by Sam Short
“That face was real?” said Millie.
“Yes,” said Judith. “It couldn’t have harmed you, though. I promise. Edna used a spell to open a one-way window into the chaos. The face couldn’t see you, and it wasn’t really in the room with you — it just appeared that way. Henry told dad that Edna had used some unnecessarily scary language when she cast the spell. It was uncalled for. Henry is very angry with her.”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Millie. “I have so many questions.”
Reuben strutted along the table-top, pausing in front of Millie. “Do you want the Reuben version?” he asked. “I’m supposed to be your familiar, so let me attempt to help you understand.”
Judith sighed. “Go on then, Reuben. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
The little bird cleared his throat. “Spellbinder Hall guards the entrance to an underworld known as The Chaos. It has done for centuries. It’s also a school, and it also emits a powerful energy, a spell if you will, which conceals the reality of the town from non-paranormal people.”
“Concealment magic,” said Millie, recalling what Sergeant Spencer had said.
“Yes,” said Reuben. “It prevents people from seeing what is really going on here. People see things with their eyes, but the magic prevents them from really seeing it. It fails to work on some humans — Judith’s father being a prime example, but generally, most human’s will never know that Spellbinder Bay is any different to a normal town, and if they do think something is different, nobody else will believe them.
“Now, onto you, Millie. You’re a witch, whether you believe it or not. Judith is a witch. There are many witches in this town, along with vampires, ghosts and werewolves. We’re a diverse community in Spellbinder Bay, and you’ll fit in perfectly well. You simply need to accept your new situation. Answers to all your questions will come in time.” He became quiet and looked at the door, his head on his shoulder. “Enough of that for now. I hear a car outside! It’s pizza time.”
Judith stood up, placing her wine glass on the table. “I’ll get it.”
“What if I want to leave, Reuben?” said Millie. “What if I don’t want to be any part of this place?”
“Then you can leave,” said Reuben. “But you’ll always know what you left behind, you’ll always know there was a better life here for you, and you’ll always be curious about how it may have been. You’ll never know what it’s like to be a witch. To have such power. To be something that many humans dream of being. If you leave, you’ll live to regret it, Millie. I’m sure of that.”
The door slammed shut, and a cold breeze followed Judith as she placed two large pizza boxes on the table. “How’s about we forget about the politics and magic of Spellbinder Bay for the rest of the night, and concentrate on pizza and wine?”
“Sounds great to me,” said Reuben.
Millie slumped deeper into the sofa, the friendly and familiar aroma of baked dough making her mouth water. “Sounds good to me, too,” she said. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter 11
“Millie! Wake up! Dad’s here. Albert’s body has washed up, and it seems you were right. There are marks on his body to suggest he was in a struggle. Somebody else was in the lighthouse. Dad’s treating his death as murder. He needs to speak to you.”
Her head hurt. Wine and pizza tended to do that to her. Especially the amount of wine and pizza she’d consumed. Millie opened her eyes, squinting at the light pouring in from the roof window. “What time is it?”
Judith stood next to the bed, smiling down at her. “Just gone nine. I’ve been up since seven, but I didn’t want to wake you. You had a stressful day yesterday.”
Millie yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I’ve got a hangover and I’m being woken with the news that I witnessed a murder. It doesn’t feel like today is going to be any less stressful.”
Judith raised an eyebrow. “I asked Dad to bring some groceries with him, so there’s bacon sandwiches. Maybe that will help with the hangover part?”
“Maybe,” said Millie. “A little.”
“He brought coffee, too,” said Judith.
“Now we’re talking,” said Millie, swinging her legs off the bed. She stared at the doorway. “Can I hear shouting?”
“It’s Reuben and Dad,” said Judith, rolling her eyes. “Don’t ask.” She put a hand on Millie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry the first morning in your new home is so hectic, but Dad had to come as soon as he heard about Albert.”
“Of course!” said Millie, the term ‘new home’ sounding alien to her ears. “I want to help. I only met Albert briefly, but he seemed nice. Give me a few minutes to get ready and I’ll be through.”
