Witch in Training Read online

  That was friendly. “Why not just tell me? I’m hardly going to report you to Steve the Gargoyle for scaring off your staff, but the fact that you keep hiring my company is a cause for suspicion.”

  “There are no other recruitment firms in town, and you have a better chance of convincing potential candidates to apply.”

  Given his manners, he might well be right. But how had nobody noticed before?

  “Come and speak to me in person,” he insisted. “The information is too delicate to share over the phone.”

  “I can hardly walk out of work now, Mr Falconer.”

  “Ask your boss. Or drop by later, it’s all the same to me. But I will get that candidate.” And he hung up.

  Wow. Someone really needed a hobby.

  I took in a couple of steadying breaths, looking at the silent phone. One call had completely wiped out the effects of the coffee. “Do you think the boss will let me head over there and see him?”

  Bethan looked at me like I’d announced I had a week to live. “He asked you to go to him in person?”

  “Yep. I think the people in the building next door heard, too.” I rubbed my ear. “He didn’t deny there’s something odd going on.”

  “No, well.” She held up a stack of papers. “I got this printed off, and I’d say you’re right to be suspicious. Check out these records.”

  I took the papers and skimmed through the names of the previous applicants.

  “Every one of them has inactive social media accounts,” she went on. “The last time any of them went online varies, but it looks like they all lasted a few weeks at the job, so he doesn’t murder them right away.”

  “You really think he kills them?”

  “No,” she said. “I think he probably does something traumatic. None of us actually knows what kind of magic goes into wand-making. Maybe it erases their memories or causes them to lose their minds, or…”

  “We’re complicit,” said Lizzie. She wasn’t smiling. “If I’d known when I was dealing with him before, I’d have told the candidate not to apply.”

  “But… okay, I’m not blaming you guys,” I said. “I’m just confused as to why nobody else in town has noticed.”

  “You’ve worked here long enough to see the other clients we get, haven’t you?” said Bethan. “They have all sorts of weird requests. I dealt with five last week who wanted temporary interns or people to help with a one-off job. It’s not so unusual. Neither is danger. Hence the number of safety forms I’m dealing with for this unicorn-handler.” She waved a hand at the teetering pile of papers on her desk. “We work with weirdos. It takes a special kind of weird to catch our attention.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m a normal, so weirder-than-weird catches my attention pretty fast. Do you think I should go and see him? He knows I’m living with Madame Grey’s granddaughter, and even he respects her.”

  “Can’t hurt,” she said. “I mean, it can, but take your phone and some other precautions. Also, get a note from the boss.”

  “You seem keen to send me into danger,” I quipped.

  “I honestly want to know what he did with his assistants,” she said. “I don’t think he killed them. Unless there’s some secret ritual known only to wand-makers that keeps backfiring… in which case, you’ll be fine, since you aren’t applying to work for him.”

  “I’ll find out.” I got to my feet. “But first, the boss.”

  3

  Veronica looked at me across her desk, which was a large grey model this morning. Her office decorations varied depending on her mood. Today, the theme was steel grey fittings and large computer monitors, like some kind of high-tech futuristic workshop.

  “What is it, Blair?” she asked. She wore a smart suit and had the same fine hair as her daughter, except silver-white instead of dark brown. Tall and willowy, she had a commanding presence despite her eccentric taste in décor.

  “I’m helping a candidate find an assistant, and he’s asked me to come and speak to him in person,” I explained. “Mr Falconer, the wand-maker. It’s come to my attention that something might be happening to his assistants, and he refused to tell me any more information over the phone.”

  “Wand-maker?” she asked. “Oh, he’s a recurring client. Terrible manners.”

  “I know,” I said. “So—can I go and speak to him now? He’s refusing to budge and insists I’m to find him an assistant one way or another. I think it’s the best way to get him to cooperate.”

  “Hmm. He’s never asked us to visit the place before. Aren’t you applying for a wand of your own?”

  “After I take the first theory test,” I said.

  “Excellent. Then you’ll be able to take on some of our trickier clients.”

  Hmm. I dreaded to think who might be trickier to deal with than Mr Falconer. Maybe unicorns.

  “Thank you,” I said to her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I’d rather deal with problem clients over the phone, but with Mr Falconer’s threat hanging over my head, I needed to get him off my back. And get answers.

  I walked quickly down the road, turning into the high street where the wand-maker’s place stood at the corner. Again, it looked closed and neglected. He needed to replace a pane of glass in the window, and the door had seen better days.

  I knocked this time, and the door opened sharply. Mr Falconer stood waiting, wearing his usual sour expression. “Blair Wilkes,” he said.

  “That’s me.” I ducked into the shop. I wore my leather levitating boots—they passed as work-appropriate and the boss never looked too closely—and smart casual clothing, but he looked at me as though I’d trampled mud into the carpet. A nervous flutter in my stomach reminded me I was alone with someone who might possibly be murdering his assistants.

  Relax. The boss knows you’re here. If nothing else, maybe I could grab one of the wands if anything weird happened. Though I’d heard they only worked for their owners, nobody else. Still, one of them was destined to be mine. If I got through the cantankerous man in front of me.

