Vengeful Magic

by TJ Green

  Mariah was warming to her subject as she continued to address the group. “He didn’t earn the name ‘Cruel’ for no reason. He and his posse beheaded a revenue officer. He was considered almost supernatural. His gang was called the Cruel Gang, too. They controlled much of this part of the coast.”

  Avery recalled her earlier conversation with her regulars at the shop. “Including White Haven and Harecombe.”

  “Yes,” Mariah confirmed.

  “Why was he considered supernatural?” Eve asked.

  “He arrived in the middle of a storm, his ship breaking up on the shore. The locals had come to watch the wreck, as they often did, hoping for bounty, and he strode out of the waves, leapt up behind a local woman on her horse, and absconded with her. This was on the north coast, not the south. She became his wife—somewhat unwillingly, I gather,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Anyway, he was huge, Danish—a Viking striding out of the past. Some called him a demon.”

  “You seem to know a lot about him,” Oswald said. “Do I recall correctly that you gave something to the Smuggling Museum once?”

  She nodded, unconcerned. “One of Zephaniah Job’s ledgers. He was the smuggler’s banker, and very good at it apparently. My grandfather was fascinated with smuggling, and an old friend left him all his papers when he died. He found the ledger in the collection and was determined to donate it. Most of them had been destroyed in a fire after Job died, probably deliberately. I just organised it. He told me all sorts of tales as a child. And of course, Cruel Coppinger is well known in Looe. We have a pub named after him.” Mariah smiled, looking at everyone’s expectant faces. “And what’s more intriguing is the manner of his end. He just disappeared into the sea one night, and was never seen again.”

  “Drowned?” Eve asked.

  Mariah shrugged. “A ship was seen anchored offshore, and he rowed out to it on a small boat.”

  Avery leaned back in her chair. “That’s intriguing. So he has no grave here?”

  “No. But plenty of his gang would have had burials here. I’m just not sure where they would be.”

  “This could be related to him, even with that enigmatic exit,” Genevieve said. “I’m just wondering what could have set this whole thing off. Something must have happened recently.”

  Avery said, “White Haven Museum is putting together a new exhibition about smuggling. It’s not open to the public yet, so I have no idea what they’re planning to show, but maybe that has something to do with it.”

  “Very possible,” Genevieve said, nodding. “Perhaps a researcher discovered something they shouldn’t have.” She looked around the table. “We need to work together on this. Anything that we can find out could be valuable. Reuben and you, Estelle, should check your family histories carefully.”

  Estelle didn’t look impressed at being given instructions by Genevieve, and she gave an abrupt nod of acknowledgement.

  Genevieve’s gaze swept around the table. “Is there anything else before we go?”

  The council members shook their heads, and Avery noticed many of them appeared worried by the turn of events.

  “All right,” she said with a sigh. “In the meantime, I suggest we all watch our backs, and enhance our protection spells until we know what we’re up against.”

  Alex poured Newton another pint and set it in front of him, concerned about his friend. Concerned about both of his friends, actually.

  Reuben sat on the barstool next to Newton, nursing his own pint. He was stoic regarding his injury, but every now and again he winced, and he used his left arm to pick up his pint, not his right. El sat next to him, casting him surreptitious, worried glances. Briar was next to Newton, her dark eyes that were now ringed with emerald fire, were full of concern.

  On Tuesday nights the pub was usually half-empty, and tonight was no different. They had the freedom to talk easily without being overheard by anyone other than Zee, and Alex didn’t mind him listening. Newton had arrived an hour ago, looking more depressed than Alex had ever seen him, and he leaned on the bar, struggling to maintain his composure. Since he’d arrived, he’d run through a range of emotions, from fury, sadness, and frustration, to feeling like a failure, and now he’d settled into a brooding determination to avenge Inez’s death.

  “And worst of all,” Newton said, talking to his pint rather than meeting their eyes, “we didn’t even find one scrap of evidence to indicate who might have broken into those old chests. It was all a fucking waste of time.”

