The Blood Binding

by Helen Stringer

  “Probably,” said Elsie. “She was telling me how many gardens she’d done. It made me tired just thinking about it.”

  They finally caught up with her at the far end of the garden in a sunny spot near a gurgling stream. Gertrude pointed to a clump of sturdy green plants near the water’s edge.

  “That’s it,” she said.

  Belladonna bent down and started picking leaves.

  “I don’t think that’s what you need, dear. I’ve read that the ancient Romans valued it for its resin. You’ll need to cut through the stalk.”

  Belladonna tried pulling one of the plants out of the ground, but it didn’t budge. Gertrude smiled, moved Belladonna gently aside, then reached into her pocket, took out a pair of clippers and went to work on the stalk.

  “My goodness!” she said, stepping back. “That is a very tough plant!”

  Belladonna turned and looked at Steve.

  “This is so weird,” he said, stepping forward and taking the ruler out of his pocket. It instantly turned into the secateurs again. He leaned down and snipped through the stalk as if it were nothing more than a dandelion.

  “Wait a minute,” gasped Gertrude. “Is that the Rod of Gram?”

  “Yes,” said Steve, pocketing the ruler once again.

  “So you’re the Paladin? Then that must mean…”

  “Yes,” said Belladonna, a little sheepishly. “I’m the Spellbinder.”

  “Well, I never! What an honor! And in my garden, too!”

  “Thanks for helping us,” said Belladonna. “The garden is lovely.”

  “Not at all. I’ll walk with you back to the lift.”

  She set off more slowly this time, showing off her garden and explaining her plantings and why she’d chosen the different flowers and shrubs. By the time they reached the House of Mists again, Belladonna was so enchanted with the tour that she’d almost forgotten why they’d come.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, really meaning it and shaking Gertrude’s hand.

  “Not at all. You must go and see some of my gardens. I believe quite a few still exist.”

  “We will.”

  Elsie pushed the button for the elevator and the doors slid open.

  “See you later!”

  As usual, the elevator didn’t return them to the oracle, but to the groundsman’s shed near the football pitch. It was almost completely dark, but they were able to find the nettles and burdock with Steve’s flashlight. Belladonna wrapped the stinging nettles in a tissue from her pocket and they returned to the school to retrieve their coats and bags, which they managed to do without being caught, much to their amazement.

  “There must be a staff meeting or something,” said Steve, as they slipped outside and walked up the steps to the convent.

  Belladonna rang the doorbell, which was answered by a rather surprised nun. Steve explained that they needed some crabapples for a class project and that someone had told them the convent had a tree.

  “We were wondering if we could have a few?”

  “Why, certainly,” said the nun.

  She asked them to step inside, then disappeared down a long corridor, reappearing a moment later, from a completely different direction, with a small plastic bag of crabapples.

  “Will that be enough?”

  “Yes,” said Belladonna, smiling. “Thank you very much!”

  They picked up the rest of the herbs on the way back to Lychgate Lane, buying the fennel and apple juice at the green grocers, and plucking a few leaves of mugwort and hosta from the garden next door.

  “I’m home!” yelled Belladonna as they walked into the house. “Steve is here!”

  “Hello, Steve!” said Mr. Johnson cheerily as he floated an inch or two above his easy chair, watching the news. “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “No thanks,” said Steve. “I promised I’d help dad in the shop. The Christmas stuff will be in soon and we need to make room.”

  “We’ve just come to make a potion.”

  “Splendid. Your grandmother’s in the kitchen, I know she’d love to help with that.”

  Of course, Grandma Johnson was thrilled, and soon had the kitchen counters festooned with bowls, spoons, whisks and a pestle and mortar.

  “Um…Actually, I think the food processor might work best,” said Belladonna.

  “But where’s the fun in that? Come on now, let’s get mixing!”

  Belladonna got the chamomile and dried thyme out of the cupboard and added it to everything else, while Steve poured some of the apple juice over the whole lot until they had a kind of muddy liquid.

