21
Ella
A different kind of recipe
I chewed my lip as Seth left and self-doubt set in. I was used to riding Trusty and clutching my sword going into a fight. I had no experience to guide me in what we were about to attempt.
"Will the spell defeat Millicent?" I asked Reverend Mason as he lit the gas lamps around the room and then crossed to the tall window and pulled the drapes shut.
His hand paused on the patterned fabric. "No, unfortunately. It will send you to where she exists. Once there, you will need to find a way to undo what she has done."
Bother. I had hoped the spell would equip me with a celestial flaming sword that would send Millicent to Hell with a single blow. Before me stretched the prospect of being transported to an unknown realm where my enemy ruled, and I would need to forage for a weapon.
A niggle of curiosity roused its head. "How did you come by such a spell?"
Reverend Mason turned and smiled. "You cannot study witchcraft for a millennia without acquiring some knowledge along the way. This spell was recorded over five centuries ago."
"Will it really work?" How did you access another realm? Would a door appear that I stepped through or, more disturbingly, would it place me in the same undead state as Millicent?
"It has been tried once before, and apparently the acolyte returned from the other side with no lasting side effects." Mr Mason moved around the room collecting objects from his shelves: a small brass burner from one, a tiny box from another, and a vial from behind a book. He gathered them in his hands and returned to his armchair.
"I think I should perform the ritual," Charlotte said, her voice firm and clear with none of her earlier hesitancy.
"Are you sure?" My step-sister had inadvertently spoken one tiny spell; I wasn't sure that qualified her for sending me to the other side.
"Like it or not, I am entwined in matters. The blood of a witch flows through my veins. My mother and sister both fell under Millicent's sway. I think if I say the words, it will ensure our success. And even if it made no difference, it would allow me to feel that I have contributed something to your fight." Charlotte leaned on the sofa, her gaze roaming over the spider crawl text of the open book.
"I have no objection if you do not, Eleanor." Mr Mason set down his collection of paraphernalia.
Charlotte raised an expectant gaze to meet mine. How could I say no? All her life, Charlotte had lived in the shadow of her mother and sister. Beaten down, she had never tried for anything in her life. Now, beside me, she brimmed with energy and anticipation. The dormant part of her that had remained hidden while she endured abuse had finally awoken.
"I would like that. Thank you Charlotte." I hugged her, and it filled my heart with warmth to see us both break free and find forgiveness.
Reverend Mason rotated the book so it faced Charlotte. "Read the spell over but do not say the words aloud. You are quite correct with your baking analogy. There are ingredients and a process to follow."
He lit the wick under the brass burner and a tiny flame burst into life. Shaped like two half globes squashed together, the bottom part of the burner contained the oil and wick and gave life to the flame. The top half was a bowl, warmed from below.
"Make yourself comfortable on the sofa, Eleanor. The enchantment will send you to sleep, and we don't want you sliding onto the floor," he said.
Charlotte sat on the floor in front of the low table and crossed her legs. Her brow furrowed as she read the ornate script. At one point she glanced at Reverend Mason and then picked up the vials and box to examine the contents.
I didn't want to know what ingredients this recipe required. It could have been fingernails and eyeballs or flour and cinnamon. It made no difference to me. I unlaced my short boots, placed them side by side on the floor, and raised my legs onto the sofa. With a comfortable cushion behind my head, I stretched out and clasped my hands over my chest. I drew a deep breath and tried to steady my pounding heart.
Reverend Mason's steady voice came from beside me. "When you are ready, Charlotte, add the ashes from the consecrated wood with the bone dust."
Bone dust? I opened my eyes and glanced at Reverend Mason.
"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust," he intoned.
Made sense I suppose, words spoken at a funeral to send a soul to the other side.
"I need a hair from your head, Ella, so the spell knows who to focus on," Charlotte said.
I nodded my permission. There was a rustle of clothing as Charlotte moved closer to me, and then her hands brushed my hair as she selected a strand. A sharp prick jabbed at my scalp as the hair was removed.
"There is one last ingredient before Charlotte utters the spell. Hold out your hand, Eleanor. To complete the ceremony we need a drop of a maiden's blood," Reverend Mason said.
Maiden? By exercising mammoth self-control I managed not to blush, but this was going to get awkward. Did I point out to the man who christened me that I was no maiden, or wait until the ceremony failed and let him draw the obvious conclusions?
I opened my eyes and shot a desperate look to Charlotte and shook my head no, as the reverend reached out for my arm, a delicate silver knife clasped in the fingers of his other hand.
Charlotte frowned, then her eyes widened as she realised the source of my concern. Then she did something I never thought to hear my step-sister do. She snorted under her breath. I was horrified; please don't let her break the news to the reverend!
Instead, Charlotte laid her hand in Mr Mason's larger one. "Perhaps my blood would add another layer to the ceremony. I am a descendant of one of the original witches."
"Very well." He seemed delighted by the substitution and I was relieved. While I had no regrets about my physical relationship with Seth, I didn't want to have to defend my position to anyone else. It was none of their concern. Except when a spell called for virgin's blood.
The reverend handed the knife to Charlotte and she drew a line down the centre of her palm. She squeezed her hand into a fist and let droplets of her blood fall into the brass bowl, coating the strand of my hair. Her essence sizzled and hissed as it hit the heated metal. An odd aroma rose and drifted into the air as Charlotte began to speak.
My head dropped back to the pillow and my eyes closed as I concentrated on Charlotte's voice. What language was she speaking? Certainly not English. There was an odd lyrical quality to the words, not Latin or German. My eyelids grew heavier and I wondered if she spoke the ancient language of the Fae or druids.
