Avery finished weeding her herb beds with the aid of a little magic and stepped back, pleased with her progress.
In the last couple of weeks, since the risk of frost had gone, she’d planted lots more annual herbs, trimmed the existing ones, and had harvested some to dry. A trug was on the gravelled path next to her, filled with cuttings. She filtered through her favourite gardening spells, decided on one that was best for this occasion, and said it softly under breath. Her magic rolled around her, and she smiled as she saw her plants respond.
Satisfied, she headed back to the patio table where they had partied the night before, pulled the phone from her pocket, and called Oswald, as Alex had asked, smiling at hearing his warm but slightly old-fashioned mannerisms.
“Avery, I’d like to say this is a pleasure, but I sense trouble.”
“You do?” she asked, surprised.
“I have a sixth sense for these things sometimes, especially when I’m relaxed. Which I was. And besides, you don’t normally phone for a chat.”
Avery felt horribly guilty for disturbing his afternoon. “I’m so sorry Oswald, but we thought you should know about the death they reported this morning.”
He groaned. “The young man found on the beach outside Fowey? Go on.”
Avery updated him as succinctly as possible, but as soon as she mentioned the doubloon, she felt Oswald’s excitement. “A what? How very unexpected, but exciting too! Terrible though this death is, the doubloon does lend an air of intrigue, and the suggestion of smuggling, dare I say!”
“I guess so,” she said, surprised by his response. “I must admit, we thought of smuggling, too.”
“It’s a natural assumption when you hear of treasure, and a doubloon is undoubtedly just that. We all love a pirate story, and there’s plenty of smuggling tales around here, too!”
Avery leaned back in her chair, looking over her garden, but not really seeing it anymore. “Well, true, but a doubloon is from a couple of centuries before the smuggling industry became really big in Cornwall.”
“But it doesn’t mean they’re not connected in some way.” He fell silent for a moment and then said, “I’m going to have to do some smuggling research.”
“But how could that be connected to the poor man’s death? It was so violent!”
“Early days for that, Avery, but I’ll have a think. No sign of any more treasure?”
“Well, actually yes,” she confessed, relating the events of the night before.
After a moment’s shocked silence, Oswald said, “That’s fascinating. And your ancestor?”
“I got the impression she was in trouble.”
“Well, I have no idea what to do with that,” he murmured.
“Nor us, but we were wondering if you’ve noticed anything odd in your area lately?”
“Nothing, but you can be sure I’ll be keeping a close watch from now on. I’ll tell Ulysses, too.”
After they said their goodbyes, Avery headed up to the attic with her herbs, surprised by how clean it now was. Alex had done a good job, and he’d opened the windows, allowing a light breeze to drift through the room. She placed her herbs on the table, and took her time tying them together before hanging them from the rafters overhead. Then she turned to her bookshelves, looking for something on supernatural creatures.
She pulled one book after another, but frustrated at having nothing really suitable, decided to search her shop instead. Rather than walk downstairs, she used witch-flight, and materialised in the occult section.
It was hot and stuffy in Happenstance Books; dust motes hung in the sunshine that slanted through the windows, and yesterday’s residual incense mixed with the scent of old and new books. Avery searched the magic section, noting the new books that Sally had ordered in. There were lots of new spell books, and books on the history of witchcraft, and they continued to add to their selection regularly. Ever since Rupert had started his occult tours, they had increasing interest in witchcraft and had decided to capitalise on it. However, there was nothing that listed supernatural creatures specifically, and instead she decided to check the shelves stocking books on myths and legends, pleased when she found a few about Cornish folklore. “Bingo,” she said softly, as she pulled them from the shelves.
Then she felt a breeze across the back of her neck, and the temperature around her dropped.
Avery whirled around, her hand raised, ready to either defend or attack. “Helena? Is that you?”
A shimmer in the air to her left had Avery turning swiftly, but nothing appeared, and the cold air disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. That was odd. Was Helena trying to contact her again, or was it something else? One good thing, she reflected, was that at least nothing had been thrown at her. But where the hell was Helena?
At six that evening, after a couple of hours of research, Avery arrived at The Wayward Son and found that Reuben, El, and Briar were already in the back room at the pub, chatting over drinks. She grabbed a glass of wine at the bar, unable to see Alex, who she presumed was in the kitchen, and joined them.
The small room at the back of the pub was, as usual, quieter than the main area, spelled by Alex to only encourage locals to loiter. The patio doors were open, and a warm evening breeze flowed inside, carrying the sounds of voices and laughter from those seated in the courtyard garden.
“Hey, guys,” she said, sipping her wine and taking a seat. “I hear Newton has had an interesting twenty-four hours.”
Reuben nodded. He had a half-empty pint glass in front of him, and his arm was slung across the back of El’s chair. “Yeah, unfortunately. We haven’t heard from him since lunch, though. I guess he’s very busy.”
Avery frowned at him. “Have you been here all afternoon?”
“No! I’ve been surfing, obviously! Trying to clear my head after a few too many beers last night.”
El laughed. “Like that ever puts you off. You’re a freak. What have you been up to, Avery?”
Avery reached into her bag and withdrew a small, slim book with a few pages marked, placing it on the table. “I’ve been doing some reading this afternoon, and have a few ideas of what could have caused that man’s death.”
“Have you?” Briar asked, looking hopeful. “I’ve been completely tied up with making new stock for my shop.”
