by Sam Short
Millie made the shape of an X on her chest. "Cross my heart. I won't tell a soul."
Dipping into the pouch which hung from his waist, the man withdrew a circular yellow disc which glinted in the sunlight. "Gold!" he said. "It's only my third time metal detecting, and I’ve found gold!"
"What is it?" said Millie. “A coin?"
Rotating the disc between his fingers, the man smiled. "Yes. And there’s another in the hole I've just dug." He pointed to the hard-packed sand which made up the walls of the small excavation. "Look," he said. "Sticking out of the side."
Sure enough, peaking from the sand was the rim of a coin, the yellow metal vivid against the dark sand. "It's your lucky day," said Millie. "Two gold coins."
"There's no luck involved," said the detectorist. "That storm cleared inches of sand from the beach and shifted a lot of sand from the top of the dunes, too. Metal that was too deep to find in the past can now be detected. I used my head, though — while all the other detectorists are searching the areas of the beaches where the tourists drop their jewellery and money, I came to this empty stretch of beach. I checked the history books — this part of the coast was notorious for shipwrecks before the lighthouse was built. Some of the ships were said to have been carrying great wealth, and it seems I've found some of it — and I'm sure that’s not the last of it, either.”
“Shipwrecks up here?” said Millie. “We’re standing in sand dunes. Even a very high tide won’t reach this spot.”
“The history books say there was a superstorm,” he said. “Hundreds of years ago. The sea pushed two galleons almost a mile inland and smashed them to smithereens. Most of their cargo was never retrieved, and one of those boats was said to have been carrying French gold. It seems the storm we’ve just had has made it possible to find some of that gold. This piece of beach might make me rich." He paused. "I shouldn't have said that, should I? Now you’ll want some of the gold to keep my secret." He gave a deep sigh. "How does twenty-percent sound? You don't tell anybody about what I’ve found, and I'll give you twenty-percent of my finds.”
Millie laughed. She didn't want to tell the man exactly how much money she'd inherited from the generations of witches who'd inhabited Windy-dune Cottage before her, but she did want him to feel safe in the knowledge that she wasn't about to blackmail him. "I don't want any of your gold," she said. "It's all yours, and I crossed my heart — your secret is safe with me."
The man narrowed his eyes. "You don't want gold? What sort of person doesn't want gold?"
Millie smiled. "I had a bit of luck myself," she said. "I was left an inheritance from a family I never knew I had. You keep your gold. I don't need it."
Tension visibly leaving his shoulders, the man bent over and prised the gold coin from the wall of the hole. He placed it in his pouch, and stared along the beach. "If I want to find more," he said. "I'd better get moving. Eventually the wind will replace the sand which the storm removed, and make the gold impossible to find again, but before that, other detectorists are certain to be along. I need to work quickly — so if you don't mind…"
"Rude," whispered Reuben in Millie's ear. “Forget the muffins. Definitely give him a fancy.”
Millie smiled at the man. “Of course," she said. “I’m Millie, by the way. Millie Thorn. I live in Windy-dune cottage — the cottage you can see up there, above the sand dunes."
“I’ve heard of you,” said the man. “You inherited the lighthouse, too, didn’t you? After Albert Salmon had committed suicide. He left it to you.”
Millie nodded. The fact that Albert had been murdered was not common knowledge, and the fact that he’d written his suicide note and changed his will after he had died, was certainly not common knowledge — the human population of Spellbinder Bay would probably not have reacted well to the fact that ghosts walked among them. Especially ghosts who changed their wills after shrugging off their mortal coils. She smiled. “That’s me,” she confirmed.
"I’m Tom," said the man. "Tom Temples, and I live alone in a tiny rented apartment on the outskirts of town. I'm hoping this gold will change that, though. I'm not getting any younger, I retired last year, and my pension isn't good. This gold may be the chance I need to finally own a home."
“Well, Tom,” said Millie, breaking into a gentle jog. “I wish you luck!”