  “So, what is it you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” I asked.

  “The job,” he said through gritted teeth, “is cursed.”

  I blinked. “I’m sorry, what? It’s cursed how?”

  “Every candidate I hire falls victim to the same curse,” he said. “Within two weeks of being hired. All of them.”

  “You might want to be a bit more specific. What is this curse, exactly?”

  His gaze shifted. I became aware of a faint squeaking noise coming from the desk. The cage of mice remained where it’d been before. I looked at the mice. Then I looked back at him.

  “You’ve got to be joking.” Laughter bubbled up in my throat and I fought to keep it reined in. “Someone’s been turning all your assistants into mice?”

  “For a year,” he said, with an expression that suggested I’d be joining them if I dared laugh at him.

  “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

  He gave me an ugly look. “I’m the best spellcaster in the entire town, Miss Wilkes. If I can’t undo the spell, nobody else can.”

  The urge to laugh disappeared. He was one scary man. “Er, aren’t the witches skilled at this type of thing, too?”

  “It’s not a spell,” he snapped. “I’ve read every book on the subject in existence. I made my career on spells. This is a curse. Unlike regular spells or even those handmade ones, curses don’t require a wand. Anything could have set it off.”

  “Set it off?” I echoed. “Didn’t a person do it?”

  “Evidently,” he growled. “But I fail to see who might have anything to gain from pranking my assistants. If they wanted to sabotage me, they would have targeted me directly. So they’re a coward, and when I catch them, I’ll make them live to regret ever setting foot in this town.”

  Sparks flew from the wands displayed in the window, ricocheting off the walls. I ducked, my arms over my head, until they stopped. Whoa.

  “All ri
ght,” I said, my heart thumping with panic. “So you want me to help? Because I know even less about curses than I do about spells.”

  “If you can help, which I sincerely doubt.”

  I took in a deep breath. “Tell Madame Grey—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But she’s the most knowledgeable witch there is. If the job is cursed, then sooner or later you'll run out of people to hire. Wouldn't it be easier if you got to the root of the problem?”

  His jaw clenched. “The problem is that I have no bloody clue who did it.”

  “Then I’m not sure I can help. I wasn’t even here a year ago.”

  He stepped in close. “Isn’t that a pity? You poked your nose into my life, and now you’re going to have to prove your worth. Aren’t you scheduled to pick up a wand soon?”

  “Yes,” I said warily.

  “Then if you don’t help me get to the bottom of this thorny little problem, you will never own a wand of your own.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I said. “I’m not an expert. I’m pretty sure my cat knows more about spells than I do.”

  “I hired you. You’re to do your job.” Spit flew from his mouth.

  I took a step back out of range. “I’m not a detective. Mr Bayer—that was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wouldn’t know where to begin with whoever cursed your job.”

  “Isn’t that a pity? If you’re going to put off my potential candidates and make me look like a fool, then you deserve to deal with the consequences yourself.”

  “I’m not putting anyone off. I think hearing a job is cursed is enough to deter most applicants, to be honest. Most people don’t have any ambitions to turn into rodents.”

  “Do you think you’re amusing, Miss Wilkes?”

  “Some people do.” Okay, even my cat didn’t, but that was beside the point. “Look, I’ll try to help, but I can’t make any promises. If nobody else in town has answers, I doubt I have the magical solution. But I can try.”

  Madame Grey would counter his empty threats with real ones, but there were twenty people stuck as mice, trapped in here with him. I doubted he was an attentive pet owner. Also, I couldn’t help wondering who’d have the audacity to put a curse on one of the scariest people in town.

  “For a start, when did this start happening?” I asked. “A year or more ago, the client said. Was there a particular issue with your last client at the time?”

  “No,” he snarled.

  That was helpful. I could tell he was going to be perfectly pleasant and cooperative to work with.

  “I have to start somewhere,” I said. “Who was the first assistant to be affected? Wait—what are you telling these people’s families? Don’t they come here asking questions?”

  “Each has an effective cover story,” he said. “They left town, they left the country… plenty of people do.”

  “So the loved ones of twenty people think they’ll never see them again.”

  Unbelievable. It wasn’t fair on the victims at all. As much as I wanted to leave Mr Falconer to stew in his own misery and grumpiness, I couldn’t leave the mice there. I approached the cage, looking inside. “There are only four mice. Where are the others?”

  “They escaped.”

  I groaned. “You mean to say the victims aren’t even here? They might have been eaten by cats, or…” Wait. The mice in my flat.

  But Sky hadn’t eaten them… had he known they were human?

  Mr Falconer loomed over me. “I want you to find me answers, Blair. Now go, before I change my mind about ensuring your silence.”

  I had no doubt he could do some serious damage with his wand collection. I’d met one person with the ability to mess with memories and had no intention of repeating the incident. Though my inner lie detector hadn’t gone off, however, it was plain to see Mr Falconer wasn’t telling me everything. I’d have to work on getting through to him later. For now, I’d look at the information I had, and learn who the candidates were before their untimely rodent fates. I could sense what type of paranormal someone was, but that didn’t extend to finding the source of a curse. I hadn’t even been able to tell the mice were once human, which seemed a gaping loophole in my skills. Maybe it only worked on humans, or people who looked like them. Not animals. Even if those animals were once wizards themselves.

