by Robin Moray
But science? Technology? You could get to grips with them, puzzle out how things worked. Magic was more like a cargo cult; you did the thing, hoping it worked, couldn't really be sure if it would and, if it didn't, why not. You couldn't fix magical things, either, because mostly you couldn't tell how they were broken in the first place. The first time Kevin had taken apart a radio and put it back together and it worked had been something of a revelation.
Not that he was planning a career in science. Not really planning a career in anything. Just, sitting around waiting for Artemis and Bella's spells to resolve.
"Do you need a hand, sitting there?" Artemis asked testily. "Or have you got it under control?"
Sighing, Kevin heaved himself to his feet. "What? Find something?"
"No. You could help, though."
"How?" Kevin thought it unfair to be blamed for being useless when he was, largely, useless. Decorative, more than anything.
"Link with me."
"Link with Bella," Kevin argued. If Artemis wanted a magic boost, it made sense to link with their sister and her monstrous capacity rather than Kevin with the little he had to add.
Artemis muttered something, wiping a hand over his face. "I already have, idiot, which you'd know if you were paying attention."
Kevin squinted. It was true, Artemis had, and now Kevin looked he could see the fine cord that strung them one unto the other, the magic blooming between them. He hadn't felt the tug when it was done, not through the awful miasma soaking the hilltop. Still, it was there, and Kevin reached out, on the one side for his brother and the other for his sister, to close the circle. He supposed it was just as well he didn't have to reach out physically, that would have been too much to bear these days. When they were children, though, they'd had to stand in a circle (a triangle, really) and hold hands. Now he could do it as easy as breathing, the link snapping into place like magnets.
Immediately, the magic spiked. Kevin had to take a breath, dizzy with the strength of it. Strong as his sister was, and weak as he was himself, the three of them together were so much greater than the sum of their parts, almost exponentially. That's why they were a coven. That was the whole point.
Full of magic with Bella and Artemis in the back of his head, Kevin could discern the rough structure of the spells that had been cast here, burnt into the air and the grass and the stone. It looked like a mess, like someone threw a cat in a bag of yarn and spilled the resulting tangle onto the floor.
Also, linking made him hyper-aware of how murky it was on the hill, how the air stank with burnt magic. It made him feel ill. "Urgh, did something really die?"
"I don't know," Artemis started, but Bella cut him off.
"Yes," she said, sure and solemn. "But they're gone, now."
Kevin followed her over to the sad patch of grass on the other side of the Cairn, where a shape was burnt into the turf. It was a smudge, curled like a question mark, and shaped unmistakably like a person.
"Shit!" Kevin couldn't quite believe it. "Holy shit!"
"No wonder the magic stinks," Artemis said, wrinkling his nose at it. "Imagine how much karma you'd burn using magic to kill someone."
"Whoever did this took the body with them. Or destroyed it." Bella laid a hand on one of the cairn-stones, a white one half-way up, and Kevin felt her draw on their pool of magic. She started weaving a ward, spinning it out in great glittering ribbons that faded into the air like smoke, anchoring it to the Cairn. "Necromancer?"
"Ugh, I hope not. Huh." Artemis knelt down, sifting a handful of sand over the grisly evidence and watching as the sand formed patterns on the grass. "Two spells. I was right!" He seemed pleased with this, which Kevin didn't think particularly appropriate, not when someone had died. "Some kind of … I don't know. Dark stuff, though, over something protective. I wonder …"
He looked like he was going to lapse into broody thought, and Kevin couldn't take it any more. "So, what? If it wasn't someone blowing themselves sky high, then what happened?"
Artemis blinked up at him. "Kevin, don't be dim. Someone murdered a witch up here. With magic. It must have been a warlock."
Kevin jerked, the shock of it running down the link and making Artemis flinch. "What? But … hang on, warlocks aren't real. Are they?"
"Oh gawd." Artemis covered his face with one hand, looking done with it all. "Are werewolves real? Are vampires real?"
