Joab reached towards me. “They are just dreams…”
“Just dreams? The house is haunted by a girl who looks exactly like me. She is in my dreams, in the mirrors, hiding behind the wallpaper, in my bathwater for God’s sake. Her hands, her staring eyes and her words are creeping into my brain, gnawing away at my sanity like a twisted, evil spirit rat. I can’t take it anymore. I lost my necklace. When I find it, I’m going home.”
Joab took my shoulders, anticipating the usual charge of electricity. His face lit up with joy. “It’s gone. The spell broke. We can touch!” He fingers traced the line of my neck to my collarbone. “You’re not wearing the necklace. There were words scribed onto the stone. Do you know what they mean? Who gave it to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“The words could be a spell. The spell which prevented us from touching. Someone sees our union as a threat.” Then a flash of excitement flared in his eyes. “Right now, I don’t care what it means. All I want is you.” Then without hesitation, he pulled me towards his warm body. My face sank into his chest. There was no electric shock, no painful heat, just a gentle, soothing warmth. His hands smoothed my back and gently stroked my hair. I breathed in his woody, spicy scent, which suddenly filled me with familiarity. My sobbing relinquished, and Joab spoke softly into my hair, “I know who the girl is…I was lying when I said the hypnotism didn’t work. I travelled with you in your dreams to 1940.”
I pushed away from Joab. I didn’t know what to say.
“You lied to me…what about all the crap you have been feeding me about trusting you?”
“The girl you dreamt about is Violet. She was a powerful witch. She was killed in 1940.” Joab’s eyes reddened. His lip trembled. “I knew her.”
“How? That’s impossible. That was over seventy years ago.”
“She was part of our coven.” Joab’s eyes darted around the room. He was hiding something. He took a deep breath and pushed his hand through his hair. He turned to leave then clenched his fists and faced me.
“We took part in a ritual on August 1 in 1940. It was called Operation Cone of Power. It was designed to channel the magical energy of thousands of witches towards the apex of a cone. We concentrated our power onto the mind of Hitler to manipulate his thoughts into cancelling his attack on Britain.”
I half laughed, half spluttered, “What the hell are you talking about? It’s not possible you were there. Is this the best time to tell me all this bullshit? I’m leaving. I am not listening to this.” I spat my words as tears spilt from my eyes. I was astonished by his lies. I turned to make my exit. A firm hand clawed my arm to pull me back. I was shocked to see tears welling in Joab’s eyes.
“You have to listen to me. I know it sounds like fantasy, but I swear to you, it is the truth.”
I shook his hand off and walked away. Anger and frustration took hold of me. His voice continued. I didn’t turn to look at him.
“I was at the centre of the circle with three other witches including Violet. We were the most powerful and strongest witches, all representing our element. We began a chant, refusing entry to our shores to Hitler and the Nazis. I could feel the power of all those people radiating through me before it shot up to the apex of the cone. It was immense.”
I stood, refusing to turn but listening to the story.
“Something went wrong.” He breathed deeply. “Someone amongst us was a double agent, reporting back to the SAS occult unit every detail of our plans. The Nazis were expecting us to raise the Cone of Power, and they knew the time and date. They intercepted the magic with their witches who drained all the power from every man, woman and child who were giving every speck of energy. Their bodies could no longer function. Thousands of witches died. Myself, Violet and the few others at the base of the apex experienced the opposite. All the power of the witches on our circle passed through us, before shooting towards the peak of the cone. Before the Nazi witches could take that power from us too, Granville had seen what was happening, and we broke the spell, drawing the power of the cone back into us. It was too late to share the energy with everyone else, our families and friends. We maintained the power and the life-force of many witches. From that day, we never aged. Violet disappeared. I assumed she died.”
I turned finally to stare at Joab through my tears. “That is quite a story.”
“I can prove it.” Joab’s face flicked with hope.
“Enough, Joab,” I said icily.
Joab was deflated and beaten. He knew I didn’t believe him. I was adamant about leaving. I couldn’t understand why he would lie so elaborately. He scrambled his words to prevent me from going.
