The Rowanwood Curse (Hal Bishop Mysteries Book 1)

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  In the dim glow of the candlelight, I saw the dark marks on the ground begin to shift and twist, gathering themselves together. Then, as suddenly as the fire had gone out, something stood in its place. It looked like a woman—if a woman were made of ice, and clothed in night, with hair like spun glass and eyes the color of beetles.

  At her feet sat a girl, clinging to her skirt of night, and the woman’s hand of ice rested in the girl’s dark hair. Dark hair, flowing down past her shoulders, and blank blue eyes staring sightlessly before her—it was Cecilia Pryce. I swallowed back a cry.

  “Magician,” said the woman, and her voice was the sound of the north wind. “You have called me. What bargain do you propose?”

  She turned her beetle eyes to where I stood, and there was a flash of something like hunger in them. She twined her white hand in Cecilia’s hair. “The boy for the girl, perhaps?”

  “No,” Hal said sharply. “Jem, stay back.”

  I blinked at the harshness in his tone, looking down at my feet. I had stepped just to the edge of the circle—and I had not even realized I was moving. I moved back a few paces, my stomach twisting.

  Hal folded his arms over his chest again, face set. “I have returned your child to you. That was my only purpose.”

  The woman laughed, and it was the sound of an icicle falling. “Wrong! You want her back. Well, you can’t have her. I have granted the boon, and I will keep my prize.”

  “Your prize?” Hal said, frowning.

  “My prize,” the woman repeated, her tone soft and predatory. She stroked Cecilia’s dark head with her icy hand. “Many years I’ve waited, and now I’ve claimed it. I shan’t let it go.”

  “And what boon have you granted in exchange for her?” Hal looked at Cecilia’s blank face and empty eyes, his frown deepening.

  “Oho! Trying to be clever.” The woman gave her sharp laugh again, and smiled, showing a row of pointed teeth. “You won’t catch me out like that.”

  She waved her free hand imperiously, and a chill wind cut through my coat. “Now, away with you.” Her smile widened, her beetle eyes gleaming. “Unless there is another bargain you care to make.”

  “I have no further business with you.” Hal’s tone was final, and he began to turn away from her.

  “Are you so certain?” She turned her gleaming black eyes on me again. “And yet you tempt me with this shiny bauble.”

  “He is not part of this spell.” Hal glanced at me. “And he is not for you.”

  “Hmm, I see.” The woman touched an icy finger to her chin, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, too bad. He’s broken anyway.”

  She moved closer to Hal; not walking, but seeming to glide. She leaned forward, her tone dropping conspiratorially. “My bad pet gave him a nasty bite. I could fix it for you.”

  Hal stepped back. “No.”

  “No?” She shook her head. “I suppose you like being alone then. Everyone gone. First mama, then papa, now little brother.”

  My stomach went cold. “Hal, don’t listen to her.”

  She glanced at me, raising her lips in a snarl. I stumbled back. She turned to Hal, her face softening, and laid a hand on his cheek, over the plaster that covered the scratches Cecilia’s fetch had given him.

  “You can never save them,” she said, in an almost sing-song tone. “Too young to save your mother, too slow to save your father, and now too blind to save your brother. So sad.”

  Hal stared at her, his face blank—I could not understand why he did not move back, did not push her hand away.

  “But it doesn’t have to be so,” she said softly. “I can fix him. Yes.”

  And then I saw the lines, thick and dark, spreading out from beneath her hand, covering his face. I didn’t think—I hurried forward and scuffed the salt of the circle with my foot. The woman turned to me, snarling, her beetle eyes glowing with rage. There was a swift rush of wind, knocking me off my feet and blowing out the candles, and she was gone.

  I sat up, reaching for the lantern, and found it, still lit. I could feel my heart in my throat as I raised it, swinging around to look for my brother. He knelt in the center of the circle, shoulders bowed and face buried in his hands. My stomach twisted, and I pushed myself to my feet, scrambling over to him. I crouched beside him, setting the lantern down and taking hold of his arm.