"Yeah. But, warlocks, though."
"Just because you don't believe in them doesn't mean they don't exist," Artemis said primly, beginning to pack up his things. "They do. And if there's one in Haversham, murdering witches, then we'd better come up with a plan."
Kevin shivered. "To do what?"
"To find them, of course." Artemis looked grim. "Before they find us."
* * *
When the shockwave hit, Peter nearly drove off the road. The force of it was strong enough to blind him, shuddering his vision and tangling his gut into knots, and it took all his willpower to keep his head. He pulled over, killing the engine and leaning his elbow against the steering-wheel to catch his breath, waiting for the magic to ebb away. It stung, battery acid in his lungs, and he swallowed against the urge to vomit. How he hated it. How he wished—
Still. I have to do this, he told himself again. There's no-one else.
The compass in his pocket was vibrating like an angry wasp; he took it out, popped open the lid. The needle had swung west, a clear indication that he was going the wrong way, though the tang of magic on his tongue told him he was close. Mercy, he could still taste it, bitter and sour and everything that was wrong with the world.
He unfolded his map, laying it out on the passenger seat and finding his location with one finger. Somewhere in the woodlands, along this highway, just north of—there. He traced a line westward, and yes, there was a town set back from the highway, a tiny place in amongst the trees. Haversham. He marked it with a circle. Fine. Haversham it was.
It ends here, he promised. On my life, Miranda.
Chapter 2
Kevin had grown up on the stories of warlocks, but even if he'd believed they were real he'd never have imagined one would just show up in town murdering people.
Of all the fairytale monsters that Nanna Abigail had fed them stories about as children, warlocks had been the worst. Werewolves were all right, if you stayed out of their territory and didn't act like a threat. Vampires were neurotic and easily distracted, and completely incapable of coming into your house without permission, which made them somewhat less annoying than spiders. Fairies were a nuisance, but were mostly only interested in pranks. Plus, it was hard to be afraid of something that could be outsmarted by a terrible pun.
But warlocks? They were witches gone bad, with all the wortcunning and power of a witch, and none of the restraint.
The idea was horrifying.
Worse was the idea that it could happen to anyone, if they were reckless enough to stop caring about consequences. Magic done for the wrong reasons had a habit of backfiring, coming around to bite you in the ass. Bad magic was something you ended up regretting. So someone who had gone far enough down that path that they'd willing use it to kill someone? That was the scariest thing Kevin had ever.
No wonder he couldn't sleep. And of course, because he didn't sleep well, the next morning he woke up on the lawn out the front of the house, wet with dew and wearing only his sweatpants.
"Dammit!" His voice came out thick and croaky, and he startled a crow so badly she blundered up onto the fence and cawed insults back at him, indignantly croaky herself. He shoved himself up to his knees, wincing as the damp soil seeped dank and clammy through his sweats. Ugh, his feet were a mess, covered in mud and leaves, shallow scratches all around his ankles.
It could have been worse, he supposed, limping around to the back door. When he was younger he'd been in the habit of sleep-climbing up onto the roof, which was obviously a lot more dangerous than just wandering into the yard. And at least there wasn't ever any t
raffic out here, so even if he staggered into the road he wasn't likely to get hit by a car.
Still, it was worrying and embarrassing, and he let himself carefully back into the house, hoping to go unnoticed.
Luck was against him. He found Bella standing bewildered in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by an unholy mess. There was cereal scattered all over the counter, a bowl with an unpeeled banana and a wooden spoon balanced across it, and milk pooling on the floor. She looked up at him, eyes wide with confusion, then realization flashed across her face. "Oh, Kevin. Did you try to make breakfast?"
"Don't ask me, I was asleep!" He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake up properly. It was too early, he was cold and sore, and it was pretty obvious he had tried to do exactly that. "Look, I'll clean it up. Just …"
But she kept looking at him, mouth turned down in concern. "It's been a few years since you sleep-walked." Which was true; the last time had been when their mother remarried and moved interstate. Kevin hadn't exactly taken it well. And the time before that was when Dad died. Now, though? It wasn't as if he had a good reason, though maybe 'warlock on the loose' was traumatic enough to pass for an excuse, all things considered.