  Briar squeezed Newton’s arm. “It feels like that now, but we will find out what did this.”

  Newton turned his troubled grey eyes on her. “We better. I feel sick.”

  Alex glanced up as he saw Avery arrive, her face pensive but also determined, and he relaxed at the sight of her. He turned automatically to grab a wine glass and pour her favourite red wine, and by the time she’d drawn up her stool, he slid it in front of her. She smiled at him and murmured her thanks before turning to Newton. “Newton, I am so sorry about Inez.”

  He brushed it off. “Thanks, but I won’t rest until I’ve caught who did this.” He shook his head. “She was starting a new life, post-divorce. She should have been safe here.”

  Avery nodded. “Yes, she should have been. I have a feeling though that this could escalate even further.”

  “Why? What happened at the meeting?” El asked, alarmed.

  “Nothing there, particularly,” Avery confessed. “It’s just this general feeling I have. However, Oswald told everyone about the supernatural events around Fowey.”

  “What events?” Newton asked straight away.

  “Just local accounts of the feeling that spirits are in the area, and the idea that piskies are stirring up trouble. Oswald did say that most people thought it was just Cornish stuff and that it wasn’t anything to worry about, but…” She shrugged. “He did say there was a lot of speculation about the Spanish raids in the sixteenth century. Not surprising, really, after the doubloon.”

  “But they were much further down the coast,” Alex said.

  “Doesn’t stop them from talking!”

  “Any issues anywhere else?” Alex asked, sensing that Avery had other news.

  She smiled at him, a gleam in her eye. “No one else has noticed anything unusual in their area. But Mariah told us about Cruel Coppinger.”

  El nodded. “The smuggler we read about this morning?”

  “The very same. He was a violent man with a violent gang, and she agreed with what a couple of my customers told me earlier. He was particularly active around here. He also had supernatural associations.” Her eyes widened with intrigue. “He arrived in a storm, a hulking Viking striding out of the waves, and left by the sea too, never to be seen again!”

  “Viking?” Briar asked, confused.

  “He was Danish, and also reputed to be demonic,” Avery added for good measure. “Although, that may have been to do with his size. He was massive, apparently.”

  “Maybe ‘demonic’ is more to do with his cruelty,” Reuben suggested. “Either way, it’s interesting. It gives me something to look into in my own history.”

  “Interesting is not the word I would use,” Newton said crossly. “Sounds like a bloody nightmare! Three people are now dead.”

  The witches all fell silent, chastened, and Alex calmly said, “We haven’t forgotten that, Newton. But it is important that we have something to work on. We are as keen to avenge Inez’s death as you are.”

  Newton nodded, briefly meeting his eyes, before staring into his pint.

  “There’s something else,” Avery said quickly. “Oswald asked Mariah about the donation to the museum. She says her grandfather found the ledger, and she didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned at the question. In fact, apart from Zane being his usual grumpy self, no one looked remotely guilty or shifty.”

  “You were thinking about the witch walking the spirit realm,” Alex said.

  Avery nodded, slumping over the bar with her chin i
n her hands, and Alex realised what a long, busy day it had been. “I was,” she admitted. “But everyone looked normal!”

  Newton drained his pint. “I can’t do this right now. I’m beyond tired and I need to sleep.” He stood, his stool scraping across the floor. “I also need to work out what was in that tunnel.”

  “I hope you’re not planning to go back out there alone?” Briar asked him, suddenly alarmed.

  “No. I’m going to bed. Aren’t you listening?”

  “I mean tomorrow. Or the day after?” she said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. “Whatever it was could still be there!”

  “The whole place is lit up like a sodding Christmas tree now,” he said impatiently. “A police officer died! SOCO have been tramping around there. It’s been searched from top to bottom, and there’s nothing there. Nothing!” Newton was almost shouting, and Alex shot him a warning look. Suddenly aware of his surroundings, Newton lowered his voice again. “If you want to help me, find out what that creature was and how to kill it.”

  Without waiting for a response, Newton left, and Briar made as if to move. “I should go after him.”

