by H. Y. Hanna
“Anyway, what are we going to do about these chickens?” Caitlyn asked, glancing worriedly at the birds in the back seat. “I mean, they might not have explosive diarrhoea but I doubt they’re toilet-trained either and if we don’t find somewhere to put them soon, they’ll mess up the car horribly.”
“Why don’t we just ditch them by the side of the road?” said Pomona.
“We can’t do that!” said Caitlyn. “For one thing, they could get run over.”
Pomona shrugged. “So what?”
Caitlyn turned to look at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
Pomona shrugged again. “Or I’ll tell you what—find some local farm and dump them in with the other chickens.” She grinned suddenly and said with relish, “It would be really cool if we could find a battery hen farm, then we could really make them suffer...”
Caitlyn glanced sideways at her cousin again and frowned. She really hoped that Pomona was joking now. But even if she was, it was pretty sick humour and not really like her.
“We just need to find somewhere safe to put them temporarily until we can figure out how to change them back to Nadia and her friends,” said Evie from the back seat. “I’m sure we just need to check some of Mum’s old spell books. Maybe we can—” She jumped as a loud buzzing sound suddenly issued from her pocket. She pulled her phone out and stared at the screen. “Oh, help! It’s a text message from Mum! She saw us rushing off and now she wants to know where we are and what we’re doing.” She raised panicked eyes to Caitlyn. “What do I tell her?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll drop you guys back in Tillyhenge and I’ll take care of the hens while you deal with Bertha,” said Pomona.
“You... you won’t hurt them, Pomie, will you?” asked Caitlyn.
“What do you mean?” said Pomona, looking aggrieved.
“Well, it’s just that you said...” Caitlyn trailed off as she met Pomona’s reproachful gaze. “Nothing.”
“Hey, do you think it would be cool to keep a chicken as a pet and, like, carry it around in a handbag?” Pomona asked suddenly. “I mean, everyone in Hollywood is carrying Chihuahuas or designer pooches around but that’s so old now. Maybe I’ll start a new trend!” She looked fondly at the hen sitting behind the steering wheel on her lap. “I never realised before, but chickens are sorta cute. They’ve got, like, these funny little wattles and I love the way they bop their heads when they move and—EEUUWW!” She jerked in her seat. “It just pooped in my lap! Gross! And these jeans are from Dolce & Gabbana!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
POMONA WAS STILL GRUMBLING about her ruined jeans when they arrived at the Manor for dinner that night. In fact, it was not only the jeans: her shoes had been ruined too by the time she had finished dealing with the hens. But she assured Caitlyn that she had placed them somewhere safe for the night, until they could work on the revenge spell tomorrow and figure out how to reverse it.
Caitlyn parked her car in the large circular driveway in front of the Manor, locked the doors, and paused for a moment to check her appearance before heading inside. She was feeling self-conscious in a new skirt and blouse that her cousin had bought for her during the recent trip to London. The skirt clung to her hips much more tightly than she’d liked, but Pomona had been so insistent that she needed to learn to embrace her womanly curves that Caitlyn had swallowed her misgivings. Now, however, as she tugged nervously at the skirt, she wished that she hadn’t let herself be swayed by Pomona’s persuasive words. She also looked enviously at the other girl, who was practically poured into a skin-tight leopard print mini dress that clung to every inch of her body. Not for the first time, Caitlyn wished that she could be more like Pomona, who proudly flaunted her “booty”, making big hips look like the ultimate fashion accessory.
Then Caitlyn frowned. As Pomona tossed back her hair, the trendy leather jacket she was wearing parted to reveal her plunging neckline and the lights from the manor house caught something that glittered at her throat. Caitlyn stared at the enormous black gemstone hanging from the platinum choker around her cousin’s neck.
“Pomona, where did you get that?”
“Oh! D’you like it?” Pomona grinned, shoving her chest closer to Caitlyn so that she could get a better look. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Thane gave it to me.”
“Thane Blackmort gave you that necklace?”
“Yeah! He had it specially commissioned. It’s a black diamond—in fact, it's supposed to be a long-lost piece from the original Black Orlov.”
