Blackheath Resurrection (The Blackheath Witches Book 2) Read online

  “Hey,” Joel spoke at last. “How weird is it that we’re only just learning this about each other? I guess we never really took this stuff seriously before.” He glanced down at Maximus’s journal. “Witchcraft, I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Ainsley said, stretching his arms over his head. “Like it’s just this thing that we each do sometimes. But it’s actually kind of cool to do it together.” He yawned. “It’s like we’re brothers or something.”

  Evan laughed. “We are brothers.”

  Ainsley pondered it. “Yeah, sure. But this is new for us. For me, anyway. I always knew you guys did spells together, but this is the first time . . .” Embarrassed, he let his sentence trail off.

  Joel grinned at him. “The first time we’ve included you?”

  Ainsley grimaced. “Whatever, douchebag.” He turned beet red. “Alls I’m saying is, it’s about time you two numbskulls recognised who’s got the real power around here.”

  Evan ruffled Ainsley’s blonde curls and kissed him on the top of his head.

  Ainsley howled in horror and quickly wiped the spot on his crown. “Okay, enough of this. Let’s just do the damn spell and get Dad over here already.” He snapped his fingers. “Someone get me a freakin’ candle!”

  Joel laughed and rose from his seat. He took a lit candle from one of the sconces on the wall and jammed it into an empty soda can.

  “Put it here in the centre of the table,” Ainsley instructed.

  Joel did, and its flame flickered in greeting.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  Ainsley rubbed his chin. “Okay, well, when we did it before, we just held our hands over the flame and called for her. We said, ‘Evangeline, we summon you; we summon you to find us’. I figure we can just say ‘Dad, we summon you’ instead, right?”

  “That’s all?” Evan checked. “We just chant? I was kind of hoping Topaz would have come up with something more sophisticated than that.”

  Joel regarded him sceptically.

  “Okay, you’re right,” Evan backtracked. “It’s Topaz.”

  “Don’t be haters,” Ainsley scolded. “It worked before. Keep it going, though. We’ll know when to stop.”

  A new tension hung over the table as the boys raised their hands and held them a short way above the candle’s wavering flame.

  Joel’s fingers tingled from the heat.

  In unison, they began to chant. “Dad, we summon you; we summon you to find us. Dad, we summon you; we summon you to find us . . .”

  The familiar rush of witchcraft began to pull at Joel, flooding into his veins. He could feel it surging from Ainsley and Evan, too. It was almost as if they were all existing as one, their breaths in sync, their hearts beating in time with the pulse of the candle’s flame.

  Joel closed his eyes. The words spilled from his mouth so fast that he lost all control, until his lips were moving at their own will. In his mind, he felt himself travelling beyond the mansion, beyond Blackheath, to somewhere far away. To the place where Maximus was hiding. He could almost see his father, surrounded by dark woods and a starry night sky. He could almost hear his father’s voice.

  “Dad, we summon you,” Joel said purposefully. “We summon you to find us.”

  And then, just like that, the candle was extinguished and Joel found himself back in the kitchen at the mansion. Everything around him was quiet, and still, and in complete darkness. For not only had their candle extinguished, but so had all the candles in the room.

  MAGGIE AWOKE WITH a start, tangled in her sheets and short of breath. She clutched her chest and exhaled slowly, comforted by the simple realisation that she was awake and no longer trapped inside a dream where black snakes were slithering over her, coiling their thick, heavy bodies around her legs and arms until she was unable to move.

  In the dream, she had lain helpless as one of the snakes slid over her throat, squeezing her windpipe and smiling at her through its yellow eyes. Taunting her. Then, the serpent disintegrated into a tornado, a gale that spun its web around her and swallowed her whole. But now, awake, she saw that she was safe inside the bedroom at the mansion. She looked up at the high cavernous ceiling, which curved with shadows that bent and twisted, just like the snakes had done. Maggie shook her head. The nightmare was over, she reminded herself. For the time being, at least.

  On the other side of the room, Isla was sleeping soundly in her bed. It was not quite dawn yet, but the light outside the frosted balcony doors was starting to break; a new day was beginning.

