by Nhys Glover
He turned away with a heavy sigh. “You are too innocent and gullible. It drives me do-lally. Come on, it’s getting on for lunchtime. If I’m supposed to feed His Majesty, as well as us, I’ll need to get more groceries. Will you come with me?”
The desire to ride his bike again was immense, but I had too much work to do. Mason had notes for me to read and absorb, and spells to learn. The monster was still out there, as well as murderers who wanted what I had. There was no time for pleasure and idleness.
“I need to take a shower and get stuck into my studies,” I told him reluctantly.
He nodded, as if relieved I’d made the choice I had. I wondered about that reaction. What did it mean? Had it just been a polite offer he’d hoped I wouldn’t accept?
Once I was cleaned up and Jake was gone, I went in search of Mason. He had his head buried in the Logos, notepad at his side, writing feverishly.
“You’re limping. Did he hurt you?” Mason observed, without looking up.
I realised I was limping a little. But it was more about muscles complaining from lack of use than any real damage. In the shower I’d expected to find bruises all over me, but there were surprisingly few. Maybe they took time to come up.
“No, he didn’t,” I answered stiffly. “And you have to stop poking at him. If you can’t, you’ll need to leave.”
This had him looking up in surprise. “You want me to leave? But I’m the one who’s helping you!”
“You are helping me, and I’m grateful. But so is Jake. And I won’t put up with all this aggression in my own home. So if you can’t play nice, you have to go. I don’t want you to go... obviously. But my peace is something I value above pretty much everything.”
“Then get rid of Jake and his supposedly annoying ghost. That would create instant peace.”
Huffing out a sigh, I walked over to the wonky old desk and rested my hands on it, leaning in to look Mason in the eyes so he could see how serious I was. “Jake is not the one stirring up trouble between you two. That’s all you. As to Squib, well he’s my task. My problem to fix. I agreed to help Jake move him on, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“He isn’t real, Alfie,” Mason said softly, his expression pained. “There is no Squib.”
Groaning, I stepped back. This was getting me nowhere.
“I’ve laid down the rules. If you can’t comply with them, then you know what has to happen. Now, have you any notes you want me to look at?”
“Did you finish reading the section in the journal I assigned you?” he asked, instead of answering.
“Yes, yesterday afternoon. I’m not sure what was so significant about it. All it seemed to be was a verbal family tree for the Thorndikes. It made my eyes glaze over, like the time I tried reading Genesis. All those begats”
He chuckled then, relaxing for the first time. “Did you not also see how the names of the wives all bore maiden names from the same families. Families that still live in this area.”
I must admit, that hadn’t caught my eye, although I did register a lot of repetition. How did Mason know those families still lived in the area? We were talking about people who lived hundreds of years ago.
“How do you know they still live here?” I asked.
“Public records are all on-line. It’s part of what I do, tracing family trees. Not officially, of course. More for my personal interest. I’m an amateur genealogist.”
“Wow, now that’s interesting. So how far back have you been able to go?” I asked, perching on the edge of the desk. I wished I was slim and light like Daphne, which would make perching so much more attractive.
“It depends on the original sources I can access. Like the journal. Back to the Norman Invasion, at least. But of course, your ancestor only went back as far as the beginning of the nineteenth century. He did mention he thought the family who built the Tudor Hall was called Dorchester. I’ve started a search on-line for them, but I think I’ll need to go to the original records if I want to track down specific information. For your purposes, I think the trail of recurring surnames from the Thorndikes to the Wimples gives us a place to start looking into the families in the area.”
I nodded, trying to remember any of the names I’d read. Marvel. There was a Marvel, because I thought of the comics. Davenport, because I remembered Mrs Davenport from the Voyager series. Captain Janeway liked to play her character on the holodeck. I always loved that idea. But though I raked my brain, no other names came to mind. It was probably because so much had happened since I read the journal yesterday.
“I do remember there weren’t any familiar names. None I went, ‘Ahha, I know a ...so-and-so!’”
“Not even Watkins?” he prompted.
My mouth dropped open.
“Are you serious?” I exclaimed.
He nodded with delight at my reaction.
I scanned the shelves for the journal. During the day, I’d taken to leaving the three books out. Last night had been the exception, and I was relieved to discover all three were still here when I got up this morning.
I pulled out the journal, turning to the page marked by the fluoro pink Post-It note. Quickly, I ran my finger down the page of names looking for one in particular. Watkins. There it was! An Amy Watkins married a Thorndike in 1816. Fifty years later a Clovis Watkins did the same thing.
“And look up Farnham,” Mason suggested smugly.
There was a Gertrude Farnham who married one of the Thorndikes. What I didn’t understand was why Mason drew my attention to that name in particular.
“Do you know what Bryce’s grandmother’s maiden name was?” he prompted.
“Are you saying it was Farnham? How would you even know that?” I exclaimed in a mix of horror and amazement.
“He got talking on the way home last night. About how his grandmother had weird books like the Book of Shadows. He’d found them when he first moved in, but then they disappeared. I asked him if he knew what her maiden name had been. He thought it an odd question, but after thinking for a while, he came up with Farnham. I don’t think it’s an accident that Bryce has befriended you. Of course, I don’t think he’s aware of his grandmother’s machinations. The readiness with which he shared his information points to that fact.”
