Undying Magic

by TJ Green

  Avery gasped as she walked in. “Wow! You weren’t kidding.” It was a huge corner room with two big windows to the rear and side of the house, giving expansive views of the fields and garden behind them. Like the rest of the house it had all of its original features, and the walls were covered in green Chinoiserie. The furniture was solid oak, and old, worn rugs covered the floor. “This is seriously cool.”

  “Even the crazy bird wallpaper?” Reuben asked, perplexed.

  “Particularly the crazy bird wallpaper,” Avery said. “Your crazy bitch dead sister-in-law would like it.” Alice, Gil’s dead wife and demon-summoning witch, was also an interior designer before she was killed by her own demons. “Crazy, but she had great taste. She would love this place.”

  Cassie and Dylan were fiddling with some camera equipment by the bed, and Cassie paused for a moment. “I agree, Avery. This place is seriously cool. I feel like I’m stuck in time. Wait until we show you the rest of the place!”

  Reuben adopted a sly smile as he walked over to join them. “Why are you filming in the bedroom? Is it some sort of porn gig?”

  Avery sniggered as Cassie looked at him open-mouthed. Dylan winked. “I wish. No, we’re just filming regular old ghost stuff. Or something like that.”

  Ben pointed to another camera mounted on the wall on the other side of the room. “Luckily for us, after days of experiencing absolutely nothing, Charlotte announced yesterday that she’d been having strange dreams. She thought something was in here, standing over her. Obviously we haven’t been filming in here, until now.”

  Reuben edged closer to the camera, trying to see the screen where Dylan was replaying the footage. “Found anything?”

  Dylan grimaced. “Not sure. This is a few minutes of the recording of last night. I’ll examine it better once we get it home, but I just wanted to see if we’d caught anything. It’s all in thermal imaging, because of course it’s dark.”

  They crowded behind Dylan and watched some very dark footage for a few seconds, before Avery made out shapes in the thermal imaging. She could see the bed very faintly against the blackness of the room, and two shapes beneath the sheets. She heard what sounded like laboured breathing and a weird rasping noise. Avery’s skin immediately erupted in goose bumps.

  “Is that breathing?” she asked, alarmed.

  Dylan raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like it, but then there’s that horrible rattle.”

  “Like a death rattle,” Reuben observed, frowning at the screen. “But there’s nothing there. Does that mean it’s a ghost?”

  “But there’s no spectral form, and clearly it’s nothing human or we’d see something. You can’t disguise body heat—even if it’s cooler.”

  He was right. The Nephilim had shown up quite distinctly when they’d filmed in the church, and humans had very clear imaging.

  Cassie frowned at the screen. “Well, we might not be able to see anything, but we can hear something. What is it?”

  Reuben shrugged. “Maybe it’s something we haven’t come across before.”

  “Maybe it evaded this camera, but will be on that one,” Ben said, pointing to the other camera.

  “I’ll study the footage properly later,” Dylan said, changing the data card. “And I’ll listen to the audio again.”

  “But I don’t feel I’m being watched,” Ben pointed out. “I’ve got used to spirits being around now, and it’s like there’s a presence lurking just at the edge of your vision. Here—nothing!”

  “Not now,” Dylan said. “But I bet if we were here all night we’d sense something.”

  Ben grimaced. “I’m really reluctant to be here overnight until we know what we’re facing. I have a strong sense of self-preservation.”

  Dylan collected his gear together and placed it all in a large holdall. “We may have no choice.”

  While he packed, Cassie headed for the door and asked Avery, “Fancy a tour?”

  Avery grinned. “You know I do!”

  Reuben and Avery followed the other three through the house as they showed them the rooms. There was a thick, musty odour that permeated everything, and dust seemed to hang on the air. The wallpaper was old and peeling in places, glamorous once, but now faded and sad, and the carpet underfoot was threadbare. It was clear that renovations had started in some places, but other rooms, including the hallway and stairs, hadn’t been touched at all.

  “Hell! This is a massive job,” Reuben exclaimed as he looked around, appalled. “The whole place needs gutting.”

