by TJ Green
“We need to find the potion bottle,” Avery called out.
“Agreed,” Alex said, making his way to her side. “I think the dress rehearsal really started the spell humming, and the first show triggered a new level.”
Hunter looked doubtful. “How does a spell in a play know what’s a live performance and what isn’t?”
“An audience brings its own power,” Briar suggested. “A spell—or enchantment, whatever you want to call it—needs energy, and a live audience brings that. It’s like when you go to see a band. A live performance is usually amazing. The performers feed off the crowd, and vice versa.”
“Interesting idea,” Alex said thoughtfully, as he sat on the bed looking up and around the stage. “The fog appeared overnight, either during or after the first show, and the audience must have been the trigger.”
“Are you sure the fog isn’t related to Beltane?” Hunter asked, still sceptical. “That could answer why it feels unnatural.”
Alex wasn’t convinced. “I don’t think so. It’s too much of a coincidence to the play.”
El sat next to him, frowning. “Of course, we should consider the fact that whoever spelled the script was present when the play was performed in the sixties. He or she could have been a part of the production, or watching in the audience.”
Reuben looked at her in admiration. “Good point, El!”
As they were talking, Avery felt a prickle on the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her, and she wheeled around, staring at the space behind her.
“What’s up?” Hunter asked. “Getting spooked?”
Avery shook her head, perplexed. “I don’t know. I felt as if someone was watching me. I’m probably just imagining things.” She stared for a few moments more at the darkness in the wings, trying to shake off the strange feeling, and then said, “Come on, let’s head backstage.”
The feeling of being watched subsided as Avery left the stage and led the way to the dressing rooms. Hunter had once again shifted to his wolf form, and Briar and he were now exploring more of the theatre while it was completely empty. Reuben and Alex were in the smaller dressing rooms, leaving El and Avery to investigate the larger one. Once there they switched the lights on, knowing no one could see them since there were no windows.
“This place is really spooky when there’s only a few of us,” El confessed to Avery as her hands moved deftly through the costumes. “I suppose there have been well over a hundred years’ worth of people in here, learning their lines, experiencing the intensity of a performance, and the mix of personalities. It’s like they’re still here, watching.”
Avery laughed while she sorted through some of the props on the long table at the side. “Maybe that’s what I felt onstage.”
“This place is enough to give anyone the creeps, witch or not.” She paused, holding a gown up in front of her. “These are very good quality for a local production. Some are better than others, obviously. When we were watching the other afternoon, though, in the dress rehearsal, they looked even better.” She looked up at Avery. “I think the spell cast a bit of glamour on the costumes.”
“I guess it’s possible.” Avery was distracted as she spoke, concentrating on feeling anything remotely magical in the objects under her fingers. There were several glasses and a decanter half-filled with a red liquid, which she sniffed gingerly, but it smelled and looked like coloured water. Then she spied a cut glass bottle about six inches high at the back of the table, half covered with a velvet wrap. It was filled with golden liquid, and as soon as she touched it, she felt the fizz of magic running through it. “Wow! Found it!”
“What?” El said, joining her.
“The potion bottle.” Avery held it up to the light. “It looks like a proper potion inside.” She took the stopper out of the jar and held it to her nose, taking a tentative sniff. “I can smell roses and lavender, and...” She inhaled again, “Jasmine and rosemary.”
“Classic plants used for love magic,” El said. “I wonder what else is in it. May I?”
Avery found she was reluctant to hand it over, the scent alone already making her want to hold on to the jar. It was quickly filling her mind with thoughts of golden afternoons of pleasure and nights of passion.
El looked at her face and gently prised it from her. “Wow. This stuff must be good.” She took a tentative sniff too, and Avery saw her pupils dilate and a dreamy quality pass across El’s face. She put it down on the table quickly, and took deep breaths as if to clear her head. “Well, whoever made that knew what they were doing!”
“How did that get in there?” Avery asked, looking at the bottle as if it might explode. “If Tristan and Iseult are actually drinking that, then it’s no wonder things between them are weird.”
“They’re not called Tristan or Iseult,” El reminded her.
Avery nodded, feeling the heady enchantment start to slip away. “Good point. We have to take that with us. It’s irresponsible to leave it here.” She stared at the jar, and then back at El. “Briar is probably the best with potions. Maybe we should get her to look at it.”
“Or Nate?” El suggested. “He’s supposedly good with potions, too.”
“But how did it get in there?” Avery persisted.
“If the spell’s on the jar, then maybe the jar transforms whatever liquid is in it into the potion.”
Before Avery could comment, they heard a piercing scream, and they both froze before El cried, “Briar!”
They raced out of the dressing room, immediately running into Reuben and Alex, who shouted, “It came from the auditorium!”
All four raced down the passageway, this time on the other side of the stage, bursting through the door and into the stalls, lit only by half a dozen witch-lights. Briar was standing in the centre aisle halfway down the rows of seats, fire balling in both hands as she stared at the stage. Hunter was next to her, snarling, his fur standing on end. They raced to her side, Avery turning to see what she was staring at. But the curtains were closed, as they’d left them, leaving only the apron of the stage showing, and that was bare.
