by Sam Short
Had anybody else uttered those words, Millie imagined she might have exploded with anger or broken down in tears, but coming from Judith the words weren’t cruel. How could they be? Judith herself had lost her parents when she was a toddler. Judith had killed her parents, Millie reminded herself, and had been dragged from certain death out of the burning car wreck caused by the accidental magic spell she had cast.
The young policeman who had rescued Judith had eventually adopted her, and brought her up as his own, cutting all connections with the non-paranormal world and moving to Spellbinder Bay when he’d discovered that the toddler he’d adopted was a witch. Henry Pinkerton had allowed Sergeant Spencer privileged access to the paranormal world in return for the kindness he’d shown to Judith, and he and Judith had lived together ever since as father and daughter.
Millie allowed herself a forgiving smile as she looked at Judith — forgiveness for her own frail emotions, and forgiveness of Judith’s words. Could there be two more messed up young women sitting in the front of a car together? Could there be two women more suited to being siblings than friends? She doubted it, and as she gazed at the pretty profile of Judith’s face, she promised herself that as soon as Trevor’s murder was solved, she would tell both Judith and Sergeant Spencer the truth. Sergeant David Spencer was her father, and she would be honoured to call Judith her sister. Those words weren’t merely the truth — hopefully they would be the catalyst of a whole new beginning for her, too.
Opening her door, Millie grabbed Judith’s hand and gave it a fierce squeeze. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go — Timothy’s waiting on the steps to the hall. We’ll get to the bottom of Trevor’s death in no time. And if Fredrick did even consider for a single moment that your father was capable of murder, we’ll rub his face in the evidence to the contrary. Together.”
Chapter 15
Millie gave the two granite dragons guarding the entrance door to Spellbinder Hall a cursory glance as she and Judith followed Timothy up the steps, pausing at the top as the werewolf opened the heavy wooden door, its iron embellishments worn by centuries of sea air and storms.
Stepping inside the ancient hall, Millie’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, her nerves settling as she smelled the warm, friendly scents of old books, leather, and dust. Watched over by a full suit of armour standing in one of the dark corners, and with people immortalised in oil paint peering down at them from panelled wood walls, the three of them hurried towards the door on the far side of the entrance hall which led into the bowels of the building.
Passing through the doorway, and illuminated by flaming torches housed in metal wall brackets, Timothy veered right, leading the way down the steep steps which led to the maze of tunnels running through the cliff below the hall, the temperature dropping by a degree or two as they descended the narrow tunnel.
The steps slippery beneath her feet, Millie remembered the last time she’d been beneath Spellbinder Hall, the time when Henry Pinkerton had shown her the gate which led to The Chaos. She shuddered as she recalled the evil which she’d seen, and sensed, on the other side of the gate, and gave a soft sigh of relief when Timothy turned right instead of left as he reached the bottom of the first flight of steps, leading them in the opposite direction to that of the chaos gate.
As they passed the entrance to another tunnel leading deeper into the cliff, Millie wondered how many steps a person would have to navigate before they reached the cave at the very base of the cliff — the cave which was home to the moonpool, the source of all the magic in Spellbinder Hall.
Much like the cauldron in the cavern below her cottage, the moonpool housed a mysterious green liquid, a liquid which shimmered and shone, and a liquid which was warm to the touch and the hiding place for strange shadows which flitted like fish below the surface. Powered by lunar beams, collected from the moon by the cliff face, the moonpool’s magic coursed through the fissures of the cliff, wending its way ever upwards until it reached the old building high above, from where it was dispersed throughout the hall and across the town.
Running a hand across the wall of the tunnel as she walked, feeling smooth rock beneath her fingertips, Millie’s voice bounced off the walls as she spoke. “I wasn’t aware there was somebody in Spellbinder Hall qualified to do autopsies,” she said.
“It’s not an autopsy like you’d imagine,” said Timothy, his face a warm orange as he passed one of the flaming torches attached to the wall. “It’s a magical autopsy. Trevor’s body won’t be cut open, Edna Brockett will use magic to determine the cause of Trevor’s death, and to search for further clues.”
