by TJ Green
“You don’t know now, I presume?” Dylan asked.
“No. There’s a complicated knot of sigils to identify, but we’re struggling with it to be honest, and we have no idea how it was activated. All we know is that it’s powerful, and that hasn’t diminished with time—or my grandfather’s death.”
Dylan was already starting to film, sweeping the large room with his thermal imaging camera, while Ben paced around with his EMF meter, the static buzz low in the back ground. Cassie had prepared the sheets they used to record any phenomena and was about to start reading temperatures around the hall, but she looked at the witches, worried. “It doesn’t sound like we know much at all.”
“We know that some of the sigils on the cover mean power, obsession, and revenge, but we think we’re missing something,” El explained. “It’s frustrating. But,” she said, her face brightening. “I do have this!” She reached into her backpack that Reuben had brought with him, and pulled out the curved blade of the Empusa’s sword.
“Wow!” Avery said, surprised. “I’d forgotten you’d got that!”
“I’ve been itching to use this ever since Shadow told me what it can do.” She gripped it tightly, making loops in the air. “It’s just back-up, in case things get dangerous!”
“It better be,” Alex warned. “I need him!”
Dylan did a double take when he saw the sword, and he walked over, stopping filming. “Can I?” he asked, holding his hand out.
“Of course,” El said, offering him the hilt.
Dylan’s eyes ran along the blade. “Bronze? Wow. What a cool sword. Where did you get it from?”
“Shadow defeated the Empusa, and this was our reward. There are two of them.”
“What will a sword do against a ghost?” Cassie asked, looking sceptical.
“We recently found out that it has special powers. When you’re holding it, you can see ghosts, as if they’re flesh and blood,” El explained, “and this will cut them as if they’re real.”
Hearing the discussion, Ben joined them, too. “And how does it do that?”
“Special Underworld properties,” Reuben said, “courtesy of Hecate and her servant. Beyond that—no idea!”
Ben shook his head, returning to sweeping the room with the EMF meter. “You guys are full of surprises.”
Alex interrupted them. He stood in front of the stage, his hair tied back. “Right, I’m ready. I need you to sit around the salt circle, at your cardinal elements. You don’t need to say anything. I’ll recite the summoning spell, but I will draw on your strength to help do it.” He rubbed his face as he looked at them. “I have a feeling this will be difficult.”
Hunter watched the witches take their places around the large circle that was almost two meters in diameter, each sitting behind the glowing light of a candle marking the elemental place on the pentagram Alex had drawn. “Should I hold the Empusa’s sword, just in case?”
Alex looked at him for a long moment, considering his suggestion, and he finally sighed. “Yes, okay, but do not use it except as a means to see him! I don’t care how hairy it gets!”
“Even if he attacks?” Hunter asked evenly, picking the sword up from the chair where El had left it.
“Yes—although, he shouldn’t be able to leave the circle.”
Avery immediately argued, “No! If he’s trying to kill you, we should use the sword!”
“He won’t try to kill me!” Alex said, exasperated. “He’s a ghost!”
Avery nodded, reluctantly, wondering how strong the ghost of this particular witch would be. Helena was certainly sentient, and still retained some kind of power, but ghosts generally couldn’t touch someone, or possess them. The glow of the candlelight was comforting in the darkness, far more so than the cool white of their witch-lights. She noticed Hunter and the three investigators were keeping their distance from the circle, which was wise. In theory, the spirit would be contained within the circle, but it was best to be safe.
While they had been preparing, Avery hadn’t felt anything manifest in the auditorium, but as soon as she was seated around the circle, she felt the room close in. The stage loomed large above her, and the chairs crowded her on the other side. Alex sat confidently on the point of the Spirit to Avery’s right, El was to her left, and Briar was opposite her, while Reuben was to Alex’s right. They had all sat in these positions many times now, and were comfortable together; strong in their power, and the trust they had in each other.
