Wine, Witches and Song (The Everyday Witches of Wildham-on-Sea Book 1)

by Molly Milligan

  “Okay.”

  “But when Hopkins died, that was not the end of it.”

  “So I’m starting to gather.”

  “Don’t be facetious. Listen. There were others who had followed Hopkins and Stearne, and who wanted to keep their mission alive. They, too, felt that they were right. They felt as if they were warriors against the gradual erosion and downfall of humanity. And what did they think was a sign of humanity’s degeneration?”

  “Woman. And witches,” I said.

  “You have it. These people – men and women both – felt that only a traditional structure of the world was in god’s plan. Men over women. Thought over feeling. Reason over ... over witchcraft.”

  “Now, come on,” I said. “I don’t agree with these binaries. It’s all too stark, too either-or.” It was a conversation I’d had with my daughter, and I’d learned a lot. I could just about use “intersectionality” in a sentence. “I don’t think it’s helpful to put men in the same category as thought and reason...”

  “Well, I do. And I’m the one telling you this. And more importantly, it is what they believe.”

  “They?”

  “The Hopkinites. The spiritual descendants of Hopkins and Stearne. The ones who want to wipe all witchcraft and naturism and paganism off the face of the earth for our own good whether we like it or not. We don’t get a choice. They are like bullying fathers, pretending that they are acting for our own best interests because we don’t recognise what is good for us.”

  Not just fathers, I thought. Mothers too.

  “Okay,” I said. “I can believe that there are still people who want to oppress witches. We do have power, and that scares people. Fair enough. But ...”

  “But you want to know why I am telling you this, and why here, and why now.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Norfolk is where it started. This is where Hopkins began his crusade and where most of the people died. There is old power here, under the flatlands and the Brecklands and the hills and the sea – the county of the North Folk, fishermen and farmers, wedded to the land. From here and Lincolnshire, they explored the world. They landed in America and claimed that land, in part, as much as they were able to. The people of this place are strong and do not conform, and they draw on a great and ancient energy that lies in the dragon-works of the earth.”

  “What are dragon-works?”

  “All in good time. Right now, you need to know that the Hopkinites are based here, and they are growing in power.”

  “But hang on,” I said. “They’re all anti-witchcraft and everything, so where does their power come from?”

  Evangeline laughed like a barking seal. “Oh, they are witches too, in all but name. They simply deny it. Power’s in a name, too! I suppose that you don’t believe in good and evil?”

  “Not ... exactly,” I said cautiously. “It’s a bit simplistic.”

  “Well, while you waste your time trying to work out people’s motivations and reasons and whether they are just misunderstood, I will get on with the business of stopping evil people and supporting the good ones. That is what I do. The Hopkinites are evil and they must be stopped.”

  “So they definitely have real power?”

  “Yes. I just said so, didn’t I? It doesn’t matter where it is from. It’s from the earth, same as ours. But filtered through their strange world-view it takes on an evil cast.”

  If only life were so straightforward, I thought. I had never believed in goodies and baddies. “Do they know the power they use is the same that we do?”

  She snorted and didn’t really answer my question. “Power is neutral. But people never are. They pick a side. Good or evil. Thing is, everyone thinks they chose the good side.”

  “Is this linked to the murder?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t but it is now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The dreadful act of murder was a signal, a calling, something that drew the evil out of itself and made itself known once more. It has upset a balance here and given the Hopkinites more power and more hope that they might prevail. It has also brought you out of your cosy little kitchen and out into the world. And they have noticed you.”

  “Ah. Oh. I don’t exactly follow but it does not sound good. Um, who exactly are they?”

  She pointed out into the blackness. “He lives out that way.”

  “Who?”

  “Ian Martinet.”

  “The professor?” Yes, I knew that he had a farmhouse out there, down the lonely track, but he was a well-educated professional man. He wasn’t some kind of demonic witch-finder.

  “He is the current leader. He’s been dormant for a while so you probably haven’t detected him but now things are rising and they are rising around you. I have spent my life watching and keeping him at bay, with my charms and my spells. But I must die. And then what? They will see my death as a victory and they will let it spur them on – they will come after you, and the others.”

  “Oh.” Then a thought occurred to me. “So who did kill Will Howlett?”

  “I don’t know.” She almost sounded unconcerned. “That was a matter between them – the killer and the victim. However such a violent act has opened a conduit for power to unleash itself and this power is being channelled by Martinet and his modern Hopkinites.”

  “This all sounds very vague and would make an excellent computer game,” I said. “And it’s not that I don’t believe in power because of course I do. I’m just struggling to believe in the details. Mostly because you haven’t given me any details.”

  “And can you give me the details of how to scry or how to cast a spell?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, you can’t. Don’t talk nonsense. You know it is a matter of the wordless heart.”

  That stumped me into a brief silence. Then I said, “So now what? Have you brought me out here to mount an attack on Martinet’s house?”

  She turned around and began to walk across the deserted car park, back towards the town and the party. “No,” she said. “I came to show you, and I have shown you. Now we return and now you will be more alert to it. You will see. You will start to see.” Her words were rasping. She could not walk and talk at the same time.

