Vengeful Magic

by TJ Green

  Chapter 17

  Newton was beyond tired. His head pounded from his interrupted sleep, and it wasn’t helped by the pressure coming from his DCI, demanding results. And burning beneath that was the fury of Inez’s death.

  He was seated at his desk, which was situated at the police station in Truro in an unobtrusive corner of the building. The best place for the small but increasingly busy paranormal division, apparently. That was fine with him. The less people he saw right now, the better. But he did need to recruit a new officer to replace Inez. He shook his head. That could wait. What was important right now was finding who was behind this spate of deaths, and if there was a connection between the victims.

  Newton started sifting through the files again, lost in the details of Miles Anderson’s life, jerking his head up with surprise when Moore knocked and walked in.

  “Success with the ID.” Moore leaned against the frame, a triumphant smile on his face. “She’s Jasmine Connelly, twenty-six years old, from Carlyon Bay.”

  “Miles’s elusive girlfriend! That’s brilliant.” Newton realised that sounded awful. “Well, not really, but you know what I mean.” He stood up and started to pace his office. “Where had she been for the last few days?”

  “Bunked up with their accomplices, I guess.”

  “If there were any. It might have been just those two. But,” Newton sighed, “there’ll be more. I know it.” He circled back to her file, glancing through it before looking at Moore again. “Let’s call her mother and arrange a visit. We need to organise a formal ID, but I want to know a lot more about Jasmine. She’s our key, I feel it.”

  “By the great Goddess!” Briar said, glaring at Reuben. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

  “I listen!” he said crossly. “How was I to know that I was going to get attacked at Caspian’s? Can you feel the protection on this place? How did they get in?”

  Briar was too furious to answer, although she had to admit he was right. Caspian’s house vibrated with magical protection. Briar, Alex, Avery, Barak, Reuben, and Caspian were gathered in Caspian’s living room that was next to the hall, the closest and easiest place to get Caspian to. He was lying on a sofa, clearly exhausted. Reuben was pacing, holding his shoulder awkwardly, while Barak, Alex, and Avery conferred in the corner.

  Briar turned her attention to Caspian, kneeling next to him. His face was covered with sweat, and he was watching her; he was scared and her fury vanished as worry took over. “You should have stayed in bed.”

  “I’d probably be dead by now.”

  “Maybe not,” she said softly, sensing his frustration. “It was a good idea to get Barak here.”

  Caspian glanced over at Alex. “It was Alex who saved my life.” His eyes looked haunted. “My magic is so weak.”

  “It is odd,” she confessed. “I know you’re physically weak, but your magic should be unaffected.”

  “Maybe I’m cursed.”

  “I don’t think so. Hush a moment.”

  She hunched over Caspian, her hands once again on his wound, and she sent her healing powers down through his skin and muscle. She could almost feel the damage, the torn flesh that struggled to heal. Briar closed her eyes, and reaching deep into herself, accessed the Green Man. His wild, earthy energy filled her senses and bolstered her magic, and a gentle heat radiated from her palms. She started to knit the wound together, calming the inflammation. When she was satisfied that was done, she ran her hands over the rest of him, a few inches above his body, feeling his energy. She frowned, sensing it had changed.

  When she opened her eyes again, Caspian was staring at her. “You found something.”

  “Your energy feels off. I don’t know why, yet. But you can’t stay here. You can move in with me.”

  “This is my home.”

  “I don’t care. Unless Estelle will help you.”

  Caspian’s eyes shuttered. “No.”

  Reuben’s voice startled them both. “Your house is the size of a tea cup, Briar. Caspian can stay with me.”

  Caspian twisted his head to look up at him. “You want me to live with you?”

  “Well, not forever. I’m not asking for your hand in marriage.”

  Despite his pain, Caspian laughed out loud. “Thank the Gods for that. I’d have had to disappoint you.”

