Avery stood next to Alex, gazing in horror at their friends’ motionless bodies, and then at the malevolent curse that struggled to free itself from the pages of the grimoire, as if it was alive.
Briar had waited for them on the threshold of Reuben’s spell room, but she had been busy. She had already set her bag up that contained all of her herbs and gems for healing spells, and was going through it methodically, muttering to herself as she worked on the most appropriate spell to help.
“I think we should take them downstairs,” she suggested, breaking in on Avery’s thoughts. “Either a bedroom or the snug, where I can keep a close eye on them. Can you use witch-flight to take them?”
“I’m not sure that will be a good idea,” she said. “They’re unconscious, their magic is subdued, and I don’t know how the flight might affect them. It probably won’t, but I’m terrified of making things worse.”
“That’s fine,” Alex reassured her. “Use air to cushion them, and we’ll float them down the stairs.” He turned to Briar. “I think you’re right. The snug is the best bet, rather than us all being spread out across this huge house.”
He’d barely finished his sentence when El raced through the attic door, smeared with dirt and looking exhausted. She paused at the sight before her, and then tried to push past Alex, but he held her back.
“Just wait, El. The curse is still in that room, and we don’t really know what it’s done. We don’t want you affected, too.”
She glared at him. “Alex! That’s Reuben lying there! I need to get to him.”
“And you will. Let’s just think this through, first.”
Briar squeezed El’s arm, trying to calm her down. “He’s right. I’ve been in there and put a rudimentary protection around that grimoire, but the room feels weird, and so do they.”
“Well, leaving them in there isn’t going to do them any good!” El shot back, her blue eyes like ice.
“We’re not going to,” Avery said quickly. “But we need to be logical. We have no idea what’s going on, and frankly, if Briar had arrived only five minutes earlier, she might have been caught up in this, too.”
El took a deep breath, rubbing her hands over her face and smearing more dirt across her cheeks. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m just worried. Look at him! Look at them both. They look so helpless. Is this what I looked like when I was cursed?”
Alex nodded. “I’m afraid so. But I don’t think they are cursed. I think they’ve just been caught in the remnants of it!”
Avery summoned air, needing to do something, and she whisked it around the main attic, dispelling the rest of the green, watery quality that still lingered in the corners, and then directed the wind to Reuben. It wasn’t easy to lift and cushion a body, even as skilled as she now was with air, but she worked slowly and patiently, and when Reuben was lifted sufficiently high enough, she brought him out of the room.
As soon as he was next to her, El took his hands. “He’s so cold!”
“His spirit is buried deep within him,” Briar explained. “So is Caspian’s, and their energy is low. I’m planning a healing spell that should stabilise them.”
Avery could tell Briar was very worried, and had a feeling things were worse than she was saying, but she concentrated on taking Reuben downstairs. “El, run ahead please. Grab blankets and sheets, and we’ll make them comfortable on either the floor or the sofas.”
El nodded, looking relieved at having something useful to do, and leaving Briar and Alex to talk about their options, left them to it.
It was fifteen minutes later when they all met again in the snug, with Caspian and Reuben laid next to each other in the corner of the room. El and Avery had made them as comfortable as possible, and Briar set up her herbs and potions.
“Can we help?” Alex asked her, watching anxiously.
“No,” Briar said, shaking her head. “I’m going to stabilise their energies first. They’re all over the place, and their magic is ebbing and flowing like the tide. It’s so weird.” She was on the floor, resting back on her heels, perplexed. “When I first arrived, I heard shouts…screams, really. I think I was hearing the smugglers’ last moments.” She shuddered, her dark hair tumbling around her face. “Now that I’ve had a chance to think about this, I believe the spell blasted out from the book, catching them completely unawares. Not only were they knocked unconscious, but the curse buried their spirits. It sounds weird, I know, but I think that’s what I sense. I’m sure I can draw them back.”
Alex studied them, arms across his chest. “That makes sense.” He glanced at Avery. “Come on. Let’s head up there and try to work out what happened.”
“Let’s also cleanse the house while we’re at it,” she said. “Have you got any sage, Briar?”
“Sure.” She rummaged in her bag and thrust a bundle of dried herbs at Avery. “It’s my own blend, similar to what we used at Beltane.”
Avery lit the smudge stick with a spark of magic, and as she and Alex made their way back to the attic, they worked a cleansing spell, flushing the remaining toxic energies away, and saving the last of it to purify Reuben’s attic. They eyed Caspian’s grimoire warily, edging as close as they could around the protection spell.