  Cassie nodded. “I know. But it will be amazing once it’s done.”

  “But it is creepy,” Avery said. “I know what you meant the other day. It feels...strange.”

  “Madame Charron should have called it the House of Secrets,” Reuben suggested.

  Ben led the way, and he pushed open a door to a room at the rear of the first floor. “There are a couple of rooms we think may have been used for séances. This big one has a central table, and the wallpaper is quite opulent. It was, I should say.”

  He was right, Avery thought as she looked around. It had a faded glamour to it. The lower half of the walls were panelled, the upper half covered in wallpaper. The curtains were heavy brocade, dull now, like everything else, and full of moth holes, there was a huge floor-length mirror, and an ornate chandelier hanging in the centre of the room. “Did they buy it fully furnished?”

  “Yep. Apart from some books that Joan, the housekeeper, sold off a few weeks ago, pre-sale,” Ben explained. “Rupert was not impressed. He wanted everything!”

  Avery remembered the book she had found on her shelf, the one with the witch-mark in it that she hadn’t seen on her shelves before, and a strange, unsettled feeling materialised in the pit of her stomach. “Do you know who bought the books?”

  Ben looked at her, frowning. “No idea. Why?”

  “Just wondered,” she said vaguely.

  Reuben started to press areas of the wall around the fireplace. “Have you found any hidden panels in here?”

  “No, but if I’m honest, we’ve been concentrating on the other stuff,” Dylan said, watching Reuben’s progress with interest. “I’m pretty sure that Rupert has searched this place very thoroughly and found nothing.”

  Reuben grunted with disappointment, and after some more fruitless attempts, Cassie led them downstairs to the kitchen, which like many homes, was at the back of the house. It was a building zone, with just the hob and cooker left in position, a freestanding fridge, and a basic kitchen sink under the window. Cassie filled the kettle and turned it on, rummaging for clean cups among the debris.

  Reuben grimaced as he took in the room. “Are the guys who own this seriously living here?”

  “They can’t afford not to,” Ben said. “They sank all their money into this place.”

  Avery looked out of the glazed double-doors that led to a paved patio area. The garden was a mass of overgrown shrubs and weedy borders. “It’s been neglected for a long time.”

  “There was one old lady living here for years, and one housekeeper,” Cassie explained. “It was much too big for them to manage.”

  Avery leant against the frame, looking around the kitchen again. “What do you know about the previous owner?”

  Dylan handed Avery a steaming cup of tea. “The lady of the house was the daughter of the medium. She inherited the house from her mother, and lived here alone ever since—well, except for the housekeeper. Her mother, Madame Charron, was well known for her ability to talk to those who passed...” Dylan adopted a spooky voice, “Beyond the veil.”

  “But she must have been a charlatan, right?” Avery asked as she sipped her tea, savouring its warmth.

  “Not according to what I heard,” Ben said, referring to his conversation the day before.

  Dylan shrugged. “It’s hard to know, but she was very famous in the 1920s and ’30s.”

  Reuben leaned against the counter. “When did you find that out?”

  “Rupert told us,�
�� Cassie said. She’d cleared some space on a counter and sat there, swinging her legs against the old units. “It turns out they’re occultists, or rather they study it. They couldn’t wait to get their hands on this place when it came on the market. Hence, sinking their money into it.”

  “But they love it,” Ben said. “They are fascinated with every single thing—bumps in the night, witch-bottles, everything. Dynamite wouldn’t move them. Especially now Charlotte has experienced her strange dreams and the feeling that someone is watching her.”

  Reuben looked puzzled. “So, potentially, say Madame Charron had some ability, she could have summoned something and now it’s here, stuck in the house. Did she use a Ouija board, or a crystal ball?”

  “Not sure,” Dylan mused. “But I’ll make some enquiries. I guess she could have been the real deal. I mean, we try to debunk this stuff, because let’s face it, most people do fake it, but you’re the real deal.”

