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

by Molly Milligan

  I was going to need a bigger planner.

  Evangeline sighed. “I watch them. I send out my animals and they watch them, too. I convene with the guardians and they watch them. We are a network of watchers. When the Hopkinites move or act, I know about it. I am there, ready to interrupt their doings. If they plan a ritual to bring up more power to themselves, I can intervene, with spell and with ritual, in the night and in the day. I am always ready. They know that I watch them and they try to evade me.”

  “That sounds like a lot of work,” I said.

  “It is. It has been my whole life’s work. But it is shared with my familiars.”

  Gloria leaned towards me. “I told you that you needed one of these kittens. Maybe more than one. I’ll put you down for three. Good witchy number, that.”

  “You’ve been watching them, then,” I said. “What are they doing now? Is Vin there?”

  “You know already that he is there with Ian Martinet. Beyond that, I do not know. I grow weak. I’m old. I’m dying. And they grow strong.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  “Destroy me. Then you. And her. And the rest of you. People who have people that they don’t agree with. It is the start, here. Then the other counties – Cambridgeshire, Essex, Suffolk. On to the rest of the country. And so on. They will bring their own world into being.”

  “So what do we do now?” I said, feeling more overwhelmed and helpless by the minute. The enemy seemed such a nebulous and vague thing to fight.

  Also, how did you fight people who were using the same ultimate source of power that you were?

  “They are planning something. Find out what it is, and stop them.”

  “It’s that simple?” I said, sarcastically. “Just stop them? Just like that?”

  She ignored my jibe. “Yes. Now go to it.”

  I WAS USUALLY VERY comfortable with being alone in my house. But that Sunday night was different. I prowled around, staring out of windows and fiddling with things, rearranging small items of furniture that didn’t need to be rearranged. I couldn’t settle. I put the television on and then turned it off again. I even contemplated housework, in a fit of rashness.

  Evangeline’s advice had been so straightforward and yet so challenging and I didn’t think I was ready to commit myself like that.

  I didn’t really like committing myself to anything. I was much happier being single than I ever had been as a married woman, simply because I only had my own decisions to make – I didn’t have to have a daily discussion about evening meals, for a start.

  Furthermore, I was not the only witch in Wildham-on-Sea. Why me? Gloria could fight the forces of evil just as easily as I could. What about the two twins that ran the gift shop on the seafront? One of them was magical – it was the only way I could ever tell them apart – so she could do it. There were others, too. There was a man who walked dogs for a living, who throbbed with a brown and earthy magic. We sometimes swapped knowledge of country matters. There were others, too, who I encountered in passing, who kept themselves to themselves.

  Evangeline had picked me. Maybe she had already approached the others, and been rebuffed. Perhaps I was the second choice. Or worse.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be any choice at all.

  I was standing in my glass-walled study, unlit, staring through the glass at nothingness beyond, when my mobile phone startled me with its ringing. I grabbed it but the number on the screen was withheld.

  I answered it anyway. When you’ve got a child out in the world, you tend not to screen your calls quite so much. “Hello?”

  The voice on the other side was male, and young, but with a gruff edge and a slight accent overlaid with more trendy Estuary English, a hint of London about it. “You want to stay away from my parents, all right?”

  “Who is this?”

  “You know who it is. Unless you’ve been going around bothering a whole load of people.”

  “Vin. Am I speaking to Vincent Paston?”

  “Yeah. And if you go near my mum and dad again, you’re gonna pay for it. I ain’t there. It’s nothing to do with them. Leave them alone. Got it?”

  “So where are you?”

  “It don’t matter. Leave them. We’re all in enough distress as it is, you know, and we don’t need you messing with their heads even more.” The call ended abruptly before I could answer him.

  But what would I have said, anyway? Hit him with the original “Now please confess you’re the murderer?” How would that have worked? What sort of man would throw his sister to the wolves to take the blame for a murder that he had committed? I was sure of it now. Absolutely sure.

