by Sam Short
“So a witch can leave?” said Millie. “If she wants.”
“Of course,” said Henry. “But your mother hadn’t formed a bond with a familiar. She had no other life to worry about apart from the one growing in her stomach.”
“Don’t worry, Reuben,” said Millie, seeing the bird had dropped his head. “I’m not leaving, whatever Henry tells me. You won’t be going back to the chaos.”
“I’d rather you live a fulfilled life away from this town, if that’s what you’d prefer,” said Reuben. “I’d go back to the chaos if it made you happy, Millie.”
Millie patted her shoulder, and the cockatiel fluttered to it, landing gently. Laying a finger on the little bird’s chest, Millie turned her head to look at it. “Neither of us is going anywhere,” she said. “I happen to like you, and I happen to like the other people in this town. I’ve committed myself to living here, and I intend to stay.” She looked at Henry. “Whatever I learn.”
Henry nodded. “That was that,” said Henry. “The energy which had found your mother went in search of another witch, and soon she was living in this cottage.”
“Esmeralda?” said Reuben.
“Yes,” said Henry. “On the day Esmeralda arrived with her camera and her kind heart, Millie’s mother left, never to return for three years.”
“She returned?” said Millie.
“Yes,” said Henry. “She brought you with her.”
“So I have been here before?” said Millie. “I knew it! I thought I’d been having déjà vu. Tell me, Henry — have I been to the moon-pool before? I felt like I had when we took Lillieth there after my accident.”
“Yes,” said Henry. “That’s where we tried to tame your magic.”
“Tame my magic?” said Millie.
“Your mother brought you back because you’d started to display magic, Millie,” said Henry. “Magic your mother was concerned about. You’d begun to make things happen, when you became angry.”
“She was worried I’d do something like Judith had,” said Millie.
“Yes,” said Henry. “So I did what she asked. I used the moon-pool to weaken your magic. You had — you have strong magic Millie, and I warned your mother that when Esmeralda died there would be a strong chance that her energy would seek you out. After all, you had been conceived in this town, and you were of the same ancestral bloodline as the original coven witches. Your mother ignored my warning and took you back to the normal world, hoping to keep you away from magic.”
“My mother kept all that hidden from me?” said Millie. “For ten years.”
“Yes,” said Henry, “but when she became ill and knew she wouldn’t recover, she contacted me. She asked me to keep you safe. So I watched you.”
“You watched me?” said Millie. “You used energy to travel to where I was, and spy on me, didn’t you?”
Henry gazed at the floor. “Not in an intrusive way, Millie. I needed to ensure that your magic wouldn’t cause any problems. You’d lost your mother — that’s enough to cause any child to become angry, and with your potential to cast spells in anger, I needed to know you were safe — that the people around you were safe — your Aunty Hannah, Uncle James, and eventually their son.”
“All that information you had about me when you came to London,” said Millie. “About my ex-boyfriend — that was from spying on me, wasn’t it?”
Henry sighed. “Yes,” he said. “If you must use the word spy. When Esmeralda’s energy found you, Millie, I was pleased. I wanted you back in Spellbinder Bay. I knew I could look after you here. So I used the knowledge I had about you to intrigue you. I wanted to ensure you’d be curious enough to come to Spellbinder Bay.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me I was a witch?” said Millie. “That would have been easier than leaving magical notes and money.”
“You’d be surprised how often that doesn’t work,” said Henry. He smiled. “It’s odd, but when you arrive unannounced to tell somebody they’re a witch, they often throw you out of their home and telephone the police.”
Millie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sure I should have a lot more questions for you, Henry, and I’m sure I should be angrier with you, but I’m not. If you were only doing what my mother asked you to do, then I can understand that.” She opened her eyes. “I’m angry with her, though. Very angry. I’m angry with my mother.”
“I’m sure she knows that on some level, Millie,” said Henry.
“How can she? She’s dead,” spat Millie.
