by TJ Green
“A hundred years old probably, maybe older, but the witch museum could date it better than me.” She looked at Ben. “How old is the house?”
“Late eighteenth-century I think. It’s surrounded by an old garden, probably not half as big as it once would have been. I think the land has been sold off over time. Anyway, Rupert and Charlotte are restoring it.”
“And is anything going bump in the night?” Avery asked thoughtfully.
“No. It’s weird. We’ve never been asked to investigate a house before it shows signs of being haunted. Do you think this suggests it might have been in the past?”
Avery shrugged, puzzled. “This bottle protected the then owner from a curse or a hex or other negative energies. It gives protection. So, it suggests that at one point something unpleasant may have been directed at the owner in the past, but this does not tell us what.”
“And the stuff that’s in there is common?”
“Common enough. The nails and skin are probably from the person in the house, and the dried liquid is likely menstrual blood. It would have conferred a lot of power.”
Ben grimaced. “Yuck. And how does it work?”
“By placing something of the owner in the bottle, like skin and blood, they would attract the curse away from the person themselves—sort of a misdirection—and the pins would burst the evil, or impale it. They often placed it outside, actually, or under a hearth—the heart of the house. Sometimes sprigs of rosemary were used, or urine, or wine. It depends on the witch casting the spell, the person who needed protection, and the nature of the threat. Sometimes a person would make their own to protect them from a witch.”
“Do you use them now?”
She smiled. “This is fairly rudimentary—a simple spell. I’m using something very similar for Cassie and you, actually. A bottle that contains a spell for your protection, but much more sophisticated.”
Ben fell silent for a moment. “Finding this makes me wonder if they know more about the house and the previous owners than they’ve told us.”
“What have they told you?
“That it was owned by a medium, and her reputation suggests she was genuine. Rupert seems to think that spirits may have left their mark on the house in some way.” Ben frowned, and Avery sensed he had the same misgivings as Cassie.
“You look as worried as Cassie did.”
He shrugged. “I know. I can’t explain why, either. Dylan’s the same.”
Avery was intrigued. “I’d like to check it out—just to see if I can sense something. Is that possible?”
“Certainly. I’m sure I could explain you away as a consultant.”
“Great. When are you next going?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, to pick up some of the recordings. Cassie probably told you we’re surveillance-gathering for now.”
Avery nodded. “Great. I’ll see if one of the others can come with me. I’d like a second opinion. But come and grab this spell before you go.”
Avery let Sally know she was leaving the shop for a few minutes, and then led Ben to the attic in her flat. Ben looked around with a big grin on his face. “Oh, wow! Look at this place.”
Avery looked at him, perplexed for a second. “Oh right, I’d forgotten you hadn’t been up here before.” She laughed. “It’s my inner sanctum that only the privileged few get to see.”
“Lucky me, then,” Ben exclaimed. “It’s quite the spell room, isn’t it?” His gaze travelled around the room, and for a moment, Avery saw her sacred space with fresh eyes. The grimoires on the wooden table were open where she had left them earlier, revealing their archaic writing and illustrations, and were enough to give the uninitiated a thrill of the strange. Above the table hung bunches of herbs, and their gentle aroma filled the room with the promise of earthy magic. Lining the walls were several deep shelves filled with bottles of more dried herbs, roots, leaves, powders, tinctures, dark and clear liquids, gemstones, and other important ingredients for spell casting. Next to them were her books, baskets of candles, pots of living herbs, scales and bowls, a pestle and mortar, and other arcane objects. Her Athame lay on the table, next to a small, silver cutting knife and silver bowls containing salt and water. She always had something seasonal in there, too, and at the moment there were bundles of pine, ivy and holly. Yes, this was most definitely a spell room, and every time Avery came here it renewed her soul and filled her with joy.
“This is so you,” Ben said, wide-eyed. “I forget when we chat downstairs and in pubs about this side of you, strange though that sounds. I mean, I know you’re a witch.”