“Are you all ready?” Alex asked, his grimoire resting on his knees.
They nodded, and Alex began the slow intonation of the spell.
For long moments, nothing happened, and Avery closed her eyes, feeling her energy rise, and a snap as Alex connected to her. It was like flicking on an electric circuit as she felt her fellow witches’ energies merge with her own. It was exhilarating, and as Alex’s low voice continued the spell, she felt their collective power grow. The air eddied around her slowly, and then a prickle of discomfort spread along her neck and down her spine, and Avery opened her eyes and almost jerked back in shock.
The ghost of Kit Bonneville was standing in the centre of the circle, wearing old-fashioned clothing, with his hair slicked back. His eyes were dark, but a flame seemed to burn within them, and his face was twisted with anger as he glared at Alex. It was uncanny. They were very alike, and if Alex’s hair was shorter and he had been clean-shaven, the resemblance would have been obvious.
Kit flickered in and out for a moment, as if a current was breaking, but Alex’s voice grew louder as he summoned Kit and commanded him to stay. Kit’s mouth moved as if he was trying to speak, and he glared at the witches around the circle. His gaze swept over Avery, and she felt his fury through his icy regard.
Alex stopped reciting the spell and said, “Welcome, Kit.”
Kit’s mouth moved again, and Avery heard a groan as he tried to speak. It was taking some effort, but finally Kit growled out, “Who are you?”
“I’m your grandson, Alex Bonneville. Finn’s son.”
Kit crouched down so he was at eye-level with Alex. “Are you now?” He turned his head, glancing at the rest of the witches. “And who are they?”
“My coven—the White Haven witches.”
Kit threw his head back and laughed. “There is no coven in White Haven!”
Alex narrowed his eyes at him. “There might not have been in your day, but there is now. The old families are all back.”
Kit fell silent for a moment, looking puzzled. “What old families?”
“The families who once lived in White Haven, before the Witchfinder General and the Favershams forced them out. We’re members of the Witches Council now.”
No wonder Kit was confused. Witchcraft had been firmly pushed into the background in White Haven for years, and the families were never allowed into the council. However, Kit was not impressed. Instead, he sneered. “If you put your faith in them, you’ll be sorry.”
“I haven’t been so far,” Alex said evenly. “But that’s not why I summoned you, Kit. I want to know about the play, Tristan and Iseult, and I need to know about Yvonne Warner.”
“Ha! Yvonne!” Kit rose to his feet swiftly and started to pace the circle. He paused at the edge by Briar, and stretched his hand out to where the circle’s power vibrated at the salt edge. It flashed a bright blue, and Avery felt the flare of magic vibrate through her. Kit withdrew his hand quickly, whirling around and glaring at Alex. “How dare you seal me in this aberration?”
“It’s a summoning circle,” Alex said impatiently. “I’m sure you’ve used one many times. Tell me about Yvonne.”
“Why do you care about her? She’s been dead a very long time.”
“I know. She worked with you, didn’t she?”
“What of it?”
“She was in the play, Tristan and Iseult, when it was performed in 1964. Strange things happened in that play, Kit, things I think you were responsible for.”
“And why w
ould I care about a play?”
“It wasn’t the play you cared about, it was Yvonne.” Alex waited, but Kit was silent, watching Alex with his arms folded across his chest. Alex continued, “The play is finally being performed again, and the cast are behaving strangely, taking on the emotions and characteristics of the characters in the play. When we examined the scripts they were using—that by the way had been hidden away in the basement of the White Haven Council buildings—we found some very odd sigils and runes on the pages. They have been cursed, and the actors are bewitched. We decided to look at the last time the play was performed, and it led us to Yvonne, Charles, and you.”
“I wasn’t in the play,” Kit pointed out smugly.
“Yvonne worked for you. It’s a suspicious coincidence. What happened? Did she reject your advances, and you decided to get your revenge?”
