“She is lovely. We were stuck there in the dining hall for hours, being questioned by various detectives. Harry, her assistant, stayed with us as much as she could. We all propped one another up, I guess. Not the best circumstances to start a friendship, but here we are.”
Reassured that I’m okay, Mathilde leans back in her chair. “Wow, a murder. At a college. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Ahem.” The sound of H clearing his throat captures both of our attention. “I was ‘opin’ to give you missies a chance to settle in, but it looks like that choice is outta my hands. I’m gonna ‘ave ta tell ya.”
Mathilde is the first to react. “What are you talking about, H? What choice?”
“There’s a reason you three gooseberry puddins are all new. Tha magic ain’t workin’ like it should. Ya said it, Tildy. Oxford’s supposed to be a haven. Ever since Kate got here, things ‘ave been wonky. We thought it was tha ole bag. Ya know, Lillian.”
I arch an eyebrow and ask, “Are you saying that the magic started failing because of Lillian’s dementia? What made you think she was the cause?”
“Books went missing, antiques were misplaced, we all thought she was movin’ things round and fergettin’ where she put ’em. That’s why she left so quickly. But a murder?” H shakes his head. “Fer tha first time in my four ‘undred years in this town, somethin’ is wrong with tha magic. It ain’t in perfect alignment no more.”
I look to Mathilde, but she seems as unconvinced as I am. “Granted murder is a terrible crime, but surely one death doesn’t mean that you weren’t on the right track with Lillian. How do you know for sure that the missing items weren’t her fault? Maybe the murder is a freak accident?”
H sneezes, accidentally lighting a stack of papers on fire. He rushes to stomp it out before replying, “I had my suspicions when I saw Chef Smythe, but I knew fer sure this morning. It was when ya couldn’t touch Bartie. If tha fields were aligned, ‘e’d have been as solid to ya as I am.”
Nearly in unison, Mathilde and I lean backwards, flabbergasted by this revelation.
H’s expression is deathly serious. “You three missies are responsible for keepin’ tha magical alignment in place. We’ll all ‘elp, but we can’t do it wiffout ya. Ya need ta make a plan.”
I glance over at Mathilde, but she is still shellshocked. I should be falling apart, but the stress of the last twenty-four hours seems to have helped me find my steel nerves. This is our magical inheritance, and the future of the town is in our hands. Now what can we do about it?
❖
I look over towards Mathilde, waiting for her to speak up. When the silence stretches to uncomfortable lengths, H gives Mathilde a gentle prod.
Mathilde’s face drains of colour, worry forming a knot between her eyebrows. “Me? A plan? Ummm, I guess, well..” Her voice trails off as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I could do some research, maybe? Look in some older books?”
H flaps his wings in agitation, rising to hover a few feet in the air, small jets of flame shooting out of his nostrils. “We ain’t got time fer ya missies to stick yer ‘eads in a book. We already lost four months blaming tha ole bag. Now somebody’s dead.”
Mathilde wilts under H’s heated gaze. When she offers no further suggestions, his head turns in my direction.
“Me? But I just got here… Yesterday.” I can feel drops of sweat forming at my hairline. “What about Kate?”
Shaking her head, Mathilde discards my suggestion. “Kate’s been here the longest, but from what I’ve seen, she’s a bigger picture type. She’s comes up with all kinds of amazing ideas, but she leaves the details to her projects team.”
H snorts a cloud of smoke, forming a perfectly shaped arrow pointing at my head. “Ya got Ta Do lists all over yer flat. I bet ya got a pen and paper in yer bag. Yer a natural planner.”
I stop shaking my head when his smoke turns into flames. Unless I’m ready to singe off a few curls, it looks like I’m in charge here, whether I like it or not. What would my grandfather do if he were here? He wouldn’t shy away from a challenge, that’s certain. He’d push up his sleeves and get to work.
Picturing my grandfather, it hits me that this is more than a problem with the magic. It’s my family’s legacy. Mine, Kate’s, and Mathilde’s. Generations before us have spent their lives keeping the magic in alignment exactly so that something like this won’t happen. Although we’re all too new to be to blame for whatever caused the problem in the first place, we will be at fault if we don’t fix it.
Almost as one, Mathilde and H lean forward in anticipation of my guidance. I straighten my shoulders and clear all doubts from my head. I can do this. After pulling my pen and notebook from my bag, I dive in. “If the magical issue is resulting in deaths, we need to act fast. Why don’t we start with a list of causes we should check out?”
Both H and Mathilde nod their heads, encouraging me to continue. “H, you said you think the magic isn’t aligned properly. Is it some kind of web? Does it use statues or monuments or something set-up around Oxford?”
Mathilde answers, “I have no idea how it works, but your guess seems like a reasonable place to start. There are sculptures and monuments everywhere. Kate would be the best person to look into the idea; both fall under her area of expertise.”
I make note of the assignment, adding, “Let’s get her to check whether any have been damaged recently. Or stolen.”
Mathilde pipes back up with another suggestion, “I’ll look into our records to determine if any books are missing. While I’m