  Something is beginning, she thought. She felt it.

  Maggie patted the floor in search of her phone, then vaguely recalled leaving it in the kitchen the previous evening. Although getting up at such an early hour didn’t exactly fill her with joy, she needed her phone. And she needed food. Her stomach grumbled from the sparing toast dinner they’d had the night before.

  Shivering, Maggie rose stiffly from her bed. She retrieved a long knit cardigan from her unpacked overnight bag and wrapped it around herself before padding across the room. Carefully, so as not to wake Isla, she eased the bedroom door open, turning its brass handle slowly.

  The first-floor corridor was dim, but lit with a misty glow cast from the tall windows at either end of the hallway. Maggie tiptoed along the chilly hardwood, heading for the staircase. As she touched the smooth mahogany banister and began her descent, she imagined that this staircase had once been grand, as it almost was now. In fact, she could almost imagine just how magnificent the entire mansion had been in its heyday.

  The cool banister rail tingled beneath her fingers as she hopped over the missing third step. There was something alive about the Tomlins house—something that spoke in its own quiet language, whispering secrets that needed to be heard.

  Once on the ground floor, Maggie made for the archway leading into the kitchen. She was hungry and thirsty, and not above raiding the Tomlinses’ fridge. Surely they had something worth devouring—a frozen waffle, at least. She decided she’d gather what she could and head back upstairs with the spoils. However, when she stepped into the kitchen, she stopped in her tracks.

  “Joel,” she breathed, her hand flying to her heart. “You scared me!”

  Joel was seated at the table, surrounded by candles and small clay pots. He froze midway through sprinkling a pinch of herbs into an awaiting pot.

  “Uh . . .” he said dumbly.

  Maggie edged closer and peered down at his arrangement. “Are you doing a spell?”

  He looked at her blankly, a glimmer of morning sunlight catching in his violet eyes. “Yeah,” he answered a little sheepishly. “Is that weird?”

  “No,” she said, frowning. “But why so early?”

  He ran a hand through his rumpled brown hair. “It’s early?” he asked with a hint of a smile. “I thought it was late.” He pulled out the chair beside him and gestured for Maggie to sit down.

  She obliged, sinking into the seat next to him. “So, what is this?” she asked, nudging one of the clay pots.

  He prodded at the mound of herbs gathered in the base. “My many attempts at a spell,” he answered vaguely. “I don’t know what’s working and what’s not anymore.”

  Maggie turned to him. “This is all about Kaden, right?”

  He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “Yeah, pretty much. But it’s more than that, too,” he reflected. “I’ve got a lot to learn. I’m just not entirely sure what it is that I’m supposed to be learning.”

  Maggie folded her hands on the table. “Maybe I could help,” she offered. “I don’t know how, but I’m sure I can. Maybe.” She gazed thoughtfully out the window to the breaking dawn. “I mean, I’m not a witch or anything, but I can . . . think. I’m a natural thinker.”

  Joel smiled at her. “Okay.”

  They lapsed into silence.

  “Did you think of anything?” he prompted after a minute.

  “No.”

  Another minute passed before Joel spoke again. “You can tell Isla, if
you want.”

  “Really?” Maggie pursed her lips. “I thought you wanted to wait a while.”

  Joel leaned back in his chair and flexed his fingers. “I don’t know anymore,” he admitted. “I don’t like the thought of getting other people involved in this. It’s my family, and we’re . . . and we’ve got a lot to hide,” he backtracked. “But you’re right. Isla needs to know.”

  Maggie nodded her head but said nothing.

  “I just . . .” Joel looked down at the table. “I don’t know what he’s got planned. I don’t know what I’m trying to pre-empt.”

  Maggie bit her lip. “You mean, maybe it’s not just Isla he’s here for?”

  “Yeah.” Joel met her eyes again. “Maybe.”

  Maggie drew in a deep breath. “So, what spell are you doing?” she asked, glancing at the open notebook on the table.

  “I’m trying to get a glimpse into the future,” Joel explained diffidently. “I don’t know if it’s working, though. I haven’t seen anything yet.” He laughed without humour. “I don’t even think this spell works when you do it on yourself.”

