‘Hurry,’ he urged, searching the darkness for the witch’s shadow. She heard the desperation in his voice and stepped forward, placing Bridgemear’s daughter into the crib, a baby who appeared almost identical to that which Tremlon had just removed.
‘It’s done,’ she said, bowing her head. Respectfully, she picked up the dead child and wrapped it in a fine woven cloth that she took from inside her robes. She placed the bundle gently back upon the floor.
‘Away, child,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘Go now, for it’s time to rest amongst your own.’ She closed her eyes, her lips moving as she reached down and touched the cloth. Slowly, the small bundle flattened until all that was left was empty material. An unexpected sigh escaped from her lips. Tremlon stood up and moved towards her. She drew back, her hand still clutching the silky material. The cloth began to unravel carelessly in her grasp and for a moment he felt afraid, until he saw the material no longer held the tiny body.
Turning to Tremlon, Lilura said, ‘We’ve got to be on our way.’
‘I must wait awhile,’ he argued, ‘to be sure the mother does not suspect.’
‘I have laid an enchantment,’ said the witch. ‘The plain folk will not sense a thing. Why stay?’
‘I have my orders.’
‘I should have known your king wouldn’t trust me,’ she said, flashing a scowl. ‘Shall I wait with you?’
‘If you wish,’ he answered, shrugging his shoulders, ‘but I have no need of you now.’
As dawn finally broke, the witch and the elf moved closer to the shadows, and slowly their shapes began to melt away. Arms and legs dissolved, creating a different shadow to grace the walls where, only moments before, two human outlines had been displayed. Within the blink of an eye, their clothes faded to nothing, replaced in a breath by velvety feathers. The witch took the shape of a large black crow whilst the elf had chosen his natural change, to a dove.
Moments later, his beady eyes watched with anticipation for the mother’s arrival. They both sat on the windowsill, waiting in silence for the king’s wicked plan to take effect. His eyes locked upon her when she finally entered, and his head bobbed up and down as he strained his neck to get a better look. He observed the young woman who bent over the crib and lifted the mage’s baby into her arms. He held his breath in expectancy, releasing it only when she began to kiss the baby’s forehead and stroke her cheek with a delicate finger.
The black crow cawed by his side, her dark feathers blowing gently in the cool morning breeze.
‘We must leave before they suspect,’ she urged.
Stretching out his wings, Tremlon flapped them simultaneously. The beautiful white feathers caught the sun’s warm rays and they bowed together before the tips of their wings touched; then Tremlon vanished. The crow followed a moment later, but not before she watched the new mother place the baby safely back inside her cot. She noticed her hesitate, before rummaging her fingers between the sheets. A moment later, the glow from the amulet lit her surprised face. She had found the string of orbs that had been placed between the sheet and soft blankets, a gift left by another mother.
‘Live long, princess,’ the witch cawed; ‘live long and pray your life in this world will be easier than if you were in your own.’ Startled, the woman’s eyes shot to the window pane.
‘Shoo,’ she shouted, waving her arms in the air like a lunatic. She rushed over and pushed the window wide, intent on making the bird fly away. ‘Get away, you horrible bird!’ she yelled, still flapping her arms. ‘Go and find yourself an abandoned churchyard to haunt.’ For a moment their eyes locked; jet-black held silver grey. A cold shiver forced its way down the woman’s slender spine and in that instant she felt the crow to be a bad omen.
‘Beatrice!’ a voice called out. ‘Close that damn window before you catch a chill.’ The crow took flight and the woman watched it move towards the horizon.
‘Meg, something’s wrong,’ Beatrice told her friend when she came into the room and placed a caring hand on her shoulder. ‘Look what I’ve found, some kind of necklace.’
‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one; bet it’s only a bit of costume jewellery though. What with your crib coming from the charity shop, I bet it was under the mattress or something; these things do happen from time to time.’ Beatrice agreed that her theory had a ring of truth, but deep down she knew the necklace hadn’t been there when she put the baby to bed.
