Buried Magic Page 7

  “And the black smoke?” El asked, hands on hips, not wanting to let them off that easily.

  He grinned sheepishly, “Well, that was odd.”

  “It wasn’t smoke though, was it?” Briar said, standing next to the circle. “It was a spirit form.”

  Avery’s mouth gaped. “It was a what?”

  “She’s right,” Alex said. “It spoke to me. Well, sort of. I could feel it in my head, probing, checking me out.” He shook his head, as if to shake out the intrusion. “I felt I had to fight to prove who I am. It was exhausting.”

  “You passed out. It must have been,” Avery said, frowning at Alex. “I didn’t know whether to try and intervene, but then I thought if you’re right, and it was a test ...” She trailed off, and looked at Briar. “It was crazy. Anything could have happened, but we had to try. How do you know it was a spirit?”

  Briar gently probed around the crack on the box’s lid, and then brushed her fingers across the symbol on the side. “This sign. It seems logical now.”

  “Well, hindsight’s a great thing. You could have been killed. Both of you,” Gil said, still annoyed. He sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at the box warily.

  Alex strode forward to join Briar. “Well, we weren’t, and it’s about time we looked at what’s in here.”

  He inserted his fingers into the long crack in the lid and pulled, the fractured wood splintering to reveal a large, thick grimoire covered with scuffed black leather. Alex lifted it out gently and as the light hit it, a faded silver image glinted on the cover that Avery struggled to recognise. Alex carried it to the oak table that Avery used to prepare her spells, and they crowded around him as he opened the cover. A list of names was written on the front page in different scripts, and the date at the top said 1309.

  “This was 300 years old when it was hidden!” he said, shocked. He turned the pages, and it seemed everyone held their breath. The pages were covered in dense, tiny writing, all spells starting on a new page, the same as in their existing grimoires, the language old, and the script hard to decipher. There were simple illustrations too.

  “What kind of spells are they?” El asked, craning to see.

  “Some of them seem the usual types,” Alex said thoughtfully. “Charms of protection, healing spells, some curses, and ...” He paused, looking at them, “Spells to control spirits and demons.”

  “Demons?” Briar asked, her eyes wide.

  He nodded. “Many more than I’ve got in my existing book.”

  Avery felt another flutter of worry pass through her. She had been taught as a child that to manipulate spirits and demons was something that could be done only occasionally - it was too dangerous. “Does this mean they summoned demons more than we do now?”

  “I guess so.” Alex continued to turn pages, mesmerised. “These spells are sophisticated, complex. And potentially more powerful than I’ve used before.”

  It took a few seconds for this to sink in. Older, more powerful spells. A hidden legacy of magic they could now learn. Avery shivered, not sure if it was with excitement or trepidation. “Do you think the other grimoires will be like this?”

  “They must be,” Gil reasoned. “Is there anything in there about immortality? Or anything that looks particularly dark?”

  “Other than demons? No idea at this stage.” Alex looked up. “I really need to spend time looking through this properly. The writing’s hard to decipher in places.”

  “Why are you asking that?” El asked Gil.

  “Just wondered if it’s something my missing relatives might have been interested in.”

  Briar interrupted, looking horrified. “Has anybody actually summoned a demon?”

  “Never,” El said. “And I have no intention of doing so either.”

  “I wonder,” Avery said, “If it was Anne’s death that triggered something coming in the first place. I mean that her death released knowledge of the box she’d hidden away for so long. After all, it was just after she died that Alex had his premonition and the cards foretold an event.”

  “Alex,” El mused thoughtfully, “what are the main types of spells in your book?”

  “I’m not sure, it’s difficult to define. Astral projection, out of body walking, spirit talking.” He was sitting now, head on his hand, leafing through the book, his attention completely caught in it. “I’ve never seen stuff like this before.”

  “So it’s a symbol for Spirit!” she exclaimed. “The image on the front of the book, I mean.”

  Avery was annoyed with herself for not realising sooner. “Of course! And it is Alex’s strength.”