“Cheerio,” said Tom, “and thank you for promising to keep my secret. Some of those other detectorists can be very jealous. Very jealous indeed. Especially when a beginner finds gold. Some of them have been doing it for decades and never had a whiff of the yellow stuff. They’d contract the dreaded gold fever if they heard about this spot! And who knows what that could lead to?”
Chapter 2
Millie allowed the makeup brush to drop from the air, where it hovered next to her cheek, as Reuben fluttered in through the open roof window and landed on the bed next to her.
The cockatiel looked up at his witch. “I saw you!” he said. “You were using magic to control that brush! You said you’d never use magic for frivolous tasks! You said that witches like Judith, who use magic for the simplest of jobs, are lazy! Hah! Caught you red-handed, you lazy witch!”
“I was practising,” countered Millie. “That’s all. Anyway, you can’t accuse anybody of being lazy. You spend most of your life in front of the television.”
Reuben hopped along the bedcovers. “Not today! I’ve had a wonderfully exhilarating day on the beach, watching Tom Temples digging up treasure. He found loads more after you left — coins and jewellery. And he shared his lunch with me. I think he found it odd that a cockatiel would enjoy chicken sandwiches. He murmured something about cannibalism, although I fail to see how he came to that conclusion. Chickens and cockatiels are very different creatures! I can fly, for a start!”
Millie narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t speak to him, did you, Reuben?”
The cockatiel looked away. “I may have offered the suggestion that mayonnaise would have livened his sandwiches up a little, but that aside — no. I didn’t say much. Not much at all.”
“You’ll get us in trouble, Reuben!” warned Millie. “You shouldn’t speak in front of non-paranormal people!”
“Relax… take it easy, witchy woman,” said Reuben. “The concealment spell covering Spellbinder Bay will make him think there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about discussing the merits of a petrol engine over a diesel engine with a cockatiel.”
“The concealment spell —” Millie paused and took a deep breath. “Wait! What did you say? You discussed engines with him, too?”
“Yes. TV shows, also. He likes Springer, I like Kyle. We agreed to disagree,” said Reuben. “Although I know who’s right. Springer is a has been. Kyle is the present and the future of cringe television.”
“I hope that concealment spell works as well as it’s supposed to. For your sake,” said Millie, retrieving her makeup brush from the floor.
“It works as well as that stuff you’re plastering on your face to conceal that pimple which burst into life overnight,” said the bird. “I can hardly see it! Your fake face works wonders, Millie. Your vampire date will never know what despicable horrors lurk on your chin.”
“Two things,” said Millie, gathering her hair into a ponytail. “One — it’s not a fake face. It’s my face, with the best features enhanced. Two — I’m not going on a date with George. I’m going to a pub quiz in The Fur and Fangs, and Judith will be there, too. We’re a team. It couldn’t be further from a date!”
“Oh yes,” said Reuben. “The famous pub quiz team. The Dazzling Duo — although there are three of you.”
“There was only two of us when we named ourselves,” said Millie. “And when George joined us, he thought we should keep the name. He thinks it’s ironic. Or something.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think we should just change duo to trio.”
“Wouldn’t work,” said Reuben. “You’d need to change the word dazzling to one beginning with the letter T.” H
e paused. “Wait. I’ve got a better idea. How about The Dazzling Duo and the tag along vampire who only became interested in pub quizzes when he discovered the witch he fancies partakes in the Monday night activity herself. It doesn’t exactly roll off the beak, but it’s an accurate representation of the situation.”
With a low laugh, Millie threw the makeup brush at Reuben, who chortled and flew to the bedside table. “Then he’s a vampire with taste, if that is the case,” she said.
Reuben fluffed up his plumage, and gazed at the envelope propped up against the lamp next to the bed. “Are you ever going to open it?” he asked.
Butterflies bloomed in Millie’s stomach, as they did every time she thought of the letter. “Eventually,” she said. “Maybe, I mean.”
Reuben cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you want to know what your mother had to say? Don’t you want to know who your father is? Henry said he still lives in Spellbinder Bay — it could be anyone.”
