Stones of Power- Hellstone & Maelstrom

by Jenna Grey

  “I... the dragon in the window... the little purple one, how much is it?” she asked, clutching at the first words that came into her head.

  The man shrugged, still beaming at her, making little ‘mmming’ noises and stroking his moustache thoughtfully. She tuned in on his aura and saw that it was a lovely soft lilac – it made her feel warm inside.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Ariadne has been looking for a good home for ages – what about £5, how does that sound?” “That sounds as if Ariadne has just got herself a new home,” Polly replied, taking out her purse and pulling out one of the hideous new twenty pound notes. Then she noticed the small sign behind the man’s head: Tarot Readings £20.

  “Ah, I just noticed that you do Tarot readings. Could you do one for me? I’d have to leave the dragon for another day, though; I’ve only got twenty pounds and my bus fare home.” “I’m sure my son would be happy to give you a reading,” he replied. “But I’m afraid he’s not very well today.” The smile faded a little and Polly thought she detected a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  “Oh, I am sorry, I hope he feels better soon,” she replied, meaning it.

  “He will be, tomorrow – he’s a good lad really.”

  Polly, a little bemused by his last somewhat enigmatic comment, held out the twenty-pound note.

  “I’ll take Ariadne then, thank you, and come back another day for the reading.” Mr Fountain gave a little chuckle, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  “Well, I’ll wrap her up for you,” he said. “Now, why don’t we get down to why you’re really here? No need to be shy. I’m sure I can help you if the thing you’re seeking still exists.” “How did you know?” Polly asked, a little disturbed by his revelation.

  “My dear, you’re in a magic shop, surely you believe in magic?” he replied, giving her a teasing smile. “Come through, and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me all about it.” Polly hesitated for a moment. Was it really wise for her to go anywhere with someone she’d only just met and who was without a doubt extremely odd? But then she saw the warm glow around him and knew that she was quite safe. Every fibre of her being was telling her that she could trust this dear, gentle old man.

  She followed him through into a back room that was littered from floor to ceiling with a miscellany of items. There was hardly an inch of floor or wall space; boxes were stacked everywhere, all full of what looked like junk. Some of them were piled on top of one another and so precarious Polly thought they might topple at any minute. Even the ceiling was cluttered with dangling objects: an old drum, some deer antler, round glass globes covered with dust. God help them if there was ever a fire.

  “Now where is that armchair, I know it’s here somewhere,” he said, looking around as if he expected it to spring out at him and shout ‘boo’. His eyes settled on a pile of old clothing that hid something bulky; he pulled the heap of fabric off and threw it on top of a pile of old boxes to reveal a very squashy, well-used armchair. “Sit down, my dear, and I’ll make that tea. Now, where did I put that kettle?” Polly glanced around and spotted it, sitting on a pile of books on the bookshelf.

  “It’s on the bookcase.”

  Mr Fountain gave a delighted ‘wonderful’ and retrieved the kettle, filling it from an old sink in the corner.

  “Now then, allow me to introduce myself – Mr Herbert Fountain at your service. Yes, I know, my parents had a sense of humour. You must call me Bert.” “I think it’s a very nice name,” Polly said. “It has character. My name’s Polly, Polly Nightingale.” “Oh my dear, that’s a wonderful name,” he said. “A sweet little songbird. Do you sing?” “I used to be in the local choir, but...” She was going to say ‘But I don’t sing any more’ then changed her mind. At one time she’d sing her way through the day, wherever she was, whatever she was doing. She hadn’t sung since her uncle moved into the house.

  “No, well you probably don’t feel like it now, do you? Bert said, as if he’d heard her unspoken words. Polly felt a little prickle of disquiet. Could he read her mind? He laughed, an honest belly bouncing laugh, flashing surprisingly white teeth at her.

  “No, not mind reading, just a bit of simple deduction, my dear. I can see sadness behind those pretty blue eyes and people don’t usually sing when they’ve got problems to deal with.” “You did have me a bit worried there,” Polly said, her cheeks blossoming scarlet.

