by Sharon Booth
'Blaise? That names rings a bell. Oh, you're named after that distant ancestor of yours, are you?' Hector smiled. 'What an honour. I hear he was quite a hero.'
Blaise relaxed slightly. 'I heard that, too,' he said. 'It's gratifying he's still remembered, all these years later.'
'Quite.' Hector turned to me, his eyes warm and friendly, and I felt mean for being so dismayed to see him. After all, he'd shown me nothing but kindness, and he was Benedict's friend.
'It's nice to see you again, Hector,' I said. 'Happy New Year, by the way.'
'Happy New Year to you, too, Celeste. And to you, Blaise. I'm sure I'll see you around at some point. I'd better get off. I've just been to The Rosemary Tea Rooms to get some Yorkshire parkin for my mum. She's got a bit of a cold, bless her, and I thought Mrs Greenwood's cake would cheer her up.'
'That'll do the trick, if nothing will,' I agreed, smiling at him. 'Take care, Hector.'
'Bye, Celeste.' He studied me for a moment, genuine friendship in his eyes. Then he turned to Blaise. 'Bye, Blaise. Enjoy Castle Clair. It's as lovely as it ever was.'
Blaise gave him a curt nod, and I pulled him away from Hector and towards the benches. I felt we'd had a lucky escape and needed a sit down. It had terrified me Blaise would blurt something out and alert Hector there was something strange about him. Not that Hector would pick up on it, I supposed, but even so, it had been unnerving.
'I don't like him,' Blaise announced as we walked.
'Why ever not? He's a nice man,' I said, surprised. 'You made it far too obvious you didn't want to shake his hand, you know. It wasn't very polite of you.'
'I shouldn't have to shake the hand of a man I don't trust,' he said.
'Why wouldn't you trust him?'
'Because,' he said, giving me a knowing look, 'he's got the hots for you.'
I stopped dead, my heart thumping. 'What do you mean by that?'
'I mean, he's attracted to you. He wants you. He desires you. Can I make it any clearer?'
'You're being silly.' I knew I was blushing and hurried over to the bench, hoping he wouldn't notice.
'I'm not being silly,' he insisted. 'A man knows these things. You attract him, and I don't like it. He's not good enough for you.'
I had to stop myself from smiling. I was trying not to read too much into this weird conversation, but it seemed awfully as if Blaise was jealous. Could it be possible? I dropped onto a bench and tried to steady myself, but my stomach swished around in excitement. It was the first sign he'd given me I meant anything to him. Did I dare hope?
'These views are very different to the ones in my day,' Blaise murmured, as we gazed across at the viaduct. 'That wasn't there, for a start. And all these little buildings by the river — all new to me. I don't remember that church either,' he added, nodding over at Holy Trinity church, whose steeple was only just visible above the trees and buildings in the distance.
I took a deep breath and steadied myself. Business as usual. 'That's a fairly new church,' I explained. 'They only built it in the nineteenth century. It was to cope with a rising population in the area.'
'Because of the industrial revolution?' he asked.
I beamed at him in delight. 'Yes! Wow, you're enjoying those history books, aren't you?'
'They're fascinating,' he said. 'I'm currently reading about the second British Empire.'
'There were two?' How hadn't I known that?
'The first concerned the colonies in America and the West Indies, but that ended after the American Revolution,' he explained. 'The one I'm reading about now is the empire which was mostly made up of India and the conquests in African territories.'
'Hmm,' I said. 'Perhaps you should skip that part.'
'But why?' He sounded genuinely puzzled. 'It's fascinating! The British achieved so much. I'm amazed our glorious empire spread so far and wide.'
'Seriously, Blaise,' I said, 'it's not as simple as that. We don't celebrate the Empire these days. There's so much more to it than you realise.'
'I don't understand,' he said.
'No, you don't. I think Sirius and I will have to find you some other books to read, to balance the skewed view you're reading now. Attitudes have changed. You need to see the other side of the story.'
'Meaning what?'
'Meaning, history is written by the winners. You need to remember that.'
He considered the matter. 'I suppose that's true, yes.'
