by Sam Short
Her best friend who just happened to be the adopted daughter of the man who was Millie’s real father, she reminded herself, aware of the sickly fear that twisted her stomach whenever she dared think about that particular subject.
She drank more wine, this time a gulp rather than a sip. Now was not the time for focusing on stressful issues. Now was the time to enjoy a drink, and watch a middle-aged woman being unceremoniously thrown from the mechanical bucking bronco, which had been set up next to a stall displaying the raffle draw prizes — a few of which were some of the more impressive cakes baked by Millie and her pupils.
The woman climbed to her feet, giggling uncontrollably as she placed her glasses back on her face and joined her husband and son, the small family laughing together as they walked hand in hand towards the coconut shy.
The fete wasn’t a grand affair by any stretch of the imagination, but it was doing its job. It was bringing paranormal people together as they celebrated the end of the school year and the achievements of the children who attended Spellbinder Hall.
Remembering that Judith was seated opposite her, no doubt expecting a conversation to occur between the two friends, Millie brought herself back into the moment, sniffing at the air as the universally tempting aroma of fried onions teased her nostrils.
She smiled at Judith, and was just about to suggest that the two of them head back to her cottage after the fete had finished, to polish off more wine, when urgent shouting from within the tent behind her demanded her full attention. “You evil thing! You evil child!” came the distressed voice of a man.
Recognising the voice as Cuthbert Campion’s, Millie leapt to her feet, almost spilling the contents of her glass over Judith in the process, who also got to her feet and rushed inside the striped tent alongside Millie.
The spacious refreshments tent, housing a small makeshift bar in the corner, was nearly empty, with most people preferring to enjoy their cold drinks outside in the sunshine, than within the warm musty confines of a canvas tent.
The few people who were inside the tent had gathered together in a huddle near the bar, surrounding Cuthbert Campion and the man he was shouting at. It was no surprise to Millie that Cuthbert’s adversary happened to be Trevor Giles. She’d watched from her classroom window as he’d entered the tent with Norman almost half an hour before.
Norman had emerged a few minutes later, clutching a styrofoam cup with a straw protruding from the lid, and set off to join his friends in exploring what the small fete had to offer. Trevor hadn’t emerged after his stepson, and Millie had rightly, it seemed, suspected he wouldn’t until he’d drank his fair share of some of the real ales lovingly crafted by the local microbrewery and donated to the school fete.
Not great parenting on Trevor’s behalf, but Norman was in a safe place. The fete was under the extremely beady eyes of several nosy teachers, and under the protection of all manner of spells emitted by Spellbinder Hall. The old hall, which acted as a beacon of magic, continuously transmitted magical energy, such as the concealment spell which kept the paranormal properties of Spellbinder Bay, and a large chunk of its inhabitants, hidden in plain sight from non-paranormal folk.
Amongst the other spells beamed from the hall, was a spell which negated the need for a fence alongside the clifftop, providing an invisible forcefield which would prevent any unfortunate accidents from occurring.
Worried that Cuthbert Campion might require an invisible forcefield to protect him from Trevor Giles, if he continued hurling abuse at the younger man, Millie hurried across the bouncy grass carpet of the tent. She pushed her way past the few spectators, and stepped between the two men, a hand on each of their chests. “Okay! That’s enough!” she ordered.
“You’re lucky she’s here,” growled Trevor, glaring past Millie. “I was just about to teach you some manners, old man.”
“Evil!” shouted Cuthbert, his wrinkled face a mask of frightened confusion. “You’re evil! Why do they allow you to be here? You’re a mountain in a dish, a headache without a cure!”
“What the heck are you waffling about?” said Trevor. He suddenly lifted his arm, making Millie jump, and held a threatening fist an inch away from Cuthbert’s face. “You’re mental, mate! That’s what you are. Somebody needs to get you out of here before you get hurt!”
“I said, that’s enough!” said Millie, as Trevor dropped his arm. “Both of you!” She took Cuthbert’s hand in hers and gave him a reassuring smile, alarmed at how unwell he appeared. “Where’s Julia, Cuthbert? Where’s your daughter?”