  Bert cleared a space on the small table and plugged the kettle in, mumbling under his breath. “Now while that kettle’s boiling, you tell me what it is you’ve lost, and we’ll see if we can’t find it for you. Sit yourself down,” he said, motioning towards the chair, while he busied himself looking for some cups and saucers. Polly couldn’t help but wonder just how likely it was he would be able to help her find anything if he couldn’t even find his own kettle.

  She sat down on the armchair with measured caution, expecting her bottom to sink to the floor through the sagging seat. She disappeared a good few inches but found it surprisingly comfortable once she was installed. She could hear someone moving around upstairs, stamping about and the sound of furniture being shunted around, grating over the floor. Someone was heavily into feng shui, or Bert had very clumsy burglars. Bert glanced up a couple of times, and she sensed that her host was getting more and more concerned at what was a fairly serious commotion going on above their heads.

  “Can you really do what it says on the card?” Polly asked, dragging his attention away from the rats in the attic.

  Bert chuckled, arranging some biscuits on a plate. Hobnobs, Polly’s favourite.

  “Well, I would hardly have put the card in the window if I couldn’t, now would I? Oh, I see, you’re thinking that an absent-minded old buffer like me doesn’t really inspire you with much confidence. It is one of life’s ironies that although I can find practically anything for other people, I can never find anything for myself. A little cosmic joke, I think.” Polly gave a whisper of a smile.

  “Well, I did wonder.”

  Bert picked up a Hobnob and began nibbling on it, crumbs scattering everywhere. Polly waited while he spooned the tea into the teapot and finished his biscuit, wondering the whole time what sudden madness had brought her here.

  “Now to business. You’ve lost something, and you need it back,” he said.

  “I’m not sure if it exists to tell you the trut—”

  Polly didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. There was movement in the doorway, and she turned to see a slim figure standing there, half hidden in shadows, a young man, she thought.

  As the man stepped out of the gloom, she felt a little ripple of unease tingle through her. He was very cute, this stranger, in a serial killer, My Bloody Valentine, kind of way, but something about him instantly rang alarm bells. He was wearing a rather tatty white tee shirt and jeans, his feet bare. His dark hair was a tousled mess, framing a pale tense face. It was his eyes that trapped her attention, though, so piercing that she couldn’t look into them for more than a couple of seconds. This had to be Bert’s son.

  “What does she want?” he asked, tipping his head towards Polly, totally ignoring her. It wasn’t his stinging words that made Polly wince; it was the look on his face as he said them. He looked so... disturbed. Bert just looked uncomfortable.

  “Liam,” Bert said, his voice gently admonishing. “Please, Miss Nightingale is a client.” He turned to Polly, “I am sorry, Liam isn’t himself today. I do apologise.” “Don’t apologise for me, Dad. If I think someone needs an apology, I’ll make it.” Bert looked dreadfully embarrassed, but Liam Fountain, totally unrepentant, gave his father a very unpleasant look and turned his attention to Polly. She wilted under his stare, trying to make herself look smaller and wishing she was anywhere but here. He just stared at her, taking in every millimetre of her face as if he were trying to strip away the skin to see what lay underneath. She had the insane urge to bolt and run for the door, a deer evading a predator. He relaxed then, his shoulders visibly dropping; t
he tautness left his frame, and the lines of his face softened.

  “You need a reading,” he said. “Come through.” He motioned with his head back towards the shop. Polly couldn’t help but wonder how someone could make ‘come through’ sound as if he were threatening to pull her teeth out with a pair of pliers, one at a time.

  “Oh, no really, I’m fine,” Polly blustered. “Not if you’re not feeling well.” Liam ignored her, keeping his gaze focused on Bert.

  “Dad, she needs a reading,” he repeated, more insistently this time.

  Bert blushed a little and looked flustered.

  “My dear, forgive me. I think that you really should let Liam do a reading for you if he feels you need one so strongly.” Polly thought that having her teeth pulled out with pliers one at a time might be preferable to getting a Tarot reading from this man.

