images

 

Imge

As they walked back up to the cottage, they saw Aveline’s mum standing in the back doorway.

“Hello, girls,” she called, before making her way down to join them, expertly swatting away the weeds and plants like a gardening ninja.

“That’s my mum,” Aveline said to Hazel.

They met at the bottom of the garden. Aveline called over the wall. “Mum, this is Hazel.”

“Hello, Mrs Jones,” Hazel said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Hello, Hazel. Nice to meet you, too. How were the stones? Did you and Aveline have a good time together?”

Mum,” Aveline said, desperately wanting her to play it cool.

“Yes, we did, Mrs Jones. Are you having a lovely time in Norton Wick?”

As Hazel and her mum chatted, Aveline saw her mum smiling at everything Hazel had to say, nodding along as if she couldn’t quite hide her approval. Hazel had obviously made a good first impression. But something niggled Aveline. She couldn’t ever remember telling Hazel her surname. So how did she know to call Aveline’s mum Mrs Jones?

She didn’t have a chance to think about it any further, as a car horn sounded from the front of the house.

“Ooh, that’ll be our guests!” Aveline’s mum said. “Come on, let’s go and say hello. Hazel, would you like to come and meet them, too?”

“It’s okay, I’ve got to be going. I don’t want to get in the way if Aveline’s friend is here.”

Aveline didn’t know what to think about that. Hazel sounded as if she was jealous, though her wide smile reassured Aveline. If she was jealous, she certainly didn’t look it.

“Maybe we can meet up tomorrow?” Aveline said, watching her mum eagerly make her way back through the garden.

“Maybe,” Hazel said. “If you’re not too busy with Harold.”

“We can show him the stones?” Aveline suggested.

“Okay,” Hazel replied, turning away and walking off through the grass. “Perhaps he’ll want to see some magic, too?” she called back over her shoulder.

Which reminded Aveline about the strange ritual they’d just conducted. She was tempted to go and retrieve her bracelet straight away, but she heard her mum calling and ran inside. It’d still be there later; she could go and grab it then.

She couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement as she ran through the cottage and saw Mr Lieberman’s old Mini parked out front. Her aunt was at the wheel. Of course – she always liked being in charge. In the passenger seat, Mr Lieberman waved with his bony hand. Harold sat in the back seat and pressed his face and hands against the window, as if he’d just been catapulted into it, his long, almost black fringe plastered against the glass like an ink blot. It appeared he hadn’t changed since Aveline saw him last.

Aunt Lilian slid out of the car in one smooth movement and came to give Aveline and her mum a hug. Tall, slim and hard-boned, with her hair pulled back severely and her stiff smile looking like it had been forced into place, it was business as usual for her aunt.

“Hello, my dears, how are you both?” Aunt Lilian said, gathering them in an embrace. For a brief moment, Aveline pressed her face into her aunt’s cardigan, savouring the slightly clinical aroma of lavender soap.

“I’ve missed you,” her aunt whispered in her ear.

“Me too,” Aveline said.

Mr Lieberman stood politely behind her aunt, trilby hat in hand.

“Ernst, how are you?” Aveline’s mum said. “I’m so happy you could all make it. I hope the drive wasn’t too long and boring.”

“On the contrary, Susan, it was most edifying. I don’t get out of Malmouth much these days, you see, what with the bookshop and all, and our route just happened to take us past some very interesting historical sites, including a hill fort that I believe was the site of a major battle in—”

“Ernst,” Aunt Lilian said sharply, using Mr Lieberman’s first name as shorthand for shut up.

“Harold, lovely to see you again, too,” Aveline’s mum said. “Come on, all of you, let’s go inside and I’ll give you a tour of the cottage. Though I’m afraid you’ll have to reserve judgement, it’s definitely seen better days. In fact, best not to lean against anything or the whole place will probably collapse.”

Harold lingered behind, sneakily miming a yawn in Aveline’s direction.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to get out of that car,” he whispered. “Blah, blah, blah non-stop for the last three hours. It was like listening to a broken satnav.”

“I bet,” Aveline said, hiding her smile with a hand.

“I hope this place is better than Malmouth.”

“It’s pretty quiet.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that impression. Where are those stones you told me about then?”

“You can see them from my bedroom window. They’re literally right behind the house.”

“Well? Let’s go and have a look then. Some tour guide you are.”

Usually Aveline would have said something like, Put a sock in it, Harold. But his banter made her feel oddly relieved. After her weird last encounter with Hazel, he made everything seem normal again.

Inside, while her mum continued the grand tour, Aveline led Harold through the cottage and up the stairs to her bedroom. All the clouds had dispersed now. The sky and air were clean and crisp, offering a stunning backdrop to the stones. Aveline pushed the window open before glancing at Harold, trying to gauge his reaction. Harold wasn’t normally one for showing his emotions. He tried to play everything cool, as if nothing really impressed him.

