A Hive of Secrets and Spells

by Ellen Jane

  As far as they knew, Ryan was the only witch capable of hearing those messages.

  “Sinéad,” she breathed. “Ryan’s hearing the final messages from spirits as they pass over to the other side; it’s like their confession or their revenge. The bees are telling him what the dead say, and he’s telling the police. What secret would make someone kidnap a family and hold them ransom?”

  The fact that Sinéad answered without even questioning Heather’s reasoning sent a rush of something indescribable through Heather’s chest. “It would have to be worse than kidnapping, right? Or what’s the point?”

  Heather could easily think of one thing in Starford that fitted that description.

  People would go to many lengths to keep their secrets from being shared. They might even go as far as kidnapping if something worse was at stake, like evidence tying them to murder.

  But how did it fit?

  She hurried out of the study, her thoughts whirring as she tried to work backwards from the secret to the crime to the culprit. Return what you stole. That was what the letters said. The housekeeper had confessed to the murder of Mr Smith, but the murder weapon had never been found.

  Heather froze. Rose Smith was hunting for her fencing rapier. The murder weapon was something small, like a dagger, but…

  …The tracking spell Rose wanted… It would locate the missing half of a pair, like a fencing rapier and its paired parrying dagger.

  Piece by piece, everything fell into place: Rose’s deliberately casual tone as she spoke to Heather on the phone, the lies that had begun to unravel at St Ives, even the disgust on Mr Williams’ face.

  There were too many secrets here.

  “Sinéad, we need a new plan,” Heather said firmly. “And I have an idea.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cian was the first to arrive, bursting through the front door with his fists half raised like he expected a fight.

  Heather rolled her eyes. If anyone needed proof Cian and Sinéad were twins, they need only note the drama. “Put your hands down.”

  “You said it was urgent,” Cian protested, raising them higher. “Is Sinéad all right?”

  “She was as of about twenty minutes ago.” Heather took hold of his shoulder and steered him to the island bench in the kitchen where she had been waiting for the police to arrive. “That isn’t why I called you here.”

  “Why did you call me here, then?” His fists lowered a fraction. “It’s six in the morning; dawn’s only two hours away at most.”

  A sharp knock came from the front door. Immediately after, it swung wide open and three policemen walked through.

  “Ms Millington?” the first asked, glancing around the house with a frown. “We were expecting you outside. This is a crime scene.”

  “I understand, officer,” Heather said, stuffing her hands in her pockets for somewhere to put them. Her experience with policeman had so far been either underwhelming or frightening. Neither option was positive. “But there’s something I have to show you inside the house.”

  “Nonetheless, you should have waited on the other side of the marked police tape.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Heather insisted, keeping her voice level. Clearly, she was off to a great start already. “I was worried our timing wouldn’t work out.”

  The policeman’s lips thinned, but he didn’t speak.

  “Heather, what’s going on?” Cian hissed, but Heather had no time to answer because the door swung open once more and Mr Williams walked through.

  His expression was heavy with sleep, but his eyes were alert. They became even more on edge when he saw the policemen, but he nodded politely and came to a stop.

  “Officers,” he said, nodding briefly. “Ms Millington. You said it was urgent?”

  Heather’s heart twinged at the knowledge Mr Williams had responded to so gentle a request. She hadn’t needed to trick him, only to say it was urgent, and he had come. Heather used to think the world was divided into villains and heroes. Mr Williams was neither, but shame can make a person do what they would never otherwise consider.

  “I’m going to explain it to them,” she said gently, “beginning with the magic in the safe. If you like, you can do it instead.”

  Mr Williams’ jaw stiffened, his face growing pale as they watched. Cian shifted restlessly, looking back and forth between Heather and Mr Williams, but, amazingly, he stayed quiet.

  After a moment, Mr Williams gave a short nod and stepped further into the room. “Say what you need to,” he said gruffly.

