Reuben ended the call with Avery and said to Caspian, “Well, that’s sorted, then. Everyone’s coming around tonight.”
Caspian looked up from his grimoire. “Who’s everyone?”
“The witches, plus Ben, Dylan, and Cassie. They have thermal imaging footage they want to show us.”
Caspian studied him for a moment, an almost unreadable expression on his face, and then he asked, “Do you all do this a lot?”
“Catch up for drinks and watch weird thermal imaging footage? Yes to the first, not really to the second,” he answered, sitting again at the old wooden table in the attic spell room. “Why?”
Caspian had a sort of lost look on his face, which was a weird word to use, but it suddenly made Reuben feel very sorry for him. “No reason,” he answered. “It just seems you have a busy social life. You’re very close, your coven.”
“We are. We get together in each other’s houses, and in Alex’s pub. It’s what friends do, right?” Even as he was saying it, Reuben got the distinct impression it wasn’t what Caspian did. Before he could consider whether it was an okay question to ask, he said, “You must catch up with your friends a lot. Or your family, at least. They’re your coven, aren’t they?”
Caspian gave a dry laugh. “No, we do not. We discuss business, mainly.”
“But you have non-business friends?” he asked, starting to turn the pages of his grimoire in an effort to keep the conversation light. For some reason, he felt he was on unstable ground.
“My business friends are my friends,” Caspian said, “and we socialise in fancy restaurants or over boardroom tables.”
Caspian’s voice had taken on an edge, and Reuben risked a glance at him, but Caspian was studying his grimoire, too.
Regret. That’s what Reuben heard in his voice and saw on his face.
“And Estelle? She must be a riot at Christmas!” Reuben’s tone was cheeky, hoping to get something positive from Caspian.
Caspian looked him straight in the eye. “Now I know you’re taking the piss.”
Reuben leaned back, all pretence at reading his grimoire gone. “I’m not taking the piss. She is your sister, and for all you bicker, I’m sure you must get on, really.”
“We tolerate each other, and I think that might have just run its course, too.” He shrugged. “So be it. I’m sure we’ll muddle together for the business.” He nodded over at Reuben’s end of the table, and the grimoires open in front of him. “Anyway, have you found anything useful?”
“No. But I’m sure I will. You?”
“No, and it’s beginning to piss me off.”
“Me too.”
Once he and Caspian finished their breakfast, Reuben had taken him up to what had once been the hidden attic. Since Gil and Alicia died, Reuben had decided to take out the brick wall that divided his spell room from the main attic, and now it could be accessed without having to use the hidden passageway in the walls. He’d debated whether it was wise to take Caspian there, and then laughed at his paranoia. Caspian knew he was a witch. He wouldn’t give a crap where his spell room was, and no casual visitor would ever see the attic. And if he ever split up with El, there was no way he would become involved with someone who didn’t know he was a witch. Life was far too complicated for that. For the last few hours they had once again examined the grimoires for potential spells used on Coppinger, but all Reuben had achieved was a headache. They even used witch-light to reveal invisible spells, and had then tried finding spells, but still hadn’t discovered anything their ancestors may have used. They’d debated a couple that might be plausible, and then dismissed them just as quickly.
Reuben pointed to the stack of papers he had found in Caspian’s attic, just before he’d been attacked. “What about those?”
He shrugged. “Interesting letters, but nothing that suggests what the spell could be, or where it was finally executed.”
Reuben looked around the attic, distracted. “I guess any of these spells that we’ve found could be adapted, but I just have a feeling I’m missing something. I think Virginia would have been keen to hide any evidence…like in their letters, really. The contents were kept deliberately vague. I suspect the spell is either right under our noses and we’ve missed it, or it’s hidden in this house somewhere—or at yours. I know there are hidden passages all around this place.”
Caspian laughed. “I once found an entire secret room in Harecombe Manor.”
“A torture chamber?”
“No! I don’t think we were that bad, thanks Reuben.”
