Blackheath Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2015

  Copyright © Gabriella Lepore 2015

  This edition published in 2015 by

  OF TOMES PUBLISHING

  UNITED KINGDOM

  The right of Gabriella Lepore to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Book design by Inkstain Interior Book Designing

  www.inkstainformatting.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  “WHAT DO YOU know about the Tomlins family?” Officer Bryant asked, folding his hands on the table as he scrutinised the girl in the seat opposite him.

  The light bulb overhead flickered, casting strips of fluorescent light across the police station’s cold, grey interrogation room.

  On the other side of the table, Maggie Ellmes sat rigid in her chair. “Same as everyone else,” she replied without missing a beat.

  Bryant leaned back in his seat and smirked. “And what exactly is it that everyone else knows?”

  Maggie swallowed. “Everyone in Blackheath knows the Tomlins family.”

  “Maximus Tomlins,” Officer Bryant recounted as though he were reading from a personal ad. “Single dad, raising four boys all on his own. . .” The fractured bursts of light reflected in his eyes as he spoke.

  Maggie nodded her head, dark blonde waves creeping like ivy over her school sweater.

  “Blackheath High kids, right?” Bryant pressed.

  Maggie nodded again.

  “Tell me about them,” Bryant prompted. Beads of perspiration had formed on his brow now; he needed more than this.

  “Evan’s the oldest,” Maggie began. “He’s eighteen and a senior. Then there’s Joel, who’s seventeen. Then Ainsley, who’s thirteen, I think. And Pippin, of course. But he’s only four or something.”

  “And Mrs Tomlins? What does everyone know about her?” Bryant was leaning forward now, pressing both palms flat against the table.

  “No one knows what happened to Mrs Tomlins,” Maggie answered. “Only that she cut and run. She left after Joel was born. I heard she came back for a while, but then left again not long after Ainsley was born.”

  “And?” Bryant pushed.

  “And Mr Tomlins went to look for her.”

  “And then?”

  Maggie shrugged. “And he never found her, I guess, so he just came home.”

  “What about Mrs Tomlins? Did she ever reappear?” Bryant’s eyes bore into Maggie across the table. “She must have if there’s a fourth child in the picture.”

  “She came back for a couple of months a few years ago, then disappeared again.”

  “And, lo and behold, a baby gets left on the Tomlins’ doorstep nine months later,” Bryant added.

  “Pippin,” said Maggie.

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I told you already. Everyone in Blackheath knows all this.” Now it was Maggie’s turn to lean forward. “And I know you know all this too, Officer. So I can’t help but wonder why you’re asking me.”

  Another lazy smirk. “Everyone knows the Tomlins are witches, too, don’t they?” he suggested coolly. “That’s why people are afraid of them, isn’t it?”

  Maggie held his gaze. “Are you afraid of them?”

  He smiled darkly. “I think a more interesting question is, are you?”

  AN OLD SILVER Jeep chugged along the winding roads of Blackheath. In the driver’s seat sat a tired man with traces of coarse grey stubble and a face that looked worn, marked with wrinkles around eyes that had once been bright. In the front passenger seat sat a boy of eighteen, whose gentle features and neat blonde hair suggested that he was the peacemaker of the family. In the back of the Jeep sat the peacemaker’s three younger brothers, varying in heights and appearance. In the middle was a boy of thirteen who bore the same fair colourings and soft features as his older brother. On his left side, strapped haphazardly into a car seat, was a stubby four-year-old with wide lavender eyes framed by long golden lashes.

  And on his right side, gazing out the car window at the distant mountain peaks gleaming in the early-September sunshine, sat Joel.

  Joel didn’t quite share the same angelic appearance as his brothers; his hair, which was a shade or two darker than the others’, had grown an inch or two too long and had nowhere to go but fall over his brow in unruly waves. His expression carried a certain heaviness—a jadedness that his brothers’ faces did not. However, much like those of his three siblings, his eyes were a pale shade of violet.