  “Hal,” I said, my voice hoarse. He didn’t answer—didn’t even look up. I shook his arm, fear knotting my stomach. “Hal, look at me. Are you all right?”

  He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hands over his face before looking up at me. The dark lines were gone; I let out a breath.

  “Are you all right?” I repeated.

  “You broke the spell,” he said, sounding a bit dazed.

  “Yes—I had to,” I said, letting go of his arm and running a hand through my hair. “You were—what did it do to you?”

  “I’m fine, Jem.” He reached up and squeezed my shoulder. “You did right.”

  I sat back on my heels, blowing out another breath. I thought about poor Cecilia, clinging to the skirt of that creature. “What—what do we do now?”

  Hal scrubbed a hand over his face again and pushed himself to his feet. He took his pipe from his pocket and began filling it.

  “Her prize,” he said, beginning to pace. “Her prize she waited many years to claim.”

  I stood, picking up the lantern. “Does that mean something to you?”

  He ignored me, pacing around the dark circle of ash where Cecilia’s fetch had burned. “Not the boon, but the prize. And she waited many years . . . .” He stopped suddenly, slapping his forehead. “I’m an ass. I’ve been an ass, from beginning to end of this. It’s stared me in the face this whole time . . . .”

  “What do you mean?” I shifted my feet; the cold made them ache.

  “The fetch was right about me—so stupid my head was the wrong way around, indeed,” he said, more to himself than to me. He shook his head. “How could I have been so blind?”

  “If you’re having some sort of epiphany, perhaps you’d care to enlighten me,” I said. “Or at least you could wait to have it when we’re inside and near a fireplace.”

  His mouth quirked up in its familiar half-smile. “I know who cast the curse—and I know how to break it.”

  “But—how?” I sputtered. “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because Sir Jasper loves his daughter,” he said, lighting his pipe. “It’s the simplest thing in the world.”

  He bent and began gathering the candles, setting them back in the box, while I stood holding the lantern, not quite certain what had just happened.

  “But what are we going to do now?” I said, staring at him.

  “We are going to speak to Sir Jasper.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers. There was a triumphant look in his eye, despite his self-deprecation. “And then we are going to save that girl.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  We walked back around the other side of the stone to meet Mr. Gilley, who was dozing in the pony cart. He startled awake at our approach, blinking sleep from his eyes.

  “All ready, then?” He slid his flask back inside his pocket. “Didn’t take long, I must say.”

  “Didn’t have to.” Hal thrust his hands in his pockets and smiled. “We’ve everything we need now.”

  Mr. Gilley raised a quizzical eyebrow, but shook his head. He held his hand out for the lantern and I gave it to him, climbing up into the cart after my brother. Hal looked a bit pale in the moonlight, though he kept smiling.

  “Are you really all right?” I said, keeping my voice low. “You never told me what she did to you.”

  The smile faded from his face, and he looked at me wearily. “Don’t fuss, Jem. I’m perfectly fine.”

  I gave him a skeptical look, but I decided not to press him. I leaned back against the pony cart, closing my eyes. The wind whistled in my ears, and the motion of the cart made me drowsy—I suppose I nodded off, for the next thing I knew, we were bei
ng dropped in front of the Hall.

  We clambered out of the cart, and I looked at the Hall, looming over us, with a curious sense of dread. I glanced over at Hal, who still had the triumphant gleam in his eyes, and wondered what he would tell Sir Jasper. I followed him inside, where Reeves met us and told us that Sir Jasper was waiting for us in the library.

  Hal pushed open the heavy wooden door, and there we found our employer. He sat in one of the chairs before the fire, his dark hair disheveled and his shoulders bowed. He turned at our entrance; his face had a grey cast to it, and his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. He pressed a hand to his blind eye, looking very old and very tired.

  “Well, what news is there?” His voice was hoarse and weary. “Is it good or bad?”

  Hal did not answer him at once; he went and stood before the fireplace, his hands in his pockets. He looked at Sir Jasper for a long moment, puffing at his pipe. “It is good news, to the extent that I believe your daughter can be saved.”