  Magic was much more complicated than I’d thought. And to think I’d been confident I could pick up a wand and make it work for me. How to do that when my fate rested in the hands of a man who’d somehow managed to curse his assistant’s job?

  “One last thing,” he added. “Don't you dare tell the other witches.”

  “Seriously? I'm not allowed to ask for help?”

  “It's my business, and if you tell them, you'll definitely never be one of them.”

  Right. Part of me wondered if he’d set the curse off himself in a temper against his former apprentices, but if he wanted to curse someone, he had a whole arsenal of weaponry and the creativity to use it. More likely, he’d angered the wrong person and the curse had hit his apprentice instead.

  “I’ll solve this,” I said, eying the squeaking mice. Never mind my wand—twenty innocent people were now counting on me to help them.

  “He said, ‘don’t tell the witches’?” asked Alissa.

  I sat across from her on the sofa. “Yes, I know I’m telling you, but I’m trusting you not to tell him. My co-workers are suspicious, but if I tell them, they’ll tell Veronica, and word will make it back to him.”

  She blinked at me, absently stroking Roald. “Don’t worry. We’re not all gossips, not when the secret is important. But he can’t deny you a wand.”

  “We’ll get to that part later,” I said. “It sounds like he’s angered dozens of people. One of them must have cursed the job. It seems weird that they’d target his assistant and not him, but maybe they had good reasons.”

  “Was he angry? I don’t think you should go back there alone.”

  “More like humiliated,” I said. “This person’s running circles around the town’s best spellcaster and he can’t do a thing. Which I suppose is what they meant to do. The problem is, everyone hates him.”

  She pursed her lips. “Given the nature of the curse, it’s safe to say the caster was a witch or wizard. Or had the help of one of them.”

  “Aren’t all his clients witches or wizards, though?” I said. “I got the files of the past employees who vanished. There are no common factors between them, only that they all worked for him for a couple of weeks before the curse came on. He refused to tell me any more than that, so I’m going by guesswork.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Normally I’d say put a spell on him to make him more talkative, but he’s bound to see through that. So maybe… talk to some of the people he’s worked with.”

  I nodded. “I think he’s only ever had one assistant at a time. It’s a bit confusing. He also hasn’t hired Dritch & Co before last year, so I guess he must have found his previous assistants in person rather than hiring a company to do it. And the new applicants don’t know what exactly happened to the previous assistants. I don’t think they’d intentionally let it slip, but he’s seriously intent on not letting Madame Grey find out.”

  “She will,” said Alissa. “But not if it gets you into trouble. Also, you’re probably right… maybe ask among the witches? I’m sure someone will have had an argument with him.”

  “It was a year ago that the curse came on,” I said. “Which is why I’m not the best person for the job, because I wasn’t even here. I don’t know the relationships and disagreements that have taken place over the last year. Let alone before.”

  “But you do have the ability to sense lies.”

  “There is that,” I said. “All right. I’ll ask Rita, maybe… oh, yeah. Make sure Roald doesn’t get near those mice. I think—they’re the former assistants. Some of them.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened. “Oh. Sky must have worked out they’r
e human. Smart cat.”

  “Yep,” I said. “Too smart. And I think we need to get those mice somewhere else in case another predator catches them. Those poor assistants’ families think they’re either dead or permanently out of contact.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. I can’t believe he left them hanging because he was too embarrassed to admit someone cursed him.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said. “All right. I’m off to my lesson.”

  4

  My magic lesson was a disaster. I dropped the stick I was using as a practise wand so many times that Rita threw up her hands in despair. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Wands,” I said stupidly. “What if I’m not witch enough to have one?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Not every witch has both parents as witches or wizards. It’s more common here, because we’re so close-knit, but it’s not unheard of for witches or wizards to marry normals.”

  Or even non-humans. Like fairies. There was still so much I didn’t know about my own history… and now I might never get the chance to pursue my own magical talents, thanks to Mr Falconer’s ridiculous request.

  “Okay,” I said. “The wand-maker seemed pretty insistent that he only sells to witches and wizards, nobody else.”

  “Oh, him,” she said. “Don’t worry, he won’t discount you as a half witch. We don’t see things that way. If you’re magical at all, you’re one of us. Even he can’t deny it.”

  “Okay. He’s kind of… irritable. Is there anyone he’s particularly ticked off recently?” Probably too vague a question, but I had to start somewhere.

  “Recently?” she echoed. “He hasn’t left that blasted shop of his in years. Practically a recluse. He’s worse than Mr Bayer was. At least Bayer was working on useful inventions for the common good. All Mr Falconer’s wands are practically identical and he hasn’t changed the recipe in years. He’s just avoiding people. He’s a miserable man.”

  “I gathered,” I said. “So he’s never been married?”

  She burst out laughing. “No. Certainly not. To my memory, he’s always been the same grumpy recluse for as long as anyone has lived here. If he’s ever been involved with anyone, I’m not aware of it.”