‘I think so. Although after the whole killing Baldrick thing I was a tad dozy, as you know.’

  ‘More than a tad. And yet Florence couldn’t find anything physically wrong. Wanda … you don’t think that this could be down to Will, do you? It wouldn’t exactly be out of character for him to … you know … try and get you under his control.’

  I stared at Finn. ‘No. Just … no. He wouldn’t do that to me. Not again.’

  ‘You sound way too certain. You know I think certainty is stupid, right? No one can be certain of anything.’

  ‘I realise that, Finn. I’m not an idiot. But I do feel certain of Will. Nowadays, anyway. Ask Melissa. He’s got no bad in him, Finn. Not anymore. Look, can we just get back to you telling me that some in-prison snooping would be a bad idea?’

  He crossed his arms. ‘Well, it would. You think they’ll say anything to you? You’ll be the most hated prisoner in Witchfield, Wanda.’

  There was a knock on the door. Finn called, ‘A couple more minutes, Milly,’ before turning back to me. ‘I’m not giving you the okay to do that, Wanda. I care way too much about you to let you put yourself in danger’s way.’

  I looked up at my cocky, annoying boss. ‘Aw shucks, Finny. I care about you, too.’ With a more serious tone, I continued. ‘Look, you’re right. I do like to distract myself by working, but maybe now is not the time. I’ll keep my head down while I’m in here. But Finn, in the meantime … just try and get it through to my mam that this will be a few days, okay? Once my psych evaluation’s done, things’ll move fast, and I’ll more than likely be out. So just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid between now and then. You have to make sure she doesn’t lose her position over this, okay? Because you and I both remember what it was like when your coven were in charge. We can’t let that happen again.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Bea,’ he agreed. ‘And listen to me, you don’t need to solve the case in here, because you’re going to have plenty more cases to solve when you get out. This isn’t your last hurrah, Wanda. Say it. Say that it isn’t your last hurrah. Say you’ll be a Wayfarer again.’

  I gave him my biggest, brightest smile (to go along with the words I hoped wouldn’t be my biggest, boldest lie). ‘This isn’t my last hurrah. I will be a Wayfarer again.’

  He pulled me in for an awkward hug. While my Ire-clad wrists clanged against his chest he said, ‘That’s my girl. You’ll be back at your desk and annoying me again in no time.’

  10. The Scary Chair

  The search and the change of clothes went by far too quickly, and soon it was time for my least favourite step of the process.

  I’ve already regaled you with tales of shorter-term disempowerments (I live to give), but what I was about to face was something that would lock away my power for an indefinite amount of time. In the olden days, nine witches would perform a ceremony, involving a lot of potions, candles, OAPs and chanting. It had to be done at the dark of the moon, and sometimes had to be performed quite a few times before they got it right. It could be temporary – the length of a prison sentence – or permanent, if the crimes were serious enough to warrant it. Either way, it was up to those who put the lock on a witch’s power to remove it.

  But these were modern times, and my power was about to be taken by a modern monster: the Scary Chair (it was actually called the Disempowerment 3000, but Scary Chair was far more apt).

  Milly led me into a small grey room, and towards the shining, metal chair. Like the witch irons, it was made of Ire, but with an inhibitor added so that no physical damage could occur. There were also some wizard-made Pseudo Gnats involved. They didn’t quite siphon off the power in the way that the old-fashioned gnats had done. Instead, they sought out the source and wrapped themselves around it, much like the way the nine witches of old had locked the power away in the past. The Pseudo Gnats were, reportedly, far less painful.

  ‘Nice keyring,’ I remarked, nodding to the keyring she wore on her belt loop as she strapped me in. It was shaped like a figure of eight, with a phoenix at its centre. ‘Don’t worry – I’m not going to grab your keys and make my escape.’

  Milly smiled. ‘It wouldn’t do you much good anyway, if you did. They’re keys to my house, not here. We use spells to open and lock the doors in Witchfield. But you’re right – it’s a very nice keyring. It’s a family heirloom, and it’s my one bit of flair, when I have to be in uniform for eight hours a day.’ She winced. ‘I mean, there are worse things, I guess.’

  ‘Like my beautiful dishwater-grey jumpsuit?’ I gave her a wry smile.

