‘Where do think you are? You are in my house. And I am doing the questioning here, since I am the one who summoned you.’
The lady looked around sixty; she was tiny and round in a light grey woollen skirt and grey cardigan, pulled tightly across her ample chest. She stared up at Ellie with fearless eyes. ‘Spirit, I command you tell me your name!’
‘I’m sorry.’ Ellie sighed, she felt overheated. ‘I am not a spirit. And you didn’t summon me, not really.’ She paused. ‘Do you mind if I take off my jacket?’ Ellie reached for the zip of her raincoat.
‘I command you to stay right where you are!’
The door to the room banged opened.
‘Miss Dorothy, where would you like these?’ A young man of about eighteen hobbled in. He smiled, but as his eyes swung round to Ellie his foot tripped on the rug. He stumbled and the armful of wood fell to the floor with a resounding crash.
Dorothy clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘Well, Gerald,’ she said tartly, ‘where else but in the middle of the carpet of course.’
A great roar swept low and deafening overhead. Grimacing, Ellie covered her ears, though the old lady and the boy ignored it.
‘Oh I am terribly sorry.’ He cried, reaching awkwardly for the fallen wood. She could see his weight was balanced on one leg, while the other leg, smaller and twisted, lagged behind, encased in a bracket of metal.
Dropping the hag stone and her jacket onto a side table, Ellie darted forward to help.
‘So you are not so incorporeal, it seems.’ The old lady leant closer, her gaze taking in Ellie’s faded red t-shirt and jeans. She squinted through her glasses. ‘But just what are you, then?’
Pursing her lips, Miss Dorothy leant in to a stack of books on the floor by her writing bureau, and examined the titles of the top few volumes with a studied frown. She selected a worn leather volume from the centre and, shaking her head, the old lady licked her finger and slowly turned the thin pages.
The only sounds in the room were the rustle of paper, and the loud ticking of the wooden clock on the mantlepiece. Picking up the last of the wood, Ellie handed it to Gerald. Smiling shyly, he placed it on the fire and sparks flew. The cat watched them, its eyes blank with disinterest as it morosely swished its tail.
Ellie reached forward to pat it.
‘Oh miss, I wouldn’t do that,’ exclaimed the boy. ‘Queenie is likely to bite and scratch strangers. Not that you’re a stranger,’ he added quickly, ‘but she just doesn’t know you yet.’
Immediately, Gerald blushed bright red.
‘Oh,’ said Ellie, ‘Ellie, you can just call me Ellie.’
The boy smiled, and Ellie, unsure of what to else to say, began fiddling with the emerald ring on her finger. Pull yourself together, she told herself sternly. Primly, she brushed a strand of hair and looked away.
Miss Dorothy was staring at them both, stock still, and her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ of astonishment. Ellie had forgotten all about the little old lady. Her eyes were fixed directly onto Ellie’s hand, staring at the ring. Light shimmered across its perfectly spherical surface, a rainbow of multi-hued green splashed across the ceiling.
The book dropped to the floor with a bang. ‘Who are you?’ She asked, and her voice had lost its imperious, commanding tone. ‘And what do want from us?’
The fire hissed sibilantly in the grate.
‘I’m just a person like you. I’m Ellie, I’m not a spirit at all.’ But she stopped, unsure of how much more she could say in front of Gerald. The boy still lingered on the doorstep, one hand on his cap, as if waiting to be dismissed. ‘Ah, if that will be all, Miss Dorothy?’ he asked after clearing his throat politely.
Dorothy, her eyes clouded with thought, simply waved him away with her hand. The door closed.
The room fell silent.
Wondering how to even begin explaining who she was, Ellie crept forward and retrieved her hag stone from its spot on the side table. She felt better immediately, its weight warm and familiar in her hand, and now, whatever happened, it didn't really matter; she could get back home whenever she wished.
‘Ah a hag stone,’ Miss Dorothy had relaxed slightly and was gazing up at it with interest. ‘You are very fortunate, child. They only go to those they choose.’
Nodding, the old lady rose to her feet and pushed back the scroll top to her desk. She pursed her lips, before clicking open a series of smaller, interior drawers. From one, she pulled out a small cloth-covered object.