My head began to spin, as though I twirled around and around in a clearing, dancing to the rhythm of Charlotte's words. In my mind, I saw the glade where I liked to practice with the sword. The ancient runes carved into the trunks of the oaks emitted a faint green light. The faster I spun, the more intense the runes glowed, tendrils leaking out from the marks and reaching for each other. Around and around I whirled, like a top, until there was an almighty flash. The runes exploded, each connected with the other and washed the eerie light over me. It slammed into my body and I fell to the ground.
Then my mind went blank.
Ella
Deja vu
The table bounced under my cheek and jarred me back to full awareness. I opened my eyes to confront a full coal scuttle resting on the table next to me.
"She's at it again," Alice, the upstairs maid, said. She rolled her amber eyes upward to the parlour above our heads, and then wiped her hands on the starched apron around her neck. Her white mobcap kept her dark curls under control, and a frown marred her pale brow.
"What is it this time?" I tucked away dreams of golden days and returned to cold reality. My cap pitched to an angle and I righted it, shoving stray blonde hair back underneath. No doubt the she in question was step-mother: Elizabeth, Lady Jeffrey and wife of my father. My step-sisters, Louise and Charlotte, were referred to collectively as them. And I had to stop referring to them as my step-relations; the lady of the house would flog the skin from my hide if she caught that familiarity passing my lips. She might have been married to my father, but she was quick to point out my status as the daughter of a servant.
Alice poured herself a glass of water and took a quick drink. Only eight in the morning and we had both been working for over two hours already. We had cleaned the house from top to bottom and laid fires that should sit unused in the middle of summer. The lady thought it kept us from being idle if she lit one throughout the year. With the warmer weather, we laboured in a hothouse and sweat made our uniforms stick to our backs. Thank goodness Father's home had only eight fireplaces. Imagine if we possessed a grander home with thirty or more!
Alice put her hands on her hips. "The coal is dirty and apparently it's throwing dust on her clothes."
"And what are we do to about dirty coal?" I dreaded asking the question, any answer would mean more work.
"She wants it cleaned." Alice's voice dripped with sarcasm.
I sighed and scrubbed my hands over my face. Life under step-mother was a never ending procession of tasks. Then I froze. What was I doing here? I’d sacked Alice, vanquished step-mother, and I worked alongside Seth deMage in the war against the vermin.
"This is all wrong. It must be a dream." I stared at the coal scuttle and willed it to dissolve and turn into a cup of tea. My mind swum through molasses as I tried to grasp the details of where I had been before I woke up. Or more accurately, where I was before I fell asleep. I had gone to see Reverend Mason to seek his guidance about something.
"Damn nightmare more like," Alice muttered. "Not to mention the older one has a dinner tonight with her fancy fiancé, the duke. We'll be lugging hot water up to the bath on the second floor all afternoon."
My heart stopped beating. Never in a million years would Seth fall into her clutches. He was mine. "No. That's impossible, Seth is going to marry me as soon as we defeat the vermin."
Alice laughed and wiped sweat from her temple with the corner of her apron. "Oh, Ella! A duke and a scullery maid? You are ever so funny. And what vermin? We haven't had a rat problem with that new barn cat. He's ever so good at catching them."
"No, not rats. Vermin. The Turned. The undead that returned after the influenza pandemic." I took Alice's glass of water and drank the rest of it. My head was stuffed with cotton wool, and I struggled to break the surface of the confusion that swamped me. I shouldn't be here. There was something I was supposed to do, but I couldn't remember what.
"You really have gone daft. People died of the Spanish flu and they didn't come back. None of us like living under her thumb, but it's not like we have much choice. They'll all move to the big house after the wedding, at least then we might have some peace and quiet." Alice took the glass from my limp fingers and poured a refill from the pottery pitcher on the table.
I stared at the water. None of this could be true. Louise to marry Seth. No vermin and no Grim War. That meant I was simply Ella the scullery maid, with no greater calling in my life. Nor did I have a dashing boyfriend. Life couldn't be that cruel. I had a purpose and I was loved. "I'm dreaming."
Alice stepped closer to me, reached out and then a burst of fire flared over my upper arm. "Ow!"
She had pinched me. Hard.
"You're awake and so are that lot upstairs. You better take up more toast and their eggs before we get in more trouble." She pulled the tray closer to me. Magda carried over hot toast and slotted each piece into the silver toast rack.
After she had put the finishing touches to the tray, Magda dropped her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "We all wish life would return to how it was before the war, love. But you need to stop daydreaming. Escaping to a world you build inside your head doesn't help the rest of us. Your father might never recover, but he deserves our care and attention until the Lord sees fit to claim him."
Claim him? No. Despair welled up in my chest. I shook my head but no words would form in my mouth. Father improved daily. He could now take a gentle turn around the garden with Henry.
"I have to see him." I pushed off from the table and spun to the door.
Alice blocked my way, her arms folded over her chest. "Stop it this instant, Ella! Your father will be exactly as he is every day, a drooling, unresponsive shell of what he once was. You can visit with him when we have a break. Sad as it is, he won't notice if you're late. Keeping her fed is your first duty or she'll be after us both with the switch."
Magda carried over the tray and pushed it into my hands.
"Serve their breakfast first, then I will cover for you so you can sneak in and sit with Sir Jeffrey for a little while." A sad smile touched her worn face. She seemed older than I remembered.
I wanted to fling the tray across the room. I had a purpose. There was something I had to do. If only I could remember. Perhaps seeing Father would spark the memory.
"Very well." I sighed and took the tray. I could endure a few more minutes, but then no one was going to stop me from seeing Father.