One Dark and Stormy Knight

by Hermione Moon

  I feel suddenly vulnerable indoors, knowing Matthew is out there, and so is the murderer. And that makes me cross. I’m not going to let other people make me feel uneasy in my own home.

  I take off my jacket and boots, pour myself a glass of red wine, and curl up on the sofa. For once, I allow Merlin on the seat next to me, feeling the need for some company.

  If Arthur were here, he could sit beside me. Maybe he’d put his arm around me, and we could snuggle down and watch TV together.

  Keeping that dream in my head, I drink my wine and eventually doze off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Sunday morning, around ten a.m., Imogen rings. “It’s me,” she says. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” I don’t tell her I spent most of the night awake, looking at the ceiling. “More importantly, how are you? Did you get to spend some time with Christian?”

  “I did, as it happens. His brother-in-law went home and Christian and I had a drink together.”

  “Oh, lovely.” I smile. She deserves to have a little romance in her life.

  “We had a chat about you,” she says.

  My smile fades. “Oh. Hmm.”

  “All good things,” she adds. “Christian wanted to know what Matthew was on about, so I took the plunge and told him.”

  “That I’m a witch?”

  “Well, I started by saying that Matthew thinks you’re a witch, to… you know… test the waters. He didn’t collapse with laughter, so then I added that actually, Matthew’s right.”

  “Did he faint?”

  She laughs. “No. He did an exhibition on witchcraft earlier in the year, so he’s done quite a bit of research on it.”

  “I remember that.” I helped him with some of it.

  “I think he would have been more scornful if I’d said you waved a wand and rode a broom, but when I explained how it’s all about energy and intention, he was actually very interested.”

  I blow out a long breath. “I’m so glad.”

  “Me too. I told him that most of the work you do involves herbs and cooking, but that you also do some spiritual healing. And he says his sister, Rachel, is very open to alternative stuff, and, well, he’d like you to come to the hospital to meet her.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t expect that. “When?”

  “Well, why not this morning? I can pick you up in thirty minutes?”

  I know her well enough to hear the note of concern in her voice. “What’s happened? Is Cassie okay?”

  “Not really. She’s taken a turn for the worse. So if there’s anything you can do, well, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

  I hesitate for a moment. This is the kind of problem that witches have run into through the centuries. If I go to the hospital and attempt spiritual healing on the baby, and she takes a turn for the worse or—Goddess forbid—dies, it will be very easy for everyone to blame me. But I can’t say no when there’s a decent chance that I might be able to ease the child’s suffering.

  “Of course I’ll come,” I tell her.

  “Thank you. I’ll see you at half ten.” She hangs up.

  I sigh and start getting ready. This is the last thing I need really, with all the worry about Liza and Matthew Hopkins, but it’s not Cassie’s fault or her parents’, and I want to help if I can.

  At dead on ten thirty, Imogen knocks on the door, and soon we’re on our way to the local hospital. I’ve left Merlin in the garden—he might well jump over the low wall at the bottom and wander off, but he always comes back by the end of the day.

  “So what else did you and Christian talk about last night?” I ask her.

  “Stuff,” she says, and blushes.

  I smile. “Have you agreed to go on a date with him?”

  “Not until I’ve solved the case.”

  “What if you don’t manage to?”

  “I will,” she states. “We’re making inroads.”

  I don’t know if she’s referring to discovering the murderer is a witch, or if she’s uncovered some other evidence. I know she doesn’t feel comfortable discussing ongoing investigations, so instead I decide to raise the subject of something that’s been on my mind.

  “I’ve got something else to tell you,” I announce. “It’s not about the case.”

  “Okay. Fire away.”

  I clear my throat. “It’s a bit weird.”

  “My dear Gwen, weird is your middle name. I’m used to it.”

  “I guess. Okay. You know Sir Boss?”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Of course.”

  “Well, what if I told you that… um… there’s a person living inside him?”