“Don’t you whisper a word of that to anybody,” warned Millie. “Only me, you and Henry know about the letter. I want to keep it that way. Until I’ve come to terms with things.”
“I promised I wouldn’t,” said Reuben. “My word is my honour… but if I was you — I’d open it. I’d want to know.”
Millie slumped onto the bed, her unfinished ponytail falling free. “I spent my whole life thinking my conception had been because of a short-lived fling my mother had with a man she hardly knew. She told me that she couldn’t find my father to tell him she was pregnant. Then I find out that it was all a lie, and I find out it was a lie from a building masquerading as a man, who my mother called to her deathbed. I wish she’d told me, not some magical man building.”
“Henry’s not a building, Millie,” said Reuben. “He’s the manifestation of the magic contained within Spellbinder Hall — the human face of the building, if you will. You must understand? It’s hardly genius level magic.”
“And that’s all you got from what I just said?” asked Millie. “A debate on Henry Pinkerton’s status as a building or a man? Which I understand perfectly well, thank you very much.”
“What do you want me to say?” said Reuben. “You tell me how upset you are about it on a weekly basis. It’s all very sad, but I wish you’d just open the letter. Prising open that envelope is the only way you’ll get closure.”
Millie gazed at the ceiling. “You and Henry told me that my mother’s energy is contained within the walls of this cottage.”
“In the coven cavern beneath the cottage, to be more precise,” said Reuben. “And to be even preciser, in the cauldron in the cavern, but yes, your mother’s energy, along with all the dead witches who have ever lived in this cottage, is contained within these walls.”
“That’s why I won’t open the letter,” said Millie. “I can feel her presence here, and I…”
Reuben hopped onto Millie’s chest, and gazed into her eyes, his head leaning to the left. “And you what?”
Millie smiled. “I talk to her, Reuben. I ask her if she can hear me.”
“Maybe she can,” said Reuben. “I don’t know how dead witch energy works. All I know is that I can feel Esmeralda’s energy here, too. It’s comforting, isn’t it? To feel the presence of somebody you cared for. And who cared for you.”
Running a fingernail over the bird’s grey plumage, Millie smiled. “It is, Reuben,” she said. “I just wish she could answer me when I speak to her.”
“What would you ask her?” said Reuben. “If she appeared in front of you right now.”
Millie closed her eyes. “Before I asked her who my father was, I’d ask her if she regretted becoming pregnant with me. I’d ask her if I was conceived from love, or from… something else. I’d look into her eyes as she answered, and I’d know the truth. Her eyes always told the truth, even when she tried to tell me her illness wasn’t going to kill her. I can’t get honest answers like that from a letter, Reuben. All I can get is the name of a man who doesn’t even know he’s my father, and probably doesn’t want to be. Maybe the letter is best left unopened. Maybe it will cause less pain that way. Less pain for me, and less pain for the man who’s my father.”
Reuben ran the edge of his beak along Millie’s finger. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For trying to persuade you to open the letter. I don’t think things through sometimes. It’s my weakness. I won’t mention it again. I promise. I hope I haven’t upset you.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Millie. “You haven’t upset me. But I could do with your help?”
“Anything,” said Reuben.
“My red heels or my new comfy biker boots?”
“With jeans?”
Millie nodded. “And a white t-shirt.”
“The biker boots,” said Reuben. “The bloodsucker will love them, seeing as he rides a motorbike.”
“I’m not dressing for George,” said Millie. “I’m dressing for me. Maybe I’ll wear the heels.”
George winked. “Nice boots!” he said. “Hoping for a ride with me, were you?”
Millie tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “In your dreams,” she laughed. “I put them on without thinking. They’re comfy. That’s my only reasoning behind wearing them!”
Her blonde hair bunched high on her head, Judith pushed a pint of beer across the circular table top towards Millie. “You’re a drink behind us. George and I have been googling capital cities. There’s always one of those in the quiz.”
