by TJ Green
It was nearly ten o’clock on Thursday morning, and the week seemed to be passing in a blur of death and injuries. She sat on the stool behind the counter, barely focussing on the shop around her. It was quiet, fortunately, and both Dan and Sally were stocking shelves with new books and other goods.
She was worried about Caspian and Reuben, and the safety of the rest of her friends. Especially Newton. He had just told her about the death of the woman on Perranporth beach, although she had also heard about it on the morning news. Newton had managed a lucky escape when he was with Inez. If anything supernatural was still hanging around the murder scenes, Newton could be at risk. She hoped Cassie, Ben, and Dylan would be able to detect something useful.
But what could she do? She stared absently out of the windows, considering her options. Helena was trapped in the spirit realm, Gil had promised to help, and Alex couldn’t risk going again. She wouldn’t let him try, even if he wanted to. Someone was searching for buried treasure—and maybe finding it—and had unleashed terrible violence along with it. And then there was Cruel Coppinger. Were he and his gang the vengeful spirits they were dealing with? And if Reuben’s ancestor had colluded with Caspian’s, what kind of spell had they used? And more importantly, what spell could they use to stop all of this?
A sudden thought struck her. If someone was on the trail of buried treasure, finding caches hidden across Cornwall, then potentially they had some kind of protection; something to guard them against a supernatural attack. Magical protection. It brought her back to the witch Gil had seen walking the spirit world. Was a witch helping them, and stirring up spirits? Perhaps the spirits were meant to be a distraction?
The bell at the shop entrance rang and she looked up, surprised to see Alex entering with four coffees and a bag with Sea Spray Café on it. She smiled. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with El.”
He handed her a cup. “She bailed. She’s needed at the shop after all. Do you want to come?”
“Yes!” She sighed with relief. “I’d love to see what we can find out.”
She searched for Sally, but both she and Dan were already heading to the counter, Dan eyeing the bag. “Anything good in there, Alex?”
“Of course,” Alex said, laughing. He put the bag on the counter and opened it. “I’m actually buttering you up. I need to borrow Avery.”
“Ah, your penance,” Sally said, slapping Dan’s hand and beating him to a muffin. “We’ll let you, as long as you two promise to be careful.”
“Of course we will,” Avery remonstrated. “We’re just going to a gallery.”
Dan had already taken a large bite of an éclair, and he wiped the cream off his lip. “To see what?”
“Anthony Carter’s paintings at his studio in West Haven,” Alex told him.
Sally rounded the counter to sit next to Avery. “I’ve heard of him.” She looked warily between Alex and Avery. “Has he got something to do with these deaths?”
“I hope not,” Avery said, shocked. “But according to Alex, he paints smuggling seascapes.”
Alex nodded. “I was admiring his painting of Cruel Coppinger in the museum the other day. I thought perhaps he might know some snippets of useful information.”
“I’ve been doing some reading on Coppinger,” Dan said. “Did you know he had a son? He was born mute and deaf, and was a sociopath by all accounts. He liked torturing animals. And he was thought to have pushed another kid over a cliff.”
“Really? That’s horrible.” Avery shuddered. “What happened to him?”
“No idea, and I’ve read a few accounts now. He’s not mentioned. He certainly wasn’t rumoured to have disappeared with his father. He might not have survived childhood, or he could have gone on to have kids.”
“So there might be Coppingers in Cornwall, even now?” Sally asked, alarmed.
“Maybe it’s his ancestors who are searching for the gold?” He scowled at Sally, and in an exaggerated Cornish accent cried, “Pieces of eight, Capt.!” Dan was clearly joking, but as soon as he finished the sentence, he seemed to realise what he’d suggested. “Oh, wow. That could be a thing.”
Avery looked at Alex. “Yes, it really could be! What if someone discovered their deep, dark family history, and clues to his hidden gold?”
“Personally, I think it’s more likely someone found something in the museum archives.” He turned back to Dan. “Did he actually make any money?”
