His lip curled, and he treated me to a snarl.

  ‘Hello, Wanda.’

  I jumped in fright, and looked up into the face of Will’s mother, sitting in the only other good chair. I knew I’d be bumping into her sooner or later, but I was hoping for later. ‘Hi, Sylvia.’

  Jacques growled.

  ‘You should like her,’ I mumbled. ‘She’s a Berry.’

  ‘I’m a Shannon,’ Sylvia corrected. ‘Years ago I joined the Berry coven to marry Kilian. But as you well know, I’ve always been a Shannon at heart. Like my cousin Erik. How is Erik, by the way? And how are you? Baldrick’s dog annoying you much?’

  I gawped at her. ‘You can see him?’

  ‘No. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s poor little Jacques you’re talking to. I’m guessing that, seeing as he’s so sure you murdered his witch, he’s decided to spend his ghost-hood haunting you?’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t he be sure that I murdered Baldrick? About two hundred people saw me do it. What do you know, Sylvia?’

  She picked up one of her berries and chewed it slowly before replying. ‘I know you’re pretty dumb to let yourself get arrested. I mean, your mother’s the Minister for Magical Law. I expected you to do some kind of deal so you could keep protecting my son.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t give out to you, Wanda. For one thing, you’re just too gosh darned cute. And for another thing, well … the whole reason I always hoped my son would wind up with you is because you’re just so good. Someone like you would never play the system for your own gain.’

  She took a break from making me uncomfortable to eat her porridge. When she was finished, she decided to make me uncomfortable all over again. ‘Do you ever think about what life would be like, if my husband hadn’t wanted you dead? Will would never have turned to dark magic. I wouldn’t have started murdering people to protect him, and he wouldn’t have been possessed and gone bad. He would have stayed my lovely, sweet son forever, and you two would be together now. Married. Living happily ever after. Your children would be very cute. And as for me, well … I’d be the best grandmother in the world.’

  ‘That’s taking things a bit far, don’t you think?’ I said, pushing my empty tray away. ‘Will and me barely got to know each other. We just had … scattered moments.’ My voice cracked a little, so I cleared my throat before I continued. ‘I mean, during what he thought was our first date, I was spying on him to find out what was going on at Berrys’ Bottlers. So, y’know …’

  ‘Once more, with feeling.’

  I snapped my head to hers. The Queen had used those exact words once, when she needed me to give Will a kiss that would wake him – and everyone else – up from his dream world. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I just think that the Wanda doth protest too much, that’s all. I mean, Max is sweet. Loyal. Your typical weredog. I can see why you’d want to love him. But your feelings for my son are written all over your face every time you see him.’

  ‘Don’t you ever talk about my relationship with Max. And as for Will, it’s a very long time since you’ve seen us together, so how would you possibly know what’s written on my face?’

  She lowered her head. ‘I wouldn’t. Obviously. I’m talking about the past. Anyway, I’m finished my breakfast, and it looks like you are, too, so let’s go.’

  ‘Go where? I’m not going anywhere with you.’

  ‘Well, you kind of have to. I’m your prison buddy. Milly asked me to help keep you safe. And since you saved my son’s life, I agreed.’

  ‘Thanks but no thanks, Sylvia. All the fun of breakfast time has tuckered me out, so I think I’ll just go back to my cell.’

  ‘Nope. You most certainly will not be going back to your cell. Wallowing is unhealthy for the mind, Wanda. And I need yours in tiptop shape. Come on. We’re off to the atrium.’

  13. Don’t Put a Spell on the Messenger

  As we headed to the atrium, Jacques came along for the walk, but I decided not to share his chatter with Sylvia – after all, he wasn’t even talking to her, he was directing all of his lovely compliments my way.

  Compliments such as, ‘Your bum looks enormous in that jumpsuit,’ and ‘You’re a murdering monster who should rot in the pits of Hades.’

  I’d been tuning out insults about my weight my whole life, so it was easy to ignore those. But the more he called me a murderer, the worse I felt.

