Devious Magic (#3 Stella Mayweather Paranormal Series)

by Camilla Chafer

  “No problem.” He looked at me expectantly.

  “Stella,” I said, seeing as he’d made an effort to save me, even though I hadn’t actually needed it. “Stella Mayweather.”

  “Let’s get out of here, Stella Mayweather, and you can tell me why you’re so interested in that house.”

  “Presumably, you’re going to tell me what your interest is too?”

  “Maybe. Depends.” But he didn’t say on what. “We can’t talk here. It’s too risky. Come on.”

  He turned away from the wall, where I’d trampled in and moved off towards the woods, looking back to see if I were following him. He took us along a narrow path, barely noticeable through the undergrowth, to traverse the dark depths of the woods. Occasionally, he glanced behind him to check that I was still tagging along and hadn’t been yanked by the Brotherhood’s hands. Despite the twigs scratching at my clothes and nettles brushing my hands, he didn’t stop to help and I pushed on, grumbling internally.

  Some minutes later, we came out near a part of the road that was completely unseen from the house, the woods crowding the space between. Anders went over to some bushes and pulled at them until I saw he was unravelling a net hiding a dirt bike. “How’d you get here?” he asked, glancing at me as I hovered by the trees.

  “Car. It’s parked over there. I think.” I pointed to where I thought my car was, probably only a few hundred feet from where we stood.

  “I’ll walk you to it. You can follow me into town.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because you want to know what I know about the Brotherhood,” he said, though he held back from adding obviously. “And because a night in the pub is better than a night out here while nothing happens. For bonus points, we’re less likely to die, too.”

  Well, he got me there.

  He pushed his bike as we walked in silence to my car. I climbed in and turned the lights on because he said it would be more suspicious if I had them low, or off. Then I waited while he jumped astride the bike before sliding a helmet over his cap.

  We parked alongside each other in the car park and I followed Anders inside, blinking until my eyes adjusted to the sudden light of the entry way. While Anders ducked into the men’s room to wipe off his camouflage paint, I took the time to visit the women’s bathroom to see the state I was in. It wasn’t great. I washed the mud off my face, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about the long smear that ran the front of my jacket. Losing, and/or ruining my outerwear was becoming an annoying habit.

  Finally, we emerged into the light at the same time and I got a good look at him. Anders was a few inches taller than I, slimly built with sandy brown hair, cut so it waved around his head and eyes the colour of emeralds. He was easy on the eyes. His accent struck me as Northern, with flat vowels and a jocular, unpretentious way of talking.

  The Rose and Crown was a typical English pub. Thick wooden tables and chairs, a garishly patterned carpet that had been trod on by thousands of feet over a decade or two, and the kind of regulars that prop up every bar throughout the country. A few of them sat at the bar, polished to a high gleam, while a few couples peppered the tables.

  We settled into a booth in a corner, away from the regulars, and Anders paid for drinks and brought them over.

  “What did you mean when you said you knew all the witches here?” I asked as he pushed a pint glass towards me, glad that he hadn’t thought I was a wimp and ordered me a half.

  “I’m coven master of this area. I know every witch in my district.”

  “I didn’t think there were any witches left in England.”

  Anders raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his pint, looking over the brim at me curiously. “What made you think that?”

  “Well... I was told that.”

  “By whom?”

  I took my time taking a mouthful, mulling over what I should say as I swallowed. Anders was a witch, I was sure of that, but I didn’t know him. Other than his not killing me when he had the chance, I had no reason to trust him. If I told him what I knew about witches, the Council, or the Brotherhood, he could use it against me, though I wasn’t sure how. On the other hand, if I told him what I knew, he might share what he knew. I wasn’t sure what to do.

  “The Council,” I said, at last, thinking it was best to keep it simple. If he knew who they were, I wasn’t telling him anything fresh and, if he didn’t, I’d told him nothing.

  “US branch?” he asked. “I’m guessing, of course, though you sound as English as I do. Londoner, are you?”

  I nodded. “They said a few had gone underground, but all the witches of true magic left when the witch hunter killings started.” Again, all stuff he would know.

  “True magic, hmm?” Anders took a larger swallow this time and then set his glass on the table, his hands circling it. “I don’t suppose it occurred to your Council that they don’t know everything about the witches here.”

  I thought about that. It seemed at times that the Council didn’t know what was going on in their own backyard.

  “Witches would be hard to stamp out,” Anders continued with an exasperated little sigh when I didn’t say anything. “Witchcraft here dates way back, before Pendle even.”

  “Pendle?”

  “Our version of Salem.”

  “Oh.”

  “The Council are insular, useless and badly organised. They need new leadership. Someone who can take them forward and put an end to the witch hunts,” said Anders in a burst of anger.

  “Is that why you were at the house? The Brotherhood’s place? You said you’d been watching it.”