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Polly mumbled, still not able to look up at him. “I really only wanted your dad to find something for me.” She realised with embarrassment that she was trembling. She focused in on his aura and understood why – it was a deep purple, so close to black, so close to darkness. She had to look away, unable to bear seeing that purple haze pulsing around him.

  “You need a reading,” Liam said again, his voice softer now – there was almost a kindness to it – at least he didn’t sound as if he wanted to garrotte her, maim her corpse and bury it under concrete in the cellar. He had a hint of a London accent, but there was a richness to it; it made her think of chocolate cake. She looked up then and saw that there was a quiet desperation in his eyes. “You’re in danger,” he said.

  “I think I might be,” she replied, although she had no idea why she said it.

  Bert laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and said:

  “Why don’t you go back through to the shop and I’ll bring the tea through for you. There’s no charge for the reading, my dear, but you do need to hear what Liam has to say, for his sake as much as yours. It’s not good for him to ignore messages that come through to him and somebody seems to want to speak with you very badly indeed.” Polly stood, her legs trembling under her, just glancing back over her shoulder at Bert, who nodded a smile of reassurance at her. She followed his son back through to the shop, still looking around as she did so for any stray carving knives or axes that might be lying around. Her kidnapper nodded his head towards a small card table in the corner; there was already a pack of Tarot cards lying on it, wrapped in a velvet cloth. He gave her a wan smile, which reassured her a little, but it was half-hearted enough for her to still be very much on her guard. He turned to her, just before he reached the table and said: “I didn’t mean to upset you – I know I’m not exactly skilled in social niceties, but you are in danger, and you need to listen.” Polly thought of the fish earring jiggling in her pocket and reached in to close her fingers around it.

  “I will, I promise,” she whispered.

  He dropped down onto one of the hard-backed chairs, leaning back carelessly on it, with his arm draped over the back, legs splayed as if he were doing the chair a favour sitting on it. There was no urgency about him at all. Polly couldn’t help but think that if she had just been told to pass on a message of dire warning to someone, she would have at least sat up straight in the chair. Polly sat in the chair opposite with her hands folded in her lap, desperately trying to stop them shaking. She had no idea why he was unsettling her so much. He was rude, yes, but he hadn’t really done anything to make her quake in her sensible flat shoes.

  “You’re one of the strongest psychics I’ve ever come across,” he said, It was just a passing comment, as if he were telling her that it had just started raining, or that dinner was ready. “Blimey, you’ve got so much power locked up in there. I wouldn’t want to be standing next to you when you let it out.” “I know I’m a bit psychic, but...” she blustered, and couldn’t think of anything else to say, so just clamped her lips together and looked awkward. She had never pictured herself as a powerful psychic, although thinking about it, her grandmother had told her the same thing on more than one occasion.

  The man sitting opposite, who she still didn’t see as ‘Liam’, just a young rather scary stranger, flipped open the velvet cloth and began to lay out the cards with well-practised professionalism.

  “Have you had a reading before?” he asked.

  “My grandmother used to do readings for me,” Polly mumbled, taking her first steps on the road to winning the ‘idiot of the year’award. “But she’s passed on now.” Too much information. She mentally kicked herself and vowed to keep her mouth shut unless he ordered her to speak. Liam ignored her, laying the cards out, intent on his task, not looking up at her. Under the circumstances that was probably a blessing. Polly couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing here. This hadn’t been what she’d intended at all. She thought that she might get some comfort, some encouragement here, instead she felt nothing but fear.

  The layout of the cards was different from the one that her grandmother had always used, an elaborate display, which he’d obviously done many times before. She knew how to do a basic reading and knew what the cards meant – or at least how to interpret them in a broad sense, but these cards were not like any she’d seen before. They looked hand made, beautiful, but slightly disturbing.

  The first card she saw was the King of Swords. He was a dark figure, his expression slightly menacing, seated on a throne and holding a sword into the air. She knew instantly who that represented – her uncle; the image even looked a bit like him.