  ‘I can tell he’s bothering you,’ Sylvia said as we took one final turn and reached the atrium. ‘You just tell him that I know he’s never been in France in his life, and that his French accent is a ridiculous affectation.’

  ‘I’m a Fantasy French Fabulous!’ he cried. ‘It’s a totally real magical breed of miniature bulldog!’

  ‘She can’t hear you,’ I told him. ‘Isn’t she lucky?’

  The atrium was a large, bright courtyard, glass-roofed in some parts and open in others, with lots of smaller rooms and exercise areas leading off. Some of the prisoners (including Ron Montague) were doing yoga, while others worked at weight benches or jogged around the yard. In the smaller rooms I could see lots of groups, where people did activities like knitting (like the cutlery in the canteen, the needles were enchanted so they couldn’t be used as weapons), or studying. There were cliques here and there, but many supernaturals mingled freely with one another. Maybe it helped that I’d arrested rather a lot of them, so they had a common enemy in me.

  ‘You’re unpopular everywhere you go,’ said Jacques, pointing a paw at a large group glaring my way. ‘Serves you right!’

  There was a library area over on the west side of the atrium, and a large room next to it where it looked like a book group was taking place. Alice and Darina Berry were in there, as well as Babs. There were a few Plimptons I’d arrested, too. Worst of all, there were some members of the Dark Team – members which included my horrible ex-boyfriend, Gabriel Godbody.

  The Dark Team weren’t your usual criminal masterminds. Like Melissa, they were perfect hybrids between witch and vampire, with full control over both sides of their power. But unlike Melissa, they didn’t use their power for good. They’d been the most sought-after assassins in the supernatural world for years. And honestly? Being assassins wasn’t even the worst thing they did.

  Much as I loathed the idea of being in the same space as Gabriel ever again, I had to find out what was happening in there – particularly as Martin seemed to be leading the group. As I headed over, Babs blocked the doorway. ‘Sylvia.’ She looked over my head, to where Sylvia was standing behind me. ‘You’re late. Are you coming in or what?’

  ‘Sure. As long as I can bring Wanda.’

  ‘There’s only room for you.’

  ‘Well then I guess I’ll be sitting the book group out for today, Babs.’

  ‘Well then,’ said Babs, ‘I guess I’m closing the door!’ And she did just that, with a slam so hard it caused a breeze.

  Sylvia headed towards the library shelves and began to browse, as if she hadn’t got a care in the world.

  Following her, I said, ‘Is that usual? For people to be able to shut themselves off like that? People who happen to be incredibly dangerous criminals. They could be talking about anything. Planning anything.’

  Sylvia gave me a strange smile, the kind that made me sure there was something going on in that book group. ‘Dangerous criminals or not, they’ve all behaved impeccably since being imprisoned. Good behaviour is rewarded. Do you think they should all be thrown into the dungeons to see out their sentence? What? You don’t believe in rehabilitation?’

  ‘You know that’s not what I’m saying.’

  She gave me the same strange smile again. ‘Anyway, there’s a guard in there with them. Plus, everyone in here is disempowered. Even the Dark Team. What do you think they can possibly get up to?’

  I glanced back at the closed door. ‘Anything, considering the guard overseeing their meeting is Martin.’ I gave her a steady stare. ‘It’s interesting, isn’t it? That you’re such good chums with some of the most heinous people in here? Especially Alice. You murdered her brother, after all.’

  ‘I murdered my husband to save my son from having to be the one who killed him. Alice understands that kind of familial loyalty.’

  ‘Alice understands what’s good for Alice,’ I said, eyeing Sylvia carefully. ‘What do you all get up to in there together? Really?’

  She closed the book she’d been pretending to read and placed it back on the shelf. ‘Can’t get anything past you, can I? You’re right. There is something dodgy going on in the Anything Room. But I can’t tell you about it right now. I promise I will, though. Another time.’

  ‘The Anything Room? I thought it was a book group.’

  ‘Lots of things happen in that room, hence the name. But like I said, I’ll tell you another time.’