'Think, for example, how few women's lives are documented in history,' I said. 'They're rarely mentioned, except in their capacity as the wives or daughters of men. Bargaining chips. A commodity to exchange for a peace treaty or a trade deal. It's disgusting.'
'You sound furious, Celeste,' he said.
'Do you blame me?'
'I never thought about it before,' he admitted.
'I don't suppose you did. But maybe it's time to start.' I shook my head. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It upsets me, that's all. I mean, even in our own family, it's the same thing. The St Clair male line is well documented, and we have many portraits of the men. But our female ancestors? None. Well ...' My voice trailed off, and I shifted uncomfortably, remembering the one solitary portrait of a woman we had on our museum walls. Jennet. Best not mention her. 'I don't even know who your mother was,' I admitted sadly. 'I know all about Rafe St Clair and his gallantry during the Civil Wars. But who was your mother? Not a clue. It's depressing to realise we'll never know many of our female ancestors.'
He took my hand and squeezed it gently. 'You're right, Celeste. It is sad. Who was my mother? Who was my grandmother? There are no records of them?'
I hesitated. 'There are names, but few details. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up.'
'It's something you feel passionate about,' he said. 'I can understand why, but I'd like to know more about all this. Perhaps, while reading history is important, I should also read modern perspectives? I find some things your family says and does perplexing. And that strange little box — what do you call it? A television? I find the things I see on it alarming.'
I managed a smile. 'And those are only the things we allow you to watch,' I said. 'You're definitely not ready for the uncensored version yet. We're weaning you onto it all slowly.'
He shook his head. 'So much to learn.'
'But you're willing to do so,' I said, 'and that's the most important thing. Not everyone would.'
'Learning is everything,' he told me. 'Ever since I was a small boy, I wanted to know more. My father used to say I was the most curious child he'd ever known.'
'He did?'
Blaise scratched his head thoughtfully. 'He must have. That's what I recall, anyway. I wish I could remember his voice, his face. It's so frustrating.'
'Come on,' I said, helping him to his feet. 'Time to visit the doctor's surgery.'
He pulled a face. 'I'm not looking forward to this.'
'Nothing will happen,' I assured him. 'We're only registering you, that's all.'
He didn't look too convinced but didn't protest as we made our way through the car park and down Rook Alley. The doctor's surgery was in a little street off Castlegate, which led onto Market Place. It was in a row of three-storey Georgian townhouses, and Blaise took a moment to step back and admire the architecture before I dragged him inside.
A smiling blonde woman with large, round glasses welcomed us, and helped us complete a registration form for Blaise. I held my breath as I handed over the birth certificate and passport that Castor had produced for us. They stated that Blaise's full name was Blaise Vincent Elias St Clair, which was true, according to our records. However, it also gave his date of birth as 9th November 1990, which most definitely wasn't true. At least, not the year.
The receptionist barely glanced at them before I hurried Blaise over to the nearest vacant chairs and we sat down beside each other, the form still clutched in my hand. We filled it in as best we could, confident that when the surgery requested his medical records from his previous
surgery, a whole host of data would wing its way electronically from the village medical centre at Ballydraiocht, where Blaise had apparently been living and working for the last five years.
When we handed the form to the receptionist, she gave us back the ID and ran an appraising eye over our handiwork.
'Ireland, eh?'
We held our breath, hoping she wouldn't throw a spanner in the works already.
'Lovely place, Ireland. What's made you come back here?'
I relaxed. 'Oh, you know,' I said. 'Brexit. All that palaver.'
She pulled a face. 'Of course. Say no more.' She gave Blaise a long, lingering look and I saw the admiration in her eyes. I couldn't really blame her, but it still rankled.
'Right, I'll make you an appointment for a new patient check,' she said, dragging her eyes away from him and focusing on the computer screen. 'Eleven-fifteen next Friday do you?'
After glancing at me for approval, Blaise confirmed that it would be fine, and she beamed at him. 'That's booked in for you. Now, here's the sample bottle. Make sure to provide a nice specimen of urine for the doctor. There'll be blood tests, too. Are you okay with needles?'