  Briar smiled up at Reuben, her heart swelling with pride. How unbelievably generous he could be. And to Caspian, of all people. “I think that’s a fantastic idea. Thanks, Reuben.” Briar realised Caspian still looked doubtful, and she needed to convince him. “Reuben’s place is close to all of us, if there are problems. Better than here. And I can come and see you together. Please say yes.”

  For a moment he didn’t answer, clearly not comfortable with the idea, but eventually he nodded. “All right. If you’re sure, Reuben.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But,” Briar pointed at both of them sternly, “you are not to overdo it! I’ll ask El to watch over you.”

  Reuben moved to the end of the sofa so that Caspian could see him better. “We need to work together to find out what spell our ancestors used. With us both under one roof, we can work quicker, and protect ourselves better, too.”

  Barak must have overheard them, because he headed to his side. “And we can defend your place, too.”

  Reuben nodded. “Cheers, I think we’ll need it.” He looked back at Caspian thoughtfully. “I think I know why they didn’t kill you the first time. The spirits hoped to get to me, through you.”

  “That sounds far too organised and sentient to me,” Caspian protested. “Spirits don’t plan, surely?”

  “But they got past your defences, again,” Briar pointed out.

  “No, they didn’t,” Avery said, as she and Alex finally finished their quiet chat and came to join them. “They never left. Caspian’s enhanced protection spells just sealed them in.”

  “What?” Caspian struggled to sit up, and Briar helped him, putting cushions behind him. “You mean they’ve been here since I was first attacked?”

  “We think so.” Avery glanced at Alex and said, “Alex banished one, but the one that attacked me disappeared, and we, stupidly, assumed it had gone. The one that attacked you, Reuben, looked like the one that attacked me. The other one must have been here all along, too.”

  “I didn’t suspect a thing!” Caspian looked horrified.

  “Neither did we,” Avery admitted. “These spirits are getting assistance from a witch. Gil told us as much. We have to find who, and stop them.”

  “The good thing,” Alex added, “is that the defences you’ve got now are solid, and we can do the same at Reuben’s. Specific spells to block spirits and ward the property.” He looked thoughtful. “We can cleanse your house, just to make sure, and then do the same at Greenlane Manor. I think we should all work together to protect your place, Reu. We can go over there later, get El too, and our combined powers will do it.”

  “Sort of like what we did on Samhain,” Reuben said. “Good idea. You agree then, Caspian? You can bring anything you need, but I’d like a few papers from the attic, too.”

  Caspian looked surprised. “You’ve found the letters, then?”

  “Just before I got slugged by the ghost.” He pulled them out of his jeans pocket. “But I want to make sure there’s nothing I’ve missed.”

  “I’ll come up there with you,” Barak said, already moving to the doorway, the Empusa’s sword in his hand.

  “And I can pack some stuff for you, Caspian,” Alex offered.

  “Thanks, yes please, and,” Caspian looked slightly uncomfortable, “thanks for your help earlier. It would have killed me if you hadn’t stopped it.”

  “I’m sure you’d have done the same for me,” Alex answered, brushing it off. “But now, it’s payback time. I’m sick of being on the defence. We need to fight back.”

  Avery assessed the front of West Haven Gallery as Alex parked the car.

  It was situated on a side street
that led to the beach, just off the main road between White Haven and Harecombe. It was technically part of West Haven village, even though the majority of the settlement was on the other side of the main road, where Rupert lived in the House of Spirits. In this part there was a small community of modern houses, many large, and a smattering of boutique shops, cafés, and the gallery. There were quite a few cars parked, and Avery could see the start of the boardwalk that led through the dunes to the beach. It was a beautiful spot, and she started to relax.

  As soon as they were satisfied that Reuben and Caspian were okay, they left Barak and Briar to oversee Caspian’s move, and Avery had flown her and Alex back to Happenstance Books. Alex had used his car to drive them to the gallery. Now, as she leaned back in the passenger seat, she sighed.

  “What was that for?” Alex asked as he turned off the engine.

