by T J Green
For a few seconds, there was only silence.
Avery was bone tired. The floor felt cold, hard, and dusty, and the energy that had raced through her body had gone, leaving her spent and exhausted.
Gil called out, “Is everyone okay?”
There was a general rumble of consent, and someone lit the candles, their warm glow once again illuminating the museum.
“I don’t think I’ve ever channelled that much energy before,” Briar said.
“I think I need to sleep for a week,” Reuben added. He lay motionless, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m not used to that.”
“You did well,” El said, reaching over to pat his arm. “You’re just out of practice.”
“But it worked,” Alex replied. She could hear the excitement in his voice. “That was amazing.”
Avery rolled onto her side and looked over at him, grinning. “I know.”
She heard footsteps and looked up to see Newton emerge from the shadows, his face grim in the half-light. She sat up. “Newton. I’d almost forgotten you were there. Are you okay?”
He stood looking over them. “I don’t think I fully appreciated what you were before.” His voice sounded flat and hard. “I didn’t like it then, and I certainly don’t like it now.”
Disappointment coursed through Avery, but what did she expect? He wasn’t a witch, whatever his background may be.
“Like it or not,” Alex said, “we have protected that doorway. Now it doesn’t matter what comes through. It won’t get any further.”
Newton glared down at them, his arms folded across his chest. “I will be keeping an eye on all of you, and for now, I’ll be checking in on you every single day. And I expect one of you to come and check on this place every single day. Do you understand?”
Gil rose to his feet, belligerent. “Yes, we understand. But we’re not the enemy, Newton.”
“Well, until I know who the enemy is, you will remain firmly under my observation—unless, of course, you want to tell me exactly what is going on here?”
They remained silent, and he sneered. “No. I didn’t think so. Well, I have a new job for you. You need to work out exactly how to get rid of that demon doorway so it’s gone for good.”
***
The group met back up at Alex’s flat. By then it was nearly three in the morning, and Avery was tired. The flat was warm and inviting after the chilling cold of the museum, and they lounged around on the sofa or the floor, sipping beer or coffee. Avery had just told everyone about her encounter on the beach.
“So, who is this Faversham guy?” Alex asked. He lay on his side on the rug in front of the fireplace, his dark hair falling around his face. “I already want to punch him.”
Avery shrugged. “That’s the trouble. I have no idea. He’s not local—well, to White Haven anyway, and he’s not in the written histories we have so far.”
“Well, he seems to know a lot about us,” Gil said, annoyed. “And Newton’s pissed me off, too. We’re not his bloody lackeys for him to be giving us stuff to do.”
“Well, no,” Reuben reasoned. He sat on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him. “But we want to get rid of the demon doorway, anyway.”
“But how dare he tell us what to do! Like he controls us or something,” Gil continued to complain.
“He was pretty mad,” Briar agreed. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with him knowing that much about us, but we don’t have much choice.”
“Wrong, Briar,” Gil said, turning on her. “We could easily have broken into that place and done it without him.”
“But we’d have risked being more implicated in the whole thing,” El reasoned. She was curled up in the corner of the sofa, sipping coffee. “I’m glad he was there. At least he knows we’re trying to help, even if he was being a miserable git.”
“What are going to do about Faversham?” Alex asked. “At least in our homes and where we work, he shouldn’t be able to materialise out of thin air and attack us. But we’re vulnerable anywhere else. We need to know more about him so we can defend ourselves.”
“I’m going to go and visit that local author, if I can,” Avery said. “He may have information he didn’t share in his book.”
“That’s a good idea,” Briar agreed, nodding. “I’d come with you, but I have to open up the shop all week.”
“Me, too,” El nodded, and most of the others agreed with her.
“That’s okay. I’m happy to go alone.”
“I’ll come, if you can visit on Thursday. It’s my day off,” Alex said. “I think from now on, we should probably work together.”
Gil had been silent for a few minutes, but now he spoke. “This guy, Faversham, isn’t a ghost. He’s real. Have you looked him up?”
Avery suddenly felt incredibly stupid. “Er, no, actually. I was busy preparing spells. I didn’t think.”
Gil pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Let’s look now.” It only took him a few minutes. “Thank the gods for Google. Caspian Faversham, head of finance at Harecombe Industries.” Harecombe was the next town down along the coast. He turned the phone around and showed Avery a photo. “This him?”
She reached for the phone and had a closer look. His smug, handsome face was looking back at her, all smiles in his sharp suit. “That’s him!” She passed the phone around so the others got a look at him.
Gil grinned. “Well, at least we know who he is now. Our enemy number one.”
“I’ve heard of that company,” Briar said.
“Everyone’s heard of them, surely,” Alex said, handing the phone back to Gil. “They’re huge.”
“And,” Gil added, after looking after at his phone again, “his father is the head of the company. Mr Sebastian Faversham. And what a silver-haired fox he is,” he said snarkily, showing them his photo, too.
“So,” El said, “he doesn’t mind us knowing who he is, or he’d have never told you his name. He’d have known you’d look him up.”
