Joe looked towards the jumble of metal and rubber wheels leant against the pub wall and wondered which bike was hers when he heard a growl and a splutter.
“Are you waiting for Hitler’s arrival or are you going to hop on?”
He climbed onto the motorbike behind Violet and tentatively rested his hands on her waist.
“Hold on tight,” Violet said with a teasing smile as she placed the goggles over her eyes.
She pulled Joe’s arms tightly around her, and they lurched forward before settling into a rickety ride leaving the pub behind along with sooty exhaust fumes.
They sped around the dark lanes towards Hamble air base. Joe grinned with exhilaration. The only mode of transport he had experienced was a bus and the Woolston ferry. The yellow lamp on the front of the bike shone onto a five-bar gate as they slowed down and the clunking engine silenced. Violet removed her goggles, leaving a dirty trace around her eyes, and hung them on the handlebars of the bike.
Present
“Three, two, one, awake. Open your eyes.”
I opened my eyes sleepily and stretched my body, which felt so relaxed my limbs could have been filled with marshmallows.
“I am so sorry.” I yawned. “I fell asleep.” I dreamed again about Violet and Joe. I didn’t tell Joab as I wondered if during the hypnotism he was privy to them anyway. “How long was I out for? Did the hypnotism work? Did I say anything useful?”
Joab didn’t respond. His eyes were shining and distant.
“Joab…”
“Yes, sorry, no, it didn’t work. We will try it again another time.”
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I was just thinking about…nothing. I will make us some dinner.”
Before I could question Joab further, he left the room.
I walked in a dreamlike state to the bathroom. The sun streamed through the window, and the breeze gently puffed the thin curtain so it billowed like a sail. The crows croaked, and there was distant rumble of tractors at the farm at the end of the track. The cows were mooing loudly for their dinner and to be milked. I turned the taps, and warm water powered into the free-standing bath. I gazed into the bubbling, whirling waters. I turned off the tap sleepily and the water stilled. I could see my reflection staring back. I could have sworn the lips in reflection moved as if speaking, then the reflection dispersed into ripples and disappeared. I took off my clothes and slipped under the water. It wasn’t long before I drifted to sleep.
1940
“Come on.” She beckoned Joe to follow her to the gate she was climbing. He thought about running and hurdling it to impress her. Thinking better of it, he climbed over cautiously.
“Sssh,” she hissed as she took Joe’s sweaty hand in hers. “There are wardens on duty. We have to be as quiet as mice.”
They scurried in a stooped run to a shed where they waited for the searching light of the wardens to move into the darkness. They ran full pelt toward the next sheds. Violet pointed out the arched roof of the hangars next to the runway where there were two wardens engrossed in conversation and puffing on cigarettes.
“On the count of three,” she whispered.
On her third count, they ran to the hangar. The hard metal winded him as they slammed their backs against the structure to break their runs. They slid along the building until she felt along the top of the doorframe for a key.
“Bingo.” She grinned as she slipped the key into the lock and the door clicked open.
“Do you have a cigarette lighter?” Joe said, knowing there were only a couple of matches left.
Violet rummaged around in her blouse before she produced a Zippo cigarette lighter and flipped it to make a lively flame.
“From an unsuspecting Yank!” She smiled, lighting the room enough to find a torch. Violet shone the torch, illuminating the vast hangar. Joe’s mouth fell open to see such a beautiful sight. Joe walked longingly towards the Spitfire, seduced by the smooth curves of the wing. Violet effortlessly launched herself towards the cockpit and beckoned him to follow.
“You fly this?” he uttered.
“Get in, and I will show you what to do.”
Joe lowered himself in disbelief into the cockpit and caressed every dial, gauge and switch.
“Flick those switches up and turn that dial slowly to the right. Make sure your feet are on the pedals and pull this lever up. Now imagine you are taxiing down the runway.”
Violet sprang down and loosened the scarf from her hair and held it above her head. “On my command…take off!”