“I don’t know how or why Violet is communicating with you or why you look so alike. You are connected, perhaps on a different plain or dimension? Did she say anything about magic, a spell perhaps?”
“I don’t care. I have had enough,” I raged through my angry tears.
Joab pulled me close again. “You can trust me. I was protecting you. You weren’t ready to hear the truth. I promise I was waiting for the right moment.”
Joab pleaded with me, “What happened to you? Did your magic return? Did Violet give you her power?” His hands smoothed my face. “To finally touch your skin, it feels like nothing on earth. Your warmth, the smoothness of your skin and your pulse beating beneath…” Joab’s fingers moved to my collarbone. His lips traced the curve of the bone and the hollow of my neck.
His dark eyes deepened with desire. His hands drifted down my arms until they touched mine. I allowed my hands to drift up his firm arms and explore his chest, which encased his pounding heart. My tears dried.
“Tell me what happened to you,” Joab said softly.
“I don’t know. I can’t explain. I am different. I feel different. I feel like some force or energy entered my body.”
I looked directly into his eyes, this time not afraid to meet his gaze. His mouth moved towards mine. He kissed me hungrily, and I pulled away. I had been longing for this moment, but it didn’t feel right. I anticipated a euphoric feeling of bliss, but the uncontrollable magnetism I felt for Joab vanished. His lies, his touch repelled me.
“The girl in the mirror bestowed her power on me.” What power, I was yet to discover but…my brain raced.
I thought back to the weird tasting tea Annie gave me when I first arrived at Hunter’s Moon and my increasing knowledge of herbs. I remembered the tinctures of herbs in Joab’s wooden casket. The many coffees Joab made me. The salt on the table in his bedroom. The incense. The water. They were the tools for a spell. The words that hacked my brain that made me come to the house in the first place. Suddenly an ocean of clarity washed over me. The magic I have inherited has overridden or cancelled out whatever spell was controlling me.
I am not a nobody. I never was. Whoever I am, Annie, Joab wanted me so badly I was charmed, hexed, drugged into coming to Hunter’s Moon, to be seduced by Joab, the craft, the witch’s way of life. Was anything I experienced real? Was everything just one messed up hallucinogenic trip?
I stumbled backwards and searched for the words to explain my feelings and what had happened to me in the library. I wanted Joab to confess.
I reached nervously for my necklace. It wasn’t there. I remembered I took it off but where? Panic swept over me. Violet told me I needed the necklace to free her. Then I could get some answers. “I have to find my necklace. I need it. I need to find it.” I was nauseous again, and I began to shake. I felt dizzy. The room started to spin. I blacked out.
CHAPTER 12
July 1940
The bus trundled through the rubble remains of the high street. Joe jumped off at the pub and jogged towards the common past the corrugated domed roofs of the army barracks. The location of the dance was unmistakable. Swing music pulsated through the heavy July air from a building, which seemed to be jumping to its rhythm. Couples teased each other with kisses, while infatuated girls perched on the bonnets of American military issue jeeps with fr
eshly stockinged legs curled possessively around their GI beaus’ grateful hips.
Joe noticed a cackling group of girls, hoping to secure their own GI. They were taking turns drawing lines with a pencil down the backs of their tea-stained legs.
Joe followed the sound of raucous laughter through the door of the mess hall. Troops of uniformed men and women battled for a place at the bar.
The dance floor was like nothing Joe had seen before. It sprang as men threw their partners over their shoulders and flipped them into somersaults. They jumped, kicked and leapfrogged red-faced and exuberant. They danced like wild creatures freed from their cages. Old curtain fabric reshaped into flouncy dresses swirled around waists as girls spun wildly in time to the music.
Joe’s eyes stung as he peered through the smoke of American tobacco searching the room for the bright red hair of Violet. He spotted her twirling effortlessly with partner after partner, being tossed weightlessly from one daring move to another. She saw Joe and waved before she was twirled off in another direction. A pretty girl spun into Joe. Giggling an apology, she grabbed his hands and pulled him onto the dance floor. He did his best, but his clumsy moves were stiff compared with the well-practised gyrating yanks.
