Crown of Magic

by TJ Green

  Avery shook her head with amazement. “I’ve heard of it, but never seen it on books—just stone or metal, perhaps.”

  “It’s an unusual use for it, I’ll admit.”

  Alex was already reaching for his phone. “I’ll call El while I get started on lunch. She can do it too, and then we can all work on it. How’s a BLT sound?”

  “Fantastic!” Avery nodded and stood, stretching. “I’ll top the fire up.” She looked out of the window, expecting to see the fog that had rolled in that morning to have dissipated, revealing the shops opposite and the street below, but it was still there. “No wonder it’s so dark! The sea fog is still here!”

  Alex grumbled as he headed downstairs, “Bloody spring!”

  Avery dispelled the witch-light, once again lighting candles and lamps, and also burning incense with scents to help concentration. She’d just finished adding logs to the fire when her phone rang, and she saw it was Reuben.

  “Hey, Reuben,” she said, moving this time to the windows that looked over her back garden, barely discernible through the fog. “Is it foggy by you?”

  “Absolute pea soup,” he answered. “The whole coastline is covered, from what I can see here. It hasn’t deterred Stan, though.”

  “And?” Avery asked, her free hand gripping the wooden sill.

  “The council was in need of office space and decided to clear out one of the rooms in the basement that was normally used for storage. They came across all sorts of interesting things, apparently. Old carnival gear, costumes they’d forgotten they had, advertising signs, and a large box full of these scripts and a few props. Some bright spark thought that Stan should know, and abracadabra...”

  “So, it’s quite by chance these were found?”

  “Seems so.”

  Avery started to pace the room, a whirl of wind starting to flow around her in agitation. “Did he say what props there were?”

  “A glass jar, some jewellery, and he couldn’t remember what else.”

  “Holy cow,” Avery said. “They could be spelled, too—or cursed, maybe. What if the glass jar they were using for the potion onstage yesterday was the one Stan found?”

  “That’s what I thought. I asked if we could see them, but he said he gave everything to the Players. I’ve asked him to have a real good think about anything else he may have found—with a little push of magic, of course. ”

  Avery picked up a scrap of paper with the air she was controlling and turned it gently in circles as she spoke, thinking quickly. “Do you think we should raid the theatre tonight to look for the objects?”

  “I think we should discuss it over a pint. Let’s meet at eight this evening.”

  13

  The fog hadn’t lifted all day, and that was unusual. Normally, it arrived at dawn and cleared by mid-morning as the breeze from the sea moved in, but instead it was still hanging around, seeping into everything.

  On Sunday evening, Avery and Alex strolled through the ghostly White Haven streets to The Wayward Son to meet the other witches. The lights from the cafés and restaurants that were still open permeated the gloom, and the shops’ window displays looked bright and inviting, though the bunting that hung across the streets was limp in the cold, damp air.

  Avery shivered, and tucked herself under Alex’s arm. “This is odd for the fog to last for so long,” she complained.

  “More Beltane weirdness?” Alex asked, squinting into the gloom.

  “Maybe.”

  They paused in the square in the centre of the town, next to the maypole. A fine layer of moisture covered everything, dripping off the spring plants, and beading down the thick wooden maypole. Avery felt it on her cheeks and in her hair, and she shivered again.

  “It’s unnaturally quiet,” Alex observed. “The fog must be muffling everything.”

  He was right, Avery silently agreed. You could normally hear the chatter of people walking down the street and from the inside of restaurants and pubs. “I can’t even hear the sea,” Avery said. The sea was the centre of everything in White Haven, and for any coastal town. The tides dominated when the pleasure and fishing boats set out, and how much beach was available to the locals and tourists to enjoy. When it was bright, the sun sparkled off the waves like glinting jewels, and when it was dull, it was like molten metal, absorbing everything. Storms were the most dramatic, when the waves snarled and dashed along the coast, spray flying across the roads, dragging up seaweed and driftwood until it lay thick upon the shore. But right now? She had no idea what it was doing.

  As if he’d read her mind, Alex said, “Come on, let’s head to the harbour before a pint. It won’t matter if we’re a few minutes late.”

  They hurried down to the quayside, and if anything the fog was even thicker on the shore, and Avery shivered again. “I can barely see the boats in the harbour.”

  “At least we can hear the sea here,” Alex said, and then he went silent, listening for the insistent shush of waves on the beach, and the occasional splash of water against the harbour wall. He grabbed her hand. “Let’s have a look at the theatre.”

  They passed the bright lights of the chippie and the seaside tourist shops lining the street, the array of children’s fishing gear and seashell decorations in the windows, and headed up the small lane between the shops, lined with cafés, until they stood across the road from the old theatre, looking up at the brightly lit lettering over the entrance, just visible through the fog. “There’s a performance tonight,” Avery noted. “The café and bar are open.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows and squeezed her hand. “Indulge me.” He pulled her across the road, pushing aside the huge glass doors leading into the foyer. It was then that Avery felt it—the feather-light tickle of magic across her skin and down her neck. Alex looked at her, his dark eyes full of concern. “I’m not entirely sure the fog is natural.”

