by Jenna Grey
“Trust what I’m telling you. I promise, I’m never wrong – and you’re correct – all of the cards are important, that one especially. You’re going to need a few nice surprises – this will be a very nice surprise,” he said, tapping the card.
Polly looked down at it and felt a blush rise to her cheeks. The naked couple weren’t just holding hands; they had their legs wrapped around one another, locked in passion. Worse still, the girl in the picture looked far too much like her, and the boy far too much like Liam.
“I was beginning to think that nothing good would ever happen to me again,” she said, giving a nervous little smile. “So thank you.” He gazed down at the card, wistful, a faraway look in his eyes.
“You deserve good things. You’ve got a beautiful soul, a gentle soul, and I can see so much inner strength. You’ve got a core of solid granite, girl. People often think that gentleness and kindness are a sign of weakness, but it’s the opposite; they’re usually a sign of real strength. You should trust in yourself more; trust that little voice inside you that urges you on to become more than you ever thought you could become.” Polly had no idea what to say to that. She had never been that good at taking compliments, and she was pretty sure this was his standard bullshit to make his customers think they were getting something for their money. She was a coward and had always been a coward; her core was pure custard.
Liam went back to the King of Swords card, the warmth vanishing in a heartbeat. Beside it lay the Magician card. Polly knew that the Magician card wasn’t meant to be taken literally; it was a representation of certain traits, an indication of spiritual lessons to be learnt. In this instance, though, it was uncannily accurate. Liam tapped the card and looked up at her. His eyes were hazel, very clear and very bright. She found it hard to look into them.
“This uncle of yours – he’s a magician.” It wasn’t a question. Polly nodded. She waited for a moment to see if he was going to ask anything else, but he just stared hard at her as if he were waiting for to say more.
“He likes to think he is. He’s got his own coven and everything,” she said. “He’s into very dark things, awful things, just like you said.” He gave the barest of nods, his face screwing up in concentration, not looking at Polly, but staring off into the distance over her shoulder.
“You’re living with him, but your grandmother is still in the house, taking care of you. Oh, hold on; she’s telling me something.” He cocked his head on one side as if he were listening, and for one insane moment, Polly thought she heard her grandmother’s voice as well. “You’ve lost something, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Her will, you want to know if she left another will.” He hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. “You won’t find it; it’s gone, long gone. I’m sorry.” So was Polly. It was the last thing she wanted to hear. Every hope slipped away, and she didn’t want to hear any more.
“It’s okay, I sort of knew already,” she said.
Liam bowed his head and closed his eyes again. His hand slid across the table to lay over hers, trapping her with gentle firmness.
“I can see you looking for something else now, although you haven’t started the journey yet. You’re looking for an object, something terrible and wonderful, an object that your uncle has been after for years. I can see you holding it, small and round in your hands – you’ll find whatever it is and it’s going to change your life. Oh, hold on, I’ve got something else coming through. This is weird...” His face suddenly morphed into a mask of dreadful agony, as if he were feeling unbearable pain. Polly gave a little cry as his grip tightened, a vice clamping down on her hand. She tried to pull it away, but his fingers were too tight around hers. His whole frame suddenly stiffened, becoming rigid, and he sat, hunched over, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Oh, fuck this,” he said. “What the hell is going on. Get out of my head.” “Let me get your dad,” Polly said, terrified now.
His grip on her hand relaxed a little, and he seemed to come back to himself.
“No, it’s passing, I’m okay. You’re in real danger. You need to get away from your uncle. Don’t hesitate. You need to get away from him now. Just get out; go somewhere, anywhere, just get away from him. He’s going to kill you.” “I don’t have anywhere to go,” she said.
“Find somewhere.” It was a snapped order.
