A wave of peace washed over me as I performed the ritual of building a fire. I listened to every crackle and pop, and marvelled at the light cast by the flames as it flickered across the dark trunks of the surrounding woodland. It pulsated with a magic and rhythm of its own. I closed my eyes and relished the heat that washed over me, while watching the kaleidoscope of yellow and orange that danced on my eyelids. Only when the fire had burned steadily for an hour did I open myself up to my magic. I called forth the energy of the Elder and Rowen and felt their power pulsate through the Luis and Ruis tattoos on my arms. Their magic vibrated through my body, causing goose bumps to form on my skin and my flesh to tingle. I directed their energy at the fire, all the while focusing on strengthening the bond between Lee Page’s hair and his memories. I sat there for a while, completely focused on my desired outcome for the spell I was yet to cast, and enjoying the sensation of my power as it merged with the forest around me and bound itself to the tree oil dripping into the small tin cans buried beneath the fire.
A short while later, after I’d gathered my last reed and stripped it with my pocket knife. While allowing the energy from my Ngetal tattoo to flow down my arm and into the reed, I sat back and waited for the last of the fire to die down. Thomas, noting my work was almost complete, brought me out a lovely cup of tea.
“Almost done?” he asked.
I nodded and took a sip of the warm liquid, glad of the revitalising blend of elderflower, ginger, and liquorice root. “Delicious,” I said. “Just what I needed.”
Thomas sat next to me on the stone seats. “Fire’s lovely on a cold night like this. We should light it more. Maybe have a barbeque.”
“That would be nice,” I agreed. “Although, we’ve been lucky with the weather tonight.” The wind building earlier had eased off, and in the still of the clearing, the fire had warmed the air to a bearable temperature.
“You found out anything on ‘social media’?” I asked, and Thomas laughed at the face I pulled when I said the words.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Don’t look at me like that. Whatever impression I have is the one you’ve given me.”
Thomas put his hands up in mock surrender. “I guess I can’t argue with that,” he said, knowing full well computers and I didn’t mix. There was something about the nature of a tree witch that shunned some modern technology.
“Too right you can’t.” I took another sip of my tea and felt my mouth come alive with the flavours. “So, what did you find out?”
“Not a lot. Lee’s profile lists him as being from Caerphilly and working in Cardiff, but doesn’t give the location. He hasn’t posted any updates or commented on any posts for a few months.”
“A dead end, then?”
“Not necessarily. It does show that he’s a big fan of MMA.”
“You think he’s more than a fan?”
“You saw the body. Full-contact combat would account for his wounds.”
I sighed and tried to shake the image of Lee Page being punched to death from my mind. “Is it common for fighters to die in the ring?” I asked.
Thomas shook his head. “There have been a number of fatalities in sanctioned contests, but on the whole, MMA is considered safer than boxing. It’s bloodier, and fighters are more likely to gain visible cuts and bruises, but the head trauma and broken bones associated with boxing are less likely to occur.”
I took Thomas’s word for it, although the thought of how anyone would willingly put themselves in any ring was beyond me. It was beyond Thomas, too. Sure, he was a trained fighter, but he didn’t actively seek out fights to use that training.
“Did you find anything else useful?”
“Not on the internet, but I did give Joe a call.”
My heart sank. Joe was a cewri, a giant, and in charge of the Council. He governed and oversaw all the supernaturals in South Wales. I couldn’t imagine him being pleased with our meddling in a human case. The less attention we drew from the human world the better. Sure, we’ve taken on non-supernatural cases in the past, but for the most part, these have been low key jobs: a lost piece of sentimental jewellery, a missing person’s case the police wouldn’t touch — probably because experience told them the guy was more likely to be cheating on his wife than murdered. More often than not, the humans who seek out a witch are looking for someone to cast a love spell or curse a foe, which is not our line of work in the slightest. The human cases we’ve worked on haven’t always gone strictly to plan, that’s for sure, but they have always been small time cases. A murder investigation was a different story.
“I know it was a risk calling Joe, but better his finding out we were working on a human murder from us than from some other source.”
“I know. You’re right. Did he try to forbid us from investigating?”
“Would it make a difference if he did?”
I pretended to consider the question for a moment before confirming it would not.
“Didn’t think so.” Thomas smirked. “And evidently, neither did Joe, as he didn’t even try to stop us.”
“He’s cool with the investigation?” My hopes lifted. If Joe was on our side, he might provide us with a little back-up if needed.
“I wouldn’t go that far, but he understands our reasons for wanting to look into the case, and he was able to confirm that Lee was just nineteen years old and lived in Caerphilly with his mum. He even provided his home address for us to check out.”
“Nineteen,” I said as a soreness welled in my throat. I took another sip of tea, but found my appetite for it had vanished. “He was just a kid.”
Thomas slid closer to me on the seat and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I rested my head on his chest and gazed at the last dying embers in the fire. “Do you think we’ll find his killer?” I asked.
“I think we have more chance than Detective Inspector Owens.”
We waited in silence, enjoying each other’s company until the fire had completely gone out. Then, using the torch for light, we shovelled aside the remains of the fire and dug up the tin cans. The sweet scent of the oil hit us as soon as we pulled the cans from the ground, and I was relieved to find we’d harvested enough for the spell.
