by H. Y. Hanna
There was nothing behind them. The path lay empty, a pale winding ribbon disappearing into the woods beyond. Above the dark treeline, the moon glowed serenely in the night sky. Everything looked calm and peaceful. It almost made a mockery of their panicked flight. For a moment, Caitlyn felt a flicker of doubt. Could she have imagined it?
“Is it… is it gone?” asked Evie in a quavering voice.
“I think so… I mean… There was something chasing us, wasn’t there? What if we just panicked over nothing?” said Caitlyn sheepishly.
“What do you mean? I saw it! You did too! Those red eyes—it was the Black Shuck!”
“Yes, I saw the red eyes but… it could have been any forest animal, like a… a deer or a wild boar… Maybe all the talk tonight just over-stimulated our imaginations and we saw what we wanted to see. After all, there are deer on Fitzroy land and—”
“No, I know what I saw!” cried Evie, tears of frustration coming to her eyes. “And you saw it too! Why won’t you believe it? It’s the Black Shuck! And—listen!” She broke off. “What’s that?”
“Aww, come on, Evie, not again—”
“No, listen!” Evie insisted, clutching Caitlyn’s arm.
Caitlyn paused, then felt herself stiffen as she heard the sound. A loud rustling. Somewhere in the undergrowth around them… although she couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. She swung around, peering frantically in all directions.
Then a weight like a hand—or a paw—landed on her shoulder. Caitlyn shrieked.
“Ouch!” came a crotchety voice. “Must you scream so loudly? I’m sure my eardrums have been shattered.”
Caitlyn whirled to find herself facing a stooped old man who was wincing and holding his hands over his ears. He was wearing a black suit which looked like it belonged to the last century, and his few strands of grey hair were combed carefully over his balding head.
“Viktor!” she cried in mingled relief and exasperation. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“I was not sneaking! Vampires never sneak. We glide through the darkness—”
“Did you see anything while you were gliding?” asked Caitlyn. “Like… like a pair of red eyes?”
“Eh? Red eyes? No… but I did see some marvellous red currants!” Viktor smacked his gummy lips. “Big, juicy berries… and no nasty thorns either, like those gooseberry bushes—though I must say, currants can be quite tart even when ripe. Gooseberries, on the other hand, have a wonderful flavour which changes when they turn soft…”
Caitlyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Once Viktor started on the subject of his favourite fruits, the conversation was a lost cause. Still, she couldn’t help smiling inwardly as she watched him, with his rheumy eyes bright and his gnarled old hands gesticulating excitedly. If someone had told her, when she came to England to search for her real family, that she would find a vampire uncle too, she would have laughed in their face. And yet now she couldn’t imagine life without Viktor: grumbling about his lost fangs, proudly telling everyone that he was a “fruitarian”, crashing into trees in his adorable fruit bat form…
“We were being chased by the Black Shuck!” Evie piped up.
“Eh?” Viktor broke off and peered at her. “The Black Shuck?”
Evie nodded eagerly. “The ghostly black hound—did you see it? It was right there, in the trees! It was coming after us!”
“Well, we didn’t actually see it chasing us,” Caitlyn reminded her. “We just saw red eyes—at least, we think we did, but maybe we were wrong—”
Evie opened her mouth to argue but they were interrupted by a screech from the forest behind them. Caitlyn shrank down, peering wildly around.
“What’s that?” asked Evie in a terrified whisper, huddling close to Caitlyn.
Viktor cocked his head. “That? Oh, that’s a barn owl.”
Caitlyn relaxed and straightened up again. “Come on… this is getting silly. We can’t stand here all night being scared by the night noises of the forest. Let’s get back to the Manor.” She turned to the elderly vampire. “Viktor, we got a bit lost and we weren’t sure we were walking in the right direction. Do you know if—”
“Never fear!” said Viktor, puffing his bony chest out. “With my vampire-sensory perception, I can always find my way, even in the darkest night, the thickest fog, the murkiest sea! I shall lead you right to the Manor’s front door. Follow me!” He hunched over, and before Caitlyn could blink, he had transformed into a fuzzy brown fruit bat. Squeaking importantly, the little creature opened its leathery wings and took to the air… then crashed into the tree next to them.
