by Amy Cross
“Where are you going?” Nixon asked, heading through from the corridor. “If you're going back to the chamber, I'd love to -”
“I want to be alone,” Edgar said firmly, tossing the books into a satchel. “I need time to think. Whatever's going on out there, I'm starting to believe that it's...” He paused, and his voice trailed off for a moment. “I'm starting to believe that it might be directed at me personally.”
“That's quite a leap,” Nixon pointed out. “The chamber is at least -”
“I must understand it,” he continued. “I must! I will not be made a fool of on my own island!” He turned to Estella. “I understand that you have suffered a bereavement. I'm sorry, this matter has arisen at a most inopportune moment, but we'll discuss things in the morning.”
“Of course,” she replied, clearly struggling to hold back her tears. “I was thinking that the wedding -”
“The wedding will proceed as planned at the end of the month,” he replied, taking some papers from his desk and dropping them into his satchel.
“But, my dear -”
“The decision is final,” he said firmly, turning to her. “It will be good for you to have a distraction at this time. After all the fuss of getting ready for it, I refuse to delay a moment longer.”
“Yes,” she said uncertainly, “I suppose it might be good to...” Her voice trailed off, and she wiped another tear from her cheek.
“I've never seen you so riled,” Madeleine said, watching from the sofa, where she was sitting with her feet on Benjamin's lap. “What's up, dear brother? Do you finally feel as if you're not in full control? Welcome to my world.”
“I would advise you not to rile me,” he replied, heading to the door. “I will be out all night. Do as you will, but I insist that I be left alone so that I can go to the stones and work out what is happening. By sunrise tomorrow morning, I will know the truth, and if I don't... If I don't, then I will stay for as long as it takes. I will not leave that chamber until I know who is taunting me!”
“He's really angry,” Madeleine continued, sitting up straight as Edgar stormed away. A moment later, the front door could be heard opening and then swinging shut again as he headed into the night. “I've never seen him like this,” she added, turning to Benjamin. “That chamber has really managed to get under his skin. It's such fun to see him fuming so much.”
“What exactly is down there?” Benjamin asked.
“Come on,” she replied, getting to her feet and grabbing his hand. “Let's talk in the bedroom while we're getting undressed.”
“Don't you think -”
“If you're going to spend time in this house,” she continued, “you need to learn when to take your leave of the others. Sometimes the place just gets so crazy, the only way to stay sane is to separate yourself a little, otherwise the house can overwhelm you.”
“Will you be okay here?” Benjamin asked Estella, as he stood and followed Madeleine to the door.
“I'll be quite fine,” she said, forcing a smile despite the tears in her eyes. She waited as they left, before looking over at Nixon, who was still standing in the doorway.
“Well,” he said after an awkward pause, “I'm very sorry about your loss, old girl. I'll leave you to -”
“What do you know about witchcraft?” she asked suddenly.
“About -” He paused, eying her with caution. “Well, I... I've met a few in my time.”
“And they're bad people, are they not?”
“They don't have to be. Why do you ask?”
“I'm just curious. Must one be born a witch, or can one... somehow become such a creature?”
“There are conflicting schools of thought,” he replied, making his way across the room and starting to fix a drink from Edgar's cabinet. “Brandy?”
“Thank you, but no.”
“Certainly witches can be born with their powers,” he continued, pouring himself a glass. “That part is irrefutable, but there's also evidence to suggest that sometimes mere mortals can be imbued with certain forms of power. To be honest, it's an area that has seldom been studied, I've often thought to look into it myself but then, finding one of these so-called late-in-life witches can be extremely difficult.” He took a sip before turning her. “Again, I can't help wondering why you ask.”
“Can it be undone?”
“Can what be undone?”
“The powers, you fool. I -” She paused. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just...” She sighed. “Forget it. I'm terribly sorry.”
He watched her for a moment. “If you want my opinion,” he continued finally, “there are certain skills and powers that can be learned by mortals, but true witches have to be born that way. Then again, it's not always the work of a moment to pick out the genetic threads that run through generations. A child could be born and develop powers of witchcraft, even though those powers have lain dormant in several previous generations.”
“And then perhaps something would spark them?”
“I suppose so.” He took another sip. “Estella, is there something -”
“Just idle curiosity.”
“You can tell me, you know. I won't judge you, and I won't go running off to tell Edgar. You've seemed different of late. I know Edgar doesn't notice these things, but I do.”
“I just...” She looked down at her gloved hands for a moment.
“When was the last time you took those off?” he asked.
She froze, aware that he was tugging at the threads of her secret.
“Take them off now.”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“I'd just prefer to keep them on.”
“Because you're cold?”
“No, I -”
“Or because you're scared?”
She stared at her hands for a few seconds longer, before looking over at him.
“What happened to you?” he asked finally. “What has made you believe that you have these powers?”
“Please don't tell anyone,” she replied. “Nixon, you must promise -”
“I won't tell anyone,” he continued, “but you must tell me. I might be able to help. No, scratch that, I will be able to help, but you have to let me in a little.”