“Eventually,” Gil said, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, sod off, Gil. I was busy,” Avery said, fearing she’d never live this down. “So he’s a powerful witch—or sorcerer. Do you think silver fox Faversham is a witch, too?”
“Probably,” El said. “Feels like a declaration of war to me. Sort of—this is who we are, and there’s nothing you can do about it. They have money and power. And he must be the one who placed the doorway on the wall.”
“So he’s a murderer, too,” Reuben said.
“But we have what they want,” Alex put in, grinning from his spot on the rug. Avery nodded. “I presume then that you two,” she said, looking at El and Alex, “are not prepared to give up your grimoires?”
“No!” they both replied.
She grinned. “Good. Not sure how he’ll take that news, though.”
18
Avery spent the week working hard, both in the shop and reading Anne’s work. Faversham hadn’t reappeared, and there were no further deaths. Although their trap hadn’t captured any demons, at least none had been unleashed on the unsuspecting community, either.
She had managed to contact Samuel Kingston, the local author, and had arranged to meet him with Alex. It was now Thursday morning, and it was cloudy outside and threatened rain. They sat in Avery’s battered van in front of an unassuming cottage on the edge of White Haven.
“Well, it looks safe enough.” Alex decided, peering at it.
“He’s a historian, Alex, what did you expect?”
He shrugged and turned back to her. “Maybe I’m paranoid, but I’m expecting a lot of weird things at the moment.”
She looked at him properly for the first time after picking him up on the corner outside the pub. “You look tired. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, cheers.” He flipped down the passenger sunscreen and looked at his reflection in the mirror. “I do a bit, don’t I?” He ran his hands through his hair and gave her a rakish grin. “I’ve been experimenting with my gri
moire. It was four in the morning before I got to sleep today.”
“I hope you’re not doing anything too dangerous,” she said, starting to feel a bit worried.
“Just stretching my powers a bit.”
“Like what?”
“Honing my psychic skills, spirit-walking, practising banishing spells,” he paused, looking at her with raised eyebrows.
“All right, I’ll bite. Banishing spells?”
“For getting rid of unwanted spirits and demons and other creatures that may cross dimensions they shouldn’t.” He leaned back in the passenger seat, looking pleased with himself.
Avery had to admit she was impressed. And infuriatingly, his dishevelled, smug face looked just as handsome as he normally did—not that she wanted him to know that. “Great! So hopefully you’ll be of some use now!” she said cheekily, and hopped out of the car before he could respond.
He leapt out of the passenger side. “You’re not that funny, you know that?”
She grinned and headed up to the house. “Come on. Kingston will wonder what we’re doing out here.”
The cottage, like many in the area, was old with a thatched roof. The windows were small, and there was a pretty garden running riot with summer plants on either side of the garden path.
They knocked, and a middle-aged woman opened the door. She was dressed in a smart blue skirt and blouse, and she smiled at them immediately. “You must be Samuel’s guests?”
Avery smiled back at her. “Yes, I’m Avery, and this is Alex.”
She stepped aside. “Come on in. I’m his daughter, Alice. I’ll take you through. He’s so excited to have visitors and to be able to talk about his book. I hope you’re ready—he may just talk you to death.” She shut the door and led them down the long hall to the back of the house. “I’m heading out to work, so I’ll leave you to it.”
She led them past old photos and watercolours of the local area. The cottage had been modernised. The floors were stripped back to beautiful wood that shone with a high gloss varnish, and the walls were painted muted pastels. She led them into a conservatory at the back of the house, filled with greenery and looking over the back garden that was as packed with plants as the front.
“Dad,” she called, “they’re here.”
She turned to them. “You may have to speak up. His hearing’s not as good as it used to be.”
An elderly man turned to them from a large cane chair that sat in front of a long window. His shoulders were bowed, his hair shot through with grey, and he had glasses perched on the end of his nose. He squinted up at them, and Avery smiled. As he saw his guests, he tried to rise to his feet with a beaming smile.
“Hi, Mr Kingston. I’m Avery—I spoke to you on the phone about your book. I’ve brought my friend along, Alex, if that’s okay?”
“Of course, of course,” he said, reaching forward and shaking their outstretched hands. Avery immediately liked him. He seemed so sweet and was so pleased to see them. He looked beyond them to his daughter. “Can you bring us a pot of tea, dear, before you go?”
She nodded. “Give me two minutes.”
Samuel ushered them into seats; a small table sat between them, filled with papers and a plate of biscuits.
He smiled at them again. “I don’t often have visitors wanting to talk about my book. This is a real treat.”
“It’s treat for us too, Mr Kingston,” Avery said. “I was so impressed with your research.”
“Call me Sam,” he insisted. “It took me years, my dear, but I love White Haven. I’ve lived here all my life. It’s my tribute to the place.”
Alex leaned forward. “I confess I haven’t read it yet, Sam, but I will.”
He waved his hand as if brushing something away. “That’s fine. You’re young, you have time.”
Before Alex could answer, Samuel’s daughter came in with a tray containing a pot of tea, cups, sugar, and milk, and placed it on the table. “Right, I’m off,” she said to him. “Got everything you need?”