“Viktor! Are you all right?” Caitlyn cried, rushing over to the tree.
The fruit bat was lying on its back, slightly stunned but otherwise unhurt. Caitlyn bent to pick it up but it squeaked indignantly so she let it roll over by itself. A minute later, a scrawny old man sat at the base of the tree, rubbing his balding head and scowling at her.
“A slight miscalculation, that was all,” said Viktor huffily. “Perhaps I need to launch myself from a higher tree—”
“Er… never mind, Viktor,” said Caitlyn hastily. “I think we’ll just keep following the path. I’m sure it will lead to the Manor. You go back to your red currant bush.”
Fifteen minutes later, she breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped out of the woods and onto the manicured lawns surrounding the manor house. And she was even more relieved to find that Mosley was still up. The butler looked startled to find the two girls standing on the doorstep but, true to his training, asked no questions and escorted them to a guestroom with smooth aplomb—for all the world as if midnight visitors asking to stay the night were a perfectly normal daily occurrence.
As soon as he’d left them, Evie undressed and sank wearily into one of the twin beds. She was obviously exhausted by her eventful evening and was fast asleep within seconds. Caitlyn tried to follow suit but found herself too restless to lie still. Finally, she threw back the covers and padded barefoot to the window. Pulling the curtains back, she peered out into the night. This side of the Manor looked onto part of the formal gardens and, beyond them, she could see the dark silhouettes of the tree tops—part of the woods that they had just walked through—outlined by the silvery light of the moon.
Then she stiffened. A howl… faint and eerie… sounded in the distance. It was brief, lasting barely more than a few seconds, and she wondered if she had imagined it. She pressed her nose against the windowpane, her breath misting the cold glass as she strained her ears to hear it again.
Nothing.
Caitlyn stood for several more minutes at the window, listening and waiting, but heard nothing more. Finally, with a last troubled look at the darkened forest outside, she crept back to bed.
***
A bright light woke her the next morning, and when Caitlyn opened her eyes, she found that a shaft of sunlight had slid through the curtains and fallen across her face. She sat up, yawning, and for a moment couldn’t understand why she was lying on soft Egyptian cotton sheets, instead of her sagging mattress in the cramped attic bedroom above the village chocolate shop. Then, as she looked around the spacious room decorated in muted shades of cream and gold, with the elegant furniture and luxurious en suite, she realised where she was: Huntingdon Manor. The events of last night came rushing back to her.
Glancing over at the twin bed next to hers, she saw Evie buried beneath the covers, still fast asleep, her frizzy red hair spread in a tangled mess across the pillow. Caitlyn started to rouse her young cousin, then changed her mind. Instead, she dressed hurriedly, splashed some water on her face, then retraced her steps to the window.
But when she pulled back the curtains, the scene which met her eyes looked nothing like the night before. Warm August sunshine filtered through the trees and shone softly on the lawns surrounding the manor house. Just beneath her, she could see Old Palmer, the head gardener, studiously clipping a box hedge with handheld shears, whilst a little blac
k kitten played around his feet. Caitlyn chuckled as she saw the old gardener look furtively around, then bend down quickly and pat Nibs, tickling the kitten under his chin. She never thought she’d see the day when Old Palmer wasn’t shouting at Nibs or chasing him off the rose beds, but it looked like James was right: the little kitten had managed to win even the crotchety old gardener over.
Suddenly seized by an urge to go down and join them in the morning sunshine, Caitlyn tiptoed to the door and let herself quietly out of the room. As she stepped out, she saw another figure also coming out of a room farther down the hallway. Light from the hallway window fell on a mane of big blonde hair and highlighted a curvaceous figure dressed in a clingy lime-green sundress. It was Pomona. Caitlyn broke into a smile but before she could call out to her cousin, Pomona turned and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Where’s she going? Caitlyn hesitated, then followed. A few minutes later, they turned a familiar corner and Caitlyn watched her cousin approach a heavy wooden door decorated with iron studs. The Fitzroy Portrait Gallery. This time, however, Pomona didn’t hover uncertainly outside the door—instead, she bent down and fumbled with the lock. A minute later, she pushed the heavy door open and slipped inside.
