Vengeful Magic

by TJ Green

  It was a triumphant group that met that night in The Wayward Son, and Reuben settled back in his chair, comforted by the reassuring presence of his friends after what had been a stressful day.

  All five witches and Newton were seated around a table in the back room, empty plates pushed aside and drinks topped up, as they continued to share their news. Briar had told them about Shadow’s plan to investigate spriggans, and Alex and El had updated them about their museum visit.

  El placed a couple of leaflets on the table. “Unfortunately, these don’t tell us much. They’ve kept the contents of the exhibition very vague.”

  Reuben watched as Avery picked one up. He’d read it earlier. It was a single-page flyer, basically saying the exhibition would highlight the complicated smuggling history in the region, and focus on some colourful characters.

  “You’re right,” she said as she scanned it. “I doubt it can differ that much from the one we saw in Bodmin.”

  “I think it will be smaller,” El told her. “But it will be more localised, too. They might mention the local beaches and caves that would have been used, that sort of thing.”

  Reuben laughed. “Maybe my family’s smuggling history will be revealed. Although, I would have thought I’d be contacted if that was their plan.” It wasn’t something he was worried about, but he was curious to know if the tunnel to Gull Island was recorded elsewhere. “I think what’s more interesting is the stuff they found in the museum basement.”

  “Absolutely,” Briar said, agreeing with him. “Perhaps Ethan found directions that led to buried treasure…potentially Coppinger’s treasure. Perhaps he’s aiming to keep it for himself.”

  Avery looked sceptical. “A highly respected museum curator? I doubt it!”

  “I guess we’ll just have to do more digging,” El said.

  “I’ll look into him,” Newton said. He’d recovered his composure from the previous night, although a grim determination had settled over his hard features. He’d listened more than chatted, so far. “You’d be surprised what disgruntled employees can get up to.”

  “You two are looking very smug,” Alex told Reuben and Avery. “Like you’ve found something exciting.”

  Reuben grinned. “We have. My stash of paperwork in the attic revealed that Virginia Jackson was approached by Serephina Faversham to help tackle ‘the Dane.’” He said it ominously, like it was a pantomime.

  “Really?” Newton asked. “Did she say yes?”

  “It seems Virginia agreed, because the next letter detailed a time to meet—neutral ground in West Haven, the coastal path—and there was one more letter after that. Serephina thanked Virginia for her ideas, and suggested another meeting.” Reuben sipped his beer. “That was it. No details.”

  “Sensible, really,” Newton said. “Anything that is written can be incriminating.”

  Alex tapped his glass, impatient. “So, there’s no suggestion of what they actually did?”

  “No,” Avery answered. “We searched lots of other letters, but nothing gave us any clues. And essentially, we have no idea if they were successful or not.”

  “Did you tell Caspian?” Briar asked.

  Reuben shook his head. “Not yet. We thought we’d tell him tomorrow. I’ve decided to go to his place.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” El asked. She was sitting next to him, and she nudged him gently, her gaze searching his face.

  He knew why she was worried. He’d been furious about Caspian when he reflected on Gil’s death, but he’d since pushed it aside—with difficulty. “Our families are linked together with this. We were then, and we are now. I’ll show him the letters. Hopefully, he’ll have family records, too.”

  Newton nodded. “Let’s hope he has. Your old families and massive attics have probably got all sorts of secrets stored in them.”

  “I haven’t found any others,” Reuben protested. “Although, I must admit that I haven’t searched all that stuff up there. I will keep looking.”

  El nodded, but she still looked concerned. “Do you have any idea about Virginia’s magic?”

  “No. Her name is in my grimoire, but I can’t identify any spells that are written by her; I’ll keep looking.” As much as Reuben was struggling with Gil’s death, he had to admit that this mystery was giving him something positive to focus on.

  “Well,” Newton said, clearing his throat. “I have heard from Cassie. They’ve started investigating Fowey and Looe, but I’ve told them to be very careful. I can’t have another death on my conscience.”

