How to Stone a Crow (Witch Like a Boss Book 2) Read online

  It felt odd for us both to be under the same roof again, albeit just for the one night. I was used to wrenching my thoughts away from what Patrick might be doing in his room at night, but Jared was a new twist.

 

  I threw up a wall of tongue twisters so I could call my mind my own but soon tired of the game as my brain slowed for the night.

  The next thing I knew, a scream jerked me awake. Sunlight streamed through the window. Andrew’s face hovered a few inches from mine.

  “Have you caught my MURDERER yet? I’m DESPERATE to get my hands on him.”

  Annalisa growled, a useless threat seeing her teeth and claws couldn’t do him any damage. With a sigh that my life was getting far too interesting, I plodded downstairs to assign the rest of the job of waking me up to a large cup of coffee.

  Chapter Ten

  “Oh, yes. I remember him well,” Solomon Armstrong said, leaning back in his chair and resting his clasped hands on his ample belly. “We started around the same time, although that’s so long ago it might as well be the dark ages.”

  We were seated in the office of Piermont Training and Human Resource Services—a place that sounded like a large corporate enterprise, but appeared to consist of Solomon, a young woman in reception, and a middle-aged woman named Clarissa whose job involved rolling her eyes every few minutes.

  “Andrew and I were up for a promotion at the same time,” Solomon continued, prompting Clarissa to do her thing. “He was a million miles below me in skillset, of course, but he was a plucky enough lad to give me a run for my money.”

  Eyeroll. The woman was in danger of doing herself damage.

  “We’d heard about the presentation,” I said, turning and scanning the room. It was an open-plan office, with even the staff kitchenette on full display. One corner had a separate room with a closed door, but my eyes weren’t up to the job of reading the name plaque. The boss of the whole shebang, I supposed, but whoever it belonged to wasn’t in residence right now.

  “I’m surprised Briarton could support such an organisation.” Patrick pulled at the tie he’d insisted on wearing, uncomfortable now with the choice. “Most of the businesses around here seem to be one-man bands.”

  “True, true.” Solomon pushed a finger up his cheek, a thumb holding his jaw while resting it all on his elbow. Judging from the worn patch on the chair arm, it was a pose he held often. “That’s why we’re needed. Small businesses don’t have the staff to warrant a full-time position, but they still need training and support, and that’s where we come in.”

  The phone had rung exactly once since our arrival twenty minutes before. Either they were conducting the whole operation via email or their services weren’t quite as much in demand as Solomon was trying to imply.

  Still, a three- or four-person business was a better spot than many.

  “Morning,” a man called out from the entrance, sweeping through the office, and coming to an abrupt halt when he spotted us. “Always good to meet new clients.” He thrust his hand at Patrick.

  Solomon immediately sat up straight, pulling at his collar and sporting a smile made of pure cheese. “Ray. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  I guessed this was Raymond Burns, still the overall boss apparently, despite his name not being listed on the website.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not new clients.” When Ray’s arm fell to his side, I stuck mine out. Feminism and all that. He shook it with reluctance, a feeble grip that he detached from far too early.

  “I hope you’re not distracting my staff unnecessarily while they’re meant to be at work.”

  “Just had a few questions about a man who used to work here,” Patrick said. “Name of Andrew Darby.”

  “Sure, I remember Andrew. He’s dead.”

  Well spotted. “His fiancé has asked us to examine his death again.” I smiled as Solomon shifted his weight in his chair. “She wasn’t entirely happy with the lack of detail from the police and coroner.”

  “S’been a bit long to be dragging all that up again.” Ray flicked a dismissive hand at us. “But Sol can fill you in. He was here. I’m not even working here any longer. Retired. Just pop in from time to time to see if anything needs doing.”

  The eyeroll from Clarissa seemed in danger of actually popping out her eyeballs.

  “Yes, sir. I’m taking care of it.” As Ray sloped towards his corner office, Solomon jumped to his feet, only sitting again when the door slammed shut.

  “Didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers.”

  “You’re all right, Patrick. The big boss gets into a mood at the drop of a hat.”

  No wonder Andrew, even as a poltergeist, was so intent on impressing the man. Praise that was hard to win was a thousand times more potent than that easily given.

  “Can you tell us anything more about Andrew’s habits?” Patrick pulled out his notebook, turning to a blank page even as he mimed reading it. “Was there anything special he liked to do for lunch? Any staff members he was close with?”

  “We’re all close here, always have been. And he used to eat at his desk most of the time when he didn’t skip it entirely. He popped antacids like they were tic-tacs, the poor bloke. Made entirely of nerves. Not the most social fellow.”

  Solomon clasped his hands together on the blotter, turning them into a steeple. “We only found out he was engaged when his death notice went in the paper. Up till then, we had no idea.”

  The fact his last statement contradicted his first went over his head.

  “Gosh,” I said when the pause grew expectant. “It must’ve been hard for such a small office to lose someone.”

  “Solomon, get in here!”