Millie’s heart gave a little flutter as it did every time she heard Edna Brockett’s name mentioned, or whenever she spoke to the woman. Edna Brockett had been the first person Millie had met when she’d moved to Spellbinder Bay, and during her first day in the small town, Millie had been exposed to the elderly witch’s dangerous driving as she gave Millie a lift to her new home in the sand dunes.
As if Edna Brockett hadn’t frightened Millie enough with her erratic driving, the witch had gone on to petrify Millie later that same day when she’d been asked to prove to Millie that magic existed. Choosing to summon a demon from another dimension, instead of merely performing a parlour trick such as levitating an object or producing a rabbit from a hat, Edna had terrified Millie and she still shuddered when she remembered the evil face the witch had conjured into existence in a fireplace.
Since that day, Edna, although stern and quite frightening, had done nothing to justify the flutter of fear which Millie experienced whenever she heard her name, but she supposed it must be true when people said that first impressions counted. The first impression she’d gained from Edna had indeed remained with her.
“Edna’s an accomplished witch,” said Judith, stumbling a little as the tunnel suddenly steepened. “She’ll do a good job. She’ll find out what happened to Trevor.”
“She will indeed,” agreed Timothy. He pointed at the wooden door at the end of the tunnel, its planks bound by thick strips of black iron. “We’re here,” he said. “Welcome to Spellbinder Hall morgue — possibly the most underused room we have.”
His footsteps echoing off the walls and ceiling, Timothy hurried the last few steps and paused in front of the door. He lifted a fist and gave three quick raps of his knuckles on the thick wood.
“Who is it?” came Fredrick’s muffled voice.
“It’s us!” replied Timothy. “Timothy, Millie, and Judith.”
The sound of the lock being turned precipitated the door swinging open, a warm glow emanating from the room beyond it. Fredrick stood aside as the three of them traipsed past him, closing the door when they were all in the high-ceilinged cave. He put a finger to his lips, indicating that they should remain quiet. “She’s nearly finished,” he said in a low voice, nodding towards the back of the woman who leaned over the white shrouded form on the table before her.
Both hands dancing through the air, a few inches above the sheet covered body of Trevor Giles, Edna Brockett murmured indistinguishable words under her breath, as hair-thin tendrils of brightly coloured energy sparked from her fingertips, emitting a crackling sound as they crisscrossed a route over the linen.
With her back to them, and Trevor’s shrouded body in the shadows of the cave wall, it was hard to see precisely what Edna was doing — the energy spilling from her fingers not bright enough to fully illuminate her work.
Muttering more garbled sounds, Edna suddenly straightened her back as the strands of light pouring from her left hand brightened, the flash of light casting the walls and ceilings in vivid red light. “I’ve got it,” she said, no longer murmuring. “The last of it.”
Wondering what Edna had got the last of, Millie manoeuvred herself into a position which allowed her to see what she was doing. She watched in fascination as the accomplished witch formed her left hand into a claw and lifted her arm upwards, the strands of energy still flowing from her fingertips resembling
the strings of a puppeteer’s mannequin. Using her free hand, Edna reached for one of the small green bottles on the table next to her and popped the cork stopper out with her thumb.
As Edna lifted her left hand higher, it became apparent that the thin strands of energy flowing from her fingers had wrapped themselves around something — something that seemed to struggle. Something that glowed a bright blue — like a miniature planet, and if Millie listened carefully enough — something that seemed to hum like the wings of a bumblebee in flight.
Bringing the bottle closer to her left hand, Edna guided the small orb of blue nearer to the neck, before suddenly pushing her hand forward, forcing the captive sphere into the glassware. She replaced the stopper with a satisfied sigh and slammed the bottle on the table, before turning to face her audience. “There,” she said, her knitted cardigan buttoned high up her neck, and her short greying hair as immaculate as it always was. “Everything that was in the poor man’s stomach is now in one of these bottles.”