“Where do you want these?” Thomas asked.
“I’ll do the spell inside,” I said. “It’s cold out here now the fire’s gone.”
It was almost midnight, but Thomas knew better than to suggest I wait until morning to work the spell. The samples were fresh and ready to go, there was no point in delaying. He carried the hot tins into the house and placed them on a trivet stand in the kitchen.
“Can you measure me out 50ml of each and combine them in a glass beaker while I do this, please?” I sat at the table and pulled the hair from the tupperware box. It was tiny. Lee Page hadn’t had long hair, but I was relieved that he had at least an inch for me to work with. I carefully created a small slit, like a needle hole, in the bottom of the reed to thread the hair through.
“There,” I said after my fourth attempt proved successful. “Now, all we have to do is perform the spell and hope it works.”
“You think it will?”
I shrugged. “The original spell asked for the reed to be soaked in the blood you need to connect with. I can’t soak the reed in a hair, but they are combined, and I don’t see why this wouldn’t work. Blood might give a stronger vision, but I might be able to get something from this.” A flash of the killer’s face would be useful. It wouldn’t show me how to find the killer, but at least I’d know who they were when I ran across them.
Thomas placed the beaker with the rowan and elder oil on the table before me. “Anything you need me to do?” he asked.
I smiled. “Just stay with me.”
“Always.”
I laughed at his cheesiness, pulled the oil towards me, and popped the reed inside. A simple oil diffuser. It didn’t look like much, but if someone tells you a diffuser can help you relax, elevate your mood, or help you breath
e easier, you should believe them. The right combination of oils can work wonders, even when they haven’t been infused with magic.
I rested my hands around the outside of the diffuser and called forth my magic: Ruis, Luis, and Ngetal — Transformation, Protection, and Harmony — blazed to life in the tattoos on my arms. Their energy coursed through my veins. I closed my eyes and focused on the beaker between my hands. The faint scent of snow and pine rose from the mixture and soothed my soul. I reached for a connection with Lee Page, picturing him in my mind and calling his thoughts to me. The picture wavered, swirled in a maelstrom of chaos, shrouded in mist. Then the form congealed into Lee’s face again. At first, the image was blurred through the prism of my senses, but then it changed. This face was unlike the battered and bruised one I had pictured. It was alive, fresh, and ready to face the world. Its eyes brimmed with curiosity. For a second, even though I knew Lee wasn’t really with me — he was nothing more than a manifestation of his own memories of himself — I shuddered under his gaze.
“Show me the moments before you died,” I demanded my vision.
My head swam and I had the sensation of flying across time and space. I clasped the beaker tighter and sent a rush of rowan energy through my body to guard my mind on its journey. I landed in a world of chaos. People surrounded me, pushing and shoving. Their faces a blur of motion; their bodies a swirl of colour. I span and the crowds closed in. Voices laughed and jeered, and I felt a pressure like never before. I was caught in an avalanche, and with each tense breath, I felt as though I might throw up or pass-out. Lights shone brightly above me, hurting my eyes. I moved as if unseen hands pulled me in all directions, dragging me this way and that.
Then I was free.
The crowd was still there — their voices muffled — but I was apart from them. I was amongst them, yet, above them. Separate.
A blur of movement drew my attention overhead, but before I had time to react, something swung down at me from above and hit me like a brick. My face exploded in agony. Blow followed blow, so fast I couldn’t tell where they were coming from. My eyes swivelled towards the back of my head and I fell to the ground. Darkness enveloped me.
The sensations faded, and, once again, I felt as though I were swimming through air. Lee Page’s face materialised in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to do. I choked back the sob building in my throat and took a deep breath. “Do you know who did this to you?” I asked after I’d regained my composure.
As soon as I asked the question, I felt a wave of anger wash over me. Lee’s face grew to astronomical proportions. He screeched my name over and over.
“Tell me who killed you?” I shouted above the noise.
Everything became still, as though all the sound was sucked from my head. Lee’s face began to fade, and blackness enveloped me.
Then a voice broke through, angry and pained — little more than a whisper. “You did,” it said.
I couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. I hadn’t killed him. I reached out, trying to pull his image back to me, but my connection to him was gone.
When I opened my eyes once more to my kitchen, I knew instantly something was off. Thomas was gone and so were the new unit’s we’d had fitted. Instead, I sat in the kitchen of my youth, complete with orange damask curtains.
Tears streamed down my face when a figure moved from the sink and sat opposite me at the table.
“Nana,” I said.
“Now, now, Summer,” she said in a voice still familiar after all these years. “There’s no need for tears.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too, dear, but that can’t be helped. You’re home now, and as long as you’re here, I can always be with you.”
I swallowed back my tears. “Did Mam know you were here?” I asked.
Nana sighed. “Your mam is in a bad place, Summer. She has been for a long time, and soon she’ll need your help, just as you’ll need hers.”
“The curse?” I asked. “Rhoslyn said you were killed by a family curse.”
