by TJ Green
Avery’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “Shit! This is what I’m worrying about. If they meet violent deaths in the play, it could happen in real life!”
“Let’s not forget that Tristan and Iseult die at the end, too!” Hunter reminded them.
“Do they?” Reuben asked, looking surprised.
Hunter nodded. “Yep. Just like Romeo and Juliet, remember. This story influenced many writers.” While El hurriedly flicked through to the end of the script, Hunter summarised it. “Tristan was wounded in a fight and sends for Iseult to heal him. By this time he’s married to another Iseult in Brittany—Iseult of the White Hands. She’s obviously a bit cranky that he’s sending for his old love to heal him, so lies and tells him that Iseult the Fair hasn’t arrived on the ship. He dies from sorrow. However she really is there, and when Iseult the Fair runs to his side and finds him dead, she dies, too.”
Reuben snorted with derision. “You can’t just die for no reason!”
Hunter smirked at him. “Not even from a broken heart?”
“No! That’s bullshit!”
“It’s medieval, courtly love!” Hunter reminded him.
“How do people swallow this rubbish?”
“You’ve clearly never been truly, passionately in love,” Briar said, teasing him.
Reuben frowned at El. “Maybe I haven’t? I’m not sure I’d die of a broken heart if you left me.”
El looked mock offended. “What? Why not?”
“I mean, I’d be upset, of course, but die?”
Alex laughed. “It’s a play, you tit. It’s all about heightened love, and of course written in a time when fealty to your lord was a big deal!”
“Yes, it was,” Hunter agreed. “To betray your lord, especially with his wife, was punishable by death. And a huge disgrace, of course.”
Alex shook his head. “Well, I think this play is what I’m having dreams about. It has to be! People in medieval dress, in the forest—”
“Oh, yes,” Hunter interrupted him. “The lovers ran off to live in the forest together too, forsaking their positions in society for each other—for a while, at least.”
“Good grief,” Reuben said, rolling his eyes again.
Alex continued, clearly intrigued. “I just assumed it was to do with their performance next to Ravens’ Wood.”
“And it might be,” Hunter said with a shrug.
Avery sighed. “At least the actors playing them haven’t run off together yet!”
“I still don’t get what my image is of the sea and the thick mist on it,” Alex said, still working through his dreams. “I had that one again last night, but this time it was as if something was visible in the mist.”
Avery suddenly recalled her conversation with Dan that morning and gasped. “Oh, wow! What if it has something to do with Lyonesse?”
“That sounds familiar,” Briar said with a frown.
Avery shared her conversation with Dan that morning, adding, “He’s going to find out a bit more, but there must be plenty of stuff online.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Alex said thoughtfully. “The isle is related to the story, so that’s why it’s in my dreams. But does this mean it will actually appear?”
“What if that’s what this play and its spell is about?” El suggested, suddenly animated. “Maybe someone wanted to conjure up Lyonesse?”
Reuben groaned. “Why? Who even cares?”
“I have no idea,” El answered, “but all of this is for something!”
“That’s pretty big magic to conjure up an island from an enchanted script,” Hunter pointed out, equally sceptical.
“And potentially there’s still someone out there casting love spells,” Briar added.
“Oh, no! I don’t think there is,” Avery said, remembering her conversation with Alison. “Gail, one of the cast members, had a party at The Flying Fish. I’m pretty sure that the woman who was crying in my shop was at that party. I think she was affected by the cast!”
Briar looked relieved. “Well, I guess that’s something. Although, essentially that means the play is not only affecting the cast, but is capable of affecting anyone!”
12
On Sunday morning, Avery and Alex slept late, Avery troubled by dreams of love and retribution, and when she finally awoke, it was to feelings of lust she couldn’t control, and she rolled over to look at Alex.