  “Right,” said Grandma Johnson. “That smells suitably vile. I gather this is something to do with the bog girl you met yesterday?”

  “Yes,” said Belladonna. “Her uncle said the Spirits of the Black Water don’t really need a blood binding. He said this might work instead.”

  “The operative word being ‘might,’” said Steve. “I’ve never met such a miserable bloke in all my life.”

  “Well, he was needlessly sacrificed in a swamp, Stephen,” said Grandma Johnson. “I can see how that might color your outlook. So what do you have to do with it? Smear it on a tree or something?”

  “No. I think we need to sort of pour it around the area where they are going to be bound.”

  “Ah, I see. A little more apple juice, I think, then, Steve.”

  Steve poured and stirred while Grandma Johnson searched through the cupboards, eventually producing one of the plastic bottles that Belladonna’s mum used for drizzling sauces.

  Belladonna poured it in, screwed on the top and pushed the cap onto the nozzle.

  “Where is it you’re going?” asked Grandma Johnson, putting the bottle into the fridge.

  “The Roman fort near Hegland Moss,” said Steve.

  “That’s quite a long way. I’d drive you, but I’ve got clients all day tomorrow. There’s always a rush at Halloween. We’d better ask your dad.”

  They trooped into the living room and explained the problem. Mr. Johnson turned the sound down on the television, thought for a moment and then started going on about A-roads and turning at lights.

  “No, no,” said Grandma Johnson, a little impatiently. “They’re thirteen. Bus routes. They need bus routes.”

  “Oh, right. Um…are you sure this is entirely safe? What if it goes wrong and you both die? I’ll never hear the end of it from your mum, I can tell you!”

  “Of course it’s safe,” lied Steve. “I mean, they’re already bound, aren’t they? We’re just going to sort of double-bind them so that Branwyn can leave and go to the Other Side.”

  “She’s been sitting there soaking wet for nearly two thousand years, dad,” said Belladonna, hoping that he wasn’t going to have one of those “responsible parent” moments.

  “That is pretty unpleasant, I must admit,” he said, thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what, so long as you both go first thing and promise to get back before dark, I just won’t mention it to your mum. Deal?”

  “Deal,” said Steve and Belladonna in unison.

  “Thanks, dad.”

  “Okay, so…buses…I’d say the 25 to Staple Street, then the 61. That’ll drop you in Grafton village, then it’s just a short walk. Daylight, though, right? No lingering!”

  “Promise!”

  Belladonna walked Steve out to the door.

  “Your dad is ace. Mine would never let me do anything like this, particularly since mum left. I never tell him anything I’m doing.”

  “Dad and Grandma Johnson are completely irresponsible,” explained Belladonna, smiling. “Mum’s going to kill him when she finds out.”

  “He’s already dead.”

  “You don’t know mum,” said Belladonna, grinning.

  She watched Steve walk down the path and away down the street. It was strange to think that she was going to spend her evening in front of the fire, watching TV and talking to her dad and grandma while Steve would be spending his helping to cle
ar out a storeroom in a freezing shop.

  “Staunchly Springs” had just ended (with the startling revelation that George’s half-brother, Phil, was actually his mother’s best friend’s grandmother’s sister’s child and his real name was Francine), when Belladonna suddenly jumped to her feet.

  “We forgot one!”

  “Heaven’s, Belladonna!” gasped Grandma Johnson. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

  “You forgot one what?” asked her dad.

  “One of the herbs. Betony. It’s supposed to grow in church yards. We were going to check St. Abelard’s but I forgot.”

  Her dad looked at his mother and sighed.

  “Well, I can’t leave the house,” he said. “And there’s no way she’s going alone in the dark.”

  Grandma Johnson heaved herself to her feet.

  “Come on then,” she said. “Let’s make it quick before “Great British Bake Off” starts.”

