The symbols on the floor shimmered gently. “Do you need chalk to outline the circle?” Clarissa asked. “I think I’ve seen some in a drawer in the kitchen.”
Mabel swivelled slowly in place, taking in each symbol in turn. “No need,” she said finally, without looking at Clarissa. “Everything is as it should be. It is sometimes best to keep these things as simple as possible.” She crouched to run her fingers over one particularly curly icon.
Clarissa widened her eyes in surprise. She remembered the horror stories from school. “Don’t you trace a circle to use as protection?”
Mabel glanced up at Clarissa, bemused. “Protection from what, my dear? I’m fairly sure if a dark demon wanted to find its way out into this world, a chalk circle probably wouldn’t be an overly effective way to stop it.”
Clarissa wrinkled her nose. “No. I suppose not.” Please, by all that’s green, don’t let any dark demons out into my house, she prayed.
Mabel turned her attention back to the symbols around her feet. She stroked each one lovingly. The ambient light deepened to a rose colour, the sky outside darkening. Toby padded out from the kitchen and nestled alongside Mabel, snuffling at the symbols as she traced them with her fingertips.
“It won’t be hard to find Old Joe,” Mabel said, so quietly that Clarissa struggled to make out what she was saying. “He’s never really left this place.”
At full dark they lit the candles.
Clarissa had been expecting some lavish ritual, but Mabel informed her there would be none.
“I’m going to sit here, in the centre of these symbols,” she said, “and it will look like I’ve gone to sleep. Or died. Or some such.” She giggled at Clarissa’s look of alarm. “Don’t you be worrying, my pet. There’s no need to touch me. It won’t harm me if you do, but I may feel strange to you.”
Clarissa nodded.
“You leave the window open there, see—” Mabel continued, pointing at one of the small square windows that made up part of the large bay. “Even if it starts to hail and snow outside—”
“It’s July,” Clarissa reminded Mabel. “It’s not going to do that.”
“Well, us never know, do us? Stranger things happen at sea all the time.” Mabel pointed her bony finger at Toby. “You make sure she leaves the window open, Toby. It may be that I bring other souls back with me and you don’t want them getting trapped in the house.”
“Wait a minute—” Clarissa’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Other souls? That’s exactly what she didn’t want.
“I will.” If dogs could smirk, Toby appeared to be doing just that.
“As I be saying,” Mabel talked over them both, “even if it starts to hail and snow, or lash with rain, or blow a tempest, the window stays open.”
Toby wagged his tail. “I’ll see to it.”
“If all goes well, Old Joe will come. You can ask him your questions, and when you’re ready he will take his leave.”
“Will he be inside you?” Clarissa asked, wondering just how weird the whole thing would be. Asking Old Joe questions and having them answered by Mabel. How would they know it was him?
“Gracious me, no!” Mabel cackled. “Old Joe is as autonomous as he ever was. He’s a spirit, not a parasite.”
“Then what will happen?” Clarissa swallowed.
Mabel settled herself on the floor, crossing her legs and rearranging her robe so that it spun out around her in a circle. She finished what she was doing and looked directly at Clarissa, her eyes soft. “Don’t be afraid. No good ever comes from fear, and ’tis only your grandfather. He won’t hurt you. In fact, that’s probably the last thing he’d want to do, knowing him.”
She turned to Toby. “And you, my divine young man. Ready yourself. Be strong.”
Mabel lifted her head and stared at the carriage clock occupying its habitual spot on the mantelpiece. She stared at it for a long moment, as though trying to work out the time, even though it hadn’t been wound up for months, before her eyes suddenly snapped shut.
One of the curtains bordering the bay window fluttered. Clarissa looked up at the small open window. Had it been her imagination, or had a shadow darted through into the street? She glanced back at Mabel.
The old witch seemed to sink into herself, her head slumping forwards to her chest and her spine losing its stiffness. Clarissa stepped forwards, her hands reaching for Mabel, imagining she might fall and wishing to steady her, but she pulled up short, remembering that Mabel had said not to touch her.
Clarissa had imagined there would be chanting and some complicated ritual, but evidently Mabel didn’t have time for that kind of thing. One second she’d been looking at the clock, and the next she’d headed out on her journey.
