by Fiona Grace
Lacey quickly snapped out of her shock and switched on her professional mode.
“Gina, Finn,” she said, shoving the takeout cups into the hands of her stupefied employees. “Please go and finish any last-minute preparations for the auction. I need to attend to this customer.”
Her two employees took their drinks and scurried away, reminding Lacey of little children being shooed away from adult business.
She swallowed hard and approached the formidable man.
“Good morning,” she said to his back. “May I help you?”
The man swirled on the spot. As their eyes met, Lacey felt the same uneasy feeling she’d had back at the bonfire. Only now, without a wall of fire to separate them, Lacey felt even more uncomfortable. And without the heat mirage or the orange glow, Lacey could now see his irises were so dark they were almost entirely black. His eyes looked like two black holes…
“You certainly can,” the man said in a strong Northern accent. “But first let me introduce myself. My name is Eldritch Von Raven.”
He held out a pale hand with long bony fingers.
“Eldritch…?” Lacey repeated.
“Von Raven. That’s right.”
“L—Lacey,” she stammered in reply, as she took his hand and shook it.
“Yes, I know who you are,” Eldritch said loftily. “You’re the auctioneer. I wanted to speak to you at the party, but never got the chance.”
So that’s why he’d been staring at her through the flames? Because he knew she was an auctioneer and wanted to speak to her? He really ought to work on his facial expressions; Lacey could’ve been spared a fitful night tossing and turning in bed if only she’d known he had had no sinister intentions!
“What did you want to speak to me about?” she asked.
“I wanted to speak to you about one of the items due to be auctioned here today. I saw the picture on your website and wanted to get a better look.”
“The book with runes on the front?” Lacey asked.
An arrogant smirk twitched on Eldritch’s lips. “Yes,” he drawled. “The book.”
Lacey didn’t quite know what to make of that.
“Of course you may,” she said politely. “But please be gentle. It’s very old.”
With a disconcerted swirl in her stomach, she headed for the auction room to fetch it. As she entered through the arch, Gina and Finnbar looked over at her expectantly, like she was about to announce that the man in their store was the leader of a vampire race or something. She just shook her head at them, took the book from its stand, and headed out again.
She approached Eldritch. At the sight of the book in her hands, Eldritch’s black eyes sparked. He smiled a pleased, but sinister smile.
“Here you go,” Lacey said, handing it over.
Eldritch very carefully opened the leather-bound cover and sniffed deeply. “Delightful.”
Then he snapped the cover shut, making Lacey jump.
“You have no idea what you have here, do you?” he fired at her.
Lacey shook her head. Eldritch had a very condescending tone, and an overbearing presence that made her throat feel dry.
“It is a very special grimoire,” he explained. “Written in France in the fourteenth century and thought lost to time.”
“Oh,” Lacey said, surprised. “I thought it might be written in Latin.”
Eldritch chuckled at her ignorance. “Old French, actually. Or the langue d’oïl.”
“And you said it’s a grimoire?” she asked. “What is that?”
“It’s what you lay people may know as a spell book,” came Eldritch’s haughty reply.
“A spell book? Like with curses and hexes in?” Lacey asked with a shudder.
No wonder Chester had shown such an immediate aversion to it. And while Lacey herself didn’t believe in such things, she could tell by Eldritch’s expression he was being deadly serious. He genuinely thought this was a spell book.
“This is the reason so many of my fellow occultists have come to Wilfordshire,” Eldritch continued. “Our circles are small and news travels quickly. When the image appeared on your website, it sent quite a ripple through our community.”
Lacey was surprised. She’d had no idea. Perhaps her fun little Halloween auction was going to be more lucrative than she’d realized.
“I would like to make a proposition,” Eldritch announced. “I will buy the book from you now, before it goes to auction.”
Lacey frowned. “I can’t do that. It would be unethical. Especially if all these people traveled to town for it like you said.”
“I will give you twenty thousand pounds,” he stated. “Right here.”
