by TJ Green
Avery nodded and picked up a dog-eared envelope with Kodak branding on it, and pulling out the photos, immediately recognised the fashion of the 1980s. She laughed at the clothing. “Wow. Did people really wear these things?”
She put them down, reaching for another packet, and found pictures that were much older. She squinted as she tried to identify buildings, occasionally noting streets she recognised, and stretches of beaches and coves. And then she paused as she came across the photo of a tall, dark-haired man in a smart 1950s-style suit, and what looked to be the bar of a pub behind him.
“Alex, look at this. Is this Kit?”
Alex took the photo from her, and after studying it for a moment, he nodded. “Yes, I think so. Are there any more?”
He leaned over her shoulder as she flicked through the remainder of the pack, eventually finding about half a dozen images, some with two younger men, others with a woman she didn’t recognise, and she passed each one back to him.
“Who are the other men?”
“My uncle Treeve, who managed the pub before I took it over, and my dad.” He pointed him out. “They look so young.”
“You look like them,” Avery observed. “Well, apart from the fact that they look so clean cut, and you don’t.”
Alex laughed. “Neither my uncle or my dad looked that clean cut later in life.” His laughter, however, quickly died out. “I suppose we should show these to Briar.”
“Take a photo with your phone,” she advised. “The quality will be good enough for her to hopefully either recognise him or rule him out.”
“Good idea,” he said, and quickly snapped the pictures and sent them off.
For several anxious moments they remained silent, and Avery started on another pack while Alex paced the room. But they didn’t have to wait long as Alex’s phone disturbed the silence and he answered quickly, exchanging a few words with Briar. Avery saw his face change and he sounded resigned as he said, “Thanks Briar, at least we know who it is now. I’ll call you later.” Alex sank onto his leather chair, his mood sombre. “She’s pretty sure it’s him, which means my grandfather probably bewitched the play.”
“Probably.” Avery sat on the edge of the desk. “Any idea why?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing in your grimoire that’s similar to the sigils on the script?”
“I don’t think so, but if I’m honest, there are a lot of sigils, runes, and summoning circles in there. They all sort of blend together after a while. And if I’m really honest, I haven’t actually been looking for an exact match—I’ve been searching for summoning spells.”
Avery nodded. “I think you need to have a second look.”
Alex looked at the photos again, and then at her. “If my grandfather is responsible for this, I’ll be mortified.”
“We are not responsible for our ancestors’ actions.”
“I know. But if he is, he must have met Yvonne at the pub. Was he having an affair with her? Did he fancy her and get rejected? And why did she leave Kernow Industries to work in a pub? It must have been a better job.”
“Maybe she was serious about her acting, and the pub offered more flexible hours? Or perhaps she hated the boss and couldn’t wait to get out, so she was happy to do anything else?”
“I’m sure being in a small town production wouldn’t have been the step to the big time.”
“Maybe not, but she might have had dreams. I would imagine this was a very sleepy place back then.” Avery reached forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get back to it. I’ll ring El and Reuben and let them know the plans for tonight have changed, and that we’ll be summoning a ghost tonight, and not just stealing scripts.”
18
As they’d agreed, Avery and El arrived at the theatre at the end of that night’s performance to talk to the cast, and spelled themselves inside the side door. Reuben hadn’t been able to come early, and they had arranged to call him and the others when the theatre was empty.
El looked like an overexcited child. “I love this energy, Avery. Do you think this feeling is normal after every performance, or just because this one has a spell on it?”
The atmosphere backstage was electric, and the energy of the cast was high, if tense. A couple of people had recognised them, giving them vague smiles, but as the play hadn’t finished yet, they were still preoccupied. El and Avery had tucked themselves into a small space just beyond the steps to the wings, listening to the muted voices onstage.
Avery shrugged. “I have no idea, but I would imagine this must be pretty normal.”
“Maybe I should join up?”
