Vengeful Magic

by TJ Green

  Shadow nodded, suddenly serious. “Yes. I met her brother-in-law. He was the one who took my statement. ”

  “Well, Newton was with her when she died, and he said that there was something supernatural in the tunnel—something small and fast. Inez was hit hard, her skull crushed, and Newton was almost attacked too, until he whacked whatever it was with his torch. But, there’s no evidence of what it could be. And combined with the man who was found crushed in Fowey…” She trailed off.

  “You think it’s something supernatural that I might be able to see?”

  “Yes. Some kind of Otherworldly something.”

  Shadow frowned. “I’m certainly willing to try, but I’ve really only seen piskies so far. Well, I call them pixies, actually.” She smiled. “They’re sort of an unexpected present. They pop up when I least expect them to.”

  “What do you mean by ‘pop up?’”

  Shadow spread her hands wide. “I can’t predict it. They are there one minute and gone the next.”

  “Where do they go?” Briar asked, confused.

  “Good question. I think it’s sort of like what I can do when I’m in the woods. I blend into the landscape. I don’t think they actually pass between worlds. In fact,” she paused, thoughtful. “I’m sure of it.”

  Briar nodded. “Have you heard of spriggans?”

  “I don’t think so, but you may have a different name for them here. What are they?”

  “According to folklore, they are small, wizened men, incredibly strong, that possess—sort of—the ghosts of giants.”

  “Giants? Wow.”

  “They also guard buried treasure.”

  “Hence the connection to the current events,” Shadow said, thoughtfully. She stared at Briar. “There were giants here, once?”

  “According to our myths, yes. Cornwall is renowned for them. Were they in the Otherworld?”

  “Yes, but there aren’t many now, and they keep themselves isolated. I don’t know about spriggans though, or if we have an equivalent.” Her face brightened, and she jumped off the countertop and walked to the door. “Okay, I’ll do some investigating.”

  “Well, be careful,” Briar called after her. “They’re violent!”

  “Don’t worry. So am I,” Shadow said, before she shut the door behind her.

  Reuben groaned and looked up from the old book open in front of him, the words swimming before his eyes.

  He was reclining in a deep armchair in front of a large stone fireplace, currently unlit due to the summer heat. “This is so tedious,” he said to Avery.

  She was sitting at a table under the long windows that overlooked the gardens at the side of the house, and her red hair glowed in the sunlight that streamed in. She looked up at him, vague for a moment before she focussed. “It’s great! You have an awesome library.”

  He looked around at the oak shelves stacked with books from floor to ceiling, the only wall not to be affected the one with the windows. The shelves were filled with paperbacks, hardbacks, and classics with leather covers and gilded titles, as well as very old books worn by many hands over time.

  “I suppose it is impressive,” he admitted. “Not that I’ve really been in here for years.”

  “I can tell. It has an unloved feeling. At least it’s clean.”

  “That’s what cleaners are for.”

  “You should get this catalogued! You could have all sorts of hidden gems tucked away in here.”

  “You could do it.”

  Avery shook her head. “I’m not a rare book dealer. I wouldn’t know what I’m looking at. You need a professional.”

  “You sell books!”

  “Regular books! Two completely different things.”

  It sounded like a lot of hard work to him, but he wanted to keep Avery happy. “Maybe I should…one day. Have you found anything, anyway?”

  When Avery had arrived a couple of hours before, they searched the library and found that the shelves had been organised into categories. They had discovered a section full of books about Cornwall that encompassed a mix of history, myths, and folklore, but nothing that was particularly relevant to Reuben’s family history. Nevertheless, they had pulled a few pertinent titles and started to read them.

  “Not really,” she said, disappointed. “Just information that we already knew about spriggans, Púcas, and piskies. What about you?”