‘Come on, let’s get you back into bed,’ said Meg, shaking her head. ‘You know you shouldn’t be up so soon after the birth.’
‘Something’s not right,’ Beatrice persisted, heading back to her child. ‘I’ve only just lost my husband; I can’t lose my baby too.’ Hot tears hung on her dark lashes, threatening to spill down her flushed cheeks.
‘Look, everything’s fine,’ Meg insisted, sweeping her eyes over the sleeping infant. ‘It’s only natural that you should be feeling fretful after what you’ve been through. Now, let’s get you back to bed where you belong.’
With some resistance, Meg was able to guide her charge to her own room, directly opposite the nursery.
‘Your baby’s going to be fine,’ she soothed, turning on the bedside light, ‘you just need plenty of rest.’ Beatrice sat on the bed, her face turning pale and drawn.
‘But you don’t understand,’ she bleated, her eyes still shining like glass with her unshed tears. ‘That crow’s a sign of bad luck.’
‘Nonsense, dear,’ Meg insisted, pulling at Beatrice’s slippers. ‘It’s just a silly little bird that’s all. You know there’s dozens of them around here. Why, you should see my place; there are hundreds of the damn things living on my roof!’
Meg covered her body with a soft bedspread and Beatrice breathed in the scent of fresh linen. When she laid her head on the pillow, a whispering voice called out to her somewhere in the back of her mind. She focused her senses, unsure where the voice was coming from, until a whispering murmur brought with it a name that seemed to be balancing on the tip of her tongue.
‘Crystal,’ she said, aloud.
‘What’s that, dear?’ Meg asked, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Have you come up with a name for your baby?’
‘Yes,’ Beatrice answered, trying to stifle a yawn. ‘Yes, I have. My baby, she’s to be called Crystal.’
‘That’s an unusual name,’ said Meg, pulling a face, ‘and it’s certainly different.’
Beatrice looked up into her friend’s kind face and saw only her smile; her instincts were telling her there was something wrong, but she found she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Her eyelids were beginning to feel heavy with sleep and she felt herself drifting off. The last images held in the swirl of her subconscious came swimming to the surface as soon as the darkness penetrated her thoughts. She began dreaming and saw her dead husband, William, standing in a place she could not recall. So vivid was the dream that she tried to call out to him and touch the man she loved, but no matter how hard she tried her fingers could never quite reach him. He floated closer, his handsome face much clearer and her already outstretched arms pleaded for him to allow her a moment’s embrace. But then horror exploded in her mind and a sharp pain erupted in her heart when she focused on something small and lifeless lying in his arms. A silent scream left her numb and with trembling lips when she realised he was clutching the limp body of a dead baby to his blood-soaked chest.
The horror of what she saw sent her mind into utter turmoil; was this more than just a nightmare she was suffering? Fighting the agony of watching those she loved slip away, she sobbed inwardly when William’s tear-stained face turned from hers and began to shimmer like an illusion on a hot summer’s day. Slowly, the two figures disintegrated into minute particles of sparkling dust before her very eyes and in her sleep she wept an ocean of tears.
Chapter 1
16 years later
‘Books back in two weeks,’ cried the librarian, crushing the date stamp on the blank page of the lender’s book. Snapping the last c
over closed, she pushed it across the highly polished desk. The visitor grabbed her pile of books, shoving them into an old school satchel, before turning on her heels and heading for the nearest exit.
Crystal watched the old lady’s hasty retreat and smiled to herself. She loved it here in the town’s local library where her mother had dropped her off for the rest of the afternoon. She was often found to have her nose buried in a novel of some kind and here inside this old library, she felt safe within the confines of the solid brick walls. Her love of books and thirst for knowledge had given her the courage she needed to overcome the ghost stories she had heard concerning the library as a small child.
She focused her concentration back on her favourite novel, Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. The story had woven its magic within her soul many times in her short life, with the pages portraying a lonely and bitter life entwined with love and ultimate tragedy. Her gaze fell back to the printed page and she became lost once more on the cold and lonely moors with Cathy and her volatile lover, Heathcliff.