Avery was amused, but she was kind, feeling his discomfort and wonder. “It’s not a side to me, Ben. It’s just me—all of me.”
“I know that, really I do.” He grinned again, childlike. “Go on, do your thing.”
Avery laughed. “You mean this?” The candles on the table flared into life as did the fire in the fireplace, and she sent a breath of wind around the room, ruffling the pages of the grimoires and setting the herbs swinging from the beams.
“Awesome,” he murmured as he wandered over to the table, his hands running along it. He paused to look at the books. “Can I touch them?”
“Of course. They’re protected from wear and tear by a spell, but even so, be gentle.”
He turned the pages as Avery reached for the bottle containing the spell she had made for them. “Here you go. It’s for defence, not attack.”
Ben turned and took it from her, watching the smoke curl lazily in the bottle. “Awesome. What does it do?”
“It’s my shadow spell. When you need to hide, pull the cork and release the spell. It will last for about half an hour without me there to renew it. The wax seal is thin, so it will open easily, and the bottle is sturdy, so shouldn’t break.” Ben nodded and pocketed it. “I should add that it’s more effective at night and in poorly-lit buildings. It will not work in broad daylight.”
“Thanks. We’re assembling a spell kit, so this is great.”
“So I gather,” Avery said thoughtfully. “I’ve going to bottle a mini-tornado for you, too, and a pulse of energy—enough to create a diversion. I’ll make a few bottles of each, now that I know I can.”
He smiled, “You’re the best. Anyway, I better go. I’ll text you the address.”
She nodded and followed him down the stairs and out through the shop, and felt a chill settle over her that had nothing to do with the weather.
***
After work, Avery headed to The Wayward Son to spend some time with Alex, who was working behind the bar. Within minutes of her arrival, Reuben and El turned up, too, easing themselves onto barstools next to Avery. The pub was an unofficial meeting place, and most nights after work one of the witches or Newton stopped by for a drink to unwind after the day.
“Oh good, I’m glad you two have arrived,” Avery said. “Are either of you interested in coming with me to the house our friendly ghost-hunters are investigating? It’s tomorrow afternoon, and Alex can’t come.”
Alex grimaced as he placed a pint in front of El and Reuben. “Unfortunately, my new staff are sick, and we’re too busy to leave the rest of the bar short-handed.”
“I’m busy, too,” El said, reaching for her drink. “Sorry, Ave.”
“I can come,” Reuben said brightly. “The business ticks along well enough without me. And I need to get out and see something new. What time?”
“About two,” Avery said.
“Perfect. I’ll drive—your van’s a bone shaker.”
Avery was mildly affronted, but had to agree. “Fair enough.” She looked across to the far side of the bar where Zee was serving a customer. “Any news on our new friend?”
Alex grinned. “I think she’s stirred up a hornet’s nest. Apparently, she’s very determined. Over the last few days, as she’s observed their activities, she’s realised that for now, she is very much stuck here. Gabe is busy building up his business and making money, and she knows that for now, she h
as to play it our way.”
Avery frowned. “What do you mean, our way?”
“Jobs, money. Zee said Niel accused her of being a freeloader, and if he had to pay bills, so did she.”
Avery remembered Niel from Old Haven Church. His full name was Othniel, and he was blond and bearded, with very impressive side-burns.
Reuben almost choked on his pint. “Freeloader! That’s hilarious. So, she’s working with Gabe?”
“For now.” Alex caught Zee’s eye as he finished serving and called him over. “Tell the guys what Shadow’s plan is.”
Zee groaned. “She’s trying to recruit one of us to help her with her artefact-finding business. She’s promised big money. It’s what you call bullshit.” His face creased with annoyance. “She’s causing arguments.”
“So some of you must be interested,” El speculated.
“A couple. Barak and Ash.”
“Ash!” Reuben said, his face falling. “But he works for me! And he’s bloody good, too.”
