by TJ Green
“There are no protection spells on his house, Alex, and he’s not answering his phone. It’s odd!”
“Why are you phoning him?”
“I told you! Genevieve asked me to. There’s a meeting tonight, and she can’t get hold of him.”
He gave her one final, impatient look, stepped behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. In seconds, Avery had flown them back to Caspian’s hall.
In the brief time since she had left, nothing had changed, and after a few deep breaths to control his nausea, Alex straightened and looked around, his annoyance disappearing.
“I see what you mean. Have you checked the ground floor?”
“Not that half,” she said, pointing to the other wing of the house.
“Call him again, while we search.” Alex marched down the hall, but Avery waited for a second, hoping Caspian would answer or she’d hear the phone, but neither happened, and she hurried after Alex.
“He’s still not answering.”
“What’s worrying me,” Alex said, pausing on the threshold of a large lounge, “is that I can’t even feel any residual magic. What if he’s…” He looked at her, his gaze serious.
“Don’t even suggest that,” Avery said. Not feeling any remnant of magic might mean Caspian was dead, and Avery didn’t want to entertain that thought at all—and she was glad to see Alex didn’t, either. For all that Alex resented Caspian flirting with her, he would never wish him ill.
By now they were almost running through the ground floor of the enormous house, and they raced upstairs, finding the next floor as quiet as below. But this level was cold; far colder than it should be on a warm June afternoon, and they paused on the landing, wary of what they may find.
“Something’s here,” Alex whispered. “Something is watching us.”
Avery felt a prickle down her spine and a cold draft on her neck, and she whirled around, hands raised, to find a knife whirring towards her. She batted it away with her magic, shouting, “Alex—duck!”
The dagger smashed into the wall, but it was followed by more, shooting out of nowhere like darts. She ducked and rolled, and immediately smelt brine and seaweed as a shower of coarse sand hit her, almost blinding her.
A wave of Alex’s magic rolled above her, and she heard him cast a banishing spell. But he couldn’t finish it. A dark, shadowy figure hit him, throwing him to the floor, and together they rolled down the hallway, smashing into the wall and upending furniture.
Avery leapt to her feet, bewildered as to what to do. If she mistimed a fireball, she could hit Alex, and she wasn’t even sure if it would be effective against spirits. And then icy cold, wet hands slipped around her throat, and started to choke her.
She used witch-flight and manifested behind the spirit, just in time to see the shade of a ragged-clothed man spin and jab at her with a knife, a rictus grin revealing blackened teeth and vacant eyes. She leapt back and smacked it with a lightning bolt of energy. It sizzled through the spirit, hitting the wall behind with a burning smell, and the spirit vanished.
Hoping there weren’t many more ghosts to contend with, she raced down the hall to where Alex was still fighting. She could see the figure clearer now. Like the other spirit, it was wearing old-fashioned, ragged sailor’s clothing. He sat on Alex’s chest, pinning him to the floor. His arm was across Alex’s neck, and Alex struggled to get his hands free. Without hesitating, Avery propelled a powerful wind at the spirit, picking it up like driftwood, and tossing him down the hall. Alex leapt to his feet, and with a sure and commanding voice, banished the spirit into the void.
For a few seconds, they both stood there poised for further attacks, but an eerie silence descended on the house.
Alex swept his tangled hair back, and glanced at her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, you?”
“A bruised ego, but that’s all.” He rubbed his throat. “He felt all too real.”
“I know. I was attacked, too, and I’m not entirely sure that it’s gone.” Avery headed to the closest door, nudging it open to check the room beyond. It was a bedroom, but no one was in there. “Empty,” she said, relieved. “I’m really worried, Alex.”
“Me too,” he said, already checking the room closest to him.
Avery headed down the passage, giving the rooms she passed a cursory glance before rushing to Caspian’s room, Alex right behind her.
“This is his room,” she told him, summoning her courage before she opened the door.
Alex froze and his eyes hardened. “How do you know that?”
