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Avery stood next to Newton in front of the Church of All Souls. Its medieval architecture squatted above them, and despite the warmth of the evening, Avery felt a shiver run through her.
The church was typical of its type, with gothic arched windows, a spire, gargoyles and strange, mythical images of the green man on the stonework, and a deep porch with heavy oak doors. It sat just up from an intersection, and it had a small slabbed square in front of it, handy for those attending weddings and funerals to loiter in.
It was still light, and tourists and locals alike were strolling through the town on their way to restaurants and bars. This time last night Avery was one of them, and now she wondered if she ever would be again.
The church doors were still open, allowing late-night worshippers to enter, and Avery and Newton slipped through into the gloom beyond.
All Souls was shadowy and silent, and the temperature plummeted several degrees as they stepped inside the cool confines of the thick walls. Apart from a couple of people who sat near the front in silent contemplation, the church was empty.
Newton looked as serious as she’d ever seen him, and seeing his worried profile, she wondered how he would manage tonight.
“How are you feeling, Newton?”
“Like I’m about to embark on one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done,” he said quietly.
“You don’t have to be here. We can manage without you. In fact, you are violating your true role. You’re supposed to be stopping us.”
He turned and looked at her, his eyes dark and troubled. “That was before I knew the truth of what your families had done and why. I’m also supposed to be protecting you—that’s what Peter wanted, too. And besides, the more power you have, the less we have to fear from the Favershams.”
“Thank you. We appreciate your support.”
“Just promise me you know what you’re doing.”
She felt doubt surge through her again. “I think we do. But you know we’ve never done anything like this before.”
“You’re putting yourself at great risk, Avery.”
“My friend Sally’s in greater risk than me,” she said, hoping that Faversham was true to his word and keeping her safe for now.
He looked around the dark interior of the church. “Well, we’d better find the place, hadn’t we? Any thoughts?”
“The crypt,” she suggested, thinking about her conversation with Alex. “It’s the only place it can be—or at least a place accessed from there.”
It was a large church, and they walked down the nave towards the altar, keeping to the aisle on the left, their footsteps echoing around them. They passed the transepts and headed into a small chapel also on the left, out of sight from the visitors.
“Where now?”
Avery pointed to where a narrow, rectangular hole was cut into the floor behind the choir. It was edged with an ornate iron railing to stop people from falling in, and a set of steps led down into darkness.
Looking around cautiously, they made sure no one could see them, and made their way to the entrance.
“Where’s the vicar?” Newton whispered.
Avery shrugged. “In his private rooms?”
Avery went to lead the way down, but Newton stopped her. “Let me.”
With every step down, the temperature plunged lower and lower until Avery was shivering. At the bottom was a solid oak door, black with age, the arcane face of a gargoyle carved on it. It was locked.
Avery stepped past Newton and laid her hand on the lock, whispering a short spell. The lock released, and she pressed down on the iron handle, swinging the door open.Beyond was only darkness. Avery sent a witch light into the room and then they stepped inside, shutting the door behind them.
They stood on the edge of the long, low roofed room, the walls, floor, and ceiling made of heavy stone blocks. Vaulted archways ran the length of the room, and stone sarcophagi were placed along either side the central aisle. Halfway across the room was another iron railing with a locked gate. Beyond were objects of value—silver chalices and candlesticks.
The crypt was damp and musty, as well as bitingly cold.
At the far end of the room, on the rear wall beyond the railings, was a sign illuminated only by the witch light. It was a large sigil with several lines of runes beneath it.
“Well, at least we know where to look,” Newton said. “Isn’t it a bit obvious to mark the place?”
Avery shook her head. “The sigil both warns and offers entry, but only to those who are worthy.”
“What do you mean?”
“It requires one of us, from the old families, to open it.”
Avery walked forward, as if in a trance. With another whispered spell, she opened the locked gate in the middle of the railing and headed to the sigil.
Close up, it exuded power and fear. The mark was complex, but around it, the witch light showed the edges of a door, shimmering with a pale, unearthly light.
“Can you see that?” Avery asked.
Newton nodded. “I can feel it, too. What do the runes say?”
Avery hesitated for a minute as she translated them, glad she’d been researching them recently.
By Air and Fire, Water and Earth, declare your spirit to me.
If I find you worthy, I give entrance to thee.
But if you fail, forever will your soul condemned to misery be.
Are you ready? Declare yourself, and set your powers free.
Avery swallowed. “Well, I think that’s pretty clear, don’t you?” She turned to Newton. “Stand back. I have no idea quite what will happen.”
Newton gave her a long, worried look and then stepped back several paces until he was beyond the railings.
Avery pressed her hands against the sigil.
For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then faint lines like fire began to radiate out from her hands, lighting up every swirling line and mark of the sigil. A tingle spread up Avery’s arms and across her chest, radiating down her whole body, just as it was across the sign.
And then it started to burn.
She cried out, and Newton shouted, “What’s happening?”
But Avery could barely speak she was so wracked with pain. She was aware of Newton starting to move towards her and she summoned her reserves of strength, shouting, “Stay back!”
The burning intensified until it felt as if her veins and her brain were on fire. Her vision started to dim, and blackness encroached on all sides, until only the sigil remained in front of her, filling her vision.
Her hands were now welded to it, and it seemed to be accessing her mind, pulling out all her secrets. Images flashed across her vision—Alex, her mother, her grandmother, the grimoires, and lastly, Caspian Faversham.
She tried to calm her breathing. This was a test, like it had been for Alex and El. She was pure; she was a descendant of Helena. She deserved to be here. It was her destiny.