I collapsed onto the window-seat beside the bookshelves. This was huge.
“Do you think Bryce has told her what’s going on here?” My voice sounded rusty, as if it hadn’t been used for a very long time.
“I asked him that. Subtly, of course. It seems she only wants to know where he is at any given time, like a good grandparent would. He did say she believes in ghosts and was the one who told him you might have The Gift. He said it was well known that the Wimples had The Gift.”
I huffed out the breath I’d been holding for too long and drew in a fresh one. My head was dizzy from lack of oxygen.
“So, at least two families who were likely secret pagans are involved in this current situation. But are they the good guys or the bad guys? After the white-haired man, the associate of Watkins, killed Andrews, and Watkins kicked my dog to death, I think we can safely say that family is not on the side of the good guys.”
“And I’m not sure how you’ll take this, but for the sake of full disclosure, I need to make you aware that my great-grandmother’s maiden name was Marvel. It isn’t a common name, so I do know a branch of her family came from this area.”
I stared, wide-eyed at him. “And you didn’t know about any of this before you came here?”
He shook his head. “No. It gave me quite a start to see the Marvel name listed on the Thorndike’s family tree. No one in my family rose beyond the lower middle-class until my father and me. But now I know that at least one member of my family married into the gentry, and I can therefore claim a familial connection to the current Lord Thorndike. My mother, were she still alive, would be thrilled.”
“And Jake?” I asked, my throat almost completely closed up.
“No connection so far. B
ut his birth certificate doesn’t list a father. His mother was Landers. I traced her back a few generations, but no useful names jumped out. Either his father was a member of one of these families, or there’s no connection.”
“There were no Scotts on the list,” I mused.
“Your father’s name?” he checked, even though I assumed he knew.
“Yes. Does that mean he didn’t marry into the Wimple family intentionally?”
“I haven’t done a full check of his family tree. But his mother’s maiden name might have been on the list.”
I turned to Daphne, who had just appeared in the library and was looking over Mason’s shoulder like a hippie Tinkerbell.
“Do you remember what Daddy’s mother’s maiden name was, by any chance?” I asked her.
“Why ever do you want to know that?” she trilled as if such a question was nonsensical.
“We’re checking families trees listed in the journal. Bryce’s grandmother belongs to one of the pagan families and so does Mason. Not to mention the Watkins are there as well.”
“Good heavens, that’s rather frightening. Were you sent to get rid of Alfie or to marry her?” she demanded of Mason, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t hear her like Jake did.
“Alfie... please,” Mason pleaded yet again, like a long-suffering parent chastising a problem-child.
I ignored him. “Do you know what it was? I don’t. I should, shouldn’t I? But Daddy was fairly quiet about that side of the family. Not as well-to-do as his father’s family.”
“Ohhh yes. That’s right. I remember your parents fighting about his mother’s family once. They were nosing around, looking for a hand-out, so Gillian claimed. She told him he needed to deal with them. They were an embarrassment. He was furious with her for belittling him. Now give me a moment... Ah, yes. Farnham! I’m fairly certain they were Farnhams.”
My shocked expression concerned her.
“Is that the wrong answer?” she asked.
“No... Not at all. Bryce’s grandmother is a Farnham. And several of them were married into the Thorndike line. Now we find out Daddy came from that line. This means I’m related to Bryce, if only distantly.”
She pooh-poohed this notion. “This is a small town in the middle of nowhere. If you looked close enough you’d likely find everyone is related to everyone in Wiggleswick. A hotbed of inbreeding, some would say. Lucky the Wimples brought fresh blood to the gene pool.”
“Most people are probably related in Wiggleswick, if you go back far enough,” Mason said, unaware Daphne had already made the same point.
“I wonder...” I said, chewing on my thumbnail as I often did when thinking deeply. What if it wasn’t a hand-out that side of the family was after? What if they were just trying to get a foot in the door so there was someone here to refresh the wards when it was time.”
“What do you mean a handout?” Mason demanded, looking annoyed.
“Daphne said she witnessed a fight between my parents when one of his mother’s people came looking for a handout. Mummy told him to deal with it.”
“You must remember that from when you were a little girl,” he decided.
Here we go again. He was determined to rationalise every piece of information Daphne shared with me. Did it matter? Only in as far as it was irritatingly repetitive. And, all right, maybe his continued rational explanations made me feel foolish. He was, after all, an educated man. Who was I but a barely educated woman? Though it annoyed me how much I cared what he thought, the truth was I did care. His doubts undermined me.
“What does this mean?” Daphne asked, ignoring Mason, as if he were a mere bothersome fly.
“I’m not sure. But the fact that the Watkins family is part of this land’s past must have significance. Maybe it’s as simple as that family wanting to come in and take over guardianship. Clearly, marrying me was off the table. I think I’m a little insulted about that.”
Mason chuckled. “If Jake is the...”
“Don’t!” I shot back at him. “I told you. Unless you have any kind of proof, your allegations have to stop. Or you leave.”