She dropped the scarf. “Go give ’em hell, pilot!”
For a moment, Joe imagined he was soaring through the clouds above the English Channel.
“Sssh,” Violet demanded sharply. Joe froze. “I thought I heard voices.”
“Oi, did you see that? I saw something in hangar number one,” a distant voice of a guard observed.
“No, didn’t hear a thing,” a voice grumbled.
“We will have a look after I have finished my fag,” the second voice said, sounding annoyed.
“There was someone in there. I saw a light…” the first voice sounded suspiciously.
“We have to get out of here!” Violet shouted.
Joe jumped out of the plane to join her on the ground, and his foot buckled, twisting his ankle. He gasped with pain.
“There, I heard something.” The voice was becoming more adamant.
“All right, we will check it out.”
Joe attempted to regain his footing, but pain shot through his leg.
“Hold on to me,” Violet begged. Joe draped his arm around her, slowing her escape.
“Go without me. What can they do? Slap me on the wrist?” Joe said heroically but wincing with fear inside.
“Perhaps, if they don’t think you are a spy, and they are particularly paranoid at the moment what with the imminent invasion…wait.”
Violet settled Joe next to the plane as she walked towards the large doors concealing them from the wardens. With her back against the metal, she slid open the door and peeked through the gap. Joe craned his neck and squinted into the darkness.
“Bloody hell…they heard us. If you can’t run, we have no choice but to use magic.”
Joe could hear her whispering some words…a spell. The wind and the clouds gathered and swirled in the distant night sky. The gusts grew stronger. The guards staggered against the great force and rolled behind a sandbag barricade.
“Quick, bring me that barrel.” She pointed to an oil container a few feet from Joe’s refuge.
He clambered onto his knees and rolled it towards her. She opened the door and rolled the barrel towards the men and with a flick of her hand commanded it to crash into a pile of rubble. The oil slicked.
“Urgent, back up, I have eyes on a woman and a possible accomplice.” The voice was barely audible through the howling wind. The guard was speaking through a radio. “She has sent an object out of the hangar. It has some substance leaking from it.” There was a click of rifles loading, and two men splashed oblivious through the oil and slumped behind a closer barricade not more than twenty metres away. They were preparing for attack.
“Joe…light it.”
“What? I can’t,” he stuttered and felt for his matches.
“You are fire, right? Use your magic,” she hissed.
“I can’t. I don’t practise it…I wouldn’t know what the hell I was doing,” he muttered defensively.
“Use it, or you are no use to us, do you understand? Command your bloody magic, or we are done for.”
Joe saw a flash of pleading in her usual defiant stare.
“We have to work together, your magic and mine. If you start a fire, I can use the air to exasperate it. It will be devastating. Trust me.”
Joe looked at his shaking hands. Did he dare release the power that simmered within him?
The men were poised to leave the safety of the sandbags, the witch wind hammering them like they were in the middle
of a hurricane. The shining black pool of oil was perfectly poised.
Joe knew that if he was to call on the goddess to grant him his power he would be in her debt. To accept the power was to accept the life of a witch. To deny it would mean leaving Violet to fight by herself to save him. He had no doubt she could take them all on without him, but what kind of man was he to do that? Joe Mason was not a coward.
Violet touched Joe’s arm, which radiated tingling warmth through to his fingers.
“Joe, you can do it. Release the fire within you. Show me your true power. Concentrate. Focus your mind on the oil and imagine it in three feet flames.”
The warmth turned into an intense heat, coursing through his body.
The backup soldiers arrived. The commander gesticulated instructions. The men spread out, and the heavy soled boots laboured through the storm and stamped across the inky puddle of oil.
Joe imagined a spark growing into a flame. He fixed his stare and concentrated all the energy from his body on the oil. There was a snap sound and a sizzle then a small flame flickered into life and immediately shrivelled to nothing.
“Shit, it is bloody oil!” a man shouted. “They are trying to ignite it.”
