Page 58 of The Book of Unwritten Stories

John shook his head. ‘There is no need for this anger, gentlemen. Let me be on my way, I will not be back. I despise your small village that is full of small-minded people and the most dreadful ale I have ever had the displeasure to drink.’

Ingersoll ran at John, fists up. He was the same height as John, and he landed a punch that hit John square in the middle of the nose. He felt the bone crunch and a warm rush as blood spurted from it, and before he could hit the man back the others, who now felt courage at seeing that blow land, rushed him and he began to swing his arms at them. One of them hit the back of his legs with a wooden cane so hard it took him to his knees and he fell to the ground.

John knew this was a dangerous position to be in and rolled over to try and get up, but with five men kicking and punching him from every angle, it proved harder than he thought. He realised it was Corwin with the wooden stick, and he was raining blows so hard John felt the bone in his arm snap. His hands were beaten to a bloodied pulp, and he tried to protect his head. They were an angry mob, kicking and beating him with fury like he had never seen before.

He spied the bird in the tree and imagined he was the bird, able to soar away from this pain high up into the sky and back to Lucine. He pleaded with the bird to take his soul away from this place and keep it safe until he could come back just as he’d promised Lucine he would.

FORTY-SEVEN

SALEM, PRESENT DAY

Dora had left the house while her aunts were both sleeping, expecting to see Hades in the garden. A coating of early morning icing sugar sprinkled frost, covering the tops of the cars on the street and the leaves still left on the trees. It was turning into a haze as the morning sun began to burn through it.

Dora crunched her way through the carpet of gold and red autumn leaves that lay on the uneven red brick pavements. This truly was the most beautiful time of the year. It was Halloween tomorrow and she’d woken to a message from Stephanie to say their hats were ready. She still hadn’t broached the subject with Lenny, but Sephy had thought it was a good idea so at least she and Dora would dress up and hand out the candy. It was her first Halloween in Salem that she remembered, and she wanted to make it special.

Back home in London she’d decorate her tiny flower shop, Vintage Rose, with pumpkins, gourds and ghosts, making a spooky window display and she always had a big jar of sweets for any kids that came in trick or treating. She hadn’t got many, but she had made a huge fuss of the ones that did come in, usually customers’ children whom they brought in to see her.

As she crunched her way through the leaves down Chestnut Street, she couldn’t help wondering how Morana was today. The woman had got dragged into a mess not entirely of her own doing, and the fact that her name was inside the book connected to Dora’s mother concerned her greatly. Which in turn made Dora think that Morana was just like her, a born-again witch who had no idea who she really was. Perhaps that was the reason why when she’d worked the spells, they had been powerful without her knowing about her past. Most people if they picked up that book and tried to cast a spell might have some degree of success, but not instant like that. It was obviously very clear that Morana was a bloodline witch, somehow connected to them, and she felt that her aunts were not taking it as seriously as they should be.

On her way to Salem Bespoke Boutique to pick up the hats, Dora walked past a group of tourists getting ready to do a historic walking tour that was led by one of the locals, Sarah. Dora had loved doing her tour with Ambrose. He had surprised her last week and signed them up, even though he knew everything there was to know about Dora and Salem. It had been fun though and Sarah had been so lovely. She had enjoyed learning about her past in the town that had always been her home, except for this time around. Now, she was making up for lost time. The shop was in darkness and the sign read closed, but Dora knocked on the door, and it was opened by a smiling Stephanie.

‘Dora, it’s so good to see you. I think you’re going to love these.’

Dora grinned at her. ‘I know I will, I can’t wait.’

She followed Stephanie to her workshop, where there were three stunningly intricate and the most beautiful witch hats that she had ever seen.

‘Oh my, they are incredible.’

‘Yay. I’m glad you like them, although if you get your aunt Lenny to wear one I think I might pass out with shock. It will probably make the front page of the Salem News.’

‘Hahaha, I might join you, but I’m not holding on to much hope. Thank you so much.’

Stephanie picked up the black hat and placed it on Dora’s head, a little moving around and tightening it to make sure it fit just right.

‘What do you think?’

‘I love it.’

All three hats packaged securely, Dora tried to pay, but Stephanie was having none of it and chased her out of the shop with a promise to send her pictures tomorrow of all three of the English women wearing them.

Dora’s heart felt full, this town really was filled with pure magic, the people were so kind, and she had never felt more at home as she strolled back to show her aunts the prettiest witch hats she had ever set eyes on.

But still, she couldn’t get Morana out of her mind. If Dora was going to truly move on from all of this – from Corwin, and the past – she knew Morana was the key.

FORTY-EIGHT

Morana woke up cold. There was a cool breeze blowing through the open window, and Hades had gone. All that was left behind was a black feather next to her to show her that he’d been here.

Her eyes all puffy, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was a mess and it was all her own fault. Or was it? Who had written her name in the book?

She thought back to the worn pages and the aged ink. As she splashed cold water onto her face and eyes, she felt something shift inside of her. The guilt and grief over Addison would never leave her and she didn’t want it to. But that book had been thrust into her hands when she hadn’t asked for it, and there were so many unanswered questions that had been left. Who even was that Clara woman who had demanded she handed the book over to her? She had been so relieved to be rid of it, she hadn’t questioned anything. And was Lucine, the other name in the book, connected to Dora? She must be as they share the same surname. So many questions burning inside of her with so few answers.

Maybe there was something inside of that book that could help her put things right, bring Addison back. Change the outcome. It had to be worth a try, didn’t it? She couldn’t just go back to work at Nocturne and pretend everything was good and that the last few days were nothing but a nightmare. She didn’t even know if she still had a job there. She had treated Kim badly and needed to apologise to her for that and she would, too, as soon as she tried to put the mess she’d caused right. That book – good or bad, and she was focusing on the bad side of it – belonged to her and she wanted it back. But how was she going to find Clara?

A voice whispered in her ear, ‘You know how, go find Dora.’

Morana couldn’t argue with it, as Dora was probably her best hope. But how to find her? The only thing to do was to walk around, maybe ask after her, though she didn’t want to go asking about scary Clara and alert her to the fact that she was looking for her before she had chance to think about it. She dressed, but not in her usual flowing gown attire and cape. She tugged on black sweats and a hoody, and wrapped her thick, black curls into a messy bun on top of her head and slipped her feet into a comfy pair of Nikes that had seen better days. She didn’t know how far she was going to have to walk, and she wanted to be comfortable. No make-up, no signature deep red lips, just barefaced with her slightly swollen eyes. She had to try and put things right no matter the cost to herself and she would, she was confident of that.