She knew that admission would make him suspicious and she laid her hand on his arm to reassure him. “When I practiced witch-flight I accidentally ended up here. That’s all.”
He nodded, his expression relaxing. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”
Avery opened Caspian’s door, peering inside cautiously, and saw a crumpled heap next to the bed. “Alex! He’s hurt!”
They both ran in, Avery abandoning all caution as she raced to his side. Caspian was lying on the floor wearing track suit bottoms and a dirty, sweat-soaked t-shirt. His face was bloodied and bruised, and she only saw the knife in his side once she was kneeling next to him. Blood pooled on the floor, already thick and sticky.
“He’s been stabbed!” She reached for his pulse, his skin cold beneath her fingers, and relief swept through her as she felt its faint, thready beat. “He’s still alive, just barely. I have to get him to a hospital!”
Alex knelt next to her, half watching her, and half scanning the room. He laid a calming hand on her arm. “Briar first! You know she’s better.”
“But—”
Alex’s phone was already in his hands and he called Briar, while Avery gathered her power. Alex was right, but Caspian might need a blood transfusion, or surgery, or… She could barely think straight, and was hardly listening as Alex summarised the situation before hanging up.
“Take him to the back room of her shop, then come back for me later. I’m going to search the house.”
For the first time since she had entered the room she took in the damaged furniture that indicated a chaotic fight, terrified that the same fate could befall Alex. “It’s not safe for you on your own.”
“In that case, don’t be long.” He kissed her cheek. “Go!”
Chapter 10
Briar watched Avery manifest in the middle of her herb room situated at the rear of her shop, and hurried to Caspian’s inert, pale body lying twisted on the floor, quickly assessing his condition.
“By the Goddess!” she said, falling to her knees and examining his wound. “He’s lost a lot of blood!” She held his wrist, feeling for his pulse.
“He’s been stabbed by a ghost!” Avery looked beside herself, her green eyes wide with shock. “How can a spirit do this, Briar?”
“I’ll worry about that afterwards. I want him on the table. Can you lift him?” She needed to keep Avery focussed.
“Yes, of course.”
They both stood as Avery summoned air, sending it under Caspian and lifting him gently until he was deposited in the middle of Briar’s large, wooden table that she’d dragged to the middle of the room. Avery had arrived so quickly that Briar had only had time to boil water, but she had more than enough herbs to deal with this situation. She rolled him gently onto his back and eased his t-shirt out of the way to inspect the wound. The knife was still embedded in his side.
“It’s an old knife. It has a weird hilt,” she observed.
“But his wound? Is it deep?”
Briar glanced up at Avery’s pinched expression. “It’s hard to say until the blade is out.”
It was low on his left side, and caked in blood, but there was only one stab wound. He was lucky there weren’t more. But as her eyes travelled across his hard, muscled physique, she noted a myriad of cuts and bruises across his chest and face. He’d been beaten severely.
She pointed to his throat. “Finger marks. It tried to strangle him, too.” That was odd.
“I don’t understand why they left him alive.”
Briar heard the door open and shut as Eli came in, crossing quickly to her side. “I’ve locked up,” he said, his tall frame dwarfing her. “What do you want me to do?”
“Make a poultice using yarrow and shepherd’s purse,” she instructed him. “When I pull the knife out, I want to be able to fill the wound with it. Avery, pour some hot water from the kettle into a bowl, grab the cotton gauze, and bring it here.”
Within moments, the hot water appeared next to her, but rather than use it straight away, Briar wanted to scan Caspian’s body first and assess his energy levels. However, Avery’s anxiety was washing off her in waves, and Briar looked at her, perplexed. She knew her and Caspian’s relationship was complex, and respected her silence on it, and her wish to keep Caspian as a friend. It was pretty obvious to all of them that Caspian wanted more than that. But Avery’s mood wasn’t helping now.
“Where is Alex?” Briar asked her.
“Still at Caspian’s. I need to get back to him.”