“I’m here!” came Julia’s concerned voice as she hurried inside the tent, veering past Judith and reaching for her father. “What’s happening, Dad? I could hear you shouting from halfway across the field. I only went to the cake stall… why didn’t you wait for me? I told you to wait. I asked you to wait.” She placed the paper bag she was carrying on the bar and glared at Trevor. “You again,” she said.
Trevor pointed an accusatory finger at Cuthbert’s face. “Him again,” he said. “I was enjoying a beer until he came in here and ruined my peace. What has he got against me anyway? That’s twice today that he’s verbally assaulted me! He needs locking up.”
“He’s poorly,” said Julia. “He doesn’t mean it. He fixates on things and people, and today he seems to have fixated on you. Maybe you could cut him some slack? He’s double your age — what’s the point of retaliating?”
“I always retaliate,” growled Trevor. “That’s just how it is.”
“Why don’t you bring your father outside?” suggested Judith, offering Julia a kind smile. “Let him sit down in the sun for a while, he looks a little shaken. I’ll get him a cup of tea.”
Julia gave her head a determined shake. “No. Thank you anyway, but no. I need to get him home. He’s getting tired.”
“But I’d like a cup of tea,” protested Cuthbert.
Julia gestured at the brown paper bag she’d placed on the bar. “I bought us some cakes, Dad, from the cake stall. Let’s go home and have one. I believe it was Millie and the pupils in her cookery class who baked them. I bet they taste lovely.”
Cuthbert gave Millie a searching look. “You’re a cookery teacher? I once knew a cookery teacher. I’m a teacher, too, you see? Are you a halfling?”
“No, Cuthbert,” said Millie, giving her head a gentle shake. “I’m not a halfling, but yes, I am a cookery teacher.”
“There’s not many of us, is there?” said Cuthbert. “We’re a rare breed, us halflings. We have to stick together.” His eyes widened suddenly, and he pointed at Trevor, whose hand was emerging from the bag of cakes, clutching a chocolate brownie. “Those cakes aren’t yours!” he protested. “Put that back!”
“Too late,” teased Trevor, taking a bite of the brownie, his lips muddy with chocolate. He gave Millie an approving nod. “Very nice. If you teach Norman how to bake cakes this good, I might reconsider my decision to make him give up cookery lessons next term and study a more manly subject, like mechanics. I hear there are a few old cars around the back of the school which the normal boys are learning to restore. I don’t know why his mother ever let him attend cookery classes… he’s not some apron-wearing prancing male witch, he’s supposed to be a werewolf! He’s supposed to be a young man! And to think he chose to take cookery lessons! He wasn’t even forced to like I was when I went to school here!”
“That’s not a very nice attitude,” said Millie. She narrowed her eyes and shrugged. “But from what I’ve learned about you today, I’m really not surprised that you hold opinions like that.”
Trevor took another bite of the brownie and spoke as he chewed. “I don’t really care what you think.”
“Those aren’t your cakes!” repeated Cuthbert, reaching for the bag and getting the tips of his fingers inside before Trevor snatched it away. “They belong to my daughter!”
“Let him keep them, Dad,” said Julia, taking her father by the arm, tugging him gently towards the doorway. “I’ll bu
y us some more, I wouldn’t want them now. Not after his hands have been all over them.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Trevor, cake crumbs tumbling from his mouth. “Take your father home.” He washed the brownie down with a long swig of beer, gave a belch, and smiled as Julia and Cuthbert left the tent.
“Perhaps you should leave now,” said the man standing behind the bar. “This wasn’t supposed to be the type of bar that people get drunk in. It was meant to be here so that responsible adults could have a drink or two while their children enjoyed the fete.”
Trevor gave the diminutive man a cold smile. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you? And a teacher here at the school?”
“That’s right,” said the man. “I teach history.”