  Alex leaned forward, placing a hand on her arm. “He needs to be alone. He knows we care.”

  “Does he?” she asked, looking upset. “He didn’t look like it.”

  “Of course he does,” Alex said softly. “Men deal with things differently. We rage and stomp about, but he knows. He just needs some time.”

  “So, what are we going to do?” El asked. “I certainly don’t want to wait around and let Reuben get attacked again. I’ve finally persuaded him to stay at my flat!” She shot him an annoyed glance.

  “For tonight only,” he told her. “I need to look at my family history, and I can’t do that at your place.”

  “You could bring your books!” El said, continuing what was obviously an earlier argument.

  “It’s not just my grimoires. It’s a whole load of books. I have a library, you know!”

  “Do you?” Avery asked, looking surprised.

  “Yes. I barely go in it,” he conceded, “but I figure there must be something useful in there.”

  Alex couldn’t help but laugh. “Only someone who doesn’t like reading could look so underwhelmed at having his own library.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t even know what’s on the shelves.”

  Avery’s mouth hung open, emitting a strangled cry. “What?”

  “Wow. You’ve just committed the cardinal sin in Avery’s eyes,” Alex told him. He rubbed Avery’s shoulder. “It’s okay, babe. Don’t have a stroke.”

  Avery looked at Reuben, horrified. “But Reuben, you could have first editions in there, and leather-bound masterpieces…”

  “I could. I admit it, I’m a heathen. Feel free to check it out sometime.” He smiled at Avery, an attempt to appease her.

  “This isn’t helping,” El said, narrowing her eyes at Reuben. “We need a plan! How do we find out what’s happening?”

  “Well,” Alex said decisively, “I think this new exhibition in White Haven Museum is worth looking into. Let’s see if we can find out more about it; the theme, who’s organising it, etcetera. I know it’s not open yet, but we could visit the museum anyway, look around the other exhibits, and ask a few questions. I can go tomorrow morning.”

  “Good idea,” El said. “I’ll come with you, while Reuben here fulfils his family history obligations.”

  Alex was aware of Zee’s looming presence next to him, as he sidled closer. “May I make a suggestion?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Alex said.

  “You mentioned supernatural creatures. Why don’t you talk to Shadow? She’s kicking her heels around now, and driving us all mad,” he said, rolling his eyes. “She sees piskies on the moors. Perhaps she sees other things.”

  “Piskies!” Briar said, amazed. “She’s never told us.”

  Zee shrugged. “She doesn’t like to advertise it—and may not thank me for mentioning it—but it sounds like you need help.”

  Briar nodded. “Thanks, Zee. I’ll call her first thing tomorrow.”

  “In that case,” Avery said to Reuben brightly, “guess who’s helping you tomorrow?”

  Reuben groaned. “You’re going to be such a task master!”

  “Yes I am! It’s your own fault,” she admonished him, and Alex tried to suppress a smirk at her peremptory tone. “You should never have mentioned your library!”

  Chapter 13

  Caspian reclined on the cushioned sofa in the informal lounge that overlooked the back of his house, watching Estelle pace back and forth in front of the unlit fireplace.

  The patio doors to the garden were open, and the night sounds carried inside—the hoot of an owl, the tinkle of the fountain, and soft sough of the warm summer breeze through the leaves. Caspian had been waiting anxiously for his sister to return from the Witches’ Council meeting, and he’d been forced to listen to his uncle moaning about their obligations. He’d been too tired to object, and could only hope that Estelle hadn’t alienated everyone. He’d worked hard to make connections over the last year, separate from those of his father. He wanted friendships that were on a more equal footing.

  However, Caspian also knew that his Uncle, Maximilian Faversham, resented Caspian’s approach, and so did Estelle. He didn’t care. They could complain all they wanted. He was the head of the family and the business, and he called the shots. Even now, while recovering from his attack.

  “Estelle,” he said, more aggressive than he should have been, “you’re making my neck ache. Will you please sit down and tell us what happened?”