She glanced over at one of the plants on the windowsill, before getting to her feet and crossing the room. As she reached the plant, she removed one of her gloves and then held her hand out, causing the leaves of the plant to immediately turn brown and shrivel.
“Well that's a little alarming,” Nixon said, taking another sip of brandy.
“There have been other things,” she whispered, slipping her hand back into the glove. “Nothing huge, but small hints here and there, and then my mother...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “I went to see my mother yesterday, just hours before she took her own life. She was always a very melodramatic woman, prone to fits of religious hysteria, but yesterday she seemed different. She said she saw another face in mine, and she treated me as if...” She took a deep breath. “Before, she always said that I was doomed because I associated with evil. She meant Edgar, of course. This time, however, she said that I was doomed because of something that had grown in my own body.”
“And then she killed herself a short while later?”
She nodded.
“Well, there's...” He paused, clearly shocked.
“You said yourself that perhaps these things can stay dormant through successive generations. Might there then need to be just a small spark to set the whole thing off?”
“And what would the spark be?”
She thought back for a moment to the sight of two burning red eyes in the church, on the morning when she'd discovered Father Gregory's body, but she felt that she'd already told Nixon too much and, besides, she didn't want to reveal everything. “I don't know,” she said finally, “but being around Edgar all the time, I'm sure there would be no shortage of possibilities.” She turned to him. “I don't care how it started, but I want i
t to stop!”
“Estella -”
“No!” she hissed, as her desperation began to mount. “I've had dreams, nightmares, where I can't even touch my own children!”
“I'm sure it won't be that bad.”
“But it might! I want this all to go away.” She held her trembling, gloved hands up for him to see. “Fix me!”
“Well, I...”
“You always claim to be a man of science,” she continued, “and you always claim that science can achieve anything, so I'm begging you now, do something about this before Edgar finds out!”
“Is that the only thing you're scared of? Edgar finding out?”
“I don't want to be a -” She caught herself before she could say the word.
“You don't want to be a witch?” he asked.
“Help me, please...”
“Not all witches are bad,” he continued. “Perhaps, instead of fighting this part of your existence, you should simply find a way to master it. Learn your powers and your limits, learn to control yourself. To be honest, I'm not in favor of people trying to scrub away parts of their personalities. You're better off facing the situation head on and working out how to live as you are. I mean, imagine if I simply tried to ignore my wolf side. It would still be there, wouldn't it? Instead, I've learned to control it, to use it for my own purposes. The process was hard, but I managed it. You can do the same.”
She shook her head.
“I'll help you,” he told her. “You'll have to tell Edgar eventually, he'll notice before too long. You're lucky he's so distracted at the moment by -”
“Kate Langley,” she whispered bitterly.
“Well, by the stone circle and the chamber,” he continued, “but you're right, Kate Langley is a part of that. I mean, you can't blame him, it's definitely a very rum situation. Something strange is going on, and Edgar doesn't like it when he feels that the truth is being kept from him. To be honest, I don't blame him at all.” He waited for a response, but instead he saw that a kind of slow, intense anger was starting to burn in her soul. “I don't mean to scare you,” he said finally, “but this isn't one of those situations where you can make a choice and then take it back if things don't work out. If you start walking down the wrong path, Estella, things could get very bad for you.”
“I don't want to walk down any path.”
“But the choice you have to make -”
“I don't want to make a choice,” she replied, her voice trembling with fear. “I just want to... be! I want to marry Edgar, have children, live a normal life... I don't want to be like the rest of you!”
“I think you're past the point where you can avoid what's happening,” he told her. “Listen, if we start now -”
“I'm tired,” she said suddenly. “I've had a long day, and if Edgar's going to be out, I'd rather get some rest.”
“You think you can sleep?”
“I know I can. Nixon, remember, you mustn't tell anyone about the things we've discussed. You mustn't talk to anyone about it!”
“Apart from you,” he replied. “I want to help you, Estella.”
“I shall help myself,” she said, heading to the door.
“By pretending that none of this is happening?”
“By controlling myself,” she told him. “I've always been good at that, and I see no reason why I should fail now.” Reaching the corridor, she made her way to the hallway before stopping and glancing over at the front door. “It's so easy for you, Edgar,” she whispered. “You just run off to some other part of the island and forget the troubles that are growing right here in your home. Why do you get to run, while the rest of us have to stay and suffer?”
She paused, before spotting her coat on one of the nearby racks.
“Perhaps I should...” Another pause, as ideas flooded her mind. “Why should I sit around in this godforsaken place, desperately trying to sleep, when I could...” Hurrying to the rack, she took her coat and slipped it over her shoulders, before making her way to the door and stepping out into the warm night air. In the distance, the lights of Thaxos could just about be seen through the darkness. “I must test myself,” Estella whispered. “I must find out what I've become.”