“I have news, too,” El confessed, looking pleased. “I’ve been at the forge with Dante for a couple of hours. The boys want enhanced weapons, so I’ve been working on them in my downtime.”
Avery was momentarily sidetracked. “As in the Nephilim?”
“Yeah—I’m making swords and daggers with enhanced powers. They’ve all decided they want some. Nahum wants throwing knives, so that’s a challenge.” She grinned. “Fun, though. Anyway, while I was there, I showed him the coin…but you first!”
“I’ve been reading up on piskies, púcas, spriggans, and other Cornish creatures, trying to decide if they have something to do with that man’s death, but to be honest, I’m a bit bewildered,” Avery said, her hands idly flicking the pages of the book. “I need to chat to Dan. There are so many legends to consider.”
“That’s a good idea,” Briar agreed. “Reuben said you were going to phone Oswald. Did you ask him about supernatural creatures?”
“No, actually,” she said, telling them what they’d discussed. “But he will keep an eye out for anything odd.”
Reuben pulled the book towards him and started leafing through it. “What sounds most likely then, according to this?”
Avery frowned. “Púcas are a possibility—they have a reputation for being menacing. Or, more likely, spriggans.”
“Like what our beach is named after?” Reuben asked.
She nodded. “Among the many stories about them, they apparently hang around old ruins and cairns, guarding buried treasure. They can become very mean when disturbed.”
El looked baffled. “Aren’t they supposed to be like little old men?”
“Yes, though that doesn’t sound particularly threatening,” Avery confessed.
Briar rubbed her face, bemused. “This is a crazy conversation to be having—and I know that I’ve been possessed by the Green Man—but this just sounds mad!” She leaned forward. “Are we actually entertaining this discussion?”
Reuben tutted. “Briar! Of all the people who should be the most accepting of this! You go out with a shape shifter! How is he, by the way? He hasn’t been down for a few weeks.”
“He’s fine,” she said, a flush colouring her cheeks. “Just involved with pack business. And I know exactly what you mean. It’s just that piskies, of all things, and other little creatures sound, well, make-believe!”
“You’re right,” Avery admitted. “I’ve been wrestling with this for the last couple of hours, persuading myself that I’m already mad just thinking about it.”
El laughed. “You live with a ghost, and we’ve banished mermaids, spirits and demons, and seen the Raven King! Surely it’s not that far-fetched?” Her finger tapped her pint glass. “Maybe we should speak to Shadow. She’s fey, and might know far more about them than what’s written in that book.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” Avery said, nodding. “By the way, talking of ghosts, I had another odd experience this afternoon.” She started to relay what had happened in the shop, and Alex arrived halfway through, taking a seat opposite her.
Once she finished, he frowned. “But you didn’t actually see Helena?”
“No, not this time.” Avery took another sip of her wine. “But I’m even more worried about her now.”
“I wish I could say I miss her,” Alex said, “but I don’t. However, I will look for her tonight, as agreed.”
“Thank you!” Avery hadn’t wanted to make such a big deal about it, but now that he’d offered, she couldn’t wait to see what he found. Realising he hadn’t heard her update about Oswald, she said, “And I spoke to Oswald. He’s going to make inquiries, but there’s nothing much going on that he’s noticed.”
“Well,” Alex said, looking pleased with himself. “I’ve found out that our very own White Haven Museum has a new exhibition on smuggling. It starts next weekend, and is only open for a short time, but it will be worth seeing.”
“I’ve never been in there at all,” Reuben confessed, slightly sheepish.
Alex laughed. “Well, that’s not surprising. You’re not exactly known for your love of museums and research.”
“I could be persuaded to go, though,” he said, “if there’s a pub lunch at the end of it.”
“I’m sure we could manage that,” Avery reassured him. “I wonder if there’ll be something about the West Haven tunnels there?”
The passages they had found that led from Rupert’s House of Spirits connected to a network of tunnels, and they hadn’t followed most of them, focussing only on finding vampires.
El looked thoughtful. “I’d love to know how far they go. There are smuggling tunnels all over Cornwall. But where has that doubloon come from?”
“And what’s its message?” Briar asked. “It would have been better off leaving the man dead with no doubloon. Now we have a clue!”
“Is it, though?”Reuben said, ever sceptical. “Or is it a diversion?”
“So, what have you found out about our coins?” Briar asked El.
“They are guineas, British, and the one I have is eighteenth century—King George, I think Dante said, though not sure which George.” She shrugged. “But guineas were made in the seventeenth century too, so we may have a mixture.”
“Are they worth anything?” Alex asked.
“Sure! Not millions or anything,” El said brightly, “but a few hundred pounds, depending on the guinea. The quantity of gold in them varies, apparently, and they’re worth more than their value to a collector.”
“So,” Avery reasoned, “these are obviously a very different timeframe to Spanish doubloons. I guess the question still is, are they connected? Is the death of the man in Fowey and Helena’s odd appearance connected?”
“Surely, they have to be!” El said, appealing to them all.
The others looked around the table blankly, and Avery realised that with so little to go on, they were speculating wildly. But at this stage, there was nothing else they could do.
“If we’re going to look into smuggling,” Briar said, interrupting her train of thought, “we should go to Bodmin and see the Jamaica Inn Smuggling Museum, too. That’s supposed to be good.” She rose to her feet wiggling her glass. “Another drink, everyone?”