Kit stepped close to the circle’s edge again, and crouched so that he was inches from Alex. His eyes were almost black with anger. “I was a married man, Alex, married to your grandmother. You should watch your mouth!”
“A witch bewitched this play—a powerful one. My father and uncle were too young. Who else could it have been?”
Avery had the feeling this could go on for hours; after all, they had no hard proof that Kit had done anything wrong, and he wasn’t exactly answering Alex’s questions.
Alex continued to hold Kit’s stare. “Why are you haunting White Haven Little Theatre at the same time as this play is being performed? It’s not a coincidence at all, is it? You cursed the play, and tied yourself to it in some way.”
Kit displayed a slow, devious smile that made Avery’s skin crawl. From where she sat, close to Alex, she could see Kit’s expression clearly, as could Reuben; the other witches would only be able to see his back. He looked up and around him as if seeing where he had been summoned for the first time. “It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it? There are worse places to be summoned to.” He looked insufferably pleased with himself. “I wasn’t sure when I cast the spell if it would even work this long, but it seems my power was greater than I hoped.”
“So you admit that you put a spell on the play?” Alex asked.
“Yes, I do. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Alex’s face hardened. “We’ll see about that. It’s creating havoc, and I mean to stop it!”
“You’ll stop nothing!” Kit spat. “I spelled it, and so it shall remain.”
“I’ll find all of the scripts and burn them!”
“You can try,” Kit said with a sly grin.
Alex had been attempting to remain calm, but now his anger swelled. “Yvonne Warner and Charles Ball killed themselves because of the curse you put on this play! They were bewitched—forced to take on the emotions of the characters in real life! Other cast members fought and almost killed each other! Answer my damn question! Did you have an affair with Yvonne Warner?”
“No!” Kit answered, furious. “The jumped-up bitch had a high opinion of herself, and made it very clear that she would have nothing to do with me—except expect me to pay her damn wages! I’d have sacked her but it would have looked too suspicious, so I did something much better—I cursed the stupid play that she cared so much about!”
Alex’s face was pinched with anger. “She killed herself because of you! And so did Charles Ball.”
“When did we become so puritanical?” Kit said with a sneer. “The Bonneville witches are powerful—seers, psychics, demon conjurors and spell makers who can take what we want.”
“That is not what witchcraft is, and you know it!” Alex answered, forcing himself to be calm after his outburst. “Your curse is now affecting other people. We have to stop it!”
Kit stood up, once again turning to pace around the circle, and again his hard stare passed over Avery. She felt rage still burning within him, the fury of his rejection. “She’s here, I know it,” Kit said. “I can feel her. She’s keeping her distance, but I’d know her anywhere. She’s trapped here, and I’ll find her eventually.”
A chill ran through Avery’s blood, and she glanced at Alex, seeing his eyes widen. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Kit said, rounding on him, “that I bound her spirit to this play after death, and now she can’t go anywhere.” With one final sneer, he raised his hands, and a crackle of energy unleashed, striking the circle with such unexpected force that the circle of protection exploded outwards, and Avery felt her energy leach from her as her body was thrown back several feet. Her head was ringing, and when her vision finally cleared, she saw that Kit had vanished.
19
The witches staggered to their feet, winded and shaken, and Avery quickly spelled the candles back on.
Hunter was standing in the centre aisle, sword in hand as he spun around looking for Kit, while Cassie, Ben, and Dylan stood close by him, continuing to film and monitor the room.
“Are you guys okay?” Cassie shouted over.
“Fine! If bruised,” Reuben shouted back. “Any sign of him?”
“None, he’s vanished,” Hunter said, still scanning the room. “But this sword is incredible! I don’t know how he appeared to you, but he looked as real as you do to me.”
“Damn it,” Alex said as he rubbed the back of his head where it had struck the stage.
Dylan said, “I can’t see him either. There was a sort of flare of energy, and then nothing.”
“How the hell did he do that?” Reuben asked, bewildered.
