by Fiona Grace
“I don’t,” Lacey told her. “But Madeleine clearly does.” She struck on another thought. Finnbar said the sacrifice was supposed to take place on La Toussaint, the French equivalent of the day of the dead. Wasn’t that tonight? Right now?
“Gina,” she said, with a gasp. “It’s La Toussaint, isn’t it? That’s the night in the legend. That’s why Madeleine was crying. She’s going to kill again, in order to perform the ritual to imbue herself with Violet Jourdemayne’s powers! Are you sure you have no idea where she is?”
Gina’s eyes dropped. “The ruins…” she said, quietly. “She said she wanted to look out over the ocean one last time.” Her voice cracked. “Oh, Lacey. You don’t think… you don’t think she’s going to hurt herself, do you?” Behind her spectacles, her eyes filled with tears.
“Not if I get to her first,” Lacey replied. She stepped back off the step, filled with determination. “Call the station. Tell them I was wrong about Eldritch. I’m going to find Madeleine.”
She turned, ready to bolt.
“Take this!” Gina cried from behind her. She shoved her famous bright yellow fisherman’s jacket out the door.
Lacey grabbed it and slipped it over her shoulders. Then she hurried toward the cliff path, leaving her fretting friend behind her to contemplate all she’d just learned.
*
The cliff path was slippery from the rain. Lacey slid on the chalky pebbles as she hurried down toward the beach. Chester, on the other hand, descended with the grace of an ibex. He was clearly taking this new development very seriously, as he’d stuck close by Lacey ever since she’d bolted out her back door, leaving her fiancé snoring upstairs.
Chester reached the beach first, hopping down onto the sand and turning to bark at her, as if encouraging her to hurry up. Lacey jumped the final few feet to the beach and planted her feet in the sand. Without pausing, she began to run in the direction of the island.
It felt eerily desolate on the beach. There was no one else around, and the only light came from the almost full white moon above. Dotted around the beach were the remains of the bonfires the goth groups had congregated around on their first night in Wilfordshire. Lacey had thought back then that it looked as if they were performing rituals. Now, with all she’d just learned, she was quite confident they had been.
Across the still, black ocean emerged the silhouette of the medieval ruins. The sandbar that connected the mainland to the island was out, a sliver of pale sand in an otherwise black sea.
“We’re in luck, Chester,” she told her pooch.
She wasn’t exactly a strong rower since Tom usually took the rowing duties upon himself, so she was relieved to know she wouldn’t have to brave the ocean and could merely run across. But what might be waiting for her on the other side was the real worry…
She pulled Gina’s rain jacket tight against the elements, and bolted across the long sand-bridge for the island. Chester bounded along at her heels, his fur becoming wet from ocean spray that clung in tendrils from his belly.
When Lacey reached the island, she ran straight for the ruins. She’d found them spooky enough before with Tom and Gina for company, but they were even scarier now she was alone. Wind howled through the crumbling stone corridors like the wailing song of ghosts.
Lacey tried to ignore her terror, reminding herself the real danger here was corporeal, and came in the form of a very confused young woman who thought she must perform dangerous, murderous, and potentially suicidal rituals to become a witch.
She raced through the twisting labyrinthine corridors and half crumbled rooms, searching the shadows for any sign of the young woman. Chester boldly sniffed the dark crevices, in case she was hiding, but neither human nor dog found a thing.
Am I too late? Lacey thought fearfully. Has Madeleine already performed her spell?
Just then, she spotted something glowing above her. She squinted through the gloom and realized, right at the top of the tower, there was a light. The smell of smoke lingered in the air.
“It’s a bonfire…” Lacey murmured.
She couldn’t help the awful imagery that popped into her head, of the Violet Jourdemayne effigy burning in the flames at the Lodge, and the real woman who’d met a truly grisly end. An uneasiness churned in her stomach.
She headed for the spiral steps and bounded up them, one hand against the cold stone walls to steady herself from the slippery stone.