  “I couldn’t summon spirits,” Reuben said emphatically. “I’m a witch and I can shape elemental magic, do spells, and make wicked potions if I try really hard, but I couldn’t summon a spirit if I sat there for a whole year, nor could Avery. That’s a different sort of skill—the type Alex has.”

  Avery shook her head, feeling perplexed. “We could be making too much of this. You’ve found nothing in the house, except for the bedroom. It could be her spirit. Or her daughter’s. Or, Madame Charron might have summoned something deliberately, for some nefarious purpose, or summoned something accidentally and couldn’t get rid of it again. Or, whatever it is, has been around for a long time, before the medium arrived.”

  “Bollocks!” Ben exclaimed. “So many possibilities!”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with those deaths of the young girls?”

  Dylan’s voice was low. “Don’t say that, Avery. One of those girls was my mate’s cousin.”

  “Why should it?” Cassie asked, looking between them. “Surely that’s completely unrelated.”

  Reuben laughed. “Avery’s got a thing about coincidences. We all do, I suppose. And the deaths seem to have a supernatural cause, and here you are investigating a house with an occult history.”

  Avery shot him a troubled glance. “And this house is close to Harecombe and the college grounds.”

  Dylan groaned. “Damn it. If I’m honest, it crossed my mind, but I’ve been trying to tell myself I’m imagining it.”

  “Always listen to your gut,” Reuben said. “I don’t give advice often, but that one’s a given. We all have a sort of second sight—a flash of knowing what’s right or wrong. Don’t ignore it.”

  “I wish we could analyse that!” Ben said, looking regretful.

  Avery sighed. “I hope the students are taking precautions on the grounds.”

  Cassie nodded. “Classes are over now.”

  “And let’s not forget the witch-bottle,” Avery added. “That was placed here for a reason.”

  “Just more crap to confuse us. Where are the owners of the house?” Reuben asked, frustrated.

  “At work,” Ben said. “They trust us to come in here, and sometimes workmen are here, too.”

  Avery swilled her empty cup in the sink. “Show us where they found the witch-bottle.”

  Ben led the way to the large room on the right of the front door. The walls were covered in old, peeling wallpaper, underneath which the plaster work sagged and cracked. A large fireplace was in the centre of the far wall, and a few tiles in the hearth were lifted up. “The hearth stones are cracked, and, as you can see, they lifted some to repair them; it was under there.”

  Avery and Reuben crouched down and saw the hole that would have contained the bottle. Avery held her hands over it, sending out a tendril of magic, but all she felt was the remnant of an old spell. When she’d finished, Reuben reached inside as far as he could manage. Avery heard a rustle as he triumphantly pulled something free.

  In his hand was a small, yellow piece of paper, dry as bone and brittle. He gingerly peeled it open to reveal a row of runes across the middle.

  “What do they mean?” Cassie asked, breaking the silence.

  “Something to do with the moon, and runes for protection, I think. I’d have to look them up,” Reuben answered.

  “I recognise them,” Avery said, taking it from Reuben. “It warns against the night, as if it’s a curse, and the rest is a protection spell.” She looked up at the ghost-hunters. “Can we borrow this?”

  “Just be careful with it,” Ben cautioned.

  Reuben rocked back on his heels. “I think there was something weirder going on in this house than just séances, guys. You might want to get familiar with that bag of spells we brought you.”

  The front door banged open, disturbing them, and a man shouted, “Ben, are you here?”

  “It’s Rupert,” Ben said, and headed out the door, the rest of them following. “I’m coming, Rupert.”

  Rupert stood waiting for them in the hallway. Avery estimated he was in his late thirties or early forties, and was of average height and build, but there was an intensity to him that was unnerving. His eyes were deeply set back, with heavy lids that made him look like a hawk, and he peered at Reuben and Avery with interest as Ben introduced them. “These are my friends I mentioned. Avery owns a bookshop in White Haven, and has an interest in the occult. I thought she might know something to help us with this house.”

  Rupert held on to her hand a fraction longer than was comfortable as he shook it. “And do you?” he asked. “Know something about this house, I mean?”