  His dark eyes were watchful, and the wind caught his hair, so that it whipped across his face. They had driven with the top down, but the increasingly heavy clouds threatened rain.

  She twisted in her seat to look at him. “I think my adrenalin has finally worn off. I feel horribly guilty. We should have made sure those spirits had gone!”

  “We thought we had!”

  “They could have died.”

  “At least we know Caspian didn’t set a trap,” Alex said. “What do you think happened between him and Estelle?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was abrupt when Briar asked him about her staying. I know she’s difficult, but I get the feeling there’s more going on.”

  He was right; Caspian had seemed cagey. “Maybe they argued about the business. Or, more likely, about us. She was so prickly during the meeting the other night. So superior!”

  “Well, with luck, she’ll never have to go again.” He nodded towards the gallery. “We better go in. Let’s hope the artist is there!”

  They exited the car and entered the gallery, and Avery paused to take in the clean, white walls lined with artwork, as well as the prints, cards, sculptures, and local pottery on display. They meandered around the space, stopping and starting, idly picking up prints and cards, before coming to a section filled with smuggling seascapes. A large, stormy image caught Avery’s eye. It was moody, showing a wrecked galleon half swallowed by the waves, its cargo of casks and crates strewn across the beach as figures scurried around.

  Alex was at her shoulder, and he asked, “Can you imagine living in those times?”

  “It sounds quite lawless, but I guess it’s something you learnt to live with. But these paintings really draw you in.” She moved on to the next. “They were doing the locals a favour, though. Import taxes were huge. No wonder they turned to illegal activities.” For a moment, with gulls calling outside the shop, and the breeze carrying the scent of the sea and sand in through the open doors, Avery could almost imagine herself on the cobbled quays and the rough beaches as a storm rolled in. “It almost seems romantic!”

  Alex laughed. “You would think that! I saw Jamaica Inn on the sofa last night!”

  He was referring to the book by Daphne Du Maurier, and Avery looked at him sheepishly. “I must admit that the visit to Bodmin put it in my head, so I snagged a copy from the shop. If anything, that book certainly dispels the romance. It was brutal.”

  “I spy an artist,” Alex said, nodding to a large archway and a light-filled room beyond. A grey-haired man with a large beard was seated in front of an easel, painting, oblivious to the few customers who were watching him.

  They headed to his side and watched him quietly for a moment, before Alex said, “Excuse me, are you Anthony Carter?”

  For a moment he didn’t respond as he finished his brushstrokes, and then he looked around, startled. “Sorry, did you speak?”

  “Yes, sorry,” Alex said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  He repeated his question, and the man smiled. “I am. Sorry, I get very focussed when I paint.”

  Avery smiled, amused at all the sorries. It was so English. She wondered how Anthony could possibly concentrate with people watching him, and asked, “Do you do all of your work here?”

  “Heavens, no! I spend a couple of mornings here a week, just to be visible really, but I work mainly in my studio. I live close by.”

  He looked as if he really wanted to get back to painting, so Alex spoke quickly. “You have a lot of smuggling themes. Just wondered if you were an expert on the subject?”

  “Not at all,” he said, topping his palette up with paint. “I have a keen interest, of course, but I think the images of wrecked ships are quite evocative, and so do my buyers. They’re my most popular paintings, so I keep doing them.”

  “I saw your painting of Cruel Coppinger,” Alex told him, “in the White Haven Museum Gallery. That’s what drew me here, really. Do you know much about him?”

  Anthony laughed. “Oh, that old devil. I know just the folklore around him. He had quite a reputation. Obviously I have no idea whether he really looks like that, but he was supposedly a giant of a man, demonesque, with a fearsome reputation.” He tapped his head. “That’s how I see him.”

  “I gather he was active in this area,” Avery said.

  He nodded. “I believe so. He was expanding his territory from the north, but ran into some trouble here. I think some locals worked against him.”

  “Really?” Avery asked, glancing at Alex. “Any idea who?”

