Doing Time

  Wayfair Witches Book Twelve

  by A.A. Albright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © A.A. Albright 2020

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

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  Website: https://aaalbright.com

  Table of Contents

  1. Sweet Dreams

  2. Something’s Gotta Give

  3. Cleanse Your Soul

  4. The New and Improved Berry Coven

  5. Will Watch

  6. The Nose Knows

  7. Kill Will

  8. Excessive Force

  9. I Will Be a Wayfarer Again

  10. The Scary Chair

  11. Cell Mate

  12. Breakfast Club

  13. Don’t Put a Spell on the Messenger

  14. Shower Me With Hisses

  15. Rage Against the Brightening of the Light

  16. Appetite for Destruction

  17. The Wards Don’t Matter At All

  18. If I’d Never Met You …

  19. They Won’t Stop Coming Until You’re Dead

  20. The Worst Plan Wanda’s Ever Had

  21. My Creepy Dummy

  22. The Anything Room

  23. Leaving Time

  24. Cowardly Killers Won’t Stop Me

  25. Talking to the Wall

  26. The Resurrection Room

  27. No More Drama

  28. Hats Shouldn’t Wriggle

  1. Sweet Dreams

  Somewhere in the distance I could hear an alarm clock, but there was no way I was waking up from this dream. Not when I’d just had a slice of apple tart and I was following it up with a slice of Victoria sponge. Dreaming about food was nothing new for me, but this dream was so vivid. It was as though I could feel the cool air of the open refrigerator door against my skin. I could taste the cream and jam in the centre of the two perfect slices of sponge. There were real berries on top, too.

  The only thing missing from my dream was a cup of tea. And oh! How very lucky. It seemed that I’d already boiled the kettle. As soon as I reached over for it, another hand joined mine on the handle, and gently prised the kettle from my grasp. I didn’t much care how gentle that hand had been, though, because whoever was coming between me and my tea was clearly a monster.

  I turned on the dream monster. He was very handsome, as dream monsters went. Tall, with floppy, light-brown hair. Big brown eyes I could eat. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of striped pyjama bottoms.

  ‘Wanda,’ said the monster in a soft, lovely voice. ‘Leave the kettle where it is, okay? You almost burned yourself last time.’

  A cold chill washed through me, ripping me out of the warmth and comfort of my dream, making me feel alert, awake, and frightened. My whole body jolted and lurched, and reality dawned. I wasn’t dreaming, and the man talking to me was no monster. He was my boyfriend, Max.

  ‘Look, I know people say not to wake sleepwalkers, but you could have hurt yourself.’ He looked around at the mess on our kitchen floor. ‘Although death by Victoria sponge doesn’t seem so bad.’ He picked up the two boxes and put them in the fridge.

  ‘I did it again, didn’t I?’ I said with a groan. ‘Crap!’

  ‘It’s okay. You’ll be okay, Wanda.’ Max led me over to a chair. ‘Although maybe I ought to tie a string between me and you or something. So the next time you sleepwalk outside in the middle of the night, I’ll know.’

  ‘“Outside”?’ I felt my heart beat faster. ‘What do you mean “outside”?’

  ‘Look at your clothes, Wanda.’

  I looked down at myself. I was wearing black jogging clothes. A glance at the clock told me it was six a.m. And I was not the sort to get up for an early morning run.

  ‘You didn’t just raid the fridge in your sleep, Wanda. We didn’t have this cake or apple tart in the fridge last night,’ Max told me. ‘Look at the boxes.’

  I jumped from my chair, and opened the refrigerator, looking at the labels on the boxes. ‘I went to Caulfield’s? In Riddler’s Cove? In my sleep?’

  He brushed a spot of cream from my cheek. ‘It looks that way. You must have gotten there when they opened up at dawn.’

