OH. My. God. Jane thought that in casting the spell I’d have to give up my life!
Was she right? Would I actually have to die in order to release her to the next world? I shuddered at the thought; it was enough to make me turn and run.
Then I remembered: she’d said it was life force that must be sacrificed. Was that different from a life? I hoped so.
But, no matter the answer, Jane was my dear, wise, kind friend. A friend like no other. We’d shared so much these past ten days; she’d taught me to see the world differently, to believe in myself, to be stronger, more thoughtful and perhaps even a little wiser. When I thought of all she’d done for me, my heart swelled with gratitude. But for Jane, I’d still be wallowing in a quagmire of self-pity, insecurity and sadness. She’d given me the gift of self-worth and I would repay the debt by setting her free.
‘I will not allow you to sacrifice even a little of your life force for me, Cassandra,’ insisted Jane.
I gave a tiny, forced laugh. ‘Now, don’t go all dramatic on me, Jane. I’m sure the resurrection spell doesn’t need anyone to die in order to work. Besides, you said it was about “Giving up your life force” not your life and I’m sure that even “life force” is just a metaphor. Although––’ I stopped, struck by a sudden thought. Jane had a life force – okay, so it was more of a dead force – but when I thought of the way her ectoplasm had lit up my brain and how it had woken Aunty B for long enough for her to send us to St Swithun—
‘That’s it!’ I cried.
‘What’s it?’ demanded Oliver.
‘Aunt Butters will know about the resurrection spell. She knows more about magic than anyone.’
‘But she’s unconscious,’ objected Oliver.
‘Yes, but I think Jane can wake her with her life force. Her ectoplasm – her essence,’ I added, when Oliver looked puzzled. ‘She did it once before – it was only for a few moments, but Aunty B was able to tell us things – important things.’
‘Okay,’ said Oliver. ‘So let’s split up. I’ll go back to Reading and check that attic for the desk, while you and Jane go see Lady B.’
‘Good idea. Come on, Jane.’
IT was just after four o’clock when we entered Aunt Butters’s hospital room.
For once Mordaunt and Melford weren’t there. I crossed to the bed and touched Aunty B’s pale cheek. ‘Can you call her please, Jane?’
‘Certainly, Cassandra.’ Jane glided forward. ‘Amelia,’ she cried. ‘Amelia, return to us.’
There was no response.
‘Try again.’
Jane laid her hands over Aunty B’s thin fingers. A pale light lit Jane’s body. A minute passed, and then another, but there was still no response. Jane sighed and her light shone a little brighter, but Aunty B did not wake.
I was about to give up hope, when a faint light appeared deep within Aunt Butters’s frail form. I caught my breath as it glowed weakly and began slowly moving upwards towards Jane’s much brighter light. I heard Jane’s voice, as though from far away, say, ‘You are not yet dead, Amelia, and need not linger here. Come back, for we must speak with you.’
Aunty B murmured something, the faint light glowed a little brighter, but still she did not wake.
‘Please try again, Jane,’ I whispered.
Jane drifted lower and I did not protest when she sent two streams of silver ectoplasm into Aunt Butters’s still body. ‘Come back to us, Amelia, for our need is great.’
I stifled a sob as Aunty B stirred and slowly opened her eyes. ‘Did you call me, Jane?’
‘Yes, Amelia.’
‘I can’t stay long, I’m afraid. Is that you, Cassie dear? You’re a little blurry.’
‘It is because she has been too long in the Phantral Realm.’ Jane studied her face. ‘But I believe the effect will shortly wear off.’
‘It’s so good to see you, Aunty B.’ I wiped away my tears and kissed her cheek. It shimmered at my touch. ‘So much has happened while you’ve been asleep. We’ve found the counter-curse but… I think part of the spell is missing.’
‘The names of the great and powerful may only be revealed by a living hand,’ intoned Aunt Butters.
‘Yes!’ I cried.
‘That’s what I thought – we need to bring
Jane back to life because
the counter-curse will only work on the living. The Bishop found
the Grimoire but—’
‘Woody has the Grimoire?’ Aunt Butter’s voice was just a breath. ‘That’s good. Very good. Only… you must be careful, for he would use it to… to…’ Her voice faded.