  “So does that mean the other grimoires focus on the other elements?” Gil asked.

  “Fire, Air, Water, Earth. The strengths of our family lines?” Briar observed.

  Avery grinned. “We could grow our magic! Learn new things. Tap into a magic that’s been hidden to us for centuries!”

  Gil brought her back to Earth. “If the spells are as powerful as we think—as Alex thinks his are—then the books could be trouble. A whole shit ton of trouble. If someone else knows these exist, it’s no wonder they’re coming for them.”

  9

  The following morning, Avery was up and out early. The streets and lanes of White Haven were quiet, and wisps of early morning mist started to clear as the sun rose into a pale blue sky.

  Avery walked up the hill away from her flat and Happenstance Books, and at the top looked back over the town and the sea beyond. She never tired of this beautiful view. She loved the old cobbled streets and tiny lanes that snaked into each other as they rose and fell with the land, finally leading down to the sea. Fishing boats were heading out, but the sailboats remained in the harbour, their bright sails furled. Beyond the town, the houses were spaced out along the hills and fields. It was such a pretty place, and she wanted it to remain that way. She didn’t want a witch war breaking out in White Haven in the search for old grimoires.

  Last night, once the other witches had gone, she’d made herself a chamomile tea and shut the door between her bedroom and the attic. She sat in bed with the lights low and the window open, and spread Anne’s papers across the duvet. Her cats, Circe and Medea, had curled up on the end of the bed, keeping her company, ears pricked, eyes closed, while she’d scrutinised old maps of the town. And that’s when she saw Anne’s mark on the page, a small green-inked squiggle that looked like an ‘H.’ Could that be for Helena?

  That spot was where she was heading this morning.

  Avery turned from the view and headed along the lanes until she found the one she needed. Besom Lane. It wasn’t somewhere you would pass by chance. It was tucked out of the way, and lined with tiny cottages. She meandered along it, admiring the hanging baskets and pots, the neat curtains and whitewashed walls, and carefully noted the numbers. The lane was long and winding, and she eventually arrived at the cottage she was looking for.

  This tiny place could have been where Helena and her family lived all those years ago. There was a window downstairs next to the front door, and two small windows upstairs, the cottage identical to the others on either side. It was strange to think she had lived so close to this place and had never known to whom it had once belonged.

  Avery leaned back against the wall of the house opposite and gazed at it, her thoughts jumbled. Was Helena dragged from here to the stake, or was she already imprisoned somewhere in the village? She looked again at the map. It was fuzzy and unclear compared to modern maps, and although Anne had noted a number, for all Avery knew, the numbers might have changed over the years. The map showed small square gardens at the back, and this row was almost buried in the slope of the hill behind it. But whereas the lanes were isolated back then, now they were surrounded by streets lined with more recent buildings—well, 18th century as opposed to 16th century.

  What now? Would the old grimoire be hidden here? Avery wracked her brain trying to think about what Anne’s note had said. The cottage must have withstood many changes an
d renovations; it would be a miracle if they found it here. She sighed. It was time for coffee and breakfast. She’d go and see who else might be awake.

  ***

  Avery pushed open the door to Briar’s shop, the door chimes ringing pleasantly as she entered. She carried two hot lattes in a cardboard tray, and a bag of croissants was wedged into the top of her shoulder bag.

  As soon she entered the shop the scents of lavender, rose, and geranium wrapped around her. She inhaled deeply and looked around with pleasure. Briar’s shop looked like an old fashioned apothecary. Shelves lined the walls, filled with different ranges of skin lotions, hair products, soaps, creams for ailments, and all sorts of dried herbs, books on herbs, scented candles, and other products used around the home. All of them were made with natural ingredients, either by Briar or other small companies. You could tell which were Briar’s products, because they were all in unusually shaped bottles with pale pastel colours. It was a comforting shop, and Avery immediately relaxed.

  Briar looked up from behind the long wooden counter at the back of the shop and smiled, puzzled. “Hi, Avery! Is everything all right? I don’t normally see you in here.” She’d been filling some jars with a creamy lotion that looked like moisturiser, and she finished her work, putting the jug on the counter.

