Chapter 23 Mrs Clisham
Ineed you to investigate this matter while I am away.
Honestly, right now she wanted to kill Brun. How on Earth was she going to investigate that? Eleanor had lived and died three centuries past, even if Mrs Clisham was somehow related to Aranna’s former lady’s maid, surely she would know very little – if anything at all – about such a remote ancestor, let alone whether her ancestor’s Fae mistress had left something important in her possession.
How would she even start that conversation?
Hello, Mrs Clisham, did you by chance inherit some weird looking object that may be magical?
“Do you need anything, Lady Lizzie?”
She blinked, realising that she was standing at the kitchen’s door staring into nothing.
“No, I… huh… I just came down to check whether you needed help with lunch.”
Mrs Clisham scoffed, “What kind of housekeeper would I be if I allowed the lady of the house to help me cook?” her expression was serious, but Lizzie did not miss the glint of mischief in her blue-gray eyes.
“What are you baking?” Lizzie pointed to the bowl in front of her.
“Oh, I thought it would be nice to have some chocolate cake for tea today. Mr MacLugh loves chocolate cake and I noticed that you do as well.”
Her eyes pierced Lizzie and she blushed in response. It had been the most innocent sentence, but she could not help but feel a layer of hidden meaning in Mrs Clisham’s words.
“Besides, very soon you will be going away, so I’m hoping to spoil you a little more while I can.”
Those words made Lizzie’s stomach drop. So involved she had been with Brun and all the Fae drama in the past days that she had pretty much forgotten her whole life outside Glennloch.
She glanced at the calendar on the wall. Only three weeks before starting her foundation programme. She had opted for the Priority Programme and been allocated to the Peninsula School, which was miles away from Perthshire…
How would she even face that life now? Brun had not said it in so many words, but she knew he was not keen on the idea of her leaving Glennloch and the protection of its ancient spells even for a minute – would he follow her back to Cornwall?
She clenched her jaws. Yes, she could certainly see that happening.
How would she live under the threat of death with him sniffing after her like a bloody bodyguard?
Perhaps she could delay things a little, at least until they gleaned clarity on the Dreams Thief problem, if it was even a problem, which frankly she did not fully believe.
But what would she tell her parents? And Vivian? She would need to come up with a really good excuse to satisfy them all.
Best talk to Brun about it, she decided. As someone who had successfully disappeared and reappeared for five centuries, he was no doubt the inhouse expert on that topic.
She looked back at Mrs Clisham, who was staring at her quizzically.
“Let me help you then. I’ve been idle all morning and I don’t like feeling useless.”
Mrs Clisham did not protest when Lizzie began to reach for ingredients in the cupboards and set them on the counter.
“Has your family always lived in Stirling?” she started casually, measuring the flour.
Mrs Clisham frowned, cutting a generous chunk of butter while she pondered over Lizzie’s question, “Why, I believe so, at least that is what my granny used to say.”
“Really?” Lizzie encouraged, not knowing how to steer that conversation in the direction that she needed.
“That’s right, in fact,” she reached inside her shirt and pulled a golden chain, “this is a very old family heirloom, passed down from mother to daughter within my family. My granny used to say that it came to our family from the hands of a real fairy–” Mrs Clisham cut herself and frowned, “Are you all right, Lady Lizzie? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost…”
Lizzie did not reply promptly, staring at the golden pendant hanging from the chain.
A nightingale perched on a goblet.
She felt her mouth go dry.
Aranna’s sigil!
“No, I’m fine. Just felt a bit dizzy for a moment…” she resumed measuring the flour and shrugged hoping to sound casual, “Probably my period coming.”
Lizzie spent the rest of the afternoon too excited to being back on the treasure hunt to lie still. She wandered around the house, did extra sessions of Yoga, tried and failed to read something and mostly paced in her room while waiting for Brun to return from his secret trip to Edinburgh.
He had done so almost exactly at the time that Mrs Clisham served tea, therefore she had to endure a whole meal before she could drag him to his office.
“What happened?” he reached for her hands, “You seem very agitated.”
In hurried words, she explained what she uncovered that morning.
“So I was right: Mrs Clisham is a direct descendant of Eleanor!” he sounded astounded.
“Do you think that this pendant could be the key Aranna’s message refers to?”
“Oh I am certain of it… Aranna foresaw that Mrs Clisham would be here with you. She planned it all!” he stared at Lizzie, “Right now, we need to think of a way to get that pendant from Mrs Clisham without her suspecting anything.”
“Can you do something, you know… magical?” Lizzie wiggled her fingers meaningfully in the air.