  “No more than you do, I’m afraid. But it is fascinating.” Why did she have the feeling that she needed to hide as much of herself from him as possible?

  He turned to Reuben. “And you? Do you work at the bookshop, too?”

  Reuben shook his head. “No, I’m a friend of Avery’s. We should probably go, and leave you to it.” He looked at Avery quizzically, and she nodded.

  They said their goodbyes, the ghost-hunters promising to get in touch, and all the while Avery felt Rupert watching them, and that feeling didn’t stop until they’d left the house and were driving down the road.

  8

  “Can’t we go to the pub instead of the meeting?” Reuben asked, looking hopefully at a quaint country pub on the way to Genevieve’s house.

  “No! Although, maybe we’ve got time for a quick glass of wine so we don’t arrive early,” Avery conceded.

  Reuben grinned at her. “That’s what I love about you, Avery. You’re always up for a drop of the good stuff.”

  “Idiot! You started it,” she said, smirking as she got out and almost ran to the pub. It was freezing, and twilight had fallen, bringing with it plunging temperatures.

  They ordered drinks and snacks from the bar menu, and settled in a corner by the fire, surrounded by twinkling Christmas lights and the sound of Michael Bublé singing “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” in the background.

  Reuben peered at her over the top of his pint of Guinness. “How much do we tell the coven about the House of Spirits?”

  “I think we have to tell them everything,” Avery said. “Three women have died under mysterious circumstances. We have to.”

  Reuben groaned. “I suppose you’re right. But as soon as we say something, Genevieve and the others will be all over it. We won’t get a minute’s peace.”

  “But they’ll probably know something we won’t,” Avery said, sipping her red wine thoughtfully. “Rasmus has a huge store of knowledge, as does Oswald. They may already have some ideas about what might be causing this.”

  “They may even know something about that house,” Reuben said, and then fell silent as the bar maid brought them their food order. “That place must have been fairly notorious in its day. And Rasmus must be nearly a hundred by now.”

  Avery threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! He’s not that old!”

  Reuben winked. “Maybe not. But I bet he’s an old gossip underneat
h that fusty exterior.”

  “You’re so naughty, Reuben.”

  “I know. But if I didn’t joke, I’d go mad. I mean, seriously, a house with an occult history, occult owners now, a hidden witch-bottle, strange noises, women drained of their blood...” He trailed off, and they both fell silent for a moment.

  After a few mouthfuls of chips, Avery said, “I wonder what those runes really mean?”

  “The ones on the paper? I thought you said it was a warning against the night?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “It was a sign for the moon, but I may be wrong. We’ll let El and Alex look. They’re better than we are at that kind of thing.”

  “Vampires don’t need a full moon,” Reuben said, dipping his chip in mayonnaise. “That’s werewolves.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not a werewolf. I think they’d be messier.”

  “I bet Hunter could tell with that nose of his.”

  “I bet he couldn’t. We’re chasing shadows right now. They don’t have a scent.”

  “But it breathes—albeit in a raspy, weird way. Therefore, not a shadow.” Reuben pointed his fork to emphasise his point.

  “Well, whatever it is, if it carries on in the same manner, there’ll be more deaths this week. It’s pretty terrifying.”

  “But Charlotte, or whatever her name is, was unharmed, and so was Rupert. What’s that about? Maybe the raspy-voiced invader isn’t linked with the college deaths after all.”

  “If we don’t get any more concrete evidence, we either need to stake out the house or the college.”

  Avery was stunned into momentary silence. “Stake out the college? That sounds horrendous.”

  “But we may see something. And we’re witches. We have more protection than most. There is one good thing about all this, though.”

  “Really? What?”

  Reuben grinned triumphantly. “This has nothing to do with our magic.”

  ***

  Genevieve lived in an elegant Georgian house on a quiet side street in Falmouth, and it suited her perfectly. And surprisingly, it was full of toys. Avery could see toys on the floor of the hall, and a box full of them in the room to the right of the front door.