Chapter 2
By the time I finally finish crying and crawl back into bed, my eyes are like sandpaper. Pulling the covers up over my head, I cocoon myself in my own little world of misery.
I can’t believe this is happening. Why would someone want to kill Vivienne? And more than that, why kill her using magic? There are a lot less time-consuming ways to end someone’s life, ones requiring a far lesser skill set.
After a while, I start to feel a little hot and claustrophobic, so I pull the covers down and tuck them under my chin.
In the darkness of my room, I stare at the ceiling for a long time until a dim glow catches the corner of my eye. When I look across to the foot of my bed, my breath catches in my throat and my heart starts pounding.
It’s her. My mother. Vivienne is hovering at the end of my bed.
Slowly, I push myself to a sitting position so as not to startle her, but she’s not looking at me.
I don’t think she even registers my presence.
She just stares at the wall somewhere above my head.
My gaze drifts down her ghostly form and notes the bloodstains on her dress, the paleness of her skin, the dark, sunken shadows beneath her eyes.
What most draws my attention are the slashing sigils etched painfully into her skin.
They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and they send a chill through my body, right down to my bones.
But the worst thing of all? Is her mouth.
It’s…not there anymore. Just a patch of smooth skin where her lips should’ve been and an ominous-looking symbol.
I blink, and between one breath and another, she’s gone.
The room is empty, but the atmosphere is cold and there’s a scent in the air. Something I can’t quite place, something dark. A prickly sensation ripples across my skin, making the tiny hairs rise, and I know it’s the aftermath of some pretty powerful magic, the kind I’ve never experienced before.
And it scares me.
I fall back on my bed and pull the covers over my head once more, trying to shut out the world.
But I can’t shut out my thoughts. I close my eyes inside my little dark cave, but sleep doesn’t come.
I toss and turn, unable to quiet my mind or my body, and by the time morning approaches, I’m beyond exhausted.
I haven’t slept properly in weeks. But now thoughts of the nightmares that have plagued me since I arrived in London barely enter my head. Only one thought swirls round and round to an exhausting drumbeat: My mother is dead. My mother is dead.
Why did I wait so long? Why was I such a coward? Now it’s too late. What were the secrets she was hiding about the Crawshanks family? Secrets she’s now taken to the grave with her.
I climb out of bed, my body stiff and my actions robotic.
I head for the kitchen where I fill the kettle and flick the switch to set it heating, not really paying attention to what I’m doing.
I don’t know how long I stare out of the window and watch the pale rise of dawn creep over the buildings opposite my flat.
An empty mug sits on the counter in front of me, and by the time I look down at it, the kettle has long since boiled and is now almost cold again.
What am I supposed to do now?
I’m startled from my daze at the sudden pounding at my front door carrying up into the flat. It must be Sam. Tristan and Danny are still up north, snowed in at some hotel, and I doubt it would be anyone else at this time of the morning.
Turning away from the window, I head downstairs and open the door to find Sam standing on the doorstep, just as I suspected.
His usually playful gaze is absent, his mouth devoid of the half smile almost permanently curving his soft lips.
Now they’re set in a grim line, and his eyes are dark and troubled.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Finally, I realise he’s making no move to step inside.
“Are you going to come in?” I take a small step back to allow him to enter.
He shakes his head, his expression regretful. “I can’t. There’s still too much to do.”
“Sam,” I whisper, “what happened to Vivienne?”
“I’m not sure I even know where to start.” Sam swallows hard and shakes his head.
“It was magic, wasn’t it?” Sam stares at me. “She appeared to me,” I mutter. “After you left. Just for a moment. I saw her standing near the foot of my bed.”
He frowns. “I wonder why she showed herself to you?”
“I don’t know.” My stomach sours as the lie trips easily from my tongue.
“It had been little more than a few moments, and I’m not even sure she was aware of me or her surroundings.
But it was long enough for me to see what had been done to her.
The markings on her skin, and her mouth…
” I close my eyes at the wave of nausea that washes over me.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sam says a little sickly, “and believe me, I’ve seen a lot.”
“Are you sure you won’t come in?”