Caitlyn followed and stepped into the room after her cousin. Dust motes danced in the sunshine slanting through the row of windows, and the air smelled musty. Everything looked exactly the way she had seen it last: the row of oil paintings—portraits of the Fitzroy ancestors—hanging along the long wall facing the windows, the pieces of furniture covered in white sheets, the heavy, oppressive atmosphere…
Pomona was moving between the pieces of covered furniture, lifting each sheet and peering underneath. She glanced up as she heard Caitlyn step into the room and grinned.
“Hey! I thought you and Evie went back to Tillyhenge last night.”
“We meant to… but my car died so we had to walk back here and stay the night.”
“Ooh… I’ll bet James was pleased,” said Pomona with a grin.
Caitlyn blushed slightly. “I didn’t see him, actually. Mosley let us in and showed us to our room.” Quickly, she changed the subject. “Anyway, what are you doing?”
“Checking this place out! What does it look like?”
“But how did you get in? I thought the door is always kept locked.”
“Yeah, I got the key off Mosley last night before I went to bed. I asked James at dinner and he said I was welcome to come up anytime.”
“But what do you want to see?” asked Caitlyn in confusion.
“Aww, come on, Caitlyn—I can’t believe you’re asking that! This room is just full of awesome stuff.” She gestured to the white sheets around them. “This is all from the old Lord Fitzroy’s occult collection. Aren’t you curious? Aren’t you, like, dying to see what kind of stuff he collected?”
“No, not really.” Caitlyn gave an uneasy glance around. She couldn’t explain it, but something about the room always bothered her. There was a darkness here, a sense of things that shouldn’t be disturbed.
Pomona, however, didn’t seem to feel it. She lifted up another white sheet and squealed at the display cabinet underneath. “Omigod, check this out, Caitlyn: elf-shot amulets! These look like real mediaeval ones too, not cheesy replicas from some New Age shop.”
“What’s elf-shot?”
“They’re tiny arrowheads that fell from the sky and they were used by elves and fairies, who use them to shoot at people and cattle. It causes this piercing pain in your body,” Pomona explained. “But if humans get hold of elf-shots, they can be used as a charm against witchcraft! Especially if you bind them with silver in an amulet—people wore them for protection in the Middle Ages…” She peered through the glass. “Wow, I can’t believe how many different kinds he’s got here. They’re really hard to find, you know—you can’t just go out and buy them. At least, not the genuine, magical ones.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, a lot of magical objects are like that. Like hag stones too. You can’t find them when you’re actually looking for them—but they turn up when they want to, when you least expect it.”
Caitlyn looked at her cousin. It always impressed her how much Pomona knew about the paranormal and the occult—although she really shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, Pomona had been obsessed with magic and witchcraft ever since her teens. In fact, now that she thought about it, she should have known that a room full of mythical occult items would have been irresistible to her cousin.
Pomona had her nose pressed against the glass top of the cabinet. “Ooh, that one is so pretty—you could, like, just wear it for jewellery, you know? It would look really cool set in a choker, don’t you think? I’ve got this Versace dress with a plunging neckline that would be just awesome with that…” She reached for the latch and opened the case.
“Pomie! What are you doing?”
“I’m just having a closer look—”
“No, no, don’t take it out!” Caitlyn slammed the cabinet door closed again and frowned at her cousin.
“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind—”
“It’s not that. I just don’t think you should be playing around with things in this room.”
“Aww, you’re no fun,” complained Pomona, flouncing off to the other side of the room. She paused in front of a small oil painting on the far wall. Reluctantly, Caitlyn joined her, eyeing the painting warily. She knew the picture well: it showed four men on horseback, galloping across a dark landscape.
“What a cool painting! The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” breathed Pomona, staring up at it avidly. “War on the Red Horse, Famine on the Black Horse, Plague on the White Horse… and Death on the Pale Horse.”