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. He shouldn’t be able to summon that much magic as a ghost!”
Briar winced as she untangled herself from the seat she had crashed into. “His magic is bound into the pages of the script, tying his spirit to it in some way, and that’s why he’s more powerful than he should be. Well, that’s my theory anyway.”
“It’s a good one,” El said, nodding in agreement as she dusted herself down. “But it’s incredibly vindictive, and well, obsessive really.” She looked at Alex. “You said that Kit died before you were born?”
“Yes, in the seventies I think, probably only a few years after these events.”
“How?”
“I was told he’d had a heart attack, but that’s all.” He looked puzzled. “No one really talked about him much. By the time I was born, he’d been dead for years.”
“But was that because no one liked him? I mean, did he have a bad reputation in your family?” El asked.
Alex ran his hand through his hair, freeing it from the tie that had been pulling it back. “I always got the feeling that my dad didn’t really like him, or my uncle, to be honest, but I didn’t really question it. And my gran died when I was young, so I have no idea what she thought of him.”
Avery had pulled herself onto the stage, and now sat on its edge, her legs swinging. “I’m intrigued about this binding of his spirit. Did he bind himself to the play at the time he cursed it, or did he do it later? He looked reasonably young as a ghost. Maybe he died earlier than you think, Alex.”
Reuben had been quietly listening, but now he nodded in agreement. “Maybe binding himself to the play was what killed him.”
Alex fell silent for a while, thinking, and the only sound in the theatre was the low static whine of the EMF meter. Something was playing on Avery’s mind, and she couldn’t think what it was for a moment, until it struck her. “Kit said he bound Yvonne’s spirit to this play too, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Briar answered. “I found that particularly terrifying, if I’m honest. He must have been obsessed with her!”
“Or just a vengeful bastard,” El said. She was standing by Reuben, both of them watching the progress of the three investigators. “I hope the curse did give him a heart attack!”
“But how did he bind Yvonne’s spirit?” Avery asked. “I presume she killed herself, and then he summoned her ghost and did it that way.”
Alex started to gather his things together, and then stopped suddenly, looking up at Avery. “Why
don’t I try to summon her? Kit was unwilling to share too much, but Yvonne would likely be more willing.”
“Don’t you need something personal of hers, though?” Avery asked, sliding off the stage and standing up.
“What about the costume jewels she would have worn during the play?” Briar suggested. “Stan said they found some in the box with the scripts. It might still be backstage.”
“Won’t the current Iseult be wearing them?” Reuben said. “If she’s bewitched, then she might not be taking them off.”
“It’s worth checking,” Alex said, turning as if to head backstage.
But before any of them could do anything else, the EMF meter surged to life, and Ben shouted, “Something’s over here! I’m picking up an energy signature—and it’s freezing!”
Ben was standing towards the rear of the stalls, under the circle, and everyone raced over, skidding to a halt a short distance away. Alex raised his hands and started to intone a spell, but Hunter thrust the sword into his hand. “It’s Yvonne, I can see her.”
“Whoa!” Alex said immediately, his eyes wide. He stepped forward carefully, as if approaching a frightened child, gesturing the others back. “Yvonne, can you see me?”
To Avery, it appeared as if the air stirred in front of Alex, a shimmer through which the back of the theatre seemed to waiver. She must have answered because Alex said, “I want to help, Yvonne. Don’t be frightened.”
Avery shivered. The icy cold air was reaching around them, and Avery’s breath appeared as a cloud before her.
Alex said, “I know he’s here. He’s looking for you. Can you keep hidden from him for a while longer?”
In the silence that followed, Avery stood next to Dylan, watching the thermal image on the screen of the camera. It was eerie. An amorphous figure appeared only a few feet away, the approximation of limbs and a head just visible.
Alex nodded. “I’m going to free your spirit, Yvonne. I don’t know how yet, but I will. Can you tell me what happened between you and Kit?”