  ‘Sylvia, a murder happened at the prison. Somehow, Night potion got in here and was used to kill a man who was almost finished his sentence – and he was about to be given the cure for his virus. If you know anything …’

  ‘What? You suggest I put my life at risk to tell you? Be patient, Wanda. Oh look, the yoga class has finished. Which means Ron Montague should be approaching in one, two, three …’

  She’d just gotten to ‘four’ when Ron slipped his feet into his shoes and headed our way.

  ‘So it is true!’ He shook his head in amazement, staring at me. ‘You’re actually a prisoner. It’s crazy, isn’t it? You, in here with all of us, when just the other day you were questioning us about a murder. Are you here undercover, Wanda? Are you a plant? Everyone’s saying you’re a plant.’

  ‘I’m not a plant, Ron.’ There was no need to mention that I’d quite happily involve myself in some undercover sleuthing, if only Finn would give me the go-ahead.

  Sylvia grasped my hand. ‘Wanda put herself at great risk to save my son’s life. She’s definitely not a mole. She wouldn’t be stupid enough. Speaking of stupid … are you still trying to give info to the Wayfarers in return for your release?’

  He looked around before answering. ‘Where did you hear that? Did you tell her, Wanda?’

  ‘No!’ I told him firmly (and with an added eyeroll, too, as he most definitely deserved it). ‘But you just have, you idiot. Look, what do you want, Ron?’

  ‘It’s not me. It’s Vernon. Three C. He had a word with me just before they carted him off to solitary. He says … well, he says that either you have to get your pals on the force to get him out of here by the weekend, or … well … your life in here is going to get a whole lot worse.’ Ron held up his hands. ‘Don’t put a spell on the messenger Wanda. I told you – Three C is a bad, bad guy. And Flayer, over there, one of his minions …’ Ron nodded ever so slightly, indicating an enormous vampire who was lifting weights. The vampire gave me a smile, baring sharply-filed teeth. ‘ … well, Flayer is very eager to prove himself to Three C and get back in his good books. If I were you, I’d be very, very careful.’

  14. Shower Me With Hisses

  When you’ve just been threatened in prison, the sensible thing to do (after running and hiding) is to inform a guard. So, I skedaddled back to the women’s section, stayed firmly in the witch wing, and tried to find a guard I actually trusted, and a phone so I could call Finn.

  He needed to know about the prisoners who were meeting in the Anything Room, with Martin in charge. He needed to know Three C was sending his minions after me, too. Unfortunately, Milly and Walt were both off duty until the late afternoon, and my allotted phone time wasn’t happening until eight that night.

  Apparently, when you were incarcerated for murder, you didn’t get to do things as and when you pleased. Who would have thought?

  I stuck with Sylvia while I ate lunch and dinner, and endured her constant talk about Will, and how lovely our children would be. Other than that, I spent the rest of the day in my cell. It was no comfort that the longer I stayed there, close to those magical bars, the more powerful I felt. It shocked me that no one else could see it, because my whole body was singing with magic.

  Sure, my magic would protect me if Flayer decided to come at me with those sharp teeth of his – but it would also send a lot of people running scared. And now that I’d had time to think about it, I knew that my impossible magic wasn’t the only thing that would scare the bejaysus out of them. Because if I could use magic despite the prison’s disempowerment process, then people would worry that other prisoners could, too. They’d stop seeing Witchfield as a fortified prison which kept the bad guys safely inside. They’d panic about mass breakouts. They’d think that the Wayfarers – and my coven – weren’t up to the job.

  I was on my one hundredth panic attack of the day when Milly appeared at the door to my cell.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘You look awful.’

  I hopped off my bed. ‘I have to speak to Finn. I mean … Captain Plimpton. Can I use a phone?’

  She frowned. ‘Well, okay … as soon as you’re done in the shower you can call him. Unless it’s urgent. Is it urgent?

  Behind me, Jacques snorted. ‘Of course it’s urgent! For her! She thinks she still has the same rights she had before she killed my witch. She thinks she’s better than everyone in here, and that a random death threat is so, so much worse for the poor Wayfarer than it would be for anyone else. Everyone should rush to help her, and comfort her, and get her out of prison as soon as possible, even though she’s a cold-hearted killer.’