Briar smiled. No wonder she was anxious. She was worried about Alex, too. “Go. I have Eli now, and we’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
After a moment’s hesitation, in which Avery cast another worried look at Caspian, she disappeared in a swirl of witch-flight, and Eli crossed the room to stand in her place. Eli was one of the seven Nephilim, with honey brown hair and gentle brown eyes, and was charm personified. He was also a very good apothecary, and had taught her things about herbs that had long been lost to time. That was one advantage of working with millennia-old Nephilim. He was also calm, competent, and kind.
He reached for Caspian’s wrist, taking his pulse. “It’s weak. He could have internal bleeding. I’ll prepare a herbal drink when we’ve finished.”
Briar nodded, pleased with the suggestion. “I’m going to scan him now.”
She held her hands over Caspian’s abdomen. She could feel his blood flow as well as energy levels, but she needed to concentrate, and she fell silent for a few minutes as her hands travelled across him, inches above his skin. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his breathing shallow and quick. She detected swelling around his windpipe, and could feel the sluggish flow of blood around the wound where it had already clotted. His energy was low, too, his natural magical powers stunted somehow, and that was just as worrying as his physical injuries.
She dropped her hands as she glanced across at Eli. “He’s weak, but I don’t think the wound is deep.” Briar dipped the cloth in the hot water and started to wipe the blood away. “I don’t understand why the spirit attacked him, and once it did, why it didn’t kill him. From what Alex told me, it sounded like he’d been lying there for hours—with the spirit still there.”
“It is odd,” Eli admitted. “Maybe it’s a warning.” He took the bloodied cloths from Briar, and moved next to her to inspect the wound. “It’s a dirty knife, too—old and tarnished.”
Suddenly fearful for all of their safety, she asked, “Do you understand how a spirit can manifest with a weapon?”
He shook his head. “I can only presume it’s very powerful.” He must have picked up on Briar’s hesitation because he looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Why don’t I pull the knife free? I’ve done this before.”
“You have?” Briar prided herself on being level-headed, but she also hated violence, and the thought of pulling the knife out of flesh and muscle made her feel nauseous.
He was already gripping the bloodied hilt. “Too many times. You stand ready with the poultice.”
“Okay, but I have a spell to say first. Wait one moment.” Briar dipped her hands in the bowl of hot water, cleansed them with a spell, and then placed them either side of the knife. “I’m ready.”
As Eli carefully withdrew the knife, Briar uttered a spell to clean the wound and reduce inflammation, speeding up the healing of flesh and damaged blood vessels. The knife was about four inches long with wicked-sharp edges that had been buried to the hilt, and she sighed with relief that it was a short blade. Fresh blood welled as the blade exited the wound, but Briar continued the spell, watching as Eli pressed hard with thick cotton cloths. They both worked calmly, full of intent, and when Briar nodded to say she’d finished the spell, satisfied that flesh had started to knit together, she reached for the poultice and filled the ragged hole. Then, for the next half an hour, they worked on Caspian’s neck, reducing the swelling there before moving on to the other cuts and bruises covering his battered body. Eventually, they both sighed and stood back, Briar happy to see that Caspian already looked better.
She gave Eli a grateful smile. “Thank you. You were fantastic. Can you carry him to the sofa?”
She had a small couch in the corner of her room, under the window where it caught the afternoon light, and Eli nodded, scooping their patient up effortlessly and then gently positioning him. Briar wrapped a blanket around him, anxious to keep Caspian warm, before turning to boil the kettle once more. She leaned against the counter, watching Eli clean his hands at the sink, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Caspian is a powerful witch, Eli. He has strong protection on his house. This shouldn’t have happened.”
Eli shrugged. “We’re all caught unawares sometimes. Maybe he has a weakness that someone knew about.”
“Maybe. Mind you,” she said, recalling the events at the barbeque, “it happened at Avery’s place, too. A spirit appeared in her garden, bursting through the protection spells.”