George put his phone in his pocket and shuffled along the upholstered bench, which formed a semi-circle around the small table. “Venezuela — Caracas. Sit down and drink your beer,” he said. “The quiz begins in fifteen minutes. You always do better after a pint.”
Sitting down next to George, Millie brought the glass of froth topped amber liquid to her nose, and took a sniff. “Vampire’s Vengeance?” she said.
Judith shook her head. “No. This is a new beer from the not so world famous Fur and Fangs microbrewery — it’s called The Wandering Witch. It’s nice. Very malty. Try it.”
Millie gazed around the pub as she took a sip of the potent liquid. The pub owners, Stan — a werewolf, and his vampire wife, Mary, couldn’t have made the pub more traditionally British if they’d tried. A place where paranormal folk mingled with normal people — the latter oblivious to the fact that they shared their little town with all manner of species — the Fur and Fangs harked back to a time in which Millie sometimes wished she had lived.
From the tall open hearth stone fireplace, decorated with horse brasses and old military badges, to the solid oak bar, behind which hung a row of pewter tankards — each belonging to one of the locals who took their real ale more seriously than the average customer, the pub oozed community spirit.
With no televisions interfering with the friendly hum of conversation, The Fur and Fangs was a pleasant place to spend some time, and Millie licked her lips appreciatively as she swallowed her beer. “Very nice,” she said. “It’s got a fruity tang to it.”
“That’s good to know,” said a deep voice from her side. “That’s the sort of response I was hoping for. I’m glad you like it.”
Millie smiled up at Stan, who held a full pint in his hand, his thick beard dotted with beer foam. “You’ve done a great job,” she said. “It’s really tasty.”
“I hope you’ve got room for one more,” said Stan, placing the fresh glass in front of Millie. “This is a gift from the gentleman at the table next to the window over there. He wanted to buy you a drink, and I took the liberty of choosing another Wandering Witch. He didn’t want to interrupt you and your friends, so he asked me to bring it over. He told me you’d know why he bought it for you. He said it was a thank you.”
George picked up a cardboard beer coaster, and tore at the edges. “She’s got a male admirer, huh?” he said, surveying the room. “Which one was it, Stan?”
“The elderly chap at the small table,” said Stan, making his way back towards the bar. “The one with the big
smile on his face.”
George dropped the coaster, and grinned. “An elderly admirer? How lovely.”
Millie looked across the room, and waved. “He’s not an admirer,” she said. “He’s just a nice guy who I promised to keep a secret for.”
“What secret?” said Judith.
“The clue is in your question,” smiled Millie. “It’s a secret.” She stood up. “I’m going to go and say thank you to him.”
“The quiz is starting soon,” said George. “Hurry. We have a good chance of winning this week. Two of the Spellbinder Starlets have gone down with food poisoning, so the rest of the team have pulled out of the quiz, too. They tried to blame it on the nursing home kitchen, but I went out for a drink last night with one of the nurses who work there, and she told me that some of the residents have been bringing in kebabs from that horrible greasy place on Harbour Street.”
“Oh,” said Millie. “Sounds awful. Poor women, I hope they get better soon.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Who’s this nurse, then? The one you went for a drink with?”
George tapped the side of his nose, the glint in his hazel eyes matching the mischievousness of his smile. “You’ve got your secret. I’ve got mine.”
“Fair enough,” said Millie, turning her back on the table and weaving a route through the crowd, towards the man near the window. She wasn’t jealous. Of course she wasn’t. Was she?
“Tom,” she said with a smile, as she reached the table. “Thank you for the drink. I really appreciate it, but you wouldn’t have been interrupting anything if you’d brought it over to me yourself.”
“I didn’t want to go ruining you young folk’s fun,” he smiled. “Are you three a team in the quiz? You, your boyfriend and the young blonde lady?”
“What?” said Millie. “Yes. No!”
Tom narrowed his eyes.
“I mean, yes, we’re a team,” said Millie. “But, no… he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Oh,” said Tom. “The way he watched you when you walked over here gave me the wrong impression. I do apologise.”
