by Sam Short
“A toaster,” said Millie.
“Quite,” said Peter. “It was an unfortunate accident to which I succumbed, however, it was extremely convenient for Graham, who took advantage of my decreased intellect and sought to turn me into his alien hunting lackey.” He looked down his nose at Graham. “You used me for my lab and my equipment. I remember everything, Graham. Everything.”
Graham’s cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry, Peter, but everything has turned out for the best, hasn’t it?”
Peter straightened his back and smiled at Millie. “It has indeed,” he said. “Henry Pinkerton has informed Graham and I of all the intricacies of your wonderful paranormal community, and he’s given both Graham and I jobs. The most wonderful jobs!”
“Oh?” said Millie. “What sort of jobs?”
“We’ve been tasked with attempting to work out ways of strengthening the gateway into The Chaos,” said Peter. “We’re fully aware that it is your magic which provides the gate’s stability, Miss Thorn, but Henry was open to exploring the concept of combining science with magic, to see if we can prevent any future incidents of creatures passing through the gate into this world. It’s my dream job! I’ve always been convinced that other dimensions exist, and now I get the chance to study a gateway to one of them!”
“And we’re science teachers,” said Graham, shuffling from foot to foot. “Here in Spellbinder Hall.”
“Teaching a wonderful group of paranormal children,” said Peter. “I’ve never been happier.”
Millie gave the two men a sincere smile. “I’m happy for you both,” she said. “But I must be going, I have an appointment with Henry.”
“He’s a remarkable person, Miss Thorn,” said Peter. “And the children in this equally remarkable school are lucky to have him as an influence. He’s a great help to them.”
“He is,” said Millie, heading for the staircase. “And now I need him to be a great help to me, too.”
“Millie, welcome,” said Henry Pinkerton, standing up behind the long desk as Millie stepped into his office. The pleasant aromas of leather, old books and furniture polish hung in the air, and the floorboards creaked as Millie made her way to the armchair which Henry offered her, next to the fireplace.
“Thanks for seeing me,” said Millie. “I know you’re busy.”
“I’m never too busy to offer you my time. You’ve done more for this town in your short time here, than many people do in a lifetime,” said Henry, sitting in the armchair opposite her, the cracked leather upholstery creaking as he crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. “That’s three murders you’ve solved now! You deserve all the time I can possibly offer you. How may I be of help to you?”
Millie took a deep breath. “It’s about the letter from my mother,” she said. “The one she gave to you.”
Henry removed his glasses and polished the lenses with a crisp white handkerchief he took from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “What about it? I trust you’ve read it?”
“Not quite,” said Millie.
“You’re still not aware who your father is?” said Henry, replacing his glasses and fiddling with his cufflinks. “I thought as much.”
Millie shook her head. “No,” she said. “And something happened to the letter… I… well, I burnt it.”
“It was hard to come to terms with what may have been inside?” said Henry. “I can understand that.”
“It wasn’t like that,” said Millie. “I didn’t burn it to destroy it. I burnt it to cast a spell. A spell which was supposed to make it possible for me to speak to my mother.”
Henry frowned. “It sounds like it was a powerful spell you tried to cast, Millie. Powerful spells are impressive when they work, but tend to fail more often than their simpler counterparts,” he said.
“Yes, well, this one failed,” said Millie. She dropped her eyes. “And now I have no letter from my mother.”
Henry gave a gentle smile. “I’m sorry, Millie,” he said, “but you’re aware that I know who your father is. I can’t tell you every word your mother wrote in that letter, but I can help you discover where you came from. Would you like to know who your father is, Millie? Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes, and no,” said Millie. “I was hoping there would be other ways of speaking to my mother.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“Is there no way at all that my mother could become a ghost?” said Millie.
Henry sighed. “You know that’s not possible, Millie. Witches can never become ghosts; their energy works in different ways than a human’s energy does. Not all humans become ghosts either, Millie. Tom Temples didn’t, or Jill Harris’s mother -- at least they haven’t yet. Some ghosts take their time before they make an appearance.” He smiled at Millie. “But your mother won’t become a ghost, Millie, although her energy will always be tied to the cottage you live in. The cottage that she once lived in.”
“I knew that,” said Millie, her heart heavy. “But I just wanted to make absolutely sure before I asked you to tell me who my father is, Henry. I wanted to hear it from my mother, but that’s not going to happen.”
Henry leaned forward in his seat. “Would you like me to tell you, Millie? Do you want to know who your father is?”
Millie shifted her weight. “When you told me you knew who he was, you told me he lived in Spellbinder Bay. Is that still the case? Is he still here?”
“Very much so,” said Henry.
“Do you think he’d be happy to discover he has a daughter he didn’t know about?” said Millie.
“I can’t answer that, Millie,” said Henry. “It wouldn’t be fair on him, or you.”
Millie closed her eyes, and wrapped her fingers around the seat’s armrests. “Okay, Henry,” she said. “I’m ready. Tell me who my father is. Please.”
Henry remained silent for a few moments, and Millie kept her eyes shut, hoping the words would be more easily digestible if she couldn’t see Henry’s mouth moving. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “Millie Thorn,” he said. “Your father is —”
“Don’t you dare, Henry Pinkerton!”