  “You shouldn’t even have one on it,” Briar said firmly. “Inez’s death is not your fault.”

  He shrugged, but it was pretty clear Newton wasn’t letting go of his guilt that easily. Reuben also thought that Cassie, Ben, and Dylan would keep digging, regardless of Newton’s advice.

  “Have they found anything supernatural yet?” Alex asked.

  “A few heightened readings, but nothing conclusive.”

  El said, “We found a local artist who painted smuggling scenes.” She turned to Alex. “Do you still think it’s worthwhile contacting him?”

  “Yes, actually. I’ve looked him up. He has a small studio on the road to West Haven. It’s open tomorrow, so we could go if you want to. I’ll go alone, if not?”

  “The shop is covered, so I can manage it.” El looked at Reuben. “If you’re happy to see Caspian without me?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he assured her. And besides, it would be good to be alone for a while. He’d have time to think over the recent events. Right now, he needed space from everyone’s worry. He could see it in their eyes. Not that he really wanted them to know that. He smiled and drained his pint. “I’ll get another round.”

  Newton sighed as he looked at the body at his feet, her eyes glassy as she stared up at the cloudy night sky above. He crouched next to her and gently shut her eyes.

  It was a little past three in the morning when he had been summoned from his bed, and it was now just after four. Dawn was close. He could feel the subtle change in the air, and that intense silence that seemed to fall just before the sky started to lighten.

  He looked at Moore, who crouched next to him. “Tell me again who found her.”

  “A guy walking home from his girlfriend’s place.” Moore stood and pointed. Newton followed suit, staring in the direction of Moore’s outstretched arm. “His girlfriend works in the caravan park, staying on site, and he lives,” Moore swung around, pointing to the outskirts of Perranporth, “over there. He’s a baker and has an early start. He decided to walk across the sand. It’s the easiest route. Not that he’ll get there on time now, poor bugger.”

  They were standing on the edge of Perranporth Beach, close to the Rock Bridge. The girl’s crumpled figure was almost lost in the darkness at the base of the cliff face, not far from the path that led to the town. That was the only reason the man had seen her.

  “Her face is completely battered,” Moore observed, shaking his head. “It’s almost impossible to make out her features. Who would do this?”

  “Or what? And her body is battered, too. It’s like she’s been put through a mangle,” Newton added. “Where’s the bloke?”

  “At the top, giving his statement. He’s pretty shaken up. He thought he’d be accused.”

  Newton stared at the cliff face towering over them, and the holes scattered across the surface; adits. Relics from the mining industry. “Bollocks,” he said, as recognition dawned. “They’ll lead away from the mines, won’t they?”

  Moore turned to see what Newton was talking about, and then nodded. “Yeah. The tin mining was extensive here. There’ll be miles of tunnels.”

  Newton flashed his torch across the ground, and spotted some crumpled metal. He carefully made his way towards it, and realised it was the remnants of a grill. “Moore! This has come from one of those adits. She must have come through one of them!” He groaned and rubbed his face, horribly weary.

  Moore looked horrifie
d. “Why would a young woman be poking about in those mines? They’d be dangerous, especially if you didn’t know your way. I bloody wouldn’t risk it!”

  A thought struck Newton, and he marched back to the victim again, crouching next to her. “That reminds me,” he said, pulling some gloves on and gently opening the victim’s mouth. His torch picked out a dull gleam. “Well, this confirms it.” He extracted a gold coin and stood up. “Another one.”

  “She is linked to the other deaths!”

  “The lure of bloody treasure!” Newton said, infuriated at what people did for greed.

  Moore watched him slip the coin into an evidence bag. “Is this her retribution for discovering gold? And is she part of a larger group?”

  “Fuck knows,” Newton said angrily.

  “Someone has found some kind of map,” Moore said. “That’s the only conclusion!”

  “Unless there’s a serial killer around here with a gold coin fixation.”