  Heather took a deep breath and walked over to the safe while one of the officers kept a close eye on Mr Williams. When she sprinkled the powder onto the door, the vines once more crept over the surface, but this time she finished the spell by muttering the simple charm that would break the magic.

  The blue tint to the vines flashed white, and for a second there was a ghostly image of jewels resting in the centre of the safe. Then it was gone.

  The officer closest to the safe started forward in alarm, halting only when the image faded.

  “The jewels were passed through the safe door by magic,” Heather explained. “Of course, safes are warded against objects being taken from them via magic, but they aren’t designed to prevent something going in.”

  The officers glanced at each other before one spoke. “Ms Millington, can you please explain what’s going on here?”

  Mr Williams stepped forward. “I did it. Took the jewels when the police were securing the scene, then I made the Dunnes’ house look ransacked, too, so’s it looked like they were hiding something. I wanted the police to think the Dunnes were mixed up with Mr Amberville.”

  “Why?” Cian burst out, his quota of silence obviously used up. “I mean we knew about the letters, but this is just— Why in the name of—” He stared pleadingly between Heather and Mr Williams. “Why?”

  “Because he shares Ryan’s gift,” Heather said, still speaking gently, as much out of exhaustion as anything else.

  The memory of disgust and self-loathing on Mr Williams’ face as he’d talked about the mutation was forefront in her mind, making sense now in a way she wished it wouldn’t. The issue was too personal to him; the answer had been in front of their noses the whole time.

  Heather took a breath and continued. “He’d do anything to prevent the world from discovering his secret. Mrs Fletcher heard him arguing with the Dunnes, trying to convince them not to reveal Ryan’s magic at the initiations. Of course, the Dunnes refused to stay silent, but Mr Williams didn’t stop there. After all, what lengths would you go to in order to hide your biggest shame?” She turned to Mr Williams. “The only thing I don’t understand is why. I know you planted the jewels, and I know you wanted to keep the Dunnes quiet, but I don’t understand how they’re linked.”

  “Mutation,” Mr Williams spat, seemingly unable to help himself. “Not gift.” His face twisted into something vicious, shame darkening his features, and he wouldn’t look Heather in the eye. “I wasn’t going to go through with it, you know.” His voice was quiet. “But when it seemed you lot might get the police searching for the Dunnes, I panicked. Didn’t want to lose my chance to plant the jewels once the police started combing the place.”

  He cleared his throat, becoming more resolute as he kept speaking. “I needed the Dunnes to realise other people wouldn’t think so highly of their gift. Just imagine—how would the community react, knowing the Dunnes could hear the secrets of the dead after they’d used those very secrets for their own gain? Amberville jewels found in their own safe? People don’t let go of a thing like that, no matter what the truth of it is. They’d be shunned. Outcast. No one would hire them for fear of what the dead would whisper. I needed them to see that, to see how quickly the community turned on them, and quit before it was too late.”

  “You wanted to shame them,” Heather said quietly, her heart sinking. In a twisted way, it made sense. “You wanted to make them feel how you feel. So you told Mrs Fletc
her the police had uncovered the missing jewels from the Amberville crime scene in the Dunnes’ safe, knowing she’d tell everyone in the community. That way, it wouldn’t matter if the Dunnes’ name was cleared. The damage would be done. No one would trust them anymore, and they’d never reveal their gift for fear of what their friends would think of them.”

  An uncomfortable silence descended on the room as Mr Williams refused to look at them.

  “I mean, making them out to be jewel thieves is perhaps a smidge overkill,” Cian said finally, clearing his throat. “But I can’t fault ya for creativity.”

  “I had to,” Mr Williams insisted. “Traditions must be kept.”

  “Traditions don’t have to stay exactly the same,” Heather said sadly. “They’re still just as noble when they grow into something new.”

  “Hearing messages from the dead isn’t noble,” Mr Williams argued, but his voice was flat, the rage disappearing from this face. “It’s unnatural. ‘T’isn’t meant to go like that.”