He cocked an eyebrow while a surprisingly smug smile crept on his mouth, “You mean like making a rabbit appear out of a hat?”
“Well, in this particular case disappear would be more appropriate I suppose…” she considered, bobbing her head.
“Alas, my magic doesn’t go that far,” he shook his head, “I can glamour something to make it look like it disappeared, but to actually make an object vanish or reappear is a talent only Enchanters possess.”
She bit her lower lip, “Yeah, well, give me another twenty years and I may be able to help…”
His eyes softened, “I did not mean it that way… I am not putting any pressure on you.”
“I know,” she pushed her glasses over her nose, “Maybe we can just ask her?”
He pondered for a moment, “That’s risky… Mrs Clisham is no fool: it could lead to questions we do not want to answer.”
She covered her mouth with a hand containing a yawn, “Specially if the pendant also contains protective spells like the puzzle box.”
“Just so,” he agreed. Then he stiffened and trained his gaze on her, “There may be another way of asking her.”
Lizzie frowned, studying his face, “Why am I picking up a dark overlord’s vibe from your voice?
Because she had been educating him on the main fantasy and science fiction titles, Brun knew exactly what she was talking about this time.
His jaws tensed, “We can use a mind control spell.”
Behind her glasses, Lizzie’s eyes widened into dessert plates, “Brun!” she objected, “How can you even consider doing such a thing!”
He shook his head, “Not me, you!”
She pointed to her own chest, “Me? Why can’t you do it?”
“I can compel people to do things, but they will remember doing it, even if they do not know why,” then seeing the horror on her face he added, “It is not as insidious as you are picturing, it’s just a mild suggestion. With the right spell, you can convince Mrs Clisham to give you the necklace and make her forget about it. Once we figure out its secrets, we will return it to her. She will just think she forgot it in Glennloch.”
Lizzie pressed her lips into a tight line.
“Well, I suppose I can try… If you’re sure it will cause her no harm…” then she trained her eyes on him, “Now, can you tell me about your trip to Edinburgh?”
He stiffened, but kept his eyes on her, “I cannot” he replied and for a terrifying moment she thought she was going to cry. He cupped her face with his warm palms and added, “Not yet, but soon, I promise you.”
On the following morning, Lizzie and Brun locked themselves in his office to review some of her tenants’ leases. The night before, after everyone had gone to bed, he had sneaked into Aranna’s workshop and returned with a new book of spells. Different from the other ones she had been studying, which were usually richly decorated, this had a black leather cover and displayed only one short line of Fae words, which Brun translated as Unseelie Spells.
She swallowed hard, “You mean like the fairies’ Seelie and Unseelie courts?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he acquiesced, “There was no such division of power in the Otherworld as we learn from our folklore, thus no good and evil Fae. Similar to humans, Fae are equally… nuanced, and also developed a set of rules on what kind of magic was acceptable and which practices were not, and some which, of course, were banned.”
She peered at the book in Brun’s hand and shivered. Was she the only one reading Necronomicon in that situation?
Brun squeezed her fingers, reassuringly, “Don’t worry, the spell I told you about has no enduring effects, and although frowned upon in the Otherworld, it was widely used by the Fae in humans, as a way of keeping their presence here undetected.”
Lizzie lifted her eyes to him, “That does not make me feel any better.”
He sighed, “I know, what I mean to say is that, although there are far darker spells bearing truly evil intentions, these,” he placed his fingers meaningfully on the book, “are of a mild nature, used by the Fae to help them mingle amidst humans. Call them survival spells if you like.”
She let her back fall against the armchair and heaved, pushing her glasses against her nose, “Well, I suppose that in the great scheme of things, putting a spell on Mrs Clisham to borrow her necklace is a lot less evil than having my life sucked away by the Dreams Thief…”
Brun did not join her in the banter. His eyes went dark and his jaws tensed. A mixture of emotions flashed over his sapphire irises: frustration, anger, and the need for action; however, the strongest one was fear.
He was afraid of failing again.
Lizzie got up from her armchair and came to stand by his side. Then she held his face with both hands. He had not shaved that morning – an unusual behaviour for him – and his cheeks were rough, but she relished on the feel of his stubble under her fingers. It made him look even more masculine, while at the same time it bared his vulnerabilities for her.
It was a humbling thought, to have that five hundred year old warrior exposing himself to her like that. It made her aware of something she did not think she possessed.
Feminine power.
She squeezed between his desk and chair and sat on his lap. Brun gasped in surprise and Lizzie was satisfied to see the desire flaring on his eyes. She removed her glasses, placing them carelessly on his desk and he inhaled sharply, his hands coming to rest around her waist as if attracted by a magnet.