  “I think we both know this is something else! Your supernatural encounter still hasn’t been explained. And something forced that grill and this victim out of the adit!” Moore’s head jerked upwards. “Someone has been in the mines, looking for smuggler’s treasure—and maybe found it. They must have disturbed something.”

  “More treasure, you mean.”

  “We’ve only found a few coins so far, and some empty wooden chests,” Moore pointed out. “That doesn’t really tell us anything.”

  Newton handed Moore the evidence bag, frustrated with the amount they still didn’t know. “Make sure that gets to the lab early. We’re presuming this is a supernatural death, but what if she stumbled across the thieves and was killed? Are there more dead bodies in the mine?”

  “Why highlight that her death has to do with gold at all? Wouldn’t it be better to keep that a secret?”

  Newton groaned. “None of this makes sense!”

  Movement up above caught Newton’s eye, and he realised the coroner had arrived. He watched him descend the steps, a precise but slightly shabby man, called Arthur Davidson.

  He nodded at Newton and Moore. “Morning, gentlemen.” He didn’t waste time with pleasantries, immediately crouching to examine the girl. He swore under his breath. “She looks like she’s been through a mangle.”

  “I know, and I can’t explain why,” Newton said, frowning at the horribly unnatural angles the girl’s body was in.

  Davidson spent a few moments examining her, and then straightened. “Hard to say right now, but the broken neck was most likely the cause of death, though obviously she’s suffered severe trauma. She’s covered in scratches and contusions, too. I can tell you more later, of course. What was she doing here at such an early hour?” He looked at the cliff top. “A fall, I suppose.”

  “Maybe,” Newton said, uncertainly. “We think she came through an adit.”

  “Really?” Davidson looked alarmed. “She was in the mine?”

  “Just a theory, so far.”

  “Any ID?”

  “None.”

  “Well, I need to remove the body now,” Davidson said, all business. He frowned and then added, “I’m sorry about your colleague. I’ll be doing her PM today. I presume you’ll be there?”

  Newton closed his eyes briefly, wishing he could turn back the clock. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  “In the meantime, Guv,” Moore said, checking his watch. “Let’s grab an early coffee while SOCO does their thing.” He gestured across the sand to where a café was already opening, ready to serve the surfers who were arriving in the dawn light.

  Newton had forgotten this was a surfing beach. He nodded, knowing he needed something to fortify him for the day ahead. “Sounds good.”

  Ten minutes later, Newton had a steaming hot coffee and a bacon and egg sandwich in front of him. A green wash of colour lined the horizon, of which they had a perfect view. He and Moore sat in a window seat in the nearly deserted café, watching the surfers prepare themselves. Although clouds were rolling in, and the warm weather of the previous few days was cooling, it wouldn’t stop them from surfing.

  Newton took a bite of his sandwich and tried to organise his jumbled thoughts, but it was Moore who started the conversation.

  “We need to find the connection between these deaths. A firm one. Not vague conjecture about something supernatural.”

  “But I did see something supernatural in that tunnel.”

  “I know, and I don’t doubt you. But other than gold coins, empty wooden chests, and old bones, we have nothing that really indicates buried treasure, and nothing that suggests a supernatural creature killed the other three victims.”

  “What about the mangled mess of the first guy, Miles Anderson?” Newton asked through a mouthful of food.

  “But the second? Although he looked horrified, it wasn’t a particularly supernatural death.”

  “Maybe not, but Inez’s was, and this could be.” Newton frowned at the rock face, the early morning light illuminating the adits. “What the hell happened in there? Bloody hell. We’re going to have to go in.”

  Moore paused, his bacon butty halfway to his mouth. “Can’t we just investigate the adits from this side?”

  “We will, but that won’t tell us what happened inside.” He could see Moore’s reluctance. “Sorry. I don’t want to go in either, but we need to know where she died. There’ll be more evidence in there, even though we risk a supernatural attack.”

  Moore nodded. “I know. What are your friends suggesting it could be?”