  I turned, startled at the shout. Apparently, Ray had decided to unretire himself and stood in the office doorway with his cheeks burning crimson.

  “Uh, sure, sir. Right away.”

  He scuttled into the room, closing the door behind him, while I turned away only to catch Clarissa’s eye. “He does this at least twice a week. Retired, my foot.”

  Patrick clenched the arms of his chair, appearing torn. “Should we leave?”

  “Yes, go. Escape while you still can. Sometimes I think Andrew was the lucky one to get away.” My mouth fell open and Clarissa tilted her head to one side, grimacing. “Too far?” When I nodded, she hunched her shoulders. “It’s this place. Wears you down.”

  “You remember Andrew?”

  “Sure. The office became grimmer after he died. Solomon never had a chance at that promotion. He hadn’t even bothered to put together a proposal for the new service and there Andrew was, charts and spreadsheets out the wazoo.” She wrinkled her nose. “You can tell he didn’t deserve the spot because he’s still in it. Andrew would’ve used the position as a steppingstone, but Solomon’s got nowhere to step to.”

  “Do you think he killed him?”

  Clarissa’s eyes and mouth opened in a wide O while the receptionist behind her guffawed. “Solomon? Murder someone? Ha!”

  “Didn’t he die in a car accident?”

  Patrick nodded. “Yes, but we’re afraid something more might’ve been going on.”

  “Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree there. Sol has about as much imagination as a flea. Even back when his chief enjoyment was playing pranks, he couldn’t invent one to save himself. Bore you to death, yes. Kill, no.”

  I was about to make a move on the exit when I frowned and turned back. “What kind of pranks?”

  “Traditional rubbish. Glad wrap across the toilet seat. Coiled spring in your drawer. Putting your stapler in jelly.”

  The receptionist nodded in agreement with Clarissa, and added, “He put laxatives in the coffee once. If I hadn’t caught him, it would have been a shocking day to be alive.”

  Patrick thanked them for their time while I shuddered. “How can people think such tricks are funny?” I complained, getting into his car. “They’re just mean.”

&nb
sp; “As she said, no imagination. Speaking of which, I’m out of ideas.”

  “Maybe Solomon left a long voice message and Andrew drove off the side of the road when he fell asleep listening to it?”

  “Ha-ha. Now, who’s being mean?”

  We dropped by the supermarket, then headed home. Wes and Jac waved as we passed by their shop; the two men being driven out again.

  “I’ve got my classes this afternoon,” I told Patrick when he wondered aloud what our next steps were for their sadness problem. “Let me ask the teacher about poltergeists and lingering emotions. Hopefully, he can come up with a solution.”

  “I thought your classes were going badly.”

  “Yeah, but not because of the teacher.” I flexed my hand, sending a little spiral of sparkles into the air. “And not because my powers are waning. I just don’t seem to have the habit of magic at all.”

  “Did I ever tell you, when I was six my family moved to Quebec and I became fluent in French?”

  “No.” I stared at Patrick with renewed interest. “Say something.”

  “Oui.”

  I liberally applied Clarissa’s favoured expression. “Something a bit longer than that.”

  But he shrugged. “I can’t. That’s my point. We spent eight months there and I could speak it like it was my first language. I can even remember the way it felt in my brain, to translate back and forth between English and French, so quickly I never needed to stop talking to catch up. Two years after moving back, it faded. I had to concentrate just to make the simplest sentence. When I took high school French, I was just as bad as everyone else in the class, so I dropped it.”

  “What a waste.”

  “My point is, you’re stuck in your high school class, struggling. The fact you were born to magic and could use it once upon a time doesn’t matter as much as the long period where you didn’t have it at all.”

  “And in your analogy, I just give up?”

  “I didn’t need to speak French. You do need to perform magic. And you’ve already done amazing things.”

  “I could do amazing things right now if I were allowed. How does that fit in with your French-speaking?”

  Patrick tapped his cheekbone for a second, then said, “Because I could say the longest, most complicated words in English, and they’d pretty much be the same in French. That’s the beauty of a common language base.”

  I sighed, tapping my fingers on the dash. “Think how amazing we’d be if our parents hadn’t yanked us out of the places we should have lived. I’d be an awesome witch and you’d be seducing the ladies with your romantic talk.”

  “I’d also be in Canada and we never would’ve met.”

  “And would that bother you?”

  The lights changed and Patrick concentrated on his driving for the next few minutes. I stared out the side window, pretending the heat in my face was from the sun rather than the conversation.

  “Yeah,” he said when I’d given up on him responding. “Yeah, it really would.”

  Hadyn Malone was the magic teacher at Briarton Supernatural Academy. A fancy name for a prefab building set two sections back from the Briarton High School that every teenage pupil in the town attended. Being one of the select few to attend classes lost its pall when the other students were a thousand miles ahead of me.

  I picked up the shattered glass from my failed lesson, using my gloved hands to do the dirty work because another round of magic would do my head in.

