Crown of Magic Page 8

  Hunter had told them about the pack in Cumbria, chatting about how the new Alpha had settled into this role, and it seemed Briar had made plans to visit, arranging that Eli would cover the shop, with help from Cassie when she had time between studying for exams.

  Everyone had held off discussing the events of Beltane, but as the group relaxed, the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming celebrations, partly prompted by mention of Eli.

  “Is Eli still being stalked by one of his fans?” Reuben asked, with a mischievous grin.

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Gabe said bluntly. “It doesn’t seem to have stopped his flirting, though.”

  “It’s great for business,” Briar said, repeating what she’d said to Avery only days before. “Although, there are times it feels like I’m running a dating agency.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mean a knocking shop?” Reuben asked, baiting her.

  “Is that the same as a house of ill repute?” Shadow asked, looking between them. “I’m unfamiliar with the term ‘knocking shop.’”

  Avery inwardly groaned. They were back to Carry On innuendos again.

  El smacked Reuben’s arm. “Behave! Yes, that’s exactly what it means, Shadow.”

  “And, no I do not mean that!” Briar said, glaring at Reuben. “But, wow, I think emotions are getting more heightened. Eli said he felt that wave of primal passion on Wednesday night. He happened to be out with one of his girlfriends, and he said it was intense. He didn’t elaborate, thankfully!” She looked at Gabe and Shadow. “We’ve been wondering if you felt it too—especially you, Shadow.”

  For once, Shadow didn’t answer glibly. “I can feel the Goddess and the Green Man. They are circling each other at the moment. It’s like some kind of courtly dance. Wednesday night was a tease on her behalf. The Goddess was suggesting how things could be once they meet at Beltane. It was a promise...and a warning.”

  “A warning?” Alex asked. “Why?”

  “The Goddess’s emotions are not to be trifled with. Their meeting is the fulfilment of spring and the promise of summer. He must come to her, pure of heart and intent. If he does, she will be his willingly. If he fails her, she will have her vengeance.” Shadow looked at the men around the table, a smile twitching at her lips. “Do not take the women in your life for granted, for we are full of fury and might.” Her eyes flashed and her glamour flickered, showing her fey nature clearly, and a wave of both fear and wonder rolled around the room. And then she cloaked her Otherness again, sipping her drink demurely.

  Silence fell as Alex, Reuben, Gabe, and Hunter looked at each other nervously, and then Reuben said, “More alcohol?”

  It was close to midnight when they all made to leave. Avery had finished her wine and was wishing she didn’t have to walk up the hill toward home when Alex’s phone rang, and he glanced at it and frowned. “It’s Newton.”

  He headed to the far side of the room, talking quietly, while the others glanced nervously at each other, straining to hear what he was saying. Within minutes Alex returned, pocketing his phone. “There’s been a stabbing at the Little Theatre. Newton says things are very weird, and he wants us to go.”

  “All of us?” Hunter asked, clearly eager to be a part of it.

  “You’re allowed, surprisingly, and us witches, but not you two,” Alex said, looking at Shadow and Gabe.

  Shadow looked disappointed, but Gabe shrugged. “I am more than happy to be left out of a police investigation, but what’s at the theatre?” he asked, looking confused.

  “The dress rehearsal for the local production of Tristan and Iseult.”

  Avery remembered the conversation she’d had with Dan and frowned. “One of Dan’s friends is in that show. He told me that he’s a little more intense than usual, and that the leads seem to have taken their roles to heart.”

  Reuben nodded. “I remember them. Emma and Josh, wasn’t it?”

  Avery nodded as she grabbed her jacket. “I must admit, I thought they looked a bit guilty. They were trying too hard to avoid each other’s eyes.”

  Hunter groaned. “That sounds very ominous.”

  “A stabbing always is, mate!” Reuben exclaimed, looking at him like he’d grown two heads.

  “Not for that, you tit,” Hunter replied. “The play! You know what it’s about, right?”

