by T J Green
Avery was barely listening, looking instead at the box, mystified. She had expected an old cardboard box, but this was a big wooden crate, completely sealed. A note was on top of it, with her name on it. She glanced at Alex and then at Paul. “Wow, Paul, that’s pretty big. I wasn’t expecting that. Are you sure you’re happy for me to have it? I mean, you don’t know what’s in it. It could be valuable.”
She could feel Alex glaring at her, but she ignored him. They had to do this right. She didn’t want any repercussions. Paul shook his head. “No, it looks battered and decrepit. I’m a little embarrassed to be giving it to you, if I’m honest.”
“No problem, I’m happy to take it off your hands. You have enough to clear,” she said, smiling. “Did you say you found a few other things?”
“Just this, really,” he said, reaching for a small box on the floor. “It has a big chunky key in it. Not sure what that’s for, but there you are.”
Thanking him, she put the box into her bag, and said to Alex, “Shall we lift together?”
Paul waved her off. “Let the men do it.”
“Too right, you follow us down,” Alex agreed, but when Paul’s back was turned he mouthed at her, Look around! He pointed to the herbs hanging above them. It was a hex bag. Desperate to have more time in the attic, Avery whispered a small spell and a loud knock emanated from downstairs.
Paul looked annoyed. “Sorry, I better go and get that, I’ve got someone else coming to pick up some old furniture. Are you okay to wait?”
“Of course, don’t rush,” she reassured him. “I’m sure I can help manoeuvre it to the door, at least.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, and almost ran across the attic and down the stairs.
Alex grinned. “Well improvised!”
“My pleasure,” she said, grinning back for a second before becoming serious. “What the hell is in this box, and what’s with the herb bundles?”
“If she didn’t know magic, she knew someone who did.” Alex looked at the box at their feet. “I’m really worried what we’re going to find in there.” He reached up to the herb bundle and pulled it gently from the ceiling. “Protection again. Quick, let’s check out the rest of the room while we have a chance.”
They both darted around, searching corners and rafters. Alex called softly from the window. “Another sign of protection.”
“I wonder,” Avery said, heading to the attic door. She checked the frame inside and out and pulled up some peeling wallpaper along the edge. Beneath it was another rune scratched into the wall above the centre of the frame. “Alex,” she hissed. “There’s another sign here.”
He joined her at the door. “This is too odd. The sooner we look in that box, the better.”
“I’m not so sure. I have the horrible feeling we’re going to wish Anne had never left me anything.”
***
An hour later they were back at Avery’s flat, the box in the centre of the living room. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked, but it was bulky and Avery had struggled to lift it, Alex taking more than his share of the weight. After frequent stops they had finally wrestled it up the stairs and they now stood looking at it with worried expressions.
Alex had brought a big crow bar with him from the back of the garage, and he tried to prise under what looked like the lid, but he couldn’t get it to move. “There’s no edge. It’s completely sealed.”
Understanding began to dawn. “The spells of protection in the attic have been hiding this box. Could we be seeing something that’s been disguised? I mean, it’s probably not a crate.” Avery ran to the spiral stairs that led up to the attic. “I’ll grab my grimoire. I have a few spells that might work.”
When she returned, Avery put her spell book on the coffee table, faced the box, and started to recite the most likely spell. Nothing happened, and she flicked through the pages, Alex peering over her shoulder. “I’ll try another,” she murmured. It was an old spell, a counter-spell, in fact, to dispel veils of illusion. As she uttered the words, strange things began to happen to the box. A mist seemed to rise from it, and Avery’s vision blurred and she blinked quickly. The box continued to shimmer until the image of the wooden crate completely disappeared, and instead they saw a sturdy, dark wooden box, carved on all sides with strange symbols. A thick iron band was wrapped around it, and in it was a keyhole.
“Holy crap. That looks sinister,” Alex said. “Where the hell did Anne find that, and how did she know to give it to you?”
He was right. The symbols, old runes by the look of them, seemed to impart a warning.
“I’m not sure I even want to open it,” Avery said, trying to stop her mouth from gaping open.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Alex said, dropping to his knees. He ran his fingers over the box, feeling the carvings. “How old do you think this is?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. Hundreds of years old, probably. I don’t do furniture, I do books.”
“Gil might know. He likes antiques.”
“This might be about Gil’s family. Stuff they wouldn’t want us to know. And at the moment, I don’t know what to think about Gil. I want to trust him, but I don’t think we can involve him yet.”
“I agree,” Alex said. “We keep it between us. We don’t even tell Briar or El yet. Come on; let’s protect this space before we open it.”
She sat on the rug opposite him and he reached his hands out. “I’ll lead. There’s a spell I think will work well here. Will you let me?”
She nodded and put her hands in his. They were strong and warm and he gripped hers tightly.
“Can you feel anything here?” she asked.
“From yesterday? No, can you?”
“No. Whatever it was has gone.”
“You chased it off,” he said, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. “Anyway, let me start.”