Blaise looked alarmed by this point.
'He's fine,' I said quickly. 'So, we'll see you next week.' I grabbed the sample bottle and bundled Blaise out of the surgery before she could think of anything else that would scare the bejesus out of him.
'That's that ticked off,' I said. 'Hey, don't look so worried.'
'But I am worried,' he confessed. 'That place had a funny smell. It made me feel sick.'
'Medical places do that to everyone,' I assured him. 'It's all the antiseptic and stuff.'
'Anti—?'
'To keep the places spotlessly clean. Fight germs.'
'Oh.' He sighed. 'That again.'
'Come on,' I said, laughing. 'Let's visit Star at The Broom Closet, then I'll take you upstairs to the Rosemary Tea Rooms. I'm sure Mrs Greenwood will have a cake there with your name on it.'
****
Blaise couldn't believe the audacity of it.
'In broad daylight, for all to see!'
I followed his gaze and spotted two women coming out of The Broom Closet. They were openly examining two wands they'd bought. One of them was holding a black carrier bag bearing the shop's logo of a broomstick and cat, plus the name emblazoned in gold letters.
'It's okay, you see?' I waved my hand around the marketplace, where no one was taking the slightest bit of notice of our two customers. 'There's no danger. Like I said, it's all dismissed as fairy stories, so no one cares. You must stop worrying.'
'I find that deeply insulting,' he growled. 'Fairy stories! Magic is an art and takes a great deal of finesse and skill. How can it be dismissed so easily?'
'Better that than the days of the witchfinders and ducking stools,' I pointed out. 'Don't you think?'
He sighed. 'I suppose so. I wish people could be more broad-minded about things. Magic could be very useful to them in their own lives, if they'd let us help them.'
'It won't happen,' I said. 'At least, not in the foreseeable future. Shall we go inside?'
He nodded, and I led him across the square to The Broom Closet. It was a solid, eighteenth-century double-fronted building. Two large multi-paned bay windows sat either side of a solid, black wooden door. Running the full length of the shop, just above window height, was a sign painted in gold letters on a black background: The Broom Closet — Magical Supplies for the Discerning Witch.
Blaise blew out his cheeks as he stared up at the wording. 'Unbelievable.'
'Come on,' I said, before he could start his rant again.
We stepped inside the shop. Belle immediately welcomed us, weaving in and out of Blaise's legs, purring loudly. He crouched down to stroke her, and she rubbed her face against his hand, smitten with him. Paypacket stood, stony-faced, watching us from a safe distance.
Star called to us from behind the counter. 'You came at last. Welcome to The Broom Closet, Blaise.'
We headed over to her and I nodded back at Belle. 'What's she doing here?'
'Sky asked if she could visit. She doesn't see Paypacket nearly enough, and you know how fond they are of each other. She's no trouble, so why not?'
I couldn't argue with that. Paypacket and Belle were wild about each other, though it was a mystery to Sky why her little cat was so obsessed with the grumpy, and often downright awkward, Paypacket.
I'd worried Spirit might feel like a gooseberry, seeing as the other two cats were obviously a couple, but she'd assured me it didn't bother her in the slightest. In fact, she was glad Belle had such a close relationship with Paypacket as, frankly, he got on Spirit's nerves and she found his tantrums and his pessimism rather tiresome.
She preferred human company anyway and was always happier when she was with me or Mother. Mother's familiar, Tabitha, had been Spirit's great-great grandmother, who had sadly died ten years ago. Mother always said she didn't want another familiar, but she and Spirit drew comfort from each other and liked to reminisce, so I never felt bad about leaving her behind at the Lodge if I went out without her. Recently, I realised with a start, she'd been staying with Mother much more frequently. Every time I asked her if she wanted to come with me, she'd make an excuse. I wondered why.
'What do you think to The Broom Closet, Blaise?' Star called, and I looked round, realising he'd wandered off and was now examining some items on the shelves.
'This is beyond belief,' he said. 'It's all right to sell these out in the open? All these herbs and candles and — goodness, you even have athames!'
'It's perfectly fine,' she promised. 'There are lots of magical supply shops all over the country and online.'