After a quick shower, and with little choice about what to wear, Millie slipped into jeans and a loose sweater. Her small suitcase remained unpacked, placed at the foot of the bed. The clothes she wore were creased from their time in the case, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that the glass in the framed photograph of her mother, which she’d carefully wrapped in two t-shirts before stuffing into the case, was cracked. Her wrapping hadn’t been careful enough it seemed, and Millie shed a tear as she ran a finger along the splintered crack which dissected her mother’s smiling face. “Sorry, Mum,” she said, placing the photo on the little bedside table. She planted a kiss on her fingertip, and applied it to her mother’s rosy cheek. “I’ll get it fixed. I promise.”
She smiled at the photograph. She’d often wondered what it would be like to have a picture of both her parents together, but none existed as far as Millie was aware. Millie had been conceived during a brief fling, and her mother had explained that the man who had fathered her could not be tracked down. He had gone through life oblivious to the fact that he had fathered Millie.
Closing the bedroom door behind her, Millie heard raised voices again. Reuben sounded angry. “She might not be Esmeralda, but I have a duty to her nonetheless. You tell me right now if you’re treating her as a suspect! She’s a fragile girl. She’ll break if you’re not careful.”
“Everyone involved is a suspect until their innocence is proved,” came the frustrated voice of Sergeant Spencer. “That includes Millie, George, and anybody else who was at that lighthouse yesterday. I know Millie didn’t do it, or George for that matter, but I have to look as if I’m following some sort of procedure, Reuben. And as for Millie being fragile — don’t be so quick to judge. She went through a lot yesterday, but she didn’t run away, did she?”
“She’s still processing everything,” snapped Reuben. “You just be gentle with her, okay. Oh, and would you be so kind as to scoop a little scrambled egg onto my plate please.”
Millie took the moment to clear her throat and breeze into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said. “So, I’m a suspect, Sergeant Spencer?”
The policeman stood up, wiping greasy hands on his uniform jacket. “If you heard our conversation, you must have heard me say I know you didn’t do it, Millie? It’s just procedure, and we’ll have your innocence proved within the hour.”
Millie ignored the red-faced Sergeant, her attention drawn by the scene which was unfolding at the stove. Like a scene from a Disney cartoon, Judith stood at the hob, a frying pan on the gas flame, and four rashers of raw bacon levitating above it. The bacon fell into the pan with a loud sizzle, and an egg rose from the counter next to Judith, floating into position above the pan and cracking open in mid-air, to deposit its contents alongside the frying meat.
“What the —” said Millie. “Judith, how did you—”
Judith looked over her shoulder. “I hate touching raw meat. The egg was just laziness on my behalf, admittedly.”
“But—” said Millie.
“Come on, Millie!” said Reuben, the yellow feathers of his face smeared in what Millie assumed was ketchup. “You know Judith is a witch. We told you. Close your mouth, you’ll catch a fly!”
“Do you want to try?” said Judith, with a wink. “Levitating objects is easy. You must be feeling some magic wi
thin you by now? You’ve been in Spellbinder Bay for almost a full day.”
Millie blinked twice and gazed around the kitchen. Sergeant Spencer stood next to the table, greasy finger marks on his bright police jacket. A colourful cockatiel pecked at a plate of scrambled eggs, his face as messy as a one year old child’s who was learning to use cutlery properly. A smiling witch stood at the stove, seemingly unaware — or unconcerned, that what she had just done had denied physics — and they all acted as if everything was normal.
Taking the seat which Sergeant Spencer pulled out from under the table for her, Millie sat down. She took a deep breath, and did the first thing that came to mind. She laughed. She laughed so hard her body shook and her stomach ached. She laughed until Sergeant Spencer’s expression changed from amusement to concern, and Reuben stopped gulping down eggs and stared at her.
“Are you okay, Millie?” said the sergeant. “Do you want some water?”