  “Only some generic smuggling stuff. Nothing about the Jacksons specifically. This book talks about Coppinger, and he really does sound like he was an evil bastard. He extorted, smuggled, tortured and murdered people, and generally terrorised the neighbourhood. North Cornwall, in particular. I can’t imagine we would have worked with him. But then again, our families did some questionable stuff in the past.”

  “They did,” Avery admitted, “but they also did good things. Maybe your family fought with him for the rights to smuggle here. You know, force him back to the north.”

  “It’s possible.” He leaned back and looked thoughtfully at the shelves again. “If we had been involved with Coppinger, we wouldn’t be likely to leave evidence just lying around, would we?” A recollection of old boxes filled with papers in the attic made him sit upright suddenly, jerking his injured shoulder, and he winced. “Ow. I’ve just had a thought.”

  “Did that hurt your head?” Avery said, teasing him.

  “Funny. There are some boxes of letters in the attic—the regular side, not the spell room. I remember seeing them when we moved some old furniture up there a few years ago. I wonder if there’s something in those.”

  “Letters! Reuben, they sound fascinating!”

  What was it with Avery and the written word? “They could be full of boring crap!”

  “And they could be full of Jackson secrets!” She was already standing, her face flushed with excitement. “Come on. Let’s check.”

  Alex watched El over the rim of his coffee cup, worried about her. She looked distracted, and although her makeup had been applied with her usual skill, she lacked her typical energetic glow. He knew she was worried about Reuben, just like him, but he also didn’t want to pry and upset her.

  They were seated under the window on the second floor of the museum, looking out to the street below, a glimpse of the sea visible through the gaps between buildings on the opposite side of the road.

  He decided to talk about one of her favourite subjects instead—weapons. “Have you had a chance to inspect those daggers yet?”

  “I have!” She dunked her marshmallow in her mocha latte and popped it in her mouth, eyes widening with pleasure. “This is so good! I was so hungry, I thought I might die!”

  “It’s a marshmallow! How can it possibility fill you up?”

  “That’s what the cake is for, idiot,” she said, gesturing to the large slice of lemon drizzle cake beside her cup. “This is an amuse-bouche.”

  “I have honestly never thought of a marshmallow as one of those before.”

  She gave him a wicked grin. “It’s the sweet version.”

  He laughed. “You’ve got a hell of a sweet tooth, El. You’re as bad as Reuben is with curry. Well, just about anything, really. So, what have you found?”

  “Well, I popped in to see Dante earlier, and he agrees that they are late-eighteenth century. The one that was thrown at you has a double-edged blade, which is typical, and a bone hilt. Once I cleaned it up I found tiny initials on it—CG.”

  “Cruel Gang?”

  “Could be,” she said, forking a mouthful of cake up. “Or they are the initials of the owner’s name.”

  “And the other one?” Alex prompted.

  “It’s far more ornate, a walnut hilt, with some lovely engraving on it. But no initials on that one.”

  Alex was disappointed. “Damn it. I’d hope we’d get some clues from them.”

  El shrugged, unperturbed. “It was always a long shot. Hopefully Reuben will find something today, with Avery. She has a nose for finding things.”

  “She c
ertainly does.” Alex hesitated a moment, and then took the plunge. “Is Reuben okay? I feel horrible about Gil, and I know I upset him the other night.”

  El swallowed a bite of her cake, and grimaced. “Hold on. This needs to be warmer!” Glancing around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, she held her hands above her cake and Alex felt her magic flare as she warmed it up. She took another bite and smiled. “That’s better. I can concentrate now. So, Reuben. Yeah. I think the initial shock has worn off, but it’s the other stuff that it has set off that worries me.”

  Alex gripped his coffee cup. “Like what?”

  El stared at her fork, as if she wasn’t sure how much to say, and then she met Alex’s eyes, resigned. “He’s doubting his magical abilities again, and is consequently disappointed with himself. He feels he’s failed Gil and isn’t living up to his family legacy.”

  “That’s rubbish,” Alex said, angrily. “His magic is strong. He just needs to use it more!”