  “Don’t let me stop you! Yes, I’m fine—sort of. I’ve bought coffee and croissants so I can pick your brain.” She plonked her bag and the rest of her load on the counter. “Your shop looks great!”

  Briar smiled. “Thanks. I’ve been doing well, so I expanded my range.” She grinned and leaned forward, grabbing a coffee. “People often comment on the unexpected benefits of using my stuff.”

  Avery laughed. “I bet! If they only knew.”

  “Probably best they don’t.” Briar sipped her coffee. “This is good, thank you.” She dipped the croissant in and took a bite. “Even better!” She watched Avery as she chewed. “So, what are you picking my brain about?”

  Avery looked around to make sure the shop was still empty. “Old grimoires, of course. I’m worried we’ll never find the others.”

  “Well, if we don’t, maybe someone else can’t find them, either. It might be a good thing, from what we saw in Alex’s book.”

  “Do you really think that? It’s our heritage!”

  Briar licked her fingers. “It’s been five hundred years since we’ve seen those books, and our magic has survived. It’s brought us a good life.” She gestured to the room around her. “We’ve never needed them before, and we don’t need them now.” Briar looked calm and composed, and very resolute.

  “Does this mean you’re not going to look for your book? Or where you used to live?” Avery felt herself floundering. “Or anything?”

  “I don’t know. We have a lot to lose.”

  “We have a lot to gain, as well. And someone’s coming.”

  Briar sighed and rolled her eyes. “But who? I mean, really? This is just too weird. Anne dies, you and Alex are seeing the same stuff. All of this hidden information is suddenly revealed. It feels like a set-up. I’m not sure this stuff should be found.”

  “But Alex already has his. The box. The grimoire. The message from Imogen, his ancestor. From Gil’s.” Avery appealed to Briar, feeling she needed to make her see sense. “I thought you were excited about the news?”

  “I was, and now I’m not so sure.” Briar started to fill her jars again, the smell of geranium wafting between them. “I have a bad feeling about this. I don’t like dark magic, and I won’t do it.”

  “I don’t, either. And we don’t know if this is dark magic. It could be about harnessing untapped potential.”

  Briar shook her head, the long dark curls framing her pretty face. “I’ll see how the rest of you get on. Until then my papers about my family tree and my place in White Haven remain locked away.”

  Avery was suddenly disappointed, and then curious. “How did you end up here, Briar? El was telling me that her great-aunt told her—it was their secret.”

  Briar nodded. “I know, she told me that, too. For me it was different. I found out through letters.”

  “Letters?” That certainly wasn’t the answer Avery was expecting.

  “Yes. Sent by my parents to each other, debating back and forth as to whether they should tell me or not.” Avery must have looked baffled, because she smiled. “My father travelled a lot for his work, and he and my mother wrote to each other all the time. There was an incident at school—I had a rush of magic and did something that freaked a few in the class out. I can’t even remember what now, nothing major. My mother told me I was special and hinted at powers, and then she said nothing else. A few years later my dad died in an accident, and a few years after that, so did she. That’s when I found the letters. The conversations were veiled, but I understood enough to know what they were referring to. They wanted to shield me. So I came here, to the place they used to call home.”

  “How did you learn to use your magic, then? It would have been hard if no one taught you.”

  “I taught myself. Although they had given up the life of magic, they couldn’t bear to part with everything. Or, my mother couldn’t. I found lots of books and the family grimoire. And then I came here and met all of you, and Elspeth has taught me lots. So has Gil.”

  Avery’s mouth fell open in shock. She had no idea that Briar had been such a novice when she arrived, or that the others had helped so much. And then she felt incredibly guilty. “I didn’t realise. I’m so sorry; I should have helped you, too.”

  Briar shrugged. “It’s okay, Avery, you’ve always done your own thing. You like it, I don’t. I need the others.”

  Lately Avery had started to wonder how true that was, but she turned the conversation back to Briar. “But you’ve learnt so much. You’re brilliant. A natural!”