“Well, Rhoslyn shouldn’t have worried you with that. Curses can be broken. You remember that and tell your mam, too. You can fight.”
“But who do I have to fight?”
Nana shook her head. “That I can’t tell you. Just remember, you’re stronger than we ever were. Don’t trust what you see with your eyes. You’ll need to be smarter than that.”
Nana leaned across the table and kissed my cheek. “I’m always here for you,” she said, and disappeared.
I reached to touch my face where the brush of her touch still lingered and felt the wetness of my tears before opening my eyes to the real world.
“You okay?” Thomas asked. “Wiping the tears from my cheeks.”
I held his hand and clasped it tight to my chest. “I’m fine,” I said. “I saw Nana.”
Thomas stood and pulled me into his arms. “For real?” he asked.
“For real. She... she said curses can be broken and that Mam would need my help.”
“Then we’ll help her. We can leave the Lee Page case to the police.”
I pulled away. “Hell, I almost forgot. I didn’t get much, but he was definitely in a fight. I mean, an organised fight of some sort. I had the sensation of being amongst the crowd, but also apart from them. I think he was in a ring fighting when he died.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“No, everything was a blur.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“We keep looking. Speak to his mum tomorrow. Whatever this thing is with Mam can wait. When it comes, we’ll deal with it. I didn’t get a sense of urgency from Nana.”
“Okay.” Thomas kissed me on the forehead. “But right now, I think we need to get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
“That it has,” I agreed.
Chapter Five
When I pulled up outside Mrs Page’s house the next morning, dread built in my chest. What do you say to a woman who has just lost her son? Thomas and I had decided it best for me to visit her alone. We didn’t want Mrs Page to feel as though we were ganging up on her in any way. But as I sat in the car outside the suburban semi-detached and looked at the curtains closed in mourning, I wished for Thomas’s comforting presence. He would have been much better at talking to Mrs Page than I could ever hope to be.
I sat in the car, flipping through radio channels and watching the house for a little while, gathering the courage to knock. When I finally decided the wait was worse the deed, I walked up to the house and rang the doorbell.
The woman who peered at me when she opened the door a crack had a sad and tired face, but there was a kindness underneath the sorrow. She couldn’t have been more than forty, so she’d had Lee at a young age.
“Mrs Page?” I asked, although I knew it had to be her. She tried to smile, but her lips wavered. “I’m sorry to trouble you at such a terrible time,” I continued. “My name is Summer Daniels. My partner and I found your son in the forest yesterday. May I come in and talk?”
Mrs Page looked lost for an answer, but after a moment, she nodded her head and pulled the door open.
I followed her through the house. The hall was decorated with Christmas garlands hanging from the ceiling and along the staircase. I spotted a tree. Its multi-coloured lights blinking as we passed the living room and entered the kitchen, where Mrs Page busied herself with the kettle. A photograph of Lee was sitting on the kitchen table. The picture showed him shirtless and perched on the edge of a boat. The sky was antique blue with water to match. It looked fairly recent, as Lee hadn’t change much, but it had to be from over a year ago, as in the background stood the now collapsed Azure Window on the island of Gozo.
“He was a handsome lad,” Mrs Page said. “Kind, too. Would have had a pretty girl like you eating out of his hands.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
“Tea or coffee,” she asked as soon as the ket
tle clicked.
“Tea, please.”
Mrs Page plopped two teabags into a teapot, added the water, and covered it in a cosy before coming to sit at the table and picking up the photo. “He was a handsome lad, not that you’d know it from his face yesterday. You saw him, I suppose?”
I nodded and sat down opposite her. “If there’s anything I can do—”
“It’s nice that you came,” she said, reaching across and squeezing my hand. “It was just the two of us. His father passed when he was just a little boy. He was in the army. You know how it goes sometimes. I do have other relatives, though. Lee’s uncle, my brother, he only lives over in the other side of town, but I haven’t had the heart to call him yet.”
“Would you like me to call him?” I asked, even though I knew it was a stupid suggestion.
“No. That’s very kind of you, but it’s something I have to do myself.”
“Of course.” I took a deep breath. Despite her obvious grief, Mrs Page had managed to get dressed, fix her hair, and even put on a small amount of lipstick. I think that’s more than I would manage under the circumstances.
“I wanted you to know that my partner and I intend to do everything we can to find out who killed Lee. I know it sounds strange, but we actually work as private investigators, and as we found the body, well, we feel as though we have an obligation to Lee to look into the case.”
Mrs Page instantly pulled away and walked to the kitchen counter. “I don’t have any money,” she said coldly. “All that I have will be used for the funeral.”
Her hands were shaking as she lifted the teapot and tried to pour the tea. I instantly stood and walked over to her, wishing once again for Thomas’s presence. This wasn’t going the way I planned at all.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said, while taking the pot from her hands before she burnt herself. “I didn’t mean to cause you any more distress. I’m not looking for any money. Honestly. I just feel that as I can do something, then I should.”
After pouring us both a cup of tea, I guided Mrs Page back to the table. She still looked at me warily, and although it was clear her fears were beginning to wane, a tension still hung in the air.
The Case of the Fairy Lord Page 3