  “Some girl and some bloke?” Reuben’s knowledge of the arts was poor, and he didn’t really care.

  “It’s about a love triangle, and jealousy, and love spells—just a little bit topical, don’t you think?”

  “What are you? An English major?” Reuben asked, baffled.

  “Yes, actually! Years ago, admittedly.”

  “Oh!” Reuben looked taken aback.

  By then, the room had stilled and everyone was looking at Hunter expectantly, so he explained, “Tristan and Iseult is set in Cornwall. It’s about King Mark, his nephew, Tristan, and his wife, Iseult. It’s a very old tale and is thought to be what the King Arthur love triangle was originally based on. I won’t elaborate now, but essentially the nephew, Tristan, and Iseult, King Mark’s intended, accidentally drink the love potion meant for her and King Mark, and they fall in love—cue a weird love triangle, angst, jealousy, etc. Do you get what I’m saying? We’re in the throes of Beltane passions, and now this happens. Coincidence? I think not.”

  9

  White Haven Little Theatre was a Victorian building set on a road just off from the main street, and not far from the beach.

  It had originally been a busy theatre in its heyday, but had fallen into disuse during the early part of the 20th century. There was talk of turning it into a cinema, until the public petitioned the council and they bought it and renovated it. They had kept the original Victorian decor, and it was now used by local amateur dramatic groups and touring companies. There was also a small café and bar at the front entrance, and it was popular with locals and visitors alike.

  Tonight it was also busy, but for very depressing reasons. A few police cars and an ambulance lined the road in front of the building, and lights blazed inside, despite the late hour. A group of bystanders stood down the street, watching the activities in gruesome fascination.

  Avery and Alex phoned Newton, as he’d instructed, and they waited across the road. Within a couple of minutes, DCI Inez Walker appeared, and as soon as she saw them, beckoned them to the narrow passage that ran down the right side of the building. They ducked under the police yellow tape, and when they reached her, she escorted them to the side entrance and into a corridor beyond. Walker was dark-haired and olive-skinned, an indication of her Spanish ancestry, and she looked perplexed as she halted just inside the entrance. She had been working with Newton for only a few months, and although Avery and Alex had met her a couple of times, they didn’t know her well. Walker looked at them all one by one, as if assessing their usefulness, and shook hands as they introduced themselves.

  “I have to admit that I think this is pretty irregular bringing you here, but Newton insisted, and he’s the boss. However, he’s right in suggesting that something odd is going on here. Everyone looks like they’re drugged—well, to one degree or another.”

  “Drugged?” Avery asked, finally feeling like she could speak. Walker hadn’t really given them a chance before, anxious to hustle them off the street. “The whole theatre company?”

  “Weird, isn’t it? But yes. They seem sort of disassociated.” She shrugged. “Probably not the greatest word to describe it, but that’s the best I can do for now.” She nodded up the corridor. “The auditorium is through there, but I’m going to take you to the dressing rooms, for privacy.”

  “I thought you only investigated murders?” Reuben asked.

  “Someone was stabbed!” she said, frowning at him. “We’re treating this as attempted murder for now. And besides, the group’s state of mind suggests something paranormal, and that means we investigate it.”

  Walker turned and led them down a warren of tiny passageways, past closed
doors, to a musty dressing room crowded with paraphernalia of performing. There was a large mirror and dressing table, a rack of clothes, pots of makeup, and a few chairs. And it was cramped.

  Newton was sitting at the dressing table, and his face reflected in the mirror looked grey and tired. He was examining a copy of the play, but noticing their arrival, he turned to look at them, his face grim. Other than a flash of dislike for Hunter, he looked pleased to see them.

  “Thanks for coming, guys. I realise it’s late.”

  “That’s okay,” Briar said, reassuring him. “What can we do to help?”

  Newton looked at Walker. “Shut the door please, and go and see how they’re doing with the statements.”

  Walker nodded and disappeared, and as soon as the door was shut, Newton exhaled heavily. “This is a bloody mess. I can’t get a coherent statement out of anyone.”