  Sir Jasper dropped the hand from his eye and stared at Hal. “But that is the best possible news! How? Tell me, how can we save her?”

  Hal frowned around his pipe, looking at his feet. “Perhaps it would be best to begin by explaining the curse.”

  “If you must,” Sir Jasper said, drawing his brows together. “Come now, let us leave off the dramatics. Tell me, how can you help my daughter?”

  I sat down on the sofa, watching Hal. He did not look up at Sir Jasper, and despite his triumphant attitude outside, he seemed reluctant to speak now, faced with our employer. It was a long moment before he spoke again.

  “It is a fact that your daughter has been stolen away by a fairy,” he said. “I have seen it for myself.”

  “You have seen her? Alive?” At Hal’s nod, Sir Jasper ran a hand over his face. “Thank God. But—who has done this to her? Why?”

  Hal shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He turned away from Sir Jasper, facing the fire. “I believe that you are the one responsible.”

  “I?” Sir Jasper stared at Hal in astonishment. “What—this is absurd. Why would I harm my own child?”

  “You wouldn’t,” Hal said quietly. “Not intentionally. But the object of this spell was never to harm your daughter.”

  Sir Jasper’s forehead creased; he shook his head. “What do you mean? Speak plainly, man.”

  Hal turned around, his face grave. Smoke curled about his head. “When I met you, you compared yourself to Job. I think another Biblical personage would be a better comparison—Cain, perhaps?”

  A heavy silence fell. Sir Jasper’s face lost what little color it had, and he turned away from my brother, staring into the fireplace. He twisted his hands together, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do.” Hal began pacing, folding his arms over his chest. “Lord Anthony was never mad, was he? He didn’t merely dream of being a beast—he was becoming one. But only you and his wife knew that.”

  “I—he was addicted to laudanum,” Sir Jasper said, the knuckles of his hands turning white. “He believed many things . . . .”

  “Yes,” Hal said. “But this one was true. He knew that he was becoming something monstrous, and he could not stand it. That is why he killed himself. And you cleverly arranged not to be present when it happened.”

  “No!” Sir Jasper swung around. “You don’t understand—you’ve gotten it all wrong.”

  Hal paused, giving Sir Jasper a long look. “Then perhaps you can enlighten me.”

  Our employer stared down at his hands. “Anthony was—he was useless—worse than that. He was a wastrel, a hedonist. All he seemed to know how to do was acquire debt. And Father—Father would just laugh, and pay the debts. There had been some money set aside for me—to invest in my mine. I was to inherit it—Anthony, of course, would come into the residue of the estate.”

  “But that is not what happened.”

  “No.” Sir Jasper ran a hand over his face, mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “Anthony acquired a truly astonishing debt just before Father died—and Father altered the will, leaving all of his money to Anthony. I received nothing—and I knew, I knew, that in a matter of years my brother would destroy everything my father had built.”

  I remembered what he had said to me before we went to the mine—the plight of the second son. “You were angry?”

  “Angry!” He laughed. “Angry hardly begins to cover it.”

  “And you are not the sort of person to suffer silently.” Hal resumed pacing, his pipe billowing smoke into the air. “You would not have simply let it pass—you took matters into your own hands.”

  “I certainly did.” Sir Jasper leaned back in his chair. “In the way that civilized people deal with this sort of thing—I went to London to contact a solicitor.”

  Hal stopped, shaking his head. “That may be what you intended, but that is not what happened.” He took the pipe from his mouth and pointed it at Sir Jasper. “So tell me—what did you do?”

  Sir Jasper ran his hands through his hair. “What is this absurd inquisition? Why do you speak of my brother when I ask you about my daughter? Let Anthony stay in the past, where he belongs.”

  “All of this might well have stayed there with him—but for one thing.” Hal stuck his pipe back between his teeth. “Your nephew came back.”

