Dark Fire

by Chris D'Lacey

  “Who are you?” said Zanna, broaching the question that Lucy had been dying to ask.

  Agatha responded with a hairline smile. “You of all people should know the answer to that.”

  “You’re a sibyl,” said Arthur.

  Liz brought her cup down onto her saucer.

  David broke a cheese straw in half. He placed one end in his mouth and said nothing.

  “Yes,” said Agatha, “just like Suzanna and the woman in the graveyard.”

  “She’s my aunty Gwyneth,” said Alexa before Zanna could speak out and stop her.

  “Is she now?” Agatha said. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “Yes, I can understand why ‘Aunty Gwyneth’ would be quite attached to you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Zanna.

  Agatha cast her regal gaze over her. “You don’t trust me, do you, girl? Understandable. I was young and headstrong once. But given there is an invisible spirit — probably a small dragon — watching my every move, and that the exceedingly quiet young man to my right has scanned me several times for any signs of wickedness — and found none — I think you can assume I wish you no harm.” She turned again to Liz. “Tell me, did your ‘aunt’ ever visit this house?”

  “Occasionally,” said Liz, still in shock. “She and Henry …” But what could she say? That Gwilanna was another piece of “weirdness” he’d been attracted to?

  Agatha raised a hand, indicating Liz need go no further. “I think it’s time we heard Henry’s will. Hedley!”

  “What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” Mr. Hamilton reached for his briefcase again. From it, he drew out a legal-looking document and a glasses case even more battered than his bag.

  He put on his spectacles, cleared his throat, and started to speak. “Well, now. Yes, here we are. Mr. Bacon — Henry Augustus Charles — left a remarkably concise will, to which he added one or two significant codicils over the years. He was unmarried, as you know, and therefore without dependents. He was a thrifty man who looked after his investments and inheritances wisely. By late middle age he would have had no real need to work. I suspect it was his love of books and his desire to be of service to the people of Scrubbley that kept him at his library desk. He died a wealthy man.

  “It will come as no surprise perhaps to learn that he has left a sum of twenty thousand dollars to the town council to aid the redevelopment of the children’s library area overlooking the public gardens. He was very fond of promoting reading among young people.”

  “Oh, Henry,” Liz said. Arthur patted her hand.

  Mr. Hamilton turned a page. “There are one or two other minor bequests but I’ll skip to the main part of the will, the paragraphs which concern those present.” He coughed like a boiler in need of service. “‘To my dear sister, Agatha Bacon, I leave the sum of fifty thousand dollars, plus any items of sentimental value which she might wish to take, at her absolute discretion, from my house.’”

  “Wow,” whistled Lucy. She knocked her fists together. “He never even bought me a flipping ice cream.”

  “Lucy, be quiet! Show some respect!” Liz shook her head in dismay. “Sorry, Mr. Hamilton. Please go on.”

  Hedley raised his gaze above his spectacles. “‘To my neighbor, Mrs. Elizabeth Pennykettle, I also leave the sum of fifty thousand dollars —’”

  “What?!” screeched Lucy, jumping out of her seat.

  This time, her mother was just as voluble. “Oh, my goodness! That can’t be right. Read it again. There’s been a mistake.”

  “My brother never made mistakes,” said Agatha. “Not with matters of a legal nature. Go on, Hedley.”

  “‘— of which an appropriate sum will be set aside for the education of Lucy Pennykettle, through the best university obtainable.’”

  Zanna opened her bag and took out a tissue. She was practically in tears.

  Hedley Hamilton turned his gaze toward David. “‘To my one-time tenant, David Rain, I leave my entire collection of books and Arctic memorabilia in the hope they might further his literary career, this to be modified by any claim Agatha might wish to have on said items.’”

  “I have none,” said Agatha brusquely.

  Mr. Hamilton noted it. He tapped the document and peered at David. “There is, however, a slight condition attached to this bequest. Mr. Bacon wishes for these items to remain intact, in the house library upstairs, if the new owner is in agreement.”

  “But how’s that going to work?” said Liz. “Won’t the property be sold? It would be unfair to expect the buyer to preserve a whole library.”