  “Walker said they seemed drugged,” Alex told him, while the rest of them tried to make themselves comfortable in the small space.

  Newton nodded. “That’s as good a way to describe it as anything. They seem to have lost their identity...well, for a while at least. They kept referring to themselves by their character’s names, and when we asked for their real names, a few of them looked utterly confused. One of them even said—” he pulled out his notebook, flicked through it, and then read, “‘I am Governal. How dare you accuse me of being someone else!’” He looked up at them. “What the hell! Is there some kind of spell that can make them think they are the characters in the play?”

  The witches looked at each other, and several possibilities ran through Avery’s head, but it was El who answered first. “It’s possible. It sounds a bit like an enchantment.”

  “But how do you enchant an entire cast?” Briar asked. “And who would do that?”

  Reuben leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “The enchantment would have to be powerful, especially for someone to believe they were really that character. Who stabbed who?”

  “A woman called Jamie who plays Brangain, stabbed a guy called Lawrence, who plays a character called Frocin. And this is where it gets really weird. In the play, Brangain is Queen Iseult’s loyal servant, and Frocin is the guy who leaks Tristan and Iseult’s love affair...or something of the sort.” Newton shook his head, and threw the script on the table. “I need to read up on it properly.”

  “I knew it!” Hunter said, looking pleased with himself. He was sitting in a chair in the corner. “Life is imitating art! I wonder whose suggestion it was to do this play for Beltane?”

  Despite Newton’s obvious antagonism to Hunter, he asked, “You think they’re linked?”

  Hunter nodded. “I was telling the guys on the way here about the story. Essentially it’s a love triangle, set in Cornwall. With Beltane passions rising, it seems a good play to choose, and it’s set in Cornwall, so it’s a great choice in many respects. It might be just that, a great choice of play. But equally—” he spread his hands wide. “It could be the perfect play to cause trouble!”

  Reuben shuffled against the wall and looked sceptical. “Yeah, but most actors don’t actually become their characters! It wouldn’t matter how appropriate this play is to the occasion.”

  “Which brings it back to an enchantment,” El said.

  Newton nodded, looking thoughtful. “So potentially the choice of play is a good one for the occasion, and the consequences were unknown and accidental, or, this play was chosen deliberately and the enchantment—if that’s what it is—and its consequences were known and planned.” He leaned back in the chair. “I prefer the first option to someone deliberately plotting mayhem.”

  “Can we talk to the cast?” Avery asked, thinking it would be useful.

  “Not tonight. Let’s keep it official. But I gather the show must go on! They’ll be back here tomorrow to do a proper dress rehearsal. I’m hoping you can speak to them then, try to sound this out. In the meantime, I’m giving you free rein of this area. Poke around, see what you can find.”

  “Where was the guy stabbed?” Alex asked.

  “In the kitchen area, which is currently out of bounds.”

  “Is the victim okay?” Briar asked, concerned.

  “He’ll live. His attacker is in denial. She says she can’t remember doing it, and is down the station as we speak. The rest of the cast is shaken up, but determined to carry on.”

  “But no longer ‘in character?’” Hunter asked, making air quotes.

  “Not from the last I heard,” Newton admitted, looking hopeful. “However, I want you to be very careful! If this play is enchanted, somehow, I’m really worried there could be more violence, but I can’t shut it down. I have no grounds to.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Avery told him. “I have no wishes to be stabbed or enchanted, thanks. But,” she looked at the others, growing excited, “I am really intrigued to find out what’s going on! I can ask Dan more about his friend tomorrow. Maybe get some more insider knowledge.”

  “Who is Dan’s mate?” Newton asked.

  “I can’t remember,” she said, trying to recall the details of their conversation.

  “Well, find out,” Newton said, rising to his feet and heading to the door. “He’s your way in tomorrow.” He stepped into the corridor and checked his watch. “You’ve got an hour before I lock this place up for the night. Long enough?”