Judith sat alongside Millie, and took her hand. “She’s fine,” she said. “I think she’s been in delayed shock. She’s finally accepted her new reality, and I think…” She looked into Millie’s eyes, a smile on her lips. “She’s okay about it?”
Was she okay with it? Millie wasn’t sure. What she was sure of was the fact that she was no longer scared. No longer afraid. She nodded. “I think I am. I think I’m okay with it all.”
“I hate to be a stick in the mud during this little revelation of yours, Millie,” said Sergeant Spencer. “But we have to be going.”
“Where?” said Millie. “The police station? The lighthouse?”
“No,” said Sergeant Spencer. “Spellbinder Hall.”
Millie’s stomach flipped. “Really?”
“It’ll be fine,” said Sergeant Spencer. “I promise. It’s a lot less spooky during daylight hours, and Edna will never scare you like that again. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Millie placed three bacon rashers between two slices of buttered bread. She smiled as Sergeant Spencer offered her the bottle of brown sauce next to his empty plate. “Surely you’ll want brown sauce with bacon?” he said.
“I’ve said it before, Dad,” said Judith, plopping a bottle of ketchup in front of Millie. “Most people like ketchup. You’re in a minority.”
Millie reached for the brown sauce and applied a generous squirt to her sandwich, wondering what the day had in store for her.
Judith sat in the front of the car with her father, and Millie sat behind her, nervous of the place she was being taken. “Why Spellbinder Hall?” she said. “Shouldn’t we be going to a police station? I thought you wanted to ask me some questions.”
“This town isn’t policed like any other town you’ve lived in,” said Sergeant Spencer. “We do things a little differently around here.”
Judith laughed. She turned in her seat and peered at Millie through a gap in the headrest. “A lot differently!” she said. “The concealment magic prevents other police taking an interest in the town. Dad still gets paid, and he has full access to all the police systems and experts, but he’s on his own. He’s got the cushiest job of any policeman in the world!”
“I wouldn’t say it’s cushy,” laughed Sergeant Spencer. “I have to deal with humans and paranormal people. There’s nothing cushy about that. It’s stressful sometimes, although I will admit it’s better than when I worked in the city.”
“And easier,” smiled Judith.
“Alright. I admit it. I’ve got a pretty cushy job here,” said the sergeant. “Happy?”
Judith winked at Millie and faced the front again. “Happy,” she confirmed.
“Why doesn’t the concealment magic affect you, Sergeant?” said Millie. “What’s special about you?”
Judith answered for him. “We think it’s because of me,” she said. “When I was adopted by Dad.”
“Why?” said Millie.
“That’s a conversation for you two to have another day,” said Sergeant Spencer. “When I’m not about. It makes me sad to talk about it. Anyway. We’re here.”
Judith leaned across her seat and gave her father a kiss on his cheek. He blushed, and brought the car to a halt. “Okay, we’ll do what we need to do here, and then we’ll go to the lighthouse and have a proper look around. Remember, Millie — I’ve only brought you here to prove your innocence to anybody who might doubt it. I don’t doubt you one tiny bit.”
“That’s okay,” said Millie. “I don’t mind answering a few questions.”
Sergeant Spencer looked away. “Well… erm, that’s good then. Just a few questions. Come on then, let’s get it over with.”
Sergeant Spencer had been right. Spellbinder Hall was a lot less spooky during the day. Gone were the long creeping shadows, replaced with vivid green grass and bright flowers in neatly kept beds. Even the gargoyles and stone dragons seemed less sinister beneath sunlight.
The policeman parked the police car alongside four other vehicles. “Okay, Millie,” he said, leading the way towards the door. “You’re only here to prove you didn’t do anything, okay? It’s just a formality — everybody knows you’re innocent.”
“But why a school?” said Millie, gazing up at the old building.
“It’s not just a school, Millie,” said Sergeant Spencer. “It’s the nucleus of the paranormal community. If you were human, I’d be taking you to the little police station in town to ask you some questions. This is where we bring paranormal people. Henry can get to the truth a lot quicker than I can.”
