Rosen is part of the Mundane Magecraft team, a magical firm that fixes and protects properties across South-West England. Magic has been part of the world for over a decade, with country reactions ranging from a shug (India’s Sadhus) to outright horror (the USA set up the Quisition Courts). The UK has been muddling along with its existing laws and a blind eye to coven squabbles. That state affairs is slowly breaking as magic itself turns chaotic and dangerous, putting Rosen and everyone she loves in the firing line.
Catch up with the last episode or read the entire story (for free) from the beginning.
My original appointment with Mark was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, but it got bumped due to the all-hands alert and the sea siren. I sent in my apologies and rescheduled for Saturday lunchtime, aware that Mark counted down the hours to each family visit. I spent the rest of the week at my parents, relearning how to touch things with skinned hands. There were meals, music, TV box sets and endless cups of tea. It was heaven with the laundry.
Em turned up on Friday morning. I had just come back from a walk to Dad’s allotment when she billowed through the door in sparkle-studded gypsy skirt, black top, suede jacket and red boots. Today, she had just one crutch, balanced out by a satchel on her opposite hip, and her hair was tied up in an elaborate braid.
“Are you channelling Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz?” I asked. “Or the witch?”
“Rude,” she said, but for once, without heat. “I’m much better than a confused girl with good shoes and a yappy dog. I’m here to help you.”
“Oh.” It was supposed to come out enthusiastic, but I was still hurting after the docks ordeal. I carefully shrugged off the rucksack I was carrying onto the table. Like Em, I wore a skirt and top combo, the skirt brushing my wrapped knees. That’s where the similarity ended. I wore green and white, whilst my palms were swaddled in gauze and my fingers had yet more plasters.
“I can’t handle anything,” I continued with a mock-sigh. “I’m struggling to use a knife, let alone flick through a book. Can we dispense with the casting and go straight to the pills and whiskey? Or cannabis. I know where Aiden keeps his stash.”
“Quit the dramatics. I’ve got something better,” Em said with a wide, smug smile. She stuck her hand in her jacket pocket and pulled out a small sweet tin. This made her crutch sway, so she spent the next minute crabbing along the kitchen table and manoeuvring herself into a chair. She tapped the tin. “I’ve made us healing chews.”
“Okaaay,” I said carefully, dropping into the chair next to her. “What are they, and how fast should I run? I can still do that, thankfully.”
“Exactly what they say on the tin. Sweets that speed up healing.”
“Em!”
“It’s not life essence or direct magic. We’re not trying to reset the laws of nature. They’re just hyped up herbs that give your system a boost. The worst you will get is a bit itchy and energetic.”
I thought fast. Em was a generalist spellcaster, which in theory meant she couldn’t harm anyone. In practice, she combined her powers with different materials, making them more effective in terrifying ways. Think of the difference between a butterknife and a buzzsaw - that was Em at work.
Now she wanted me to eat one of her new creations.
“Has anyone else had these?” I asked, carefully. “And survived?”
Em patted her pocket again and drew out her phone. “Me, of course,” she said, poking at the screen. “Yesterday morning. I’m still alive.” The screen lit up, and she spent a moment scrolling through it. “Here. I wrote down the ingredients for you, as I knew you’d be this way. It’s all fresh, organic and safe to consume.”
I looked over the list, my eyebrows raising the further down I read.
“Chamomile…maca… coca leaves - hang on; that's cocaine! What’s a Class A drug doing in your sweets?”
“All natural and organic. It’s just the leaf, not the highly processed white crap. Dentists use the extract as a local anaesthetic.”
I thrust the phone back at her. “No thanks. I’ll heal the old-fashioned way.”
“Do you want to spend the next two weeks looking like a lost extra from the cast of The Mummy? Magic’s being disrupted on a massive scale, and there are people after you. Get your fingers back, at least.”
I sighed. She had a point. But then again, so did the buzzsaw.
“They taste of honey and ginger.”
That helped a bit.
“I’ll try one,” I said cautiously. “If I get an allergic reaction and die, I want it engraved on my headstone: ‘I was right.’”
Em flapped her hand “Sure, sure.” She extracted one of the small, green sweets and deposited it on my tongue with the same care as a priest with the communion wafer.