“Lots. In fact, in later years he would pay in cash for lots of things, a mixture of all sorts of currency—doubloons, dollars, and ducats, as well as guineas. And pistols. He paid his lawyer that way when he purchased a farm.”
Alex almost spit his coffee out. “The doubloon found in the first victim’s mouth. That would explain the link.”
Avery was about to have another bite of her pastry, and it hovered inches from her mouth, forgotten. “Who did he marry? Can you remember?”
“Somebody Hamlyn.” Dan’s face wrinkled with concentration. “I’ll have to check. But, from what I can tell—and these accounts are fantastical—no one disliked his wife. They felt sorry for her. She was a victim, too.”
“Okay,” Alex said, frowning. “Coppinger’s body was never found, right?”
“No. He supposedly rowed out to a ship in a storm and was never seen again. His own ship was called Black Prince. I don’t know what happened to that, either—or if that was the one he sailed away on.”
Avery nodded. “Mariah told us that. Weird, isn’t it, that he arrived and left in a storm? It sort of adds to the myth around him.”
“I wonder how his disappearance ties to Reuben and Caspian’s family,” Alex mused.
Sally was brushing crumbs off the counter, and generally tidying the area ready for customers, but she paused, looking between Alex and Avery. “What are you talking about?”
Avery quickly filled her in on what they’d found the day before. “Reuben is going to see Caspian today, and find out if he has any letters in his family archives.”
“Wow.” Dan looked puzzled, and then suspicious. “The Jacksons and the Favershams working together. Wonders will never cease. Unless, of course, it was a double-cross.”
“What?” For the second time that day, Avery looked at Dan, astounded. “I didn’t even think of that!”
“You’re too nice, Avery, that’s why. But you should know better. The Favershams are slippery characters, even now, if you ask me. Maybe you shouldn’t assume the best of them just yet.”
“But Caspian was attacked—almost killed!” she reminded him.
“But he wasn’t, was he?” Sally said softly. “The ghosts prowled around, waiting for you to arrive. Was it a set-up?”
Avery’s thoughts whirled. She did not believe that Caspian had allowed himself to be so badly injured as a ruse. He was half-dead when they found him. It didn’t make sense.
But Alex was already interrupting her thoughts. “Shit, Avery. Reuben is going there alone, this morning! He could be there now!”
He was already reaching for his phone, and he punched a number in and put it to his ear, frowning. For anxious seconds they watched him, and he eventually hung up. “No answer.”
Reuben looked up from the paperwork scattered around him, and rubbed his neck wearily.
He’d spent one hour up there, and he was already over it. He rolled his shoulders and winced, wishing he hadn’t. His injured shoulder still ached, and he sighed as he looked around. Different house, same attic…almost. It was a large room with a long, low-raftered roof and dusty gabled windows that stretched across a good portion of the house, crammed with old furniture. He and Caspian should open an antique shop together. He laughed at the thought. Talk about an odd couple.
Grey light filtered in, the sun banished by the clouds, and he looked around, wondering if there was somewhere else he should look. He was currently wading through love letters and business letters, and it was all so tedious, though intriguing. Most of the business stuff seemed to
be above board, and the love letters revealed hidden passions he wouldn’t have expected from Caspian’s rather staid and seemingly uptight family. He put them aside quickly, feeling like a voyeur despite the fact the subjects were long dead.
He hauled himself to his feet and started to meander to the far end of the attic, hidden in shadows, noting the antique tables, chairs, and old bedsteads, all heavy oak furniture that was solid but dark, and crates of plates and glasses. Nothing looked particularly expensive; he imagined Caspian’s family would be keeping the best objects on display, or had sold them.
He spied a couple of wooden chests behind a stack of rugs and old sheets, and some large objects swathed in blankets. Threading his way through, he ended up dislodging the stack of moth-eaten sheets. They slid to the floor, dragging the blankets with them, and a cloud of dust enveloped him. Remembering Avery’s advice, he used his magic to clear the air, and saw that he’d uncovered several bookshelves groaning with paperwork.