She fell silent as he started to chant. The language was old English, an ancient spell that she was familiar with but had never used. He spoke it well, and power whipped around her quickly, giving her a glowing sureness of protection as it spread across the room. She felt his presence reach across to hers with an unexpected intimacy, and as they connected, the power surged stronger until the room resonated with it like a clear bell. The candles placed about the room sparked into life, chasing shadows from dark corners, and she felt herself relax like she hadn’t in days.
“Good. Done.” He released her hands and turned to the box. “You should open it. It’s gifted to you, after all.”
She nodded and pulled the box with the key in it from her leather bag that lay next to her on the floor. Nervous, she fumbled and then slotted the key in the lock. It took several attempts to turn it, until finally the old mechanism clicked and the lock released. She flipped back the heavy bar and lifted the lid, gently resting it back against the coffee table.
A musty, old smell escaped, and glancing at each other nervously they both peered inside. The box was full of magical objects. There was an ancient Athame—a witch’s knife used for spells—an old bowl or cauldron, several objects that had been wrapped in paper discoloured with age, and some folded paper. A decayed bundle of herbs in a cotton bag were wedged into a corner.
A tremor of excitement rippled through Avery, and she reached into the box. “This stuff is old. Really old. And it’s proper magical stuff.”
She pulled out the paper and unfolded it gently, and Alex moved next to her, his arm pressing against hers, so he could look, too. Trying to ignore the tingle it sent through her body, she attempted to read the first few lines.
“It’s a letter, or a note.”
“From when?” he asked.
She tried to read the writing on the first page. The ink had bled in places, but it was just about legible. “October 1589. The Witchfinder General is coming to White Haven.”
She felt her breath catch and her fingers trembled, and she looked at Alex in shock. “The witch hunter? Holy crap, Alex. Where has this stu
ff come from?”
They both knew what had happened when the Witchfinder arrived. Helena Marchmont, Avery’s long distant relative, had been burnt at the stake.
“We’ll read it later,” he nudged her softly. “I have a feeling it will take a while to decipher that writing. I’m wondering if the rest of this stuff is from the same date.” He pulled one of the paper-wrapped objects out and as he peeled off the paper it cracked as if in protest. It was a glass jar. “An alembic jar—for potions.”
Avery unwrapped another package and found a second jar, this one conical, the glass old with small bubbles in it. “Someone liked potions.”
They pulled the other packages out until a range of old glass jars were placed in front of them.
Alex shrugged. “It looks like alchemy to me. Maybe someone was trying to find the secret of immortality.”
Avery laughed, “Or was trying to turn lead into gold.”
“Both are possible, and anything else. The time fits.” Alex shuffled his position slightly, crossing his legs, his weight pushing against her, making her acutely aware of his heat and strength. “We should examine the box. Didn’t Anne leave you a note?”
“Yes! Good thinking.” Avery realised she’d been so caught up with what was inside the box that she’d forgotten to look at the note. Glad of the excuse to pull away, she knelt forward and pulled the envelope with her name on it from the lid. Inside was a sheet of paper. She read it aloud.
“Dear Avery, I appreciate this will be a shock to you, but I’ve been aware of your—special skills, shall we call it—since you were little. Don’t worry, your secret was safe with me.
“White Haven is a magical place, and for years I’ve been guarding and researching its rich heritage. I was once friends with Gil’s grandmother, Lottie, and it was she who revealed the secrets of the old families to me. She knew I would treasure their memory and protect it. And I’ve protected it well. It was Lottie who taught me simple spells of protection, and Lottie who inscribed the signs around my house. I’m not one of you. She revealed these secrets to me, and asked me to be Guardian, because she knew no one would suspect me, and if anyone came looking for these things, and the other things that are still hidden, there would be no greater protection.
“However, I’m dying. I need to return these things to you and the other families. There’s no one I can speak of this to. My son does not know, by the way. He is merely the messenger.
“I’m not a fool, Avery. These things have been hidden for a reason. Witchcraft is both light and dark. Lottie’s own uncle was banished from the house for his persistence in black magic, his name stricken from the family records. I’m not sure Gil knows of this. But Lottie always feared he would be back. He or his descendants. He was searching for the old grimoires. The originals. You must find them first. Lottie says the spells they contain are powerful. When the witch hunter arrived, they were hidden for everyone’s sake. When Helena Marchmont was burnt at the stake, the others fled, fearing if she wasn’t safe, then no one was. It was only years later that the families returned here, and as you know, some never stay long.
“I have done what I can to help you in my small way, but Lottie didn’t know, and I certainly haven’t discovered, where those grimoires are. I’ve researched the town and the family histories—yours, Alex’s, Gil’s, Elspeth’s, and Briar’s—but I couldn’t find what happened to Gil’s great-uncle Addison. It was as if he simply vanished.
“I wish you luck my dear. I think you’ll need it.
Yours, Anne Somersby.”
A chill rushed through Avery’s body and she felt everything shift, as if her life had suddenly changed in ways she couldn’t yet comprehend. She looked at Alex. “Did you know about any of this? The missing grimoires, the banished brother?”
He rolled his eyes. “Are you mad? How could I possibly know! That’s what a secret is, you muppet.” He grabbed the letter and skimmed it again.
“I’m not a muppet!” she said, outraged.
