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

his previous size as suddenly as if she’d pricked a balloon. He opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and put a hand to his head, sticking a finger straight through the mirage of his skull.

“I can’t get it out.” His voice sounded mournful. “I know there’s a murderer and Solomon doesn’t fit the bill.” His shoulders slumped. “I think… Maybe the killer has nothing to do with me, after all.”

He appeared so downcast, I wanted to pat his shoulder to assure him everything would be okay. I mimed the gesture, a full foot away from the poltergeist so I wouldn’t accidentally poke into his non-body, then jumped as my phone rang.

“Desdemona? It’s Wes here. You need to get down to the shop immediately. Things just got exponentially worse.”

Chapter Thirteen

Melancholy engulfed me as soon as I walked through the door. Behind me, Patrick stopped fiddling with his tracking device long enough to wipe away a tear, before unhooking the mic and holding it out.

“What precisely was your…?”

His speech faltered as I shook Wes’s hand. When I turned to see what was wrong, I saw it. Six-foot-high letters. Bad Witch.

“It appeared this morning,” Jac said, gripping his partner’s hand so tightly that Wes winced. “Out of the blue. One moment, I was hanging a new pastiche mural on the brick wall and the next…” He tilted his head at the abomination.

“Do you know what it’s…” My voice clagged up and I had to cough to clear it. “What it’s made from?”

The dark stain covered the brickwork, turning a bright green as it passed across the wall hangings and decorations displayed for sale. A photograph of the Paris skyline, tastefully developed in black and white, now appeared like Shrek had thrown up all over it. A long drip sagged from the base of the frame, growing fatter as I watched, until gravity laid claim and it splashed to the floor.

“Where’s Wendy when you need her?”

Wes glanced at me with a face full of hope. “She can help?”

“Probably not. She’s just not afraid to lick things off walls.” Remembering the syrup container from the hallway at Kelburn Manor, I peered into the nearest litter bin. Nothing there.

“Can I check your kitchen?”

If our ghostly tagger was into decoration with foodstuffs, that seemed the next logical place.

“I’ll come with you,” Jac said, disentangling himself from Wes. “We could all do with a nice brew.”

“Substitute nice for strong, and I’ll join you,” Patrick said, trying to force a smile before the next wave of sadness tugged it off his face. “Geez. I wish we could dial the emotion down a bit.”

“Have you found out anything that might help?” Jac asked as I followed him into the kitchen. He peered at me with a raised eyebrow while I lifted the flap on the rubbish bin, finally having to abandon my attempt to be dainty and take the whole plastic lid off.

I was too ashamed to admit we’d downgraded their investigation to chase down a prankster. A probable mistake, given their case was now linked to Violet’s disappearance. “We’re still doing some research.”

“What are you hoping to find in there?” The edge in Jac’s voice made me back up a little.

“Sorry. We’ve just seen similar graffiti on a house near here and it turned out to be made by raspberry syrup. I don’t know what the green stuff is, but I hoped to find a clue nearby.”

Jac went into full bristle-mode. “Are you insinuating that we created this stunt ourselves? You know, I might like attention when I’m out clubbing but I’m not some desperate sad-sack who’d waste everyone’s time and money for a bit of fake notoriety.”

“Goodness, no.” I held up a hand, then choked back a sob as the sadness emanating from the store intensified. Since Jac endured this far more often than my limited exposure, I supposed he deserved some leeway with his moods. “I’m sure the message was put there by a spirit or a poltergeist or magic or… or something. Gareth and Wendy said there’s appeared right in front of their eyes.”

I replaced the bin lid and wiped my hands on my jeans. “Not that knowing what their message was made from helped us work out anything.”

“How similar was the graffiti?”

“Same height. Same words. Different colour.” A piece of banana stuck to my palm and I nudged Jac aside to wash in the sink. “Do you know Violet and Carson?”

He pushed me back out of the way to fill up the kettle, facing away from me as he replied, “Not that I know of. We do meet a lot of people, though, and I’m not the best with names.”

There was a tightness in his voice, but I chalked it up to the disturbing situation. “How d’you like your tea?”

“Could I be a pain and ask for coffee instead?” I put my hand up to my face, rubbing at a twitch in my left eyebrow. “Just black. I need waking up.”

“Sure. How about your partner?”

I swung open the door and signalled to Patrick, who held up two fingers, then shrugged and made it three. “Milk and three sugars.” At Jac’s grimace, I smiled. “Just make sure you can’t taste the tea at all, and she’ll be right.”

He grabbed a box of teabags from the cabinet above the sink and I stared over his shoulder, trying to catalogue the contents.

“If you want to wait outside, I’ll bring these through in a minute.”

The tightness was back in Jac’s voice and this time I twigged. He wanted me gone. Fair enough. I wouldn’t mind a few minutes alone either.

“Any readings of interest?” I asked Patrick, joining them. Wes had both arms folded around his shoulders, hugging himself.

He showed me the display, with a needle edging into the green. Safe. I leant over and tapped the dial.

“Not very sensitive, is it? I’m sure I didn’t wake up this particular shade of miserable.”

“Can’t you do some witchy thing to find out what this is and what did