“Her energy lives on,” said Henry. “Within this cavern. Within the cauldron. Every witch who has ever lived here finds there way back when they die. Witches can’t become ghosts like non-magical people can, but your energy will return here when you eventually pass over, Millie. Your existence will never fizzle out to nothing.”
“I feel her,” said Millie, a tear burning her cheek. “I felt her on the first day I arrived here. I remember feeling as safe as a child in the arms of a mother.”
“You’ll always feel her, Millie,” said Henry. “As long as you live in this cottage, you’ll feel her.”
Millie’s shoulders slumped. She looked at the box beneath Henry. “You mentioned a letter from my mother.”
Henry stood up. He replaced his glasses on his nose, and opened the box. “Millie,” he said, retrieving a white envelope, “you should be prepared before you read this. It contains knowledge I’m not certain you’re ready to learn. Your mother was adamant that should you ever find your way to this cavern, I should warn you about something before handing over this letter.”
“Warn me about what?” said Millie, holding out an open hand.
Henry handed Millie the envelope. “In that envelope is the name of your father, Millie. Your mother told me who it is, and I must warn you — he still resides in Spellbinder Bay. Your father is here, Millie, and he knows nothing about you.”
Chapter 32
Sitting alone on a bench next to the harbour, Millie gazed out to sea. She licked the honey flavoured ice-cream she held in her left hand, and squeezed the contents of her other hand between two fingers.
“Lovely morning!” came a voice to her side.
Millie looked up at the man standing next to the bench. “Oh, hi, Jim,” she said. “Yes, it’s a lovely day.”
“Admiring the boats?” he said.
“And the dolphins,” said Millie. “They’ve been jumping like mad. They’re having fun today!”
“A bit like me,” said Jim. “Having fun. I’m about to set out on a cruise around the Mediterranean. It’s always been an ambition of mine, but I’ve never been able to do it.”
“In that little boat of yours,” said Millie, shooing a seagull from the bench next to her, its eyes on her ice-cream. “Will it make it that far?”
Jim smiled. He pointed a thick finger out to sea. “See that yacht moored out there?” he said. “The one too long to bring alongside the harbour?”
Millie nodded. “I’ve been admiring it.”
“Lobster’s Gold,” said Jim.
Millie raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Jim gave a wide grin. “That’s what I’ve named her — Lobster’s Gold. She’s second-hand, but she’s a beauty!”
“It’s yours?” said Millie. “How?”
Jim sat down next to Millie, his old eyes looking young, and his heavy gold watch shining in the sunlight. “Can you keep a secret, young un’?” he said. “I’ve been dying to tell somebody, and you don’t seem like the type of girl who’ll get all jealous about another person’s good fortune.”
Millie turned to face him. “Now I’m intrigued.” she said. “Go on. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Well, you know when I last saw you down here at the harbour — I was having bad luck with my lobster pots being emptied by some thieving varmint?” said Jim.
Millie did remember, but she wasn’t about to tell Jim that she’d found out the culprit had been a mermaid. “Yes,” she said. “I re
member.”
“Well the strangest thing happened,” said Jim. “I kept on dropping my pots again every day — the bills weren’t paying themselves, and I was desperate for lobsters to sell.” He paused. “You’ll never guess what happened when I lifted them last Friday!”
“Go on,” said Millie, tossing the seagull a sliver of cone. “What happened?”
“Most of them were empty,” said Jim. “As I expected, but one of them… it was heavy, young un’, so heavy. I thought the tide had pushed a rock in it or something, but guess what was in there?”
“I can’t,” said Millie. “What was in it?”
Jim’s eyes shone. “Gold, young un’! And jewels! And not just any old gold! Treasure it was! Old, old treasure! Rings, coins, chains, and big old slabs of pure gold imprinted with French words. I could hardly lift the pot into the boat, but when I did, I did the responsible thing and told the authorities.”