  “I know! And I’ve told him that, but it’s almost like he shies away from it sometimes.” El rested her fork on the table, her cake half-finished. “It’s like he’s in denial.”

  “But he’s done some fantastic spells! The fog he conjured at the circus, the spell to find the mermaids… And he never turns away from a fight. He tackled the vampires head-on!”

  El laughed, despite her worry. “Yes, he did, with that ridiculous water gun.”

  “He’s inventive! And I never doubt that I can rely on him.”

  “But it’s not courage that he lacks,” El pointed out. “He’s strong and quick, and very loyal to us. It’s his magical self-confidence that is troubling him.”

  “And he’ll only get that by using it more.” Alex groaned. “I wish I knew how to help him. He did fight off a spirit the other day, though,” he said brightly. “That must have boosted his confidence.”

  “True.” El picked her fork up and speared another piece of cake. “But I think it’s more deep-seated than that.”

  “I doubt it helps being in that big house all by himself.”

  “Oh, he loves that! He doesn’t use half the rooms, but he really enjoys being there.” El looked at him speculatively while she chewed her cake, and when she swallowed, she said, “Do you like living with Avery?”

  “I love it.” He didn’t hesitate. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done, and I’m relieved she puts up with me. I just wish Caspian would back off.”

  El froze. “What’s he done?”

  Alex almost choked on his coffee. “You haven’t noticed?”

  “I’ve noticed that he flirts with her. But that’s okay. You flirt.”

  His anger rushed back and he wished he could control it more, but Caspian annoyed the crap out of him. “It’s more than flirting. He’s made it very clear that if I wasn’t around…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

  El reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter. Is Avery flattered? Sure. Who wouldn’t be? He’s rich and good looking, and is less of a dick than we first thought. But he isn’t meant for Avery. You are. And she knows that. You two are adorable together.”

  “Adorable?” Alex winced. “I sound like a teddy bear.”

  “You are. In the best possible way,” she teased. “Seriously though, I get that it’s irritating, but that’s Caspian’s way.” She studied him. “Don’t you start doubting yourself, too. Or Avery. I’ve got enough to worry about with Reuben.”

  He smiled, properly reassured, and saluted her. “Yes ma’am.”

  Chapter 15

  Dust clouds rose around Avery as she lifted the lid on a wooden chest and peered inside.

  “Bloody hell, Reuben. I take it your cleaner doesn’t come up here.”

  “Of course not. It’s the attic.”

  Avery coughed, summoned air, and sent it spinning around them both in a gently revolving circle, carrying the dust away. “That’s better.”

  “You’re very practical with your magic,” Reuben observed. He was a short distance away, opening up more boxes.

  “It’s meant to be practical. I use mine everyday for all sorts of things.” She lifted a bundle of papers out of the box, setting them on the floor, and then sat cross-legged on an old, dusty rug that was probably worth a small fortune, and proceeded to sort through them, talking as she did so. “I use it for protection. I have a spell on my shop to help customers find their perfect book. I warm my tea with it when it gets cold. I use it to prepare herbal drinks depending on my mood. It helps to bolster my garden. I use it to gather herb bundles, pick my plants at the optimum times, and loads of other things.” She shrugged. “I can’t imagine not using it daily, and it certainly doesn’t need to be showy.” She looked up at him, and found that he was watching her, frowning. “It’s like breathing to me.”

  Reuben shuffled to the floor and started emptying another box. “Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I don’t use it like that.”

  “What about in the nursery? You said you’d spelled the hanging baskets for Beltane.”

  “Yeah, I did that. And I head to the greenhouses on occasions at night to spell the plants, so I don’t freak out the employees. Gil had a timetable. I just follow that.”

  Avery smiled. “Well, there you go then.” She knew he wasn’t as comfortable with his magic as she was, and didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “Try doing the same things around the house. Little things. Spells in your cooking, enhancing your space, that kind of thing.”

  “Not showy, you say?” He looked puzzled.