  “Well, that brings me to the final announcement,” Hedley Hamilton said. He turned another page. “‘To Suzanna Martindale, I leave my house and its entire contents —’”

  “Hhh!” gasped Liz and Lucy together (Alexa joined in for good measure). David merely smiled and glanced at Zanna, who was shocked into a state of motionless beauty.

  “‘— barring any claims as stated above, for the upkeep of herself and her daughter, Miss Alexa Martindale, plus the residue of my estate.’” Mr. Hamilton produced a sheet of figures. “Which, after legal expenses, executor’s fees, and the payment of outstanding utility bills will amount, I suspect, to somewhere in the region of thirty-eight thousand dollars. Congratulations, Ms. Martindale. I can tell you from personal acquaintance with Henry that he held you in the deepest, most gentlemanly regard.”

  “No,” said Zanna, running with tears. She stood up and gaped at the ceiling, as if she was appealing to Henry’s spirit. “Henry, you can’t do this.”

  Liz stood up and put her arms around her. “Sweetheart, it’s OK. Come on. Sit down.”

  “No,” Zanna said, shaking fiercely. “I mean, I know he was kind, but —”

  Mr. Hamilton recleared his throat. “Erm, there is one other inclusion attached to your bequest, Ms. Martindale. It has no monetary bearing, but I’m legally obliged to mention it to you.”

  Liz waved a hand at him. “Yes, go on.”

  Hedley tapped his polished black brogues against the carpet. “This concerns you as well, Mr. Rain.”

  David tilted his head.

  “I understand you’ve been away for some while?”

  “I have,” said David, careful to look at no one but the lawyer.

  “Mmm. Your return prompted Henry to add a short, but … urgent codicil to his will, which was also done in light of the knowledge about the unfortunate state of his health.”

  “Oh, Hedley, do stop bumbling and get on with it!” snapped Agatha.

  “Yes, of course,” said Mr. Hamilton, pushing his glasses a little higher up his nose. “Well, it’s simply this. Although the deeds of this property will be transferred into Ms. Martindale’s name and will be entirely at her disposal, Henry wished that his library remain in place in the hope that you two, erm, rekindle your relationship and perhaps eventually … marry one day?”

  “What?” said Zanna, whirling around, almost elbowing Liz in the ribs.

  “Wow,” muttered Lucy, under her breath. “Everybody back to the church …”

  Alexa bounded straight to her father, bouncing energetically off his knees. “Hhh! Are you getting married, Daddy?”

  He looked up, hoping to engage Zanna’s eyes, but by then the new owner of number 41 Wayward Crescent was heading out the door.

  13 AN AUDIENCE WITH AGATHA

  Agatha Bacon and Hedley Hamilton announced they would stay for another two days, Agatha’s primary objective being the management of Henry’s outstanding affairs. But this she achieved with the minimum of fuss by four o’clock on the first afternoon: another testament, she said, to Henry’s skills of organization. So, having some time to spare, she spent the early evening in Liz and Arthur’s company, mainly admiring the Dragons’ Den. She said little else about her talents as a sibyl and did not push for any more information from Liz. But on the second day, the telephone rang in Liz’s kitchen and Zanna was the one to pick it up.

  “Hello.”


  “I would like to see you.” It was Agatha’s voice.

  Zanna did her best to stall. Since the unveiling of Henry’s will, all she’d wanted to do was shut herself away — and think. “Well, I’m …”

  “Eleven o’clock,” said Agatha. “Here. Alone.”

  The phone went down.

  Zanna glanced at Gauge. The timing dragon showed her ten thirty-five. She sighed and looked out across the garden. Now, thanks to Henry, she could be the mistress of her own home. If she decided to stay. Somewhere upstairs, she could hear Liz and Lucy arguing. Arthur was at work and Alexa was playing. And David? Out with the shadows again. At least he’d done the decent thing and stayed out of her way.

  Leaving Gretel with instructions to entertain Alexa, Zanna got ready to go next door. She was walking down the hallway, shouldering her bag, when Lucy came thundering down the stairs.

  “You going out?”