  She stares at me for so long that for a moment I worry she’s going to crash the car. She finally looks back at the road, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Someone’s put on the suit and is living in the café?”

  “Not quite. Have you heard of soulstones?”

  “No.”

  I tell her what Beatrix told me—that the Celts are known for imprisoning souls inside gems or other objects, and then about the ruby I found inside the pommel of the sword. I finish with, “Beatrix thinks that’s what’s happened—that the ruby contains the man’s soul.”

  “What man?” Imogen asks.

  “His name is Arthur.”

  “You’ve spoken to him?”

  “Yes. A few times.”

  “Sort of like a genie in the lamp.”

  “Yes, very much like that.”

  “Okay. So this Arthur’s soul has been captured in a ruby, and he’s slowly becoming more conscious and appearing inside the suit of armour.”

  “Yes, exactly.” I tell her how I removed the ruby and have taken it into Mackenzie’s Jewellery Shop. “I’m going to have it fitted in a ring, to see if that means Arthur can leave the suit of armour.”

  “I see.” She glances at me and examines my face. I blush. Her lips curve up in a smile. “Aw,” she says softly, “you’re soft on this guy.”

  “No. Not at all. Not one jot. Okay, a little bit.”

  She’s taking it all very well. I can’t tell from her expression how much of it she believes. “How long’s he been in the ruby?” she asks.

  “Um… I think around fifteen hundred years.”

  She’s quiet for a very long time. I look out the window at the flat marshy fields of the Somerset levels, wondering how Arthur’s doing in the jewellery shop.

  Eventually she says, “So he was put into the ruby around the year 500.”

  “Yes.”

  “My history’s not great, but that’s after the Romans left Britain.”

  “Yes. They left in 410.”

  “And then the Anglo-Saxons came.”

  “And a few Jutes and Frisians—lots of Germanic tribes. It’s what we call the Dark Ages because we know so little about it.”

  “What happened to the Celts? That’s who were here before the Romans, right?”

  “Yes. We call them the Romano-British after the Romans left. They were pushed west into Wales and Cornwall when the Anglo-Saxons invaded.”

  “They just rolled over and let them invade?”

  “Well, no. They kept them at bay for a long time. They were led by a man, a warrior, who tried to learn from the Romans. He trained his warriors in Roman tactics, and he had a cavalry, and he kept the old Saxon Shore forts manned on the coast. He was an amazing leader.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Immi…”

  “You’re saying the dude in the suit of armour is that Arthur?”

  “Yes,” I finish lamely.

  “King Arthur?”

  “Well, he wasn’t a king, he was a military leader…”

  “That’s the most amazing story I’ve ever heard,” she says. “Oh my God, Gwen, please tell me you’re not playing with me.”

  I laugh, feeling almost tearful at her reaction. “No, I’m not. Beatrix says it’s possible. And… well… you have to talk to him to see it for yourself, but he’s not just like any normal guy. He
’s different somehow. I can totally believe he was an ancient warrior who commanded whole armies.”

  “Can I meet him?”

  “I hope so. I’m picking the ring up tomorrow, and I’m hoping it’ll mean he can leave the suit of armour right away.”

  “Promise me you’ll come and see me.”

  I reach out and squeeze her offered hand. “I promise.”

  She steers the car into the car park of the hospital. “I can’t wait. How are you so calm? I’d be leaping about all over the place if it was me.”

  “I am, inside.”

  “You deserve it,” she says, parking near to the maternity ward. “A happy ever after, I mean. After everything you’ve been through.”

  “Thank you, Immi. For believing me.”

  She shrugs and turns off the engine, but she doesn’t get out of the car. “I’ve seen some terrible things,” she murmurs, looking off into the distance. “Dark things I would never have believed could happen. Horrific murders and deaths. People can do awful things to each other. But witchcraft is all about balance, right? I have to believe that if there’s such evil in the world, there can also be an equal amount of magic and happiness.”