  Briar smiled ruefully. “I don’t know about that.”

  Avery shook her head, feeling a rush of annoyance. “Briar, I’m confused. You could learn so much about your past now. And yet, you’re turning your back on it!”

  “It’s complicated. I feel I’m only just getting to grips with things, and now this happens. I move at a different pace than you.”

  Avery felt bereft all of a sudden, and frustrated. She was only just starting to understand Briar. “Will you still come to the Solstice celebration?”

  Briar smiled. “Of course. I’m still a witch.”

  10

  Avery’s next stop was El’s jewellery shop. She wanted to reassure herself that El wasn’t having second thoughts, either. As much as she was trying very hard to respect Briar’s annoyingly sensible decision, she was annoyed with her for being so, well, annoyingly sensible. Really, was this the time to have second thoughts, when old magic and new powers were so close?

  The closer she got to El’s place, the crosser she became.

  El’s shop was close to the seafront, down one of the lanes that ran off from the quayside. The strong smell of brine oozed around her as she arrived outside. The shop front was a big window made up of small square bevelled panes that made the interior hard to see, especially because a display was set up under the window, showing necklaces and earrings in unusual designs, as well as a collection of decorated knives.

  Once inside, Avery found that El’s shop was much darker than Briar’s, and smaller. The walls were lined with dark-patterned wallpaper, and the display cases were lined with black velvet. The lighting was low, and fairy lights were placed around the displays. High above the counter at the back of the shop was a selection of knives and swords. They looked wickedly sharp, as well as ornamental. On the far side of the shop was a collection of metal bowls and objects used in witchcraft. El had clearly decided to market herself as Wiccan, and a strong smell of sandalwood incense swirled around the shop.

  She had to push through a group of girls who were admiring the jewellery, holding earrings against their ears in front of a mirror. A young woman stood behind the glass-topped counter that was us
ed to display more jewellery.

  Avery introduced herself. “Hi, I’m a friend of El’s. Do you know where she is?”

  The young woman had black hair cut into a blunt bob, the ends died purple, and she wore a tight black dress that showed every curve. Her face was pale but expertly made up, her lips painted a blood red. In comparison, Avery felt underdressed. As usual, her long red hair was loose and she wore one of her ankle-length flowing dresses with flip-flops. She felt like a wild woman in front of this groomed creature, and she had a sudden longing to send a wind whipping through the shop to ruffle her immaculate hair.

  The woman gave Avery a quick appraising glance and called back over her shoulder through a partially open door behind the counter. “El! You have a visitor. Some red-haired chick.”

  Avery grinned. Chick! She hadn’t been called that in while.

  She heard El shout back, “Is that you, Avery?”

  “Yes!”

  “Come on in.”

  Without saying a word, the woman gave Avery another long look, and then lifted up the hatch at the end of the counter, allowing Avery to walk through. A practitioner of magic, Avery could tell. She had a quality of knowing. It was unmistakable.

  Not bothering to speak either, Avery went into the back room, which was painted a dark red instead of black, and almost stopped in shock. El wasn’t alone. Reuben was there, lounging in a chair next to glass doors that opened out into a tiny courtyard. And great Goddess, he was seriously hot.

  El grinned. “How are you, Ave? You’ve met Reuben, haven’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I have, actually. I’ve seen you around, of course. I know your brother better.” Was she gabbling? She felt heat starting on her cheeks, and she hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  Reuben nodded, “I know. And no, we’ve never met.” He jumped to his feet and extended his hand, and she was surprised by his height. She’d never been so close to him before. He was tall, with an athletic muscular build, very tanned, with tousled blonde hair that had been bleached by the sun. He wore a sleeveless top that had seen better days, and it showed his strong muscular arms, which were covered with a half-sleeve of tattoos. He was wearing board shorts and he had the smell of salt and sea about him. It looked like he’d been surfing. She shook his hand; it was warm and firm and he grinned a gleaming smile. She hoped she wasn’t going to giggle like a schoolgirl.