  The cat flap clattered, as Dizzy flew into the kitchen. He was a bat, not a cat, hence the flying. Bats might not be number one on the list of most wanted familiars, but I couldn’t wish for a better companion than Dizzy. He was a small, Lesser-Known Mango Bat. Some days he looked brownish-black, others he looked blackish-brown, and he almost always wore a bright smile on his tiny little face. Dizzy assured me that the Lesser-Known Mango Bat was a real breed, and that there were more of them out there, somewhere. It was certainly true that he didn’t like to eat anything but mangoes, preferably fresh.

  ‘The state of you!’ he cried, flying to my shoulder (okay, so maybe he wasn’t the most flattering of companions, but he had his good points). ‘You look like you were dragged through a ditch, then run over, then chucked back in the ditch, then run over again, then–’

  ‘Yeah, I get the picture Dizzy,’ I interrupted. ‘I look rough. Turns out I didn’t just sleepwalk in the house last night. I was out and about on a cake buying spree.’ I pulled a leaf from my hair, and noticed that my fingernails were filthy. ‘And maybe I did fall into a ditch somewhere along the way, too.’

  ‘Yeah. That um … well … that might not have been the first time you did that,’ the bat revealed. ‘I mean, I dunno about the ditch. That’s just a guess, on account of how awful you look.’ He gave me a little kiss. ‘Sorry, but you do. But also … you brought me some mangoes yesterday morning. Fresh, juicy ones from the fancy shop. Plus, well … I saw you coming home with them. You staggered across the park and came in at four in the morning. So I don’t think this is the first time you went walkabout.’

  He gave me another kiss, a nervous, fluttery one this time. ‘Me and Max have been talking. And we’re worried.’

  ‘We are,’ Max agreed. ‘I think we should take you to the healer today. You need a check-up.’

  Somewhere upstairs, my phone began to ring. ‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll go. Just as soon as I take this call.’

  2. Something’s Gotta Give

  By now, I really should have known better. There was no way I was going to the healer after that phone call. Because in my life, early-morning calls usually meant one thing: a murder had occurred.

  That was what life was like as a Wayfarer. And so, I downed some coffee, tidied myself up, and with a click of my fingers, I left my house.

  Travelling to the supernatural prison known as Witchfield was never the most straightforward teleportation spell. There were a lot of jumps and lurches along the way, but when you already feel sick, tired and worried, a little extra nausea hardly registers.

  ‘You look like something the dragon dragged in,’ said Finn, the captain of the Major Crimes team, and my boss, as I joined him on a prison corridor. He was clutching a cup of coffee for dear life, so he was hardly one to talk.

  ‘Gee, thanks boss. It’s better than Dizzy’s description, so I must have cleaned up better than I thought.’ I nodded to the door. It was marked with a large sign saying: Men’s Showers. ‘In there?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but … you won’t be sick, will you? It’s just that you look pretty pale and delicate right now, and the crime scene is fairly gruesome.’

  ‘Have I ever puked at a crime scene?’

  He ran a hand through his fair hair, looking thoughtful. ‘You know what? We’ve had so many murders together that I honestly can’t remember. But if you haven’t yet, there’s a first time for everything.’ He finished his coffee and chucked the empty cardboard cup in the bin. ‘Were you doing your weird late-night Defensive Magic lessons again?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I mean … yeah. Let’s go with that.’ Later on, I’d tell him about my sleepwalking. And sleep eating. And sleep shopping. Right now I wasn’t in the mood.

  Anyway, I had endured a Defensive Magic lesson last night. But it had ended at ten, and I’d gone straight home to bed afterwards. Defensive Magic was one of the three subjects I was studying at Crooked College because, well, I was a glutton for punishment. Why shouldn’t I try for three degrees, while also working as a member of the supernatural police force known as the Wayfarers? It wasn’t as though I was crumbling under the pressure or anything. I mean, a lot of people sleepwalked to the shops at night, didn’t they?

  I’d tried to give up work and concentrate on college, but I’d missed work too much. Investigating murders might not be everybody’s cup of tea, but for me it was the only job I’d ever wanted. Going to Crooked College was important to me, too, and not just because I was a nerd who loved to learn. At the moment, my team was made up of people who’d worked hard to get their qualifications. I wanted to prove that I deserved my place just as much as they did.