“What’s that?” Caitlyn looked blank.
“Haven’t you heard of the Black Orlov?” said Pomona incredulously. “It’s, like, one of the most famous diamonds in the world. It was discovered in nineteenth-century India and was originally this huge stone—like nearly two hundred carats!—which was one of the eyes in a statue of the Hindu god Brahma. Then this monk stole it and it became cursed!”
“Cursed?” said Caitlyn sceptically.
Pomona nodded, her eyes glowing. “It ended up with a diamond dealer who took it to the United States, but a week after arriving in New York, he jumped to his death from the top of a skyscraper! Then it was owned by a Russian princess, who jumped off a building in Rome, and then it passed to another Russian princess—who also committed suicide! Anyway, it was finally bought by this guy who cut it into pieces to try and break the curse. The biggest piece is set in a 124-diamond necklace that’s in a private collection now... but the other pieces were lost in history.” Pomona pointed excitedly to the sparkling black gemstone at her throat. “This is supposed to be one of those lost pieces! Isn't that awesome?”
Caitlyn eyed the stone warily. “Awesome” wasn’t the word she would have used. Sinister, perhaps, or creepy. She gave a slight shudder. “It's a horrible story, Pomona. I don't know why you'd want to own a jewel with that kind of history. I’m surprised Blackmort would give you a stone like that—”
“What d’you mean? I think it’s perfect! He’s known as the ‘Black Tycoon’, isn’t he? So of course he would give me a black diamond.” Pomona turned to the car window next to them and admired her reflection in the glass. “Look at the way it sparkles. You wouldn't think a black diamond would sparkle that much, but somehow it catches the light...”
She was right: the black gemstone seemed to sparkle unnaturally, even in the dim evening light. In fact, Caitlyn was sure there was a faint glow emanating from the stone. It felt like an enormous black eye staring back at her. She shivered again and dragged her gaze away.
Pomona whirled back to her, beaming. “Don't you think it's gorgeous?”
It was on the tip of Caitlyn’s tongue to say: “No, I think it's hideous,” but she caught herself. In the past she would have had no trouble being honest. Although Pomona wasn’t really her cousin in blood, the two girls had always been close. They had spent school holidays together and shy, bookish Caitlyn had always looked up to her flamboyant, confident cousin, seeing Pomona as her best friend. And she had always been able to tell Pomona everything, from bluntly saying she looked fat in a certain dress to laughing at her choice of boyfriend. But lately, ever since her cousin had met Thane Blackmort, things had changed. Now Caitlyn found herself reluctant to voice her honest thoughts when it came to anything to do with the enigmatic billionaire. She didn’t want to hurt Pomona’s feelings—or raise her cousin’s hackles again—so she swallowed her words and said politely,
“Yeah... um... it’s very unusual and eye-catching. But Pomie... um... since it’s such a rare, priceless stone, maybe you should take it off and put it in a bank vault for safekeeping?” she suggested hopefully.
“No way!” cried Pomona, touching the stone. “I love it! I'm going to wear it every day.”
“You can’t do that! That’s the sort of bling you’d wear to a fancy cocktail party in London, not here in a little village in the countryside... People will stare!”
“Let them,” said Pomona, tossing her head. “I don’t care. People are always staring at me anyway.�
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Caitlyn had to admit that this was true. As a classic Californian beauty, with her voluptuous figure, long tanned limbs, and mane of sun-kissed blonde hair—not to mention a wardrobe that favoured skin-tight Lycra and neon colours—Pomona attracted attention wherever she went. In fact, the villagers were probably so used to her glamorous outfits by now that they wouldn’t think twice about her cousin’s new accessory. Still, Caitlyn wished that there was some way she could persuade Pomona not to wear Blackmort’s gift.
She knew, however, from past experience that the more she said anything, the more Pomona would dig her heels in. It would become a point of pride for her. So Caitlyn decided that it was probably best to let the subject drop. Her cousin had a notoriously short attention span when it came to fashion trends: things were bought, raved about, and then tossed aside never to be worn again, often in the space of a few weeks. So Caitlyn hoped Pomona would soon tire of the black diamond on her own and replace it with another accessory.