  I couldn’t say why I was so sure, and I had none of the evidence that the police needed.

  I scrunched up my fists into balls and groaned. I wanted to howl at the wind.

  I couldn’t do a damn thing about any of this.

  There was no point in even trying.

  I was just one step away from being a pitiable, delusional woman.

  “HEY, MUM. WHAT’S THAT?”

  Scarlett slid into the seat on the other side of the round table. I had sent her a text on Sunday night, in the pits of my depressed frustration, and invited her out for lunch on Monday. We had that drunken argument to resolve, and I had apologising to do.

  I felt as though this was one thing that I did have control over. My relationship with my daughter needed my attention, and I reminded myself that this was more important than anything else in the whole world.

  “It’s some honey,” I said, sliding the jar across the table. “I bought it for you. You’ll like it.”

  “Thanks.” She put it to one side and we were pounced on by a waitress to take our orders.

  We made idle small talk for quite some time. Eventually I got around to actually apologising, properly, for arguing with her at her party.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I know why you were so on edge.”

  “It is not okay. Don’t be so reasonable with me. And I am not disappointed in you. No, never.” I listed all the things about her that made me so proud until she was quite red in the face and made me stop.

  “I mean, you’re on edge about the murder,” she said. “Not that stuff about me and your ... um, talents. I don’t get it, but it’s okay. It makes you who you are. I’m over it, okay? No, weren’t you looking into the murder stuff?”

  “No, not officially, and don’t you dare tell your aunt because she’ll kill me.”

  Scarlett laughed. “She will. And then you’ll solve it, and she’ll take the credit, and neither of you will mention it, but that will be okay.”

  “I’m not going to solve it,” I said glumly. Then the fancy sandwiches arrived – you know the sort, cut really small into triangles with hand-cooked vegetable crisps on the side, and all that – and I wasn’t quite as glum, because no one can be glum with fancy sandwiches.

  “Of course you’ll solve it,” Scarlett said. She wriggled her fingers like an old-style stage magician. “Do some ju-ju.”

  “It is not so easy and anyway, I am actually pretty sure I know who did it, but there’s not enough evidence. What evidence that there is, actually points to his sister.”

  “Oh my god, mum! You’re saying Vin did it, but Charlotte’s going to take the rap? Like, seriously?”

  “Yes, like, seriously. I can’t believe it. I keep thinking he’ll come to his senses and own up.”

  “Why did he do it, though? Jealousy or something? Did Will do something to Vin’s sister that Vin wants revenge for?”

  “If so,” I said, “then why would he end up framing his sister? I think it has something to do with a book. But I’m still working on that.”

  Scarlett crowed in triumph. “See, you are still trying to solve it!”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  She gave me such a withering look. “Mum, all my life, you’ve given me advice. You’ve told me to celebrate my gifts. You’ve told me to seek happiness. And you’ve told
me to be very careful of using the word should.”

  It was true. I sighed in defeat. “I don’t think that I can let it go.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “It’s complicated. If I take this on, it is opening the door to a lot more hassle in my life.”

  “Everyone’s life is full of hassle.”

  “Stuff I can’t control.” I meant Evangline and the Hopkinites, but I couldn’t burden Scarlett with all that.

  “Mum,” Scarlett said, patiently, as if talking to a child. “You can’t control everything. You’re getting so set in your ways and it’s sad, you know? You are still young. Let life get hold of you again.”

  I opened my mouth to argue back. But then I put a sandwich in it instead.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On Monday, I called a council of war.

  We held it at Clare’s house. She was weak and ill, and angrily trying to fight it, and her husband was around that day to look after her, putting it down as “working from home”. He was not happy about our presence. He hovered around, delivering endless cups of tea on trays, eyeing Gloria nervously, poised to step in if Gloria said anything ridiculous.