I sucked, chewed and swallowed. It wasn’t that bad.
“Oh. OH!”
Em grinned. “Yeah, it hits you quickly.”
I blinked. The air somehow seemed sharper and brighter, whilst the flayed skin on my hands felt incredibly tight.
“I’m not itching,” I said, speaking a touch too fast. “But it’s all happening at once. It’s like a skin-hug.”
“Interesting,” Em said, her phone at eye level, filming me.
“Do you want me to do a happy dance?” I said, posing for the camera. “For your research records?” The sweet had hit the spot, that's for sure, and I felt I could run a triathlon. “Maybe I should find my running shoes? No, there’s no lake here. I’m sure Aidan has a leisure pass I can use. I can bribe him with tea. Mmmmn. tea. With the cookies Mum has hidden. Yeah, that’s good - I’ll go and put the kettle on.”
“Make mine a black coffee,” Em said, adjusting the screen setting. “You are rambling.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth, realising I had blurted everything out like a drunkard. “Sorry - no, this is your spell-not sorry! No, I’m going to get tea and popcorn and do the jailhouse rock with Mark, and…”
Em got up and made her way around to the fridge-freezer. She poured out a glass of milk and thrust it into my hands. Reflexively, I grasped it and waited for the pain to make me wince.
Nothing. Na. Not a single cheese ready for tossing.
“Drink up,” she said. “And slow down. I forgot you have a higher metabolism than me.”
I gulped at the milk, wiped my mouth and carefully peeled back the plaster on my thumb. It was still scabby, but the redness had gone down. I prodded cautiously at the area.
“Looks better,” I said grudgingly. “And it’s stopped hurting. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Em said, stretching, cat-like, in the chair. “Treat it like paracetamol - no more than one every four hours. Make me a coffee, will you?”
“Is it addictive?” I asked, moving to the kitchen side to flick the kettle on.
“Probably not. I’ve only given you twelve in any case. We need to talk about Mark.”
I carefully spooned the coffee granules into the mugs. Even before the riots, Em had clashed with my brother. You could only have so much ego in one room.
“I can see your hackles rising,” Em went on. “But it has to be said. He’s still in touch with Glenda. She still has some kind of hold on him, despite what she’s done. Can you trust him?”
I finished making up the coffee and placed the mug on a mat before her. I stayed standing; if I came any closer, I might slap her. “We don’t know how Glenda made that video call or why. He’s in prison, Em - it’s not like he had a choice of callers! I plan to ask him tomorrow.”
Em smoothed the table in front of her, like she was unrolling parchment. An indictment, perhaps.
“John found out. Glenda has a therapist's licence and she’s linked to the prison for anger-management sessions. Gardening, meditation and the like. Since she wasn’t found guilty, they didn’t revoke access. And yes, Mark could have refused the call.”
I scowled. “He would never back her over me, Em.”
“Would he choose you over his work?” I made a sudden move towards her, and Em flinched. “He’s single-minded and gets obsessed,” she went on. “And he might not realise until it’s too late what the consequences are. It’s your family’s trait.”
I huffed. “Thanks! You’re saying we get blinkered.”
Em kept her eyes fixed on me. “I’m saying you should be careful what you share with him, because it might get back to Glenda. Just because he’s locked away doesn’t mean he is harmless.”
*
Em’s warning rattled around my brain as I sat down with Mark in the visitors’ room the next day. My older brother could’ve been my twin, with the same dark hair, blue eyes and wearing the same blue jeans. We even wore the same rock-band hoodies. I’d brought a new one in for him, the day he earned clothing privileges.
In the end, I went for an abbreviated version of the week’s events and skipped Em’s findings on the earthquakes. There was trust, and then there were wild goose chases.
“So, what’s going on?” I asked him after I had finished talking about the meeting in the tearooms. “After a year of legal distance, I’ve been approached by Glenda twice in two days, and she’s desperate for us to talk.”
Instead of answering, Mark pulled over the packet of crisps I had purchased for him and slowly opened the packet. He crunched once – twice – then, before I lost my patience and cuffed him around the head, he spoke;
“That’s got to be some kind of record. She knows what you think of her.”
I leaned back in my chair and accidentally kicked the table leg. “You’re stalling.”