“So then don’t ask stupid questions.”
Despite Avery’s annoyance with Alex about all sorts of things, mainly for just being Alex, she realised she was incredibly grateful that he was here with her now. She ran her hands through her hair. “Sorry. I’m feeling nervous.”
“I know.” He grinned, “That’s why you have me here. To protect you. It’s my pleasure.”
“You are so annoying.”
“So are you,” he said, and rose to his feet, stretching.
She ignored him. “We’re going to have to let the others know. I guess this leaves Gil in the clear.”
Alex nodded. “I think so. We need to find out about these other grimoires. If I’m honest, I’m not surprised.” He stood at the window, looking out onto the street and then looked back at her. “The date on our family grimoire is from 1790. What about yours?”
She shuffled over to look at the front of her grimoire, and saw the date scribbled at the top, the long list of witches’ names beneath it, Avery’s being the latest. “1795.”
“Well over two centuries after the witch trials swept the country.” He looked at the boxes strewn about the room. “If Anne’s done a good job, there’ll be lots in there to help us.”
Avery nodded, resoluteness now pouring through her. “So, someone’s coming. For us and the grimoires—wherever they are. We need to prepare. You better get your magic on, Alex.”
6
After contacting the others to come around later, Alex spent the afternoon helping Avery carry everything she picked up from Anne’s house into the attic so they’d have more room to spread out. It would also mean other casual visitors to the flat would have no idea what they’d found.
He’d looked at her living room, perplexed and amused. “Do you normally have so much stuff around?”
Avery looked at the stacks of books, magazines, and the clothing strewn around the room and wondered what he was talking about. She liked ethnic everything, and there were candles, wall hangings, and throws strewn across the couch, as well as large, bright kilim rugs on the wooden floor. Her books and magazines were strategically placed next to favourite spots, and houseplants were everywhere. Yes, it was slightly chaotic, but she loved it. It was warm and comfortable—her nest. “Er, yes. I like it lived in.”
“Congratulations. It certainly looks it.” He smiled at her, one eyebrow raised, and Avery felt a flush of colour on her cheeks. Was he insulting her house?
“What’s wrong with it?” she retorted.
“Nothing! It’s not a criticism,” he said, still grinning at her in his infuriating manner. He gestured at her, an all-encompassing sweep of his hand that travelled from her head to her toes, and she looked down at her long dress and back at him. He continued, “It’s an observation. It’s very you. I like it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering quite how to take his last comment, and decided it was better left ignored.
When they’d finished moving everything, they collapsed on the attic floor, both of them hot and sweaty. Alex lay sprawled on the rug in a patch of late afternoon sunshine, like a cat basking in the heat, while Avery leaned against the sofa looking at the carved wooden box as if it would explode.
“What are you thinking?” Alex asked, still prone and eyes closed. “I can hear your mind whirring away from here.”
“I’m wondering what that note says.”
He rolled to his side and propped himself up on his elbow, fixing her with his dark brown eyes. “Well, we’ve got a couple of hours before the others get here. Why don’t we read it? Or rather, you read it, and I’ll listen.”
“Do you think we should wait for the others?”
“No, it’ll probably take ages to decipher that spidery writing.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” She leaned across him to reach into the box, trying not to touch him while all the while remembering the flash of well-toned abs she’d seen when he’d carried the boxes up the stairs.
Sh
e was aware of him watching her and she tried to ignore him as she swiftly grabbed the papers and leaned back against the sofa. He grinned at her and leaned back again, closing his eyes. “Have at it!” he said dramatically.
Unseen, Avery rolled her eyes. There were only a handful of pages, and she turned them over gently, scared she’d damage them, as the paper crackled beneath her fingers. “I’m really nervous. What if we find out something terrible?”
“It’s a million years ago, Ave,” he said, shortening her name in an unexpected intimacy. She quite liked it and watched him speculatively, feeling like a peeping tom because he couldn’t see her. His long limbs were muscular and strong, and his jeans hugged his thighs in all the right ways. One hand was under his head, the other rested on his very flat stomach. She dragged her eyes away and back to the diary.
“But whoever’s written this letter could be one of our ancestors.”
“Yes they could, probably Gil’s, but it’s not going to read itself!”
“All right!” Slowly and hesitantly she started to read. She said the first line again and felt her stomach lurch.
“October 1589. The Witchfinder General is coming to White Haven.
“We have been lucky here in White Haven. We are far from the cities and have remained quiet and insular, those of us who practice the craft able to keep our magic a secret. But a sickness is sweeping the country. The rumours swirl and thicken and we hear that the Witchfinder General is coming—only days away. He has stopped in small towns along the way and we hear of interrogations and public shaming, drowning, and even a burning at the stake. But they are not real witches, not as we are.
“We cannot run and start again elsewhere, it is too obvious. And besides, there are other things to consider, things that will have long term implications. We have decided we must hide our books and practices, bury them deep before he arrives, before he burns us all. Our magic is not as powerful as it once was - for reasons I cannot explain here, but to use it in front of everyone will endanger not only our children, but the whole town. All our grimoires will be hidden about White Haven and our properties. We must decide where, swiftly.