Eli dried his hands and threw the cloth into the basket of dirty laundry. They were both scrupulous about cleanliness. He leaned his hip against the counter, mirroring her actions, and folded his arms across his chest. “Sounds to me like the ghost—or ghosts—have something to prove.” He jerked his head at Caspian. “He’s been beaten up! I think whoever did this wanted him to remember it.”
“Like a warning?”
“Exactly. Maybe there’s more violence to come.” Eli’s gentle eyes darkened. “Maybe he’ll target someone close to him next. His sister? Avery?”
“Avery’s not his girlfriend, Eli.”
“But he loves her.”
Briar jolted in shock at his words. “I’m not sure it’s love.”
“You’re brighter than that, Briar. Of course it’s love—as much as he tries to hide it and she tries to ignore it. I’ve seen enough of that in my lifetime. But, we should warn Estelle.” And then he grimaced. “We need to tell her about Caspian’s injuries, too. She might want to be here.”
“I haven’t got her number,” Briar admitted, now worrying about Estelle, even though she didn’t like her.
“We do. I’ll get one of my brothers to call her. But what are we going to do with him?”
“I’ll stay here for a few hours,” Briar said, watching Caspian’s deepening breaths. “I think he’s stable, but even so…” She looked at Eli to find that he was staring at Caspian, too. “You can go. I can get Avery to take him to my spare room later.”
“Oh, no,” he said, grabbing some cups and starting to make tea. “I won’t let you wait alone. I’m waiting, too. But I’ll call Gabe first. He can have the pleasure of finding Estelle.”
Briar smiled, relieved. She was used to being the healer in the coven, and was happy to do it. It gave her great satisfaction to make someone well, and she enjoyed drawing on the Earth’s power to do so. But, it was nice to have someone to bounce ideas off. “All right, thanks Eli. I hope you’re not disappointing any ladies tonight,” she added, teasing him.
He winked. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
Reuben stood at the threshold of the cave beneath Gull Island, his heart pounding, as he wondered what had possessed him to come here.
His mouth was dry and he felt dizzy suddenly as grief threatened to overwhelm him. Almost one year ago they had been searching for his family grimoire when Gil died. No, when Gil had been killed by Caspian Faversham.
>
Reuben’s legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed in a heap as he surveyed the gloomy cavern. He’d thrown a couple of witch-lights up, and they faintly illuminated the old crates stacked at the side of the cave and the stones strewn across the hard ground. Opposite was the lip of rock that hid the entrance to the passage leading to the narrow rocky strip of beach on the far side of the island.
He leaned back, feeling the cold stone behind him, and remembered how optimistic he had been when they first arrived here, sure that he and Gil would find their grimoire and their old family spells. Instead, there had been disaster and death, and his life had changed forever. Now he was the head of the family business, Greenlane Nurseries, and the owner of the family’s manor. He had responsibilities he’d never wanted but had assumed anyway. And sitting in the dark, damp cave, all of his doubts about his abilities were magnified. He wasn’t doing any of it as well as he should be.
He looked at the spot where he had found Gil’s crumpled body. After all that violence, the grimoire hadn’t even been there. And if it wasn’t for Avery taking Caspian unawares, there might have been more deaths, too. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to be rational and reminding himself that Caspian had apologised, that he had been under as much pressure from his father as they had been to find their grimoires. But he couldn’t subdue the sharp spike of anger that was always so close to the surface. Yes, he tried very hard to bury it, and most of the time he did, but now wasn’t one of those stronger moments.
Bollocks. He was being morbid. He needed to get out of here. This wasn’t the way to remember Gil’s life. He was also being unnecessarily negative. The business was fine, and he had El, who despite everything had stuck with him. What was bothering him more than anything was his magic. Hundreds of years of the Jacksons’ magical legacy was swirling within him, and he wasn’t doing it justice. Rather than go to work that day, he’d popped in for a couple of hours and then left, heading straight home, where he’d immersed himself in both grimoires, familiarising himself with the magic that resided in their pages. El had been right; he was improving, and had pulled off a couple of great spells when pushed, but he generally lacked discipline…for magic, at least. He had plenty of discipline for surfing.