  ‘Wanda?’ Milly, hearing none of the dog’s outburst, looked at me with concern. ‘Wanda, are you all right? Do you want me to see if I can get in touch with Captain Plimpton now?’

  I looked at Jacques. He wasn’t snorting with laughter anymore. He was shaking with anger, and he looked so, so upset. No matter how Baldrick had behaved, Jacques loved him. All he was doing was punishing the person who killed his witch, and I could hardly blame him for that.

  ‘I’m all right,’ I lied. ‘I just … I’ll call him at eight. Um, is there any word on when my psych evaluation’s going to take place? Have they found anyone new yet?’

  ‘Sorry.’ She gave me a small, sympathetic smile. ‘They’re working on it though, don’t you worry.’

  ≈

  Milly was right – there were far fewer people who wanted to kill me on the later shower rotation. But with an arrest record like mine, fewer was still rather a lot.

  As soon as I walked into the bathroom, I could hear a chorus of hisses.

  ‘You know what,’ said Milly, ‘maybe we should wait. There are no showers scheduled at eight. I can bring you in alone then.’

  ‘That’s when I get to use the phone,’ I reminded her. ‘So thanks, but I’ll be all right. Anyway, when you can smell your own armpits, it’s time to have a wash.’

  She laughed slightly, as she handed me a bar of soap and one of shampoo. ‘Fine. But if it gets too much, holler. Look – there’s a free shower in the back row, and the others are all staying up here by the looks of things. That might be the least annoying place for you, I reckon.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said as I headed to the back row of showers. She was wrong about it being empty down here – I could hear one other shower on the go – but most of the women did seem to be up front, closer to Milly.

  I took the shower on the end, and closed the door behind me. It was a larger than usual shower unit, with a dry section close to the door where I could change, and keep my towel and my clothes dry.

  I quickly undressed and turned on the shower. The water ran for about two minutes and then stopped, while I was still covered in suds. I tried to turn it again, but nothing happened. I guess two minutes was my allotment, then. I’d have to be sure to rinse off much quicker the next time.

  I did the best I could with my hair, and dried off and dressed, slipping my feet into the soft shower shoes that had been provided. They were far too big, and they fell off my feet as soon as I walked outside. But the large shoes weren’t the reason I slipped and fell on my behind – that was all down to the fact that the floor outside my shower was incredibly slippery.

  As I struggled to stand up, I realised that the floor was covered in something – shampoo or shower gel. It was when I fell for the second time that I saw her: Babs, slumped down on the ground against an open shower door, a few cubicles away from mine.

  ‘Babs?’ I called.

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Babs? Are you all right?’ I staggered closer to her, struggling on the slippery ground, and let out a small cry. Babs wasn’t all right. Babs was very, very dead. Her eyes had clouded over, and her skin had a sheen I’d seen before. I knew exactly what had killed her.

  Just as I was about to shout louder, and call Milly over, a head peeped around the corner. I didn’t know the woman well, but I recalled arresting her for breaking into a wand store a few weeks earlier.

  Her eyes widened, and she shouted, ‘Oh my stars! Wanda Wayfair’s just killed Babs!’

  ‘What?’ I panicked, trying to rush after her, slipping again. ‘No I didn’t. Babs was–’

  I never got to say what I believed had happened to Babs, because the rest of the women rounded the corner, all of them screaming at me, and rushing at me. They pulled me away from Babs and began to hit me, kick me, pull at my hair … you know, all of the most sophisticated ways in which to resolve your differences.

  Good goddess, I missed my coven. I missed my team mates. I missed Dizzy, and Wolfie, and Melissa, and Max. I missed people who ask questions, and take a minute or two to figure out what was actually happening before resorting to violence. I tried to get a word or two in – words like, ‘Someone needs to see to Babs.’ Words like, ‘Can we please get the guards in here?’ Words like, ‘Milly, where the heck are you?’