Hearing Henry gasp, Millie held her breath, a heaviness building behind her eyes as tears threatened to spill. That voice. It couldn’t be.
“Hello, Millie,” said the soft female voice. “Hello, my darling. Open your eyes.”
Tears ran freely as Millie tentatively opened her eyes. With her vision blurred, she stared at the woman standing alongside her. Taking long ragged gasps of air, Millie sobbed as she attempted to smile. “Is it you?” she gasped. “Is it really you?”
The woman smiled, her brown eyes as warm as Millie had remembered them. “Yes,” she said. “It’s really me.”
Chapter 25
Henry stood up. “Josephine! How wonderful to see you, but how did you—”
The woman raised a hand. “Would you leave us alone, Henry?” she said. “Please?”
With a wide smile, Henry hurried towards the door. “Of course! My office is yours for as long as you need it.”
When the door had closed behind Henry, Millie gazed up at the smiling woman, her cheeks wet with tears and her breathing beginning to steady. “Mum?” she said. “Mum?”
“Oh, Millie,” said her mother, her face appearing to shift in and out of focus. “Your spell worked! I’ve been trying for so long to reach you. Ever since you moved into Windy-dune Cottage! I’ve heard every word you’ve spoken to me, and I’ve seen every tear you’ve cried for me. I tried so hard to touch you, to speak to you, but I couldn’t reach across the divide between my world and yours.”
Millie stood up, her legs struggling to take her weight, and reached for her mother with a trembling hand. “I can’t feel you, Mum,” she said, as her hand passed through her mother’s shoulder. “You look so young.”
Her mother smiled, her cheeks radiant, and the hem of the long loose dress she wore, blowing in an invisible breeze. “I’m as the cottage remembe
rs me, Millie,” she said. “I’m at the age I was at when I lived in the cottage.”
“When you were pregnant with me?” said Millie, instantly regretting the accusatory tone she’d used.
“Yes, Millie,” said her mother. “And I’m so sorry I never told you about your past. Henry did a good job of explaining why when he gave you the letter I wrote. I was there when you spoke to him in the cavern. I could hear you, but I couldn’t reach you.”
“Henry told me that when Sergeant Spencer and Judith moved to town you helped them adjust,” said Millie, “but when you became pregnant you also became terrified of me growing up around magic, because of what Judith had done to her real parents.”
“There was more to it than that, sweetheart,” said her mother. “But, yes. Judith had accidentally killed her parents with magic, and when I discovered I was pregnant, I worried that my own child would one day make the same terrible mistake and suffer the awful guilt that Judith was destined to suffer with. So, I left the bay, and I never told you that you were the daughter of a witch. I’m sorry, Millie.”
Millie wiped her eyes. “You look so beautiful, Mum. So healthy. Not like the last time I saw you.”
“I was very ill, sweetheart. I’m sorry you had to see me like that while you were still at such a young age. It broke my heart every time I saw you cry when you looked at me,” said her mother, her dress shimmering with a golden light.
“I’m sorry you got ill, Mum,” said Millie. “Aunty Hannah and Uncle James acted as perfect parents to me, but I missed you so much, Mum.” More tears spilt over her cheeks. “So much.”
“I know, sweetie,” said her mother. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Millie looked around the room. “Why are you here, Mum? I mean here — in Spellbinder Hall. I cast the spell in the cavern under the cottage.”
Her mother’s eyes twinkled as she spoke. “There wasn’t enough magic in the cottage cauldron, Millie. You haven’t lived in the cottage long enough, nor used the cauldron often enough to provide it with the energy it requires to perform the sort of magic you asked it to last night. I almost broke through to you, but there just wasn’t enough magic to make myself visible — I blew on your cheek, but I don’t think you felt it.”
Millie put her fingers to her face. “I did feel it, Mum.”
Her mother smiled. “When you left the cavern, Esmeralda had an idea.”
“Esmeralda?” said Millie. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re all there, Millie,” said her mother, with a smile. “All the witches who’ve ever lived above the coven cavern, be it when the building above it was a bronze-age roundhouse, or the cottage you live in now. There are lots of us, Millie. Our energies manifested as the way we were in life, all of us living together in a world of sunshine, nature and happiness.”
“Heaven?” said Millie.
“As good as,” said her mother. “Anyway — Esmeralda’s idea. As she pointed out, the spell you cast is linked to you — to your heart, not to the place you cast it in, and when we heard you telling Reuben that you were coming here today, to see Henry, Esmeralda suggested I try and break through to you here — where the magic is stronger.
“The moon-pool beneath Spellbinder Hall is infinitely more powerful than your cauldron, Millie, it was easier than I thought it would be to break through to this world, and with time, I’ll be able to break through to you in Windy-dune cottage, too.”
“With time?” whispered Millie. “You mean the spell I cast can bring you here again? It doesn’t work only once?”
“You’ve built a bridge,” said her mother, placing a hand on her chest. “Between our hearts. An unbreakable bridge. I may not be able to cross the bridge as often as I’d like to, but yes, I can come back again. Over, and over again.”
