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

We reached Patrick’s car in time for me to remember I didn’t have the keys. Not to worry. He ran down the path to join me, passing them over, and whispering, “I’ll take care of things here, don’t worry. I’ve got a few questions I want to sneak into the conversation.”

With a wave, I pulled into the street, my mind already guessing what I’d find out.

“Hadyn didn’t say anything about the test lasting forever,” I complained, staring at the potion which resolutely refused to change colour. Pru and I had fetched the pill bottle and returned within twenty minutes, then spent another hour waiting for the chemistry potion to work its magic. “What if it lasts for days?”

“Then you’ll have plenty of time to focus on your other cases,” Aunt Florentine said, without sympathy. “And this place could do with a tidy-up.”

“It’s only messy because half the village moved in the past few days. Once it’s back to just me, Annalisa, and Patrick, it’ll be fine.”

<And me.> Paisley shot me a forlorn glance. <I’d say, ‘don’t forget me,’ but it’s obvious you already have.>

“If she doesn’t want you, we’ve got room at home,” Wendy offered. “Dad’s always promised me if I was good, I could get a cat.”

From Gareth’s expression, I guessed the statement was a total fabrication. “We can’t adopt Paisley,” he said in a gentle voice. “Remember, Sara’s allergic. That’s why Violet had to give her up and move downstairs in the first place.”

“We could stay here, couldn’t we, dad? Rent out the top floor to someone else, and then we can all be happy together.” She tugged at his hand, beaming a gigantic smile. “Pretty please. I don’t want to live in a house that spurts raspberry syrup out of its walls. It’s so scary.”

Gareth laughed as he grabbed his daughter around the waist and lifted her off the floor, shaking her. “That’s a big fib and you know it, daughter-who-was-licking-the-walls-earlier. If you’d been scared, sneaking away from Mrs Prendergast so you could go back home wouldn’t have been your first action.”

“Okay. Stop. STOP!!!” Wendy’s screech trailed into a series of giggles. “It is the coolest thing to ever happen, but I’d still give it up for Paisley.”

The black cat sat back, pretending to lick her paw, but I could see her eyes leaking. Well, good for her.

<I’ll say. One dog down, one cat down, and we’ve only got Pru left to go.>

<You’ve forgotten Wendy’s proposal means her and her dad moving in here. That means you’ve got one cat back, plus two people.>

<Or Violet will never return, and they can go back home.>

I blinked, hoping that wasn’t the way things would go.

“Something’s happening,” Aunt Florentine said, tapping my forearm. “That green has turned positively chartreuse.”

With a frown, I once again read the notes Hadyn Malone had scribbled down for me. The recipe and an instruction to dunk the object to be analysed into the resulting potion. No colour coded chart to show us what the results might mean.

A tiny wisp of steam rose from the liquid, twisting in the air. Another spurt joined it a moment later, then a gush as the entire bottle evaporated into a thick white gas, fading into the symbol C42H38O20.

“What does that spell?”

Patrick gave me a shoulder bump. “It’s not a word, that’s a formula.” He pulled out his phone and tapped in the characters. “Well, well, well.”

I craned my neck to read the tiny screen. “Senokot. What’s that?”

My aunt pressed her lips together, containing her amusement. “It’s obvious you’ve lived a charmed life.”

“Well? Is somebody going to tell me?”

Gareth sniggered, then covered his mouth with his hand. Wendy stared at him, her face as puzzled as mine felt. “Sorry,” he held up a hand. “It’s a laxative. For… you know.”

Patrick scrolled down the screen, turning it towards me again when he reached the appropriate dosage. “Looks like Andrew’s normal tablets were replaced with a large helping of diarrhoea.”

“How…?” Pru’s voice faded and I grabbed her arm, helping her to a seat. “Somebody replaced his pills? What sort of monster would do that?”

The kind of monster who used pranks as a stand-in for their personality.

“Solomon Armstrong, that’s who.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until morning?” Patrick asked for the third time. Just like before, Pru and I ignored his pleading face. “It’s been fifteen years. Surely a day won’t matter?”

“Why should I grant him the luxury of a day?” Pru cried. “The man already stole fifteen years of happiness from me. I want to shove the evidence in his face and let him squirm.”

“But you’ve waited fifteen years. That’s my point.”

“Because I didn’t know.” Pru slapped the back of the headrest, making Patrick yelp and lean forward. “He doesn’t deserve the courtesy of an appointment or a delay until morning.”

“If we wait until tomorrow, what would that achieve?” I said, backing her. “At least if we confront him now, Andrew might be satisfied and turn back into an echo rather than a deranged poltergeist.”

“That would be lovely.”

Patrick pulled to the side of the road, checking the house numbers. “What if that doesn’t happen?”

Pru stared out the window, giving the glass a fleeting touch with her fingertips. “You mean, he continues to be a wreck?”

“That or…”

“He goes away entirely?” She stiffened her back. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“We should call the police. They won’t like us coming out here in the middle of the night, yelling accusations.”

I pointed to the correct letterbox. “We don’t work for the police, and they had their chance and did nothing.”

“But they could process the evidence correctly. He could be prosecuted.”

Pru shook her head. “Just because we know what went down doesn’t mean they’d ever prosecute him.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?” Patrick parked the car and turned in his seat. “If they wouldn’t lay charge then we shouldn’t attack him either.”

“I’m not going to attack him.” Pru stuck out her lower lip, her nostrils flaring. “And just because