“What happened?” Reuben asked, energy already crackling from his palms as he looked around the room.
Briar tore her gaze away from the stage to look at them properly. Her eyes were wild with fright. “Sorry. I saw a ghost right here.” She held her hand inches from her face. “It scared the shit out of me. And then it disappeared and reappeared there.” She pointed to the stage.
Avery raised a powerful surge of air that lifted her hair and whirled across the seats, disturbing the curtains on the stage, at the same time that El threw another half a dozen witch-lights above them, brightening the room.
“Where has it gone?” Reuben asked, spinning around.
“Vanished into thin air,” Briar answered, taking a deep breath.
Avery felt the uncomfortable prickle of someone watching her again, and she turned slowly, scanning the shadows.
“A ghost?” Alex asked, wide-eyed. “Male or female?”
“Male. He was tall, dark-haired, slim. His eyes were burning with this creepy flame.” She shuddered. “It shouldn’t have made me jump so much, but it was right here!” She held her hand in front of her face again.
“You’re allowed to jump,” Avery reassured her. “Ghosts are freaky! I’ve grown used to Helena, but I’m pretty sure I’d scream if I saw another one. ”
Briar looked pale. “It was its closeness. Hunter leapt at it, and that’s why it fled, I think.”
“I could try a spell, try to get it to manifest again,” Alex suggested. “Is it an echo, or did it actually appear to have its own will?”
It was an odd question, but Avery knew what he meant. Ghosts were usually replaying events of past lives, repeated appearances without thought or action—hence, the echo. But some, like Helena, had the ability to think and act, which made them more dangerous.
Briar paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “It’s hard to say at this stage,
but I’d say it had intent. It felt malevolent.”
“That’s unnerving,” Reuben said. “That’s the word Alison used!”
Avery groaned. “Bollocks! So she wasn’t imagining things.”
“I wonder if it’s related to the spell, or if the theatre’s haunted?” El asked.
“Alison said she hadn’t experienced this before—and she’s performed here a few times,” Reuben reminded them. “And if this place had a reputation for being haunted, wouldn’t we know about it? It would be common knowledge in White Haven!”
Alex grimaced. “I’d put money on it being related to the play, wouldn’t you?”
They all nodded and made their way to the front of the stage, unnerved by the appearance of the spirit and the deep silence of the old theatre, and Avery realised the situation was getting more complicated. “If the ghost is related to the spell, who is it?”
“If someone died because of this spell, maybe it’s him and he’s stuck to the play,” Reuben suggested.
“That’s a horrible thought,” Avery said.
“Sorry, but it seems logical.”
El headed to the side door that led backstage. “Come on, let’s get that potion bottle. I want to go home. We have a lot to think about.”
Briar dispelled the witch-lights as they filed down the passageway. “You’ve found the bottle? That’s great. We didn’t find anything remotely spelled in the rest of the theatre.”
But as soon as they entered the large dressing room, Avery’s heart sank, and she raced over to the table. “It’s gone!” She searched through the props frantically, lifting up the velvet wrap and moving around fake swords, gloves, and hats.
“It can’t have gone,” El said, joining her in the search. “We left it right here!”
Alex shook his head. “You won’t find it now. I have a feeling the spirit appeared as a distraction. He’s hidden it. But I’m sure it will be back for tomorrow’s performance.”
Hunter was already prowling the room, sniffing in corners and under the table where other props were, and where the box containing the script had been.
“Could you summon him?” Reuben asked Alex.
“I could try, but not now. I haven’t got the right equipment.” Alex stood next to the table, idly picking up props and looking distracted. “We might have to come back another night, but I’d like to learn more about who it could be first. It will give me an advantage.”
Avery finally stopped searching, admitting defeat reluctantly, and she straightened and looked at the others. “Well, l can see I’ll be in the library for hours tomorrow. Hopefully we can find some information that will help us.”
15
“Of course I can help you in the library,” Dan said to Avery. “But it will have to be after the morning rush if we’re both going.”
They were in the back room at Happenstance Books on Monday morning, drinking their first coffee of the day, and Avery had just updated Sally and Dan on what they had found out over the weekend. The fog was still wrapped around White Haven, but it seemed that the rest of the coastline was unaffected according to the news.
Dan continued thoughtfully, “Actually, I could just look for you. I know what you want, and if you write down a list, I’ll make sure I cover it all. It’s easy for me—I do it all the time.”
Avery sighed with relief. She’d been dreading wading through the old archives, but knew Dan would love it. “Really? That would be amazing! Thank you.”
Sally was leaning against the counter, her hands around a coffee cup, looking worried. “Are you sure nothing weird is going to come out of that fog?”
“Like vengeful pirates with a cutlass that will slice your head off?” Dan asked, eyes wide. “Or weird creatures that will eat you like in Stephen King’s book?”
Sally just glared at him. “That’s exactly what I mean! And it’s not funny!”
Avery tried to suppress a snigger, but had to admit she’d had similar worries. “I’m sure that won’t happen.”
“You don’t sound very convinced, Avery.”