“What did they say?” said Millie, gazing out to sea. Lillieth. It had to be. I’ll fix your dress when I learn how to use my cauldron, she said to herself.
“A man from a museum in London came for it!” said Jim. “They say it’s of great historical value — from a Napoleonic shipwreck which has never been found, and as the finder — I get half of its value. They say it’s worth over thirty-million quid, young un’! They deposited the first instalment two days ago. I’m rich, young un’, rich!”
“That’s amazing news!” said Millie. “I’m so happy for you, Jim!”
Jim chortled. “Thanks, young un’,” he said. He looked down at Millie’s right hand. “What’s your news?” he said. “You not going to open it? Maybe it’s good news, too.”
Millie glanced at the letter from her mother. She looked out to sea. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve had it for a week. Some news is neither good or bad. Perhaps I’ll sleep on it for another night or two.”
The End
Broomsticks and Bones
A Spellbinder Bay Cozy Paranormal Mystery - Book Two
Chapter 1
Being careful to avoid the delicate flowers, whose lilac petals peeked through the dune grasses which whipped her bare calves as she ran, Millie Thorn wove a lazy path through the dunes, heading for the beach below the sea-front cottage she called home.
Reuben flew in lazy circles above her, his complaints making an irritating soundtrack to accompany her run. "I told you," panted Millie, her trainers sinking into the soft sand. "Exercise is good for us. We've been lazy since I moved into Windy-dune Cottage."
The cockatiel swooped low, his wingtip brushing Millie's face. “We’ve been lazy? It's not me whose bottom has got bigger," he squawked, gaining height again. "I keep myself svelte. I think it's good to have pride in oneself."
Millie veered left, following a new trail which would take her directly onto the sweeping expanse of beach. "I do have pride in myself, Reuben," she said. "The last four months have been hectic, that's all. You try moving to a new town and then finding out you're a witch. Then finding out your dead mother was a witch, too — a secret she’d kept to herself! It was quite a shock. No wonder I turned to junk food for a brief period."
Reuben dive-bombed her again. "I'm a demon who spent six human lifetimes in a terrible dimension known as The Chaos before I was brought to this world by a kindly witch who placed my spirit in the body of a bird. That's incalculably worse than what you've gone through, and I didn't turn to vices to help me through life. I think it's good that you've taken up running, though. Your bottom looks a lot bigger from up here than it does at ground level."
Millie picked up speed as the downward gradient steepened. "You may be my familiar," she said, "but must you be so familiar? Say something nice, Reuben, or the pizza I promised you for tonight’s meal is off the menu.”
Reuben's concerned squawk carried on the wind, startling a passing seagull, which changed course and headed towards the ocean. "Something nice?" he said. "Erm… your hair is the colour of the finest mahogany burnished by a tropical sun, and your eyes are velvet pools of melted chocolate — set in a face which even the angels covet — despite the slight bend in your nose and the cleft in your chin."
Millie smiled, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "That was actually very nice. The nose and chin part aside," she said. "I'll pretend you meant it." She slowed her pace as the soft sand of the dunes gave way to the firmer sand of the beach. “I haven't heard you mention angels before," she said. "Are they real?"
Reuben laughed as he flew in circles above his witch. "Seriously?" he said. "Are you seriously asking me if angels are real?"
“Of course I am!" snapped Millie. "I don't see what's so funny about the question. Four months ago, the weirdest thing in my life was my landlord, and since then I've learned that witches, ghosts, vampires, werewolves and mermaids — to name a few, are real." She stopped running, and looked up at the little bird. "Of course my question was serious!"
With a soft beating of wings, Reuben landed gently on Millie's shoulder. "In answer to your serious question," he said. "No. As far as I'm aware, angels are not real."
"Thank you," said Millie, surveying the storm-ravaged beach. "That's all I wanted to know."
"That really was some storm, wasn't it?" said Reuben.