He shakes his head again. “Maddie’s waiting for me, and I still need to speak to Danny and Tristan. I expect they’ll head back as soon as the snow clears. But I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
His jaw tightens. “I need you to be careful.”
“What? Why?” I don’t quite succeed in keeping the hint of panic from my tone. “I don’t have any connection to her death.”
He draws in a breath. “Harrison, all I know right now is that someone extremely dangerous just took out Viv with some pretty heavy magical mojo. Until we figure out how and why they went after Viv, I want you safe. As you’re not only a witch but also someone who runs an occult shop like Viv did, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you. ”
“But I?—”
“Just promise me, Prickles.” He sighs. “Don’t fight me on this.”
I give a slow nod. “Okay.”
I watch him release the breath he’d been holding, obviously waiting for me to fight him on this, which I may have done any other time. But under the circumstances, being careful is the least I can do right now.
“I’d better go,” he murmurs.
“Sam.” I instinctively reach for him as he turns away, but when he looks at me, my hand drops back to my side. “You be careful too.”
His eyes search my face. Finally, he nods. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
Then he’s gone. After slowly closing the door, I climb the stairs up to my small flat where the silence is almost deafening, but I can’t settle.
I’ve never felt so restless; my brain just keeps churning over and over last night’s events and I feel…
lost. I’ve always been pretty self-sufficient, even with my dads.
I’ve never needed cuddling or coddling, although my dads were happy to dispense both as much as I’d allow, but as I search deep inside myself, I find that, right now, all I want is Sam.
That thought alone is terrifying. I can’t start relying on someone else, especially now.
I aimlessly wander around the flat, picking things up and setting them down, adjusting the pillows on the sofa, turning one of the picture frames a fraction of an inch although it was perfectly aligned, checking the spotless shelves for non-existent dust. But nothing deters me from my turbulent thoughts.
A distraction, that’s what I need. Something to focus on. Pushing away the complicated feelings about my mother, I centre on the one thing I do know better than the others. Magic. I’m the person most suited to find out what magic was used on Vivienne, so that’s what I’ll do.
Damn it. I should’ve asked Sam for more details on how she was killed. It also would have been helpful if I’d got a better look at those symbols on her skin. They weren’t at all recognisable in the darkness of my room.
Maybe if I search through all my books, I’ll find something that can set me on the right path. I can at least help them try to figure out who did this.
I’ll keep the shop closed today and spend the time in the back room researching.
If none of the books that I’ve brought with me help, I’ll head to the British Library’s highly curated section of ancient manuscripts and books of magic.
I’ll need an appointment to see those collections, but I’ve been meaning to go anyway, just out of curiosity—well, ever since Elias Black’s book landed in my lap.
Before long, I’m planted at my work desk, a steaming mug of tea at my elbow, a book open in front of me and stacks of books surrounding it.
My nagging headache slowly gets worse. While it’s undoubtedly from my sleep being constantly disturbed by nightmares featuring Cordelia Crawshanks and her demon-fuelled revenge tour of Victorian London, the appearance of Vivienne last night surely didn’t help matters.
Pushing the thought away, I rub the ache in my neck and continue to skim the dusty pages. They crackle as I turn them, my eyes scanning for any depictions of symbols that match those etched into Vivienne’s skin, but there’s nothing.
I turn my attention to her mouth. I don’t know of any spell that could seal somebody’s mouth like that, but whoever hurt Vivienne obviously didn’t want her talking in the afterlife.
That in itself could be a clue. Did the killer know Tristan would be able to communicate with her?
If so, that means the killer has been watching everyone connected to Vivienne, and that’s incredibly worrying. Tristan could be in danger.
I’m just about to pick up the next book when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Wondering if it’s Sam, I pull it out quickly, but when I look at the screen, my heart sinks.
It’s my dads.
The last thing I want is for them find out Vivienne was murdered. They were worried enough about me moving to London in search of my past. Dad in particular is going to freak out when he finds out what happened, but I’m not sure I can lie to them. I never have before.
They’ll only worry if I start dodging their calls, so I take a deep breath and hit connect, grateful it’s not a video call. I don’t think I’d be able to hide the look on my face.
I clear my throat. “Hi, Dad,” I greet, trying to sound as normal as possible.