  ‘Hey, you’re rocking that look, Wanda. You could be on the cover of Prison Babes Monthly. Okay, brace yourself. Here we go.’ She hit a button on the wall, and I felt the chair below me begin to vibrate. ‘It takes a minute or so to warm up.’

  ‘As long as these Pseudo Gnats really aren’t as horrible as the Pernicious Gnats, I’m good.’

  Milly snorted. ‘Good goddess, those things were awful. I’d take witch irons over those any day.’

  I looked down at my wrists, still bound in irons. ‘Sure. At least they don’t bite.’

  There was a flash of light, and the vibrations in the chair increased. If I squinted, I could just about see the miniscule magical gnats as they flew out of tiny holes in the chair, before making their way in through my ears, nose and mouth. At first, they barely tickled as they burrowed inside, but then I felt them buzz, somewhere deep, deep down.

  Once when I was in Night and Gale, Florence explained the source of a witch’s power to me. You can draw all the magic you like from it, she told me, but given time, it’ll always fill up again, like water refilling a well. That was why Witchfield locked the power away, instead. And the chair, and the gnats, were really doing their best. They certainly thought they’d won, as they finished up inside and flew back out of me again. But the lock they’d created felt delicate. Delicate enough that with one, tiny, metaphorical snap, I could break it.

  Sometimes, despite my cute quips and adorable nature, I was scared of myself. Everyone worried about Will, and what he’d do if he was pushed. But what would they say if they knew that little old me was almost as powerful – and that I hadn’t even had to open a bad, bad book to gain that power?

  ‘Sorry,’ said Milly as the light and noise died away. ‘It must be worse for you to say goodbye to your magic, being a Wayfarer and all.’

  ‘Yip.’ I gave her a smile. ‘It’s terrible. I feel empty. Bereft. Powerless. So what’s next?’

  ‘Well, first you get to say goodbye to these.’ With a wave of her finger, she opened the witch irons and slid them off my wrist. ‘So yay for that. And then, I get to parade you past a couple of dozen prisoners while I lead you to your cell. Sound fun?’

  I gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Wonderful.’

  11. Cell Mate

  Walking through the high-security witch wing was probably the worst experience of my life. And if you’ve been with me on any of my previous misadventures, then you’ll know that’s really saying something.

  Over my short career I’d arrested a lot of people, and many of them were glaring at me right now. Many more were shouting. Some of them hated me so much that they threw themselves against the bars of their cells again and again, not minding that they were thrown back across their cells as soon as their bodies hit the magic. I was worth the pain, apparently.

  None of the body-slammers bothered me that much. It was the quiet ones I worried about. The ones with sly smirks on their faces. The ones who were probably thinking: Just wait until I get you alone.

  Gosh darn it, anyway. Why did I have to be good at my job? If I had an arrest record like Todge, I’d be perfectly fine. They’d probably welcome me with cake. But at the moment, it was clear that Finn was right – no one was going to tell me anything about Sal Manson’s murder. I really was the most hated prisoner in Witchfield.

  As we reached the wavering magical bars of what was to be my cell, I baulked. ‘Is it just me, or are these things getting smaller?’ I squeaked.

  ‘They’re twice as large as they used to be, as you well know,’ Milly informed me. ‘But I appreciate it seems small to you, Wanda. It’ll be okay. We’ll be keeping a close watch.’ She pointed to the other guards, who were walking up and down the block. ‘If things get bad, we’ll isolate you.’

  ‘Yay. An isolation cell. Just what I’ve always dreamed of.’

  She chuckled and stood back so that I could walk in. I could feel the magic radiating from the bars and licking at my skin. The cell bars were supposed to dampen my power even further, but it felt like they were energising me instead. Even in a day full of weird, things still managed to surprise me. First, the witch irons, the gnats and the chair had been useless, and now the cells that were meant to suppress my power were giving me a boost instead?

  I soon forgot the invigorating feeling, and baulked once more. Because inside the only private area of my cell – the toilet – a small, grey, angry-looking dog was drinking from the toilet bowl. Well … he wasn’t actually drinking. He was making lapping motions, but he seemed to be having trouble getting any water.