And as she thought of Helena, Avery felt her burning-hot flesh flash icy cold for a second, and she became aware of a figure next to her. Avery tore her gaze from the sigil and saw Helena standing next to her.
For a few seconds, Helena’s image was translucent, and then it solidified.
Helena was beautiful. Her hair was long and dark, cascading down her back in a thick wave. She was wrapped in a dark cloak, and her face above it was pale. But her eyes shone with fierce desire as she studied Avery.
The smell of violets was strong now, as was the sickening smell of ashes and smoke, and Avery felt herself wretch. She could smell burning flesh, and it was growing stronger by the second, but she held on, willing herself to stay standing and not pass out.
The sigil was now blazing with a fiery light. Avery felt as if her soul was being sucked out of her body. She hung on with every fibre of her being, refusing to give in.
And then it was over. The sigil released her, and she fell to the floor.
With a whisper, the doorway cracked open around the edges and then swung open, and Helena stepped past her into the room without a backward glance.
Within seconds, Newton was at Avery’s side.
“Are you okay?”
For a few seconds she couldn’t speak, but slowly, the burning subsided and her brain started to function again as her vision cleared. She nodded, taking deep, calming breaths. “Yes, I think so.”
Newton’s reassuring hands were on her arms, and he helped pull her to her feet.
“Can you see Helena?” Avery asked.
Newton glanced into the room that had been revealed beyond the sigil. “Yes, but barely. She’s a ghostly apparition.”
Following his gaze, Avery murmured. “Not to me. It’s like she’s truly flesh and blood.”
As if Helena could hear them, she turned and looked at Avery, her eyes burning in her pale face. Her cloak had fallen open, and Avery saw that she wore a long, dark dress with a tight bodice, but then she turned away, dismissing her, and surveyed the room. The feeling of comfort she had given Avery earlier had gone.
Avery felt fear spreading through her. She was about to let this woman into her body.
“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Newton hissed.
“Come on. This is no time for doubts,” Avery said, trying to subdue her own as she led the way into the room.
Immediately beyond the hidden doorway, a series of shallow steps dropped down to a lower level. As Avery crossed the threshold, light sprang up everywhere, illuminating the magnificent chamber.
Dozens of large-columned candles filled the corners, ran along the walls, lined the aisles, and decorated the altar, revealing the ceiling of vaulted stone, supported by ornate stone columns that formed two rows on either side of the central space.
In the centre of the floor was a giant pentacle—a pentagram, surrounded by a double circle. It was made from different coloured stones—granite, and a red stone that Avery couldn’t identify. The signs for the five elements were also marked onto the floor, and in the centre of the pentagram was a devil’s trap.
Two large braziers were placed on either side of the altar against the far wall, and they blazed with fire.
Avery could feel the potent magic and power in the room. It resonated with it, caressing her body. It seemed to whisper in her ear like a lover, and she could swear she felt lips on her skin.
She shivered, and it wasn’t just from the bone-chilling cold in the room that caused her breath to puff out in white clouds.
Keeping her distance from Helena, who walked with an unearthly grace across the far side of the room, Avery walked around the pentagram to the altar, closely followed by Newton.
“This place is terrifying.” Newton said, his face bleak. “It makes my flesh crawl.”
“Mine, too,” Avery agreed softly, wondering if Helena could hear and understand them.
She turned her attention to the altar, her breath catching as she saw a large jar filled with a swirling black liquid that moved all on its own.
“What’s that?” Newton said, eyeing it suspiciously.
“I have a horrible feeling that’s Octavia.”
“And her demon?”
“Trapped within that, I suspect,” she said, pointing to the huge devil’s trap in the centre of the pentagram.
Hesitantly, Avery touched the other objects on the altar. They were the usual array of a goblet, bowl, ritual knife, and the powdered remains of what Avery presumed were herbs.
She felt the icy prickle return to her skin, and realised Helena was just to her right, a triumphant smile on her face as she stroked the glass jar. She lifted her head and looked at Avery, sending a shiver to the depths of her soul. And then she turned to Newton, narrowed her eyes, and rushed towards him, causing Newton to stagger back in fear.
But Helena was powerless, and she passed through him, causing Newton to clutch at his chest in shock.
Helena turned back to them, her eyes smouldering with resentment. She was trying to speak, but couldn’t, and Avery saw more fury cross her features, transforming her into a witch from the storybooks. And then her anger evaporated, and it was just Helena again.
Avery realised she was holding her breath and she slowly released it, grabbing Newton’s arm for comfort.
Newton straightened and breathed easier again, but his face was white.
Avery placed herself in front of him and squared up to Helena. “Things have changed, Helena. Peter Newton never forgave himself for what happened to you. His descendants have helped us through the years!”
Helena cast a resentful glance at Newton, but nodded.
“Will you help us today? Help us break the spell and return our power to us? All five families will be here, but we need your help. The Favershams remain strong, and we cannot fight them without more magic. They already have the Jackson’s grimoire. Can you remember the spell for water? Reuben Jackson will swap places, and say the spell for air.”
Helena nodded, a malevolent gleam once more springing onto her face. She may not be able to speak, but she understood. She reached out and placed her hand on Avery’s arm, and a charge like an electric shock rocketed through Avery. With searing clarity she knew Helena agreed, and she had transmitted one final instruction, as if it was burnt on her brain.
I will lead.
Avery breathed a sigh of relief. She had felt Helena’s agreement before, but it was good to have it confirmed. She turned to Newton, a stone in the pit of her stomach. “Go and phone the others. Tell them we’re ready.”