‘My hag stone’ she said, uncovering it with a gentle flourish, ‘has been in the family for generations.’ It was very much like Ellie’s - smooth and gray and small enough to fit snugly in her hand, but what made it all the more similar was the hole worn through at its centre.
‘But mine is the only one in existence,’ Ellie stared at it in astonishment.
‘Oh no,’ said Miss Dorothy serenely. ‘They’re quite common around here on the beaches. They’re gifts from the sea god, you know, Mannanon? Oh how I adore him, he’s very good looking you know.’ The old lady smiled, lost for a moment in reverie. ‘Oh yes, the hag stone,’ she blinked. ‘What was I saying? Only some though have power and yours, it’s true, has an uncommon amount of power. And you do too, if I may say so.’
Ellie didn't know how to respond. The cat, all at once jumped off the sofa and brushed past her legs before settling itself at Miss Dorothy’s feet. A low, vibrating purr filled the room.
‘Ah, Queenie, what do you think?’ murmured the old lady, reaching down to pat the animal’s head.
‘Please, may I look at your ring?’ she asked, her face creased with concern.
Ellie, not sure if she wanted to take it off, reached out her hand and turned the stone side up to face Miss Dorothy. The vibrating purr ceased, and the cat leapt at once onto the old lady’s lap. Both pair of eyes, one deep orange and the other a bright inquisitive blue, stared into the dark green centre. Ellie watched them as a pinprick of light flared so abruptly that the old lady and the cat recoiled.
‘Tell me why are you here, young Ellie?’ Miss Dorothy asked quietly. ‘Is it something to do with the War? I have felt huge forces swirling in the ether. The spirits are frightened and uncontrollable. The weather is hard to manage, it fights us.’ She paused, and lifted her frightened blue eyes into Ellie’s. ‘We are on the cusp of something huge - Gladys saw it in her mirror. Are you here to help us? Are you?’
And Ellie said, ‘I don’t know ... I really don’t know anything at all.’
✽✽✽
Sunlight fell onto the crumpled cotton sheet. With a sleepy moan, Ellie rolled over and opened her eyes to a sea of pink. The walls were papered in light rose pink wallpaper. A crocheted throw, pink and patterned with small furled white roses, covered the bed.
A knock tapped on the door and Miss Dorothy entered carrying a wooden tray. Her stomach rumbling, Ellie could see a pot of tea and four slices of thick cut toast, richly buttered, with honey on the side in a pot. Dorothy placed it on a side table before sitting herself down.
‘Sorry, there’s not much. What with the war on, but we do have our own cow and we are lucky, there is plenty of butter and milk for our tea.’
‘Wow,’ breathed Ellie, and she quickly sat up, the rich sweet smell of honey and butter almost made her swoon.
‘You must be tired after all that flying,’ Miss Dorothy commented as she watched Ellie eat, ‘and hungry. That happens to me too. Once I came back and nearly ate a whole buttered teacake to myself. Can you imagine?’
Ellie stopped chewing, ‘What?’ she asked, her mouth still full of toast.
‘A teacake, you know, with apples and raisins. But of course we don’t make those for ourselves anymore. Must think of our boys.’ She smiled up at Ellie, her eyes twinkling in the sun.
Behind her, through the open window, a flock of small birds descended on the tree outside. It was delicate and shaded a light, gentle green. So different, Ellie thought, as she watched them flitting and quarrellin
g through the branches - different than what we have back home. All at once they whirred away into the gentle blue sky.
‘Miss Dorothy,’ asked Ellie slowly, ‘can you tell me where I am exactly. Of course, I know I’m in your home, but where is -?’ Ellie gestured towards the window.
The old lady smiled. ‘Why dear, you’re in Burley village, in the New Forest, of course.’
‘Where? ’ Ellie stopped in shock as a huge armoured vehicle, squeaked and clanked past the cottage, its square outline visible through the delicately laced curtains. ‘Is that a-?’
Miss Dorothy only nodded and smiled; conversation was now impossible, drowned out by the rattle of the windows and the engine roar of the passing tank.
Oh. My. God. Thought Ellie.