  “There’s a dark man, older...a father... no, uncle...” he began, still looking down at the cards and not at her, his face a mask of intense concentration. Polly wondered if he was reading her mind; she’d often had a notion that clairvoyance relied on telepathy to a certain extent. The fact that she’d just been thinking of her uncle seemed to agree with that.

  “My––”

  “No, don’t say anything, not yet,” he interrupted, shooting a warning look in her direction and raising his hand in a ‘stop’ sign. She snapped her mouth over her words, feeling her cheeks colour. He ignored her and kept staring down at the cards, almost oblivious to her, but she could feel condemnatory waves coming from him. “Every time you open your mouth you’re making it harder for me to do the reading.” “You don’t have to be so nasty about it,” she accused, but with little conviction.

  “I didn’t know you had to be nice about saving someone’s life,” he replied. Polly gave him an apologetic look and mumbled, “Sorry,” but grudgingly. He seemed mollified and gave an almost-smile.

  “Let’s have a look and see if we can work out what this bloke’s up to, shall we?” he asked, the smile dropping from his face as suddenly as it had come. His eyes widened a little as if something he’d seen there had taken him by surprise. “Wow. You certainly drew the short straw with this one, love. There’s a terrible darkness around him, a cruelty to him; he’s done terrible things, and you are in real danger from him.” Polly tried to keep her expression neutral, but he was staring down at the cards so intently she didn’t think he would have noticed anyway. She had known that she was in danger from him, ever since her grandmother’s death, but hearing someone else say it made it all real somehow. Even Mr Argeli had warned her. The fact that everyone in the whole world seemed to know that she was in danger didn’t reassure her much. She looked back down at the cards, hoping that the next one would give her better news.

  The next card held the image of a serene-looking woman dressed in blue, the moon above her head. And Polly knew who this was as well.

  “The High Priestess. This is a woman with great spiritual insight, great wisdom. I can see her, an older woman, a mother. No, she’s your grandmother. She seems like a nice old girl; she loved roses; I can see her surrounded by dark red roses. You loved her very much, but she passed recently. I can feel great love coming from her. She’s the one that’s warning you.” This revelation started Polly’s heart hurrying in her ch
est. She had always known and believed that Tarot cards could give someone impossible knowledge, but he had instantly touched the truth, with hardly a pause for reflection. Yes, she had inadvertently told him most of that, but how could he have known about the roses? “I loved her more than anything, and roses were her favourite flower.” “She nudged you into coming here today,” Liam continued, “She’s a powerful force for good.” “She was,” Polly said, timorously, expecting him to jump on her again, but he didn’t. He just nodded and touched his fingers to the card, as if it were speaking directly to him through his fingertips. Bert came through with the tea then and placed the tray on a cabinet at the side, turning to walk out again. “Aren’t you going to stay?” Polly asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

  “Liam prefers to do his readings on his own. I’m just out back if you need me. Liam’s bark is far worse than his bite, I assure you, my dear. You listen to what he has to tell you – he’s never wrong.” Polly watched Bert go and turned her attention back to the very scary presence opposite.

  “He’s right; I won’t bite – well, not unless you want me to,” he said, completely straight-faced, looking down at another card. Polly decided it was best to take the 5th on that one, and kept her mouth firmly shut. He flicked his gaze up to her, a somewhat disconcerting smirk twitching on his lips.

  “What?” Polly asked, looking down at the card. It was The Lovers.

  “Nothing,” he replied, with a dismissive flick of his hand. “It’s not important.” “If the card’s there, it’s important,” Polly said, annoyed enough now to stop being afraid of him. His smile broadened.

  “So the mouse has sharp little teeth after all.”

  “You really are very rude,” Polly said, although what she really wanted to say was, “You really are an arrogant sod, aren’t you?” “Not denying it,” he replied, “But do you trust what I’m telling you?” Polly thought about it for a moment. And much to her surprise she did.

  “I think if you were trying to con me, you’d be a bit nicer about it,” she said. “So yes, I trust you to tell me the truth.” He laughed, a real honest laugh and his aura lifted to a beautiful lilac colour.