“Well, mate,” drawled Trevor. “I’m too old to care what teachers have to say, and I’ve never much liked vampires, so I’m afraid I won’t be taking your advice. I’m staying right here, drinking beer and minding my own business, just like I was until that mad old man wandered into the tent and began abusing me. Anyway, I bought a few tickets for the raffle. I’m not going anywhere until that’s been drawn. I’ve got my eyes on the bottle of champagne and the case of beer. I’m feeling lucky today.”
Deciding that allowing Trevor to remain was a better choice than causing any further commotion, Millie gave a frustrated sigh and turned to the vampire behind the bar. “Perhaps it would be better if he stayed?” she suggested. “The raffle is being drawn soon, and the fete will be winding down in an hour or so.”
“At which point, I shall be gone,” said Trevor, sliding his empty glass across the bar. He smiled at the vampire. “You have my word. Another one, please, bartend.”
Shaking his head, the vampire refilled Trevor’s glass and slammed it onto the bar. “There you go, sir,” he said, his words wrapped liberally in sarcasm. “I’d like to say that I hope you choke on it, but that would be rude, so instead, I’ll say I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will,” said Trevor. He slipped his hand inside the paper bag of cakes. “And I’m sure it will go down beautifully with another of those delectable chocolate brownies that the woman with the mad father was kind enough to gift me. All this good beer makes a werewolf hungry.” Peering into the bag, he gave a groan. “She only bought one chocolate brownie? The rest of these cakes are no good to me. They’re all cream cakes, and I don’t much care for cream.”
Just as Millie was considering grabbing a cake from the bag and using it to erase the smug expression from Trevor’s face, Norman hurried into the tent, out of breath, his face the shade of red a child’s face turns when he or she has been having fun.
His school trousers green at the knees with grass stains, he came to a halt next to his stepfather. “Can I have another drink, please, Trevor?” he said. “I’m playing rugby with a few of the other boys! I’m thirsty!”
Trevor smiled at Millie. “See! That’s what a boy should be doing! Playing men’s games, not cooking.” He grinned at Norman, and slipped his wallet from his back pocket, handing the boy a five-pound note. “Of course you can have a drink, Norman, but first, run along to the cake stall like a good little boy and pick me up a few cakes. No cream ones, mind you.”
Taking the money from Trevor, Norman gave an eager nod. “Okay!” he said. “I’ll do that for you, Trevor!” He dropped his eyes momentarily and spoke in an uncertain voice. “What did you mean when you said I should be playing men’s games and not cooking?”
Trevor sucked a long breath in and stared down at his stepson. “Norman,” he drawled. “Real men don’t wear aprons and make fancy cakes. Real men drink beer and do man stuff. If you were my real son, you wouldn’t even know what it feels like to wear an apron, let alone know how to turn on an oven. Watching you and those other boys prancing about in the cookery classroom made my heart hurt, Norman.” He took a gulp of beer and smiled. “Does that answer your question?”
Seeming to lose an inch in height, and his already small chest and shoulders deflating, Norman licked his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, emotion evident in his voice.
“Good,” said Trevor. “Now, off you go. I’m hungry. Go and fetch me some cakes.”
“Wait,” said Millie, as the young boy turned his back and shuffled towards the door. “I’ll accompany you, Norman, I should check and see if the children are still happy serving on the stall, or if they’d like to go and have some fun. Perhaps I’ll take over from them.”
Judith looked Trevor up and down. “I’ll come with you,” she said, speaking to Millie. “For some reason, I don’t much like being in this tent.”
“I don’t much want to be near you, either,” said Trevor, a sneer curling his top lip. “Look at you... little Miss Pompous, daughter of the local idiot policeman.”
“What did you call my father?” said Judith.
“An idiot,” replied Trevor. “You know what I think of you and your father, and I know what you think of me. I’ll say it again. Your father is an idiot.”
Ignoring the tense atmosphere building in the tent, Millie’s mind still somehow managed to latch on to the fact that there were two of Sergeant Spencer’s daughters in the tent, one adopted and one biological. The sad truth was, though, that only one of them was aware that the other girl was a sister to her.