  “Oh.” Maggie stared down at the journal, trying to make sense of the penned verse spilling across the page. “Okay. So do the spell on me.”

  Joel sat up straight. “No,” he said at once. “I wasn’t hinting at that—”

  “I know. But why not? I don’t mind.”

  He shook his head. “No. You don’t want a spell practised on you, Maggie.”

  “Why not?” she said again, flipping up her palms. “It’s not like you haven’t done spells on me before.” She fixed him with a wry smile.

  “Yeah, but . . .” Joel trailed off.

  “But what?”

  “But that was extreme circumstances.”

  “So is this.”

  “And fortune telling isn’t exactly my strong suit. As you can probably tell,” he added, thumbing to the gathering of clay pots on the table. “This is more Madam Emerald or Topaz’s trick—”

  “Whoa,” Maggie cut in, raising her index finger. “Nuh-uh. I do not trust The Incredible Psycho Madam Emerald to put her paws anywhere near my future.”

  Joel grinned.

  “Come on,” Maggie urged him. “Just try it. Honestly, I can take it.”

  He winced. “Okay,” he agreed hesitantly. “I’ll give it a try. I mean, if you’re sure?”

  Maggie rolled her hand to hurry him along. “Sure, sure. Less talking, more”—she gestured towards the journal—“spell-ing.”

  Joel smiled. “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Invite me.”

  “Joel Tomlins,” she began dramatically, “tell me my future.”

  Closing his eyes, Joel reached out and slipped his hands around hers.

  “Forward eyes and forward mind, through these words unlock, unbind,” he whispered under his breath. “Grant me sight, no longer blind, and let me see what I shall find . . .”

  As Maggie listened to the lyrical melody of his words, she began to feel a warmth spreading from Joel’s touch all the way up her arms. She felt woozy all of a sudden, and then she started to sway. The next thing she knew, Joel’s hands were travelling from her wrists to her shoulders, steadying her.

  “Are you okay?” he murmured, searching her gaze.

  She nodded once.

  “Show me,” he said softly.

  For a second, Maggie wondered how she was supposed to show him that she was okay. But, as she soon realised, he was no longer talking to her. He was staring through her now, communicating with something she could not understand.

  He blinked a couple of times, and a strange and unfamiliar expression formed on his face. Carefully, he withdrew his hands from her, taking his touch away and breaking their connection.

  Maggie suddenly felt cold, as though her hands were submerged in ice. She shivered.

  “What did you see?” she managed.

  Joel licked his lips. “A raven,” he answered.

  Her fingertips pressed down into her palms absently. “What does that mean?”

  “Um,” Joel fumbled, cocking his head to the side. “Well, it’s not great.”

  “How bad is ‘not great’?” she pressed.

  “Pretty bad.”

  Maggie shrank back in her seat. “Like, dead bad?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Oh.” Maggie swallowed. “So in the future I’m dead?”

  “Yeah.” Joel looked down at his hands, then back up again. “But that could really apply to everyone. Such is life, and all that.”

  Maggie swatted at him. “I got the raven, Joel! I doubt that means I’ll be keeling over from old age. It’s Kaden-related, I bet.”

  Joel reached out and twined his fingers through hers, then drew her closer to him.

  “Probably,” he confessed. “But it’s not necessarily your death. It could be mine.”

  “Joel!” she exclaimed again. “That’s not any better! Generally I don’t want any deaths!”

  “I know,” he said, idly trailing his thumb along her wrist. “But this is good. It means we can prepare.”

  “I don’t want to prepare for my funeral!” Maggie cried. “I wouldn’t know who to invite.”

  “Prepare for Kaden, I meant,” Joel corrected.

  Maggie bit her lip. “I thought we were already doing that.”

  “We are,” Joel agreed. “But now we’ll do it faster.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s a fool-proof plan if ever I heard one.”

  Joel tilted his head and smiled. “Listen to me, Maggie. No one will be getting a Kaden-related death. Especially not you. I’ve got you covered, remember?” He nodded towards the unseen golden glow that Maggie knew surrounded her. His protection.