Lacey’s mouth dropped open. “H—how much?”
When she’d been researching the value of old books, she’d been disappointed to see that most of them, despite surviving hundreds of years, sold in the region of a few hundred to one thousand pounds. Only rare ones fetched higher figures. For Eldritch to be offering so much, the grimoire must be very rare indeed.
“Twenty thousand,” the gothic man repeated. “And I’ll take it off your hands right now.”
But before she had a chance to utter a word, she heard a commotion coming from the auction room—the feverish barking of Boudicca and Chester, the screech of a cat, a loud bang, and yelling.
“Excuse me,” she said to Eldritch, hurrying away to see what was causing the commotion.
As she passed beneath the arch, she gasped in shock as a black cat unexpectedly came streaking past her legs, fast enough to almost trip her. In hot pursuit were the two English Shepherds, and before Lacey even had the chance to catch her breath from the first shock, they barged past her in a blur, almost knocking her over for the second time.
Lacey grabbed the wall to steady herself.
“Help!” came Finnbar’s feeble voice.
Lacey looked up. There, on the floor, sprawled beneath the Victorian skeleton, was Finnbar. He was floundering helplessly, his arms and legs going like a dung beetle stuck on its back.
“Help me!” he pleaded. “Help me!”
Lacey sprang into action. She hurried to him and attempted to lever the heavy skeleton off. It had trapped him right between its rib cages, like the bars of a prison. The poor boy was already an anxious bag of nerves. This would surely traumatize him!
From the other room, Lacey heard the commotion of the dogs chasing the stray cat around the store, and prayed her precious pottery would survive the calamity.
“Gina!” Lacey called toward the open French doors. “Help me!”
She heard footsteps come running. But it wasn’t Gina’s feet that appeared beside her. Instead, she saw the black shiny boots of Eldritch Von Raven.
“About my offer?” the man said in his distinctive Northern accent.
Lacey glanced up at him, stunned. A boy was trapped beneath a skeleton and all he cared about was a book? He wasn’t even trying to help!
“I’m a bit busy right now,” she muttered.
Finally, she heaved the skeleton up and freed Finnbar. Her shocked employee sat up, pressing a hand to his chest. He was panting heavily.
Suddenly, the black cat came streaking back through the auction room and out the back door. The dogs went thundering after it, in a blur of barks and fur.
The whole thing had lasted barely a minute, and yet the destruction was everywhere.
“Well?” Eldritch pressed. He clearly had zero concern about anything but himself and his grimoire. His callous attitude helped Lacey make up her mind.
“I’m not selling the book to you,” Lacey told him. “You’ll have to bid on it during the auction like everyone else.”
Eldritch narrowed his eyes. “Fine. But just so you know, the grimoire is cursed. It will bring harm to anyone who keeps it for too long or whose intentions for it are impure.” He looked pointedly at Finnbar, as if he was the first victim to befall the curse.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Lacey said between her te
eth.
Eldritch turned and clomped away.
Just then, Gina walked in through the back doors.
“You’ll never guess what I just saw,” she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “It was that black cat again!”
From their positions on the floor, Lacey and Finnbar glowered at her.
Looking perplexed, Gina took a moment to survey the strange sight.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
“The skeleton attacked me,” Finnbar said theatrically.
“That’s a bit dramatic,” Lacey said as she pushed herself to standing. “The dogs must’ve knocked it while they were chasing the cat.”
She reached down for Finnbar’s arm to help him up. But as he pushed up with his hand, he winced, pulling his hand in to cradle it.
“Ow,” he yelped. “My wrist.”
“Maybe I should drive you to the hospital?” Lacey suggested.
Finnbar shook his head. “You have the auction to do. I’ll be fine.”
He tried to push himself up again but this time yelped with pain.
“You’re not fine,” Lacey told him. “Come on. Let’s go to the hospital.”
“I can get a bus,” he said.