“I’m fine. Stop worrying,” he said to her.
She smiled at Alex and Avery over his head. “Have fun, then.” And she left them to it.
After a few minutes of small talk, and settling them all in with tea and biscuits, Samuel started to tell them how he came to write the book. He asked, “Is there anything in particular you were interested in? I cover a lot of history.”
“I’m interested in the witch trials,” Avery said, placing her cup on the table and taking a biscuit. “I was wondering where you got some of the information from, and if there was anything you left out?”
He looked at her speculatively, his mind lively despite his physical frailty. “Left out? Why do you ask that?”
She glanced at Alex. “I’m aware there are certain old families that have lived in White Haven for generations, and you mention several of them in your book. Obviously there’s Helena Marchmont who was hanged in the witch trials, and some others who were drowned. You mention the names of those who were investigated, such as the Bonnevilles and Jacksons, but I wonder if there are some you didn’t mention? Some families that may still be around today.”
He nodded slowly and sighed. “The witch trials were dark times, very dark. A time of madness, it seems to me. Neighbours turned on neighbours, you know. Old friends betrayed each other, while others tried to protect each other.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I wanted to say more, but my publishers wanted me to stick to the facts. They said I would be speculating, and we might upset the descendants who still lived in the area. They didn’t want to risk being sued. I can see their point, but I knew I was right.”
“Right about what?”
“I think Helena was betrayed.”
Avery couldn’t have been more shocked if he had reached across the table and slapped her. A quick glance at Alex showed he was as surprised as she was.
“What do you mean, betrayed?” Her biscuit lay forgotten in her lap.
Samuel took a deep breath in and looked out at the garden, his eyes narrowed in thought. Avery’s heart was beating fast, and she tried to calm herself down. The old man might be getting excited over nothing.
He eventually spoke. “In the archives, you can see the old names, the ones who had money and stature in the village, mentioned time and time again. You’ve mentioned some, the Bonnevilles and Jacksons, but there were also the Ashworths and Kershaws.” Avery recognised Elspeth’s and Briar’s family names. Samuel continued, “These families would have known each other, were probably friends. It’s hard to say, of course,” he hedged, spreading his hands and shrugging. “But they were of equal standing in the community, so it makes sense. But there were other families mentioned who were equally well known. One family were ship owners, wealthy, who lived outside of White Haven, but had a big presence in it. They employed people in their shipping industry. I mention them because they testified against Helena Marchmont, and I believe, because of their standing in the town, heavily influenced the trial against her—despite protestations of innocence from the other families I’ve mentioned.”
“Who were they?” Avery asked, fearing she already knew the answer.
“The Favershams. Because of them, I had to leave their name out of the book.”
Avery felt a cold shudder run through her, and she looked at Alex, trying to gather her wits.
“I’m confused. How did they know you were going to put them in your book in the first place?” Alex asked. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, looking at Samuel intently.
Samuel shrugged. “I interviewed them. It’s part of the process. They’re well known, and when I saw their name I thought it would be good to get a present day perspective on the whole thing, thinking it would be a bit light hearted. I had no idea they would take against the idea so strongly.” He thought for a moment. “It got very ugly, very quickly. Before I’d even got home they’d phoned my publisher, and that was that. I was going to look at other local interviews, but that got quashed
, too.”
“Did they give a reason?”
“No, not really. Other than that it would damage their reputation.” He gave a short bark of a laugh. “It’s over 500 years ago! Who cares, really?” Samuel looked at them, perplexed. “It was their reaction that actually made me more suspicious. Do you know that since then those archives have been locked?”
“Locked!” Avery finally found her voice again.
He nodded. “Most of the records are kept at the Courtney Library in Truro. That’s where I got a lot of my information. Now, that particular archive is locked.” He smiled sadly. “Money can buy you a lot.”
Avery took a deep breath. “Wow. That’s fascinating. Thank you, Samuel. You didn’t have to share that.”
“My dear, I’m getting older, and who else can I share it with? No one else can see those records now, and I doubt anyone cares to.” He leaned forward, a twinkle in his eye. “Why are you asking?”
She glanced at Alex. The last thing she wanted to do was endanger the old man. “I’m related to Helena Marchmont, and I’ve become interested recently in what really happened back then.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “Ah! I should have realised.” He tapped his head. “I’m slower than I used to be. Of course, you’re from Happenstance Books.”
She nodded. “And Alex is a Bonneville.”
He looked at Alex, who shrugged. “I guess we’ve both got the history bug lately.”
“Well,” Samuel said, “I wish you luck on your research, but I’m not sure you’ll get very far.”
“Have you got any copies of the old archives?”
Samuel shook his head. “No, unfortunately not. It was all in my old notes, and I regret to say I haven’t got them anymore. I just didn’t have the room when I moved here. I burnt the lot of them.” He fell silent for a moment, and then said, “I never used to believe in witchcraft, despite the fact that I’ve lived here for years. It’s a magical place, and the town thrives on the history, but I always thought it was all a bit of fun. But after meeting the Favershams, I became a believer. Be careful around them. They’re dangerous.”