  ‘Because I’m starting to feel like something’s gotta give,’ Finn continued. ‘I’ve spoken to all of your professors. They know as well as I do – and as well as you do – that you could have sat your finals and aced them last summer. You were ahead of all your classes before you even started, Wanda. You know everything you need to know. Y
ou have to stop trying to prove yourself. You deserve your place on the team, and you know it.’

  I brushed some imaginary hair out of my face and looked away from him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t feel the need to prove myself.’ Ahem. ‘But … maybe you’re right. It is getting a bit much. I’ll do the exams this summer, okay?’ I meant it, too – because if I kept going on the way I was, I might progress from sleepwalking to something even more embarrassing.

  ‘Well … good. But then there’s the Will thing. You don’t need–’

  I held my hands over my ears. ‘You never know when to stop, Finn. So I’m not listening to you anymore. Can we just go in already so I can puke all over the crime scene?’

  ≈

  I stared in horror at the body. It was splayed out on the shower tray, covered in red, inflamed skin. The rash was bad enough, but some of the boils around the chest were actually oozing.

  The chief prison guard, Walt, was there, as well as a few Wayfarers from our team. Paul was taking photos of the scene, pausing every now and then to wave a scanner around, while Shane was preparing a stretcher to transport the body back to the Wayfarer morgue.

  ‘His name was Sal Manson,’ Walt told me. ‘Thirty. Male. He wasn’t a maximum security prisoner, so the showers are supervised to a lesser extent than for the max guys. Usually nothing much happens. One of our guards, Martin Macey, found the body like this. He went in when he realised Sal hadn’t come out with the others.’

  ‘Mm hm.’ I put a hand over my mouth. ‘Well, I’ll need to take a closer look.’ I glanced at Shane, the Wayfarer healer. Today, like almost every other day in his job, he wasn’t going to get to heal anyone. Before he joined our team he had worked as a coroner in the human world, and he was a talented wizard, too. ‘Is it okay if I examine him?’ I asked.

  Shane nodded. ‘I’ve already done most of what I can until I get him on the table. But I think it’s a potion, so it’s your expertise we need right now.’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have called you in,’ Finn said, watching me closely. ‘It’s just … Ronnie’s off on holiday with Arthur, and Shane’s right – this looks like it was done with a potion. That’s kind of your area, so … are you sure you’re all right? I mean, I know you’re stressed because of that not-so-secret thing you’ve got to do this afternoon. But you really don’t look well, Wanda.’

  ‘I’m not stressed about anything,’ I lied. ‘And if you ask if I’m okay one more time, I’ll walk off the job and stay at college for the next twenty years,’ I threatened as I bent closer, taking a sniff. The body smelled like gone-off meat. I covered my mouth, had a stern word with myself so that I wouldn’t vomit, and looked up at Finn. ‘The post mortem will obviously have to confirm it, but the smell, the rash, the boils … I’m pretty certain that Night potion is behind it. And given where it happened …’

  Extending a finger, I used magic to move the bar of soap close to my nose so I could take a sniff. ‘Yip. The potion was in the soap. A very good way to spread it all over the body nice and quick. I imagine there’s some clever accelerant added, too – I’ve seen it in all sorts of creams before, so it can easily be done. I guess Sal was a dayturning vampire, then? Y’know, seeing as the whole purpose of this poison is to mimic the lethal effects that darkness has on his kind.’

  Walt groaned. ‘For about three more hours he was. He was about to take the cure for the dayturner virus this afternoon, just before he walked free. His time was done, Wanda.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that just the irony to end all ironies?’ I shook my head. The cure had been discovered and rolled out some time ago, but some vampires were wary – not only did it cure the dayturner virus, but it would also take away the person’s vampirism. Nevertheless, many dayturners considered the side effects more than worth it – and if they missed being a vampire, they could easily become one again. ‘What was he in for?’

  ‘Theft. Petty stuff, mostly, but he’d reoffended a couple of times, so he got a year-long prison sentence the last time. But … he seemed to be on the right track during this stint. He was keeping his head down, being sensible, keeping his distance from bad influences. I really had high hopes for him.’