“But what if it’s broken?” Lacey insisted. “I can’t let you get a bus with a broken wrist. Your well-being comes first. I’ll postpone the auction.”
“No,” Finnbar said, suddenly firm and serious.
Lacey frowned, confused. Why was he being so difficult?
“You don’t have a phobia of doctors, do you?” she asked. Knowing how nervy Finnbar could be, this seemed like the most likely explanation.
“It’s not that,” he said, looking up at her with his big hazel eyes. “You can’t postpone the auction. You need to sell the book before anything else bad happens.”
Gina bustled forward. “What is he talking about?”
“The book,” Finnbar blurted. “It’s a spell book. A grimoire. And it’s cursed!”
“Cursed?” Gina squealed. She immediately started flapping her hands in panic.
Lacey let out a long sigh. Now that Gina had gotten a whiff of the curse, she’d never hear the end of it. Lacey herself, of course, did not believe the so-called cursed grimoire had anything to do with Finnbar’s injury, although the reappearance of the black cat was a somewhat disconcerting coincidence.
“Guys, please calm down,” she said. “I promise you the grimoire isn’t cursed.”
“You don’t know that!” Gina exclaimed.
“Yes, it is!” Finnbar wailed. “And it attacked me!”
He cradled his wrist and looked at the grimoire with a terrified expression.
“The sooner we’re clear of that thing, the better,” he said, his voice shaking. “The auction must go on.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After what Lacey had been told by Eldritch Von Raven, she was anticipating an odd bunch of people to attend her auction. But seeing them all come filing through the door en masse was still quite the sight to behold.
Broadly speaking, they were dressed gothically, but each attendee had their own unique style. Some were in black leather, with piercings and tattoos and big chunky boots. Others were in elegant black velvet dresses or skater punk attire. Still others seemed to be inspired by the past, and were dressed in shawls and veils. The thing they all had in common, though, was their interest in the grimoire.
Lacey watched them enter, gaze at the items on display, then home in on the rune-covered grimoire. It was causing quite a buzz. She decided that turning down Eldritch Von Raven’s offer earlier had been a shrewd move; there were plenty of interested people to join in a bidding war.
Just then, Lacey spotted a familiar face entering the auction room. It was Alaric Moon, the cape-wearing, tantrum-throwing, coffee-spitting man from the Coffee Nook that morning. Ivan had hypothesized he’d be coming to her auction. Now, Lacey realized tensely, that prediction had come true.
Alaric glanced around the room. His gaze found Lacey at the podium and his expression registered recognition, followed swiftly by disgust.
Lacey squirmed uncomfortably under his mean glower. She could only hope he’d be on better behavior at the auction than he’d been in the coffee shop. She really wasn’t in the mood to be publicly berated by an angry man in a cape.
Just then, Lacey was distracted from her ruminations by a very pretty young goth girl approaching her.
“Excuse me,” the girl said through purple-painted lips, timidly tucking a purple streak behind her heavily pierced ear to join the rest of her choppy bobbed hair. “Are you the one running the ghost tour?”
Lacey remembered the posters displayed at the Lodge, the ones beside her own auction ads. The girl must’ve gotten confused.
“Oh, no, that’s not me,” Lacey said. “I just run the auction.”
The girl looked embarrassed. “I don’t suppose you know when the tour is, do you?”
“I don’t,” Lacey replied. “But my colleague might.”
She looked around for Gina. Since she was a local and had been the one to actually hang the posters at the Lodge, she was more likely to know the particulars of the event.
She spotted her happily flirting away with a man who looked like he was from the Hells Angels. When their eyes met, Lacey beckoned her over.
“Yes?” Gina asked, as she joined them. Her cheeks were flushed pink from chatting with the man.
Lacey gestured to the girl. “This is…”
“Madeleine,” the girl offered.
“Madeleine,” Lacey continued, turning back to Gina. “She was asking about the ghost tour.”