The windows rattled. A couple of the candles guttered; a spark flew through the air like a will-o’-the-wisp. It floated for a moment, flared and died, and in its place a dark shadow flickered briefly before folding into itself.
Toby stepped towards that spot, watching it. Whatever it was began to glimmer with a dull light, like an ancient bulb that needed to heat up before it could fully illuminate the room.
Clarissa caught her breath and Toby halted, staring in wide-eyed wonder as the glow grew brighter and taller, filling the exact space where Old Joe had taken his last step. The shape took form, reached for the ceiling, then settled into the features of a kindly old man, close to six feet in height, wispy white hair and whiskers, a bulbous nose and merrily round cheeks. He wore a pair of dark, loose walking trousers and cheerful jumper that covered a slight pot belly. His eyes beamed out of a benevolent face like some modern-day Father Christmas. He shimmered, slightly translucent, in the twinkling candlelight.
“Old Joe!” Toby flung himself at the shimmering spirit standing before them, his back end wagging wildly, his shoulders trembling with joy… and found nothing of substance.
Toby had imagined that seeing Old Joe in this form would be easy to deal with. He understood that this was Old Joe’s spirit, that his master would not be coming back permanently, and this would be a brief chance to catch up. What he hadn’t bargained for were the emotions that coursed through his little body. Toby’s soul leapt for joy at this vision of the man he had loved and idolised for the first twelve months of his life, then exploded in white-hot burning pain at the thought that this wasn’t real, wasn’t permanent, that Old Joe was still gone.
Toby cowered in front of Old Joe’s form, crying in distress. Clarissa reached for him, tears rolling down her own cheeks at his obvious hurt. She gently picked him up and cradled him to her. He burrowed his head under her arm and hid there while she, with some difficulty, attempted to soothe his shivers.
She turned to meet her grandfather for the first time, her face solemn. “Good evening,” she said, her words jarring in the silence, and oddly formal, although covering a maelstrom of emotions. Loss and pain, curiosity, and an odd surge of love for this man she could never recall having met.
“Clarissa?” The old man’s smile grew even wider. “My beautiful granddaughter. You have grown into a wonderful young woman.” He clapped his hands together. “I am so pleased we have this chance to talk, although I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances.” He drifted—you couldn’t call his movement strictly walking, after all—closer to her and regarded the shaking bundle of fur in her arms. “My darling, darling Toby,” he added. “Who’s a good boy? Eh? It’s you. You’re a good boy! I always told you so, didn’t I?”
Toby turned his head and regarded Old Joe’s spirit with a certain amount of trepidation. “I’ve tried to be,” he whispered. “It’s been hard to be good.”
“You’re the best, my lad. You always have been. Brave and strong. And I know you’ve been looking after Clarissa very well in my absence.”
Toby wriggled in Clarissa’s arms until she put him down. He took a few tentative steps towards Old Joe and sniffed at the space around him. No scent. This was Old Joe but not really Old Joe. Toby’s heart hu
rt him.
He lifted his head. “I failed you, Old Joe. I should have saved you. I’ll never forgive myself.”
Old Joe crouched down and reached out his hands. He couldn’t touch his pet, but this was the next best thing. The air around Toby buzzed with energy, and the dog could almost sense hands moving around his ears, gently massaging and cradling his head, then working their way down the length of his back to stroke his rump. “You didn’t fail me at all, my darling boy. You did everything I expected you to, and more.”
Toby regarded Old Joe in confusion. “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”
Old Joe glanced up at Clarissa. “Perhaps you’d better make yourselves comfortable. I have a tale to tell.”
“Miranda Dervish came to our attention a very long time ago. Her early background is unknown. Nobody knows who her parents were. She was found abandoned in a hospital reception as a new-born. She grew up in a series of foster homes before being awarded a scholarship and earning her place at Ravenswood Hall at a young age. And it was there that her teachers finally began to sit up and take notice of her extraordinary capacity for magick…”
“Is that what you call it?” Clarissa harrumphed, settling herself onto the floor.