But she did not want him to take charge of that moment, so she lowered her mouth on his, taking possession of his lower lip between her teeth. He groaned, tightening his grip around her.
They kissed long and hard till both were breathless. Then Lizzie lifted her face and trained her eyes on his.
“We will not fail. If this monster is still here, we will find a way to defeat him.”
We willnot fail.
It was the wee hours of the night and Brun could not sleep again, because those four small words kept echoing inside his head like tolling bells. Despite the fact that he had Lizzie now tucked against his body, breathing softly against his neck, he could not close his eyes and drift away too.
They had spent all morning and the best part of the afternoon practicing the spell to cast on Mrs Clisham. Despite his reassurances that it was a mild and harmless enchantment, he had his own doubts about it.
Mainly the ethical ones.
Having no other choice, she had to practice on him and albeit he had summoned protective shields to make himself impervious to it, Brun had still felt the touch of her power inside his mind. It had been strong enough to weaken his defences and at some point Lizzie had nearly succeeded in altering his thoughts.
Would it really be safe to do that to Mrs Clisham?
They had stopped only when the aforementioned banged the door of his office, berating him for enslaving poor Lady Lizzie with all that boring business things and commanding them to come out and have tea like civilized people.
Displaying no sign of tiredness after practicing that complex spell for hours, Lizzie had obliged the housekeeper with a smile and he had followed them in silence, brooding over those words so full of meaning.
We will not fail.
We, not You.
There had been no reproach or expectation in her voice, simply the certainty, or better yet, the faith in their partnership.
What did that mean?
Despite the fire between them, neither had spoken of deeper attachments. He knew of his feelings for her, but had not yet had courage to voice them, and likewise, Lizzie had said nothing of what she carried in her heart.
After tea, they had a normal evening, then supper, and once the Clishams had gone to bed, Brun had again sneaked into Lizzie’s room and had taken her with renewed passion, seeking to drown away the foreboding growing at each passing day inside his chest. He could feel in his ancient bones that time was slipping between his fingers and if he failed again…
Brun shuddered at the idea of losing Lizzie. To feel what he felt when Triarell was gone–
He halted his train of thoughts, knowing that losing Lizzie would be nothing like losing Triarell.
It would be worse, far worse.
Taking a deep breath, he gently moved her arm from his chest and slowly slipped out of the bed. As quietly as possible he dressed himself and walked out of her room with the intention of spending the last hours of the night in Aranna’s workshop to keep searching for anything they could have missed: another clue, a formula, a spell.
Anything.
If Mrs Clisham’s pendant proved to be a dead end also, hopefully they would find another lead to keep searching for a trap or a weapon, or whatever it took to destroy the Dreams Thief once and for all.
Friday was the day they chose to put Lizzie’s mind control abilities to the test.
Say that again, only slowly this time…
The Clisham’s would be off to their own home for the weekend, and Mr Clisham had already left, as he was going to meet with some lads at the pub in Glennloch Village before heading home.
Lizzie had never felt so nervous in her entire life. It was one thing to conjure spheres of light or whirlwinds in the loch, another one entirely was to meddle with someone’s mind.
What if she did something wrong? Could she cause Mrs Clisham to have some kind of brain damage?
Brun had chuckled at the idea and assured her that there was no such risk, but his eyes had been shifty. He was not entirely sure about the side effects of that spell either, which had not been very reassuring.
With Brun close behind her, Lizzie found Mrs Clisham in the kitchen taking note of items for the next grocery shopping.
“Ah Lady Lizzie, I was about to go check whether there was something you needed before I leave?”
At first Lizzie’s stomach was so twisted into knots that she thought she would throw up as soon as she opened her mouth.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
Repeating those four little words in her head to give her a modicum of courage, she took a deep breath and began to sing the spell.
“What–” Mrs Clisham tried, but the words died in her throat.
On the first time she had tried a spell, the magic coursing through her body had been akin to an electric shock, but the sensation was growing more pleasant at each passing day, like getting warm on a chilly day.
With her eyes fixed on Mrs Clisham, Lizzie allowed the foreign Fae words to roll on her tongue as if she were savouring a spoon of honey. Now the language felt more natural and the sound of her own voice was exhilarating.
Mrs Clisham stared at her with a frown that lasted no more than a moment. Then she sighed, her shoulders sagging and her lips partially parted.
“Lizzie!”
Brun’s voice startled her. She had been so focussed on weaving the spell that had even forgotten he was standing right behind her.
“I think that’s enough, Lizzie,” his tone was full of warning, “You must ask what you need now.”