  “Max,” Joel called to the man in the driver’s seat. His tone was clipped and unfamiliar, as though he were talking to a stranger rather than his own father.

  “Yes, Joel?” the tired man replied, meeting his son’s gaze in the rear view mirror.

  “You missed the turnoff,” said Joel, rapping his knuckles on the Jeep’s grimy back window to direct his father’s gaze to a parched dirt road that led into the wooded hills.

  Maximus’s rough hands twitched on the steering wheel. He looked to his side, where his eldest son Evan was riding shotgun.

  “Did we miss the turn, Evan?” he asked.

  In the backseat, Joel rolled his eyes. “I just told you we did,” he called up to his dad.

  Still, Maximus looked to Evan for confirmation.

  “I don’t know,” said Evan at last, his voice as smooth as velvet. “But if Joel said we did. . .” he trailed off.

  Maximus gave a heavy sigh and pulled the Jeep over at the side of the road. Overhanging branches from nearby trees scraped against the Jeep’s side windows as they came to a stop.

  Ainsley, squashed awkwardly between Joel and Pippin, slipped his chunky headphones down around his neck. “Why are we stopping?” he demanded, peering over his four-year-old brother’s head to get a look at the foliage that was pressing up against the windows. “Are we there?”

  “No, we’re not there,” Joel answered under his breath. “We missed the turnoff.”

  Pippin’s doe eyes gleamed. “Turnoff,” he repeated. “Joel?” he called to his brother.

  “What is it, Pippin?” Joel asked wearily.

  “Turnoff,” said Pippin.

  “Yes, Pippin. Turnoff,” said Joel with a sigh.

  Ainsley slipped his headphones back onto his ears, trapping wisps of ash blonde hair beneath the soft leather ear pads as he re-submerged himself in a bubble of thrash metal.

  Joel ran a hand through his own hair, pushing some stray dark strands from his eyes. I need a haircut, he thought for what felt like the hundredth time that month. Maybe I can cut it myself and skip the cost. He frowned at the thought, contemplating the shoddy job he always seemed to do whenever he tried to cut Pippin’s hair.

  He glanced at his toddler brother’s blonde curls, which were corkscrewing every which way but down.

  Yeah, maybe not, Joel decided.

  At least it was almost autumn now—carnival season in Blackheath. He’d be able to make some extra cash working the stalls on the weekends and in the evenings after school.

  All of a sudden, Joel was brought back to the present when Maximus revved the Jeep. They made a U-turn on the deserted road, kicking up a cloud of dust as they set off back the way they’d come.

  Not many other cars were on the road that day, which wasn’t surprising,
really. This part of town was always pretty quiet, with no houses or shops to speak of. And even though Blackheath was little more than a hamlet by anyone’s account, now the Tomlins family was about to head even further away from civilisation. Deep into the hills on the outskirts of town for a new start. A new life.

  A new home, Joel mused. Wait, an old home, he revised. A crappy old home.

  He and Evan had visited the house once before, when Really Old Aunt Pearl had lived there. The two younger Tomlins brothers hadn’t been born yet, though. Back then, it had just been Joel, Evan, Maximus, and. . .

  Joel closed his eyes. He didn’t need to think about his mother. Not today. Today was supposed to be the start of something new.

  The Jeep slowly lumbered along the road for a while longer, narrowly dodging some low-hanging tree branches that bowed in their path.

  “Here,” Joel muttered, thumbing towards an even narrower path heading into the forest.

  Maximus eased his foot off the accelerator and idled in the middle of the road, the engine purring in the quiet afternoon.

  “Does this look right, Evan?” Maximus asked.

  Again Joel rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s right,” he said with a sharp breath. “I remember it.”

  Maximus glanced into the rear view mirror with a half-smile. “You were just a baby when we came here, Joel. How could you possibly remember it?”