  Belladonna threw on her jacket and grabbed a flashlight, then waited impatiently while Grandma Johnson wound a long woolen scarf three times around her neck, fastened her coat right up to the top, pulled on a hat, put on her gloves and picked up her umbrella.

  “It’s not the Arctic, grandma!”

  “When you get to my age, you chill easily. Now come on.”

  They walked down Lychgate Lane to the church, with Grandma Johnson admiring the houses that had put up Halloween decorations and tut-tutting the ones that hadn’t.

  “Some people are just party-poopers,” she muttered.

  Belladonna stopped across the street from the church. She couldn’t risk taking her grandmother in and frightening off the charnel sprites, so she convinced her to wait, turned on the flashlight and walked into the wet and weedy churchyard alone.

  “Aya!” she called, as loud as she dared. “Aya! Are you here?”

  “Of course I’m here!” said a familiar voice right behind her. “Charnel sprites love Halloween.”

  “Let me guess,” said Belladonna, turning around and lowering the flashlight to charnel sprite height. “Parties?”

  “Absolutely,” said Aya, enthusiastically, her slightly purple skin shimmering in the light. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s like old home week. What are you doing here at this time of night? Not calling the Hunt again, I hope.”

  “I need some betony,” explained Belladonna. “I read that they used to plant it in graveyards to discourage ghosts.”

  “Silly humans,” giggled Aya. “There’s some over here.”

  Belladonna followed the charnel sprite to the far side of the church and picked some leaves of the missing ingredient.

  “Are you making the Nine Herbs Charm?”

  “Sort of,” said Belladonna. “But with two more to make eleven. It’s for a binding.”

  She explained about Branwyn and the Spirits of the Black Water.

  “Ugh,” said Aya, shuddering. “Old Magic. Branwyn won’t know the way to the Other Side, though. I’ll make sure our local office sends someone.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t know you had regional charnel sprite offices.”

  “Of course we do! How else could we manage? You lot are constantly popping off.”

  Belladonna smiled, thanked Aya again, and returned to her grandmother. It was the semi-final of “Great British Bake Off,” which Grandma Johnson wouldn’t dream of missing, so it was nearly bed time before they were able to add the betony to the binding potion.

  “So much for an early night,” said Belladonna.

  “Don’t worry,” said her dad. “I’ll make sure you’re up in time.”

  She blew him a kiss goodnight, gave her grandma a hug and headed upstairs to bed. She was tired, but sleep wouldn’t come. Tomorrow would be something different, it wasn’t going to be about the Words or anything to do with being the Spellbinder, really. It was about Old Magic and she wasn’t sure how it would work or even if it would do anything at all. She didn’t even know anything about the spirits they were trying to bind. What if they made it worse and released them by mistake? She kept wishing that Miss Parker was around. But then maybe she’d say the same thing as Mrs. Jay—that some things can’t be fixed.

  That was probably true, but Belladonna couldn’t help feeling that the least a person could do was try.

  The next morning was overcast but dry, and really cold. Belladonna bundled up, wore two pairs of socks, sturdy boots, carefully packed the potion into her pink backpack and headed out to the bus stop. Steve was already there, wearing a combat jacket over his hoody, though his hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  “Did you get any sleep at all?” asked Belladonna.

  “Not much. There was some zombie movie on when my dad and me got home, so we watched it. I think I got about two hours.”

  Belladonna rolled her eyes and was about to say something about taking things seriously, when the bus arrived. She had expected it to be full of people with the kind of miserable expressions almost exclusive to those who have to get up on a Saturday to go to work, but everyone seemed remarkably cheerful. They were chatting to each other and pointing out landmarks and scenery and generally having a good time. There were no empty seats left, though, so she and Steve had to stand.

  At the next stop a man with what seemed to be a heavy case got on. He hesitated near the front, gave Belladonna and Steve a funny look, then inched past them and sat down.

  In a seat occupied by someone else.

  Belladonna stared as the ghost rolled its eyes and stood up. Two other ghosts made room on their seat and the displaced phantom squeezed in.