Deciding that spending his whole day up here was not an attractive idea, he elected to try using magic again—a simple finding spell, using a piece of Serephina’s letter and a pinprick of his blood, for the connection to Virginia. They were related, so it should work. He dropped his blood into a small silver bowl he took from his backpack, added a portion of the letter, and uttered the spell. At first it didn’t seem to work, and then as the smoke eddied towards the shelves, he saw a stack of paperwork start to wobble and then slide haphazardly towards the floor. A package of letters teetered out and smacked him in the chest before landing on the floor.
For a second, Reuben could only stare at his feet, shocked. He actually hadn’t expected that to work. He crouched and scanned them, ignoring the dust, and realised he’d found Virginia’s responses. These letters were all business. There was no chit-chat or social niceties, and they gave no clue to either of the women’s personalities, but it was clear that they were determined. Virginia confirmed her interest in meeting, but again there were no details. The next letter from Virginia said she had considered the plan they had discussed and agreed with it in principle, but suggested a different time of execution. But there was no hint of what that plan was. Damn it, these women were sneaky.
But before Reuben could do anything else, he smelt the strong scent of seaweed behind him, and he flattened and rolled, sending a searing pain through his shoulder. A shadowy figure lunged out of the gloom, pinning him to the floor with surprising strength, and strong hands wrapped around his neck.
Once again Alex stood next to Avery on the grounds of Harecombe Manor, quickly subduing his dry retch, as Avery hammered on the front door.
They had debated trying to use witch-flight to get inside, but neither wanted to surprise Caspian, or risk injury from his protection spell. They both had a shock when Barak answered the door, and Alex noticed the Empusa’s blade was in a scabbard, strapped to his side.
His bulk blocked most of the hall behind him, and he peered down at them, his frown quickly turning to smile. “Hey, guys! Come to join Reuben?”
“Is he okay?” Avery asked, quickly shoving past him and entering the house.
Barak looked at them, puzzled. “Yes, he’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be?”
Avery’s eyes were darting everywhere, her fists clenched, and Alex could feel her power growing as she asked, “Where is he?”
“In the attic.” Apparently, Barak could feel her power building, too. “What are you doing, Avery? You look ready to fight.”
Alex didn’t want to accuse Caspian of deception. After all, they might be wrong. “I think we’re both a bit jumpy after the events over recent days. We decided he shouldn’t be alone,” he hedged.
A whirling blackness manifested in the corner, and all three of them jumped, but it was just Caspian, looking sallow-skinned and clutching his side. “What’s going on?” He looked between them all, and then especially at Avery. “Why are you glaring at me?”
She stuttered, and then said, “I read the cards and saw that Reuben was in danger. Where is he?”
“In the attic. He offered to search alone.” He grimaced. “I’m not that steady on my feet right now.”
Alex studied him. This was no ruse. Caspian looked awful. And to be honest, Alex knew deep down that Caspian had too much regard for Avery to hurt one of her best friends. If he thought he’d stand any chance with her, he wouldn’t risk that.
Avery started to speak. “Maybe we should check on him, just—”
“Something’s up there!” Barak interrupted her, his head jerking upwards to stare up the stairs.
In seconds he’d shed his t-shirt, revealing his muscled chest, and his wings appeared. They were enormous, the feathers so inky-black they had a blue sheen to them. He soared up through the huge stairwell to the upper floor, and in a flash Avery had vanished, too.
Alex couldn’t believe she had abandoned him. Then again, he was still feeling sick from the first trip. He ran for the stairs, yelling, “Avery! Wait for me!”
Even as he was saying it, he knew it was pointless; she’d already gone. Caspian was curiously silent, and Alex glanced down at him as he rounded the landing and then skidded to a halt. Caspian was backing away from a shimmering figure that was coalescing in his hall. A spirit.
Caspian was in no position to fight. In fact, from this angle he looked horrified, scuttling backwards as quickly as his injury allowed. Alex wondered why he wasn’t using witch-flight, but maybe he was too weak.
Alex was torn.