His eyes were screwed tight shut now, and he made a strange noise in his throat, his teeth clenched as if he were trying to stifle a scream. She wanted to get away from this man, as far away from him as she could, but he still had his hand clamped over hers, his grip so harsh now that she thought her bones would break. His grip loosened a little, his breathing became quieter, and the lines of his face softened. He still looked as if he’d been through some terrible ordeal, though, sweat running down his temples, his eyes wild.
“Are you all right?” Polly asked, finally managing to yank her hand away.
“I’m okay; just let me have a minute to get my breath back.” He didn’t look okay; he looked about as far from okay as it’s possible to get. Worse though, his eyes were haunted, as if he’d just witnessed something so terrible his whole body had gone into shock.
“I don’t want you to do this,” Polly said, “Please, it’s hurting you.” “I can’t see anything else,” he said, his voice and hands shaking so much it was making the table shudder. He gathered up the cards with careless, almost frantic haste, just shrouding them in the velvet cloth without patting them into shape. He stood up abruptly, sending the chair skittering backwards and pushing past her, almost running through into the back room. She stood there staring after him for a few moments, not sure what to do. What the hell was that all about? Bert came through, his expression concerned.
“I’m so sorry, my dear. I told you Liam was unwell – he has mental health problems. Doing the readings takes a great deal out of him. When he opens himself up to the spirit world all sorts of dark entities try to come through to attack him. He hears demons. He risked a great deal to attempt this reading for you and suffered for it. Please forgive the way he’s treated you. He doesn’t mean it. He should never have tried to do one for you today; he’ll be fine if he rests for a couple of days. Come back through, sweetheart, and we’ll see what’s to be done about this.” “I think I better had,” Polly said, following him back through.
CHAPTER THREE
Polly had no idea how to deal with this unexpected turn of events. Everything seemed to be happening in a blur around her, too many things for her to take in all at once. She followed Bert through, simply because she had no idea what else to do, and sat back in the old squashy armchair, accepting the still hot cup of tea that Bert thrust into her hand.
“Don’t be alarmed, my dear; really everything is going to be all right. Whatever’s going on, we’ll deal with it. You came to the right place for help.” Despite his reassurance, Polly could hardly be anything other than alarmed.
“I knew that I was in trouble anyway, but it sounds a lot worse than I thought.” Bert nodded his understanding.
“I couldn’t help but overhear. So, your uncle is a magician,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for one’s uncle to be a magician, black or otherwise. He gulped down a mouthful of tea, but Polly could see that he was still distraught, the cup rattling on the saucer as he dropped it back in place again. What happened with Liam had obviously upset him more than he was letting on.
“Yes, a dark one. He terrifies me. Please, what’s going on, can you tell me? I’m so scared.” Bert slipped his gnarled old hand over Polly’s and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze.
“Well, to start with you can tell me your uncle’s name. The occult world is very incestuous – I might know him.” Polly looked into his soft eyes, and she believed he could help her. She felt the fear slip away. He seemed more relaxed now.
“Gaunt, Elias Gaunt,” she replied.
He made a small huffing noise and shook his head.
“Oh, I�
�m sorry to hear that, you poor girl,” he said. “Forgive me, I know he’s your uncle, but that apple has fallen far from the tree and onto rotten ground.” Then he obviously joined up some dots in his head and gave Polly a bright smile. “You’re Leonora’s granddaughter?” he asked, as if it was a complete impossibility. “Oh my, what a small world. I knew your grandparents, my dear. Your granddad, Barty, and I went to university together; we weren’t intimate, but still close enough to call one another friends. I was very sorry to hear that dear Leonora passed away. I saw her obituary in the newspaper. A heart attack, wasn’t it?” Polly pulled a face.
“They said it was, but I’m not so sure.”
Bert gave Polly an intense look, and she wilted a little under his stare. It was the first time he’d displayed any hint of hidden power.
“Now why would you say that?” he asked.