  “I was four,” Joel corrected. “Kids remember things from that age.” He caught sight of Pippin out of the corner of his eye. “Same age as Pip,” he added. “The kid’s probably going to remember everything about this day.”

  Pippin giggled to himself, causing his blonde curls to bounce into an even unrulier arrangement.

  Maximus turned his attention back to Evan. “What do you think, son?”

  Joel sighed.

  Evan shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Turnoff,” said Pippin.

  And Maximus turned the wheel.

  ARRIVING AT THE new house was a surreal moment for everyone. This place was home now, thanks to the passing of Really Old Aunt Pearl. It was time for the house to change hands, and on this particular occasion, it had skipped several generations and landed right in the lap of Evan Tomlins, heir to the property and the most promising young witch the family line had produced for centuries.

  Yes, Maximus or any of his ample number of sisters, cousins, or extended family members might have been next in line for the house, technically speaking. But it was Evan who had secured it; for Evan Tomlins was the Chosen One—and none of the other Tomlins could ever forget that.

  The Jeep rolled to a stop in the winding pathway that led up to the house—or, more accurately, the mansion. The five Tomlins inside the car looked out at the building, baulking in a mixture of awe and despair.

  Really Old Aunt Pearl had left the place ramshackle, to say the least. It was a tall, black and grey expanse of a building, almost castle-like with its turrets and its balconies with rusted railings and its crumbling brickwork. Tree-sized shrubs had taken root all around it, blocking the various entrances, and crawling ivy had spun its ascending web up the walls to the various rooflines three and four stories above.

  Joel’s legs suddenly felt heavy as he stepped out of the Jeep and peered up at the crumbling window frames and their cracked leaded glass panes. Moving into a mansion, though fool-proof on paper, was more akin to foolish when standing before the decaying remains of Really Old Aunt Pearl’s legacy.

  Is it too soon to pine for our old compact split-level in downtown Blackheath? he wondered.

  As Maximus busied himself unloading boxes from the trunk, Joel slung his rucksack over his shoulder and slowly approached the mansion. He could hear his breath escaping in nervous rasps.

  Home, he thought. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. Bring it on.

  “You should give Dad a break,” came a quiet voice from behind him.

  Joel cast a sideways glance as Evan appeared next to him. “Why?” he shot back.

  “He’s trying his best.”

  Joel snorted. “With you, maybe. The Chosen One. Heir to Blackheath’s most prestigious address.”

  They both turned to face the dilapidated front porch. Together they stared, transfixed, at the black iron door and brass lion’s head doorknocker before them.

  “Besides,” Joel added under his breath, “it’s Dad who gives me a hard time.”

  His gaze flickered to his brother for a moment. The boys stood at the same height, just passing six feet tall. But Evan stood taller somehow, lean and fair, with violet eyes so pale they almost appeared translucent in the misted sunshine.

  “He doesn’t mean to give you a hard time,” Evan insisted, adjusting the weight of his rucksack on his shoulder. “And he’s good to us, Joel. You know he is. He didn’t have to come back, but he did.”

  I wish he hadn’t come back, Joel thought. But he held his tongue.

  “And when our mother comes back,” Evan continued, “she’ll have somewhere to call home—”

  “We don’t have a mother,” Joel said at once. “Not anymore.”

  Evan winced.

  Joel’s heart gave a tug. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Calmly, Evan returned his attention to the house. “Shall we go inside?”

  Joel wrinkled his nose as he took in the old mansion’s derelict veranda railing. “Are you sure you want to?”

  Evan grinned and began towards the porch. He climbed gingerly up the first of three broken front steps. “She’ll come back one day,” he commented over his shoulder. “Just like Dad did.”

  Joel cast a glance back to the Jeep, where Ainsley and Pippin were hovering at Maximus’s side as he unpacked the car.

  I hope not, he thought, then began silently after Evan.

