake.