by TJ Green
“You always are.”
They sat across from each other at a small table and Avery pulled a script from her bag, gently tearing off a section from the back of the book. She hated damaging books, but she told herself it was for an important purpose. She also pulled a small silver bowl from her pack and placed it in the centre of the table, along with a collection of herbs she’d brought with her.
Alex watched her work. “I’m glad you were with it this morning. I can barely think straight.”
She glanced up at him, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m running on coffee if I’m honest, and could really do with more sleep.” She continued to set up while they talked. “I didn’t sleep very well. Running around cemeteries at night is not conducive to decent rest. My mind was racing with ideas about Kit, Yvonne, and the play. And I keep thinking about how tragic this all is.”
“And I keep thinking about what a miserable bastard Kit was. I’m ashamed of him. And furious with him, too. More than that, I can’t believe that I didn’t know anything about this!”
Avery finished laying out her equipment and looked at his stricken face. “It was sixty years ago. Why should you know any of this? It’s old news. I don’t know any history of my family. It all just disappears in time, doesn’t it? All those arguments, petty disagreements, and old jealousies mean nothing now. Even those warm moments—our successes and pleasures. They’re momentary, a flash of time!” She clicked her fingers, and sparks flew from the ends of them.
“You’re very philosophical,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
She rubbed her face. “That’s a poor night’s sleep for you. And of course being surrounded by dead people last night.”
“Which is why we should concentrate on the living. Josh and Emma are swept up in this, as are the rest of the cast. Their lives are at risk—and if we do manage to save them, who knows what will be left of their existing relationships?”
“What if Kit put another spell in the mix that we don’t know about?”
“Then we’ll deal with that, too. At least he can’t threaten us with Yvonne anymore.” He gestured at the bowl. “Shall we start?”
Avery nodded. She’d made a bed of the ingredients she needed at the bottom of the bowl and she added the piece of script to it. A detailed map of White Haven was open next to it. She ignited the script with a word and then started to say the spell, a variation on one they had used many times before. The smoke drifted up and across the map, idling over it for a few seconds while Avery continued to cast the spell. She felt the tingle of the magic from the script sitting next to her but ignored it, focussing on following the smoke, but nothing happened. It hung in the air, going nowhere. She met Alex’s eyes across the map. “It’s not working.”
“I can see that.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Maybe the sample is too small. Burn the whole script. We have more.”
“What if it brings Kit here?”
“Let it. I have another spell up my sleeve for him.” He pushed his chair back. “Let’s use the fireplace. Have we got enough herbs?”
“No. But I can get some.”
Alex checked his watch. “Good. We’ve got time. I’ll prepare the fire in the main room.”
Without waiting, Avery used witch-flight to return to her attic and collect more herbs, and then she spotted the stack of scripts on the table. Maybe they needed them all, she reflected. There would be more power with all of them together, even if they only burned one. She turned to look at the potion bottle sitting innocently on the shelf. Not sure if it was the right thing to do, she picked them both up and returned to the pub. Alex had stacked the wood for the fire, and Avery placed the scripts on the closest table and quickly prepared the herbs. The room was darker than before, and Avery realised he’d closed the blinds.
“Are you worried about spies?”
He laughed. “Yes. I can do without ending up on the front of the White Haven Gazette.”
After a few more preparations, they were ready to start again.
“Let’s do it together,” Avery suggested. “We’ll place one script on the fire and the rest in front of us, the bottle on top, join hands, and say the spell as one. Our combined magic may make the difference.”
“We can put the map here,” he said, pointing to the floor on the other side of them, away from the fire. “And do you know what else we should do?” Alex asked, his eyes widening. “Use my blood!”
“Why?” She hated using blood in spells. It seemed to make the whole affair darker and more sinister.
“Kit is my grandfather,” Alex said, already gathering the items. He lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged. “His blood is my blood. His magic is my magic. And his power is in that pile of scripts and the bottle.”
Avery sat opposite him and made herself comfortable. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted weakly.
“Of course I am. We need to think of this as one giant spell that’s spread across various objects. It’s not loads of little spells. I mean, yes, the ring was cursed, but they’re all linked.” He looked brighter and nodded to himself. “Yes, that’s exactly what they are. We haven’t been thinking clearly about this. If I wanted to bewitch someone, I’d use as much at my disposal as possible. His primary objective was revenge on Yvonne because she spurned his advances, and he’s prepared to do anything to achieve that. Sod the repercussions to anyone else. That’s why it’s so powerful—and that’s why he’s so powerful right now. I think he’s grounded the spell somewhere.”
“That’s an interesting idea,” she told him thoughtfully. “But how? To what?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. It’s only just occurred to me.”
“I thought we’d agreed a script would be hidden here. Is that what you mean by grounded?”
“Not really. I think there’s something else.”
“Please don’t tell me there’s something in his grave. I don’t want to have to do that again.”
“No, I’m sure it’s here.” He flashed a grin at her. “Well, almost sure.”
“He worked and lived here his whole life, so that would make sense.”
He nodded at the items between them. “Why did you bring everything we have?”
“It was a feeling.”
“Your feelings are good. I trust them. Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.” She reached forward and squeezed his hands. “It’s actually really good to be doing this with you. Just us two.”
He lifted her hands and kissed the palms softly. “Yes, it is. We better get on with it then.”
Alex kept hold of her hands, but rested them either side of the bewitched objects, and Avery started to intone the spell, feeling Alex’s magic mix with her own. The more she recited the spell, the stronger she felt his magic mingling with hers, wrapping around her like a cloak. She looked to the fire and ignited it with a word. The flames curled up from the stack of wood, and the layer of herbs caught, filling the air with a pungent smell, far more overwhelming than it had been in the small bowl. Finally, the script they had placed on top ignited, and thick black smoke streamed upwards, very different to the natural wood smoke.
Avery continued to repeat the spell, and after a moment the smoke clotted together, as thick and undulating as a snake, and it nosed between Alex and Avery, causing them to draw back momentarily. Then it completely bypassed the map and started to move around the room. The smoke dipped and rose as it searched the walls, swept along the ceiling, and then oozed under tables and through chair legs.
Alex glanced at Avery. “That’s unnerving. It looks like it’s alive!”
“I know!” She watched the smoke continue to poke around the room, eventually reaching the bar area.
After several minutes, Avery started to think there was nothing there for the spell to find. Then it streaked up through the ceiling and disappeared.
“Bollocks!” Alex said, leaping to his feet and running to the stairs.
“I wasn’t expecting that.”
Avery ran after him, and hard on his heels they burst through the door of the flat, just in time to see the smoke pour up through the ceiling into the attic space. “How do you get up there?” Avery asked him.
But Alex was already running into the bedroom, and she followed him, seeing him point to the square door set into the ceiling. “Through there.”
“I didn’t even think about attic space,” she said, annoyed with herself as she watched Alex stand on the sturdy chest of drawers positioned beneath it, and push the hatch up and away.
He hurled witch-light above him, and then placing his arms either side of the hatch, pulled himself upwards.
“Can you see it?” she shouted.
“Yes,” he shouted back. “Bloody hell, there’s all sorts of shit up here!”
Avery was itching to go up, but knew she wasn’t strong enough or tall enough to pull herself up through the hatch, and she didn’t want to risk witch-flight as she had no clear idea of what the layout was, either. However, she thought, grinning to herself, she could use air to propel her there.
She scrambled onto the chest of drawers and summoned air until it was whirling around her, then she used it to push her upwards through the hatch. She surprised herself at the speed, and with a whoosh she floated into the attic, narrowly avoiding braining herself on the heavy beams above her head. She stumbled to her feet and looked around, wide-eyed with pleasure. What was it about attics? They were fascinating places, full of old things that had once been loved and now were no longer needed. And dirt. And cobwebs. And maybe secrets.
The attic was large; not quite the full surface area of the ground floor of the pub, Avery estimated, but close. A couple of brick walls intersected the space at the far end, but most of the attic was open, the floor ribbed with beams, and crowded around the chimney was a collection of boxes and old furniture. It was there that Alex was standing, watching the smoke nudge repeatedly up against the chimney’s brick wall.
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Your modes of transport are forever fascinating.”
“I know.” She edged her way over to him, stepping carefully on the beams so she didn’t fall through the ceiling. “I like to keep you on your toes.”
“Mission accomplished.” He nodded at the bricks. “Looks like something is in there.” He leaned in closer. “I can see some fine cracks in the bricks, but that could be age.” He brushed his fingers across them, dislodging plumes of dust. He coughed and then continued his search, leaving Avery to examine the boxes.
The cardboard was rotten, falling apart beneath her fingers in places, but some of the boxes were wooden and had fared better. Peering into one, she saw stacks of old crockery patterned with old-fashioned designs, and she pulled a plate out, smiling with pleasure. “These are so pretty!”
Alex glanced at her. “They’re yours if you want them.”
“Even if I don’t, we should give them to a second-hand shop. It’s a waste to leave them here.” She continued to search, finding glasses, stacks of clothing, old Christmas decorations, a couple of lamps, and some other household objects. But a grunt from Alex broke her search, and she whirled around. “What?”
“Bingo,” he said softly.
He pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket, extracted the small blade, and inserted it into the gaps between the stones, wiggling it gently. The cement cracked and fell away, and as he worked, Avery saw other cracks appearing around a section of bricks.
The snake smoke that looked so sentient swirled above them, and as it seemed it had nothing else to show them, Avery dispersed it with a click of her fingers, wondering if it had been too big to be of value with the map. Before she could speculate any further, Alex pulled the bricks out of the wall one after another, revealing a space behind them. He put his hand in and emitted a strangled cry.
“Idiot,” Avery said affectionately in answer to his grin. “Wouldn’t it be too hot to keep something safe?”
He shook his head. “It’s well insulated. There are more layers of brick in there, and the flue will be narrow at this point.” His face scrunched with concentration as he felt around, and then he smiled again. “Found something.”
He pulled out a rolled-up oilskin packet, and opening it gently found another script. This one, however, had the strange sigils drawn on with ink, and opening it up to look through the pages, they could see the other pages marked the same. “This must be the first one he did,” Alex speculated. “The one that links the others. The magic feels strong.”
Avery felt relief roll though her. “What do we do with it?”
He looked at her bleakly. “I don’t know.”
She shook her head, smiling gently. “We’re getting closer, though.”
When they returned downstairs, they heard a key turning in the lock at the back door and they both froze. The main pub was still full of magical paraphernalia.
“It’s only me,” a familiar voice called, and Zee rounded the corner into the main room. He looked around and started to laugh, resting his long, lean form against the bar. “What have you two been up to?”
Alex looked visibly relieved. “Thank the Gods it’s you. I thought it was Simon.”
Zee laughed even more. “I think you’ll find that like Sally and Dan, he knows more than he lets on.”
Alex rubbed his head ruefully. “You’re probably right.”
“I know I am!”
“Oh, Sally and Dan don’t even pretend anymore,” Avery admitted, starting to gather things together in front of the fire.
“True.” Zee jerked his head at Alex, a dark lock falling over his forehead. “What you got there?”
“A bewitched script,” he said, placing it on the bar for Zee to see. “We think it’s the key to the others.”
Zee pulled the script towards him, frowning as he examined it. “Interesting. A couple of these are binding sigils, and some magnify emotions, I think.” He frowned again as he turned the script around. “And something else. A summoning.”
“How do you know that?” Alex asked, surprised. “We’re struggling to understand it.”
“A sigil is a type of language, and we’re good at languages. But not magic or signs so much.”
“You can feel it, though?”
“Sure. It’s humming with magic.” Zee handed it back to Alex. “I assume this is the play that’s giving you some bother. Gabe and Shadow told us about it the other night.”
“Unfortunately, yes. The actors are bewitched. It’s a type of love spell, really, at its heart. The cast is acting out the emotions of the play in real life.”
Zee nodded. “Which is some love-crossed triangle of soap opera proportions, I gather.”
Avery had finished packing up her magic supplies and opening the blinds, and she joined them at the bar. “What do you know about soap operas?” she asked, intrigued. “You’re Nephilim.”
Zee sat on a stool, laughing at their surprised faces. “It’s in our interests to fit in, so that means we’ve updated ourselves on anything and everything, mostly. Because I work here, I pick up all sorts, so it’s my job to educate the others. We lived a gazillion years ago. Human nature might not change, but everything else has! It’s me, Barak, and Ash who educate everyone on films, music, pop culture—you know, all of that stuff.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It turns out that Shadow loves disco.”
Avery snorted in a very unladylike manner. “Disco?”
“I know. It’s weird, and quite frankly, disturbing. We often hear the Bee Gees coming from her studio.” He rolled his eyes. “Completely my fault. We have to listen to it when she cooks.”
Alex looked at Avery wide-eyed and said, “The Bee Gees?”
“Each to their own. To be honest, ‘Tragedy’ is a classic,” she admitted.
“Anyway, boss. I have a question,” Zee said, pinning Alex down with an intense stare. “Are you guys responsible for the events at the cemetery last night?”
<
br /> “Why?” Alex asked, already turning pale.
“The mysterious lights on the hill made the news.”
Alex winced. “Yes, that was us. Any pictures?”
“Just some fuzzy images from a long way away of white lights flashing like lightning.”
“Shit.”
Avery groaned. Not something else! “At least there aren’t any close-ups. And we left the cemetery in a very tidy state.”
“Nope, you didn’t,” Zee said, shaking his head. “Kit Bonneville’s grave was ‘heinously disturbed,’” he said, using air quotes. “I think you’ll find the press will be here later for a direct quote from you, Alex.”
Alex’s joking manner disappeared completely. “Disturbed how?”
“Soil everywhere, headstone shattered. ‘An outrageous act of vandalism’ was what the council said.”
Alex sat on a bar stool and rested his head on the counter. “Fuck.”
“Want to tell me what happened?” Zee asked brightly, looking more amused than concerned.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Avery said, sitting on a stool and patting Alex on the shoulder.
Zee tried to subdue a grin and failed. “Sort of. We managed to fight a zombie army and didn’t get any attention. I feel a bit smug.”
“Well, Alex’s wayward grandfather’s spirit is causing issues. It turns out that he’s the one who spelled the play.”
“Mmm. Wayward Son, Wayward grandfather! I’m seeing a pattern!”
Alex lifted his head, feigning offence. “Not a wayward grandson!”
“So wayward!”
“I like wayward,” Avery reassured him.
Zee nudged her arm and pointed to one of the windows that looked out onto the street in front of the pub. “I spot Sarah Rutherford approaching. And it’s nearly opening time.”
“Bollocks,” Alex said.
“What are you going to say?” Zee asked.
“Well, obviously we don’t know anything,” Avery said to Alex. “You tell Sarah that the first you knew of it was the news report earlier.” She frowned. “You would have thought the council would have phoned you, rather than you find out from the news.”