  “For now,” Alex said, and Newton nodded, heading back to the main hall. Then Alex looked at the others. “Wow! I suggest we split up to look around.”

  Reuben nodded. “This place isn’t that big, so shouldn’t take very long. But, what exactly are we looking for?”

  “Anything that looks odd!”

  Reuben grunted. “I was hoping for more specifics from our psychic! Didn’t you say you were having funny dreams? Are they related to this?”

  Alex stilled for a moment as he stared into space. “Bloody hell. You might be right. I did see people wearing old-fashioned costumes, but they were surrounded by forest. Well,” he hesitated, “it was a tangle of branches and vines.”

  They all stood, ready to investigate behind the stage, and El said, “They’re planning to perform at the castle on Saturday afternoon, right by Ravens’ Wood. Maybe that’s what your dreams are about.”

  “Maybe,” Alex said, nodding. “You know, it could be a haunting that’s causing this issue.”

  “It could,” Briar agreed. “But it could also be a cursed object, and we won’t know until we start looking.”

  “Why is the final performance on during the afternoon and not the evening?” Reuben asked, looking confused.

  “Because the Beltane parade is in the evening, and they don’t want the events to clash,” El explained. “The parade has to be at night because of the bonfire, the torchlight procession, and the fire jugglers.”

  Hunter stripped his jacket and shirt off, ready to turn into his wolf, revealing toned abs and the pale scars he’d sustained in his fight with the previous pack Alpha. “I’ll scent more if I change. Some of us should check out the lighting rigs, just in case.”

  “We’ll do that. See you back here,” Reuben said, volunteering himself and El, and without another word, they set off down the dimly lit passageway.

  “Let’s head to the storage rooms,” Briar suggested to Hunter, “and you two could check the other dressing rooms.”

  “Sounds good,” Avery started to say, and then pulled Alex out of the room they were in as Hunter went to drop his trousers. “We’ll start down here,” she called over her shoulder, just in time to see Hunter’s roguish smile as he watched her go. “I swear he does that on purpose,” Avery grumbled to Alex. “I really don’t need to see him naked.”

  Alex laughed. “I’m pleased to hear you say that. Bloody exhibitionist shifters!”

  They headed into the next room, which was as small and cramped as the one they’d left. It was decorated in a similar manner, and again a rack of clothes was in the corner, mainly female. Avery headed stra
ight to them, feeling their fabric. “These seem to be of pretty good quality. I didn’t expect that for a local production.”

  “These Beltane celebrations are a big deal to the town,” Alex reminded her. “Lots of visitors are coming, and the council wants the performance to be as good as possible. Stan popped into the pub the other day. They’ve granted the production some money for costumes and better props.” He gestured at the medieval dresses. “They sourced them from a few places. It’s the same for the Beltane procession through the town. They’ve spared no expense for the costumes there, either.”

  “Really?” Avery asked, stroking the fine embroidery on the dresses. “I suppose that makes sense. Since the Walk of the Spirits at Samhain, there’s a huge weight of expectation on this event.” The events of previous years had always been good, and the standards high, but Samhain had really put White Haven on the map. However, they weren’t the only ones putting on Beltane events. A few towns had their own celebrations planned.

  Alex pulled out drawers and rummaged through the makeup. “White Haven is booked solid from this weekend onwards, and so are the surrounding towns. The performance at the castle is sold out!”

  “What if it rains?”

  “It will be here instead, but I think Stan is making offerings to the Gods.” Alex looked over his shoulder at her and laughed.

  “He should try the Goddess. Women are far more helpful,” she suggested with a smirk. She turned her attention back to the costumes. “You know, I can’t feel anything remotely spell-like with these dresses. I’d wondered if these had been bewitched in some way, but of course, they haven’t even worn them yet.”

  “It depends on the strength of the spell. If it’s strong enough, just being in their proximity would be sufficient.” He started looking though the wigs and hats, and she joined him, until they both admitted that there wasn’t anything that felt remotely like magic in the room.