  Clare waved him away but he kept coming back with spurious excuses. “I forgot to bring the biscuits in. Oh, you will need a plate...” and so on.

  Then Evangeline turned up, and stared at him, and he fled into another room claiming he had “work to do.”

  So had we.

  “I’ve been having dreams,” I said.

  Clare didn’t look as interested as Gloria and Evangeline did. This was a magical matter.

  “I keep dreaming of two things,” I went on. “One is a dream of hares running wild across fields.”

  “That’s a symbol of witchcraft,” Evangeline said. “I can’t see how that’s any help. I’d be interested if you didn’t dream of hares.”

  I couldn’t even get my dreams right, as far as she was concerned. Huh.

  Clare stretched out her hand to a notebook on the coffee table. “Actually, it is significant. One of the legends around the death of Anne Boleyn is that immediately after her execution, hares were seen running around, because one of the accusations against her was that she was a witch, and this was seen as proof.”

  Evangeline sucked her cheeks. “Hmm. And your other dream?”

  “A blue candle flame,” I said.

  Before anyone could mock that, Clare said, “Yes, and that’s another Boleyn thing. Apparently the candle that was constantly tended and burning on Catherine of Aragon’s tomb burned blue for a few hours after Anne Boleyn’s death, and it was taken as a symbol that Catherine had been vindicated.” Thank you, Clare, I thought. Someone’s got my back.

  “Wow, there wasn’t a whole lot of love for poor old Anne Boleyn,” Gloria said breezily.

  “Powerful women ever have had it thus,” muttered Evangeline.

  “I thought the dreams were connected with Anne and the book,” I said. “Thank you, Clare – I wasn’t sure how they linked and now I see it. So what else do we know? Vin is holed up with Ian in the farmhouse. He’s draining Evangeline’s power.”

  She interrupted, saying, “I can hold him at bay during the day.”

  “Then you’re staying with me tonight,” I said. “And every night until we get this thing sorted.”

  “I want to be in my own bed,” she said stubbornly.

  “Fine. I’ll sleep on your sofa. Or something. We’ll discuss it later.”

  She gave me a look to say that the discussion was already over. I decided not to raise it again.

  I went on. “This is not the main problem anyway – with all due respect, Evangeline – the main problem is actually to stop Vin and Ian. And to somehow get Charlotte out of custody. If her brother isn’t going to fight for her, and she won’t speak up for herself for whatever reason, then we must stop the miscarriage of justice. Agreed?”

  Everyone nodded, and there was a hint of a smile on Evangeline’s face. “Well done,” she said, grudgingly. “At least you are prioritising the right things.”

  Hold the front page, I thought. Evangeline Dot in praise shocker!

  Gloria said, “Okay, but what do we do? March on the police station and tell them to release her?”

  “I’ve done what I can with Bernie. But we can’t spring her out of the cell. They’ve examined the evidence and it points directly to Charlotte. The only thing stopping the investigation leading on to Vin is Charlotte herself. She is not talking.”

  “You think she should shop her brother?” Gloria said.

  “I think he doesn’t deserve any loyalty. Maybe she is spelled into not speaking. Cursed or something. Maybe she’s too tired to fight. When I saw her at first, her aura was powerful and throbbing but the last time, it was paler and smaller. Something is happening to her. I wish I knew what her aura looked like over the past three years.” I looked hopefully at Evangeline, who just shrugged. “Whatever the reason for the changes, we must give Charlotte the strength and the power to act.”

  “Sounds great in principle,” said Clare. “But how? Are you able to just magic this to happen?”

  “I wish,” I said. “No. This question is for Evangeline – do you think that if we get that book back, and give it to Charlotte somehow, she will be able to fight back?”