  “Next door, to see Agatha. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

  Even so, the news seemed to please the girl. “Where’s David?” She was bubbling over with excitement, the kind associated with the advantage of holding a secret.

  “How should I know?” Zanna said curtly.

  “Well, you’re his fiancée, aren’t you?”

  The temperature in the hall dropped several degrees. Gruffen, fearing violence, shot away to fetch Liz.

  Zanna rounded the foot of the stairs and backed Lucy up them another two steps. “Don’t you dare taunt me. Not unless you want to feel the power of this …” She dragged three purple-colored fingernails back and forth across the mark of Oomara.

  “Zanna?” Liz was quickly on the top step, her hand reaching down into the well for calm. “Zanna? Honey? What’s the matter?”

  The young sibyl pulled away, her dark eyes drilling into Lucy’s terror.

  And the girl, despite her fright, should have left the argument there. But the ability to concede with minimal loss of face had never been part of her makeup. So she chose to blurt out, “He won’t want you anyway when I tell him what’s happened.”

  And Zanna, her heart in enough cruel shreds, should have known better than to listen to this taunt. Instead, she swung around and faced the girl again. “What? What’s happened?”

  Thereafter, the victory was Lucy’s. “I’ve received an e-mail for him.” She paused, long enough to enjoy the flicker of doubt in Zanna’s eyes and to revel in her own superiority. “From Africa. From Sophie.”

  “Oh, Lucy …,” Liz groaned, but Zanna had already turned the doorknob and gone out in a blur of anger, before there was any chance of making amends.

  Outside, she fell back against the door in a wretched state of tightened muscles and unshed tears. It took her fully ninety seconds to maneuver the heartache into the least disruptive channel and draw down calm into her mind again. She blew her nose and looked at the Crescent. It was a normal, slightly overcast spring day in Scrubbley. A young woman was wobbling by on a bike. A whistling postman was doing his rounds. It was a world away from dragons and Arctic mists. Zanna drew a breath and righted herself, then set off for number forty-one, unaware she was being watched by two large black birds in the sycamore tree just across the street….

  Agatha Bacon sensed at once that the young woman before her was in some kind of turmoil.

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” Zanna said as she settled once again on the end of the sofa. Her sofa. She briefly explored the leather with her fingers.

  Agatha, slightly less imposing today in a pale pink blouse and shapeless skirt, poured tea. “Affairs of the heart can be the undoing of any sibyl. You are at the age where that discovery is becoming most painful. Women like you and I rarely find love. This man —”

  “He’s not a man,” Zanna heard herself saying.

  “David,” Agatha continued, “is unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “You can say that again.”

  Agatha snapped her fingers. Zanna felt her neck muscles lock. Just like that, the old woman had thrown a physical spell. “Listen to me, girl. And listen well. I’ve brought you here today to give you advice. You’re strong in spirit but weak in resolve. You must learn to control your wildness or at least channel it. That mark on your arm has extraordinary power and you have a grave responsibility to use it wisely. It will destroy you if you don’t. What use would you be to your exquisite daughter then?”

  Zanna felt the spell loosen. Rubbing the back of her neck she said, “I think I do a pretty good job with Alexa. I’m bringing her up as a normal child, as far away from …”

  “People like me?” Agatha took a sip of tea.

  “… magicks as I can reasonably get. I don’t want her playing with …”

  “Her powers? What exactly can she do?”

  Zanna glanced at the fish, weaving their own spells around the aquarium architecture. “She seems to be able to draw the future. And we think she’s telepathic.”

  “With you?”

  “No, her father. She usually knows his whereabouts, unless he blocks her.”

  “Fascinating,” said Agatha, looking into a distant corner of the room. The fish, Zanna noticed, all turned and swam in the direction of her gaze. “What else can you tell me about the girl?”

  Zanna lifted her shoulders. “Nothing. She’s just a happy, carefree little girl.”

  “Living in a house of flying clay.”

  Zanna sighed and said, “So you know that some of them have a spark of white fire?”