To Joe’s relief, the music slowed and the dance floor stilled. Some couples fell together, draping arms around each other as they moved slowly to the melancholic jazz. Then a warm voice with the tone of velvet captivated every soul in the room. On her pedestal on the stage, like a film star, she wore a silver silk dress that slid over her curves, rippling to the floor. Her red mouth sung a mournful song of lost love. I recognised the Billie Holiday tune.
The woman glanced towards her audience, her eyes sparkling with tears, which shared the same sentiment with so many others who for a moment travelled to a distant world of memory. When the song finished, there was a silent pause before her audience erupted into whoops and cheers for more.
As the singer thanked her audience, Joe suddenly recognised the beautiful siren as Anne. His jaw dropped in shock. He moved in her direction, but she was swamped with ardent admirers, who were thrusting flowers, cigarettes and chocolate hoping she would indulge them with a smile.
She broke free and sauntered into the welcoming arms of a tank of a man with thick blond hair and clad in an officer’s uniform. For a second, her gaze met Joe, and her mouth twitched into a smile of recognition before she was ushered away by her officer, who pushed a drink and a single rose into her jewel-adorned hand.
“How about a dance?”
Joe knew the smell of lilies immediately and spun round to be rewarded by the cinnamon-haired and milk vision of Violet dressed in a dark purple dress. He gulped at the prospect of breaking her foot with a poorly timed step or dislocating her shoulder in a poorly executed spin. He searched for an excuse. Luckily the beers he had already drunk were taking effect, and some of his usual cockiness, which tended to melt away in Violet’s presence, bubbled to the surface. “Well, I don’t know. My dance card is pretty full,” he joked.
She looked a little taken aback. “Well, how about a breath of fresh air and a smoke, and we’ll look to squeeze a turn around the dance floor on that dance card of yours. I must say, you are looking rather charming tonight. Is that a new suit?”
“Urr, thanks. Yes, got it from my uncle who got it from a mate down at the pub.”. Joe’s bravado vanished.
“Wasn’t Anne wonderful tonight? I had no idea she possessed such a gorgeous voice. Weren’t you stepping out with her? I heard the two of you were May Queen and King at Beltane.”
“Yes, didn’t work out in the end. We wanted different things. I had dreams. She wanted to wed. Now she’s engaged to that hulk of a yank.” He nodded towards the hut.
“Oh, do I detect a hint of jealousy? Dick is quite a catch, so handsome, brave. Oodles of money, so rumour has it. Did you know that dress Anne is wearing came from Paris? My friend said Marlene Dietrich wore the same one.”
“I couldn’t give her what she deserved. I am happy for her,” Joe said, despite his seething jealousy. “How did it go?” he continued, manoeuvring the conversation away from brave Dick and his cash and the lovely Anne.
“Oh, the delivery? Tickidy boo,” she said, inhaling her stream of smoke. “All set. Are you excited about the Lammas ritual? I can barely contain myself.”
“Not sure.” He shrugged honestly.
Violet’s eyes flashed. “It is going to be amazing, bigger than that. You and I are going to be part of history. We have the power to fight Hitler and stop his evil spreading to England.” Violet hushed to a whisper as a couple approached. “Granville has it all arranged. All the families across the country will meet near Burley at the Rufus Stone at shortly before midnight on Lammas then the ritual will begin. Our great minds and power all focused on the apex before the combined energy shoots up to the sky to create a great Cone of Power.”
Violet’s eyes searched Joe’s. He detected a slight hint of fear in her sparkling irises. Perhaps Violet’s passion was also bravado.
“All this talk of power, making history, it scares me. Has Granville mentioned what could happen if it goes wrong? People could die,” he whispered urgently back to her.
“Many good men and women, boys, in fact, have died in this godforsaken war. Yes, it is dangerous, but sacrifices must happen if it means keeping England safe,” Violet said, pleading with Joe. “You mustn’t back out. We need you. You wouldn’t?”
“Of course not. I know my duty,” he said begrudgingly.