  Maggie sighed. “But what about Isla? And your brothers?” She swallowed. “What about you?”

  Joel gazed at the kitchen floor. “We’re getting stronger every day. We’re on it.”

  He stretched out his arm to her and she leaned into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In that moment, raven or not, she felt safe.

  All of a sudden, a shrill ring came from across the kitchen. Maggie jumped back, almost knocking one of the clay pots from the table.

  “My phone,” she stammered, glancing across the kitchen to where her phone was vibrating across the countertop.

  Joel’s hands slipped from hers and she rose from her seat. Through the window, she could see that the snow was falling heavily now, dulling the pale grey light of the early morning.

  Maggie checked the screen on her phone. One missed call and three new text messages. She quickly checked the texts. The first two were from Blonde Lauren and Hilary, asking about how things were going at Joel’s house. The third text and the phone call were both from Ms Joy.

  Maggie groaned and opened the message.

  Joyless: Maggie and Isla, please check in with me at regular intervals. Ms Joy.

  Maggie glanced at Joel. “I gotta call Joyless,” she said, feigning a retch.

  He shrugged in sympathy, then returned to his herbs.

  Maggie scrolled through her contacts until she reached Ms Joy’s name and pressed dial. It rang once before the matron answered.

  “Hey, Ms Joy,” Maggie began cautiously.

  “Ms Ellmes,” said Joyless curtly. “How are you?”

  How much does she know?

  “We’re fine. Mr Tomlins is, um, taking care of us.”

  “Have you eaten properly? Are you doing your homework?”

  Maggie groaned inwardly. She was seventeen, not seven.

  “Yes, Ms Joy,” she replied in a robotic voice. Snapping her fingers to catch Joel’s attention, she made yapping motions with her hand.

  Joel grinned.

  “Right. Well. That’s good, then,” affirmed Ms Joy.

  Silence.

  On the other end of the line, the teacher cleared her throat. “I regret to inform you that school will be closed today on account of the blizzard.
”

  “Really?” Maggie didn’t bother to disguise her glee. “No way!”

  She bounced up and down on her toes giddily. Joel sent her a curious look.

  “It’s just for today, mind you,” said Ms Joy tightly. “The blizzard is set to clear over the weekend, so we’ll reopen on Monday.”

  “Got it. Bye!”

  “I assume you have your school books with you,” Ms Joy continued nattering on, “so you can work on any outstanding assignments at home—”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  “Right. I’d like to speak to Mr Tomlins now, if he’s available,” said Joyless. “The number we have on file for him seems to be out of service.”

  Maggie pulled a face. “Um, Mr Tomlins isn’t here right now,” she stammered, meeting Joel’s eye and shrugging. “He’s out . . . making an ice fort.”

  Joel raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Oh. I see,” replied Ms Joy after a pause. “Well, please ask him to call me. And please check in with me at—”

  “Regular intervals,” Maggie put in, speeding the conversation along. “Okay, sure.”

  Joyless cleared her throat. “Well, alright, then. I will look forward to your return,” she concluded, sounding almost sentimental. “I can’t say I haven’t noticed your absence, Miss Ellmes.”

  Maggie was taken aback for a moment. Is that Joyless’s way of saying she misses me?

  Maggie had to lean against the counter for support.

  Joyless actually misses me? She almost choked at the thought.

  “Okay,” she said. And before she knew it, she was saying, “I miss you, too, Ms Joy.”

  FRIDAY MORNING SOON turned into afternoon. The atmosphere in the Tomlins mansion was lighter than it had been the previous evening. Evan took the Jeep out in the blizzard and returned with food supplies, and by two o’clock they were heating pizzas on the huge wood-burning stove in the kitchen.

  Now, Joel watched from his bedroom balcony as his brothers and the girls played in the snow-covered yard. From where he stood, leaning against the cold balcony railings, he could hear the girls’ shrieks of laughter as they hurled snowballs at Evan and Ainsley. Pippin, dressed head-to-toe in winter hand-me-downs, was carefully crafting a toddler sized snowman.