His girlfriend and best mate were above somewhere, and who knows what they were facing. But Caspian was here, unarmed and clearly too weak to fight back. Caspian didn’t even look up at him. He either thought he’d already gone or was buying him time, because the spirit that was slowly taking shape, solidifying into the lean, weather-beaten figure of a smuggler, replete with old-fashioned clothes and a wickedly sharp dagger, hadn’t seen him. The spirit scowled, showing blackened teeth, and Alex caught a glimpse of a long scar that ran down the side of his face, puckering his lip.
Alex uttered the words to the modified, rune-binding spell he’d been researching only the night before, and a flurry of runes dazzled in the gloom of the hall, wrapping themselves around the spirit. The blade flashed, tearing through them, and he stopped his advance, turning to leer up at Alex.
But Alex was already on to his next spell as he ran back downstairs, and runes again filled the air, this time composed of fire. He started to banish the spirit, but it ran towards him heedlessly, his all too real blade flashing in the light. Then the runes wrapped once more about the now snarling ghost. As quickly as his blade flashed, destroying the runes, more appeared until he became overwhelmed, and Alex advanced with his hands outstretched, a wall of power building as he pushed the spirit back, cornering it in the hall.
The spirit was thrashing now, and a low, unearthly moan seemed to come from his core, setting Alex’s teeth on edge. With the final word of his spell, he thrust the heel of his hand outward, and the runes started to eat into the spirit’s shimmering form. His mouth opened wide in a soundless scream as it vanished.
Alex whirled around, defences raised, wary of another attack, but the hall felt eerily empty. Caspian had collapsed on the floor.
Reuben’s vision started to blacken, but he was damned if he was going to be killed by a ghost.
The spirit now felt so unnervingly solid that Reuben brought his leg up beneath him, and kneed the spirit in the groin. He wasn’t above playing dirty. Besides, did spirits even have genitals?
It appeared they did. It grunted, emitting a powerful blast of stale breath in Reuben’s face, and before the spirit could respond, Reuben punched it with his left fist that was loaded with magical energy. His attacker flew backwards, landing in the pile of blankets.
Reuben tried to grab his backpack. He’d brought the shotgun with him, loaded with salt shells, but his hand scrabbled and grabbed only air. The spirit lunged at him, but Reuben rolled to the side, vaulted to
his feet, and threw a ball of pure fire, catching it squarely in the chest. It flew across the attic, its clothes smouldering on its withered frame.
But it didn’t stop.
Instead it disappeared, reappearing seconds later mere inches from him. It picked Reuben up and threw him against the bookshelves. Reuben grunted, winded, and felt the bookshelves start to wobble behind him. Rolling again, he narrowly missed being hit by the falling bookcase.
But the thud as it hit the floor masked another noise. The door at the far end of the attic flew open, smashing back against the wall. Barak strode in, bare-chested and grinning with malevolence, Avery hot on his heels. The Empusa’s sword slashed before him, whirling so quickly Reuben blinked with surprise. Barak didn’t give the spirit a second to respond. He released the sword and it flew through the air, taking the spirit’s head clean off. It rolled to Reuben’s feet before both body and head vanished.
For a second, Reuben couldn’t speak. He was staring at Barak, astonished, and the big man grinned. “You okay?”
“Er, I think so.”
Avery ran towards him, streaking past Barak who was already checking his surroundings, and she landed next to him with a thump. “Reuben! I was worried sick.” Her eyes travelled across him, checking for injuries, before finally staring at his wounded shoulder. “You’re bleeding again.”
“Not surprising. It hurts like a bastard.” He leaned back against the wall, wincing as the pain burned through his adrenalin.
She sat next to him, taking deep breaths. “I thought we’d be too late.”
“For what? Why are you even here?”
She paused, frozen, words stuck in her mouth before she finally said, “I thought it was a trap.”
He considered her words, and nodded. “I think it was.”
Her eyes widened, and he could see the disappointment there, before a steely resolve settled. “Caspian?”
“No! Have you seen him? He looks like death. No, this was something else. Help me to my feet, and let’s head downstairs.”