'Online?'
'Something else we must demonstrate at some point,' she said.
'We saw two women leave with their purchases,' Blaise said. 'They weren't at all afraid to show them in public. Extraordinary. Do you get many customers?'
'Lots,' Star said. 'Especially at the time of the sabbats, and even more so on the anniversary.'
'Anniversary?'
I said gently, 'Your anniversary. The witch's leap.'
'Oh.'
'So, have you any recollection of what happened yet?' Star queried.
Blaise shook his head. 'None. It's very frustrating.'
'His head's so full of all the things he's learning about modern life he's got no time or room in his mind for what happened before,' I said sympathetically. 'He's had a busy day today. He registered at the doctor's surgery, and he's had a bit of a wander around the castle and the town. We bumped into Benedict's friend, by the way.'
'Hector? Yes, he's just been in here. Got some Yorkshire parkin for his mum, I think. Such a sweet man.' Star gave me a judgmental look. 'Anyway, about your memory, Blaise. Are you honestly saying nothing's come back to you, even though you've been out and about?'
'He remembered a bit about the geography of the town, but nothing specific.'
'Gosh, that must be so annoying for you.' Star considered him thoughtfully. 'Have you tested to see if your magic's returned yet?'
Blaise paled. 'No, not yet.'
'Why ever not?'
I gave her a piercing look, hoping she'd get the message. Star, unfortunately — or perhaps deliberately — didn't even glance in my direction.
'It's been ages. You need to try. Tell you what, why don't you choose something from the shop? My treat. Have a look around and see if there's anything that pulls you to it.'
Blaise looked at me uncertainly. I shrugged.
'No harm in trying,' I said. 'But if nothing speaks to you, don't worry. It's early days.'
I gave Star another look, and this time she picked up on it. 'Of course. No pressure.'
Blaise continued searching the shelves, picking up items and putting them down again. He looked rather perplexed.
'Why do you have all these things here?' he asked, waving his hand at the gift cabinet.
Star came out from
behind the counter and we wandered over to join him, staring dolefully at the small ornaments of black cats, the little witch figurines, fridge magnets, mugs and lots of other stuff that served no magical purpose.
'It's hard to explain,' I said. 'Lots of people who come in here have no magic, you see ...'
'Poor creatures,' he said. 'It's hard when a child is born into a magical family and has no powers.'
'Oh, these people aren't like that,' Star explained. 'They're just ordinary people from ordinary families. They come here because witchcraft fascinates them, and they want to be part of the magical world, so they surround themselves with trinkets and figurines and pretend they're witches. It's sweet, actually.'
Blaise looked stunned. 'You're telling me that, in the twenty-first century, non-magical people pretend to be magical?'
We nodded.
He whistled. 'I've heard everything now. The world's gone mad. All those centuries of hiding our magic, and now you have people pretending to be witches. I'd never have believed it.'
'I know,' Star said. 'I suppose it is a bit silly when you look at it like that. But they get so desperate. They so want to be witches, bless them.'
'It's not as bad for them as it is for the non-magical child born into a family of witches,' he pointed out. 'That's real pain, right there.'
I narrowed my eyes. Was he speaking from experience?
'Blaise,' I said, 'are you remembering something else?'
He stared down at the half dozen crystals he held in his palm. 'He could never feel their power,' he whispered, 'and now I understand how that feels.'
'What? Who couldn't?' Star sounded eager, and I put a restraining hand on her arm, not wanting her to break his train of thought.
'When we were children,' he murmured. 'I could feel them pulsing in my hand. The stones. The rocks. I could feel the life within them. He never could. He used to cry sometimes, when he was small.'
'Who did?' I murmured. 'Who are you talking about?'
'My brother,' he said. 'Bevil. Bevil had no magic at all.'
Chapter Eleven
Star suggested we go upstairs to The Rosemary Tea Rooms.
'He's in shock,' she whispered to me, and looking at Blaise's pale face I couldn't disagree. A clear image had obviously come back to him of his brother, Bevil. 'He needs some sugar or something. Nan will sort him out.'