“I’m probably being silly, but Nana had a thorough check-up at the doctors the week before, and she was given a clean bill of health. The doctor reckoned she was as fit as a flea. I...” Polly couldn’t bring herself to say it, although she had thought it every day since her grandmother’s death. It seemed that Bert was quite happy to finish the thought for her.
“You think that your uncle might have had something to do with it. It’s certainly possible, and I wouldn’t put it past him. He has a reputation in certain circles, him and his cronies. It’s not difficult for someone with his skills to cause a heart attack. I always thought he might have had a hand in dear old Barty’s death.” “What do you mean?”
Bert hesitated as if he thought he might be saying too much, but then said: “Your uncle and your granddad had a serious falling out over something just before he died. I have no idea what it was about, but it was serious. Blow me down if two days later I didn’t hear that Barty had fallen down those stairs and broken his neck. Your grandmother thought it was suspicious at the time. We didn’t know one another well enough for her to confide in me, but she made that much plain at least.” Polly felt a sudden swell of hatred rise in her. She had never known her grandfather that well, she was only three years old when he died, but she did remember him being a kind and good person, who used to make her laugh. More than that, she knew that her grandmother truly loved him and had missed him desperately every day since.
“I wouldn’t put it past him. I hate him,” Polly replied. She suddenly realised that was the first time she’d said that out loud.
Bert gave her a consolatory pat on the back of the hand.
“We all have our crosses to bear,” he said, with a sad little smile. “Now, I need to ask you some questions in order to help you.” He peered up at her from beneath caterpillar eyebrows. “You must be very open and honest with me, don’t hold anything back. Tell me a little about what’s going on with your uncle at the moment, about any friends he might have, anything he’s been doing lately that might have disturbed you. Please trust me; I need you to trust me so that I can help you.” Polly hesitated, but only momentarily because she suddenly had a desperate need to unburden herself.
“Well, I’m not sure where to start really. He has friends who come to the house every so often, quite a lot lately as a matter of fact, and they have some sort of gathering...” Polly went on to tell Bert everything she could think of, about her grandmother and the will, about her uncle’s friends and how they made her afraid. “One of them especially makes my flesh crawl – Dalbert Winchard. He’s horrible.” Bert gave an “Ah’ as if everything had suddenly fallen into place.
“I know Dalbert Winchard of old,” he said, tutting and shaking his head. “A truly dreadful man – always chasing after young girls, a vile lecher and capable of doing terrible things.” “I know,” Polly said, “he’s tried it on with me a couple of times, but I’ve managed to keep him at bay.” “Never be alone with him, my dear. I don’t want to alarm you, but I know for a fact that he has committed the most awful acts against women.” “I will be careful, I promise,” Polly said, really afraid now. “How did you meet him?” “Oh, Some years ago; it must be over fifteen years ago, about the same time your grandfather died, he wanted to employ my services – my special skill at finding things. I refused him because I know what someone like him could do with the object he wanted me to find for him; it is a terrible thing, a thing of great power. He didn’t take my refusal too well. We’ve avoided one another ever since.” “Well, he’s been living in my uncle’s pocket for months now,” Polly said. “I have no idea what they’re up to, but I’m sure that it’s nothing good. You’re right about him being a lecher. He makes my flesh crawl.” Bert looked thoughtful.
“Whatever danger Liam saw, it made him very afraid – and trust me, it takes a great deal to shake Liam.” Polly could well believe that – he was enough to scare the devil back to Hell.
“It must be something very dangerous if he thinks I shouldn’t go back home.” Bert was lost in thought and hadn’t heard her.
“I wonder...” he murmured, speaking to himself, not Polly. “You know I wouldn’t have made the connection if it hadn’t been for Liam’s remarks. No, surely not, not after all this time...” Polly had already caught up with him, a flash of intuition rather than anything he actually said.
