Saige and Jasper arrived in the heart of town. In the centre of Ashvall’s high street stood the island’s heraldic white horse, displayed in a magnificent marble centrepiece. Saige shivered. The statue gave her the impression of a tombstone. The beautiful rose and tulip garden surrounding the structure was flattened by the rain, the waterlogged soil sending muddy streaks across the cobbled road. Saige didn’t care about stepping in it. Her boots were already filthy—what more could a little dirt do? She snuck a glance at Jasper’s feet. His trendy white sneakers were mud-caked and brown, but he didn’t seem to care.
He probably has another three pairs waiting for him back at the house.
Jasper studied the business card. A frown creased his handsome face. “Are you sure it’s here? This doesn’t really look like the place where an establishment like this”—he waved the card—“would be.”
Saige examined the tightly crammed bricks-and-mortar stores, the shop frontages narrow with large windows. The beautiful half-timbered buildings provided the high street with a medieval, fairy-tale charm. Each building had its own distinct flair, but they were harmonised in their variety. Saige had missed it. It was such a contrast to the modern buildings back home, where every new structure was designed to make a statement.
She pointed between two shops. “Right there.”
She couldn’t blame Jasper for missing it. The door was white and blended in with the white stone of the other shopfronts. Only a small gold-plated number told Saige this was the right address. She hurried forward and knocked.
Jasper wrinkled his nose. “This Mildred Templeton isn’t very good with advertising, is she?”
Saige snorted. “I think that’s the point.”
She had thought Mildred Templeton would be a fraud and believed she’d find a shopfront decked out with ridiculous ornaments of the occult. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Jasper jammed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think anyone’s home. She’s probably gone to the town hall.”
Saige lifted the mail slot in the door and peered inside. She could just make out a long, darkened hallway, followed by a small burst of orange colour at the end. “There’s a light.”
“How can there be a light? The power is out.”
“It’s a candle.”
She drummed her fist on the door again, louder and impatient.
There was the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and then the door flew open. A small, cantankerous woman appeared, her eyes drawn into a suspicious glare. She had a mop of messy grey hair, her face wrinkled and spotted from too much sun.
Not a local to Ashvall, then.
Gold chains glittered from her wrists, and several long, beaded necklaces hung from her neck. Saige couldn’t make out exactly what she was wearing. It seemed to be a mishmash of colourful prints and florals, as though she’d collected clothing from various cultures on her travels and sewn them in one chaotic heap.
Saige attempted a small smile. “Mildred Templeton?”
The woman crossed her arms and examined Saige from the top of her drenched head down to her damp boots. She had a thick, Eastern European accent. “I wondered when you’d get here. You better come in.”
Saige blinked. “I’m sorry. You were expecting us?”
Mildred inclined her head regally. “I was expecting you, Miss Wolvercraft. I knew you would come. I saw it in a dream. Him….” Her eyes travelled appreciatively over Jasper. “He’s a nice surprise. Come on now. Both of you inside.” She clapped her hands as though Saige and Jasper were two dogs trained to immediately obey her command.
They stepped into a dark, cluttered hallway and followed Mildred into a dining room. Several cats bounded away, frightened by the new arrivals. Saige counted at least four.
Mildred pulled out a chair for Saige. “Wait here and I’ll be back with some tea. You’re in luck that I have a gas cooktop and not electric.” She disappeared through a beaded curtain.
“We don’t need tea,” Saige called, but there was no reply.
Jasper rocked back on his heels. “Maybe it’s not the kind of tea you drink.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “What other tea is there?”
He elbowed her gently in the side, a smile in his eyes. “Maybe it’s tea leaves. Maybe Mildred Templeton is going to read your fortune.”
“I don’t want my fortune read.”
Her past hadn’t been great. She was afraid of hearing what her future might be.
I’ll end up alone with twelve cats. I’ll die, and they’ll probably eat me out of sheer starvation.
She shivered at the grim thought. “The entire thing is just a scam made on impressionable people.”
Jasper’s eyes twinkled. “You see ghosts, but you don’t believe someone can read the future?”
Saige shot him a look, sour as poison, and focused instead on the room. She guessed the little house and shop combo must have been a bookstore once, because many of the walls in the room had built-in shelves, now decorated with strange and twisted adornments. She raked her eyes over them. There were carved buffalo skulls, dreamcatchers, rune stones, and crystals. The ceiling had been painted with the constellations of the zodiac. Hanging in a corner was an astrological tapestry with various symbols Saige neither understood nor recognised. The entire place reeked of incense, potpourri, and… something she couldn’t place.