  “Not exactly. We know what they are, and we want to stop them. The Brotherhood are a danger to us all, so we’re gaining intel before we make a move against them. Aside from you being a witch, what’s your problem with them?” he asked.

  “They asked me to come to the house. When I refused, they kidnapped my friend as retaliation, or bait. I’m trying to find her.”

  Anders chuckled and looked over me. I fought the urge to shrink into my seat. “And you thought you’d just break in and rescue her? All by yourself?”

  Yeah. It didn’t sound so great when he put it that way. I stared at the table and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Pretty much,” I admitted.

  Anders laughed again. “You’ve got guts; I’ll give you that. How do you know she’s even in there?”

  “I don’t for certain. All I know is they brought her to England and this is where they wanted to meet me. She might be dead already, for all I know. I was trying to find out when you grabbed me.”

  “What does this friend of yours look like? Is she a witch?”

  I shook my head. “She’s a little taller than me, blonde with little pink streaks. She’s a werewolf.”

  Anders whistled. “Haven’t seen her. Don’t get many werewolves around here, you know. The local pack is pretty small and spread across the whole county. If you can confirm your friend is there, they might help.”

  “Do you know how to contact them?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about you? Will you help me?”

  Anders looked uncomfortable. “I can’t jeopardise my mission.”

  “What if your mission and my mission were one and the same? We both want to get rid of the witch hunters, and I want my friend back as an extra. We could help each other,” I suggested, clinging to the rapid hope that our meeting might end up being fruitful. I hoped I wasn’t being misguided.

  “You’re just one witch and I have a lot of backup,” said Anders, sounding unconvinced.

  “I have a lot of power. I’ve been training.” I’d have liked to add that I had a daemon and a powerful witch behind me, too, but they were both probably pissed off in Texas right about now. I hoped I wasn’t going to have a lot of explaining to do, but like so many other things, I’d deal with that later. “I can help you,” I offered.

  “You don’t even know what we’re planning to do.”r />
  It was my turn to hold back the obviously. “You want to take out the Brotherhood, and I’m going to help you do it.”

  “Interesting proposition.” Anders looked thoughtful. He looked me over like he couldn’t quite work me out. “I’ll have to put it to the rest of the coven, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “While we’re talking about covens, where’s yours? Why aren’t they helping you?”

  “I don’t have one. I’m... a free agent.”

  “Is there any such thing in our community?”

  I stifled a smile. “So far.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?”

  Let’s see. I was abandoned as a young witch, through no fault of my parents who were killed when I was young. Then left to try and manage my own power alone, rescued at the last minute from the witch hunters, attacked by the Council’s psychotic former leader, parted from my friends and Evan, which was partly my fault, and then targeted by a power-hungry necromancer witch who now had it in for me. And the Brotherhood kidnapped my best friend and wanted me dead. “Not too bad,” I answered.

  “Right,” agreed Anders, his voice holding the slightest hint of scepticism. “Your name sounds familiar, you know. I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”

  “I can’t see why. I’ve never been here before.”

  “Hmm, it will come back to me. Where are you staying?”

  “Actually, I don’t know. When I got here, I just went straight to the house to look it over.”

  “The pub has rooms, if you ask the landlady. Mrs. Peters is her name.” He nodded towards the blonde woman cleaning the bar with the enthusiasm of someone who loved to polish. As if she heard her name being mentioned, she flashed a smile in our direction and Anders waved.

  “Thanks for the tip. Do you live nearby?”

  “Just outside the village.”

  “And the coven?”

  “Here and there.”

  “I’m not a threat to them,” I said, cautiously, wanting to set Anders at ease. “I’m here to get my friend, that’s it. I’ve no interest in supernatural politics, and I’m not a spy trying to get access to your coven.” Okay, maybe I sounded a little paranoid but Anders wasn’t exactly forthcoming.

  “Never said you were,” he replied, but he did relax slightly.

  I changed tack. “How did you know the Brotherhood were protecting their grounds with magic?”

  “We’ve all felt it. There’s various charms protecting the house, but they aren’t particularly complex. I don’t think they’ll be hard to break.”

  “That’s what I thought. I imagine they don’t expect an attack.”

  “If they have your friend, they might be expecting an attack now.” Anders drained the last of his beer and tapped the glass thoughtfully against the table. “I suppose the charms might be booby-trapped. We’ll investigate further before we do anything.”

  “What were you planning on doing anyway?”

  Anders shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “I could just go to the house. They’re expecting me.” It sounded stupid even as it left my lips.

  “You could, if you were insane. If you go into that house without help, you might not come out. You probably won’t even be the first.”

  I slumped in my chair, folding my arms protectively across my body. He was right, of course. I could easily walk into the house, and find out what the Brotherhood wanted from me, but finding where Annalise was being held and getting us both out would be tremendously difficult, if not impossible. He was right. I had to think this through further, and spend some more time investigating before I did anything rash.