Mason stared long and hard at me before giving way and dropping his head. “When I find the proof, you’re going to thank me for taking care of you.”
“I would prefer you take care of me by helping me capture the creature released from the underworld.”
“There is no creature, just as there are no ghosts.”
I gritted my teeth. “Your chance to read my family’s collection all hinges on your willingness to help me, even if you see this as a fool’s errand. And wasting time trying to find out Jake’s deep dark secrets doesn’t help.”
Mason shook his head, stood up, and came around the desk to stand in front of me. He was not as tall or as broad as Jake, but he was still a good half a head taller than me.
“I want to take care of you, Alfie. Don’t you get that yet? I know you haven’t had a lot of experience with men, and bad boys like Jake are catnip to women. But you have to know steady, honest men like me have more going for us. We’re the ones who stick around.”
He stroked my cheek, his warm brown eyes shadowed with pain.
I felt myself falling into those eyes, despite my best intentions. Something beyond mere physical attraction drew me to this man, for all he undermined my confidence and drove me balmy.
Before he could kiss me, I stepped back away from him. It just seemed wrong that I should let him kiss me when only an hour before I’d been making out in the tool shed with Jake. And though he claimed to be the sort who stuck around, I knew from experience there were many ways a man could leave without actually being physically gone.
“You don’t want me,” I said, meeting his gaze levelly. “You want to save me. You see yourself as a white knight and I’m your damsel-in-distress. And maybe I am in need of your help, but I don’t need saving. And until you get that, there can’t be anything between us.”
While Daphne cheered and tried to high-five me exuberantly, I stormed out of the room.
Chapter Six
Over lunch I explained what we’d discovered about the families. I even asked Jake if he wanted to look through the names to see if any of them seemed familiar. He shook his head stubbornly.
“I didn’t come up here because of some fated alignment of my blood with the standing stone, Alfie. A woman I fucked tried to get even with me by cursing me to see ghosts. That I ended up at your door was just coincidence.”
Rather than get bogged down by more denials from stubborn men, I turned proactive.
“I want to talk to Bryce’s grandmother. She knows magic, and she sent her grandson up here for some reason. I want to know why. Jake, will you take me down to her cottage?”
Jake nodded. “Of course. Now?”
I shrugged. “Yes, before Bryce gets home from school and starts asking questions.”
Half an hour later I was on the back of his motorcycle again, enjoying the short ride down to the old mill cottages on the main road.
I realised with a start, once we got there, that I had no idea what Bryce’s grandmother’s name was. Then I remembered Bryce’s mother had never married, or at least she hadn’t taken her husband’s name, so Mitchell must be her name. It only took knocking on one door in the row of joined two-storey cottages to find which one belonged to Mrs Mitchell.
The woman who finally opened the door to me was about sixty. She was so tiny and thin a strong breeze could have blown her over. Her once fiery red hair was faded and greying. Bryce and Danielle were both much taller than their gran, I estimated, although the girl had a slight build like this woman.
“Mrs Mitchell?” I asked politely, feeling Jake standing behind me like an ominous cloud.
“Ah, Miss Wimple. I wondered how long it’d take you to find yer way to ma door. Coom in.”
To say I was surprised would have been an understatement. I must have taken a step back in shock, because I felt myself suddenly come up against the
wall of Jake’s sturdy body.
I accepted the invitation and followed the tiny woman inside. Jake closed the door to the outside traffic after us. The hall was dark, and even though it was the middle of the day, the rooms we passed seemed to have very little natural light.
“Please, sit. Can I get you a cuppa?” she offered once we entered the small living room.
It was old fashioned and shabby, but impeccably neat and clean from what I could see in the shadowy light. Jake and I took seats next to each other on the faux-leather sofa.
I looked at Jake. He shook his head slightly.
“Thank you, but no. Why did you expect me to come here?” I asked, forgetting the real reason for our visit.
She sat in the single sofa chair and crossed her thin legs. I noted she wore fluffy slippers. They looked incongruous with the cotton housedress she wore.
“There’s been whispers among the old families. Whispers that the stone no longer guards the Way. Summat ‘as escaped. Those poor burned folk on the moor. It’s only the start.”
“But why would you think I’d come here?” I pressed.
She grinned. “Because you need answers, and I ‘ave a few of ‘em for you. Why do you think I sent Bryce yer way? He don’t know the Old Ways, but ‘e’s open to ‘em. And I knew you’d need ‘im.”
“How? How did you know that?” I demanded, getting a little frustrated by her vague answers that seemed to create even more questions.
She tapped her temple knowingly. “It’s our way. We’ve always ‘ad a tooch o’ The Gift, us Farnhams ‘ave. I knew you’d face the traitors an’ the dragon. Maybe more... I guess it depends ‘ow long it takes for the Way to be closed.”
I looked at Jake, unsure where to go from here.
He stepped in and asked. “What traitors? What do they want?”
“Watkins. Some o’ the Watkins, who’ve moved away to the city. They’ve lost their connection to the land and think the energy released can be used and directed where they want it to go. ‘Tis a very ‘ard lesson to learn, that one. You can’t control what’s not o’ this realm. It’s wild an’ untameable.”