  “No. Magic is sometimes the gentlest of things. Like when El weaves her magic into her jewellery, or Briar sprinkles it into her candles and lotions. They are both subtle, like a caress.” If Reuben was puzzled, Avery was doubly so. Surely Reuben knew that. She tried to explain it better, leaving the papers she’d found resting in her lap. “The big spells we do—throwing fire and energy balls, me commanding air and making mini tornados, huge protection spells, the cleansing of White Haven—they’re unusual. Until this last year, when we’ve been practically forced to because of everything that’s happened, I hardly ever did those showy things. Personally, I feel that magic is more effective when it’s subtle.” She tried to make him laugh. “Sneaky, I know. And also far more dangerous, potentially, because you can do things to people and they have no idea. Which is why we don’t, obviously. Blessed be, and harm none.”

  Reuben’s expression seemed to clear, and he smiled. “I haven’t thought about magic like that for a long time, but you’re right. That’s exactly how it should be. It’s become this big thing in my head, and I don’t think it needs to be.”

  “No, it shouldn’t. But having said that, we also shouldn’t forget how lucky we are. We’re gifted, and we shouldn’t squander that, or neglect it. Anyway,” she said, not wanting to lecture him, “you have a huge collection of private papers here.” She gestured to the boxes and wooden chests littered around them. The attic was huge, running the length of the main area of the house, with a proper set of stairs leading up to it. The far end had been opened up to reveal Reuben and Gil’s previously hidden spell room. The rafters were high, with narrow windows set under the eaves, and lots of old heavy furniture was stored there. The place was an antique dealer’s dream. “It’s a good job it’s so dry up here.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s odd that these papers aren’t in the library.”

  “Maybe they were deemed too personal.” She winked. “I guess we’ll soon find out.”

  An hour of searching had gone by when Avery finally found a name she wasn’t expecting. Both she and Reuben were now surrounded with bundles of letters, old diaries, estate accounts, invoices going back decades, and more personal things, like party invitations. It was a fascinating insight into life at Greenlane Manor. They had called back and forth, shouting out what they’d found, and Avery was itching to start cataloguing it, wishing she had family archives this extensive.

  The years were completely jumbled u
p, letters from the nineteenth century mixed up with those from the eighteenth, and before. Some family members seemed to have saved lots of things, and yet there were big gaps in time periods, too. But now, she suspected she’d found something useful.

  “Reuben, this letter is from a Serephina Faversham.”

  He looked up, startled, a smear of dust across his cheek. “What? Are you kidding?”

  “No. It’s to someone called Virginia.”

  “Serephina?” He looked horrified. “What kind of a bloody name is that?”

  “The posh kind. Any idea who Virginia is?”

  “Hold on.” He dug into his jeans pocket with his left hand, his right he was still hardly using, and extracted a crumpled piece of paper. “I noted down a few names from my grimoire and family tree.”

  “Blimey,” Avery said, surprised. “That’s organised of you.”

  “How dare you! I do take some things seriously. Like getting stabbed.” He scanned the paper. “Yes! I have a Virginia listed, as well as Jerome, Adele, Talwyn, and Lowen. They are names across about a 70-year period—just in case. Virginia, Talwyn, and Lowen are also in my grimoire.”

  “Super cool names,” Avery observed. “Well, this is just one letter. Hopefully there are more in this bundle.”

  The paper was creased and brittle, and before she handled it any further, Avery said a quick spell to preserve the paper, satisfied when she felt its effects.

  “What’s it say?” Reuben asked impatiently.

  Avery frowned as she read the contents, and then looked up at Reuben triumphantly. “Essentially, after much polite dithering, Serephina has asked for help dealing with the troublesome Dane and she suggests a meeting. ‘Despite our differences, we have much to gain.’” She picked up a couple of letters from the same bundle and passed them to Reuben. “I think it’s pretty clear who the Dane is. Check these out. I think we’re on to something.”