“What is that smell?”
Jasper shot her a supercilious look. “Are you really that naïve? It’s marijuana, Saige. It seems your clairvoyant is involved in other extracurricular activities.”
Mildred sauntered through the beaded curtain with a Moroccan tea set. Her eyes glinted with sly humour. “Are you afraid to sit down? You both look like frightened children on your first day at school.”
Saige dropped into a chair. Jasper sat opposite her. The round table was draped in lace cloth, a nine-card tarot spread splayed out in what must have been a previous reading. Saige fidgeted on the fabric of her wet jeans. She didn’t know what the images meant, but the cards certainly didn’t appear to have foretold a happy future. One revealed a hanged man upside down. Another showed a grim reaper on horseback.
Mildred poured tea for each of them, then settled in her dining chair and smiled blandly at Saige. “I know why you’re here. You’re looking for the doctor.”
Saige swallowed hard. “You know she’s missing?”
“I do.” Mildred waved to the cards. “That was the reading I gave Dr Reynolds yesterday.”
“She came for a reading?”
Mildred sipped her tea. “Not exactly. She came because she had made a discovery. She needed answers, much like you need answers right now.”
Saige took out Harriette’s notebook and handed it to the medium. “She was studying Wolvercraft Manor.” She took out the photos and newspaper clippings and spread them across the table. “Harriette texted me yesterday, said she had something to tell me. Something about the house.”
Mildred put her teacup down. “It wasn’t about the house, dear. Look at the images. Harriette’s interest lay in your family, for that’s where the Wolvercraft curse originated.”
Saige bit down on her lip. “Do you know something about the curse?”
Mildred leaned forward, her gravelly accent a tad too theatrical for Saige’s liking. “I know the Wolvercraft fortune was built on lies and deception.” She rubbed her hands across the tablecloth. “Let me tell you about the origins of Wolvercraft Manor. Frederick George Wolvercraft was indeed a very respected and wealthy young man for his time. He loved elegance and extravagance. It’s why Wolvercraft Manor resembles a royal palace. He travelled the world looking for just the right furnishings and ornaments. He purchased the surrounding farmland and had it transformed into formal gardens. He often went to London and would bring back a company of young men and women for the season. Parties. Balls. Dinners. All of this came at great expense, but Frederick could never do without. He had to have the finest, most fashionable, and latest things.”
Her bright eyes bored into Saige’s. “As you can imagine, Frederick’s luxuries soon outweighed his means. He ended up bankrupt. To save his house and lavish lifestyle, he endeared himself to Theodosia Sinclair, a woman old enough to be his mother. He had met her on his travels to New York and brought her to the house to conduct seances, communicate with the dead, and to read fortunes at parties, a fad on the rise in the late 1840s. Theodosia was of Romani origin, which may have put a mark on her name, but she was also a wealthy American heiress, and that was enough to make her presence acceptable within Frederick’s circle.”
Saige slumped back into her chair. She shook her head, her eyes alight with mistrust. “My aunt Prue knows everything there is to know about Wolvercraft’s family history. She’s never mentioned any of this before.”
As soon as the words slipped out, Saige realised it wasn’t true. She remembered Aunt Prue’s terrified white face the night before when they’d discovered Zoe’s bridesmaids around a Ouija board, the game mysteriously set up for them in advance.
“That’s impossible. This Ouija board belonged to Theodosia Sinclair. It’s been missing for decades, presumed stolen.”
Saige shivered in her damp clothes.
Mildred watched her with sharp eyes. Saige couldn’t help but feel that the woman’s gaze was penetrating right into her soul.
The medium dropped a sugar cube into her tea. “I imagine you have heard of the Roma Witch?”
Memories surfaced in Saige’s mind. “Yes. She lived in the Hauteville Woods. She was one of the most powerful witches of the Hauteville Coven. I remember the stories from when I was little.” She turned to Jasper to explain. “The dolls we saw in the woods… they’re a sort of peace offering to the Roma Witch and her coven.”
His head jerked up. “She’s the one who stole children?”