‘Yes they had to widen all the roads, imagine that! Cart tracks widened too for the huge beastly things. It’s bad for the forest ponies. I don’t know how many have been killed, or run over, it’s awful.’ She paused, her eyes misting with tears. ‘But,’ she said dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, ‘must not complain. They’re here to get rid of that horrible, horrible man and his frightful armies. We all know, even though it is an awfully big secret,’ she added solemnly. ‘That’s why there are so many Americans here and Canadians too. They’re so very good looking, lovely and polite. Why-’
‘Miss Dorothy…’ interrupted Ellie faintly. My God this old woman could talk. ‘Could you please tell me what the date is, I’m sorry, I really don’t know what’s going on?’
‘Oh dear, I do blather on, I get so carried away.’ Cheerfully the old lady patted her grey curls and pursed her lips. ‘Now the exact date is…’ she paused. ‘Let me get the grimoire.’ Dorothy stood and left the room. Ellie could hear her rummaging about in the living room.
‘It was a dark moon last night in Taurus,’ the old lady returned and eased herself onto the chair with a cloth covered book in her hand. ‘Today, it’s in Gemini, so that makes it May the 23rd in the year of King George the VI of England, 1944.’ She smiled briskly at Ellie. ‘Would you like some eggs, dear, they’re very fresh, from our own chickens?’
But Ellie couldn't hear her, all she was aware of was the panicked thudding in her chest, as shock coursed through her body.
England? 1944?
Breathe, she ordered desperately, just breathe, connect to the earth and breathe. Closing her eyes, she felt for the roots of the trees branching out underground and the calmness of the forest. Quickly she breathed it up, letting it fill her being until there was only silence and peace.
Ellie opened her eyes.
‘That’s a useful little trick.’ Dorothy was looking at her closely. ‘I always have trouble, you know, with getting overexcited. If you could instruct me how, I would be ever so grateful. But not now.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Why don’t you rise, and we’ll go over into town and we’ll meet Gladys. She’s the bossy one who shooed you away the other night. Ooh, I could’ve bitten her head off.’
Standing up, Dorothy tidied the breakfast things on the tray. ‘But Ellie,’ she added, ‘you’ll have to borrow some of the clothes my niece left last summer. We can’t have you gadding about in your own things. They are very peculiar.’ Dorothy laughed, a wide pealing sound of delight.
‘They’ll all think you’re a Nazi spy.’
TWENTY-FIVE
Blue Mountains, Australia, present day
A select group gathered in the narrow room under the eaves. A single candle warded off the dark. Mrs Beatty’s hat lay on the low chair, hidden beneath a tumble of woollen scarves and heavy coats. Ben’s boots sat neatly by the door. Outside, the storm had eased, and the constant moan of the wind had dropped to an occasional gust that lashed through the skeletal remains of the trees.
Rose shivered despite the fire burning in the grate. Against the window she could just make out the shape of her father’s bureau. Tonight a velvet cloth hid its secrets, and on its surface eight small glasses and a plate of unleavened bread waited, the Holy Sacrament, bread and wine, to seal the commitment of the faithful.
With a flourish, Matthew selected a page from the large leatherbound book. As he read, Rose watched him closely. Her father looked different, his face was tight with exhaustion, yet his hands were firm and his eyes blazed bright as he stared deep into each and every one of them in turn.
‘... You’ve heard the promise, it is clearly written. Purified souls can never sin. Do not forget this, we are pure and we can never sin. When we are in the service of the Lord, our actions are exalted, for we do His Will.’
‘Let us pray.’
Rose quietly slipped her hand into Ben’s. His skin felt warm, and the calluses on his palms scraped roughly against her skin. She didn’t mind. Closing her eyes, she eased herself closer, breathing in the sharp scent of the herbal soap he liked to use. Unfussy, direct and clean... Rose allowed herself a small smile, rather like Ben. She had decided.
Ben.
He would be her world. She would wrap herself in his love, hide in it, like it was a thick warm blanket, and think about nothing.
Nothing.
She squeezed his hand.
Everything else was just a nightmare.
TWENTY-SIX
New Forest, England, 1944
The bike was built for comfort and not speed. Clad in a dusky pink dress with a rounded collar and buttoned all the way down the front, Ellie cycled with her back straight and her hair swept up off her neck. Cool air brushed her legs and the sun flashed through small rounded leaves. A bird sped ahead, tiny, with wings flashing the brightest gold. The scene was almost unbelievably perfect, like something out of a child’s storybook, spotted deer with white tails flouncing, forest ponies with wide trusting eyes …
She squeezed on the brakes and glared irritably at the road ahead. It would have been perfect, except for that continually, teeth clenchingly, irritating, squeaking, groaning, lumpy thing shaking the very ground beneath.