Again, Caitlyn was reluctantly impressed by her cousin’s instant recognition and knowledge of the painting’s subject. “I hate that painting,” she said with a shudder. “It creeps me out.” She cast another uneasy glance around the room. “In fact, this whole room creeps me out. Every time I come in here, I just want to get out as soon as I can. There’s… there’s something oppressive about this place.”
“I think you’re imagining it,” Pomona scoffed. “Besides, who cares if it’s a bit creepy when there are all these goodies to see? There must be ancient magical texts and treasures from folklore… and hey—!” She grabbed Caitlyn’s arm excitedly. “Have you ever thought? You might find your answers here!”
“Answers?” Caitlyn looked at her quizzically.
“Yeah, the answers you’ve been searching for, about your mother and that runestone you were found with as a baby… I mean, wasn’t that what brought you to England in the first place?”
Caitlyn’s hands went unconsciously to her throat and her fingers felt for the flat, oblong stone strung on a piece of ribbon, which she always wore around her neck. “I… uh… yes, it was…” she stammered.
Pomona gave her an incredulous look. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all about it?”
“No, of course I hadn’t forgotten!”
“Well, then, how come you’re not doing anything about it? How come you’re not asking the Widow Mags—”
“I have!” said Caitlyn. “I’ve tried several times. She just shuts me down. She’s even warned me that if I want to remain in Tillyhenge, she’ll teach me how to work magic but I wouldn’t be getting any answers from her.”
“What about Bertha?”
“She just keeps changing the subject whenever I try to bring it up! The only thing she would tell me was that my runestone isn’t like hers… You know she wears one around her neck as well, right? Well, when I first arrived in Tillyhenge, she told me that runestones are handed down in witch families, usually as a gift to a young witch when she is a little girl. And mine is similar to hers—in fact, the stone is the same—but the symbols are different.”
“Yeah, I know—the marks carved on her runestone are just standard witches’ runes, aren’t they?” said Pomona. “I’ve seen hers. But yo
ur marks are different—I noticed that ages ago. Yours don’t look like any witches’ runes that I’ve seen.”
“Yes, that’s what Bertha said too. She said she had no idea what my symbols meant… and I think she was telling the truth; she wasn’t just saying that to fob me off.” Caitlyn shrugged. “But that’s all she would say. When I tried to ask more, she just clammed up and refused to say anything else.”
“Okay, so… you’re gonna give up, just like that? Just ’cos they won’t talk to you? Man, if my mother was missing and there was all this mystery about my past—and I was back in the village where I was born—well, I’d be, like, out there asking questions, looking for connections, trying to find answers!”
“I have found some answers,” said Caitlyn defensively. “I mean, I know now that I’m descended from a long line of witches and… and I know the Widow Mags and Bertha and Evie are my family—”
“But you still don’t know what those symbols on your runestone means,” said Pomona, pointing to the necklace. “And you don’t know why your mother left you… or what happened to her…” Pomona shook her head. “Jeez, Caitlyn, I don’t know how you can be so complacent, just going along every day, not knowing the truth—”
“Because I don’t want to know!” Caitlyn burst out.
There was a moment’s silence, then Pomona’s face softened and she said gently, “You think she’s dead, don’t you?”
Caitlyn looked down, fiddling with a fingernail. “I… I don’t know. I mean…” She hesitated, then said at last in a small voice. “Yes.”
Pomona touched her arm. “Caitlyn—”
Caitlyn raised her head again. “It would explain why she hasn’t got in touch with me, why she hasn’t tried to find me, in all these years…” She gave Pomona a sad smile. “It’s… it’s hard to explain but… for the first time in my life, I have a feeling, at last, of knowing where I belong. I feel… happy, you know? Content. Like I’m finally where I’m meant to be, doing what I’m meant to be doing… I know there are still questions to be answered and I do want to find out the truth… but I suppose… well, I suppose I’ve just let myself be lulled into a false sense of contentment.” She sighed. “I know, in my heart of hearts, that my mother is probably dead… but I still don’t really want to hear anyone confirm it, do you know what I mean? And… and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready to face the ‘truth’ about my past, whatever that is. I have a feeling it’s something bad, something I’ll wish I never knew.” She gave a rueful smile. “You’re going to say I’m being a coward, aren’t you?”