  ‘Um, Milly, is it usual for other prisoners’ familiars to go wandering around?’ I pointed at the dog. ‘Hang on a minute … he looks familiar.’ I laughed a little crazily. ‘A familiar familiar. Oh my.’

  ‘What?’ She looked perplexed. ‘Are you all right, Wanda? There’s no animal there – familiars don’t get to walk around the prison, willy-nilly. I know you’re used to having familiars come to you to help them solve their witches’ murders, but in this case you’re all alone.’

  She winced. ‘And I have some bad news for you, as well. News that seems rather relevant at the moment, if you don’t mind me saying. Your psych exam’s going to be delayed. It’s been hard to get a mental health healer to stick it out. The current one just quit this evening, after one of the prisoners threw a chair at her. The Night coven said they’ll send someone over as soon as they can but … we could be looking at a week. Which isn’t good, is it? I’ve already been told about your sleepwalking problems, but now you’re hallucinating, too?’

  The dog was wheezing with laughter now, rolling onto his belly and smacking his paw against the floor in mirth.

  ‘She can’t see me! She thinks you’re loopy!’

  I ignored him and turned to Milly. ‘You know, now that I look a bit harder, I can’t see anything there at all. It must have been a trick of the light. That can happen after a long day, can’t it? I’ll be fine after some sleep.’

  ‘Are you sure? We do have an all-round healer here at the prison. She doesn’t specialise in mental health so she can’t do your evaluation, but she’s good. Prisoners normally have set appointments with her, but this seems urgent. I think I can push you up the list.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I insisted, giving her my brightest, most assuring smile possible. I definitely wasn’t fine, but I’d be a whole lot worse if the other inmates found out I’d skipped the queue. Whatever was wrong with me, it would have to wait.

  ≈

  As soon as Milly was gone, I headed into the toilet. The dog had stopped laughing, and was once again trying to lap up some toilet water. ‘You’re Baldrick Berry’s familiar.’

  He gave up his drinking attempts and looked at me. ‘False. I was Baldrick Berry’s familiar. Now I’m a ghost. The name’s Jacques.’

  I scratched my head. ‘A ghost?’ That explained why he wasn’t able to drink the water. ‘Jacques, this isn’t the way it works. You’re supposed to come to me when you’re alive, so I can solve Baldrick’s murder. Except …’

  ‘Yeah. Except you murdered Baldrick. So there’s hardly a mystery here for you to solve, is there? I’m not here to get your help, Wayfarer. I’m here to haunt you.’

  12. Breakfast Club

  When Jacques said he was going to haunt me, he really meant it. Every time I drifted off, he would stare into my eyes and say one of two things: either ‘Woooooo,’ or ‘You’re a dirty rotten murderer.’ I couldn’t decide which I preferred. He did speak in an odd mixture of an Irish and French accent though, so his insults were at least entertaining.

  Of course I tried to reason with him. Baldrick was attempting to murder Will when I killed him. He was also stingy with the chicken. I knew it didn’t excuse what I’d done, but surely it made it a little bit more understandable? But no, Jacques would not be swayed. I was a bad, bad woman, according to the little grey dog. By the end of the night, I was beginning to believe him.

  Milly came to check on me the next morning, before she headed home. According to her, the murmurings last night had been rather raucous (oh gee, I hadn’t noticed all of those death threats while I hid my head under my pillow).

  She also told me that I’d have to go without a shower this morning. ‘There are slightly less people who want to kill you on the evening rotation,’ she informed me with an awkward expression. ‘It’ll be safer if you wait.’

  She was probably right – the showers in this place were definitely dangerous, if what happened to Sal was anything to go by. But it didn’t make me feel any less grimy. I made do with the deodorant Milly gave me, and followed the line of prisoners to the canteen. It was supposed to be safe in there because the cutlery was plastic, and everything was enchanted so that nothing could be used as a weapon. But as many of us know, sometimes words can hurt you far more than a plastic fork ever could.

  There were a lot of jeers and taunts as I waited in line for food. To be fair, most of them came from Jacques.

  ‘I can smell your armpits,’ he told me. ‘They have a stench that’s as foul as your soul.’

  When I ignored that one, he tried another. ‘Your hair,’ he said, ‘is the colour of my excrement.’