  I nod slowly, thrilled she understands. “That’s what I like to think, too.”

  “Come on.” She undoes her door. “Let’s go and see what we can do for this baby.”

  We make our way into the hospital and go up the stairs to the maternity ward. Christian’s niece is in the NICU—the neonatal intensive care unit. We wash our hands with antibacterial soap and don hospital gowns. When we go in, I see Christian standing next to the guy I saw in the pub last night, talking quietly while a woman of around my age with messy blonde hair and shadows under her eyes sits by an incubator, her gaze glued on the baby inside. There are three other incubators in the room, all flanked by parents watching them with concern.

  “Hey.” Christian sees us, comes over, and kisses first me, then Immi, on the cheek. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, embarrassed and suddenly fearful that I’m giving these people hope when I know I don’t have anywhere near the power they need.

  But I smile at Rachel and her husband, Karl, and try not to argue when Rachel whispers, “It’s so kind of you to try to help us. We’re so worried. Anything you can do would be marvellous.”

  “I’ll try,” I tell her, taking her hand in mine. “But I can’t promise anything, okay?”

  Her face is filled with hope, though, and I wish with all my heart that I’m not the one who takes it away.

  “This is Cassie,” she says, resting a hand on the incubator.

  I look down at the tiny baby, who has a feeding tube as well as a host of other tubes emerging from her small body. I completely understand why the surgeon is hesitant to operate. How on earth do you summon the courage to cut into such a tiny body?

  I clear my throat. “First of all, I brought you all something.” I take the box out of the bag I’m holding and peel off the lid. It contains six chocolate muffins. “To keep your strength up,” I tell them. The truth is that dark chocolate contains all the properties linked to the antidepressant effects of tryptophan, serotonin, and phenethylamine. It has a calming, soothing effect, and I also added a spell to bring hope to carry this family through these difficult days.

  Imogen has brought a flask of hot coffee and some plastic cups, and she pours one for everyone, and soon they’re nibbling the muffins, their long sighs releasing the tension that’s built up over the last few days for them.

  Then I turn to Cassie in the incubator.

  “I’m afraid we can’t take her out,” Rachel says sadly. “I can’t even hold her. Some mother I am.” Her eyes turn glassy.

  Tears prick my eyes, but I force my lips into a smile and rest a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing an amazing job. Your loving thoughts for your daughter are better than any healing I can give. And anyway, the barrier makes no difference to me. Healing can pass through walls and over great distances.”

  I could insert my hands in the holes on the side and touch the baby, but I know that sometimes touch is stressful to an unwell new-born, so instead I rest my hands on the top of the incubator and close my eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The others fall quiet.

  It takes a while for me to stop feeling self-conscious. I know they’re watching me, waiting for some amazing display, maybe a glow of light or sparkles in the air. It won’t happen, of course; magic isn’t like that. You can’t see a spell any more than you can see someone’s thoughts or feelings.

  I concentrate on my breathing. In for a count of eight, out for a count of eight. I breathe from my tummy, imagining a balloon inside me, inflating, then deflating.

  It’s a pleasant temperature in the room, and there’s a smell of lavender. Where’s that from? I can’t imagine it’s acceptable to burn essentials oils in here. Maybe it’s Rachel’s perfume. But it doesn’t smell like a modern perfume. It’s more delicate, and reminds me of my kitchen at home, with its dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.

  It also reminds me of my grandmother, Lizzie. She used to wear a lavender perfume.

  “Hello, Gwen,” she says.

  My eyes fly open. Rachel is sitting by my side, her gaze on her daughter. Imogen is in the corner, talking to Karl and Christian in whispers. A nurse is checking the monitor of one of the other babies. The other parents are focused on their children. There’s nobody else in the room.

  I close my eyes again. “Gran?” I say in my mind.

  “I’m here,” she says. Her voice is in my head—not spoken out loud.

  Emotion washes over me. “What’s happening?” I ask her. “How am I hearing you?”