"I'm fine," he told her, firm as he could. "Don't worry about me, you'll get wrinkles."
She gave him a Look. "Maybe when I've got wrinkles you'll mind the things I say," and she poked him in the bare part of his hip. "Go get the dustpan."
When Artemis emerged from his room, wrapped in a fluffy burgundy dressing-gown like a grumpy wizard, he slumped into a chair and asked pointedly if Kevin was planning on going in to the shop today. "I need some things from the grocery," he said, waspish as always in the morning. "Can you pick them up? I've got a list."
"I don't think you ought to go into town," Bella said over her shoulder, sounding calm enough though her aura flickered with worry. "It's not safe to be out and about on your own."
"I know, that's why I'm sending Kevin."
"I'm talking to Kevin," she said crossly, turning to set down a cup of coffee on the table with a sharp thunk. "Don't you agree?"
Kevin couldn't help his groan. "I'll be fine. Don't fuss."
"He'll be fine," Artemis agreed, much to Kevin's surprise. They hardly ever agreed on anything. "Even if he did run into the warlock, I don't think he'd get their attention. He's practically normal."
"Oh, thanks very much," Kevin muttered, but Artemis just waved dismissively, funneling coffee into his face.
"You know what I mean. Just don't do any magic in front of strangers and you'll go completely undetected."
Bella didn'tt seem even slightly convinced. "I don't like it."
"He's not a baby," Artemis said, though his tone of voice didn't actually sound particularly sure of this. "Anyway, someone has to go in. I need things. We're out of vinegar."
Bella muttered something about risking their brother's safety for vinegar, but in the end she let it go, even though by then Kevin had started to wonder if she wasn't right after all.
* * *
Because the universe had a sense of humour, Peter managed to puncture a tyre on the outskirts of the town. And of course his torch battery was flat. He had to wait for the sun to come up for enough light to swap out the flat for the spare.
As a result, he didn't reach Haversham proper until after dawn. Now that the echoes of magic had died out he couldn't pinpoint exactly where the epicentre of the blast had been. He'd have to wait until there was another incident—or he could go looking, he supposed, though he wasn't sure where to start. Those decisions had always been Miranda's, and …
He resolutely did not think about Miranda, lest his despair pull him under again. No. He would concentrate on what was before him, and leave grief for later. If there would indeed be a 'later' for him.
He took a room in the town's lone motel, a clean enough place with reasonable prices. He requested a twin room out of habit, and when he realized his error he flinched but could not bear to ask for it to be changed.
And then. He unpacked what was necessary, left what was not necessary stored in the four-wheel-drive, and took a shower. Hot water was a luxury, he'd discovered, one to take advantage of whenever available. He shaved, too, careful to trim his beard short and sharp; people were usually more forthcoming to a man who looked as though he took care of himself. Then, clean and dressed, a string of charms fastened about one wrist, he went out again.
The town was idyllic, a pristine little white-painted oasis in the sea of green forests and rolling hills spreading cool and clean to the horizon. It was the sort of place that ought to win 'prettiest village' competitions, rose gardens and lavender at every turn, the streets clear of rubbish, the people cheerful and friendly. There was something off about it, though. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was definitely there, something strange, bubbling below the surface.
He passed a cemetery, noting it as a potential nodal point, a bakery, a butcher, a greengrocers, an elementary school, a library. There was a town hall, a post office, signs directing industrial traffic around the town rather than through it. He gathered there was a healthy lumber industry nearby and then, surprisingly, a local hand-made furniture manufactory that seemed far too prosperous. The rest of the town seemed involved in the cultivation and supply of seedlings for commercial sale, to garden centers and the like across the country.