  “My nephew?” Sir Jasper looked into the fireplace again, twisting his hands together. “He is not here—he went home. He has nothing to do with this.”

  “No,” Hal said quietly. “He did not go home. And even if he had, it was too late. For I believe his fate was sealed the moment he returned to Rowanwood.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Sir Jasper’s face had gone a ghastly shade of grey. He pressed his folded hands to his forehead. “He is not here—he is back with his mother.”

  Hal watched him, almost sadly. “Are you so certain? Tell me, have you contacted your sister-in-law? Have you satisfied yourself that the boy was at home?”

  “No.” Sir Jasper spoke more to himself than to Hal; he did not look up. “No, you cannot mean . . . .”

  “Did it not occur to you when you heard about the sheep?” Hal sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Did you not think then that your curse had come to into its full fruit at last?”

  Sir Jasper made a choking sound. “The beast—then you think . . . .”

  That it is Marcus?” Hal blew out a puff of smoke. “Yes, I am certain of it. When we encountered the creature, Jem noted its blue eyes. And when we spoke to the fetch—I should have realized then. She told me that a son who walks the path of his father is bound to come to the same end.”

  He stood again, putting his hands in his pockets and pacing. “I knew that the curses were connected—but I was mistaken about the nature of the connection. You see, I had been proceeding from the assumption that the object of the spell was to harm Cecilia.”

  Sir Jasper looked up, a tortured expression in his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I had it the wrong way around,” Hal said. “The fairy gave me the last clue when I returned the fetch—she told me that Cecilia was her prize, and not the boon she had granted. Cecilia was the price of the spell—and to whom is her life most valuable? Who would have cast a curse so deadly as to require such a payment?”

  “No.” Sir Jasper’s voice was hoarse, desperate. “No, that can’t be—you’ve misunderstood . . . .”

  “Have I?” Hal’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Let me tell you what I understand—I understand that you resented your brother. I understand that you thought you would be the better steward of your father’s legacy. I understand that there has been a feeling of darkness around this house since he died. And I understand that everything you hold dear—your mine, your daughter, your home—has been poisoned.”

  He stood over Sir Jasper, his arms folded. “There is only one solution that makes any sense. You cursed your brother—a terrible curse. You turned him into a monste
r, though only you and his wife were aware of it. He shut himself away, until he could bear it no more—and then he killed himself. What you did to him . . . .”

  “Murder would have been kinder.” Sir Jasper looked up, eyes wet. “I know. I know. That is why I went to London at the end. I wanted—I tried to have it lifted. I would not have wished what happened to him on any human creature.”

  “But there was nothing you could do,” Hal said.

  Sir Jasper shook his head. “I had been making payments to a certain address—I went there to find the man who had given me the name of the spirit and told me how to call her. But it was nothing more than an abandoned warehouse.”

  “You refer to T.S.?”

  “How do you know—never mind. I should hardly be surprised by now.” Sir Jasper closed his eyes. “That was my shorthand for him—I never knew his name. But he had a tattoo of a spider web above his right wrist, so I called him The Spider.”

  Hal frowned. “And you have been making payments to him all this time?”

  “I had to,” Sir Jasper said, running his hands over his face. “He would have exposed me. And it was too late to save Anthony . . . but Cecilia—I could not let her live with the shame of knowing what I had done.”

  “And what of Marcus?” Hal said coldly. “For I know that you did not stop at your brother when you laid this curse.”

  “I didn’t know!” Sir Jasper stood abruptly, leaning against the mantel. “I didn’t know what the spell would do. I asked that my brother be prevented from wasting the estate. And I was going to have a child. I couldn’t live with the idea of my child having everything—everything—stolen from her as I had. So I asked that the spell extend to my brother’s child.”

  I stared at him, a sick feeling in my stomach. “He was only a year old—an infant. How could you do such a thing?”

  He groaned, laying his head in his hands. “I didn’t know—God help me, I swear I didn’t know. But the boy was safe—his mother took him back to her country. I agreed to send money regularly, and she promised to keep him away from Rowanwood.”