  Heather thought of October, when she had danced around the Samhain bonfire with Sinéad in honour of the dead—a joyous celebration of life. Little more than an hour away, Ryan Dunne had been communicating with spirits for months without ever needing the power of All Hallows Eve. And yet there was still so much shame surrounding the practice, so many communities where it was still taboo, that it had been buried in secrets instead of celebrated as the gift it was.

  Mr Williams frowned suddenly. “How did you even find out? I worked so hard to keep you away from here after Mr Dunne told me the twins might have the same magic. He wanted to train you after Ryan’s initiation.” Mr Williams shook his head fiercely. “I couldn’t let that happen. I blocked their letters, and I even did an obstruction spell on your phones, in case one letter slipped through and you found each other. And then suddenly, next thing I know, this lad’s poking about, asking questions.”

  Cian blanched. “We’ve got the bee magic?” He shook his head and muttered to himself, “Now’s not the time.” He turned back to Mr Williams. “Out with it—did you kidnap them or not?”

  “Kidnap?” Mr Williams’ eyes widened. “They’re not kidnapped; they’re in hiding.” He took a look at Heather’s face and frowned. “Aren’t they?”

  “Why would you think they were hiding?” Heather asked, incredulous.

  “I heard whispers.” Mr Williams no longer looked well at all. “‘Hiding’ is all the bees said. I thought it meant the Dunnes. Figured Mr Amberville had an accomplice out for revenge, what with them getting him locked up and all. I hoped the scare might help convince them to stay quiet, actually, and I might not need the jewels after all.” He looked from Heather to the police and back again, frantic. “I didn’t know they were in trouble. I just thought they were hiding.”

  Hiding. The last of the dots slid into place. Something was hiding, but it wasn’t the Dunnes.

  Heather took a breath and was pleased to find her voice steady. “You wanted to know what secret got them kidnapped? I think it best if we switch the lights off and you all watch through the kitchen window.” She checked the time on her phone. “She’ll be here very soon.”

  When Heather had run through what she expected to happen and the five of them had agreed to wait quietly under the extra concealment of Cian’s sorcery, Heather walked outside to wait for Rose by the beehives. The humming from the hives matched the buzz of anticipation beneath her own skin, but she needed the evidence their conversation would bring. Otherwise, they had nothing, and Rose would walk free.

  A hint of dawn began to tint the horizon, and Heather hoped Rose didn’t grow suspicious as to how Heather had found the missing rapier here so close to sunrise.

  The crunch of gravel made her look up, and she saw Rose coming down the path. Rose began to smile, but it froze when she laid eyes on Heather’s face. For a moment, Heather thought it was all ruined, but Rose barely stumbled and continued on toward her.

  “Heather?”

  “Nice to meet you,” Heather said with a tired smile, hoping Rose hadn’t seen her well enough the day they questioned Mrs Smith to know for sure who Heather was. “Sorry to bring you out here so early, but the spell only works at dawn.”

  A total lie. But one that would hopefully relax Rose enough to get this over with quickly.

  After a pause, Rose smiled at her, seemingly more like the person who had phoned Heather the other day, and nodded. “Who needs sleep when there’s a delightful mystery going on—namely, why my rapier has ended up beneath some family’s kitchen window?”

  Her expression was so politely confused, with a touch of amusement, that Heather almost believed she’d got it all wrong. Almost.

  Heather turned around and reached into the geraniums below the kitchen window, praying Sinéad had managed to discreetly play her part. Her fingers landed on a smooth object that very clearly didn’t belong in a garden, and she smiled. Pretending to mutter a spell under her breath, she drew the rapier free and handed it to Rose.

  Rose exclaimed in delight, snatching the rapier away and admiring it with something bordering on affection.

  Then, in the space of a heartbeat, everything changed.

  Even though Heather had anticipated it, she still flinched at the sight of a sharpened weapon pointed at her throat.