When she reached the top, icy cold wind ripped through her hair and clothes, so powerful it threatened to push her right off the top of the tower. She gasped against it, feeling like she’d just been plunged headfirst into the ocean.
Exhausted and panting, Lacey swiped her hair from her eyes and surveyed the scene. At the far side of the tower, a small bonfire burned, though it appeared to be struggling to stay alight as it was battered by the gale force wind. Standing beside it, silhouetted by the light, was a slim, diminutive female figure. Madeleine.
“Madeleine!” Lacey cried over the wind. “Stop!”
The girl swirled on the spot with surprise. She was holding the grimoire open in her hands.
There was no doubt about it in Lacey’s mind now. Madeleine was the thief of the grimoire and the killer of Alaric Moon.
“Lacey?” Madeleine cried with astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
“I figured it out,” Lacey yelled in return. “I know what you did. I know why you did it. It’s over. You need to stop.”
Madeleine faltered. She stared at Lacey, her eyes as wide as the moon above her. She looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, like a frightened, timid young girl who’d gotten in way over her head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, lying poorly.
The wind died down, and Lacey took a cautious step closer.
“Alaric,” she said. “You stole the grimoire from him.”
“No,” Madeleine said firmly. “I took back what was mine. He had no right to stake a claim to it. The book was stolen from my ancestors, and profited from by the very people who persecuted them.”
The passion and pain in her voice was evident. Lacey couldn’t help but feel for this young woman and the bizarre, twisted logic that had led her to this place.
“I understand,” she said, trying her best to defuse the situation. “If I’d known, I would’ve given the book to you. You didn’t have to kill for it.”
“I didn’t kill for it!” she cried, desperately. “I liked Alaric. I didn’t want him to die.” She lowered her gaze to the grimoire in her hands. “But they did.” Her voice lowered. “She did.”
Lacey frowned with confusion. “Do you mean… Violet?”
“Yes,” Madeleine said. “She was acting through me. She was the one who pushed Alaric off the tower. She was channeling me, using me as a proxy. She set this whole thing in motion. I had no choice but to follow the signs.”
Lacey had heard some crazy things during this Halloween season, but this was by far the creepiest. Madeleine truly did believe she was the thirteenth daughter from the legend, and that she was being pushed along some kind of path by her magical ancestors.
“I had to follow the signs,” she said again, sounding decidedly mad. “And it all came together perfectly, didn’t it, Lacey? Not even a skeptic like you could deny that.”
She was right. There were some very strange coincidences at play, Lacey had to admit. The grimoire had fallen into her possession by complete accident—had it not, it would have remained at the Ducking Stool in Ippledean unnoticed. Then she’d chosen to use the image of the grimoire on her website when she could’ve picked the skeleton or the taxidermy squirrel in his dinner jacket to advertise her auction. The image was picked up immediately by Madeleine’s online circle of Violet Jourdemayne fanatics. And then there was Alaric, the charlatan who pretended to believe in witchcraft for business purposes, who’d ended up winning the coveted spell book. And the final piece of the puzzle? The ghost tour being unexpectedly
cancelled, leaving Madeleine with a sudden open opportunity to strike.
“I didn’t want to be a killer,” came Madeleine meek voice, breaking through Lacey’s thoughts. “One little push is all it took. My ancestors arranged everything for me. It all fell into place. I followed the charlatan here after he bought the grimoire. We were alone up here. I had no choice.” Her voice cracked. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Lacey couldn’t help but feel compassion for her. She was confused. So, so confused.
The wind began to rise again.
“You have no idea how hard it is to be alone,” Madeleine called against it. “To have no one believe you. To distance themselves from you just because you’re a witch. I’ve had to live my whole life knowing my ancestors were brutally murdered just because of who they were. Because of something that I am, too. I’ve spent my whole life hiding. In the shadows. The only people I could even talk to were other Violet Jourdemayne fans online. I didn’t plan any of it. You believe that, don’t you? I had no choice. There are powers greater than myself at play.”
“Madeleine,” Lacey said, pleadingly. “You don’t have to just go along with this. You can stop now.”