“Are you kidding?” Avery asked, astonished.
“No! I’d love to do all this backstage stuff. I’m more interested in this than acting.”
“But what exactly would you do?”
El flattened herself against the wall as King Arthur strode past, a crown on his head, looking imperious. “I don’t know—costumes, makeup? I’d love any of it!”
“But would you love it if it was the back of a community centre, and not the awesome setting of the White Haven Little Theatre?”
“Yes, I think I still would.”
Both of them retreated again as another cast member scurried past, and Avery said, “This is a stupid place to stand. Let’s head to the dressing rooms.”
“No, wait.” El’s hand was on her arm. “Let’s check the audience. We can open the door...they won’t notice in the dark.”
El edged towards the door to the stalls where the end of the corridor was in complete darkness, and pushed it open an inch. Avery crouched down below El, and peered through the gap.
The front rows of the audience were illuminated by the lights from the stage, and they looked mesmerised. A strong wave of magic hit Avery, and El must have felt it too, because she heard her muffle a gasp before she pushed the door open wider so they could get a better look.
Avery squinted at rows that were further back, just about able to see their faces in the dark hall. No one moved. Not a blink, a shuffle, a cough or sneeze, or even a rummage in a bag of sweets. It was eerie. El shut the door and they looked at each other, astounded.
“Wow,” El muttered. “That was full-on!”
“They’re completely bewitched!”
El grabbed her arm, pulling her quickly back down the corridor. “The cast must be affected, too! Come on, let’s head to the dressing rooms.”
Avery resisted. “No, wait. If we use the shadow spell, we can squash into the wings.”
El nodded and Avery quickly said the spell, sending them shimmering into invisibility, and without waiting to think of the consequences, Avery led the way up the stairs and to the back of the wings.
A cluster of actors and stagehands stood watching the performance, and if anything, the spell felt even more intense from there. Most people watched the performance, and Avery could just see Iseult onstage, kneeling next to Tristan on his bower. She saw Gail, the actress who was playing Brangain, standing and watching the scene, tears pouring down her face, and Alison who managed the wardrobe was watching her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in shock. Gail was so utterly absorbed in the play that she didn’t even notice.
One of the three Barons stood talking quietly to King Mark—or Ian, Avery reminded herself—and he looked furious. Avery edged close enough to hear him say, “I swear my lord, if he talks to me like that again, I’ll kill him.”
“And you will have my full support! He has been against me all along—siding with Tristan at every turn. It is traitorous!” Even in the gloomy light of the wings Avery could see the sweat beading Ian’s brow, and her blood chilled.
The Baron’s hand fell to his sword. “Perhaps we should not wait, then. I will deal with him later.”
Ian nodded, his face resolute, and Avery backed away, stumbling into El, who was close behind her, and she felt El’s cool fingers grab her arm and pull her back down the stairs to
the dim corridor.
As soon as they were away from the wings, she cancelled the spell, and El’s pale face emerged from the shadows. “Bloody hell, Avery, the cast is completely bewitched! Come on, dressing rooms, now!”
El strode away, heading for the largest dressing room, and Avery almost ran to keep up. As soon as they were close, they heard raised voices, and by the time they paused at the threshold, it was clear someone was having a full-blown argument.
It seemed that most of the cast members were there, still in full costumes and makeup, clustered around two people in the middle of the room. Avery edged forward and saw that Harry, Dan’s friend, was nose to nose with another one of the Barons, and they were yelling at each other about loyalty, friendship, and betrayal, talking over one another so rapidly that Avery could barely understand them. She caught the name Godwin, and realised that was the name of the Baron. Both of them were red faced and sweating profusely, their stage makeup smeared and demonic, but suddenly Harry shoved Godwin hard in the chest, and as he staggered backwards, Harry followed it up with a punch. In seconds Godwin responded, and then the rest of the watching cast joined in, and Avery couldn’t work out if they were trying to stop them or were trading punches, too.