“Just kidding.” He sighed. “Virginia wouldn’t have been proud of cursing a load of men, even if it saved the town. She’d have hidden the spell really well.”
Caspian shook his head. “We’re thinking about this all wrong. This was Serephina’s suggestion. It’s our family’s spell, not yours. It has to be in my grimoire. And although I’m sure Serephina wouldn’t give a crap about cursing a whole load of smugglers, I doubt she’d have wanted to shout about it, either.” He smiled. “You said the spell would be under our noses.”
“Yes, but how does that help?”
“There’s a spell on it, something to hide it.”
“But we’ve already used witch-lights and finding spells! I don’t get it.”
“I think the entire page has been hidden, and that requires a different spell to find it.”
Reuben was still confused. How many layers of subterfuge could you use to hide a spell? But Caspian started to look very excited and grabbed the letters, making a pile of them on the table.
“Have you got a silver bowl, Reuben?”
“Sure.” He stood to take one off the shelf. “Are you doing another finding spell?”
“No, an unveiling spell. Where are your letters?”
Reuben picked them up from the corner of the table, and watched Caspian add them to his own stack and place them all in the bowl. “I hope you’re not attached to them, because I need to burn them.”
“Wait. Let’s take photos of them first, just in case.” If Reuben had learnt anything from the other witches, it was to take notes and have backup plans.
“While you do that, I’ll get the herbs I need—if you don’t mind.”
He looked at Reuben uncertainly, and Reuben wished he’d stop standing on ceremony. “Stop asking, Caspian. Assume it’s yours.”
Caspian gave a small smile and started to prepare his ingredients while Reuben took photos of all the letters with his phone.
Five minutes later, they were both seated opposite each other, with one solitary candle in front of them, the bowl of letters mixed with herbs, and Caspian’s grimoire. Reuben eyed it warily. Caspian’s grimoire had a very different feel than his own. Some spells exuded an undercurrent of menace, and while there were some spells in his that gave a prickle of unease because of the power and intent within them, the spells within Caspian’s gave him the shivers. Pushing his misgivings aside, he clasped Caspian’s outstretched hands, struck by how odd this unlikely pairing was.
“My reasoning,” Caspian explained, “as I said, is that you’re right. This spell is in here, and we can’t see it because it has been thoroughly hidden. I have a few unveiling spells I’ve used before, but this one should be the best for this purpose. I’m trusting our bloodlines and magical heritage will help.”
“Do I need to do anything?”
“Just lend your energy to mine.”
Silence fell as Caspian took several deep breaths, and then he intoned the spell. The letters in the bowl burst into flames, and the smoke wafted over the table. A light breeze sprang up, and the candle flickered as Reuben felt Caspian’s power extend. Reuben offered up his own, and Caspian weaved them together, and then directed the smoke over the grimoire. It wrapped sinuously around it, teasing the pages apart. For a moment, the smoke hesitated as if meeting resistance, but Caspian raised his voice, and with it his magic, and the spell strengthened.
Suddenly pages flickered violently, from one end of the book to the other, so quickly it seemed the book might tear apart. Then a wave of power blasted from it, throwing Reuben out of his chair and against the wall as raucous cries filled the room.
Everything went black.
As Briar exited her old Mini on Reuben’s drive, an explosion resounded from above, glass showering around her as a wave of magic sent her crashing to the ground.
Flat on her back, she stared horrified at the upper level of Reuben’s house, seeing an oily, green vapour pouring from the attic windows. Even from down here she could feel the power of the spell; it reeked of lost souls.
Scrambling to her feet, she raced to the front door, spelled it open, and ran up the broad flight of stairs. The spell was stronger inside, and she could hear screams from above that made her skin crawl. Shit. Was that Reuben or Caspian?
Horrified, she ran even faster, her heart slamming in her chest, trying to reason through what she could feel. Desperately trying to contain her panic, she shouted, “Reuben! Caspian!”