She looked at him over her shoulder and whatever expression she wore on her face surprised him, because his eyes widened and he gasped.
“Do it now, Lizzie,” he repeated and there was note of strain in his voice.
Lizzie nodded and slowly turned her eyes back to Mrs Clisham, who was still staring at her with eyes completely devoid of expression.
“Mrs Clisham, I need you to give me your pendant now.”
At first Mrs Clisham did not move or respond, still staring at Lizzie and for a moment she thought the spell had not worked.
Panic rose in her stomach. How were they going to explain what they were doing? Would she believe it had been a silly joke?
But then the housekeeper lifted her hands to her neck and unclasped the golden chain, handing it to Lizzie.
“Of course, Lady Lizzie,” her voice sounded a little robotic and she had a vacant expression on her face.
“Thank you, Mrs Clisham,” she took the jewel from the housekeeper’s hand, quickly pocketing it. It felt strangely cold considering it had been tucked inside Mrs Clisham’s dress.
“You did well, Lizzie,” Brun said taking a step closer, “now you can release her.”
Lizzie nodded and held Mrs Clisham by the arms. Looking straight into her eyes, she pronounced the three words, which according to Brun meant something close to your will is your own.
Apparently snapping one’s fingers would not work in Fae hypnosis.
Mrs Clisham blinked from Lizzie to Brun seemingly a little confused.
“Sorry, Lady Lizzie, what did you say?”
“I said I don’t need anything, thanks.”
She nodded, “Well, I best be going then before it gets too late and Angus has one too many pints! I will see you on Monday. Good-bye Mr MacLugh, Lady Lizzie.”
Lizzie and Brun replied with their good-byes and watched as she grabbed her handbag and left through the kitchen door. Only then Lizzie allowed her body to fall heavily on a chair.
“God, I hope I never have to do that again in my life!” she heaved.
He came to stand beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, “You did really well.”
There was pride in his voice, but Lizzie detected another darker feeling which she could not quite define.
Brun turned away from Lizzie to fill the kettle with water, using the time to gather his wits, because when she sang the spell moments before, something else had changed in her. For the briefest moment, nothing more than the blink of an eye, she had ceased to look human, and that had scared the soul out of him.
A Fae’s power was supposed to grow as they matured, reaching its peak around their twenty-fourth birth, when they also stopped aging – the reason why Triarell’s testament had stablished that as the coming of age hallmark to accede to the Viscountess title. He recalled that Darron’s magic had indeed become stronger until around the same age when it stabilised, so to speak.
Lizzie’s magic was different: it had been dormant until she came to Glennloch and then, suddenly, it had burst free and from the first moment there was no doubt she was more powerful then Triarell had been.
However, what was troubling him was that her power was unmistakably still growing and he could not understand how was that possible, when she was Triarell’s distant descendant.
A distant human descendant.
How many layers did that mystery have?
“Are you okay?”
He lifted his gaze and realised that he was standing in the middle of the kitchen with the teapot in his hands.
Lizzie was leaning over the table, her green eyes trained on him from behind her glasses.
“Yes, yes, I am fine,” he lied, setting the pot on the table and serving their cups, “Apologies, I just got lost in thought for a moment.”
A small crease crept between her brows, but she did not press him, “Well let’s find out this pendant’s secrets, shall we?” she reached inside her pocket, pulling the golden chain out, “Maybe it contains a teeny tiny, coded message leading us to a tomb at Rosslyn Chapel…”
He blinked, confused, “Why Rosslyn Chapel?
“Never mind,” she wiggled a hand dismissively and lowered her gaze to the jewel in her hand, “I think this is actually a locket, but it is so small it’s very hard to see the opening.”
“May I see it?”
She offered him the chain and Brun stared at the dangling pendant for a moment before grabbing it.
At first glance it seemed an ordinary piece of jewellery, about a quarter of the size of his palm. It had a gold set and the nightingale was possibly made of garnet or some other reddish stone, while the goblet had miniscule gems set along its rim.
He brought it closer to his eyes, sensing the magic in it. It was quite faint, but it was unmistakably there.
“Any ingenious mechanisms to open it?” she asked and he shook his head.
“Apparently not,” he rubbed a thumb over the inlaid stones and hissed.
“What happened?”
“I think I cut my finger on the stones,” he replied inspecting at his thumb. Sure enough there was a thin line open on his skin and two tiny droplets of blood were oozing from it.
“Let me see!” she reached for his hand.
Her palm grazed the locket and both gasped when they heard a click.
They looked down at the same time.
Light exploded from the locket, flooding the dimly lit kitchen with the brightness of the sun, throwing them both off their seats.