Mildred’s eyebrows shot up defensively. “She most certainly did not. That is an Ashvall legend entirely made up by the locals who feared Theodosia’s powers.”
“Powers?” Saige nearly laughed.
Spiritualists are a scam, and you’re just an old biddy.
Mildred directed a levelling look her way. “Then what do you call you and me? Are we a scam?”
Saige froze.
That’s not possible. Mind-reading… it’s not real.
Mildred’s lips cracked into a sardonic smile. “Yes, Miss Wolvercraft. You see ghosts. Just like your mother saw them. And your grandmother. And her mother before that. You, unfortunately, refuse to acknowledge your gift.”
Saige tried to keep the anger inside her in check but failed. “It’s not a gift. It’s a nightmare.”
“That is your opinion, but I use my talent to help others. To give them hope and courage. I accept spiritualism as a gift. It is my livelihood. I am not a scam. Theodosia Sinclair most certainly was not a scam either.”
Saige’s skin flushed. Heat filled her cheeks.
Jasper raised a hand. “I thought I should mention that I saw a ghost too. Two, actually. Am I a spiritualist?” His brown eyes stared hopefully at Mildred.
The clairvoyant’s tone changed, much sweeter with Jasper. “You’ve only seen them at the manor?”
He nodded encouragingly.
“Never any before?” she asked with a raised brow.
His shoulders slumped a bit as he shook his head.
“Were you with Miss Wolvercraft when you saw these ghosts?”
“Yes.”
“Then no, dear. Chances are her powers impressed upon you. It can happen with powerful spiritualists who remain untrained.”
Saige ignored the jibe. She leaned forward, bringing the conversation back on topic. “Did Theodosia marry Frederick Wolvercraft?”
Mildred’s eyes turned to the tarot cards on the table. They lingered on the grim reaper. “It was a private ceremony. No one was invited. Frederick kept her around long enough to obtain her money and then dismissed her.”
“Dismissed? Do you mean he sent her away?”
Mildred made a noncommittal sound. “No one knows for sure. Theodosia was never seen again. It’s assumed that she died. After all, Frederick Wolvercraft did remarry four months later… only for that bride to tragically drown in a bathtub.”
Saige sat in silence for a moment. Her mind conjured unimaginable scenarios. “Do you mean to say that’s how the curse started?”
Mildred grabbed a shawl that had been draped over her chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Theodosia was a talented spiritualist and a powerful witch. She was jilted, her money stolen. If someone did that to you, and you had the means to curse them, would you stand for it? Or would you enact your revenge?”
Jasper’s face turned an awful shade of white. He wouldn’t look at Saige. She couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied. He had done something similar to her, and judging from his expression, he was starting to realise it.
She focused on Mildred. “I wouldn’t curse anyone, no matter how badly they hurt me… but I can’t speak for others.”
Mildred’s eyebrows drew together. “I have suspected for a long time that the curse wasn’t only directed at Frederick but the entire Wolvercraft family. It flows from generation to generation, taking brides and wives.”
“But not all.” Saige frowned into the candlelight. “Not all the women who have married into the Wolvercraft family have died. Why do you suppose that is?”
Mildred aimed a sad smile at her. “The curse was made from a broken heart and directed toward those who were in love. Many marriages over the years were made as an alliance… a business arrangement. There was no sentiment involved.”
“Which was why the curse never claimed them?”
Mildred nodded. “Dr Reynolds figured that out. She came across an archived newspaper journal that announced Frederick and Theodosia’s engagement. Here.”
Mildred wandered out of the room and returned with a printout of an old, photographed newspaper. Various parts of the text were circled in red, with the same illegible notes that Saige recognised as Harriette’s handwriting. Mildred pointed to a passage and read aloud. “The engagement of Ms T Sinclair to Mr Frederick George Wolvercraft was recently made public. The wedding will take place in a private ceremony in June.” She dropped the article on the table and returned to her seat. “Harriette knew enough about Ashvall’s history to know who Theodosia was. She just needed me to confirm some of the minor details. That’s why she came to visit yesterday afternoon.”
Saige sensed Jasper’s eyes on her. He looked away the moment she turned to him, his gaze on the medium. “How do you know so much?”
It was a good question. Saige waited for the answer.
An amused glint lit up Mildred’s eyes. “Because Theodosia Sinclair was my ancestor. And I have her journal.”