Whilst her mind conjured up colourful images of times gone by, an unexpected burst of giggling drifted down the long, cool corridors and was caught by her sensitive ear. With her concentration broken, Crystal closed her book and placed it back on the shelf, momentarily forgotten. Her inquisitive nature pushed her eagerly towards the source of the disturbance, her mind still filled with ghosts of long ago.
Almost on tiptoe, she hurried between the oak-panelled bookcases, careful not to make a sound. She passed row upon row of ancient literature, each book begging for a reader to reach out and pluck it from obscurity. The columns loomed high, each one branded with a large fancy gold letter of the alphabet placed there to help the untrained eye differentiate between the novels by the author’s name.
The giggling was beginning to grow louder and more boisterous, making it extremely easy for her to detect where the noisy culprits were hiding. Cautiously, she moved even closer. Someone let out a yelp.
‘What the hell!’ said a startled voice, when a dark silhouette appeared against the pale, even walls. It only took a moment for Crystal to realise she had been detected and without delay she revealed herself to the two surprised visitors.
‘Hi there,’ she said, jumping out of the shadows. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you, but I heard you laughing and just wondered who was down here.’ She looked with interest at the two teenage boys who were staring wide-eyed in her direction.
‘Hi, my name’s Alfie,’ said the smaller of the two lads.
‘That’s Matt over there,’ he added pointing a stubby finger towards his friend. ‘He’s my best mate.’
She nodded a greeting.
‘My name’s Crystal,’ she revealed, giving them a nervous smile. ‘I come here a lot, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two in here before.’
A short silence engulfed them when no one spoke, until her eyes lit up with silvery sparks when she hit on an idea. ‘Perhaps you need help finding something?’ she probed, letting a slight smile hover around the corners of her mouth. ‘If you do, I can help, because I pretty much know this library inside out.’
‘Well,’ said Alfie, clearly toying with the idea for less than a second, ‘I think we’re alright, actually.’
‘Oh,’ said Crystal, feeling a stab of disappointment. ‘Are you sure?’
Alfie nodded his head and shot her a look which told her he didn’t want any help from some know-it-all. Crystal let out a sigh and stared at him with a sudden critical eye. She thought by the way he was dressed that he looked younger than her, although Matt looked around the same age, sixteen. Alfie was wearing blue jeans and a personalised football shirt. She decided his blonde hair was in desperate need of a good haircut and sensed his behaviour was bordering on childishness.
‘Hey, speak for yourself,’ Matt suddenly shot back, grinning at her.
‘Really?’ said Crystal, flashing a smile and feeling intrigued. ‘Tell me, what is it you need?’ She watched him stand up and walk towards her. She hadn’t realised he was so tall, with thick, dark hair and unusual green eyes. His limbs were long and athletic, and he wore a faded denim shirt with cut-off sleeves, accentuating his lean physique. He was what she would have described a teen heart-throb and she lowered her gaze, slightly embarrassed for labelling him in such a way.
‘You’ve caught us arguing over our homework on the British involvement with the African slave trade,’ he explained, oblivious to her burning cheeks. He offered her the book he was reading.
‘We’re trying to find out why they actually got involved in the first place,’ he continued, ‘but none of the books we’ve found so far have given us any real information. Everything seems to give a brief outline and it’s just not enough material to get us at least a B grade in English.’ He gave her a pleading look, raising his left eyebrow in good humour.
‘Any ideas, gorgeous?’
Crystal laughed then.
‘I really don’t know why you’re looking in this old thing,’ she said, flicking through the dated text. ‘But if you really do need such detailed research, why don’t you follow me and I’ll show you exactly where to look.’
‘By all means, lead the way,’ said Matt, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. He nudged Alfie’s arm, gesturing that he should follow.
‘Come on then,’ she urged, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. ‘No time like the present.’
Crystal slipped through the uneven rows of books followed closely by Matt and Alfie. Alfie just couldn’t resist goofing around and he flicked Matt’s ear, making him squeal in pain.