Avery tried to look more confident. “The fog is unnatural, I’ll admit that, but I think it’s a manifestation of magic from the script.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Sally said, still frowning as she looked out the window onto the lane behind the shop.
Dan finished his coffee and checked his watch. “I’m going to head there now then, if that’s okay. You two will be all right on your own, won’t you? It might get busy. Rupert is starting his first daytime occult tour this morning, and he’ll be coming here.”
“Bollocks!” Avery said. “I’d forgotten about that. What time?”
He shrugged. “Mid-morning, that’s all I know.”
“Let’s hope something comes out of the fog and swallows him up,” Sally said, her face wrinkling with annoyance.
Dan laughed. “That’s the spirit! At least it will be suitably atmospheric for the tour! And don’t forget, I’m doing the Beltane talk this afternoon in the shop. We’ve got posters up already. See you later.” He put his jacket on and headed out through the back door, and Sally and Avery walked into the shop. The scent of blossoms filled Avery’s senses, and she looked around with pleasure at the flowers behind the counter and on the shelves. Sally immediately steered Avery over to the new display at the front of the shop, right behind the window decorated for Beltane.
“What do you think, Avery? This is what Dan and I finished on Saturday afternoon after you went to the theatre.”
Avery gasped with pleasure. “That looks fantastic!”
Sally was already animated, and she pointed to a handful of books. “I put a rush order on a few books about cunning folk and the history of magic, and they arrived on Saturday. There are a few extra boxes in the back, just in case. I’m hoping that we sell quite a few this week.”
Avery noticed that they had displayed them with the books about Beltane and the other pagan celebrations, as well as witch related diaries, spell books, and some lovely leather bound notebooks.
Sally continued, “This is just to catch their eye as they come through the main entrance, but we’ve set up a reading corner in the occult section, and there are more books there.” She led the way, clearly excited. “I thought we’d keep the decorations rustic and pagan and tried to steer away from kitsch. We’ve moved a few chairs here, but seeing as it will be a short talk, most people will stand and browse, and Dan will showcase what we have. Sound good?”
“Sounds fantastic.” Avery hugged her. “Thank you for doing this.”
Sally smiled at her. “People love witchcraft now. Many want to avoid organised religion, but don’t understand the old ways. We’ll try to balance Rupert’s opinion, if he tries to sensationalise things.”
“You know, he may not stir anything up,” Avery felt compelled to point out. “It’s a subject he’s genuinely interested in, too.”
Sally sniffed, looking doubtful. “We’ll see.”
***
At just after eleven that morning, Avery saw Rupert arrive outside her shop with a group of about a dozen people, and heard his voice filter through the window.
He gestured towards the shop, and Avery heard him mention Helena. She stood behind the counter, half-listening, while she glanced at the flyers that advertised Dan’s talks. A couple of people were already reading the poster on the front door and admiring the window display, and looked like they wanted to come in. It was gloomy outside, the thick fog still pooling in the streets. The shops opposite Avery’s were barely visible, their bright plants outside their doors and under their windows the only splashes of colour. Avery had made sure her shop looked warm and inviting, and lamps lit up dark corners, aided by displays of candles.
Whatever Rupert was saying, he looked to be entertaining, because the group was nodding and asking questions. Sally came out of the back room with a tray of homemade cookies, and the smell made Avery salivate. She snatched one from the plate before Sally could stop h
er and took a bite, looking mischievous. “Delicious,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. “And they’re warm.”
Sally smiled. “The secret is lots of butter. And look, they’re coming in!”
The door chimes jangled as Rupert’s tour group entered the shop, most sighing with pleasure at the warmth. Rupert immediately threw his arms wide encompassing Avery and her shop. “And here is Avery Hamilton, the direct descendant of Helena Marchmont, who was so cruelly burned at the stake.”
Avery froze momentarily, clenching her hands beneath the counter so she didn’t throw a fireball at Rupert, and then forced a smile. “Hello and welcome to my shop. Please take your time browsing, and feel free to ask any questions.”
She felt Sally bristle next to her, but then she was off with the plate, offering cookies and chatting about their books. Rupert, however, made a beeline for Avery, but not before swiping a cookie, she noticed.
“Avery,” he said, greeting her coolly, a malevolent glint to his expression. He looked around the shop, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, as if she’d hidden something. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks Rupert. How’s your tour going?”
His hooded gaze finally finished flitting around and settled on her. “Excellent. Although the day is cold, the fog does lend excellent atmosphere, especially at Old Haven Church.” He nodded to the flyers on the counter. “I see you’re giving a talk.”
Avery nodded, falsely bright. “Yes, we thought it was a great opportunity to talk about pagan beliefs and the history of magic, an accompaniment to your tour.” She smiled. “Dan is an expert on folklore and local knowledge, and couldn’t wait to do it. Your tour has sparked some great ideas for us. And, of course it gives me an opportunity to answer questions about Helena, and correct any falsehoods.”
“What falsehoods could there be?” he asked, challenging her. “She did burn at the stake for being a witch, after all.”
“She was accused of witchcraft, like many others at that time. It does not mean she was one.”