  Using both hands, Evan yanked on the iron door handle. The door lurched open with a shriek. The two boys stepped inside a dark, dank entrance hall. They stared, dumbfounded, at the wide sweeping staircase, its broken banister lit up with streaks of speckled sunlight leaking through the un-shuttered windows.

  Swapping a grimace, the brothers ventured farther inside, their shoes crunching on debris and tumbled down glass shards as they made for the staircase.

  “This place is. . .” Joel began, running his fingers along the dusty banister.

  “It has. . .” Evan added.

  “Something,” Joel managed.

  “Definitely something,” Evan finished.

  Side by side, they treaded warily up the wide staircase, carefully avoiding the missing third step. When they reached the top, they did a matched double-take as a rat scurried across their path.

  “Rats,” Joel noted, his voice echoing hauntingly off the high ceilings.

  “Rat,” Evan corrected. “Singular.”

  Joel raised an eyebrow and they forged on.

  They walked from room to room, systematically opening doors and peering inside each chamber, trying not to breathe in the moth ball scent. At the end of the long hallway, they came to a room with two narrow single beds lined up against the rear wall and a tiny balcony off a set of ancient French doors. Without thinking, they tossed their rucksacks onto the beds, Evan claiming the one on the left and Joel claiming the one on the right. With that done, they turned and stood face to face.

  “So, congratulations,” said Joel with false enthusiasm. “You’ve arrived at your palace, Chosen One. Do these quarters meet your princely standards, or should I lay out my jacket for you to walk on?” He laughed at his own joke.

  For once, Evan wasn’t smiling. His handsome face drew into a scowl. “Would you quit it with that Chosen One crap already? I’m getting really sick of it, Joel.”

  “What?” Joel made a show of looking confused. “But. . . you are the Chosen One, aren’t you?”

  Evan exhaled sharply. “And you’re not, right? Is that it? You’re jealous, so you want me to feel as bad as you do?”

  Joel laughed again—though this time, the sound was far from ge
nial. “Jealous?” he fumed. “You actually think I’m jealous of you, Chosen One?”

  Evan bristled. “You can’t stand that I—”

  “I can’t stand that your ego is so inflated that—”

  “You can’t stand that I’m better than you at—”

  “I can’t stand that you think you’re better than me at—”

  “Everything,” the boys finished in unison.

  “Because I am,” Evan said, holding Joel’s gaze. “I am better than you at everything. Is that what you want? For me to say it?”

  Joel’s expression hardened.

  “Because I am the Chosen One,” Evan finished. “So get used to it.”

  Joel threw up his hands. “So you can do a couple of fancy spells,” he mocked. “So what? Can you fix this?” He nodded to the cracked plastering at the top of the nearest wall and the water damage surrounding it. “No, huh? So what exactly can you do, Evan? Make it rain? Big deal.”

  Over their heads, an aged chandelier began to tremble, showering decades of dust over the floorboards.

  “Okay,” Evan bit back, his hands balling into fists. “Then you’re just jealous because Dad and I—”

  “Don’t!” Joel shouted at the same instant that one of the chandelier’s light bulbs shattered. “Don’t even finish that sentence. Or so help me god, Evan, I’ll—”

  At that moment, someone cleared their throat. The boys turned to see Maximus standing in the bedroom doorway, holding Pippin’s hand while Ainsley stood behind him.

  The chandelier stopped trembling.

  Maximus was wearing a strained smile. “Boys,” he said, holding up a palm. “Fighting already, Joel?”

  Joel grimaced.

  “Let’s try to get along for now, shall we?” Maximus suggested with forced brightness. “This is supposed to be the fun part.”

  Oh, so this is the fun part? Joel thought disparagingly.

  “Don’t you want to choose your rooms?” Maximus asked.

  “Already have,” muttered Joel.

  “This one’s fine,” Evan added, touching the musty bedspread.

  “Yeah,” Joel echoed, his gaze cast downwards. “This will do.”