There was no response.
The first and second floor were being pounded with waves of magic, and the thick green vapour that had poured from the upper windows eddied around her, filling her lungs and seeping into her hair and her clothes. She summoned the Green Man from deep within her, then blasted rich, earthy magic around her like a shield, filling her instead with a clean spring power. But her heart was in her mouth as she reached the door to the attic. It had blown off its hinges and was lying on the floor.
Briar slowed, her hand on the doorframe as she peered up the narrow stairs into the gloom, wary of being attacked by spirits. Nothing moved, and the cries were ebbing away.
Throwing caution aside, she ran up and immediately felt as if she’d been plunged underwater. The attic was bathed in a murky green light that rippled across the walls and old, disused furniture, and everything seemed muffled. She heard the faint crash of the surf upon a distant shore, and inhaled the strong smell of the sea.
The green light was denser at the far end where Reuben’s spell room was. Cautiously, she walked across the room, feeling the damp air swirl around her and settle on her skin, and desperate to dispel the strange sensation, forced the murk out of the broken windows, leaving the smell of blossoms in its place.
She finally halted on the spell room’s threshold, unable to see anything in the gloom. The watery quality was thickest there, and a murmur of voices twisted around her; she felt anger, and the thick stench of vengeance. She tried to enter, but the magic pushed her back.
What had they done?
Briar was terrified now, and called out, “Reuben! Caspian!”
There was no answer. Screw this. She had to get in there. She focussed, trying to work out what magic she could feel and how to dispel it. She slowed her breathing, easing her panic. The voices were distracting, but she ignored them, concentrating only on the magic. Elemental water was strong here, entwined within the binding curse, and it was old, made with strangely familiar magic.
Briar pulled her earth magic from deep within her, feeling the Green Man rise again. “I need your help,” she muttered to him, pleased when she felt his power ripple through her veins. She slipped her shoes off, feeling the wooden floor beneath her bare feet, warm and grounding, and forcing through the resistance, started to absorb the water into her earth magic like a sponge.
Briar resisted the urge to run in, knowing she had to contain the curse first. She would be useless to them if she got caught up in it, too. She caught a glimpse of Reuben and Caspian, each on either side of the room, their chairs upended, and the more she saw, the more horrified she became. This part of the attic was a wreck—shelves blasted off the walls, magical paraphernalia strewn across the room, and Reuben’s grimoires in a heap in the corner. But Caspian’s grimoire was in the centre of the wooden table, green light radiating from its open pages, words writhing in the air above it.
They must have found the curse used to bind Coppinger and his men, and what an ugly curse it was. Briar had no idea what exactly it contained, but she could feel its malevolence, and she had no doubt that the voices that still murmured in her ears were the souls of smugglers. She used a protection spell to contain Caspian’s grimoire and the curse pouring from its pages, and then ran to Reuben’s side.
Reuben was unconscious and partially upright, his shoulders and head propped against the wall. His breath was shallow and uneven, and he was horribly pale, but at least he was alive. Briar turned her attention to Caspian, and to her relief found he was alive too, but also unconscious, lying in a twisted heap under collapsed shelving. She rolled him gently over, checking his stab wound. Blood was trickling from it once more, but there were no new visible injuries, other than head wounds from where they had both struck the wall.
Briar shook Caspian gently, but although his eyes flickered beneath their lids, he didn’t stir. She ran her hands inches above his body, familiar now with his energy, but something was horribly wrong. His life signs were low, and his magic a shadow of what it had once been. She reached for the nearest rug, wrapping it around him, and then returned to Reuben.
Briar had never felt so overwhelmed as she gazed at her friend. Reuben was vibrant, full of life and boundless energy, but now he was like a rag doll. Forcing herself to examine him dispassionately, she came to the same conclusion she had with Caspian. She rocked back on her heels, staring between them both. Whatever had happened had taken them both unawares, and had occurred within seconds of her arrival.
She needed to call the others.