It struck him that the town was doing well. Not excessively so, but well enough, given how the region was struggling in general. Well, good fortune to them, he decided. Gracious, they even had a bookshop. How that could have persisted in the current economic climate … but, he supposed, he was no economist. Perhaps books were a commodity people still purchased, even when times were rough.
Peter wandered the length of Haversham, admiring the neat cottages and well-tended gardens, stopping for a few minutes in the village common—though, he supposed, that was not what it was called. Memorial garden, perhaps, a lovely park surrounded by linden trees and neat lines of rosemary. He ran a hand over the short-cropped hedges, enjoying the scent of them, and sighed. He was so tired. And, he realized, hungry.
There had been no sign, so far, of any magical activity. But then, if the incident had occurred in the woods it would be too far away for him to sense anything. The compass, when he took it out, showed nothing, swinging idly from side to side as he turned it. How useless.
He checked his phone. It was almost noon, a respectable hour for lunch. And there had been a shop on the high street, with a sandwich board advertising sandwiches. He ought to stop there, get something to eat, make discreet enquiries. He walked back, opened the door, and went in.
* * *
Kevin liked Walter. He'd worked in the delicatessen all Kevin's life, sent flowers when Kevin's father died, had always taken a moment to say hello, even when Kevin was just a sticky five-year-old staring at the cakes in the display cabinet. And he made the best sandwiches ever. Well, in the county, at least— Kevin was willing to concede that there might, somewhere in the world, be someone corning a better beef, but of course he hadn't ever checked.
"Reuben on rye?" Walter said when Kevin came in, and Kevin grinned at him.
"Yes, please." Walter poured him a coffee without asking; they both knew the drill. "Busy today?"
"Melissa's boys are putting the roof on the house," Walter told him, slicing meat. "I made them lunch. And Sandy came by. You should stop in on her sometime. Her baking's good. I know how you are about brownies."
Kevin could feel his blush. He was pretty much a sucker for brownies. And he'd used to be a sucker for Sandy Fuller, up until he'd started noticing how good the back of Leo Milani's neck looked in math class. After that, well, he'd lost interest in girls for a little while. And by the time he'd got through his awkwardly gangly phase and girls started to notice his existence, the whole memory of how much of a sucker he'd been for Sandy Fuller had been too embarrassing to contemplate.
He cleared his throat, well aware that Walte
r could see his embarrassment and was politely ignoring it. "C'mon, Walt. I can't just go 'round begging for cake," he said, leaning on the counter to watch as the old man put his sandwich together.
"Hnn. Guess not, then." Walter smiled kindly and changed the subject. See? This was why Kevin liked him. "How's the shop? Anything interesting come in?"
The family business was, ostensibly, a new and second-hand books business. They had a shop down main street, with shelves upon shelves of dusty old books that no-one ever wanted to buy, and a back room where they kept the expensive antiques in a book cage (as if anyone in Haversham would break in to steal a bunch of old books). They made most of their money trading in rare books online, or at least that's what they told people in town.
In reality, Artemis and Bella did a bunch of magical consulting on the side, meeting dark-hooded anonymous figures in the woods at night to swap charms and protections or one of Artemis' spell constructions for cash. Kevin had used to think it exciting. These days it was just boring, being dragged along in his siblings' wake and expected to stand still and shut up and not annoy anyone while the others talked wortcunning and witchcraft.
But, to the rest of the world, they were moderately successful bookshop owners in a small town, and Kevin actually enjoyed that.
"Nah. Unless you like mysteries for kids."
"I used to collect the Hardy Boys," Walter confided, serving up Kevin's sandwich and topping up his coffee, and they debated Hardy Boys versus Nancy Drew while Kevin ate his lunch.
Eventually Kevin asked, casually as he could, "So, anyone new around town? Anything interesting?"
Walter blinked slowly. "Should there be?"
Kevin shrugged, not quite sure how to excuse the question. "I guess not? Just … well, it can get samey, you know. When nothing ever happens."