Avery was acutely aware of the heat that blazed from him like a furnace. His sculpted muscles called to her fingers, and she traced his tattoos and stroked his shoulders and biceps, sliding around to his flat stomach. She trailed kisses along his neck and he stirred slowly under her touch. He rolled onto his back, catching her in his arms and pulling her on top of him, and desire burned in his eyes too, his hands igniting her skin. Again Avery lost all sense of herself as she indulged her needs, and when they finally got up and went downstairs for breakfast, Avery’s cheeks were flushed. She found herself watching Alex surreptitiously over her coffee and toast, still trying to shake off her lustful thoughts.
He looked up from the Sunday newspaper that they had delivered and winked at her. “I’m loving Beltane. Long may these feelings last!”
“I always have these feelings,” she protested.
“Not quite like this, you don’t. The Goddess is being a wilful tease.”
“But it’s a bit scary, isn’t it? It’s like my hormones are out of control. Like I’m a teenage boy somehow.”
Alex grimaced. “I’m glad you’re not. Besides, you’re too clean and don’t eat half your bodyweight for breakfast.” His eyes darkened. “I know what you mean, though. My hormones are raging too, and yes, it’s like I’m a teenager again. Fortunately I’m not, so I’ll do the washing up—and then maybe we go for round two.” He grinned as he left the table.
Once again, Avery wondered what would happen if these feelings occurred while they were with someone else, and her thoughts returned to Caspian and the kiss at Oswald’s. Again she reminded herself that she had been very in control of her feelings then, despite the nudge from the Goddess. But knowing that he had feelings for her was odd, disturbing, and flattering. What was Beltane doing to him? She remembered his face that night at the crossroads, his look of utter vulnerability, and she remembered how his arms felt wrapped around her waist, the feel of his breath in her ear, and felt a surge of...what?
Avery blinked away her image of him, thankful that Alex was in the kitchen now. She swallowed her coffee and decided she needed more. This was just Beltane playing tricks with her mind and body. Her phone rang, and thankful for the interruption, she answered, “Hey Newton. How’s it going?”
“Bloody awful,” he said gruffly. “Mind if I pop in? I’m only ten minutes away.”
“Sure.” Avery felt flustered, needing to get dressed. Would she start having lustful thoughts about Newton next?
“Great. Be there soon.”
He rang off, and after letting Alex know that he was on his way, Avery headed upstairs to get changed. While she was in her attic, she lit the fire and lamps, ready to examine the script later that morning. When they left the pub the night before, she and Alex had taken one copy of the play, and El and Reuben had taken the other, promising to share any findings with the others.
The script lay on the table now, unassuming with its worn yellowed pages, dog-eared and covered with scribbled notes. She laid her hand on it, and then jumped as a crackle of magic rippled across the page and slid up her arm.
“Ow!” she exclaimed loudly. “What the hell was that?”
That hadn’t happened last night.
Before she could think to do anything about it, she heard Newton arrive downstairs and headed to meet him.
Newton looked tired, and although he was wearing his suit, indicating he’d been working, it looked rumpled. He sank onto the sofa as Alex gave him a coffee.
“Bloody hell,” Alex exclaimed as he sat on a chair opposite him. “What have you been up to all night?”
&nbs
p; “Do I look that bad?” he groaned.
“I’m afraid you do,” Avery said, sitting on the sofa, too. “Don’t say there’s been more weird behaviour?”
“There was another stabbing victim last night—unrelated to the play, you’ll be glad to know,” he said hurriedly after seeing their questioning expressions. “It was in Truro. A big fight broke out as a few guys were coming out of a pub. They were a bit rowdy, which is nothing unusual on a Saturday night, but things went haywire over a woman.”
Avery glanced at Alex. “Uncontrollable jealousy?”
“Sort of. A guy saw red after his girlfriend was chatted up, and his mates waited for the other guy, who also had mates...” He trailed off. “You get the picture. Unfortunately, the man who was stabbed died overnight, so now it’s a murder investigation—not that there’s much investigating to do. Everyone saw it happen.” He looked at them both bleakly. “The question is, why would a normally mild-mannered man stab a guy to death for a cheeky chat up?”
“Holy shit,” Avery said, horrified. “No history of violence, I take it?”
