43. Chapter Forty-Three #2
He pulled up his sleeves and set his hands on his hips.
“But based on what I’ve seen today, it wasn’t Ambrosine who created the enchantment—it was Chrysanthe.
Ambrosine’s role was only to lend Chrysanthe her powerful herbs and the grimoire to extend autumn so she could stay in power and protect herself.
Ambrosine tied her power to the land, so when Chrysanthe used her herbs, the grimoire inevitably became linked to St. Stephenshire soil.
Which explains why it cannot activate its magic anywhere else.
” He opened a map of St. Stephenshire. The map was a sketched-up version of the town that spanned from Hearthstone Library to Town Square, Autumn Town, the emerald lake and Cedarthorne Estate.
“Now, here’s what no one else knows. I tracked what happened to the three crones. Beatriche drowned in the emerald lake not long after they were discovered at Cedarthorne. Josiah Spencer murdered her—”
“Is that why he went insane?” Vicky asked.
Pic eyed Vicky and shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case,” he said. “Ambrosine fled elsewhere after Beatriche’s death, and the last records of her were dug up in some part of Asia, but Crysanthe, the autumn witch, remained here. She is buried underneath Cedarthorne.”
“How does this tie into Rafa and St. Stephenshire then?” Auden asked.
Pic turned to Rafa. “Did you do anything noble at the Emerald Lake, Cedarthorne, or the land at Autumn Town?” he asked, one brow raised.
Rafa remembered Claire. “I saved someone from drowning in the Emerald Lake years ago.”
“Ah,” Pic said, as if he had just discovered Pandora’s box.
“I could only understand a little of what the inscriptions say, but in the grimoire itself, it states that the book will choose whichever valiant person comes looking for it to be its custodian. The magic used to seal that cellar was powerful. And the only reason it opened was because the right person finally came looking for it…” He eyed Rafa.
Rafa sensed all eyes in the room, human and feline alike, staring at him.
“S-so…” he stuttered, his thoughts shifting continuously.
“What do I have to do then to fix this?” he pointed to the winds picking up outside.
It looked like another snowstorm was going to ravage the town.
“If I’m the custodian, then how can I undo whatever this is?
” Rafa wanted to get back to his life. He couldn’t believe he was smack in the middle of this mayhem and may not have a way out of it.
“For starters, do not leave this town until I sort this out. I’ll need a few days,” he said, clearing up his valuables and placing the chain back in his bag. “I’ll call a few friends and ask for favors.”
Rafa fretted. It must’ve been the end of the second day at the art fair by now, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reach Sal or Willow or any of his family members. The phone lines were dead, and there was no cellular signal. If any of this were true, he hoped no one had bought the grimoire yet.
“Can Rafa wield magic now or something?” the mayor asked.
Pic stared at the mayor for a moment and let out a lighthearted laugh.
“Oh, no. It doesn’t work that way. Rafa here is just as normal as any of us.
But this kind of magic is so old it’s nearly extinct.
It’s protective magic, so it can’t be wielded, but it needs someone to act as a vessel.
There are only traces…vibrations of it left in our world.
This needs further study. But every so often magic like this emerges…
much like a dormant volcano that comes alive again.
And unfortunately, we can find ourselves in a bind,” he said cheerfully, like he was pleased with himself for making progress with the case despite not having all the answers yet.
“Now, I will be off, and I’ll return quickly,” said Pic, putting on a deerstalker hat and lifting his briefcases. “In the meantime, try to stay warm.”
***
Two days later, and on the last day of Sal’s art show, Pic returned.
He had called Rafa and the mayor to Hearthstone yet again.
With his papers and pictures of the grimoire strewn across the long table, he eyed Rafa rather seriously.
“I spoke to my contacts, and based on their archives and research, this kind of effect will only stop if you return the grimoire to where it was found, and then it must remain at the place from where it came.”
“What will happen if the grimoire is returned?”
“Everything will go back to normal…or at least it will be the Town of Perpetual Autumn again.” Then he turned to the mayor. “Dear Mayor, I understand no one owns the mansion or Cedarthorne Estate?”
“Correct,” the mayor said. “We’ve had issues with Cedarthorne mansion being haunted and the weather fluctuations. No one wants to purchase it because of that. The only person who ever tried living there was Mr. Moon.”
“I would suggest not renting it to anyone. It isn’t haunted; it’s just very protective of itself.
You should all treat St. Stephenshire, particularly Cedarthorne, as a place that lives and breathes.
It reacts negatively to anyone new that steps on its soil, hence the impossible living conditions.
But once the grimoire is back in the chamber and with its custodian…
” he said, pointing to Rafa, “the house will stop being a nuisance, and St. Stephenshire will return to its orange leaves and purple skies.”
“So what do you suggest we do, Mr. Pic?” asked the mayor.
“In return for being custodian of the grimoire, you give Cedarthorne Estate to Mr. Tovar here so he can safekeep it,” he said, crossing his arms over his enormous belly. “He’s the only one who can keep it, anyway.”
The mayor thought for a moment and nodded. “Okay…” he said, looking at Rafa, “if that’s all it takes.”
“Does this mean I can never leave St. Stephenshire?” Rafa asked.
Pic gave another astonished laugh. “Of course not! One thing you need to learn about old magic is that it is bound to the will of its caster. The three crones had their precious land stolen from them, but now that the conditions are going to be met—which are the custodian being given the land, and the grimoire staying on that land—then all will be well.”
Upon hearing that explanation, Rafa couldn’t help but sit down and heave out a sigh of relief. Thank God, he thought.
“Will this spell over the town ever end?” asked the mayor.
“You mean of its being in a perpetual autumn season? That we do not know,” Pic said, scuffing his beard, thinking of a probable answer.
“Maybe the spell will slowly dissipate once the conditions are met, and all four seasons will grace the town again, or maybe the magic will continue until it is worn out.”
In just one conversation, Rafa received a new house, new land, and became a custodian of a magical book that could be sold any moment now. Upon realizing this, he stood up and dashed to the door.
“W-where are you going?” the mayor called after him.
“I’m going to drive until I get some damn cellular signal!
” Rafa said as he opened the door and steeled himself for the icy wind.
He didn’t know why he didn’t think of having Auden drive out of town to look for cellular signal and warn Sal, but that was water under the bridge now.
Rafa had to contact Sal and hope to dear God that he wasn’t too late.