Avery looked at El, completely shocked, and they both faltered, wondering what to do. The atmosphere was ugly, and the fight showed no signs of stopping. Someone went flying into a table that upended, sending props scattering, and then a screech made Avery turn to see two women rolling on the floor, tearing at each other’s hair and clothes. She ran over, trying to pull them apart, but they ignored her, totally focussed on each other, and almost dragged Avery into the fight.
She staggered back to El’s side. “Shit! What are we going to do?”
The clanging of metal made her whirl around again as this time, Harry clashed swords with Godwin, and an ugly welt of blood welled across Godwin’s chest.
“Magic. It’s the only thing that will stop this, or someone is going to get seriously injured.”
“But how? They’ll know!”
“I don’t think they’ll notice a damn thing,” El said, stepping back to the doorway to dodge a punch and dragging Avery with her. “And I can see just the thing!” El pointed at the sprinkler on the ceiling. “That!” She sent a stream of flame across the ceiling, engulfing the sprinkler, and in mere seconds water burst from it, drenching everyone below.
Instead of cries of anger, there were shrieks of shock as the ice-cold water brought everyone to their senses. El and Avery retreated to the corridor as the cast rushed out of the dressing room, pushing and shoving in their haste to leave, and with a word, El stopped the sprinkler.
Harry paused next to them, bedraggled and shaking, and utterly confused. “What the hell just happened? Is there a fire?”
Without missing a beat, El said, “We’ve only just arrived, Harry, so no idea. It probably just malfunctioned. Look around. No other sprinklers are going off, which is a relief!”
The other cast members were standing around shivering, and a young woman next to Avery said, “I don’t even remember what I was just doing!”
“Oh my God,” another one said, looking down at her dress, and then the pools of water on the floor of the dressing room. “Look at the costumes!”
They were galvanised into action, running inside to salvage what they could, and Avery and El took the opportunity to retreat down the corridor into a store room filled with stage furniture and other props, and shut the door firmly behind them.
“Well,” Avery said, her thoughts reeling, “I guess that answers that question. The cast have gone nuts!”
El started to laugh, and then stopped herself with a guilty expression. “Sorry! I shouldn’t laugh, but that was funny...well, in places.”
“And scary. What if we hadn’t arrived?”
“I think someone would have found them and stopped them, maybe the stage crew. I hope. But in the meantime, let’s make ourselves comfortable.” El rummaged around in the props behind them, and finding a couple of chairs, sat down and patted the seat next to her. “Let’s let them settle down out there, and then we’ll see what else we can find out.”
***
Avery and El were sitting together on the second row of seats, their feet on the back of the seats in front of them, chatting quietly about the events earlier. It had been spooky with just the two of them waiting in the oppressive silence and near darkness, and Avery was grateful to have El’s company. She had been sure that once or twice she had detected Kit’s lingering presence, a persistent edge of spite that whispered around them.
“This is becoming a very strange habit,” Reuben noted as he and the others entered the deserted auditorium.
“Have you two had fun?” Alex said to Avery and El. He carried a large pack with the items he needed to summon his grandfather’s ghost, and he placed it on a chair and slipped his jacket off.
“If I’m honest,” Avery said, sitting up and placing her feet on the floor, “it’s been a bit weird.”
“Everything we do is weird,” Hunter told her. He leaned against the stage, his hands in his leather jacket pockets, and his jeans low on his slim hips. Hunter looked dangerous at night, as if he might do anything, and his dark eyes smouldered with a dull yellow fire. “It’s why I like you guys. Shifters like weird. Where’s the fun in normal?”
“Too true, my friend,” Reuben said, slapping his shoulder.
Briar sat next to El, looking concerned. “What happened?”
“Where shall we start?” El said. “With the fight in the dressing room that I had to stop using the water sprinkler? The utterly lovelorn behaviour of Tristan and Iseult, which was no different onstage than off? King Mark’s fury at his betrayal, and the second fight that almost started but a stagehand broke up?”
