4
OLD WITCH BUSINESS
We foundspots near the back and wedged ourselves between a potted plant and a bookshelf.
Mrs. Chen served herbal tea before sitting on an armchair. She clicked a pen with a sound like a shotgun and consulted a clipboard like she’d been running meetings since before most of us were born. Which, given that she was a witch, was entirely possible.
“First order of business. Mr. Kowalski, you filed a noise complaint about apartment 5C.”
The ghoul straightened, his pale eyes narrowing. “Yes. Stomping. At all hours. Some of us are trying to sleep during the day.”
The Lopez sisters made indignant noises. “We do not stomp. We were practicing our tap dancing.”
“With what, metal boots?” Mr. Kowalski sneered.
“There’s no need to be rude,” one of the brownies piped up, waving a tiny fist.
“The Lopez sisters will switch to rubber soles,” Mrs. Chen stated, ticking a box on her clipboard.
The Lopez sisters opened their mouths to protest and deflated in the face of Mrs. Chen’s narrow-eyed stare. Mr. Kowalski similarly subsided under the witch’s piercing look, but not without a grumble.
“Wow,” Virgil mumbled. “She’s good.”
“Second item,” Mrs. Chen continued briskly. “The Hendersons have offered to reorganize the storage units in the basement.”
A collective groan rose from the assembled residents.
“We’re very efficient,” a brownie protested, clearly offended. “Why, Mrs. Patterson’s holiday decorations are now arranged by color and season.”
“Mrs. Patterson liked them arranged by year,” someone muttered.
The brownie lifted his chin defiantly. “Her system was anarchy. Complete and utter anarchy!” His companions nodded vigorously.
“Motion for the brownies to organize the storage units is denied,” Mrs. Chen said firmly. “Moving on to the third item. Keith, status report on the basement situation?”
A shy, gravelly voice emerged from the shadowy corner. “The imp infestation is contained. Mostly. I recommend no one use the second washing machine until the warding stabilizes.”
I made a mental note to never do laundry in this building again.
The meeting continued in a similar vein—disputes about shared spaces, complaints about mysterious smells, a heated debate about whether the pixies shouldbe allowed to use the roof garden after “the incident” that no one would explain but everyone shuddered about. Bo had fallen asleep by my feet and I was starting to zone out when Mrs. Chen’s tone shifted.
“Final item.” Her voice had lost its businesslike briskness. “I wanted to make everyone aware of a situation affecting our community.”
The room went quiet. Even the brownies stopped fidgeting.
Ellie woke up with a snort and a mumbled “What’s happening?” where she’d been drooling on Virgil’s shoulder.
“As some of you may have noticed, medical services for the supernatural residents in Amberford have declined lately.” Mrs. Chen’s expression was carefully neutral. “Ever since the Lincoln sisters took their little… vacation.”
My wolf stirred, ears pricking.
“The new clinics aren’t the same,” a brownie said anxiously. “We took little Timothy to one of them last week when he caught fire?—”
“Wait,” I whispered warily to Virgil. “Brownies can catch fire?”
“It’s a childhood thing. They call it Ember Pox. It’s like chicken pox, but burnier.”
Bo had woken up and was paying close attention to the gory conversation. This hardly surprised me, considering his macabre fascination with true crime shows.