Old Joe laughed. “Perhaps more accurately we might call it dark magick and—”
“Dark deeds,” Toby chipped in. He refused to leave Old Joe’s side.
“Exactly that,” Old Joe nodded. “Reports were sent to the Ministry of Witches, and Miranda was monitored while she was at the school.”
“She ruined Mad Mabel’s final project,” Toby told Old Joe.
“Toby!” Clarissa interjected.
“Clarissa doesn’t like me to call Mabel mad.” Toby peered up at Old Joe. “What do you think?”
Old Joe snorted. “I think Clarissa probably has a point.”
“Okay.” Toby couldn’t quite understand everybody’s objection, but perhaps it would become clearer with time. “Continue your tale, Old Joe.”
“Thank you for the permission, young Toby. And stop interrupting me.”
“Alright.”
“The Ministry of Witches observed Miranda’s progress at Ravenswood and noted her sociopathic tendencies even then. I believe they had a psychologist spend some time at the school—ostensibly teaching the students—but actually writing a detailed report on the workings of Miranda’s mind.”
“If they were so worried about her, why didn’t they nip it all in the bud?” Clarissa asked.
“And do what?” Old Joe raised his eyebrows.
Clarissa shrugged. “I don’t know. Send her to prison, or a special hospital or something.”
Old Joe blew out his cheeks. “Because in spite of appearances to the contrary, we don’t inhabit the same universe as Harry Potter. There is no prison of Azkaban here. In many ways we are bound by the rules made in the mundane world. Which is not to say that the Ministry of Witches doesn’t have its own ways and means to sort out anything it’s less than happy with.”
“Then, why—?”
“The Ministry of Witches decided to recruit Miranda Dervish to their Secret Service instead.”
Clarissa’s mouth dropped open in shock. “The Pointy Woman is a Secret Agent?”
“Yes.”
“But—” Clarissa couldn’t quite believe her ears.
“She’s not a very nice one,” Toby said flatly.
“I suspect that may make her a particularly good agent,” Old Joe told him.
Clarissa dashed a hand through her fringe. “I don’t believe it.”
Old Joe chuckled. “You’re both being a little naïve here. Have you never heard the saying, keep your friends close—”
“And your enemies closer,” Clarissa finished. “You’re suggesting the Ministry of Witches was playing her?”
Old Joe nodded. “Certainly. Unfortunately, it backfired. She makes for a devious double agent. Undoubtedly she knew exactly what the Ministry of Witches was up to.”
“She’s a wily one, I’m not sure I’m entirely surprised.”
“Keep stroking me, Old Joe,” Toby wriggled around the space where Old Joe’s knees were. If he’d been able to nudge the old man, he would have done so.
“You’re very insistent,” Old Joe laughed, and his energy reached for the dog again. “I’m not sure whether it was complacency on the part of the Ministry of Witches, but something went amiss. Perhaps people forgot who they were dealing with. Perhaps she had help. Either way, Miranda wheedled her way up the ladder to a position of power that allowed her access to some of the most closely guarded secrets of our people.”
“There’s an enormous archive at the Ministry of Witches’ building that she will have had unfettered access to, and high-level security clearance. Somewhere among all the information, she found something interesting. Something that might offer her unlimited power if she only knew how to harness it. So, she went looking for the tree in the Bucklebeare Wood.”
Clarissa gasped. “Jebediah’s tree!”
“Exactly.” Old Joe gave a single grim nod of his head. “She began to build up a network of people useful to her in this area. Bad people are naturally drawn to her—not just witches but the mundane too—”
“You mean like Sue Mitchelmore? The owner of the Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary?” Clarissa, remembering Sue’s horrific fate, grimaced.
“Yes. And plenty more besides.” Old Joe’s forehead creased into a hard line. “I originally met her at Temperance House while I was still the High Priest. She certainly had a great deal of charisma. Many a neophyte—and even some higher level and more experienced witches—were attracted to her circle.”
Frowning, Clarissa cast her mind back to her meetings with the wizard Mr Kephisto at The Storykeeper bookshop in Abbotts Cromleigh. “But none of them would have known about Jebediah’s tree. They wouldn’t have been able to locate it for her. I mean, even Mr Kephisto only had a vague recollection of the details of the tree until we refreshed his memory.”