“Argh. I can’t do it.” Joe turned and slammed his hands onto the metal door. “I am not a fucking witch.” He held his breath. He grimaced, willing himself with every ounce of energy he could muster to ignite something. Nothing. He saw the passion in Violet’s face melt into disappointment.
Her disappointment gave way to a panicked scurry of breathing. “Oh god, it’s not working. They could kill us or at least put us in prison and interrogate us. Bloody well accept who you are, Joe. Use the magic you were given or give up and be a bloody useless cripple, a liability.”
Anger and shame intensified heat from his core, which spilt through every pore in his skin, his eyes and his hands, which he held towards the men and the barrel of leaking oil. He hobbled to the doorway and stood squarely. Rifles locked on him.
“Wait for my command. We need a clear shot. If we damage those planes, there will be hell to pay.” The voice grew wary.
“Fire, fire burning bright, I have the power to control you. Give the power to control you.” Joe recited his pop’s words to himself.
“Fire, fire, fire, to the power of three, I give fire.” He uttered it again and again. “Fire, fire, fire, to the power of three, I give fire.”
More men powered towards them, guns loaded. The heat in his hands reached an unbearable temperature, and he thrust them in front of him to shake off the pain of burning flesh, then a ball of fire hurled into the barrel, which exploded on impact, erupting into a fire wall. Angry flames licked the arms of the panicked soldiers and wardens who were splattered in oil.
“Wow, yes, that’s what I meant, now…run,” Violet shrieked, laughing.
Joe half ran, half hobbled on his injured ankle towards the gate, which seemed five miles away. The fire reached high into the night sky behind them. Gunshot fired erratically at the elusive flames, and their human targets limped into the night, shielded by Joe’s fire spell.
The alarm sounded, rudely rousing more reinforcements and the fire marshals. Surging adrenaline powered through his limbs, which helped numb the pain. They reached the gate, which only a short time ago was a simple hurdle to a childish night of mischief and adventure; now it marked the way of escape. They clambered over the gate and jumped onto the bike; their heartbeats were almost audible. Then their fear gave way to relief and with it hysterical laughter. The bike roared to life as they made their advance towards the
city.
Violet and Joe were past the blackout curfew when they returned to the St Mary’s district of the city. The rows of terraced houses with curtains drawn served as flimsy shields against the constant bombing raids. Those that still retained glass in their windows were taped up, waiting fearfully for the next barrage of explosions. Joe pushed the lumbering beast of a bike over the rubble and ruin.
“This is me,” Joe said when they reached his mum’s spotlessly clean front door. His mum worked tirelessly to keep the house clean and in order in a vain attempt to keep some control of her life. Joe’s mum worked gruelling shifts at an ammunitions factory to make a contribution to the war effort despite his pop’s protests. She would happily roll up her sleeves to be the first on the scene shifting rubble at a neighbour’s house, helping retrieve some sentimental keepsakes for a sobbing
widow.
She volunteered again and again to drive the makeshift ambulance like she did in the first war, but now in her fifties, she was considered too old to be useful. Joe’s mum was as hard as nails with a half smile always on her lined face, refusing to complain.
Joe loved and respected his mum, but he didn’t mind admitting she scared him much more than his pop. If Joe came face-to-face with her while smuggling a girl into the house late at night, there would be hell to pay.
He reached for the front door key, brushing the letter he was meant to deliver to Violet. “I almost forgot…here, from Granville.”
She snatched the letter from Joe’s hand, eyes scanning her mission. She promptly folded the letter. “I must be on my way. It’s been a pleasure, Joe.” She looked hesitantly towards the night.
“Look, you can’t go home at this hour. Do you want to sleep under the table? It’s not much, but there is a bed made up under there for air raids. Or you could sleep in my bed, and I’ll go under the table.” Joe flushed, embarrassed at his poor offerings of hospitality. “We might even have a little cocoa hidden away at the back of the larder.” He hoped Violet didn’t detect the fear of his mum in his voice.