  Anders went to the bar and came back with another round of drinks and some snacks. As he sat down, breaking open a packet of nuts, he asked, “What do they want with you anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but they were pretty insistent that I come. I think they want to talk to me about something.”

  Anders made a sceptical harrumphing noise. “Why would they want to talk to a witch?”

  “Why would they protect the house with magic?” I countered. “They hate magic, but they use it? They want to kill all witches, but are determined to talk to me. Unless they’re hypocrites, there’s something really weird going on, Anders.”

  “Agreed.”

  My phone buzzed. I checked the screen briefly and put it back in my pocket. I still wasn’t in the dealing sort of mood.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “No.” I eyed the snacks Anders brought over and he pushed a packet of crisps towards me. I really hoped he couldn’t hear my stomach gurgle. It had been hours and hours since I’d last eaten. Between mouthfuls, I asked, “So, what’s your plan for getting into the Brotherhood?”

  “I have the plans for the house.”

  “And?”

  “To be perfectly honest, Stella, I haven’t made any effort to get inside. There are always a lot of men there and their fearless leader doesn’t leave often, so he’s not an easy target.” He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what he should tell me. Probably in case I was a double-crossing spy. He seemed to think better of his reservations because he said, “There are floodlights on each side of the house. They patrol every hour in teams of two and they have dogs too, German Shepherds, I think. People come and go, men. I’ve never seen any women go in the house but that’s not to say there aren’t any. Occasionally, we’ve been lucky and gotten a decent picture. One of the coven has some police connections and they run pictures and names for us when they can do it without arousing suspicion.”

  “Why don’t you just give the names to the police in an anonymous tip-off or something? Surely they would be interested.”

  “You think we haven’t tried that? The police don’t do anything.”

  “But these murders have been the biggest series of killings in decades! There can’t be a cop in Europe who doesn’t want to be credited for breaking the case.”

  “Shh. Keep your voice down, Stella. I don’t know why nothing happens with the intelligence we’ve passed on.” Anders folded his arms and rested his head against the wooden wall of the booth. He looked as frustrated as I felt. “These aren’t just any people we’re dealing with. Our investigations have turned up all kinds of people working for the Brotherhood: murderers, bare-knuckle fighters, rapists. A lot of the henchmen have some kind of record; some have been flagged by Interpol. Any sighting should be followed up. The police force here would get a massive boon if they brought any one of these criminals in, never mind breaking the Brotherhood itself.”

  “What about the people further up the food chain? I was contacted by someone calling himself John Jones.”

  “Well that’s more original than John Smith,” Anders scoffed. “Don’t suppose you got a picture?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry.” I hadn’t thought to.

  “Doesn’t matter. The Brotherhood’s officers, as we call them, tend to have clean records. They don’t like to get their hands dirty. Or, if they do, no one finds out.”

  “My friends think someone is protecting them.”

  “That’s the only theory that fits. The only one I’ve come to,” agreed Anders. “I wish I knew who had that kind of power.”

  I absorbed that then remembered there was something I hadn’t asked him. “You haven’t told me why you’re so interested in them yet.”

  Anders was quiet for a moment. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a slim black wallet. Opening it, he extracted a small, square piece of paper and passed it to me. There was Anders, looking younger, his hair a little longer and a girl with her arms wrapped around him, grinning at the camera. They looked very similar. When I looked up, question marked on my face, Anders said, “They killed my sister.”

  I didn’t need to imagine how she had died. I knew. It would have been terrible. “I’m so sorry,” I said simply.

  We threw theories back and forth and my phone vibrated a cou
ple more times, but I ignored it. Once, Anders excused himself to take a call, retreating to the foyer where I couldn’t hear. Finally, he left with a promise to return the next day and bring with him his plans of the house and a map of the locale, along with another coven member, if they agreed.

  I stayed in the pub, ate dinner alone at the table and asked about the rooms. The landlady, Mrs. Peters, was happy to rent me one and showed me upstairs, insisting on carrying my bag for me after I retrieved it from the car, even though I didn’t need her to. The rooms covered the space above the pub and the one she allocated me was basic but clean, and not too expensive, which was good enough for me.

  Standing alone, once she’d fetched towels and pointed out the door to the bathroom, I looked around. My room had a double bed with a thick duvet, an old-fashioned dresser with a mirror mounted on top and a small desk with a chair under the window. I dumped my bag on the chair, peeking outside. There was a single streetlight and I could just see fields stretching away as the road curved towards Hawksley village. I tugged the curtains shut and flicked on the lamp.

  Since I packed hurriedly and at distance, I didn’t have any pyjamas, meaning I would have to sleep in my tee, so I shucked my jeans, folding them over the chair and climbed into bed. I was too tired to brush my teeth and my eyes closed as soon as my head hit the pillow, even though my head was whirring with thoughts.

  I wanted to make plans, I wanted to locate Annalise and get her away from that house. I didn’t want to sleep but that’s what I did.