Millie moved close to her mother, and placed her arms around her shape, not able to feel her form, but able to smell the faint tang of pear drops.
“I don’t have long, Millie,” murmured her mother. “Not on this first trip. I’ll be able to stay longer each time I cross our bridge.”
Her mother’s cheek next to hers, and the tingling of soft energy against her earlobe, Millie whispered the question burning a hole in her heart. “Did you love him, Mum? Did you love my father?”
“Oh, yes, Millie,” said her mother. “I loved him with everything I had. We only knew each other for a short time, but in that short time he proved what a wonderfully good man he is.”
“You told me I was the result of a meaningless fling,” said Millie. “You told me you couldn’t find my father to tell him about me.”
“I’m sorry, Millie,” said her mother, her voice trembling. “I was a coward. I was too afraid to tell you what I’d done to your father. That I’d left him without saying goodbye.”
“Why did you leave without telling him you were pregnant?” said Millie, her words heavy in her mouth.
“He had responsibilities, Millie,” she whispered in her daughter’s ear. “Huge responsibilities. Too many responsibilities for one person. I feared that another responsibility would break him, Millie, and I worried about how magic would affect you in the future, I left Spellbinder Bay without telling him. I left magic behind, and I left him behind — for his sake, and yours. Or so I thought, but really, it was for my sake. I see that now. I saw that a long time ago, before I died, but it was too late. I was selfish, Millie. I wanted you and me to be safe, and I didn’t consider how you or your father would feel. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
Millie licked her lips, the final question trapped in her throat, unwilling to be born into reality. She forced it from herself, pulling away from her mother and staring into her eyes. “Who is it, Mum? Who’s my father?”
Her mother’s eyes lit up, and she reached for her daughter, her hand dissolving in a shower of dim sparks as it slid over Millie’s arm. “A good man, Millie. A man you’re already very close to.”
“Just say his name, Mum,” said Millie. “Please, just say his name.”
“Okay,” said her mother. “Your father is David Spencer, and I loved him when we created you, and I believe he loved me, too.”
Millie stepped backwards and dropped into the armchair, her veins fizzing with adrenaline. “Sergeant Spencer is my father?” said Millie.
“He is,” said her mother.
“I have so many questions,” said Millie, her fingernails digging deep into her thighs. “I don’t know what to ask.”
Bending slowly, her mother got to her knees in front of Millie, placing her formless hands over her daughter’s. “Then let me try and answer the questions I’d have if I was in your position,” she said. “Beginning with why I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t, Millie. He was a young man who’d fostered a toddler. A toddler who’d killed her parents. David was thrown into a world of magic he knew nothing about, and despite what he may think he remembers, he struggled to cope. I mean really struggled to cope. I couldn’t add to his responsibilities, Millie. I couldn’t tell him I was pregnant.”
“You decided he couldn’t cope,” said Millie. “You made the decision for him.”
“I know,” said her mother. “I’m sorry, but I can’t turn back the clock. I was young. We were both young. I was frightened about bringing you into a world of magic. I did the wrong thing. I know that.”
“You met him when he moved to town,” said Millie. “Henry told me you’d met Sergeant Spencer and Judith — he said you’d helped them settle in, but it never occurred to me… that… that…”
“That we fell in love?” said her mother. “That I was there for him, and he was there for me, too? That sometimes life can reach inside your head and make you forget about being sensible? That we didn’t use precautions? That I cried every day for weeks after leaving Spellbinder Bay? That I sneaked back here on numerous occasions and watched David from afar? That when you were born, I wanted nothing more than to place you in his safe hands and hear him tell me how happy I’d made him — to hear him
tell me how much he loved you, and me? That I never loved another man again? That I want nothing more than to live my life over, and change every mistake I ever made?” She looked at the floor. “There are a lot of that’s, Millie? Some I regret, and some… I wouldn’t change for the world, my beautiful girl.”
The salty taste of tears on her lips, Millie looked at her Mother. “I love you, Mum.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” said her mother. “And when I’ve seen you and David together in your cottage, watching you from a place I couldn’t reach you from, I’ve seen him look at you sometimes, like he knows.”
Millie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Do you think he does know? Or suspect? I do look like you.”
“Our noses may be similar, but we don’t look that alike,” said her mother. “Not to him. Not after twenty-four years.”
“It’s a good job I kept the photograph of you in my bedroom,” said Millie. “That would have freaked him out — seeing a picture of you in my living room!”
Her mother laughed, the same high pitched sing-song laughter that Millie remembered so well. “I’ve been watching David for years,” said her mother. “He took his job as a community policeman very seriously, and would visit people regularly — especially those who lived off the beaten track. When I died, and found my energy back in the cottage, I’d look forward to the days he’d visit Esmeralda, watching him age gracefully, and wondering what he’d say if he knew he had a daughter.”
A coldness gripped Millie’s insides. “But he has a daughter! A daughter he loves! I can’t tell him that he’s my father!”
“Of course you can,” said her mother.
“But Judith,” said Millie. “She’s his daughter.”
Her mother gazed into Millie’s eyes, her face beginning to fade. “Then he’ll have two daughters. Two daughters he loves.”