“I have never seen a spell like that before,” Alex said, half admiringly, half fearful.
“It reminds me a bit of your rune spell,” Avery admitted, thinking of how the runes lit up the air and wrapped around their victim.
The words were whirling above the pages, the lines of text writhing around each other and showing no signs of slowing down.
“True.” He leaned closer, squinting at the spell.
“Can you make out any words?” she asked Alex.
“It’s old, I know that. The English is old-fashioned from the odd word I can make out, but the page itself is blank—as if the words have lifted clean off it. And I think I can see water swirling around, too. Briar was telling me the whole attic felt like it was underwater when she arrived.”
Avery stared into the words, mesmerised, seeing dark blues mixed in with the green at its heart, the spell pulsing and throwing off sparks. “It’s like the spell is underwater.”
Alex met her eyes briefly. “I think you’re right. I’m going to see if I can make out a few lines,” he said, settling himself onto a chair.
Avery examined the room while Alex studied the spell, looking for clues among the mess on the floor. She crouched next to a silver bowl, the remnants of ashes in it. She sniffed it carefully, smelling paper and the faint whiff of burnt herbs. “I think they were doing some kind of revealing spell, Alex.” She frowned. “Where are the letters?”
Alex only grunted, so she searched on her own, righting objects as she went and restoring order to the room, but the letters had gone. They must have used them to find the spell; it was logical, after all.
She told Alex what she’d found and he grunted absently again, finally saying, “So, not only did their ancestors veil their intent in cryptic letters, but they hid the spell, too. It was either because they were ashamed of it, or it was too powerful to share.” He leaned even closer, the green light illuminating his face.
“Or,” Avery added, “they knew it had a tendency to backfire.”
Alex shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Maybe they hid it as a means of stopping someone from reversing it?” He frowned, rubbing his stubble as he stared at the grimoire. “None of this makes sense!”
“What if their spirits are so low that Briar can’t get them? Would you have to?”
“I don’t want to, but if that’s our only option, of course I will.”
“I think we should summon Gil, instead. Tonight.”
“We said we’d never do that.”
“But there’s still no sign of Helena! And,” she added, “tomorrow is the anniversary of Coppinger’s disappearance. Anything could happen!”
“All right, I’ll think on it. But now, I just want to study this. And perhaps we should call Estelle.”
“I suppose we should.” She could already hear Estelle’s sharp, accusatory tone, and knew the reality would be so much worse.
“She’s Caspian’s sister, and will be well-versed with curse spells,” Alex pointed out, but then he hesitated, too. “Let’s see how far I get with this on my own.”
“You’re not studying it alone! I’ll help, as soon as I’ve sealed the windows in some way,” she said, moving to his side and squeezing his hand. “Two witches are better than one.”
“That’s what Serephina and Virginia thought, and look what they did!”
“They rid the world of Coppinger and his Cruel Gang! That’s a plus, right?”
“Was,” he said, turning back to the book. “Until now.”
Newton studied Ethan James, and although they had barely started the interview, Newton was already annoyed with him. Moore stood at his side watching dispassionately, but he knew he was taking everything in.
They were in the corner of the large exhibition room at White Haven Museum, where half a dozen staff were putting the finishing touches on the displays. There was an atmosphere of controlled panic mixed with the buzz of anticipation and excitement. Newton had to admit that the exhibit looked impressive. Spotless glass cabinets displayed smuggling curios, and there were interactive displays too. There was a loud discussion at the far end of the room about what should be displayed more prominently. It seemed a little late for such discussions, but what did he know about how museums worked?
He tried to block the noise out as he again addressed Ethan. “As I said, Mr James, we do need your advice on the gold coins found at the scene of all three crimes. I’d also like to ask your opinion on the wooden chests that were found in Looe, and the human remains that were next to them. We feel you can offer us great insight, considering your speciality.”
Ethan was a slim man in his forties, dressed in jeans and a shirt, attempting to look casually trendy. He was well-groomed and clean-shaven, and Newton was disappointed. He’d half expected him to look like Indiana Jones.
Ethan’s lips narrowed. “This is a terrible time, I’m afraid. I am far too busy. As you can see, the exhibition opens tomorrow. I can recommend a couple of colleagues who can help.”