  “Are they all…,” whispered Steve. “I mean…except that guy, obviously… but are they all…dead?”

  “I…guess,” said Belladonna.

  They watched in silence for the next two stops as some ghosts got off and others got on.

  “You’ve been seeing them longer than I have,” said Steve, finally. “Have you ever seen this many in one place?”

  “Never.”

  They got off at Staple Street, crossed the road and waited for the number 61 bus.

  “They’re everywhere,” said Belladonna. “Look over there.”

  Staple Street was a busy shopping street and there were plenty of people walking up and down and in and out of shops, but for every living person, there seemed to be two or three ghosts.

  “Is this because it’s Halloween?” said Steve.

  “I suppose. But I’ve never seen this before.”

  “Well, Elsie said they didn’t celebrate last year. How long have you been able to see them?”

  “About three years.”

  “Were your parents…I mean…were they…you know…when…”

  “Yes,” said Belladonna, smiling at Steve’s efforts to avoid using the words “alive” or “dead.”

  “So that would explain it, wouldn’t it? I mean you’d be at home with them.”

  “It started sort of gradually. I couldn’t see all the ghosts at first, just a few. So I probably wouldn’t have noticed. And sometimes it’s really hard to tell who’s alive and who’s dead.”

  “That’s the really weird part,” said Steve, as the 61 bus pulled up. “You’d think it would be obvious.”

  The second bus wasn’t as crowded, though there was an Elizabethan lady with a Victorian gentleman sitting together near the back.

  Belladonna and Steve got off in Grafton village, which was quite pretty and featured large helpful signs directing them to the Roman fort. After a fifteen minute walk they arrived in the parking lot and stopped. There were ghosts wandering all over the ruins, some looked like Roman soldiers, visiting their old workplace, while others were from all sorts of different periods in history and seemed to be tourists. The whole effect was like a costume party.

  “D’you think they’ll notice?”

  “I don’t know,” said Belladonna. “I don’t suppose it matters…”

  “No,” said Steve. �
�Are you ready?”

  “I suppose so,” said Belladonna, tucking her hair behind her ears and taking the bottle out of her bag.

  “Cool. Let’s go…hang on…who’s that?”

  Belladonna looked over toward the parade ground. Branwyn was still sitting on the railway ties, still soaking wet even though the day was dry, but there was someone else with her, sitting close and talking up a storm, if the bobbing of her head was anything to go by.

  “It can’t be…” said Steve, as they walked closer.

  “Hello, chaps!”

  “Elsie! It’s because of Halloween, right?”

  “Yes,” said Elsie. “It’s the one day of the year we can go anywhere we like. I thought you might need a hand.”

  “Elsie’s been telling me everything that’s happened in history since I…came here,” whispered Branwyn, happily.

  “Well, not everything,” said Elsie, a little sheepishly. “Just the good stuff. The best battles and the really interesting kings and queens. Oh, and trains and cars and gramophones, that sort of thing.”

  “I bet the British Empire got a mention, as well,” said Belladonna, smiling.

  “Or three or four,” added Steve.

  “I just can’t believe the world is so big,” said Branwyn. “So many other countries and all sorts of different people.”

  “Well, let’s get you out of here so you can see it,” said Belladonna. “Or the version on the Other Side, at least.”

  She put her backpack down and handed the bottle to Steve, then she closed her eyes and let the Words come.

  “Igi si gar!” Reveal yourself! “Igi si gar!”

  Even with her eyes closed, Belladonna could tell that the Spirits of the Black Water had materialized. The intense wave of menace and hatred was almost palpable, like a punch to the stomach.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the black swirling clouds. The other ghosts had noticed too, and were all standing stock still, and staring.

  “What do we do?” asked Steve, trying to ignore the audience. “Just pour it around them?”

  “I had a word with a Druid last night,” said Elsie. “Took for-bally-ever to find the chap. He was a bit unwilling to talk because he was on his way to Stonehenge and kept going on about being late for the sunrise.”