  “When you heal, you enter the astral plane,” she replies. “I can enter too, and we can meet in the middle.”

  “Is Mum with you?” I ask, hope swelling inside me.

  “No,” she says. “She’s busy. It takes time after you cross to come to terms with the transition. But you’ll be able to speak to her eventually.”

  I’m so overwhelmed, I have to work hard to keep my breathing normal. I don’t want the others to think something’s wrong.

  “I can’t stay long,” she says. “I just wanted to say hello and let you know that we’re watching over you.”

  “You and Grandad?” I ask.

  “Me and Grandad, and all your other ancestors.”

  “Harriet and Josephine?”

  “Of course. We’re all here to give you strength. You’re not alone.”

  I press my lips together, so they don’t tremble. “Gran, can you help me send healing to baby Cassie? To all the babies in the room?”

  “Of course I can. That’s how it works, Gwen. You open yourself to the power of all the Young witches who have gone before you. Fill your heart with love and light.”

  So I think about Mum, and Gran, and Harriet, and Josephine. And Dad and Grandad, and the other men who’ve helped the witches to learn to love. I think of Imogen and Christian, and Rachel and Karl and their love for baby Cassie.

  And, without meaning to, I think of Arthur, and his words, I will just have to win you all over again. Tomorrow I might be able to see him whole and complete. What will the future bring?

  Love for my friends and family fills my heart, and I feel light flowing through me, down through my head chakra, out through my hands, flooding the room with sunshine and warmth. I know the others won’t be able to see it, but I can feel it, bathing the babies and their worried parents in beautiful, healing light.

  I channel it for as long as I can, enjoying the sensation, conscious of the presence of all the witches who’ve gone before me lending me their strength and their power. And then gradually, the light fades, and it’s just me, shaky and a little sweaty, and I open my eyes.

  “You okay?” Imogen asks softly. She’s standing beside me—I didn’t hear her come over.

  I nod and lower my hands. My arms feel a litt
le stiff. Rachel and Karl have gone, and Christian is sitting in a chair, watching us. He smiles as I look at him.

  “You’ve been standing there for about thirty minutes,” Imogen says.

  “Wow. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. Rachel and Karl went to get another coffee. How do you feel?”

  “A little tired. Good, though.”

  “Did it work?”

  “We’ll have to see. It takes time to work. I think what happens is that the healing gives strength and resilience and encourages the body to heal itself.” I’m so tired I’m almost falling over. “Would you mind if we went home?”

  “Of course not.” Imogen picks up her bag and car keys. “Come on.”

  “Those chocolate muffins were amazing,” Christian says, coming over to kiss my cheek. “Take care of yourself, Gwen.”

  “You too. Let me know how Cassie is, and please give Rachel and Karl my best.”

  “I certainly will. She wanted me to let you know, by the way, that she was sorry to hear about Liza. She met her, once, at the Italian restaurant in town, and I introduced them. They were both out for a birthday dinner and thought it was funny that they shared the same birth date.”

  “When is Rachel’s birthday?” I ask.

  “July the eighteenth,” he says. “They both had cakes delivered with candles on.”

  Something floats through my mind like a feather on the breeze, but I’m too tired to catch it.

  I watch him kiss Imogen on the cheek. “Call me,” he says.

  “Might do,” she replies, and he gives her a wry look.

  Imogen and I return to the car and drive home. I doze off on the way, exhausted from the experience. When we get home, she takes me inside, puts me on the sofa, makes me a hot water bottle and a cup of tea, then gives me a kiss and tells me to take it easy for the rest of the day. I don’t need telling twice. Within five minutes, I’m asleep, and I don’t wake up for a long, long time.

  *

  When I eventually do rouse, Merlin’s lying beside me. I sit up and greet him, glad to have him there. It’s mid-afternoon, somewhat gloomy and cool, rain pattering lightly on the window. I don’t feel right. I guess the healing took more out of me than I realized.