Miss Dorothy didn't seem to notice. She was way ahead, pedalling serenely, eyes straightforward, taking no notice of the armoured monstrosity clanking a few turns behind.
‘Oh God. Go away!’ Ellie threw out her hand. At once, the tank careened off to the left without slowing, and headed out across what looked to be an open field. Ellie stared open mouthed, then she laughed out loud. ‘That will teach you!’
Energised by her unexpected success, she sped up the road until she caught up with Miss Dorothy. The old lady had stopped and was now deep in conversation. The man had an open smiling face and silver hair, and was standing by an open cart. His small pony tore eagerly at the long grass at its feet.
‘Do you say yes to an extra chocolate, Miss Dorothy?’ A bar, wrapped in silver glinted in his hand, ‘Or are you sweet enough?’
She giggled, and blushed as bright as a girl. ‘Well, the Americans eat so many they wouldn’t miss one more, would they?’
Ellie turned her bike back to the road, thinking she’d just wait for the old lady a little further on.
But Miss Dorothy waved at her quickly. ‘My dear! Where are you off to?’
‘This is my young friend Ellie, er, Smith,’ said Miss Dorothy as Ellie walked back slowly towards them. ‘Ellie, may I introduce you to Billy Buckland. He and his family have been a treasured part of this forest for generations.’
Ellie smiled.
‘Her family are stuck abroad,’ Dorothy was confiding in a low, concerned voice. ‘And she needs to stop with me - imagine! She’s all by herself.’
‘The war,’ Billy frowned, ‘everything is such a terrible mess.’ Then he brightened, ‘but it could be worse. Would you like some chocolate Miss, or are you sweet enough?’
Dorothy pealed with laughter. ‘Ooh Billy, you do spoil us.’
He winked. ‘I’d better be off,’ he said, placing his hat back on his head, ‘no rest for the wicked.’
‘Gladys said we meet tonight, an hour earlier,’ Dorothy said softly as Billy climbed back onto the cart. ‘And the
girl is coming too.’
What? The chocolate bar almost fell from Ellie’s hand.
Tilting his hat back, the older man considered them both for a long moment; his dark eyes were no longer so welcoming. He clicked to his horse. ‘Is she now, Miss Dorothy,’ he said quietly. ‘I do hope you know what you’re doing.’
✽✽✽
Dorothy and Ellie rode into the centre of the town and halted their bicycles on the grand avenue hugging the curve of the bay. Ellie studied the house; it was high, white and double storeyed, with wide windows staring out over the foam-tipped waves. The wind was up, and she shivered as Dorothy lifted the brass ring and knocked loudly.
After a pause, the door opened and a large, hooked nose followed by a pale, distrustful face peered out.
‘Yes, Dorothy Clutterbuck?’
Ellie shrank back. This must be Gladys. Tall and thin, with a pinched mouth and grey, distrustful eyes.
‘We had arranged to meet tonight, yet the mirror said you were arriving imminently. And here you are. Both of you.’ Gladys sniffed as she regarded Ellie. ‘We do not often meet other witches.’
Ellie baulked, and bit back a bubble of laughter as she realised the grim-faced woman was serious.
‘I’m not a witch,’ she tried her friendliest smile. ‘I’m Ellie.’ Politely she offered her hand.
Gladys took a step back. ‘Oh’, she said. ‘If not a witch, what are you then?’
‘Oh Gladys, stop it,’ muttered Dorothy. ‘Let us in.’
Gladys hesitated, and seizing her chance, Dorothy grabbed Ellie by the hand and bustled into the house. ‘Ellie is one, aren’t you, my dear? She just doesn’t call herself one, very sensible I say considering the laws.’ Dorothy marched straight into the front living room. ‘I’ll vouch for her, if she isn’t a witch I’ll eat my pointy hat.’
The room was simply furnished with white walls and high, airy ceilings. A brown leather sofa commanded the central space. Despite the chill, the windows facing the sea were open, and cold, salty air was gusting into the room. A dark standing mirror was by the wall opposite and, as the curtains lifted, grey thick cloud danced across its polished, ovoid surface.
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