How to Stone a Crow (Witch Like a Boss Book 2) by Willow Mason (great novels txt) 📕

“Oh, yes. You’re the queen of Briarton,” Wendy exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Annalisa should give you the crown, but it doesn’t fit.”

<The crown’s fine,> Annalisa said quickly. <It’s just the chains I don’t like.>

“Problem sorted, then.” Wendy took the heavy gold jewellery from the panther and draped it over Paisley, shortening her by an inch under its weight. “There we go. All better.”

The cat who so far had proved immune to my charms appeared to have tumbled head over tail for Wendy’s administrations. Paisley’s loud purr was a fitting rival to Annalisa’s, and I felt a momentary pang that I’d missed out.

<Except you already have one perfectly good familiar,> Annalisa beamed to me privately. <So you shouldn’t be mooning over another.>

<Sorry. You know you’ll always be my number one.>

<What’s that dog doing in here?> Paisley asked in horror, her fur puffing out as her back arched. <It’s bad enough I have to live in this ramshackle old place but to share with an untrained puppy?>

Annalisa nuzzled the smaller cat, pulling her into the protective circle of her front paws. <I couldn’t have put it better myself. Hm?> She raised her chin.

Pru leapt to his defence. “How rude. Jared has been the biggest help to me today.”

<And you are?> Paisley stared at the woman in disbelief before turning to me. <How many people did you say lived here?>

“We’re just having a few guests for a few nights until we can sort out the sudden poltergeist infestation.” I popped into the kitchen and switched the kettle on. Making a hot drink was always my first line of defence. “It won’t kill you to be polite.”

<No, but he might. You can never tell with dogs.>

I opened my mouth to object, then remembered the scene proceeding my abrupt decision to return to my hometown. Fair enough. I refused to feel guilty at Jared glanced at me, his face drooping when I didn’t rush to his defence.

“It’d be nice if everyone who can speak aloud would do so,” Patrick grumbled, taking a cold beer out of the fridge. “It’s hard enough to keep up with the conversation when there’s just one of you I can’t hear.”

“They’re not saying anything of importance.” Jared dropped into the comfy chair by the bay window. Right where I’d wanted to sit. “Believe me, if you could hear them you wouldn’t want to.”

<Nice manners your friends have,> Paisley said, tipping her nose into the air. <Violet would never allow somebody in the house who talked that way.>

“You should count yourself lucky,” I told Patrick. “They’re just slinging insults at each other. It’s like sibling rivalry on steroids.”

“I always wanted a sister,” Wendy said, being extremely selective. “When Sara was born, I was like, ‘Hurry up! You need to grow big and strong so we can have midnight snacks and secret languages.’”

“Neither of which you’d be allowed,” Gareth said. No one—least of all his daughter—paid attention.

<Since I’m now Queen Paisley of Briarton, I demand that I be housed in a manner befitting my status.>

“How about my room?” Wendy asked, dancing a few steps to the side. “You can sleep on the beanbag in the moonlight and have my stuffed monkey Baldrick for protection.”

<Paisley’s not even her familiar and she’s getting a stuffed monkey.> Annalisa turned her glowing green eyes on me. <Somebody could take lessons.>

“I’m already taking enough lessons,” I said, attempting to remember everyone’s drink order without using magic. I placed Jared’s standard tea with two sugars in front of him, thankful that familiarity spared me having to use my short-term memory banks for one cup, at least. “How’s your werewolf course going?”

“Fine,” he said in the short tone which meant it wasn’t going fine at all. Perversely, the thought made me feel a little better about my struggles. If we were still in high school, I’d have suggested we both ditch class and make out behind the bike shed.

Annalisa’s appalled face showed me she’d caught that thought full on.

<What? Stay out of my head if you don’t like it.>

She mimed retching on the floor.

Patrick’s phone rang and he excused himself from the room, ducking into the hallway as though we couldn’t all hear him perfectly well from the extra foot away. Not that his end of the conversation was enlightening. “Mm-hm. A-ha. Right. I understand.”

By the time I served the cups of tea and bowls of milk to the appropriate recipients, Patrick came back into the room wearing a glum expression. “That was Sergeant Grosvenor. I asked him to take a refresher on Andrew’s autopsy results and it wasn’t great. Apart from the injuries he sustained in the accident, there was nothing. No sign of foul play and the standard tox screen came back clear.”

“Well, yes.” Pru seemed aghast. “Andrew would never take drugs. He drew a line at two cups of coffee and he only drank decaf.”

“I didn’t mean…” Patrick faltered to a stop. “Because of the murder aspect, I thought he might’ve been poisoned, that’s all.”

“He still could’ve been.” Gareth coloured when the room turned to him, en masse. “Those reports only look for the obvious suspects. Coke, marijuana, and alcohol for the most part. They’re to eliminate intoxication as a reason for the car crash, not search his system for poison.”

“Could they run a broader panel?” When Gareth shrugged, I turned to Patrick.

“Using what?” He caught Pru’s eye and glanced away hurriedly. “They won’t have another blood sample,” he whispered.

I opened my mouth to ask if the police could get one, then snapped it shut. That was a question with implications I didn’t want crowding my brain.

<A better question would be who would want to poison him and who had the opportunity?> Annalisa tipped her head to the side until her crown fell to the floor, then sauntered over. <Did he have any enemies?>

I relayed the question for Patrick’s benefit while Pru mulled over the answer. “All I can think of is silly stuff,” she said after a few minutes.