“Not according to all his mates, or his girlfriend. We have to consider domestic violence—men hide it well—but his girlfriend swears he’s the nicest bloke, normally.”
“And what about the man himself?” Alex asked.
“The offender?” Newton said. “Guilt-stricken and horrified. Says he can’t remember anything but a blood red mist descending on him.”
“Where did he get the knife from?” Alex asked.
“It was a broken bottle.” He shook his head and gestured to his neck. “Nasty wound.”
Avery sat back, feeling her energy drain from her. “This is odd. Beltane magic shouldn’t be this strong, or so violent! Beltane is about love and fertility, the arrival of summer!”
“Some people’s definition of love, and what to do in the name of it, is very different from yours, probably,” Newton told her. “And everyone responds different to magic, surely.”
Alex nodded in agreement. “This is wild magic, Avery, not like spells that we try to craft carefully. And you know love magic can have unexpected consequences.”
“True.” She thought again of Caspian, and again banished the image from her mind. “How are you, Newton? Any strange feelings or heightened emotions?”
“Yes, actually. I’m finding it hard to stop thinking about Briar. Especially knowing that Hunter is here.” He looked at their surprised faces and smiled ruefully. “It is what it is. I had my chance and blew it. I’m an idiot.”
Avery glanced at Alex, who looked as surprised at this admission as she felt, and she rushed to answer him, a wave of regret washing through her. “You’re not an idiot. You had reservations about magic and being in a relationship with a witch, and you still do.” Newton was looking at the floor now, and he nodded, but Avery couldn’t see his expression. “I hope you’re not thinking of having some kind of fight over her with Hunter, because I’m pretty sure you’d lose against a shifter.”
He laughed, a trace of bitterness in his tone, and when he looked up, his face was resigned. “No. I have no uncontrollable jealous urges yet, and I hope it stays that way.” He was still cradling his coffee, but he ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. “Ignore me, I’m just tired, and I’m certainly not immune to the Goddess and Green Man’s wild magic. Instead, tell me what you’ve found out about the White Haven Players.”
Alex told him about the script that Avery had found, and they led him upstairs to the attic so that he could see it. Newton paused at the threshold to the room, his eyes widening with surprise. “So, this is your spell room?”
Avery was already standing at the large wooden table that she and Alex both now used to prepare their spells, and she looked at him, puzzled. “Haven’t you ever been up here before?”
He shook his head, and a smile of genuine pleasure spread across his face, stripping it of his weariness. “No, but I guess if I was going to imagine what a witch’s spell room would look like, this would be it!”
Alex laughed. “We don’t all have rooms like this. I certainly didn’t in my flat, you manage with the space you have, but Avery is lucky enough to have the space.”
Avery sat on the stool watching Newton work his way around the attic, pausing as he looked at the dried herbs and roots in bottles on her shelves, the herbs drying from the rafters overhead, the candles, incense, books, gemstones, her worn pack of tarot cards, Alex’s scrying implements and other paraphernalia of magic, and then the spell books—all four of them—on the table. Their leather covers were marked with time, soft to the touch, and Avery was unable to pass any of them without stroking them, enjoying the thrill of magic that tingled on her hand.
“Surely you’ve seen Briar’s workshop at the back of her shop,” Avery said to him. “It’s amazing. She has far more herbs, tinctures, potions, and balms than I’ll ever have.”
Newton finally tore his gaze away, meeting her eyes. “Yes, I have, but this has a different feel to it. Anyway, is this the script?” he asked, looking at the yellowed pages of the play under Avery’s hand.
She handed it to hm. “It is. It looks normal enough, but we can feel the spell on it.”
Newton took it from her gingerly, as if it might explode in his hand. “I can’t feel a thing.”
“Not surprising,” Alex said, leaning on the table. “You’re not a witch. To be honest though, we can only feel the presence of magic. We’ve got no idea what spell has been used, or its purpose. We’re going to look at it properly today.”
Newton slid the book across the table to them. “What will you do?”