“Who is Henry?” said Millie, following the sergeant up the steps. “Or what is he, I mean. Is he a vampire? A witch? A wizard?”
“Henry is just Henry,” interjected Judith. “He’s nothing, and everything. It’s complicated. You’d be better off hearing it from Henry himself. He’ll explain it to you when he’s ready.”
The door swung open and a group of laughing children swarmed through it, almost knocking Millie over.
“No running on the steps!” snapped Judith. “You know the rules!”
“Sorry, Miss Spencer,” said a young girl with a mass of curly red hair. “We’re on a break.”
“You’ll break your leg if you’re not careful,” said Judith. “Now go on. I’ll see you next time I’m teaching.”
“You’re a teacher here?” said Millie, smiling at a small freckled boy in an oversized blazer.
Judith laughed. “Only for a few hours each week. I’m what you might call a temp. I teach the witches among the kids a little magic. It’s fun.”
Stepping into the school, Millie realised just how much less frightening it was in the light of day. It smelt old, and the wall hangings and furnishings were ancient, but it was nice — in an old country manor sort of way. The suits of armour, which peered at her from dark corners, were the only thing that suggested any sort of spookiness. Until she looked at the stairs.
Millie froze. She’d already seen one. The day before. Florence had been a ghost, but the ghost descending the stairway was different. Florence had been almost humanlike, in form anyway, and her face had seemed outwardly friendly. The ghost on the stairway was very dissimilar to Florence — in shape, and in the way it carried itself.
Judith must have heard Millie’s breath catch in her throat, because she came to her side and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Don’t be scared,” she said. “There are a lot of ghosts here. Some communicate, and some, like him, don’t.”
“Is he a monk?” said Millie, hoping the figure wouldn’t lift the hood which shrouded its head and face.
“Probably,” said Judith. “Of some description. Florence says he’s from the medieval period, but that’s all we know. He doesn’t make himself visible often — it’s possible he sensed your energy and didn’t recognise it. Maybe he’s just curious about who you are.”
Millie jumped and gave a low shriek as warm breath tickled the back of her neck, and a voice spoke into her ear. “Or maybe he wishes to suck your soul from your body and take it back to hell with him
, where it will remain trapped for eternity.”
“Enough of that, Timothy!” said Judith, spinning to face the person behind Millie. “She had a hard day yesterday, she doesn’t need you teasing her today!”
Millie wasn’t sure whether she should keep her eyes on the shrouded figure floating down the stairs, or turn to face the person who’d violated her personal space. As the ghostly apparition began to fade — its robes becoming so transparent Millie could barely see them, she chose the latter. She swivelled quickly, the small hairs on the back of her neck still upright. “You scared me!” she said.
The man looking at Millie was shorter than she was, and appeared to be trapped between puberty and adulthood. His fluffy brown beard covered a portion of his chin, and acne scars cratered his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Henry saw the police car arrive and sent me down to greet you all.” He extended a hand towards Millie, and licked his lips before smiling. “I’m Timothy, but you may call me Tim. It’s a fine pleasure to meet you, Miss Thorn. As you’ve probably worked out by now, I’m the practical joker around these parts!”
“The clown more like it,” said Judith. “And not a very funny one. You scared her, Timothy!”
“That was not my intention,” said Timothy. “Please accept my apologies, Miss Thorn.”
Millie took his hand. “That’s okay,” she said. “No harm done. The ghost did most of the scaring, not you.”
“Where is Henry?” said Sergeant Spencer.
“Upstairs,” said Timothy. “Edna has just been tested, and has been proved innocent. George told us she had argued with Albert on the morning of his unfortunate demise.”
Millie bristled.
“It’s okay,” said Timothy, sensing Millie’s unease. “Edna has left Henry’s office. Don’t worry, Miss Thorn — she won’t be summoning any faces from the fireplace today!”
“You know about that?” said Judith. “Is nothing private around here?”
“Florence is quite the gossip,” said Timothy. “Ladies of her era were prim and proper, and never showed an ankle or a bosom, but good grief — they enjoyed talking!”