“Come on. Let’s have a little fun. Dance with me. Have a drink and I will make some introductions.” Her smile widened.
Joe smiled, took her hand and led her to the dance floor. His hand rested on her back. Her hair brushed against his cheek as they swayed to the music. The music warmed up. Proud to be partnered with the most beautiful girl in the room, Joe was no longer self-conscious and threw himself around the floor with the best of them. They danced until his feet burned and his cheeks ached from laughing.
They downed home-brewed potato vodka in drinking games with Violet’s friends from the base, followed by sneaky shots of American whisky from a silver flask Violet produced from her handbag. They became dizzy from booze and the sheer exhilaration from the hedonism of the evening. Joe was delirious with the excitement of watching Violet spinning around him with her glossy hair flashing in the light. He felt like the luckiest man on the planet that her dazzling smile was just for him.
The music slowed, and she moved closer to him. Her wonderful smell and her warmth made him wish time would stand still. He wondered when would be the right moment to kiss her.
“May I cut in?” a voice rudely interrupted from behind Joe.
“Thomas,” Violet exclaimed, her face illuminated with happiness. The smile that was Joe’s moments ago became his. She fell into his embrace.
“Of course, you know Tommy?” Violet said excitedly.
Thomas Mason, Joe’s second cousin, grinned warmly at Violet then hesitantly at him. He was wearing a Royal Air Force uniform, his hat tucked under his arm and his light brown hair slicked down. He rammed his hand into Joe’s and gave it a rigorous shake followed by a hearty slap on the back.
“Joe, how have you been? I haven’t seen you since the meeting up at Toothill. The docks keeping you busy?”
Violet sidled up to Thomas. “Tommy is a pilot now. Can you believe it? We ran into each other at a dance just after he completed his training in Scotland.”
Thomas’s chest seemed to puff with pride. “Yes, as soon as I turned eighteen, I signed up, had my medicals, acumen tests, passed with flying colours. Next thing I knew I was flying a Spitfire. Hey, I thought you were planning on joining up?”
“Yes, Pop insists I am needed at the docks. Mum says I am too young. She forgets I am eighteen in December. Violet took me to the base last week; I sat on a plane. Nearly got lynched, didn’t we?” Joe turned to look at Violet, who was shushing him frantically in case someone may have heard
all about the misadventure.
“Let me introduce you to my chief, Squadron Leader Beauchamp.”
Thomas beckoned Joe to follow him as they approached a table surrounded by aristocratic-looking men, weighted with medals and an arrogant air of wealth. A tall, gaunt man with chiselled cheekbones looked at Joe with disdain then at Thomas. He raised an eyebrow in recognition and responded with “at ease” to Thomas’s sharp salute.
Violet approached the table and dipped into a curtsy. Joe looked at her, confused and amused by her gesture. He wondered if he should bow but thought better of it. As she rose from her curtsy, she relaxed, and her smile widened as she abandoned formality and kissed each man on the cheek. The aristocratic commander’s statuesque features softened a little during his embrace with Violet.
Thomas looked awkward, presumably unaware of Violet’s familiarity with the men.
“Permission to approach, sir?” Thomas asked officially.
“What is it, Mason?” the man asked, apparently irritated by the intrusion.
“May I introduce my cousin, Joseph Mason,
sir?”
The officer looked Joe up and down; he was sure he saw his lip curl in disgust when his eyes met Joe’s garish tie. “Yes, I presume you are looking for an easy way of getting into the Air Force?”
Joe instantly straightened his back and thrust his sweaty hand for the officer to shake. He declined with a dismissive glance.
“Oh no, sir, I am prepared to do anything for a chance to fight for the country. I will work from the bottom cleaning the lavvies if I must. It is my dream to fly a Spitfire, sir.”
“Yes, yours and every lad in the country. Why you?”
“Well, I have worked at the docks since I was thirteen. Became a foreman at sixteen. Now I am in charge of a group of fire marshals. Never had a day off sick in my life. I am loyal, brave…”
The Haunting of Violet Gray Page 9