Toby pricked up his ears. “That’s right. She didn’t find the tree—we know that—but she did find someone who could tell her more about it, all about its magick and the stones! Grappletwigs told us that. Remember?”
Old Joe smiled fondly. “Ah, my little friend Grappletwigs.”
“Are you allowed to call her little?” Toby asked, his furry eyebrows waggling in puzzled wonder.
“I think so.”
“Only, we use ‘little’ to describe Grappletwigs and I’m not allowed to call Mabel mad?”
“Toby!” Clarissa chastised him.
Old Joe hid another smile. “She’s small but mighty, is that Grappletwigs. Perhaps I should call her mighty?”
Toby couldn’t see that it made much difference, but Old Joe began to stroke him again and he gave in to his ministrations without complaint.
“And that’s where you came in?” Clarissa prompted Old Joe to continue.
“Precisely. News reached the Ministry of Witches that Miranda had discovered the general whereabouts of the tree and knew about the Power Stones. They needed to move fast. They approached me as the leader of The Coven of the Silver Winds at Temperance House and summoned me to a top-secret meeting.”
“Did you meet lots of secret agents?” Toby temporarily forgot about nagging Old Joe for head scruggles.
“I was sent by my contact to meet one very ordinary-looking man in a barber shop in a back street in Exeter. They wanted it to look like an ordinary outing, just in case anyone was watching me.”
“What did he say?” Toby was all ears.
“He held a razor to my throat and asked me if I would help the Ministry of Witches out.”
“Did they give you a choice?” Clarissa asked.
Old Joe shrugged. “To be fair, I think I could have turned it down, but when I heard what was at stake, I couldn’t do that.” He pursed his mouth and ducked his head for a second. “They explained it would effectively be a suicide mission, but unless I was prepar
ed to give it a shot, there was a possibility that many other innocent people would lose their lives, and Miranda Dervish would have access to unbridled power.”
“She had to be stopped,” Clarissa agreed. “I see that. But so far we haven’t succeeded.”
“The operative words there, my darling, are ‘so far’. But in any case,” Old Joe gently chided his granddaughter, “you’re jumping ahead.”
“The Ministry of Witches spent months and months planning this operation. All the while Miranda was building her networks across East Devon and searching for the tree, our side was planning a template that I would work to. They’d predicted that there would be a coup of some sort at Temperance House, and quite quickly that began to take shape. People I had trusted for decades began to accuse me of wrongdoing. At meetings I would be shouted down.”
“I met Jacqueline Naseby. She told me that you became a difficult man.”
“Ah, Lady Jacqueline. Yes. Lies and misinformation. Miranda’s supporters spread fake news throughout the coven so that many good and kind witches began to lose faith in me. If you throw enough mud, some of it will stick.”
“You must have found that heart-breaking?” Clarissa commiserated.
“It certainly wasn’t easy,” Old Joe acknowledged. “But it had been anticipated and we let it happen. I was voted out and retreated here to my little house to await the next stage.”
“That must have been before I came along to cheer you up,” Toby wagged his tail.
“Not very long before,” Old Joe agreed. “But again, we’re jumping ahead.” He stared into the distance a while, as though gauging where he was in the story. “The Ministry of Witches knew that Miranda was getting close, so the next part of my mission was to set up the trap.”
“You took the stones out of the tree!” Toby’s eyes glowed. “And hid them!”
“I did. I went up to Bucklebeare Wood in the Blackdown Hills to meet with Grappletwigs and her sons and we discussed the plan in detail. While I can’t say Grappletwigs was best pleased at the idea of setting the stones free into the world, she understood the logic of what we were doing. Magic and witchcraft are wholly subjective and therefore difficult to police and make laws for. What one witch might back away from, another will embrace wholeheartedly. Miranda Dervish can only be found guilty under the terms of the Ministry of Witches’ laws if she is discovered to be in breach of the Ethics Code that prevents witches and wizards from making a grab for dark power that in turn will exploit masses of mundane people.”
Bark Side of the Moon: A Paranormal Animal Cozy Mystery (Spellbound Hound Magic and Mystery Book 3) Page 10