“Can you tell us anything yet?” asked Judith, peering at the row of glassware on the table behind Edna. “What happened to Trevor?”
Edna looked along her nose at Judith, her thin lips set in a stern pout. “You’ll have to be patient, young lady,” she said. “As I was telling Fredrick before you three arrived — it’s going to take some time to evaluate exactly what happened to Mister Giles. There’s a lot going on in those bottles.”
“A lot going on?” said Judith. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” said Edna, “that your instincts were correct. It seems that Trevor Giles was killed by poison. And not just any poison — a magical poison.”
“He was killed by a magical potion?” asked Millie.
Edna shook her head. “No,” she said. “It may be annoying semantics, but potions are usually created to help. Poisons are created to harm. Whatever Trevor had ingested only harmed him, if it was manufactured to kill Mister Giles, then it was a magical poison, not a potion.”
“What was that… glowing blue ball I saw you removing from him?” asked Millie. “Was that the magic?”
Picking up the bottle she’d captured the orb in, Edna peered into its depths, the blue glow of the orb dulled by the green of the glass. “Yes,” she said. “This is what’s left of the magic used to power the poison. It’s going to take me some time to work out exactly what sort of magic it is, and then even longer — if at all, to work out who it was cast by.”
“So, it was a witch who killed Trevor Giles?” said Judith. “Surely that narrows it down and puts my father in the clear! He’s obviously not a witch!”
Edna glanced at Fredrick, and then licked her lips. “All will become clear in time,” she said, her voice flat. “I promise.”
Not liking the tone in Edna’s voice, or the look she’d given Fredrick, Millie frowned. “And the other jars and bottles?” she asked, indicating the row of glassware. “Do they all contain magic, too?”
“No,” said Edna, placing the bottle in her hand gently on the table. “They contain samples of everything else which was in Trevor’s stomach. There was a lot — he’d certainly drank a lot of alcohol and eaten well in the past day... cakes, especially.”
“Can you tell which item of food the poison was added to?” asked Judith. “We think it was in the last muffin he ate.”
Edna gave a curt shake of her head. “No,” she said. “Not right away, that will take time, too. You’ll need to be patient.”
Fredrick stepped forward, adjusting his cufflinks. His thin face danced with shadows cast by the torches which lined the walls of the cave, and his eyes reflected the flames as he spoke to the elderly witch. “Then I would ask that you get to work right away, Edna,” he said. “Time is of the essence. Henry and the headmaster are due back in four days time, and I want this whole tragic situation resolved by then.”
Edna gave him an enquiring look. “Is there no way at all that we can get a message to them?” she asked. “There’s been a murder, Fredrick. A member of the paranormal community has been killed. I’m sure that Henry would rush back if he were made aware of what has happened in his absence.”
“I’m fully aware of what has happened in his absence, Mrs Brockett,” said Fredrick, his voice rumbling with menace. “And I’m sure you’re equally aware that Henry and Mister Dickinson are between dimensions, on essential magical business. Even if we could summon them home, I’m not sure I would. They’re meeting with the leaders of other magical communities such as ours. Leaders from all over the globe — discussing ways in which to make sure our communities stay hidden from the non-paranormal world in these times of great technological advancements. Their work is important, Mrs Brockett — if we are to remain hidden, and safe. I’d hope you would understand that.”
Edna nodded. “Of course, Fredrick. These days there are cameras and satellites everywhere. The old ways won’t keep us hidden forever.”
“I will discover what happened to Trevor Giles,” said Fredrick. “I can assure you of that. We don’t need to concern ourselves with getting word to Henry, though. He left me in charge, and I will do what I need to do.”
Edna dropped her eyes. “I know you will, Fredrick, but it’s just that…” She shook her head. “No. It doesn’t matter.”
“But what, Mrs Brockett?” snarled Fredrick. “Finish what you were about to say.”