“I saw the poster at the Halloween party,” Madeleine offered, her blush visible through her pale foundation. “I thought it was something to do with this.”
“The ghost tour is tonight,” Gina told her. “It’s jolly good fun, and very spooky!” She looked at Lacey. “You remember the medieval ruins, don’t you?”
Lacey’s stomach dropped to her toes. Remember? How could she forget? The medieval ruins on the island had been the site of one of the most disturbing experiences of her life, when her attempts to solve the murder of an American tourist had almost gotten her murdered herself—by a woman she’d once thought of as a friend, no less. She hadn’t set foot on the island ever since.
“I remember,” she confirmed through clenched teeth.
“Well, that’s where the tour takes place,” Gina continued, in the same bright tone, oblivious to Lacey’s discomfort. “There’s a meeting spot on the beach where everyone congregates, then a short boat ride across to the island, then a historic tour of the ruins by lantern light. It’s a highlight of the Wilfordshire calendar.”
“It sounds amazing,” Madeleine gushed.
“It really is great fun,” Gina replied. She grinned mischievously at Lacey. “We should go once we’ve finished up here.”
Lacey shuddered at the thought of returning to the island. She was about to decline, when one of Naomi’s little pearls of wisdom popped into her head. Back when her sister was in her spiritual yoga phase, she’d said, If you have bad memories of a place, go back and attach new, better memories to it. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to do that. To shed herself of the fear that had lingered in her ever since that horrible night.
“Okay,” Lacey said, boldly. “Let’s do it. Tom’s been wanting to go back there for ages. And Chester would love to as well. Every time I walk him on the beach and the sandbar is out, he tries to run across.”
She glanced over at her dog standing guard by the door. At the very least she could fight her fear for him.
Just then, she spotted the clock above the door. It was time to start the auction. A jolt of excitement and nervous anticipation went through her. She turned back to the others.
“I’d better go get into position,” she said.
“See you tonight,” the shy Madeleine said, motioning to leave.
“Aren’t you sticking around
for the auction?” Gina asked her.
Madeleine’s timid gaze fell to the floor. “I don’t know if I can afford any of the things you’re selling. Everything looks expensive.”
“Well, you never know,” Gina told her. “That’s the joy of an auction. You might just pick up a bargain. And even if you don’t, there’s plenty of theatrics to enjoy.” She lowered her voice and pointed at the skeleton on the bronze pole. “I heard two of Mr. Skeleton’s suitors are here. There’s bound to be fireworks.”
A coy smile spread across Madeleine’s lips. She looked genuinely touched by Gina’s attempts to get her to stay.
“All right then,” she said in her quiet voice. “I’ll stay.”
“That’s the spirit,” Gina said with a big, friendly grin.
Madeleine took a spare seat in the front row, and Gina and Lacey headed over to Finnbar. Since his unfortunate mishap with “Mr. Skeleton,” he’d iced his wrist and concluded it wasn’t broken, though he remained utterly convinced he’d been the victim of the grimoire’s curse. Lacey was glad to know she’d soon be parting ways with the silly rune-covered book, even if just for her superstitious employees’ sakes.
Lacey took her position behind the podium and a hush fell over the audience.
And what a peculiar audience it was, she thought. She looked out over the sea of black hair, peppered with the grays and browns of her usual local antiques enthusiasts. The locals were by far the minority, and they all seemed rather intimidated by the eccentrically dressed goth folk surrounding them.
Lacey could not blame them. This wasn’t quite what she’d envisioned either when she’d first decided to hold a Halloween-inspired auction.
“Good morning, ladies and gentle fiends,” she announced. “And welcome to this special, spooky auction. We have some very interesting oddities for you today, so let’s get straight into it. We will begin with this delightful stuffed squirrel dressed in a top hat and tails.”
Finnbar brought the wood and oval globe case over from the crushed velvet display area, showing it off to the audience. Inside was the taxidermied red English squirrel, dressed up like the quintessential British gentleman, complete with walking cane.