She shook her head of purple hair. “I can’t. It’s too late. The wheels are in motion. I’m just a pawn. I have to finish the ritual and cross over to the other realm.”
“Please,” Lacey begged. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, please don’t do it.”
Tears spilled from Madeleine’s eyes, making the reflection of the bonfire in them dance and waver.
“You know what I’m going to do,” she said, sounding suddenly resigned. Defeated. “You’ve already worked it out.” She looked down at the grimoire in her hands. “Once I finish the incantation, there’s just one thing left to do.” She turned her face to the bonfire and stared dejectedly into the fire. “Step into the flames.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lacey stared, aghast, as Madeleine turned her eyes down to the grimoire and began reading from it in a low murmuring voice. She had to do something. Not because she believed in any of it, but because Madeleine did, and she was moments away from leaping into the flames of her bonfire!
Lacey racked her brains for a plan, for anything that might prevent Madeleine from carrying out her gruesome act. She suddenly remembered something Finnbar had shown her during his research—the front page of the Wilfordshire Weekly paper. In it, they’d claimed the book was a fake, and had the quote from Jeff Peters the pawnbroker to back it up. Maybe, just maybe, if Lacey was able to plant a seed of doubt over the book’s authenticity in Madeleine’s mind, she’d be able to buy some time. Surely not even Madeleine would throw herself into the fire if she suspected the grimoire might be fake.
“Madeleine, stop!” Lacey cried. “The incantation you’re reading isn’t real. It’s gobbledygook. The grimoire is a fake.”
Madeleine faltered but only momentarily. She looked slightly rattled, but continued on, her voice stronger now.
“It’s fake!” Lacey cried again, the wind trying to extinguish her words.
“You’re lying!” Madeleine shouted, angry now by Lacey’s interruption. “You’re trying to stop me from crossing over to the next realm.”
“There is no next realm,” Lacey insisted. “And even if there was, that book isn’t the way to get there. It isn’t real. I can prove it, if you’ll let me.”
Madeleine’s eyes twitched up from the grimoire. She stopped reading the incantation. “How?”
“It’s in the local papers,” Lacey said, rummaging in her pocket with her freezing cold hands that seemed unable to grip. She pulled out her cell and held it toward Madeleine. “Check for yourself. It’s on the Wilfordshire Weekly website. Here!”
Madeleine looked skeptical, but she nodded. Lacey chucked her phone the small distance between them and Madeleine caught it.
Lacey watched as the girl’s eyes darted from left to right, reading the scathing article in the Wilfordshire Weekly about Lacey being a phony. The longer she read, the more pained expression her expression became.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped up with anguish. Fury burned behind them. “You bought the book from a pawn shop? For twenty pounds? And sold it on for seventy thousand?”
Lacey nodded. “Yes. It’s true. It’s just some cheap knockoff from a pawn shop.”
Madeleine’s features fell. She looked desolate. “But then… that means… everything was wrong? The signs. The prophecy.” She held the phone up high. “If this is true, then I killed Alaric for no reason!”
With her arm stretched up to the sky, the cell phone suddenly lit up and began to ring.
Madeleine paused. She lowered the phone. Then she looked up at Lacey and narrowed her eyes. “The Wilfordshire police are calling you.”
Lacey suddenly remembered her instructions to Gina, to call the police and tell them where she was going.
Madeleine answered the call and put it on speakerphone.
“Lacey?” came Superintendent Turner’s voice. “We’re on the island. Tell us where you are. We’re trying to pick up the GPS.”
Madeleine’s gaze snapped up to Lacey with fury. She threw the cell phone into the flames.
“You!” she bellowed suddenly, pointing a finger of accusation at Lacey. “Now I see it. You’re the charlatan!”
The word hit Lacey like a blast of icy wind.
“All along, it was you!” Madeleine screeched. “My ancestors are guiding me, just not in the way I thought. I didn’t need to kill Alaric or read from the grimoire. Because it’s YOU who I’m supposed to sacrifice. On this night, La Toussaint, YOU, the one who mocks me and my ancestors, who profits from our tragedy, the real charlatan must die!”