  He headed to the counter and addressed the man polishing glasses behind the bar. “Was there a performance this afternoon, as well as tonight?”

  It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, his eyes looked vague for a moment. “Yes, the two o’clock matinee. It was a full house, and it is again tonight.”

  “Great, thanks,” Alex said, turning back to Avery and leading her toward the exit. “What time did we have lunch today?”

  She frowned. “It was late, after two I think.”

  “And the fog seemed to get even thicker then—just as the next performance was happening.”

  “You really think they’re related?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Come on. Let’s catch up with the others.”

  ***

  The Wayward Son was busy, a mix of locals and tourists filling most of the tables. The TV mounted on the wall was showing the football match from earlier that day, and a rush of warm air and the rich smell of food wrapped around Avery as they headed to the bar.

  Simon, Alex’s manager, was serving customers, but he nodded in greeting. Avery noticed Zee, the Nephilim, further down the bar polishing glasses with half an eye on the match. He caught Avery’s eye and grinned at her, and they both headed to join him.

  “Hey boss,” he said to Alex. “Avery. How are you two?”

  “Cold,” Avery complained.

  “And worried,” Alex said, leaning on the bar. “Any trouble in here tonight?”

  “No, but the atmosphere feels a little off,” Zee confessed as he started to pour Avery’s glass of red wine. He looked at her. “I presume this is what you want?”

  “Always,” she said gratefully, and immediately took a sip when he placed it in front of her.

  “And a pint for you, Alex?”

  “Skullduggery Ale, please,” he answered. “What do you mean by ‘off?’”

  He frowned. “It’s like there’s this air of expectation, like we’re all waiting for something to happen.” He shrugged and passed Alex his pint, wiping down the counter as he did so. “But there’s also this feeling of friskiness and goo
dwill, too. And the flirt-o-meter is high tonight.”

  Avery sniggered. “Flirt-o-meter?”

  “Good word for it, right? Lots of giggling ladies giving me and Simon the eye, and I’ve had several interesting offers.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Well, that’s better than jealous boyfriends and husbands threatening each other, I guess,” Alex answered as he visibly relaxed. “And, hey, a lucky night for you!”

  “It’s the women who are getting competitive tonight, not the men. I’ve heard a few catty comments!” He grimaced. “Ouch! Women are mean!”

  Avery glanced around at the patrons, thinking that Zee’s word, “flirt-o-meter,” was a good way to describe the giggles and overt looks between tables that night. She looked at him, noticing then that the sides of his hair had been shaved, leaving a thick mohawk on top of his head. “What’s with the new hairstyle, Zee?”

  He groaned. “I made a stupid bet with Shadow this morning while we were sparring in the barn. I said that she should shave her head if she lost the fight. Unfortunately, I lost.”

  Alex threw his head back, laughing loudly. “You really didn’t think that through, did you?”

  Zee ran his hand along his shaved scalp, grinning ruefully. “Nope. But, I think I like it!”

  “I like it, too!” Avery told him, feeling an unexpected rush of desire to want to run her hands along Zee’s very well defined muscles and ruffle his mohawk. Damn Beltane! She nudged Alex, hoping her illicit thoughts weren’t written all over her face. “Come on, we’d better join the others. I presume they’re in the back room?” she asked Zee.

  “Yep.”

  “Before we go,” Alex said, already pulling away from the bar, “any thoughts on the fog? Do you get anything weird from it?”

  “Magically, you mean?” He nodded. “It’s feels unnatural. But it’s purpose? No idea.”

  “Bollocks. That’s what I thought, too. All right, cheers Zee,” Alex said, turning away.

  Briar, Hunter, El, and Reuben were in the middle of a discussion when they joined them at the table in the back room, and Reuben explained, “I’ve just updated them on Stan’s news.”

  Briar was holding El’s copy of the play. “I’m so intrigued! Who on Earth did this?”

  “It’s certainly not an amateur spell caster,” Avery reasoned. “The spell is too good.”

  “And complex,” El agreed. “Thanks for the tip, Alex. It took a few attempts until I achieved it. The weaving of the sigils on the cover is very sophisticated. I’m trying to unravel it, but with little success. I’m wondering if the markings on mine are the same as yours. I thought we could compare them later.”

  Avery patted her bag. “I’ve brought it with me. We should use your old flat,” Avery said to Alex.

  “Sounds good.” Alex looked around the table at everyone. “What do we think about breaking into the theatre later to check the props?”

  “Love it!” Hunter said. “Although, wouldn’t we have found something there on Friday night when we first went?”

  Reuben shook his head. “A lot of the props would have been onstage, and we couldn’t go on there that night—or on Saturday afternoon.”

  “And on Saturday,” El added, “any jewellery would probably have been worn by the actors, because of the dress rehearsal.”

  “Third time lucky, then,” Avery said. “Tonight we need to examine everything! At least we know what we’re looking for now.”

  Briar frowned. “Isn’t it too late, though? We have no idea how many affected scripts are out there, but presumably enough for at least the main cast. There’s no way we can get them all back—they surely must have taken them home.”

