Cupid & The Cursed Cup (WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 21

"Hey, it's okay," Waverly said. "You did enough. You did what you could. It wasn't your fault, N it wasn't your fault."

"I took you to Nan's. You were terrified, so pale, so lost. My heart broke for you that day, knowing what you would have to live with. Nan wasn't keen, but I'd seen what you saw. I knew you needed to forget, to not have it haunt you."

"Did Nan give me something? I'm guessing that's why I only remember milk and cookies."

Nicole shifted onto her side, stroking Waverly's face. "You wouldn't take it at first. I made you laugh, read you a story from one of Nan's books, the one you borrowed ironically. You must have recognised it somehow from when you were there."

Waverly sat up. "It's odd, the moment I walked into Nan's kitchen, I knew I had been there before. It was so familiar, like nothing had changed. Even the cups she uses, all the same."

"Nan's not one for modernity. I offered to buy her a microwave, but she said she wouldn't have that new magic in the house."

Waverly laughed. "I'm not a big fan of microwaves either."

+ + + +

The evening of the warden's death was like any other. The last service of the day had ended, the warden busying himself, making sure the cathedral pews were clear of psalm books and hymnals. A child had left its doll in one the pews towards the back of the church, the warden placing it on the table by the door, on top of church pamphlets and religious magazines, hoping whoever lost it would see it when they next visited.

He entered his office, switching on the light, busy reading a note from the cleaner shoved under his door. A complaint about a faulty tap in the men's restroom that needed a plumber. As he placed the cleaner's note on his desk he spied another note written on what appeared to be an old piece of parchment paper, yellowed with age, its edges frayed:

Dear Warden,

You have something of mine, I would like back. A penny, with a hole in its centre. If you would be so kind as to return it, I shall say nothing more on the matter. Please return from where you took it.

R

The warden stared at the note, wondering who had sent it, wondering why someone would go to all this trouble of writing him a note just for an old penny, a piece of metal with a hole in it. He felt in his pocket for the item, remembering he had given it to the journalist, believing it to be worthless. He had found other items under the cathedral, more valuable, certainly better preserved. It had been half-buried, his eyes only catching the coin as he stood contemplating why the earth and bones were there.

He found the Dean at the pulpit, practising his sermon, pontificating on the evil in a sinner's heart, waiting for him to finish. The Dean spied his audience of one, his voice becoming even more animated, his hand gestures more exaggerated, clearly enjoying the attention. The warden too enjoyed these performances, more lively than the last Dean who retired two years ago, the new Dean a breath of fresh air to the rather dull sermons of his predecessor.

The performance over, the Dean descended the small flight of stairs approaching the warden. "Do you think that will rouse the spirits in Sunday's congregation?"

The warden nodded. "The devil will be driven out of them when they hear it."

"Perhaps, although many prefer to dance with him."

"I wonder if you could spare a few moments," the warden said. "I have something to show you under the cathedral which is most peculiar. I believe we have more intruders."