“You think it might be the same thing Winchard wanted you to find all those years ago?” “Well, I know that he wouldn’t have stopped looking for it. Believe me, my dear, I’ve rarely seen anyone so keen to get their hands on something, and the object is certainly something terrible and wonderful. I honestly think he would do anything to obtain it. Let me make another cup of tea, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Polly gave a reluctant nod, not wanting to hear, but knowing that she didn’t have much choice. She had no idea what she was getting into here – but then surely she was already involved in whatever it was, whether she wanted to be or not. She waited patiently while Bert made some more tea, distracted by more fairly violent noises coming from upstairs.
“Is Liam all right?” Polly asked, casting her gaze ceiling-ward. “He’s making an awful lot of noise up there. Do you want to go and check he’s okay?” Bert gave a little smile and shook his head.
“He’ll be fine, he’ll take something to help him to sleep, and he’ll be as right as rain when he wakes up. Liam can take care of himself. Now, here we are,” he said, putting the cup of tea down in front of her, “you put a couple of sugars in that. It’s good for shock.” Polly obediently picked up a couple of sugar cubes and dropped them in, waiting as Bert settled himself down for what she thought might be quite a long session. She glanced at the clock. It was still early; she had plenty of time to get back home before her uncle woke; even if she didn’t, she’d take some shopping in with her and say that’s what she’d been doing.
“Now, then, this is a tale of intrigue, murder and mayhem,” he said, with just a hint of devilment in his eyes. “Do you know anything about the Vikings?” Polly mmm’d.
“Well, I know that they didn’t have horns on their helmets, despite what you see in the movies, and they did a lot of raping and pillaging.” Polly actually knew quite a lot about the Vikings but didn’t want to sound big headed.
Bert chuckled.
“Ho, ho, ho, modesty and beauty, my my. I have a feeling that you know quite a bit more than you’re letting on.” That might have sounded patronising coming from someone else, but Polly couldn’t take offence; he was such a sweet old man.
“You got me. I love history. I don’t know an awful lot, but a bit.” “See, you can’t put one over on me,” he said, giving her a cheeky grin. “Have you ever heard of a Viking King called Sigurd Thorgeirsson?” Polly thought about it – the name did seem familiar. She’d seen it somewhere, but shook her head, not wanting to make a fool of herself.
“Sorry, no... well, maybe.”
“Well, according to legend – and it is legend because no-one is certain that this man ever really existed. Old Sigurd did a great deal of raiding here in England during the late 9th century, and one of the rival kin
gs wasn’t too happy about it. He captured Sigurd and his men and had them all executed in the most awful way. They threw the bodies into a pit, along with most of what they had with them – possibly a reluctant final gesture of respect for Sigurd’s courage. Burying their possessions with the dead was customary in those days. Nobody has ever found the remains of Sigurd and his companions. If the legend is true, this King Hallfrid, had no idea of just how valuable one of the items Sigurd carried with him was. It was said to be a talisman, called the Hellstone, that could open the gates of Helheim and bring forth any from there that they wanted to command, dead or demon. Can you imagine how much power that would give someone like Winchard or your uncle? That’s why I refused to help him.” Polly thought about what he was saying, suspending her disbelief for a moment. Could she really believe in something like that, that there was a talisman that could raise the dead and call forth demons? She had only ever seen her uncle’s antics through jaundiced eyes, believing them to be evil and dangerous, but nothing to do with real magic. She didn’t believe there was any substance to his claims that he could perform supernatural feats, only that what he believed was horribly unpleasant and usually involved hurting people. Bert seemed so confident of what he was saying, had so much conviction, she somehow had to believe him.
“Helheim is something like the Norse version of Hell or Hades, isn’t it? The Underworld.” “After a fashion,” Bert explained. “There are some strong similarities; it’s sometimes called Niflheim, at least there is a link between that and Helheim. It’s one of the Nine Worlds in Norse mythology, as I’m sure you know.” “And people’s souls ended up there if they died of sickness or old age, rather than die in battle.” Bert waggled his head from side to side and shrugged his uncertainty.