  “True,” Alex said, nodding. “I suspect this fog is unnatural, and that the play has triggered it, and I think it started with the first performance last night.”

  “It does feel different,” Reuben agreed. “But what’s its purpose? And will it last all week?”

  “I guess we’ll find out as the week progresses,” El said. “But ultimately, what’s our plan? Are we trying to break the spell? That’s virtually impossible!”

  “Part of me is curious to let it play out and see what happens,” Briar said, looking at them speculatively. “It might not be a bad thing, in the end.”

  “Someone was stabbed,” Alex reminded her. “And Newton came by earlier today. There’s been more unrest, and another stabbing in Truro last night that was definitely paranormal in nature.”

  “But that’s unlikely to have been caused by this play,” Briar argued.

  El put her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her hand. “This is all so confusing. There are too many things going on! Beltane’s wild magic is one thing that is completely out of our control. The Goddess is doing her thing with the Green Man, and we are all affected. We can only try to counter the effects, and I don’t know about you, but their magic is creeping under my skin. And despite my charms and protections, I’m finding it hard to shake it off.” She glanced at Reuben. “I have little flares of jealousy when another woman looks at Reuben, but equally find myself having the odd lustful thought about other men who I would ordinarily have zero interest in!” She looked at their startled faces. “I mean, I’m not going to act on it, but I refuse to believe this is only affecting me!”

  There was silence for a moment, as everyone looked nervously at each other, and then Avery confessed, “No, I’m fighting it, too. Just minutes ago I had the strongest urge to run my hands over Zee’s muscles.” She saw Alex’s face darken. “I’m not going to! It’s like El said—Beltane’s wild magic is stronger than us!”

  Alex looked sheepish. “You’re right. I actually found myself watching Kate’s arse as she leaned over the bar the other day.” He swallowed. “Not my finest moment.”

  “Oh, but that is a fine arse!” Reuben agreed.

  With a ripple of sniggers, they all joined in, confessing the odd jealousy and sexual desires they had recently experienced, and Avery felt a wave of relief pass through her. This wasn’t just her. But she also realised she couldn’t say anything about Caspian. The kiss was too close to home, considering his confession, and Alex would be furious.

  “Okay,” Alex said finally, once they’d all stopped laughing. “Other than protective charms for ourselves, our homes, and businesses, Beltane magic will have to play itself out. I have no idea if there’s someone casting love spells, which could be making things worse, and I also have no idea who enchanted this play!”

  Avery carried on. “So, out of the three things we have to focus on, the one thing we can possibly do something about right now is the play. I have more questions. When was it performed before? I mean, I know it was the sixties, but when exactly? Did this happen the last time? Who bewitched the script, and when?”

  Reuben drained his pint. “I can answer one of those. Stan thinks the play was last performed in 1964, because the stash of stuff they found with it was from that time. I think he found a poster with the exact dates on it.” His face brightened. “I also think it might have been during Beltane then, too.”

  “I wonder,” Hunter speculated, “if someone aimed that spell at the company in particular for some reason, or someone in the company?”

  “Or was it older, perhaps, and they found it randomly, too?” Reuben countered.

  Avery began to feel excited as a way through their confusion presented itself. “At least we have a date now. I’ll see if I can find some newspaper clippings on the play and in the news at that time. We can see who the cast was too, hopefully. It may suggest something. I’ll do that tomorrow. Dan will know how to search the archives.”

  “Great,” Reuben said, rising to his feet. “Time for another round, and then we can compare those scripts before we go to the theatre after it’s closed.” He grinned at them. “I’m pleased to see that we’re all wearing black. I do enjoy my ninja witch nights!”

  14

  It was after midnight when the group made their wa
y to the theatre. The roads still swirled with fog, the street lights barely visible, and it was no exaggeration to say that it was hard to see more than a few feet in front of them.

  Their examination of the two scripts side by side confirmed that they were identical, and they could only presume the others were the same. They hoped this knowledge would make it easier to break the spell—if they found a way to. Avery certainly hoped so. Reuben spelled the side door of the theatre open, and they slipped inside the corridor, a tendril of fog finding its way inside too, before Briar shut the door firmly behind them and locked it again. The silence and darkness within was oppressive, prompting them to cast a handful of witch-lights above them that floated down the dark hallway.

  “Let’s head to the stage first,” Alex suggested. “Which way?”

  “This way,” Avery said, turning to her left, and she led them through the cramped space of the wings and onto the stage, where they fanned out into the echoing space and she shivered. “I feel it, can you?”

  “The wisps of an enchantment?” Briar asked. “Yes. I couldn’t feel anything on Friday, but I can now.”

  The stage was still dressed for the final act, which took place in the castle in Brittany, where Tristan was living with Iseult of the White Hands. The set was of a walled garden, and a large bower was in the centre of it containing a bed—on which, Avery presumed, Tristan waited, injured, for his love to come and heal him. The bed instead on which he dies, and Iseult dies in his arms of a broken heart.

  Avery stroked the brocade sheets that tumbled over the bed, but felt nothing untoward. The others were engaged in similar activities, touching pieces of the set and poking into the wings, but as far as sets went, it was quite bare.