Violet smiled gratefully. “Well, I have to leave at first light, which must only be a few hours away now. I have to get this message out at dawn on the first postal trip.”
Violet settled on the makeshift bed and turned onto her side. Looking up at Joe, she said, “Come and lie next to me a while?”
Instinctively Joe’s eyes glanced up the stairs, knowing his mum’s reaction if she caught him under the table with a girl. They wriggled under the blankets to warm themselves. They talked about Spitfires and marvelled at the witch wind and fire they created.
“I didn’t know I could do that—the fire I mean. I was never into magic or the whole witch thing. I have seen the trouble meddling with an element as unpredictable as fire can cause. My pop lost his temper. He hurt my mum. She does her best to cover the scars up, but they are a reminder for me not to mess with magic. So I never tried.”
“I understand. You are afraid of losing control, but that is good. It shows you respect the power the goddess has bestowed on you. But you have been given your talent for a reason. You must get used to controlling it because you will be called upon to use it for good, and you must answer.”
Joe had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.
As if Violet sensed his unease, she asked, “How did it feel when you raised that wall of fire?”
A devilish grin escaped Joe. “Bloody fantastic.”
“Powerful?” Violet teased. She glanced under her eyelashes and nibbled her lower lip, before parting them slightly. They glistened. They were close enough that he could feel her breath.
Blood rushed through Joe. His heart pounded, and his mouth dried. He wanted to pull Violet into his arms. He needed to kiss her like his lungs needed oxygen. It took almost as much concentration to restrain himself as it did to raise the fire at the aircraft hangar.
“So…do you still want to be a pilot, or did tonight’s escapades put you off?”
“Ever since I first saw a Spitfire, I have dreamed of becoming a pilot. I would do anything to fly, but I am not an idiot. I know it is wishful thinking for someone like me.”
“Darling, you think so little of yourself. If you can make fire with your mind, what on earth is stopping you from becoming a pilot? Act the part, dress well, and I’ll introduce you to those who may be able to pull a few strings, at the very least
get to the base, start on washing duty and work up. There’s a dance on Friday. Do say you’ll come. It’s on the common. There’s a singer there and a band, dancing all night, and I’ll introduce you to my superiors. It’ll be a hoot.”
Joe dared to think he may yet pilot a plane and relaxed in Violet’s company. They talked for hours before he dozed off.
A broom handle jabbed him awake. “Get your lazy arse up. What the devil are you doing under the table? There was no raid last night.” Joe’s mum’s mouth turned down with disapproval.
Violet left as promised at first light to begin her mission for Granville. Joe imagined her zooming through the clouds delivering her post in the Spitfire, while he trudged towards the docks. They were leagues apart, but if she could do it, why not him? Today was Thursday and tomorrow night was the dance. Like a fretting girl, Joe began to panic. What the hell was he going to wear to a dance?
CHAPTER 10
Present
Urgent hammering resonated around the bathroom, bringing me back from the dream. I peered through my stinging eyes at the ornate swirling patterns, which danced across the expensive wallpaper. The patterns for a second seemed to move and bulge. I rubbed my eyes. A dim shape with similar dimensions to a woman seemed to creep behind the ostentatious design and slide across the wall. I froze in horror. I hugged my legs and shivered. The figure disappeared, and the pattern remained inanimate. I exhaled, questioning my sanity. The window flew open, and an icy blast made the curtains flap frantically. The bath water cooled and rippled. Suddenly banging came from inside the steamed up mirror, from the window and the walls, then back inside the mirror. Eyes darted from sound to sound, reflecting my fast and shallow breaths. Hammering sounded again from the window followed by a loud bang from the locked door. It sounded louder, more urgent.
“Cat…are you all right? Cat?”
There was a thud against the solid wooden door.
“Ouch, Cat, let me in.” Joab’s voice was muffled and urgent but an anchor to a safe, real world. The hammering retreated into the walls.
The Haunting of Violet Gray Page 7