‘Ouch, that hurt,’ gasped Matt, rubbing his reddening ear with his thumb and finger and trying to alleviate the pain. He threw an angry glare in Alfie’s direction and shook his fist close to his nose, giving him a clear warning.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Crystal, turning to peer into his face.
‘I’m fine, just fine,’ he said, still rubbing his skin. ‘But someone else may not be so lucky if they continue to act like a complete moron.’
Alfie focused straight ahead, struggling to control a snigger that tickled the back of his throat; he never could take Matt too seriously and, besides, this place took the word ‘boredom’ to a whole new level.
‘Believe it or not, but there is an actual section in here dedicated to slavery,’ Crystal said, pointing to the specialised selection, before herding them like sheep towards the shelves. ‘Here we are, I think this is just what you need,’ she said, pulling out a hardback book and placing it on a table.
‘Bloody hell, that looks old,’ said Alfie, pointing to the dusty cover and noting its protective wrapping was torn.
‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, ‘so you’d better be very careful with it.’
Crystal used her delicate fingers to turn the musty pages, showing them the beautiful illustrations contained inside. She gave her full attention to the book, becoming more enchanted with each turn of the page. Unable to find what she was looking for, she cast her gaze over the table of contents.
‘Ha-ha, this should be just what you need,’ she said, with a smirk. ‘Within the pages of this book you will get a complete overview of the whole history of the British involvement with the slave trade. This book is amazing. It will tell you about the world famous anti-slave campaigner, William Wilberforce, who worked tirelessly for most of his life after taking on the cause in 1787. It will explain why the British actually got involved and why they chose African slaves. You’ll probably get an A-star.’
The two boys gave her a look of pure delight before pulling up a chair. Matt’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
‘This is just fantastic!’ he said, giving her a heart-warming smile. ‘It’s really good of you to take the time to show us this section,’ he added. ‘Thanks a lot.’
Crystal felt a warm glow reach her cheeks for the second time that day.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ she answered, feeling suddenly redundant.
‘It was really nice meeting you,’ Matt nodded, his eyes absorbing the invaluable text. ‘Thanks again.’
As she turned to leave, a wave of nausea burst into the pit of her stomach, followed by a crushing pain in her skull. She grabbed hold of a vacant chair to steady herself. If she waited, surely the moment would pass.
‘Are you alright?’ asked Matt, realising she had become unwell.
She opened her mouth to answer, but felt only spears of hot pain shoot through her brain, causing her to gasp. Her limbs grew heavy with an intense pressure as though huge boulders had been placed upon her shoulders and she felt herself edging towards the floor. Then the coloured images within the library started to spin away in a spiral of dense fog and unknown voices invaded her mind whilst she fought to stay conscious.
Alfie felt his stomach lurch.
‘What’s happening?’ he cried, feeling a stab of unease. ‘You’re not going to throw up or anything like that, are you?’
‘Death will take the innocent!’ she shouted, forcing the two boys to stare at one another in astonishment. Alfie’s face turned blank and Matt’s head snapped back as he took a reality check. Her body language was strangely stiff, but her eyes were huge and lucid, moving rapidly from side to side.
‘Beware of the water, for he hides there!’ she cried out. Small beads of perspiration were forming on her forehead, sparkling like diamonds in the bright sunlight. Confused, Alfie moved his chair closer to Matt’s.
‘There’s no water here,’ Matt soothed, trying his best to reassure her. His eyes switched to the library, looking for signs of an imminent tidal wave.
Crystal’s facial muscles tightened as her mind was taken over.
‘Don’t get in it!’ she pleaded, her arms reaching out, but her fingers touched nothing but emptiness. ‘I beg of you, listen to me.’
The vivid images they couldn’t see were so extraordinarily real to her and her alone, and she was coherent enough to realise she was experiencing some kind of extrasensory vision. Her distress was mounting and she held the chair tighter, her knuckles turning white. Without making a sound, Matt pushed his chair away from the table.
Sinners of Magic Page 2