Perplexed at her brain’s inability to adhere to the demand that the issue of her father be ignored for the time being, Millie shook the imposing thoughts away and allowed Judith to defend Sergeant Spencer, ignoring the instinctive urge to fight for her father’s honour.
Judith laughed and tossed her head as she glared at Trevor Giles. “You wouldn’t dare be rude to my father’s face,” she said. “You’re scared of him. I’ve seen you when he’s around.”
Trevor’s face darkened. “Don’t mix up my necessary fear of his uniform, with me being fearful of him as a man. I’m not scared of him. I’m a werewolf, and he’s not even paranormal. He doesn’t scare me! What does make me respectful of him, is the fact that he’s under the protection of Henry Pinkerton, and the fact that he has the power to lock me up in that dingy cell of his for no reason at all.” He licked beer foam from his top lip and stared down at Judith. “Remove Henry’s protection of him, and take him out of that uniform, and I wouldn’t even notice him when he walked into a room, let alone be on my best behaviour around him.”
Judith sighed. “Whatever the reasons are, Trevor, you’re still scared of him, and I wouldn’t say he locks you up for no reason. Last weekend he locked you up because you lost your temper in a pub full of non-paranormal people, started a fight, and almost turned into your wolf.”
“I wouldn’t transform into my wolf in front of non-paranormals,” said Trevor. “I’m not that stupid. I might not be scared of your father, but the thought of the punishment that Henry would dole out if I ever did that, makes my blood run cold. Henry has real power, you see. Not the fake power a uniform and a badge afford a man.”
From almost the first day she’d arrived in Spellbinder Bay, Millie had been made aware that the punishment bestowed upon members of the paranormal community, for crimes deemed severe enough, was very harsh. Very harsh indeed.
Being banished to another dimension may not have sounded so awful to a person who didn’t know what manner of creatures resided there, but Millie knew — she’d looked into the gateway to The Chaos. Locked in a cave in one of the passageways deep in the cliff below Spellbinder Hall, the circular gate of energy remained locked — managing to keep most demons from entering the dimension that Millie liked to call home, but not preventing people from peering into the hell which lay beyond the circle of light.
Demons did manage to sneak through the gate occasionally, and when Millie had looked into the gate, she’d seen one in all its terrifying glory. She certainly wouldn’t like to be banished to The Chaos, and she was equally sure that speaking about such punishments in front of Norman was not very responsible of the adults inside the tent.
She gestured tow
ards the young werewolf with a nod of her head. “Now’s not the time for arguments,” she said.
Trevor nodded. “I agree. Now is the time for beer.” He looked at Norman. “But I need something else to eat before I drink too much more. Go on, lad. Go with your teacher and get me those cakes. There’ll be a cola waiting for you when you get back.”
Chapter 6
Walking alongside Norman through the maze of tents and the crowds of happy people, Millie’s heart dropped as she approached the cake stall. The cake stall selling the cakes she and her pupils had baked. The cake stall that she should have been standing behind, doing her bit for charity.
“Oh!” said Judith. “You managed to get Beth to serve on the stall!” She glanced at Norman and spoke quietly to Millie. “She’s not very well,” she half-whispered. “She suffers from some sort of anxiety, or depression. It’s lovely to see her joining in like that! She doesn’t normally get involved with the community. Well done, Millie!”
“I didn’t get her involved,” explained Millie. “I left three young girls in charge. Beth’s daughter and two other girls! They begged me to let them run the stall. I’m not sure why poor Beth has been dragged into doing it.”
“The girls probably got bored after about three and a half minutes,” said Judith, laughing. “That’s why. That’s precisely how teenagers operate.”
“Beth!” said Millie, hurrying towards the stall. “I’m so sorry! How did you get dragged into doing this?”
Beth smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said, taking money from a customer and handing over a paper bag bulging with cakes. “Emma’s friends wanted to go and bounce on the inflatable castle, they couldn’t find you, so I said I’d help out. It’s no problem.”
“I am sorry!” said Millie. “You should be enjoying the fete with Emma, not standing here on your own behind a wallpaper pasting table, selling cakes!”