“And don’t forget the new potion bottle that also has a spell on it!” Avery added.
A brief silence fell before Alex said, “Wow. You’ve been busy!”
“I’ll give you the details later,” Avery said as she stood and stretched, realising she’d gone cold sitting in the dark for the last half an hour. “Are Cassie and the boys coming?”
“They should be behind us,” Reuben said, turning to look for them. Right on cue, three familiar figures jostled through the stage doors, carrying bulky bags. “And here they are! Long time no see, guys! Welcome to the Beltane madness.”
Cassie, Ben, and Dylan greeted everyone enthusiastically, and Ben said, “It’s great to be here! We’re sick of finishing up lab studies, and glad to be in the field again.”
“Lab studies?” Reuben asked, eyebrows raised.
“Psychometric testing,” Cassie explained. “For our finals.”
“Not for me,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “Just lots of essays. But I’ve missed this!”
All three of them looked tired, Avery thought, but they must have kept up some of their new exercise regime, because they looked lean and ready for action.
Cassie looked around in wonder. “I can’t believe we’re in a haunted theatre!” She had barely finished her sentence when the whine of the EMF meter started, and Avery saw Ben already starting to calibrate it.
“This is so cool, guys,” he said, his tiredness disappearing as excitement took over. “Thanks for asking us to come.”
Avery smiled. “Our pleasure, although you might not thank us later. This place has bad vibes.”
“It doesn’t seem to be deterring the audience, though,” El pointed out. “It was packed tonight, and I saw another stellar review in the paper today!”
“That’s because they’re bewitched,” Avery said, finding it hard to shake off her worry. Bewitching an entire audience was clever and powerful, and Avery was already feeling daunted by the task ahead.
Briar nodded. “It’s like I said earlier, the audience brings its own energy. It will fuel whatever’s going on here.”
“So, what’s the plan, Alex?” Reuben asked, already rolling his shoulders
as if expecting trouble.
“I’m going to set up in front of the stage,” Alex explained. “Seeing as this is where Briar and Hunter saw Kit’s spirit, it seems the most charged place.”
“You should have been in the dressing room earlier,” El said with a half laugh. “It was pretty charged in there!”
Cassie looked at Alex, surprised. “You have a name for the ghost?”
“Sorry! Didn’t you know? It’s my granddad!”
Cassie’s mouth fell open in shock, and while Alex started to prepare his summoning circle, Avery quickly explained what they’d found out that afternoon.
Dylan was setting up his thermal camera as he listened. “Interesting. So the play is bewitched, and the performance seems to have summoned Kit’s ghost?”
“That’s what we think,” she explained with a shrug, “but we’re not really sure how. And we’re also wondering if it has summoned the ghosts of Yvonne Warner and Charles Ball who played the characters in the sixties. The cast have experienced cold draughts, icy patches in rooms...you know, the usual.”
Ben nodded. “I saw that report on the news, but I wasn’t sure if it was real or just publicity for the play. Sarah Rutherford again, wasn’t it?”
El had been listening, and she said, “Yes, she’s covering the Beltane celebrations.”
Cassie looked puzzled. “Why couldn’t the ghost just be Kit alone? Why do you think there are the other two as well?”
“One of the cast members said they smelt perfume,” Avery explained. “I doubt Kit wore perfume!” She went on to explain about the affairs of the leads from the 1960s and how they had committed suicide.
Ben whistled. “Wow. What the hell kind of spell could do that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Alex said, rising to his feet. He had drawn a large salt circle on the floor just in front of the stage, in the centre of which was a curious sign.
Hunter had been sitting on the stage watching and listening, and he now asked, “Aren’t you going to banish him?”
“I’d like to,” Alex said, “but he’ll likely have valuable information I want. I don’t think banishing him will stop the spell on the play, and we have to break that. I need to know how he did it.”