  “Spriggans. They’re very strong, ghosts of giants that guard buried treasure. And perhaps some very agitated spirits. My friends have been attacked and injured by ghosts. I suppose they could be responsible for these deaths, too.” He frowned as another thought struck him. “That girl was young. Mid-twenties, I reckon. You?”

  “Agreed.”

  “I know her features are badly smashed, but she’s dark-haired, like Miles Anderson’s girlfriend.” They had been looking for her for the last few days, and she had remained stubbornly elusive. “Let’s check—just in case.”

  Chapter 16

  Reuben looked at Caspian’s shocked face and laughed, despite the situation. “I know it’s unlikely, but see for yourself.”

  He handed him the three letters they had found, and while Caspian read them, he watched him out of the corner of his eye, while pretending to look at Caspian’s study. Caspian looked better than he had two days before, but he was still pale, and he leaned back in the big leather office chair, his hand resting on his wound. There was a tightness to his lips that Reuben thought was more to do with the pain of his injuries than the letters. He had a sleek computer on his desk, and it seemed that although he was injured, he was determined to work.

  It was just after nine on Thursday morning, and Reuben had set out early, wanting to find out as much as he could before the day advanced. On the way into the grounds, Reuben had seen Barak patrolling the perimeter, and he’d waved, the big man waving back before he continued his rounds. He’d thought that interesting. Caspian clearly wasn’t taking any chances.

  Caspian put the letters down and looked at Reuben. “Interesting. You say you found them in your attic?”

  Reuben nodded. “Have you any family letters anywhere?”

  Caspian’s gaze drifted around the room and then finally back to Reuben. “Maybe. Not in here, certainly. We could look in the attic.” He attempted a smile. “I guess, like you, we have all sorts of skeletons up there.”

  “Metaphorically only, I hope.” He nodded to the window and the gardens beyond. Barak was now making his way towards the house, an easy stealth to his movements, despite his size. “What’s with Barak? Don’t you trust your defences?”

  Caspian winced as he sat up straighter. “I have strengthened them considerably, but seeing as I’m moving like an old man right now, I thought it would be wise.”

  “Yeah, my shoulder aches. It was lucky the blade missed my lung. I probably shouldn
’t have driven here,” he confessed. “Briar will kill me.”

  Caspian’s hands grasped the edge of the desk, his knuckles whitening as he stood. “Needs must. I’ll show you the attic.” His face tightened as he tried to walk, and Reuben stopped him.

  “No. Stay here.” A rush of guilt flooded him. Caspian looked like shit. “You shouldn’t be working. You should be in bed. How did you even get dressed?”

  Caspian sank back into his chair, sweat beading his brow. “With difficulty. And painkillers. And witch-flight to get here, obviously. It’s odd, though. My powers seem to have weakened, too. I’m not going to risk it again.”

  That was something to confess, Reuben thought, surprised. It was unlike Caspian to admit any weakness. He was seeing an unexpectedly human side to him, shorn of his smugness. “Where’s Estelle? I would have thought she’d be helping you.”

  “Did you? Have you met my sister?”

  Reuben had stood ready to leave, but now he sat again. “But you’re injured. What about your cousins, or your uncle?”

  “I sent my uncle and my sister away a couple of nights ago. I decided I’d rather be alone.” Caspian’s eyes were wary, and Reuben guessed that was as much information as he would get.

  “Is Briar coming to see you?”

  His face softened. “She’s already called. Yes, she’ll be here this afternoon. I’m surprised you didn’t come here together.”

  “I wanted to come first thing,” Reuben said, lying. As gentle as Briar was, he didn’t want her company, either. “Why don’t I search the attic? Unless, of course, you’re worried about family secrets.”

  Caspian shook his head. “Right now, I don’t give a crap. Second floor, at the end of the hall. There’s a narrow door in the panelling. I’m sure yours must be similar. Greenlane Manor is about the same era as this, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Nice to be a pillar of society, right?” Reuben said sarcastically as he stood again. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Take it easy.”

  Avery finished her call with Newton and returned to the shop, trying to work out what was going on.