“I was only going to ask what will happen if we find a suspect,” said Edna. “Only Henry can make the stone of integrity work — how will we know if somebody is telling the truth or not without the stone of integrity verifying their answers?”
As Edna mentioned the stone of integrity, a soft warmth erupted in Millie’s palm as she recalled holding the jewel while Henry asked her questions about the murder of Albert Salmon, the old man who had been pushed to his death from his lighthouse. Millie had also observed Henry using the stone on her friend Lillieth, the mermaid, and on an elderly woman named Hilda who was possessed by a demon, who Henry had suspected of killing a metal detectorist.
Edna was making a valid point — the stone of integrity was undoubtedly a powerful way of finding out if somebody was telling the truth or not, but completely useless without Henry present to operate it.
Frederick gave a frustrated sigh. “When we do find the suspect,” he said, pausing momentarily as his eyes shifted in Judith’s direction. “Or suspects, then we will keep them under lock and key here at Spellbinder Hall until Henry returns and can use the stone of integrity to find out the truth.” He smiled at Edna, before returning his gaze to Judith. “If, of course, the suspect is from the paranormal community. For as we all know, the stone of integrity will not work on a human.”
Seeming to suddenly understand what Fredrick was insinuating, Judith glared at the vampire. “What are you trying to say? You can’t think my father had anything to do with this? After everything he’s done for this town!”
Fredrick put both hands up, the palms towards Judith. “I don’t think anything right now,” he said. “But your father insisted that we treat him as a suspect until we can disprove his involvement.” He attempted a smile, his lips curling slowly. “I hope you can understand how delicate the unfortunate situation is, in which we find ourselves, Miss Spencer.”
“Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree if you think my father had anything to do with Trevor Giles’s death,” said Judith. She pointed at the glass bottles on the table next to Trevor’s shrouded body. “My father wouldn’t be messing around with magic. He doesn’t know the first thing about magic, even though he’s been in this community for nearly thirty years and has a witch as an adopted daughter.”
And a witch as a biological daughter, thought Millie, placing a calming hand on Judith’s forearm. “It’s okay,” she said. “Nobody thinks your father did anything wrong. We have to follow procedure, though — like he wanted us to.”
Judith glowered at Fredrick. “My father had nothing to do with any of this.”
“And
nobody has said he did,” said Fredrick. “There was no need for your outburst, I didn’t insinuate anything, I merely said that the stone won’t work on a human.”
“You were looking in my direction when you said it,” replied Judith.
Fredrick frowned, his eyes half closing. “I have nothing but respect for your father, Judith,” he said, lowering his hands. “And it’s my respect for him which drives my decision to do as he asked me to. The circumstances surrounding Trevor’s death will, of course, be fully investigated, and that includes asking Sergeant Spencer any questions which may be pertinent to the case.”
Crossing her arms, Judith nodded. “In the meantime,” she said, “I’ll get on with trying to find out who really killed Trevor Giles.”
“And I’d expect nothing less from you,” said Fredrick. He looked at Millie. “And with Miss Thorn helping you, I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it in no time.” He turned his gaze to Edna Brockett. “Can you start work on the samples you took from Trevor immediately, Mrs Brockett?” he asked.
“I will,” said Edna, a yawn escaping her lips. “First thing in the morning, Fredrick. Unlike you vampire types, us witches require at least a few hours sleep. Especially at my age.”
Retrieving his pocket watch from the breast pocket of his jacket and flicking it open, Fredrick nodded. “Time has flown by. I didn’t realise. The sun will be rising in an hour or two.” He gave Edna a smile. “Go home, Mrs Brockett. Get some sleep.” He looked around the room. “That goes for all of you. We’ll begin again tomorrow.” He glanced at the bulging sheet on the table and then looked at Millie and Judith in turn. “Would you two begin tomorrow by visiting the unfortunate Mrs Giles and informing her of her husband’s untimely demise? I don’t think visiting her at this time of the night —” He paused, glancing at Edna. “This time of the morning, I should say, would be fair to her or her son.”