“Don’t worry,” Zee said. “Gabe is having none of it. I don’t think he can bear anyone else to work with her, which is worrying in itself. And Caspian’s just offered him a contract.”
The witches looked at each other in shock, even Alex. “You didn’t mention that! Doing what?”
Zee shrugged. “Apparently, the contract with the security team who look after his warehouses has just run out, and he decided he’d rather replace them with us. It makes sense. We know what he is.”
Avery sipped her wine thoughtfully. “Wow. Yes, it does make sense, but I’m still surprised. That must be a big job.”
Zee nodded. “I might have to do a few less shifts, Alex, if this works out.”
Alex shrugged. “I hate to lose you, but you’re wasted here. Just give me some notice.”
“I’ll be here over Christmas, so I’ll let you know in January.”
“Awesome, that will be great,” Alex said, relieved.
Reuben turned, suddenly distracted, and his face fell. He nodded towards the TV screen, muted on the wall. The news had started and headlines scrolled across the bottom of the screen, stating, Girl found dead in Harecombe.
Their collective mood fell. “Not another,” El said. “They have to be linked.”
Avery voiced something she’d been wondering for the last couple of hours, ever since she’d seen Ben. “I’m hoping it’s not linked to that house.”
“The medium’s house?”
“Yep. It’s between here and Harecombe. Ben and the others all think it’s weird, and they have good instincts, and well, we all know there’s no such thing as coincidence.”
Alex held her gaze for a moment. “Be careful when you go there tomorrow. Reuben—make sure she stays safe.”
“I’m not a child!” Avery protested.
Reuben patted her head jokingly. “Of course I will! Don’t worry about me, though,” he said, mock-offended.
“You stay safe, too,” El said, placing a hand on his arm. “No bravado, please.”
Alex frowned. “Three deaths in Harecombe. I wonder if we’ll hear from Caspian.”
As he finished speaking, Avery’s phone rang. “It’s Genevieve.” She answered, “Hey, how —” But before she could say another word, she fell mute and nodded. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Let me guess,” Reuben said. “Another meeting?”
“Tomorrow, at her place in Falmouth. Reuben, you’re coming, too.”
7
It was a blustery day, and the wind carried the promise of snow. The moors were already covered with a sprinkling of white, and thick clouds blanketed the sky.
Avery felt the solstice creeping towards her; the longest night of the year. Another night associated with the Wild Hunt, but that couldn’t happen twice, surely. But more than that, it was a time of celebration marking the symbolic death and rebirth of the sun and the turning of the wheel. Once that night had passed, summer was once more on its way. For the pagans it marked Yule. This year it occurred on the 22nd of December, and the witches would celebrate its passing together, with a fire, candles, and stories. Much like the summer solstice, it would be a time to reconnect to the earth and each other. But Avery shuddered. It was dark and cold, and girls were dying. Someone was hunting them.
They passed a few scattered houses, and then the road turned inland. Locally, it was called the Coast Road, but that was deceptive; the village was a good way back from the closest beach. At one time there’d been a post office there, but now there were a few dozen houses, a popular pub called The Sloop on the main road, and a small shop.
Reuben spoke as he drew close to West Haven. “You’re quiet. Are you okay?”
“I’m just thinking about those poor girls, and hoping it’s not a vampire doing this.”
“What else would drain blood through puncture wounds on the neck?”
She turned to face him, twisting in her seat. “I don’t know what to think. It’s suspicious, certainly, but there are many twisted people in this world.”
He glanced at her with a small shake of his head. “Yes there are, but this is something different. Maybe it has something to do with this house. Maybe something has been disturbed. Why else would you get paranormal investigators in? It’s a good thing we’ve been making spells for them. They could be at risk.”
Avery glanced at the bag on the back seat. They had brought spells packaged in bottles, potions, salt bombs, and even jewellery. “Do you think there’s such a thing as an occult black market?”
“What a weird question! Why are you asking that?”
“Well, all that stuff we’ve made. I bet they’d fetch good money, if someone stole them and wanted to sell.”