“Not bad,” he said, true to form. “Hardly Stonehenge though, is it?”

“Yeah, unfortunately there aren’t any holiday cottages smack bang in the middle of Stonehenge or we’d be staying there instead.”

“I’m not saying they’re not cool,” Harold replied, flashing her a sheepish smile. “Maybe we can go and have a nose around? We might find a Saxon hoard of gold and become rich and famous.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Anyway, that reminds me, wait here a second. I’ve brought you something,” Harold said, before dashing downstairs. A moment later he reappeared with some books in his arms. “Managed to dig out a few books I think fit the bill. There are a few more in the car, too.”

Harold plonked himself down on the floor. After a sneaky glance out of the window, Aveline settled beside him. She had a niggling feeling that out there in the late summer day, a pair of odd-coloured eyes observed her every move. All this talk of magic and witches, together with Hazel’s curious tricks, was beginning to make her imagine things. She brought herself back to the present, eager to see what Harold had brought.

“What you got then?” she said.

Images

Ironically, the first book Harold passed her had a picture of Stonehenge on the cover.

“This one’s about Neolithic sites in the UK and Ireland. The Norton Wick stones get a mention – here, I’ve bookmarked it for you,” Harold said, pointing to a Post-it note stuck in the top.

Taking a quick flick through, Aveline read the first few lines of the relevant section.

The Norton Wick stone circle is found in the village of Norton Wick in the south-west of England, a few miles outside Bristol. Part of a rich tapestry of similar sites in the area, they’re believed to have been constructed sometime around 4000 BC and present an excellent example of a well-preserved Neolithic henge, although the ditch that originally surrounded the stones was filled in sometime during the late Medieval period. Known locally as The Witch Stones, a recent geophysical survey revealed the existence of an additional outer ring, constructed from wooden posts.

Hazel had been right about that then. She must have read the same book.

“Thanks, Harold.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a bit dry, but don’t worry, there’s more to come,” Harold said, pushing across a thinner volume.

Aveline perused the cover.

Images

“This one’s a bit weird, but it’s a good read,” Harold explained. “You wouldn’t believe some of the freaky things people used to do. Anyway, I’ve stuck bookmarks in the relevant parts.”

Impressed with Harold’s thoughtfulness, Aveline turned to the first section that he’d marked.

There are a number of folklore traditions associated with the Norton Wick stone circle, most notably the legend that the circle was created when a coven of witches was discovered dancing on the Sabbath and turned to stone. However, this tale, or a variation of it, is often found in the context of Neolithic sites, as they were commonly used as cautionary tales to warn people away from the old pagan beliefs.

Aveline thought this was more interesting, though it was a little disappointing that loads of other stone circles in the country had similar legends attached to them. Aveline had been expecting – and hoping for – something a little more…supernatural. But at least she now knew how the stones had got their name. Harold had already come up with the goods. She was about to ask him what else he had when her mum called up the stairs.

“Are you two hiding? Come down and eat something.”

Downstairs, Aveline smiled as she saw her mum relishing her role as host. Every five minutes she’d disappear into the kitchen, before reappearing with a plate of something tasty. As usual, Mr Lieberman did most of the talking. Normally, Aveline liked to sit and listen to him, enjoying both his stories and the barely disguised frustration of her aunt, who struggled to hide her impatience. Yet Aveline found it difficult to concentrate and drifted away to her own thoughts.

Which were mostly of Hazel.

She kept remembering how uncomfortable she’d felt at the stones when Hazel had persuaded her to give up her bracelet. And for what? Some nonsense about getting a new T-shirt. She was positive she’d never mentioned her surname, too, so how had Hazel known it? And then there were her accusations that Alice was a witch… Could it be true?

Aveline knew from her own research that there were white witches, who used their magic for good. And Alice hadn’t exactly concealed her ritual in the stones. If anything, she’d seemed rather proud of it. Maybe you could be a vicar and a good witch both at the same time? Personally, Aveline couldn’t see anything wrong with throwing grass around while trying to make the world a better place. Yet Hazel’s description of the creepy and mysterious events within Norton Wick, and her dark hints that Alice was somehow responsible, seemed totally at odds with the eccentric but warm person Aveline had met.

She started as she heard her name being called.

“Aveline, I’ve brought you a gift I thought you might like. I know it’s not your birthday but I just felt the urge to get you something.” Aunt Lilian passed a small package towards her. “I have the receipt if you don’t like it. It’s no problem to take it back and exchange it for something else.”

“Is it a portrait of me?” Harold asked, swishing his fringe over his eyes. “You can put it above the fireplace.”

“I hope not,” Aveline said, excitedly unwrapping the gift.

It only took a moment to pull off the paper. Yet as she saw what it was, a breath caught in Aveline’s throat and her stomach churned with an anxiety she didn’t quite understand.

Inside lay a brand-new T-shirt.

One that looked identical to Hazel’s.