  Estelle shot him a look of pure loathing. “I don’t know how you stand that group! We don’t need them, we never have! Listening to them planning and plotting all night was excruciating. What do we care about the other covens, or bloody smuggling?”

  Caspian couldn’t believe her short-term memory; he was still bloodied and bruised in front of her. “Have you forgotten already, Estelle, that I was half-dead when Avery and Alex found me earlier? If it weren’t for them, there’d be no half about it! And,” he continued when she fixed her steely glare on him, “Avery only came looking for me because of Genevieve!”

  Max looked sheepish. “That’s true, Estelle. They do have some uses.” Max was his father’s younger brother, shorter in stature, with a thinning head of dark grey hair. Like his father, he had a mean streak in him, but he was also cautious. Years of doing business had taught him that. He headed up their overseas branch, and spent half of his time in France. Like all of them, though, he was a skilled witch, and his strongest element was fire.

  “I should have known you’d take his side,” she said scathingly, before stalking to the drinks cabinet and pouring a stiff gin and tonic. That was a joke in itself, Caspian thought, catching his uncle’s eye. He almost never took Caspian’s side. They both still seemed to blame him for his father’s death.

  When Estelle finally turned around, she looked more composed, and she sat down in a deep armchair, opposite their uncle and next to Caspian. “There seems to be some consensus that Cruel Coppinger could be behind this—or should I say, his spirit.”

  “The notorious smuggler?” Max asked.

  “Yes. It seems he had control of this area, although I can’t see what that has to do with us!”

  Caspian gestured to their old family grimoire on the side table next to him, which he shared with Estelle. “I’ve had a cursory look in that, in case there’s any reference to smuggling, but found nothing so far.”

  His uncle snorted. “It’s a grimoire! Did you really expect to?”

  “It’s possible,” Caspian reasoned. “Spells are annotated in there, suggestions squiggled in corners. There may have been a reference to a useful spell, but,” he fell silent as he considered the vast number of spells in there, and the almost indecipherable writing in places, “I admit it’s a long shot. Tomorrow, when I have more energy, I’ll look in the study.
There are some local histories in there that might be of use.” He appealed to both of them. “If our business was threatened, we would have retaliated. I take it, Uncle, that you don’t remember any family stories about smuggling?”

  Max shook his head. “None. But you’re right. We would have hit back if our livelihood was threatened.”

  “But,” Estelle countered, “we would also have led any smuggling enterprises in this area if there was profit in it. Maybe Coppinger wanted a cut? Or wanted to take over our area?”

  Caspian tried not to roll his eyes, and failed. “We were—are—legitimate business men. We couldn’t have been thought to be smuggling! We were rich. We had a position in society to maintain.”

  “So how do you explain the Jacksons’ involvement? Avery mentioned that cave today, the one where you killed Gil. They were clearly involved in it!”

  Caspian winced, and not from the pain of his stab wound and all of his bruises. “His death was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill Gil!”

  “Whether you meant it or not doesn’t matter. The fact is, you did kill him!” Estelle looked at him almost triumphantly, rubbing his nose in something he so deeply regretted. Something he would never forgive himself for.

  “You shouldn’t look so pleased about it. I hate that I did—and you should, too.”

  “If I was in your position I’d have done the same thing, and been proud of it,” she sneered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Caspian struggled to sit up and wished he hadn’t as a searing pain pierced his side, and he broke out in a cold sweat. “You have no idea how it feels. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone!”

  “Maybe Avery can come over and comfort you,” Estelle said, uncaring as to the pain she was causing him, physically and emotionally. “Although, she actually can’t. She loves Alex, not you. Thank the Gods.”

  Fury flashed out of Caspian, rising up like a cobra, and before he could even think, he had willed her mute. He watched as Estelle struggled to speak, her hand at her throat, and her lips pressed closely together as if stitched by an unseen hand. Her eyes flashed as she tried to hurl a spell back at him. But he was ready for her; his protection spells were strong after what had happened that afternoon, and more than ready for her magic. Estelle moaned, her face contorting as she stood, and her fists clenched.