Mosley the butler met them at the door and, after taking their coats, said: “Dr Gerald Hopkins has only just arrived himself, and I have settled him in the Library for the time being, as Lord Fitzroy has been obliged to take an urgent call in his study. If you will kindly follow me, perhaps you’d like to join Dr Hopkins in the Library for some pre-dinner drinks, while waiting for his Lordship to finish his business?”
When they arrived at the Library, however, they found it empty and Mosley frowned in surprise.
“That’s strange... Dr Hopkins was here when I left him...”
He turned as two young women walked past, chatting amongst themselves. One of them was the maid Amelia and the other was the young woman Caitlyn had met the day before—the new girl called Hattie. Mosley stopped them and asked if they had seen the guest.
“Oh... you mean the witch hunter?” said Amelia with a coy smile.
Mosley frowned. “I am referring to Dr Gerald Hopkins.”
“Yeah, that’s him,” said Amelia, her eyes gleaming with interest. “They were talkin’ about him all over the village—they say he was on the telly an’ all, and he’s this big expert on witchcraft an’ black magic an’ all sorts of stuff. Knows all there is to know about witches, an’ how to tell if someone’s a witch, you know, like the tests—”
“That’s quite enough, Amelia. I would thank you not to repeat salacious gossip, especially about Lord Fitzroy’s guest,” said Mosley sharply.
The girl gave an insolent shrug and sauntered away, with Hattie meekly following. The butler frowned at their retreating backs, then turned back to Caitlyn and Pomona and said, “Perhaps Dr Hopkins has gone to use the lavatory. I am sure he will return shortly. Now, what would the two ladies like to drink?”
As usual, Caitlyn had to repress the urge to giggle at Mosley’s formal, old-fashioned manners, but she knew the butler took his role very seriously, so she kept a straight face and gave her order. Then they were left alone in the grand old Library, with its wood-panelled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with shelves of leather-bound volumes. As a lifelong bookworm, Caitlyn had always loved to visit this room, and she kept promising herself that she would come to devote some time to browsing the shelves. Well, there’s no time like the present, she thought with a smile, beginning to wander between the bookcases.
But she had barely pulled out an interesting-looking title when she heard Pomona calling her name excitedly. Her cousin sounded like she was at the back of the Library, where two leather wingback chairs were placed together in a cosy alcove next to the antique fireplace. The alcove was tucked around the side of the wall, and when Caitlyn hurried over, she was surprised to find Pomona peering around the edge of the wall.
“Hey Caitlyn... come and look at this!”
It was actually a false wall, Caitlyn realised—it concealed a small area behind it, barely larger than a cubicle, and there was a small opening in the real wall beyond. Pomona slid into the concealed space and went up to the opening, then turned to look back at Caitlyn.
“Check this out, Caitlyn! There’s, like, a hidden door in the panelling! Look, part of it slides aside... hmm... looks like there’s a passageway behind it...” She peered into the darkness. “I can see a spiral stairway! Omigod, this is so cool! It’s a real, honest-to-goodness secret passageway!”
Before Caitlyn could answer, Pomona climbed into the gap and disappeared.
“Wait, Pomie—!” Caitlyn hesitated, throwing an uncertain look over her shoulder at the empty Library; then she sighed, squeezed into the concealed space, and followed her cousin into the secret passageway.
It wasn’t very long and, as Pomona had said, it ended at the bottom of a spiral stairway. Her cousin was already halfway up the creaking wooden structure and Caitlyn hastened to follow. At the top of the staircase, she found a second passageway on the upper storey of the Manor. It led past a bright rectangle of light—an opening into another room—and then disappeared into darkness. Pomona was cautiously approaching the opening and, a few minutes later, both girls stepped out into a dimly lit room filled with furniture covered with white sheets.