  “No idea, but I believe they were successful—eventually. It wasn’t long after that when he disappeared, swallowed up by the sea that brought him! Marvellous story, isn’t it? Suitably dramatic!” He smiled at them dismissively, and turned back to his painting. “Anyway, I must get on.”

  “Of course,” Alex said, looking disappointed. “Thanks, anyway.”

  They walked away, and Avery headed to the postcards and prints. “I’m going to buy a few. I think they’re lovely.”

  “I was hoping he’d know more,” Alex said, hands in his pockets. He glanced around the gallery while Avery searched. “It’s frustrating. It seems like Coppinger’s story is all folklore and no facts!”

  She looked at him and winked. “But there’s a kernel of truth in there. This was a long shot, anyway. Treat me to coffee?”

  “I raise you to a pub lunch!”

  She made her final selections and grinned. “Deal!”

  El tried to subdue a smirk as she watched Newton stare between Caspian and Reuben, exclaiming, “Seriously, Caspian’s staying here?”

  It was just before seven in the evening, and they were in Reuben’s cosy living area that was situated off the kitchen, commonly called the snug. Caspian, looking the part of the invalid, was set up in the corner of the sofa, his feet up on a Turkish-style ottoman. The other witches and Ash, the Nephilim, were seated around the room, and various drinks and snacks were placed on the central coffee table. Newton had just arrived, helping himself to a beer, and he perched on the end of an armchair, confused.

  “Yes,” Briar said abruptly, trying to head off an uncomfortable conversation. “It’s best they’re both here, and Caspian can’t stay on his own.”

  Newton frowned. “So there was another attack today?”

  El reached for the bowl of chips and grabbed a handful. “I’m afraid so. I must admit. I’ve been worried sick all afternoon. I couldn’t get away from the shop.”

  “We’ve been fine,” Reuben reassured her.

  “You were beaten up by a ghost!”

  “All in a day’s work,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly, despite the pain the movement was clearly causing him.

  Idiot. El knew he was making light of it, to reassure her more than anything, but it wasn’t working. Reuben was being stalked. A sudden thought struck her. “You know, both of you being here could be a bad idea. You’re both being targeted, and now you’re conveniently here together!”

  “But it’s double the magic! Triple, with you here,” he said, smiling roguishly.

  “Except my magic is
not what it was,” Caspian reminded them.

  “It will be,” Briar said. “I think you have residual bad energy left from the spirits, and I’m going to purge that soon.” She gestured to the kit at her feet. “I have everything I need.”

  “And I will be here all night, patrolling,” Ash told them. He was currently at the window, surveying the grounds. “With the sword, of course. But your protection feels strong.”

  “We’ll add to it anyway,” Alex said.

  “How was the gallery?” El asked, disappointed she couldn’t go. Zoe hadn’t been able to work that day and she’d had to go in.

  Alex wrinkled his lip, looking unimpressed. “It was a nice gallery, but not that useful as far as information went. Anthony did say that some locals banded together to get rid of Coppinger, and that they were eventually successful. I’m not sure what that means.” He shrugged. “Anyway, the result was that Coppinger disappeared, getting on board a ship in the middle of a storm, never to be seen again. But we already knew that.”

  “What year was that?” Caspian asked.

  “I was talking to Dan about it,” Avery answered. “It was sometime in 1805.”

  “And he arrived when?” Newton asked.

  “1792. Dan told us something else very useful, too. Coppinger was so wealthy by the end that he paid in cash using all sorts of currency, including doubloons!”

  Newton nodded. “That helps explain a few things. I have news, too!” He had an air of excitement about him, which was unusual.

  “Go on, then!” Reuben said, clearly impatient.

  “The dead girl is called Jasmine Connelly, and she was Miles Anderson’s girlfriend.”

  A ripple of intrigue ran around the room, and Avery asked, “The first victim?”

  Newton nodded. “She’s been missing for days. Well, avoiding us, at least. There was a gold guinea in her mouth, too. And SOCO confirmed that she came out through one of the adits—one of the bigger ones.”