  I caught up with her. “Listen,” I said. “Do you know anything about a song-book? That might have belonged to Anne Boleyn?”

  “No,” she said in a whisper.

  “Charlotte Paston has it. And she or her brother are connected with the murder.”

  “Yes – one of them has been arrested for that.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Evangeline stopped and took a moment to steady her breath. “It happened earlier today. You didn’t know?”

  “No. I’ve been busy. No wonder I didn’t see Bernie at the party! Which one of them did it?”

  “I don’t know. It would not be my business, had it not opened a door.”

  “To...”

  “To that which wants to come through, and which will come through, as the Hopkinites will use it in their indignant righteousness to impose their sense of what is correct and what is not.”

  “What about Anne Boleyn?”

  Evangeline tipped up her head. I heard a bone creak in her neck and I winced. She gazed at the night sky. “She grew up in Norfolk. She comes back every year. Of course she would return.” Then she dropped her gaze and I felt her power itch all over me. “But it is her father that I would watch out for. Nowe thus.”

  “What does that mean?” I had heard that before.

  Abruptly she slammed her walker forward and made off quickly across the bridge. I scampered to keep up. I opened my mouth to speak again but something fluffy filled it and I nearly choked with indignation. I couldn’t speak at all. The woman had the audacity to spell me! I thought I was well-protected but I hadn’t felt a thing.

  I was secretly impressed. She was powerful.

  But I was also pretty annoyed and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. She kept
me silent until I got back to the party. Then she stamped off towards a taxi, and I went back into the community centre, and got smashed on the vodka and orange.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Go away.”

  The hammering continued.

  “Go away!” I said more loudly into my pillow, which was of no use whatsoever when the hammering was coming from my front door.

  I blinked until I could focus on the clock and I saw it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. The person outside needed to have a real damn good reason they were hammering there. If it wasn’t the Royal Mail trying to deliver a parcel of chocolates and antacids, then I didn’t want to know.

  By the time I got to my door, the hammering had ceased and the hammerer had gone, but there was a scribbled note shoved through the letterbox. “Come and see me! Gloria.”

  I took the paper back into the kitchen and contemplated eating spoonfuls of coffee.

  In truth I didn’t have too much of a hangover, as such. I’d got rather drunk but stopped drinking at about ten the previous night, and made sure I had plenty of soft drinks. I didn’t usually drink heavily and I was uncomfortably aware that I’d been having rather more alcohol lately than was strictly good for me. I needed to tone it down.

  But I was extremely tired, as I had not got home until after midnight, and I’d laid awake until about three, pondering Evangeline and her crazy ideas.

  Crazy ideas which I found myself believing.

  I was a witch. I believed in forces that underpinned the world and energies which we could latch onto, and ride, and in certain circumstances bend for our own ends. I couldn’t remember who had said that “magic was the art of bending the world to our will” but it was close to my own experience. Not that you could take “will” as being “whim or personal desire.” Magic was a two-way contract that you undertook with the world – a pact, if you like. It was a serious dedication of one’s self to something bigger, and I could see that it drove Evangeline.

  I didn’t like her, but by all the gods, I certainly respected her – now.

  I hadn’t seen it before.

  As my head cleared I began to feel better. Much better. Strangely perky and full of life, in fact. After breakfast and a shower, I picked up the note, and headed over to see Gloria.

  “WOW. I AM LOVING HOW you’ve done this place!” I said in genuine admiration. Gloria’s craft gallery was a large, light, white-painted place with huge glass windows and lots of dark exposed beams. She was showcasing the very best the region had to offer, and my fingers were itching to get my purse out of my handbag. I stopped to finger some hand-dyed silk scarves. “I must have one of this.”

  “Green isn’t your best colour,” Gloria said. “You would look adorable in the darker blue.”

  She was right, and I didn’t mind the advice. “No, it’s for Clare. The green would look amazing with her darker hair.”

  “She is so pale – I am not sure that tone is right. Let’s have a look.” Gloria rummaged at the back and pulled forward another scarf that was much better. I could see it immediately. “Take this one.”

  “Beautiful.” I continued along the rows of gifts – never had I wanted a scrap-iron-doorstop in the shape of a sitting donkey so much. There were brooches and cups and paintings in driftwood frames. I also ended up buying a pot of local lavender-flavoured honey for Scarlett, which would make a fine peace offering for later in the week.

  Cora Dickens was at the cash register and she rang up my purchases with swiftness but not accuracy. I had my money ready but she quoted me much less.

  I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of Gloria so I leaned forward and tried to whisper, “Did you take for all of these things? It should be a lot more.”

  Cora whisked the notes out of my hand. “No dear, you have a discount. Boss’s orders.”

  Gloria was grinning at me. “She calculated that fifteen per cent off in her head, didn’t you, Cora?”

  “Of course. I’m quicker than any calculator.”

  “Gloria, you can’t give me a discount. This is no way to run a business.”