A while later, once she'd made the journey down from the mansion and had reached the outskirts of town, she kept to the shadows as she began to walk the empty streets. Although she'd planned to 'test' herself when she left the house, now she had no idea exactly how she might go about doing such a thing. She simply knew that she had to be out, that she had to breathe fresh air and try to reconnect with the world around her, and above all that she had to get away from the suffocating atmosphere of Edgar's mansion. Reaching the edge of the olive grove, she spotted movement on top of a nearby wall, and finally she realized that a cat was watching her.
“Hello,” she whispered, making her way over. She reached up to pet the cat, before remembering that she was still wearing her gloves. Carefully removing the glove from her right hand, she reached up again, but again she held back, fearful that the animal might suffer. “You're so innocent,” she said finally, watching the cat for a moment longer before looking down at her bare hand. “Not like people. People are wretched creatures. Every one of us is filled with sin and -”
“Evangeline!” a man's voice called out nearby. “Come back, I only want to talk!”
Estella froze, listening to footsteps in the distance until she spotted a figure passing the end of the street. After a moment, the footsteps could be heard getting further away.
“See?” Estella continued, looking back up at the cat. “Up to no good, I imagine. There's -”
Stopping suddenly, she realized she could hear another sound nearby. Looking toward the gate that led into the olive grove, she listened for a moment longer to the sound of a woman sobbing.
“Evangeline Mediaci,” she whispered. “God, I never liked her. So pretty, so full of herself, so...” She paused, before looking down at her bare right hand again. “I need to know the limit of my powers. I need to know what I can do.”
***
“Nothing,” Edgar muttered, stopping for a moment and looking around at the stones. “What are you? Who put you here? What are you for and why do I -”
Stopping suddenly, he felt a wave of anger pass through his body.
“And why have I been reduced to this?” he continued finally. “I'm like a madman, standing out here alone, talking to myself...”
Glancing toward the horizon, he saw that the first rays of dawn were starting to show, and he realized that he'd failed. When he'd headed out to the stones a few hours earlier, he'd been adamant that he was going to resolve their mystery before sunrise, but now the sun was returning to herald a new day, casting long shadows across the island, and he knew that he was no closer to the truth than before. Never before in his life had he felt so powerless, yet as he looked around once again at the stones, he realized that the truth remained tantalizingly out of his reach.
Making his way across the circle and past two of the stones, he headed to the tunnel that led down into the chamber. Wandering along the tunnel, he quickly reached the chamber and activated his flashlight once again as he headed to the stone altar where, a few hours earlier, he'd dumped his satchel. There was a part of him that wanted to work all day, to never stop until he'd made some kind of breakthrough, but at the same time he knew that his mind was starting to tire, and that he needed to come up with a new approach.
Turning, he began to make his way out.
And then he stopped suddenly.
Aiming the flashlight at one of the wooden panels, he stared in shock at the image that had been carved into its surface. He stepped closer and saw that the image showed various figures locked in a battle with what appeared to be a large spider, while buildings burned in the distance. Recognizing the scene, he froze for a moment as he remembered that very battle, on the outskirts of El-Haim. He stared at the figures, knowing full well that one of them was meant to be him, and then h
e took a step back. The other wooden panels were still bare, but the one in front of him was now filled with an image of battle, with something torn straight from the war.
He was certain of one thing: just twenty-four hours ago, the panel had been bare like all the others. Someone, unseen by him, had slipped into the chamber and added the carved image.
“Who are you?” he whispered, as rage began to build through his body. “What do you want from me?”
***
As the sun continued to rise, people emerged from their homes and the daily life of Thaxos began once again. Shops were opened, saws could be heard buzzing in various workshops, and down by the water's edge the ferry dropped off a sack of mail, although unusually no-one from the post office was waiting to take the sack for sorting.
Behind the cantina, in one of the narrow alleys, Joshua Wood opened his eyes and felt the familiar pain of a throbbing, hungover head. He looked around, trying to remember how he'd ended up passing out next to the garbage cans, before hauling himself up. Feeling unsteady, he managed a few steps forward and almost collapsed, before leaning against the wall and taking several deep breaths. He remembered chasing after Evangeline, calling out for her, and then... Unable to work out what had happened next, he took a couple more steps before stopping again, leaning over, and starting to vomit. As he steadied himself, he took hold of a piece of guttering. Patches of blood were smeared across his hands.
Above, at one of the cantina's windows, the curtains twitched for a moment as Judge Jonathan Quinn peered out at the town. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the bright morning sunlight was an affront, before he wiped the corner of his mouth and then stepped back out of sight.
Nearby, in the Graves house, Tom Graves made his way downstairs before stopping in the hallway and seeing that a figure was sitting by his wife's coffin. He took a couple of steps forward before realizing that his daughter Estella had somehow found her way into the house during the night and was now staring at the coffin, apparently not even having noticed that anyone was watching. Her hands were gloved again, and her face was filled with an expression of calm, reserved emotion that was barely disturbed as her father walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulders. Although she was still looking at the coffin, Estella's mind was elsewhere. In her lap, there were a few specks of blood on her gloved hands.
