“I’ll be here with the money tomorrow night at seven,” he told her in a surprisingly soft voice.
She jerked her chin away from his hand.
Then Sibyl replied, “I’ll be ready.”
Chapter Eight
Consummation
“Oh dear,” Marian Byrne said as she looked in her crystal ball.
It was milky but she could still see the shadows of two forms in its depths.
Years ago, when she first saw it, Marian had been drawn to the clairvoyant orb, even though the crystal was flawed (which often made it difficult to see), but she bought it anyway. It never gave her a hint of trouble. It lay on its pillow of royal blue velvet atop the spindly legged, tri-footed round table in her magic room.
That night, it showed her something she did not like to see.
She turned and carefully touched the precious book, her hands wearing clean, white, cloth gloves. She, nor her mother, nor her mother’s mother (and so on) ever touched Granny Esmeralda’s Book of Shadows without using the greatest care.
The book was nearly five hundred years old and it was precious.
She read the ingredients of the potion Granny Esmeralda used on Royce and Beatrice (even though she’d read it hundreds of times before and had it memorised).
The protection charm was fierce, half of the ingredients you couldn’t get anymore unless you visited the darkest shops.
Marian saw, however, that using the flesh and blood of the dark soul and the death blood of the lovers may now be causing a bit of havoc for Beatrice and Royce’s descendants.
She knew (as every witch did) that bad things came from bad blood, violence, mayhem or simply (as was the case for Sibyl and Colin) misunderstanding and distrust.
Nevertheless, to make the potion as strong as it needed to be, Marian knew Granny Esmeralda needed all the magic she could get.
It should have been strong enough, the residual love of the wedded Morgans that lasted in the atmosphere for five hundred years. Everything was perfect, Colin and Sibyl were both direct descendants (of this Marian was certain intuitively rather than with any real knowledge). Colin lived in Lacybourne. Sibyl, for some deliciously fateful reason, lived in Granny Esmeralda’s old cottage. Then there was the dog, named for Royce’s horse. Marian didn’t know why the lovers had exchanged hair, but she found it very touching.
But something, obviously, was wrong and it was likely that potion.
“Well, Granny Esmeralda, there’s nothing for it. I’m just going to have to keep my eye on them,” Marian told the book. “And maybe meddle, just a wee bit,” she finished.
She knew it was dangerous to meddle but if she didn’t it would likely be another five hundred years before their descendants could start again.
The book, not unusually, said nothing in return.
Marian stood and felt some pain in her knees.
“I’m too old for this,” she complained to one of her cats.
The feline blinked at her.
Without further hesitation, Marian went to her vials and drawers.
She had work to do.
* * * * *
What did a woman wear when she became a whore?
Sibyl would have never thought in a million years, with ignorant bliss at her own eventual stupidity, that she would be asking herself that question.
Now, for fifty thousand pounds and peace of mind for the well-being of several dozen old people she really didn’t know all that well, she was asking herself that question.