I touched her hand reassuringly. ‘It’s all right. We took it away before he went too loopy. Only… it means I have to cast a resurrection spell, Aunty B.’
‘A… resurrection spell?’ I barely caught her words; I looked imploringly at Jane.
A moment later a pulse of pale grey ectoplasm penetrated Aunt Butters’s chest. ‘I am afraid I can give no more just now, Cassandra.’ Jane’s ghostly form quivered a little. ‘I think my powers are… waning.’
But Aunty B’s eyes were already brighter.
I bent over her. ‘The resurrection spell needs someone’s life force and I don’t know—’
She whispered, ‘It is a powerful incantation and perilous. Take care. Who will offer up that portion of their life to it?’
‘How much life must they give, Aunty B?’
‘A year… perhaps two should suffice to raise the dead to corporeal form for a day or so.’ She peered at her hand, now almost fully see-through. ‘For the spell to work, the life force must be freely given, but I doubt there is enough left in me for such a ritual.’
‘I’ll do it. I’d give up all my life force to save you, Aunty B.’
‘How good you are, dear child.’ She touched my face. ‘But it cannot be the spell-caster who offers it.’
‘Then who? I don’t—’
‘It must be freely given, for it will be dangerous,’ she whispered. ‘The Grimoire’s power will open the Phantral Gate and he may seize the opportunity to break through.’
‘Who will?’
I puzzled over the pronoun. Was ‘he’ not the Bishop, after all? A memory stirred. I saw again the black shadow and menacing hand, remembered the chill that had run through me. I had a fleeting vision of a figure—was it a man?—and that same sense of malevolence I’d felt in the crypt.
‘You… you don’t mean Clarke, do you?’ I whispered nervously. ‘James Stanier Clarke? I mean, he’s dead, isn’t he? He can’t come back.’
But Aunty B had met Jane’s clear gaze and, as if she drew strength from it, her voice grew clearer. ‘Did you find your things, Jane? For you will need them. Your good sister told me she had given them to Bishop North. They must be taken to the crypt and cast into the fire.’
We have to destroy Jane Austen’s stuff? As if this wasn’t already hard enough? And how would Oliver react to the news? My stomach clenched.
Aunt Butters turned to me. ‘The four items must stand for the four elements, Cassie.’ She trembled. ‘Your breath must touch the quill and you must sacrifice Jane’s possessions before you offer up the life force. It will be hard, for the ritual requires a sacrifice to break your heart.’
‘But Aunty B!’ I cried, ‘I don’t know how to do it!’
I caught the barest whisper. ‘You will find the way. You will always find the way, Cassie dear.’ Her voice faded and she closed her eyes. For one heart-stopping moment I thought she’d gone for good.
Then I heard Jane’s voice. ‘She is not yet passed on, Cassandra, but sleeping. Her mortal body is now but a shadow of its former self and if I am not soon released, she will not return.’
I stood up and crossed the room.
‘Where are you going, Cassandra?’ Jane glided after me.
‘To get my hands on four things you once owned.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You are surely not going to steal them, are you, Cassandra?’
‘You bet I am.’ I wrenched open the door. ‘It’s already five o’clock, so if we don’t find the Green Man desk by noon tomorrow, I’ll have no choice.’
‘And what would you be wanting with the Green Man desk, young Cassandra?’
I reeled back as the Froyle twins loomed in the doorway. ‘I—I—have you seen one?’ I stared at the two old men.
‘Course we have.’ Melford bowed politely to Jane. ‘How are you, Miss Austen? Still with us, I see.’
‘I am indeed, Mr Froyle. Though I devoutly hope to be gone very soon. You have come to call on Amelia?’
‘That’s it, ma’am.’ Mordaunt followed his brother into the room. ‘We’ve snuck out afore dinner.’
I grabbed Mordaunt’s arm. How could they be wasting precious time in pleasantries? ‘The Green Man desk!’ It was all I could do not to scream the words? ‘Where is it?’
He was silent for a moment, his brow creasing in an effort to remember. ‘’Twas in the west wing but I misremember exactly which room.’
‘Lot of furniture in that house,’ observed Melford.
‘Which house?’ I demanded. ‘Do you mean the one in Reading?’
‘No, lass.’ He gave me a quizzical look. ‘Your house.’