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” he said, standing well outside the circle of disaster. “You’re talented and the power at your disposal is quite extraordinary. It’ll just take time with your nose to the grindstone to get it all under control.”

  “If I have a nose left by the time I finish.” I dabbed a tissue to the specks of blood on my face. Luckily, I still had my normal human reflexes in plentiful supply, otherwise, I might have had an eye out.

  “Here. Stand still and I’ll give you a quick check over.”

  I stood in the fading light from the window and tried not to feel a sharp tug of envy as he effortlessly sent out a shower of sparkles to heal the damage I’d done.

  French, I reminded myself. You’re learning French.

 

  “Just an allegory I picked up. Stand back! I don’t want to spend the evening fishing slivers of glass out of your paws.”

  Annalisa jumped onto a bench table, nearly sending another glass vial flying.

  “That’s not what magic is for,” Hadyn said, swivelling around and waving her off the table. “It’s for casting spells to ensure right triumphs over wrong.”

  “Which is why I’m still trying to clean dishes and get the washing done.”

  He laughed, standing back as I set to work clearing up my mess again. “That’s to improve your fine motor skills. You don’t crack an egg with a sledgehammer.”

  “I did want to ask your advice about something,” I said, finally chucking the last of the mess into the bin. “It’s for a case we’re working on.”

  “You and Annalisa?”

  Annalisa stretched out to her full length, splaying her toes far apart.

  “Possibly.”

  “Hey! You just said I wasn’t as bad as I thought I was.”

  The panther sniggered and moved to the window, a bird outside capturing her attention.

  “What’s the problem?”

  I ran through a quick list of Pru’s plight, and the brick wall we’d run into with the investigation. “Unless we can solve his murder, I don’t think he’s going anywhere soon.”

  Hadyn rubbed his cheek and frowned at the whiteboard. “It’s true that poltergeists don’t appear for no reason but are you sure that’s what prompted his sudden change? Fifteen years is a long time to go without caring about how you died.”

  “What could be other reasons? I checked out the library but it’s short on the whys.”

  “Have you checked his grave? Disturbances to the physical body are the most likely reason.”

  I shrugged. “A few clumps of grass pulled loose and a bouquet reduced to its petals. There’s no way to even tell if Andrew did it. Could just be schoolkids on a lark.” With an impatient flick of my head, I sat back in my chair.

  “Get up. Class is over and I don’t want you settling in for the long haul. I’m a magic instructor, not a poltergeist whisperer. Those few pearls of wisdom were all I had.”

 

  “Are there potions available to generate leads? How do most supernatural investigators track down their villains?”

  “A question you probably should’ve thought of before going into business. Go ask the supreme. That’s what Genevieve is there for.”

  “What about a truth serum? We could apply it to Solomon to see if he lied to us.”

  The shock on Hadyn’s face told me that was probably a bad idea. “You can’t just fiddle around with people’s consciousness like that unless you want the governing coven to sanction the entire town.” He put a hand on one hip and tilted his head to the side. “What makes you so sure he had something to do with it?”

  I rubbed my stomach. “Gut instinct.”

 

  Ignoring Annalisa, I tried to put my suspicions into order. “His workmate Clarissa told us he liked to play pranks and they were both up for the same promotion.”

 

  “A prank isn’t the same as cold-blooded murder. You know that, right?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t cold-blooded. Maybe it was more like manslaughter.”

  Hadyn held up a hand. “You can’t have it both ways. If Andrew transformed from a passive echo int
o an outraged poltergeist because of his murder, then surely it’s something heinous, not an accident.”

 

  “Or an embarrassing one.” I chewed on my thumbnail for a while as Hadyn grew more impatient, probably picturing getting home after a day spent in the company of novice witches. “What about a chemistry spell? Patrick suggested he could have been poisoned but the police won’t have any blood samples left to test.”

  “Chemistry I can do.” My teacher jotted down a quick recipe and tore off the page. As I grabbed for it, he lifted it out of my reach. “This is only for legitimate purposes. If I hear about you digging him up to test him using this potion, I’ll report you to the governors myself.”

  My resulting pale face told him more than any assurances would.

  “Now get out of here. Some of us have classes to prep and ingredients to stock.”

  Chapter Eleven

  After tea, I pulled out Hadyn’s spell and cast my eyes over the requirements. The containers Aunt Florentine had dropped off had most of the needed items, but I still had to source willow bark and cow froth, whatever that was.

  “Willow bark is just aspirin,” Jared said, sniffing the ingredients with suspicion. “You can toss a few tablets in, no problem.”

  “Precision is key,” I said, rabbiting an earlier lesson. “Just because they both work on headaches doesn’t mean they’ll both work on… on whatever I find to test.”

  That was still the main hurdle to putting the potion into practice. I could hardly drop a piece of Andrew into it and breaking into the police station to see if they—against all odds—still had a blood sample didn’t sound like fun.

  “How have you managed to use up all the willow bark already?” my aunt demanded when I phoned her to see where a witch could pick up such things. “There was a full cupful.”