  I looked down at the dead vampire, feeling bad for him. ‘Y’know, Sal died because that’s what a strong dose will do to a dayturner, but the other guys in the showers should have had some reaction, even a mild one. That’s if it was in all the soaps.’ I walked around, sniffing the other soap bars. ‘But they all seem fine. Which means that maybe this was directed at Sal, and only Sal.’

  ‘There were no other reactions,’ Walt assured me. ‘And there were nineteen other guys on this shower shift, so I think you’re right. Someone was targeting Sal, specifically. But we’ll do a sweep, gather up all of the other soap and shampoo bars, just in case. Some people have bottles of shower gel or shampoo that they buy in the shop, too. It’s all checked on a regular basis, but we’ll check it again.’

  He beckoned over a young guard. ‘This is Martin. The one who I told you about, who found Sal.’

  Finn and I gave Martin a brief nod. He was twitchy, wiping a sweaty hand through his brown hair, his whole body shivering.

  ‘Where were you standing while the prisoners took their showers?’ Finn asked. ‘Because I imagine someone would have shouted out. Night potion’s supposed to be agonising.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘He didn’t shout. I mean, he was singing. Like, the whole time he was in the shower. He was singing that Call of the Wild song. The really romantic one. Red or something. He always sang in the shower. And everyone else is usually pretty loud, too, singing and messing about, so … I didn’t hear anything. It was only when everyone else filed out and Sal wasn’t with them that I started to worry. That’s when I realised he’d stopped singing, so I came in.’

  I nodded. ‘Okay. And the soap. How is that distributed?’

  Martin was still shivering. ‘It’s … well … a lot of people buy their own stuff, if they’ve got the money. But Sal never did. There’s a stock of soap and shampoo bars. It comes from a reputable supplier, and I hand them out whenever anyone needs more. Some people are lazy about it and they just leave the bars behind after themselves. But Sal was into his cleanliness and hygiene, so he always kept a prison-issued bar to himself, in his shower bag. He’s had the same bar of soap for … oh, about a week now.’

  ‘And where does he keep his shower bag?’ Finn asked. ‘Would anyone else have access?’

  Martin shrugged. ‘It’s in his cell between showers, so yeah, lots of people could have accessed it. The cells in minimum are opened all day long. But the people on Sal’s block are all the same blokes who were here in the showers this morning.’

  ‘He’s right about that,’ Walt informed us. ‘Only prisoners from a block can access a block. We’ll let you question them all, obviously. Everyone’s locked down right now, and we’re starting a sweep of the cells. We’re gathering up everything from all the other shower rooms, too.’

  ‘I’ll give you someone to help supervise that.’ Finn beckoned Todge, another Wayfarer, to join us. ‘You go around and help gather up the soaps and things from this shower block, will you, Todge? Then go to the storeroom with Martin and get everything from there, too.’

  Martin scowled. ‘But it was obviously only in that one bar, otherwise every other dayturner would be dead too, wouldn’t they?’

  Walt lifted a brow. ‘Yeah. But let’s not take the risk.’

  As Martin moved away to work with Todge, Walt sighed and moved closer to Finn and me.

  ‘He used to be a lot more helpful. He was a janitor when the Plimpton coven ran this place, and he was delighted to become a guard when things changed. Maybe he liked the idea more than the reality. It’s a lot harder than I wish it was to get enough good people who want to work in a prison.’

  As he spoke, the warden swept into the room. ‘Nevertheless,’ she said, ‘we will have the best we can get. We can’t expect prisoners to respect our authority if we don’t respect their safety. Wanda. Finn.’ She gave us both small, curt nods on greeting. Tracy Wayfair was a tiny woman with wispy blonde hair, but her personality made her seem far bigger than she was. More importantly, she was the best prison guard Witchfield had ever had. There had been a huge reduction in re-offending, ever since she took over. Although she was a member of my coven, we weren’t close. She rarely came to meetings, spending most of her time at work.