“But I don’t want to speak to your colleagues. I want to speak to you. You see, there’s also the matter of your cousin, Jasmine, who was found in a mangled heap on Perranporth Beach.”
Ethan blinked and swallowed. “Ah, yes. That was quite awful.”
“Yes, it was. Were you close?”
He shook his head quickly. “No, not at all. I barely saw her.”
“Oh, really? Even though she works at Charlestown with you? Her mother said that Jasmine had seen you recently, and seemed excited about something,” Newton told him, an image of the crying, distraught woman filling his mind. “Any idea what that was?”
Ethan kept his expression carefully neutral. “No idea. I’ve been spending my time here, rather than Charlestown. I’d run into her briefly in Carlyon Bay, but that was all. It was so quick, I’d forgotten about it.”
“She obviously had a passion for smuggling, like you.”
Ethan was looking pale, but he was trying his best to bluster on. “Many of us do. That’s not a crime. Er,” he glanced around at his colleagues, who despite their busyness were watching them surreptitiously. “Should we go into my office?”
Now, he wanted his office! “Certainly. Lead the way.”
He led them down a narrow set of stairs into the basement and opened the door to a windowless office, crammed with furniture and files, and by the time he sat behind his desk, gesturing Moore and Newton to sit too, he seemed to have composed himself.
“Right, you were saying?”
Newton threw the coins wrapped in evidence bags onto the desk. “These were found in the victims’ mouths. What can you tell me about them?”
He looked reluctant to pick them up, but when he did, he examined them carefully. “Well, this one is a Spanish Doubloon, seventeenth century, and the other two are English Guineas. One is eighteenth and one nineteenth century.” He put them back on the desk quickly, as if they might burn his fingers. “Not terribly uncommon, or particularly valuable.”
“But if they were part of a hoard they would be, surely?”
“Well, that depends on how big the hoard was. It would be more valuable for historical purposes.”
“It would also make an amazing display.”
“Fascinating!” Ethan agreed. “But the chance of finding a hoard is incredibly low.”
“I guess so.” Newton studied him. Ethan looked uncomfortable now, his eyes darting around the room, and Newton said, “However, we believe the broken chests found in the cave in Looe contained treasure that was stolen recently, and we found evidence of more today in Wheal Droskyn. A few coins were left behind. We believe the thieves fled in panic. It was where Jasmine died.”
“Wheal Droskyn?” Ethan’s eyes were wide now, although he was desperately trying to maintain a calm façade. He started to stutter. “Er, what led you there?”
“The adit that Jasmine’s body was forced through. She had a horrible death. Violent. Painful.” Newton leaned forward, arms resting on the desk. “Are you okay, Mr James? You look unwell. Would you like some water?”
“No! I’m okay. Obviously, I’m upset at the manner of my cousin’s death. Any idea who did this?”
“We have our suspicions.” Newton decided to push him further. He’d put money on Ethan being involved. He was pale and sweating now, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat. “And we also believe that Jasmine’s deceased boyfriend, Miles, was involved, too. I suspect they were behind the theft in Looe. This is what she must have been so excited about. And we believe there are accomplices.”
Ethan pulled himself together. “Why on Earth would you think that?”
“Well, there’s no evidence of the treasure in the house they shared together. No maps or papers that indicate how they knew where to go. And of course, the treasure in Wheal Droskyn is gone. If Jasmine was on her own, the treasure would still be there, surely.”
“I suppose that’s logical. But,” he laughed incredulously, “I think your imagination is running away with you. I doubt they found a hoard of any kind. There would have been remnants only, the rest stolen long ago.”
“The broken locks happened very recently. And the cave in the mine was also a recent find. Was Jasmine involved in this exhibit? Could she have found an old map in the new material that was discovered here?”
Ethan laughed, but there was a calculating expression behind his eyes. “Treasure maps! Please, Detective, I think that’s a little far-fetched. No, she wasn’t involved here, and everything we’ve found is upstairs, on display.” He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an exhibition to finish. We open tomorrow, and I’m anxious that it should be perfect.”
Newton and Moore stood too, and as Ethan came around the desk, they shook hands. “Thank you for your time, Mr James, but if you do think of anything else, please let us know.”
“Of course!” He hustled them out of the door and up the stairs, and Newton watched him enter the exhibition, amused.
He turned to Moore. “Verdict?”
“Guilty. He’s in it up to his neck.”
“Let’s have him watched tonight. I bet he’ll be scurrying off somewhere as soon as he’s able to.”