  He got no response to that one either, so he taunted me again, and again, and again, finally coming out with this doozy: ‘How does it feel, Wayfarer? To know that, despite your constant moralizing, you’re just a cold-blooded killer?’

  I rounded on the dog. ‘Like I said last night,’ I muttered, ‘I can’t do anything about it now, can I? So just sod off to whatever afterlife your witch is in, and leave me alone, will you?’

  ‘Did you just tell me to sod off?’ a woman’s voice asked.

  I looked behind me. The woman was twice my height, and all muscle. She was also extremely angry. That was probably because I’d arrested her a few months ago for selling Ire. Oh, the Ire-ony!

  ‘Oh, hello Babs,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t talking to you, actually.’

  ‘Oh? I’m not worth your acknowledgement, am I?’

  ‘I don’t know how to answer that, so I’ll just say good morning and leave it at that.’ I’d reached my place in the queue, and was now face to face with the server.

  ‘Eggs or porridge?’ he asked

  ‘Porridge, please,’ I said, and watched him ladle it onto my tray. He placed a small orange and some berries next to it, and there was a piece of toast and a beaker of orange juice on the side.

  ‘Oh, thank the stars,’ I told him. ‘This looks amazing. I thought the food would be terrible.’

  ‘It used to be,’ said yet another woman I knew. I turned to see Alice Berry a few places behind me in the queue.

  They say you never forget your first, but I really wished I could. Will’s aunt was the first murderer I’d helped put away, shortly after I finally got my magic. She and her vampire boyfriend, Basil Valentine, had left a trail of bodies in their wake. And they’d tried to frame Basil’s wife while they were at it.

  She looked amazing, which was odd, seeing as glamour spells weren’t top of the prison’s priority list. Another Berry, Darina, was standing behind her, examining her fingernails and pretending not to notice me at all. Darina’s arrest had nothing to do with me, but she was a good pal of Alice’s, so no doubt she held a grudge. There were a few other women on the periphery, some giving me the stink eye, while others looked adoringly at Alice. Apparently, the way to make friends in prison was to be a murdering bully.

  Well, I’d achieved the murdering part.

  ‘But then your mammy became Minister for Magical Law,’ Alice continued, oblivious to my inner monologue. ‘And she increased the prison budget so they could finally feed us something vaguely healthy. Wasn’t that nice of her? She must have known you’d wind up in here eventually. And, since you clearly like your food …’ She looked me up and down. ‘Well, you can continue to stuff your face to your heart’s delight. Remind me again what my nephew sees in you?’

  I squared my shoulders. ‘Oh, you know, my sparkling wit. My dreamy eyes. My curves that go on for miles and miles. Anyway, how are you, Alice? Still listing mass murder as one of your interests on your dating profile? That’s how you met your last boyfriend, wasn’t it?’

  The whole room went silent, me included. I’d shocked myself, I admit. I’d assumed that common sense would cause me to refrain from snark, but I guess I was too tired (and I hold Jacques to blame for that).

  ‘He hee, you obviously won’t be asking her to join our breakfast club, will you, Alice?’ said Babs. ‘Hah hah Wanda! You can go and sit at the loser table.’

  I smirked at Babs. ‘Sure. Because this isn’t a prison, is it? It’s the set of an American high school movie.’ I shook my head and walked away from Alice, Darina, Babs and the rest of their gang.

  The ‘loser table’ was instantly recognisable as the one where no one else sat. It was slightly wonky, and four of the chairs around it were missing seats. I chose one of the only two usable chairs, and began to eat. It didn’t matter that no one else wanted to join me for breakfast, not when I had the lovely Jacques to entertain me.

  ‘I’m going to haunt you so hard that I’ll make myself solid,’ the ghost-dog announced. ‘Then I’m going to bite you. Then I’m going to haunt you some more. Then I’m going to–’

  ‘Bite me. Right. So you don’t want to tell me if Baldrick was working with anyone, then? If Will is still in danger? Nothing useful like that?’ I glared at him. I was so tired that my mood was moving steadily downwards. ‘You just want to keep on insulting me. You know, if you were my familiar I would have shared my meals with you. Unlike that selfish, horrible man you called your witch.’