  Agatha Bacon gave her nostrils some exercise. She slanted her eyes as if the naïvete of this statement was quite beyond belief. “In the graveyard, you argued bitterly with her father after the sibyl Gwyneth had told you something.”

  “Gwilanna,” said Zanna, grating her teeth. “Her real name’s Gwilanna. She only calls herself Gwyneth in ‘lowly human company.’ She seems to have been around since the dawn of time; she’s certainly got the skin tone for it. She was screaming that evil forces would come for Alexa once they knew what she was. But that’s Gwilanna for you, always talking out of her antique butt.”

  Agatha Bacon pressed her hands together, making her green veins pulse. “That woman is a poor role model, I grant you, but she is by no means a fool. She is not to be underestimated. Like me, she detects something in your daughter’s auma that sets the girl apart from sibyls, shamans, and other ‘weird’ folk as my brother might have said. Yet you cannot see it and neither can I. Perhaps Gwilanna can. The child’s father must certainly know.”

  Zanna started to chew her lip. She abandoned the action when she realized her anger might result in the need for a couple of stitches. She thought back to what David had said in the kitchen. This world is ready to accept a new species. “I ought to get back to her.”

  “Wait.” Agatha beckoned her close. “I want to give you something before you leave.”

  Zanna looped her hair and came across the room.

  “Your arm. Show me the scar.”

  Though wary, Zanna drew back her sleeve.

  “How advanced are you in the healing arts?”

  “Some,” said Zanna. “I have a potions dragon, and a shop that deals in natural remedies. We’ve been closed for several days, because of Henry. That’s something else I ought to get back to.”

  Agatha raised one hand and placed it carefully over the scar. Her fingers were as strong and as able as a chimp’s. “Don’t flinch,” she said. “Let me assess the power. Call upon your inner strength if it pains you.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Improving your education, girl. I don’t have the time to spend teaching you my skills, but I can transfer some of them through this. Was it Gwilanna who marked you?”

  “Who else?”

  Agatha raised her gaze. Another don’t-talk-disrespectfully look. “Believe it or not, in a perverse kind of way, she wants you to progress to the highest levels.”

  Zanna raised a doubtful eyebrow. Then, despite Agatha’s instructions, she couldn’t help
but gasp again as a pulse of energy raced up her arm and around her neck to the spinal cord. The effect was like a firecracker shooting color and wisdom into her brain. When it stopped, Zanna was aware that sections of her mind she’d never thought present had suddenly opened, and all were ripe with healing knowledge.

  “Do not delve now,” Agatha advised her. “You will only make yourself faint. Let the learning come when you need it. I’d like to leave you my card.” She flourished a hand and the card was there. “If I can ever be of assistance, please contact me.”

  The card was blank. But when Zanna ran her thumb across it, a picture of Agatha appeared.

  “Let me tell you something about Henry,” said the sibyl. “He once confided to me that if he could have had a daughter, you would be her. I approve of his choice. Wild you may be, but there is a beautiful integrity in your auma. Take care of this house and it will take care of you. Go carefully, girl. I sense danger ahead. You will meet the sibyl Gwilanna again. Do not seek her out. She will come to you — probably in a guise you trust. Stay within the company of dragons, Suzanna” — she paused and squeezed the young woman’s hand — “and make your peace with David.”

  14 THE BIRDS

  David aside, making peace with Liz was the first thing on Zanna’s mind when she returned to number forty-two. But that had never been a problem in the past, and neither did it prove to be on this occasion. As soon as the two women saw each other there were smiles and a hug of common understanding.

  “I’m sorry,” Liz whispered, swinging Zanna lightly as though she were a pendulum of her own dismay. “You’d think Lucy would have grown more sensible over the years, but there’s still a huge slice of brat inside her.”

  “Where is she?” said Zanna, putting down her bag.

  “Grounded. In her room. Probably plotting our mutual destruction.”

  Zanna laughed. “I’ll go and talk to her.”

  “No.” Liz held her arm. “I appreciate the thought, but she needs to learn a lesson.”

  Zanna gave a nod of understanding. “In that case, I think I’ll go and open the shop for a couple of hours. My poor customers must be wondering where I’ve gone.”