Alex glanced at Avery, watching as she opened it tentatively because of the magic shock she’d had earlier. “Good question,” he said. The room was already dim due to the sea fog outside, a normal occurrence at this time of year, and he spelled the lamps off, and then spelled a witch-light into the room so that it hovered above the table. “We’ll see if this light reveals any unusual marks, runes, or sigils on the pages, for a start.”
Curiosity was already eating away at Avery, and she started to turn the first pages, noting the annotations in pencil down the sides of the script with character notes and directions for the actor. It seemed this book had once belonged to the actress who played Iseult, as all the notes referred to her character.
“Nothing yet,” she murmured, with Newton and Alex leaning over either shoulder. And then a rumble of excitement spread though her. “Stan said this play was last performed in the sixties. If this book were spelled then, surely there would have been problems with the performance. If we can find out the past performance dates, we might be able to narrow down when the spell was put on it, and by whom?”
Newton nodded with a trace of a smile. “We might find out what the consequences could be.”
“You mean as the play continues,” Alex said, intrigued. “Of course! That’s a great idea! Good thinking, Avery.”
“But how do we find out about when the play was performed?” Avery asked.
“Library records with old newspaper clippings?” Newton suggested.
“Or from Stan?” Alex said.
Newton headed to the stairs. “Great. It’s a start. I’m going to leave you to it and head home for some sleep. Let me know what you find.”
“Will do,” Avery said, already turning back to the play as Alex pulled up a stool next to her, ready to begin their search in earnest.
***
By lunchtime, Avery and Alex had pored over every inch of the play, fuelled by coffee and reviving herbal teas, and they were still frustrated.
They had found several runes revealed only by witch-light, inscribed above key characters such as Tristan, Iseult, King Mark, Brangain, Governal, Frocin, and the three Barons. The sigils varied according to the names.
“Brangain’s sigil is one of loyalty...I think,” Alex said, consulting several books on symbols and runes that were now spread in front of them.
“And
Tristan and Iseult’s suggest intense love and obsession,” Avery said, as she turned to her own notes. “I wonder if these increase with intensity as the play progresses, or whether just repeating the words helps the power build.”
“King Mark’s runes also manifest obsessive love and jealousy,” Alex noted, “and the Barons’ are wilful mischief and jealousy.” He exhaled heavily as he looked at Avery. “But they, of course, are open to interpretation.”
“Of course. But these are the most likely meanings.”
Alex looked at the book, perplexed. “I can’t discern a spell though, unless the sigils are it.”
Avery nodded absently and checked her watch. “It’s late! No wonder I’m hungry—I need lunch. Maybe we’ll come back to it with new ideas after we’ve eaten.” She shut the book, and as she did so, had another thought. “You know, when I was alone earlier, I put my hand on the book and it sparked at my touch...right up my arm.”
“What were you doing?”
“I’d just lit the fire and the candles.”
“You used elemental fire.”
Avery nodded. “Yes, but why should that affect the play?”
Alex didn’t answer, and instead he held the play lightly within his hands and said a spell. Nothing happened. Then he tried another, and then another. For a few moments, Avery was puzzled, and then she realised he was saying varieties of fire spells combined with revealing spells. He looked at her. “I’m going to try another, but I’m worried it will go up in smoke.” Without waiting for a response, he held the book in his left hand and said another spell with a commanding tone, brushing his right hand across the cover. A wave of flame flared from his fingers, enveloping the script, and it rose from Alex’s hand and floated in front of their eyes, turning slowly in the air. A faint prick of lines appeared on the cover, becoming more and more complex as they watched, until a complicated network of sigils blazed with light. In seconds it burned down to a glowing script, floating back into Alex’s outstretched hands.
“What did you do?” Avery asked, looking at Alex and the book with amazement.
“It was a type of fire reveal spell, a little more intense than the others. I’ve seen it in my grimoire before but have never used it.” Alex turned the play over in his hands, and it was clear the whole cover was a complex image of sigils weaving together that made it difficult to find where one stopped and another began. A single stream of runes ran around the edge of the cover. “It’s a type of fire-writing—far more secure than plain old witch-light.”