Crap, Lacey thought. That had backfired spectacularly.
Madeleine pounced forward and grabbed Lacey by her forearms. Her fingers were like talons, latching painfully on to Lacey’s arms and dragging her closer.
Chester began barking feverishly, the noise more high-pitched and frantic than Lacey had ever heard from him. She knew why. There was nothing he could do. The slippery stone tower was perilous. One false move, and both she and Madeleine would plunge from the tower top to the beach below, and end up like Alaric in a pile of twisted limbs.
“Stop!” Lacey cried, feeling Madeleine’s fingertips boring into her. “I’m not the enemy.”
Madeleine’s dark eyes looked deranged. Something in her had snapped. The realization that Alaric had been killed for nothing? That the grimoire might have been a fake all along? Whatever it was, Madeleine looked like someone who’d lost all hope.
As they grappled atop the tower, Chester barked his little heart out. Lacey was so close to the edge, she got vertigo.
She pushed back against Madeleine and staggered, trying to gain a bit of distance from the perilous fifty-foot drop. But Madeleine was stronger than her. Despite her diminutive frame, she had nothing left to lose, and that was giving her all the strength she needed.
She spun Lacey around, her teeth clenched, and began to push her back. Lacey felt flames lick at her clothes. She was so close to the bonfire, to the flames. She was just seconds from being incinerated just like Madeleine’s witchy ancestors had been.
Suddenly, the heavens opened and the rain began to fall in a downpour. From behind, Lacey heard the telltale hiss of the bonfire being extinguished.
“No!” Madeleine cried, her eyes darting over Lacey’s shoulder to the bonfire behind, being quenched.
Moving at the speed of light, she shoved Lacey aside and leapt into the fire.
Lacey fell against the wet stones, hard, her palms slamming into the jagged rock. She felt her skin slice against the abrasive surface and screamed—not for herself, but for Madeleine.
Mustering all her strength, Lacey heaved herself to her feet and ran forward, grabbing hold of Madeleine’s shoulder. She pulled, dragging her back and free of the flames, just as they were finally extinguished by the rain.
The two women tumbled
back together, hitting the hard rock with a thud. They lay winded and entangled, in a strange sort of embrace. From above, the rain lashed them.
That’s when Lacey heard Madeleine begin to weep. Her clothes were singed, steaming, and soaked, and her shoulder began to shake as sobs overcame her.
“It’s okay,” Lacey soothed. “You’re all right now.”
Then suddenly, a beam of a flashlight shone right in Lacey’s eyes.
“Police!” cried Superintendent Turner. “Nobody move!”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Lacey sat drenched and shivering in the waiting room of the Wilfordshire police station. Beth Lewis came out from the back area and handed her a Styrofoam cup of tea. It was milky looking, and clearly weak.
“Sorry. The vending machine’s on the blink,” the detective said.
Lacey didn’t care. She was grateful for the warmth. She cupped it in both her hands.
“Is Madeleine okay?” she asked.
Beth took one of the hard plastic seats beside Lacey. “She’s at the hospital. She’s burned, but okay. It would’ve been much worse if you hadn’t been there to save her.”
Lacey shrugged. “Me. Or fate.”
Beth frowned. “Fate?”
“The rain,” Lacey said. “It would’ve been a whole lot worse otherwise.”
She mulled it over. Maybe there was some truth to Madeleine’s belief that her ancestors were leading her, only they were leading her away from harm. Perhaps they were trying to get her to live; while they had had their lives so cruelly taken from them, they wanted her to survive.
“How did you guys work out where I was?” Lacey asked. “Madeleine threw my cell in the fire to stop the GPS.”
“It was Chester,” Beth said. “We heard him barking.”
Lacey looked over at the soggy, sleeping dog on the seat beside her. “He’s a hero.”
“Speaking of your cell,” Beth said. She produced a large black molted lump in an evidence baggie and held it out to Lacey. “Might be time for an upgrade.”