Caitlyn looked around and saw an enormous oil painting in a heavy gilt frame hanging on the wall right above their heads—they’d come out of a section of panelling beneath the painting. A row of similar oil paintings adorned the long wall, which stretched away to the other end of the room. She realised suddenly where they were: the Fitzroy Portrait Gallery.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE PORTRAIT GALLERY was a long room which ran the length of the house, with tall sash windows along one wall and a row of paintings on the opposite side—mostly oil portraits depicting the Fitzroy ancestors. It was also the place where the old Lord Fitzroy had kept his occult collection: an impressive variety of objects with magical, mythical, or paranormal connections, inherited from his forebears and added to during his lifetime.
James didn’t share his father’s obsession with the occult and had left the odd assortment of items in their various display cases and cabinets, all covered by white sheets, and the room had been officially shut to the public. The lack of visitors gave the place a musty, neglected atmosphere and Caitlyn shivered as she looked around. She had never liked this room. She found it creepy and oppressive, especially since she always felt as if the eyes of the people in the oil paintings watched her as she moved around.
Pomona, however, loved the place and was always finding excuses to come in here, to poke around the display cabinets and play with the items within. She was looking eagerly around now and was just about to lift the white sheet on a piece of furniture when they both froze at a noise coming from the other side of the room.
“There’s someone else here,” Caitlyn whispered.
Pomona beckoned, and the two of them tiptoed their way between various pieces of draped furniture until they reached a large cabinet next to the bookcases which lined the far wall. The heavy white sheet which concealed the cabinet also provided a billowing cover, behind which they could hide. Pomona peeked around the side of the sheet and Caitlyn followed suit. There was a man standing beside the bookcases. He was pulling books hurriedly off the shelves, rifling through them and then shoving them back again. He paused and slowly raised his head, then looked across the room in their direction.
“Who’s there?” he called.
The two girls gulped and exchanged looks.
The man turned to face them. “I know you’re there—you might as well come out.”
They hesitated, then stepped out sheepishly from behind the sheet.
He eyed them silently for a moment, and Caitlyn studied him in return. He looked to be in his early seventies, and his thin face was made even more severe by the grey goatee that matched his close-cropped hair. There were deep frown lines on his forehead—this was a man who did not smile or laugh much—and his eyes were a pale, icy blue. Their colour was accentuated by his sallow skin and the strange clothing he wore: a sombre black suit with a high, round collar butto
ned up to the neck, reminiscent of the military or the clergy. Beneath it, he wore a pure white shirt. There were no other embellishments or designs on the jacket, and the severity of his outfit gave him an almost puritan look.
“Would you like to tell me why you're skulking around, spying on me?” he asked at last.
Caitlyn groped for an answer but Pomona, as usual, was ready with her glib tongue. She gave him a cheeky smile and said, “Aren’t you skulking around too? You’re Dr Hopkins, aren’t you? And you were supposed to be in the Library.”
He looked slightly taken aback by her spirited comeback and admitted, “Yes, I am Gerald Hopkins. But I was certainly not skulking or attempting subterfuge in any way. I simply happened to recall the hidden passageway that Fitzroy had shown me many years ago while I was in the Library and I wondered if it was still there. And naturally, once I had come up here, it seemed opportune to browse through my old friend’s collection of books on witchcraft.”
It was a smooth explanation, but Caitlyn couldn’t help thinking that the man’s earlier furtive behaviour belied his casual tone.
He fixed them with a look and said, “You have still not answered my question.”
“Oh... well, we weren’t skulking either. I’m Pomona Sinclair, and this is my cousin, Caitlyn Le Fey—and we’re James’s friends. He invited us to dinner. Mosley showed us to the Library to have drinks with you, but you weren’t there... and then we found the open doorway in the panelling at the back of the Library and followed you up here...” She gave him a bold look. “I heard that you’re a witch hunter?”
Once again, Hopkins did not answer for a moment and his sombre silence pulled at Caitlyn’s nerves. Then he inclined his head and said, “I have been called that, yes.”
Pomona laughed. “Omigod, seriously? I thought that was just, like, village gossip. Don’t tell me you’re trying to copy the other ‘Hopkins’ and going around jabbing women with fake needles to find their ‘Devil’s Mark’?”