Millie nodded. "The worst in a century according to the meteorologists," she said.
The breeze swept a strand of hair into her eyes as Millie took in the sight before her. Huge swathes of sand had been pushed aside by powerful waves which had battered the shoreline, and in some areas of the beach the underlying hard-packed gravel which had once been covered by sand, was now visible.
Plastic, wood and other debris had been pushed far up the beach, the high-tide line having encroached further inland than it had done for a very long time, or would do again.
Reuben took off, gaining height as Millie began running. Her thigh muscles cramped and tight, she promised herself once more that running wouldn't become one of those fleeting hobbies she’d taken up in the past, only to drop a week later. Learning to play the flute being the most short-lived.
"There's a man dancing!” shouted Reuben from above. “In the sand dunes. He must be some sort of weirdo. Spellbinder Bay does seem to attract them."
Millie squinted her eyes in order to see through the harsh glare of the morning sun on the wet sand. Reuben was right. There was a man, visible in the steep valley between two tall dunes — and he did seem to be dancing. It wasn't much of a dance, certainly not the sort of dance you’d see in a nightclub at two-o’clock on a Saturday morning, but the man was doing his best — punching his hands vigorously into the air above his head as he lifted his knees high, his head bobbing from side to side. Changing direction, Millie made a beeline towards the man — he looked like he could be fun, and she needed some fun.
Noticing Millie's approach, the man ceased dancing and bent down to pick something up from the sand. Recognising what the lengthy piece of equipment in his hand was, Millie's interest increased a notch or two. She slowed to a walk as she neared him, and put a cheery smile on her face. "You're a metal detector!" she said. "Did you find something? Is that why you looked so happy?"
The man adjusted his hat, folding the peak so it shielded his eyes from the sun. "I'm not a metal detector," he said, his wrinkles deepening as he smiled. He tapped the long piece of equipment in his hand, a large disc at one end, and an electronic box fitted below the handgrip at the other. "This is a metal detector. I'm a metal detectorist. I only took this hobby up last month, but even I know that's an important difference to establish from the outset.”
“I’ll start again," said Millie, gazing into the hole the man had dug using the shovel at his feet. "You're a metal detectorist! Did you find something interesting?"
The man's eyes widened as Reuben fluttered from the sky and landed on Millie's shoulder. "That's amazing!" he said. "It's a cockatiel, isn't it? It's beautiful."
"An astute fellow," whispered Reuben into Millie's ear. "I like
him already. We should invite him back to the cottage for coffee and some of those muffins you baked. Not the lemon-fancies, though. There was nothing fancy about those — believe you me!”
Millie smiled, ignoring her familiar’s insult. "Yes," she said. "He's a cockatiel."
"Does he talk?" said the man.
“Don't you dare," hissed Millie, sensing that the bird was about to prove just how well he could speak. She nodded at the detectorist. "He knows a few words," she said. "Ask him who's a pretty boy."
The man took a step closer to Millie, and increased the pitch of his voice by an octave or two. "Who's a pretty boy, then? Who's a pretty boy, then?”
Millie winced as Reuben's claws dug into her flesh. "I suppose I am, although I prefer the term handsome, but in answer to your question — Reuben is a pretty boy! Reuben is a pretty boy!"
His eyes widening and his smile transforming into a worried frown, the man stared curiously at the cockatiel. "What did he say?" he asked. "That was… out of the ordinary. He didn't even sound like a bird."
Millie sighed. "It's just learned behaviour," she said. "It's his party trick."
"Well, it's a heck of a trick," said the detectorist. "That was very curious. Very curious indeed.”
"He's a curious bird," said Millie, crouching to get a better view of the hole the man had dug. “Now you’ve seen my curiosity — how about you show me yours? Did you find something exciting, or do you always dance around holes you've dug in the sand?”
The man gave Reuben another intrigued look, and turned his attention to the hole. “If I tell you, do you promise you won't tell anybody else?"