“Give me a moment. You’ve told me about ghosts, mobs, sirens and death by misadventure. It’s a lot to take in.”
I sighed loudly. The prison office by the wall caught my eye and gave me a small smile that made me think Mark had lectured him, too. I nodded back to acknowledge him.
Nobody liked prison, but Erlestoke wasn’t that bad. The visiting room reminded me of our local school hall, helped by the hint of stewed vegetables. It was noisy – there were eleven other visitations today – but no raised voices. It was a Cat C prison, focused on rehab, so you were more likely to find people stoned than stabby. Mark’s solicitor had swung it for him, after arguing Mark had tried to protect bystanders from the riots. Normal rioters throw stones. The coven threw cars and set the road on fire.
Looking back, it was a miracle no one had died.
I tried a different tack. “Tell me you didn’t feel the circle surge last weekend. You’re not that far from Avebury, over here.”
Mark raised his right hand to jiggle his iron bracelet at me. It wasn’t jewellery, but a court-ordered measure to prevent magic. “Yes, I felt it, but that doesn’t mean much now, Roz. Everything’s muted.”
Annoyed, I pulled over the bar of Dairy Milk and broke off a square. “This poor-me crap was old even before the trial,” I pointed out. “You’re the brains of the family with the PhD. Gimme something or I’m walking out with your books.”
Mark’s face abruptly changed. “You wouldn’t.”
“It’s my life on the line here. I’ve got Pliny the Elder, Abramelin and the Mabinogion in the bag. They’re coming back with me, if…”
“Fine! Just bear in mind it’s a working theory. Nothing more.”
I leaned forward.
Mark took a deep breath. “Do you remember my thesis on ancient magic? That it move in cycles, in line with the Earth? Everyone and their cat used it in Mesopotamia, but it had faded by the 18th century. I wish I knew Mandarin – there’s been some promising research about magic dips during the Zhou and Han dynasties…”
“What about now?” I said, breaking off another square of chocolate. Earlstoke drained my commitment to healthy eating as soon as I entered the gates.
“Well, it’s coming back. The first inkling was the naturals – people like you and me getting our powers. Then all the stone circles lit up and people are visiting sacred wells again or bonking under fertility trees. That’s just the direct stuff we can see and feel.”
I made a “speed it up” motion with my hand, since my mouth was full.
“Well, what about the stuff we don’t see?”
I swallowed. I glared. “Meaning?”
“Mythical creatures, Roz. Landwights, giants, djinn and fairies. Our ancestors weren’t daft. A farmer fighting off wolves isn’t going to make up a troll when his sheep are at risk. Where did you think they all went?”
I burst out laughing. “Seriously?” I said incredulously. “You think we’re on the verge of fairytale invasion?”
Mark looked at me, resigned and slightly angry. “I know you’d act like this.”
“Because it’s nuts! Even if they were real, they would’ve died out centuries ago.”
“Wild magic exists, Roz. Look – forget about the creatures for a moment. You’re proof that humans are only scratching the surface of our power. The Celtic myths talked about wizards who could see the future and fight the gods. In ancient Greece, witches brought people back from the dead! Name me one witch who can do that today.”
I hesitated. I hadn’t told Mark how close the ghost had been to possessing me at Bath. “That sounds terrifying,” I said. “Especially in the wrong hands.”
Mark nodded. “Exactly. That’s why every society had rules around the use of magic, and the rulers would have specialists to enforce them. We’re at the beginning of it all, here and now.” He leaned forward, more animated than he had been in months. “We have the chance to shape what that looks like, Ros. Channel it.”
“Why does Glenda need me?” I asked. I saw a slight shadow pass over Mark’s face. “I don’t know.”
“Really?” I asked. “That’s bullshit, bro. She’s been videocalling you.”
“For research advice. You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
I stared at the ceiling. Then the walls. Then, at the other visitors, all of whom seemed resigned or stressed. Prison does a number on your nervous system, even if you are an innocent observer. “Tell me,” I said, when I was a bit calmer. “What exactly are you doing with her?”
My intelligent, obstinate and deeply stupid brother smiled back. “We’re going to contact the Fair Folk. If anyone can predict wild magic, it’s them.”