  Evangeline snorted. “She never did before. I’ve not taken much notice of the girl but I don’t think she looks like a fighter.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I think she might be. She became ill when Will Howlett went to London. Before that, she was vibrant and active and musical. I bet her aura was shimmering. But he took the book with him and I have a theory about this. The book has two authors – Anne Boleyn and another. I am betting the other is a Paston, an ancestor of Vin and Charlotte. There’s an ongoing link between them. They battle every year with burning swords, right? When the book went off with Will, she lost a link to her past, and she declined.”

  Evangeline nodded. Clare was trying very hard not to look sceptical.

  “When Will returned from London,” I carried on, “he brought the book back and gave it back to Charlotte. She didn’t want it. I don’t think she understood what it meant, if I’m honest. I think she’d got so used to being tired and depressed and everything that she didn’t know how to change. She couldn’t handle the energy and power being offered by the book. It was too much. But it perked up her aura, which is what I saw. That must have scared her, a new feeling of energy.”

  Now Clare was nodding. “I think that makes sense, actually. Like, feeling well, it’s more than just having get-up-and-go, you know? It makes sense to me.”

  “So Vin ended up with the book for a while – she gave it to him, before the murder, because it was too much for her. I don’t think he really understood, the way Charlotte did, what it meant. But it seemed appropriate, to him, to hit Will with it. He certainly meant to hurt him. I don’t know if he meant to kill him, but he ended up dead anyway. Then Vin really did not want the book. The power will have been infecting him too.”

  “And after it was taken away and analysed,” Clare said, slowly, “it got returned to its rightful owner, Charlotte.”

  “And this time, she began to let its power feed into her,” I said. “This is just speculation but when I saw her, she was fitter and stronger and more well than she had been, before. But I think the potential for real change scared her, too. She was caught with a choice she really didn’t want to make. There was conflict and her aura reflected that.”

  “And then she ended up arrested,” Gloria said. “And that Vin has taken the book back again.” I was starting to feel sorry for this book, passed from person to person.

  Then I shivered. It was becoming a real and independent entity.

  Evangeline hissed. “Yes, Vin finally realised what power it holds. But mark my words, it wasn’t any of his doing, this realisation. Ian Martinet spotted it and he’s got his claws into Vincent and the book. He will be the one that told Vincent to take th
e book. He is using Vincent.”

  “This is why I think that Charlotte needs it. She was just coming to terms with it, I am sure of it. She was getting better again. If she has the book in her possession, so that she can draw on the power of her ancestors – with our help, of course – then she can find the strength within to speak up.”

  “Speak up against her brother?” Clare said. “I’m following you, to some extent, but ... that’s a big leap. I think it’s a leap too far, if I’m honest.”

  Gloria was also nodding. “I’m with Clare. I think you’re grasping at straws.”

  “We only have straws,” I said. “Evangeline?”

  “Oh, you want to listen to me now, do you?”

  “I’m not going to beg. I’m just asking.”

  She waited for me to carry on and argue, but I refused. She capitulated in the end. “The book is a conduit,” she said. “I think you might be right, but there is more. Charlotte is not weak or ill because she doesn’t have the book. If you had the book, she would be fine.”

  “What?” My theory crumbled a little.

  “It is because the book is a way for them to draw away Charlotte’s life force. If you had the book, you would not do that. Will didn’t know he was doing it when he took the book to London but it made him a success for a while. Or what you people call a success. I don’t know. The lack of the book numbed Charlotte but it didn’t actively deaden her because Will didn’t know how to do that. Vincent and Ian, however...”

  “So Ian and Vin are sucking the life out of Charlotte?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it is even more important we get that book,” Gloria said, thumping the table dramatically and making her bracelets jangle. “It might not give her power, but it will at least take the power away from those pair.”

  Clare coughed. She was visibly weakening. She needed a good sleep in a darkened room, although I knew that often her sleep was light and inadequate. Mostly, she needed us all to leave. I began to tidy up the cups onto the tray, but she spoke, stopping me. “There’s another thing,” she said. “I don’t claim to know all the mythical stuff but Wednesday is going to be an important day.”