  “You have some explaining to do, honey,” Rose said, studying her from the other end of the sword. “I had no idea you were Heather Millington.” She scoffed. “No wonder you had no trouble retrieving my rapier for me; you had it all along. I guess you’ve saved me money, though. It’s not like I need your tracking spell anymore. You can lead me straight to the dagger.” She waved the sword closer to Heather’s chin. “Go on, then. Where is it?”

  The sound of heels clicking down the path alerted Heather to Sinéad’s entrance. Rose’s head tipped slightly to the side as she listened to the sound, but she didn’t look away from Heather. A new voice came from the back of the garden.

  “Right on time, Ms Byrne.”

  Mr Carey’s warm tone sent a shiver of disgust down Heather’s spine. He stepped onto the path at the same time Sinéad appeared in Heather’s view. She didn’t dare turn her head, not with a sword pointed at her throat, even though she was ninety five percent certain it couldn’t hurt her.

  Heather’s eyes darted to Mr Carey, her fists curling in anger. She’d known what to expect from this meeting, but assuming it and seeing it in front of her were two very different things.

  “Why did you kidnap the Dunnes?” she snapped, surprised at the ire in her own voice.

  Sinéad’s mouth twisted into a grim warning, but the lack of fear on her face assured Heather the rapier was no danger to her. That wasn’t to say Mr Carey and Rose weren’t a danger in some other way; at least one of them was a murderer, after all.

  Mr Carey blinked in surprise, while Rose stuck the rapier in close enough to graze Heather’s neck. It felt like the crinkle of paper against her skin.

  “Because they were going to turn in the evidence against Rose,” he said. “I couldn’t have that. We needed to get it back.”

  “You were protecting her,” Heather confirmed, jaw clenched. “Did it occur to you that it had nothing to do with you? Or are you just that self-important you couldn’t stay out of it?”

  “On the contrary, it has everything to do with me.” He slid his arm around Rose’s waist, triumphant, like it was somehow a justification.

  Sinéad rolled her eyes. “Barf,” she insisted, sounding for a moment exactly like her brother. “Is that enough evidence yet?”

  Several things happened very quickly.

  A policeman came running through the garden door, gun pointed at the two suspects. For a moment, Heather thought they’d won, until Rose’s face twisted into the same rage Heather had seen in the alley, dark and cold, and Heather’s blood turned to ice.

  But before Rose could do anything, a ghostly raven appeared and dive-bombed her, knocking her sideways. The rapier dropped to th
e dew-covered grass, and as the moisture soaked into it, the spell distorting their sense of sight and touch fell away, revealing water-logged paper and a hurried drawing of a rapier.

  Two more policemen emerged, and Mr Carey and Rose were handcuffed without trouble. Sinéad joined Heather, bringing her palms up to cup Heather’s face as she scanned her for any sign of injury.

  “You’re all right,” she breathed, when her assessment was complete.

  “Of course.” Heather smiled. “The raven was meant to protect you, though.”

  “Protecting you is protecting me.”

  A cough from behind them was their only warning before Cian’s arms slung around both of their shoulders, pulling them into a bear hug. “All right, is anybody going to fill me in or do I have to weave this narrative for myself? Because I have to say, with the amount of adrenaline running through my blood right now, if you leave me to my own devices, I can’t be blamed for adding in a car chase or two.”

  Sinéad smacked him on the shoulder, but Heather withdrew herself and walked to the closest beehive. “One more thing,” she said, catching the attention of the closest policeman. “This is what the bees were hiding.”

  With that, she tipped her revealing powder onto the hive. It glowed blue, and as Heather muttered the same spell she had said over the safe, a silver sword appeared in the air beneath the hive and fell to the ground.

  Then, she reached into her bag and took out the photo Sinéad had stolen when they first visited the house. Sprinkling her tracking powder onto it, a shining white trail appeared in the air, leading down the garden path and into the distance as it lit a path from the photo to the other copy residing in Mr Dunne’s wallet.

  “That’s two more things,” Cian muttered, breaking the silence.

  But the quiver in his voice and the relief in both his and Sinéad’s eyes as they watched the shimmering, steady trail of light said everything.