Reuben nodded. “Yeah, they would, and yeah, there is undoubtedly one. People will traffic anything. And that stuff is solid magic, undiluted and potent. They should probably keep it all locked up. Do you know that El has spelled a knife that will slice through most things—even some metals—like butter?”
Avery was amazed. “No. You mean like rope or chain?”
“Yep. As long as the chain isn’t too thick. And she’s spelled a key that will unlock anything, and placed a hex inside a locket.”
“Wow. She’s so devious! I wish I’d thought of that stuff. What about you? What have you made for them?”
“Nothing. I’m still not as good at this stuff as you guys. I’m good at controlling water, especially when I surf—”
“Yeah, I remember that time when you raised that huge wave.” She was referring to a day just after Gil’s death when Reuben was so furious and grief-stricken that he’d almost drowned himself and El on the shore. It had been a dark time for their relationship, and for a while, El wasn’t sure it would recover. Reuben knew it, too.
“Not my finest moment,” he murmured.
“You were grieving.”
“That’s no excuse for my behaviour.” He paused, thinking. “I’d like to remember Gil at Yule. I know that’s traditionally more of a Samhain thing, but it didn’t feel right for me then. Now it would.”
Reuben’s brother, Gil, had died in the summer while they were searching for their grimoires. He’d been killed by Caspian Faversham—accidently, according to Caspian. Avery smiled. “That’s a great idea. What do you want to do?”
“I want to head up to the mausoleum at Old Haven and wait for the dawn to rise there. It’s a weird way to celebrate the solstice, I know, but…”
“But we celebrated the last solstice with him, so why not this? He’ll be there in spirit. I think that’s a brilliant idea.” And creepy and cold, but Reuben needed this. “As long as we can have a fire.”
“Deal,” he said, throwing her a grateful glance as he pulled in front of an old house at the end of a long street, behind Ben’s van. “Here we are.”
Avery exited the car, pulled her coat closed, and tucked her scarf tighter around her neck. Reuben joined her, and they looked at the house that was positioned on the outskirts of th
e village. It had three storeys and was made of red bricks with a heavy stone portico over the front door creating a small porch. A large window was to the left of the front door, but several windows stretched away to the right, and a short tower rose from the roof on the left side of the house. The front garden was neglected and overgrown with weeds.
“It looks normal enough,” Reuben said, squinting at it.
Avery nodded. “I can’t sense anything weird from here.” She looked down the street, and then back at the house. “Why is it bigger than the others? Has it been converted from something?”
“Didn’t Ben say it probably had a lot more land before? Maybe it was built before the others.” He led the way to the house. “Come on; let’s get out of the cold.”
Avery hesitated just before the porch and pointed towards a plaque on the stone portico. “Holy crap. Have you seen what it’s called? House of Spirits.”
“Didn’t Ben say the owner was a medium? That’s good advertising!” Reuben declared as he bounded up the steps. The front door was ajar and Reuben knocked loudly as he pushed it open. “Hello? We’re here!”
Silence.
Reuben raised his eyebrows quizzically at Avery and headed inside, shutting the door behind them.
The house was warmer than Avery had expected. The long, wide hall was covered in Minton tiles, wood panelling covered the lower half of the walls, and the ceiling had ornate architrave running around the edges. Doors led to large rooms on either side, and Avery caught a glimpse of old, wooden furniture and out of date décor. Reuben walked down the hall, shouting greetings. The house went back farther than they expected, but they hadn’t gone far when they heard a shout from above.
Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, hanging over the banisters. He looked dusty. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Reuben said dryly. He hefted the bag he was carrying. “And we bring gifts.”
Ben grinned. “Brilliant. Come on up.”
They headed up the stairs and followed him down a dimly lit corridor, passing several doors on either side. Avery was itching to see inside the rooms they passed, but Ben hurried along, not allowing Avery a chance to look around properly, until he finally halted outside double doors at the far end.