  “You can pay me back in gossip. I head there was some funny stuff last night with Evangeline Dot! Cora, you’re okay on your own for a bit?”

  “Of course. Go on with you.”

  “Right then.” Gloria flung a cape-like coat on. “Let’s go and do lunch. Or elevenses. Or something.”

  But when we got outside into the weak spring sunshine, I said, “I have another idea. I do want to talk to you, and it’s a magical matter. But I also want to talk to Clare, because she can keep my feet on the ground. It makes more sense to speak to the pair of you together but...”

  “Ah, yes, she probably won’t be comfortable with me coming around.”

  She actually threatened to kill you with her bare hands, I thought, and winced. She was almost certainly exaggerating a little bit. “Here,” I said, and pulled the new scarf out of the bag. “Give her this, for a start, and don’t patronise her. Don’t tell her she ought to do this or do that to feel better. She doesn’t need to hear anything about miracle cures or just getting more exercise or eating vegetables or cutting out dairy.” I talked rapidly as we walked through the town. “In fact, don’t mention illness at all, unless she brings it up, in which case, don’t avoid the issue. Ask rather than assume. Listen to her.”

  Gloria nodded fervently at each sentence. “Yes, yes. Yes. Yes I see. Good. But has she tried cutting out dairy?”

  I stopped dead.

  “It was a joke?” she said. But I didn’t think that it had been. I glared at her until she hung her head. “Okay, okay.”

  “Don’t make me regret this,” I said. “I need you both.”

  GLORIA STOOD AT MY side so that Clare saw us both at the same time when she opened the door. I’d sent her a text on the way, and she’d replied saying she was fine for a visit.

  “You didn’t mention...” she said, and stopped. She was angry but she couldn’t bring herself to be rude. She frowned at me, and managed a small smile for Gloria.

  “I am a terrible and ignorant person,” Gloria said. She thrust out the pastel-green scarf. “But here is a silk scarf which was hand-painted by a lovely lady called Karen, and it will look amazing on you.”

  “Er...”

  “Actually, Jackie bought it for you, if that is any easier for you to accept,” Gloria said. “She said I should give it to you but I don’t want to lie or mislead you.”

  “Um...”

  “And Jackie needs to speak to both of us, but I can stand outside and just listen through the window if you can leave it open. You don’t need to have me in your house.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake! Come in, both of you.”

  I was nearly laughing at Gloria’s relentless onslaught. Clare hissed at me, “I hold you entirely responsible.”

  “Thank you. Everything will be fine.”

  We assembled in Clare’s living room. It was darkened slightly and she reclined on her sofa, but her face was bright and her eyes clear. “I’m having a really good few days,” she told us, before adding, “so don’t stress me out.” She gave both of us a firm stare.

  I told them both everything. Absolutely everything, including the feeling I’d been having of that hand on my back, pushing me. I told them the less flattering stuff – how rude I’d been to Evangeline, and the argument with my daughter. I was ashamed of that.

  Gloria and Clare sighed at exactly the same time.

  Now it was my turn to hang my head.

  “You need to sort that stuff out with Scarlett first,” Clare said. “Family is the most important thing.”

  “I’ve bought her some honey.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Great. Exactly what she needs. Okay, the next thing seems to me to be about this book.”

  “What about Ian Martinet?” I said.

  “The book is the thing,” Clare said. “That, and the murder. You said yourself that the murder has opened a door to other ... things. Whate
ver that might be.”

  I looked at Gloria. She nodded. “Yeah, I agree. I want to go to see this Ian chap. I don’t think I’ve met him. But the book seems important.”

  “It’s causing Charlotte some distress,” I said. “Maybe that’s out of guilt or maybe not.”

  “Either way, you probably need to take her up on that offer for you to borrow it for a while,” Clare said. “She wants to get rid of it, and you wouldn’t want her to do anything drastic.”

  “I’d love to see it!” Gloria chipped in.

  “That’s it, then.” Clare waved at us both. “Go on. Go and fetch the book.”

  “You’re waiting here?”

  “Yes. I’m going to do some thinking while you pair do the acting.”

  “I can move and think at the same time!” I said.

  “Then why are you standing there?”

  She had a point. We left.

  WE DID NOT FIND WHAT we expected to find.

  “She lives here?” Gloria said incredulously. “Like this? I mean, I am not one to judge, but...”

  “No, she does not live like this,” I said in dismay as I surveyed the flat through the open door. We’d found it standing open, and we’d knocked and called but there was no reply. “She’s been burgled.”

  “Ransacked would be a better description. What do we do?”

  “Call the police.” I already had my phone in my hand.

  “What if she’s in there, injured?” Gloria hesitated only a moment before striding into the flat, calling out as she went.

  “Gloria!”

  I called the non-emergency number and ended up in a phone queue. I didn’t think it merited ringing 999 unless we found someone in there. I moved along the corridor while I waited for my call to be answered. I wanted to be near Gloria in case she found something. Or worse – in case the perpetrator was still inside, but I couldn’t feel any current danger. But then, what was my experience in detecting danger? Pretty slim up until now.