Chapter 7 – Undercurrent

Mabel stood between two gods.

From the clifftop, the trio watched Charon’s armada slip into the horizon, the moonlight casting silver across the sea. A slow, whispering mist rose to meet the boats—swallowing them, one by one, until none remained.

For the longest time, no one spoke.

Then Mnemosyne turned to her.
“Now I must depart, Mabel. My blessing upon you. From this day forward, the gods shall look upon you as a champion—for evermore.”

She reached out.

Mabel didn’t hesitate.

She embraced the goddess, whose form, though spectral, held the warmth and gentleness of a mother’s love.

When they parted, they bowed to one another in mutual respect. Mnemosyne lifted her arms toward the heavens—and with a burst of golden light, her form dissolved into a radiant beam. It shot skyward, a shimmer of memory ascending to the realm of the divine.

Thanatos remained. His eyes reflected the sea.

“Our work here is done, Mabel,” he said quietly. “You are now proven. A hero in the eyes of gods and mortals alike. But this may not be your last great deed.”

He turned to her fully.

“The mortal realm is in grave danger. The winds of war are stirring—I can feel them in my bones. We will see more of this. More schemes. More needless death. And more corruption.”

He stepped closer.

“You are the light in that gathering dark. A spark with the power to shift the course of man’s wrongdoings. Mnemosyne was right—you are our champion. You are free will in its purest form, yet you walk in step with divine purpose.”

He raised a hand, as if drawing something unseen from the air.

“Your future is not etched in stone—but forged in the fire of choice and courage. You are the harmony between mortal strife and divine intent. An echo of the gods… spoken in your own voice.”

He looked skyward.

“The stars watch with reverence. Time itself holds its breath. For in your footsteps, paths will awaken that were once closed to fate. You are not merely destined, Mabel—you are destined to define.”

Then he bowed.

“I leave you now, ma’am. But I shall always answer your call.”

A distortion shimmered at his side—time and space bending with silent grace. He stepped into it without another word, and was gone.

Mabel turned back to the sea.

The mist had vanished. The tide moved once more, rolling steadily into the rocks below—familiar, relentless, alive.

She thought of home.

And in the space between one breath and the next, she was no longer on the cliff, but elsewhere—phase-shifted to where her friend awaited her.

──✿──

Her return had brought joy.

There’d been laughter, relief, even awe—her friends overjoyed to see her alive, and quietly stunned by the power that now danced just beneath her skin.

But that was last night.

This morning, she was hauling sacks of potatoes into the storeroom and rearranging the greengrocer’s window display. Carrots in neat rows. Cabbages turned just so.

She now understood why her mother and father had insisted on working, even when the family fortune might have allowed them a life of ease. It had given them grounding—a place to return to after the madness. A tether to the world.

What she had seen, what she had heard, and what she had been given—these now sat at the edge of her awareness. Ready if needed, but not all-consuming.

‘Another day, another dollar,’ her father would say.

The phrase echoed in her mind—simple, familiar, anchoring.
Not a dismissal of power, but a reminder: this was where she began, and where she must remain tethered.

Without this—without the weight of sacks, the dust of the storeroom, the discipline of ordinary tasks—power could begin to whisper. That she was special. That she was above.

And that kind of thinking? That was the real danger.

So she stacked the carrots. Adjusted the cabbages. Not because she had to—

But because it kept her human.

──✿──

A telegram had arrived that morning. The mail telegraph boy had handed it to her breathless—it was marked urgent, and he was instructed to await a reply from Miss Shirley.

DEAR MISS SHIRLEY – STOP – BROKTHORN NOW SECURE – STOP – WILL VISIT JUST AFTER NOON – STOP – INFORM TELEGRAPH BOY IF THIS CONVENIENT – STOP – ARTHUR – STOP

Mabel told the boy she was indeed available and asked if he could take her reply back at once.

Rather red in the face, he nodded. She pressed half a crown into his hand—not for the message, but as comfort for his breathless journey back.

Bang on time, Arthur arrived—this time with roses and champagne.

They sat with tea—alcohol was too early in the day for Mabel—and he recounted the aftermath of the incident.

A surveillance agent had been stationed near the abbey. He’d witnessed everything and managed to contact the department. They entered the building, removed all evidence of occult activity, and discovered naval equipment and forged documents. No human remains were found.

As for Dedrich Feld—the one responsible—he had vanished the moment things turned sour. Arthur’s network of double agents confirmed his escape, but his current whereabouts were unknown.

“What we do know,” Arthur continued, “comes from documents recovered in the abbey. They reference a book—an object of immense power. Something created in the days of the old gods. It was never completed. Its safeguards were never locked in. The author died before it could be sealed.”

He poured more tea. “A rogue magical artefact. Capable of divine-level influence.”

Mabel said nothing, but the hairs on her arms began to rise.

“There’s no mention of its location,” Arthur added, “only two scrawled notes in the margin: ‘The chameleon-skinned book’… and below that, ‘Reappears only on the blood moon, to those who seek it.’”

He looked up. “Do you know anything of this, Mabel?”

She met his gaze. “No, sir. But I have friends who might help. Do I have the luxury of time?”

Arthur fell silent, deep in thought.

“Perhaps,” he said at last. “But certain sects already have a head start. We believe they suspect what it is—but they have no way of locating it. Only someone with your abilities could do that. After last night… you and others from your world could be in danger. They want the key. They will stop at nothing to get it. And if blood sacrifice is required—”
He paused. “They’ll employ it.”

A chill ran through Mabel. Not for herself—for others.

“Our next step, Arthur?”

“We shut down the sects operating in this country. Quietly, completely. Round up the bad pennies. Seize everything they hold—books, records, objects. Only then can we hope to predict when, where, and how this book might surface.”

He leaned back, drumming his fingertips against the arm of his chair.

“We have the King’s backing on this matter. But we must tread carefully. There are new intelligence agencies emerging—some of them eager for influence, others simply reckless. I don’t know how long I can keep my department open.”

He looked to her and smiled.

“But our kind has weathered this before. The old guard still holds quiet power. If these new agencies try to interfere, rest assured—they can be reined in. By vigilance. By legacy. And by the quiet strength of those who’ve stood watch longer than any minister or spymaster.”

His voice softened, but his words held weight.

“Power may shift. Masks may change. But our resolve endures.”

──✿──

Another day at the greengrocer: prepare the stock, check the levels, fill the till with change.

At a quarter to eight, Elsie Fabbit arrived to take over. Mabel always made sure the tea was ready for her. They chatted for a while, until the first customer walked in.

Then Mabel slipped on her coat and went out for a walk.

The day had a chill to it. She buttoned her collar to the top.

She hadn’t chosen a destination—only the need to walk, to think. Arthur had provided intelligence on all the known occult sects, at home and abroad. Now the next step was hers to take. Contact numbers had been issued should she need backup, and a blank cheque offered to fund any mission.

But as with anything this complex, she had to choose her allies with care.

She’d asked Arthur to give Sam Special Branch authority, to ensure he could enter any scene and take control—no matter where in the country they were.

Arthur’s response had been measured:

“Sam’s appointment is unofficial—deliberately so. The less paperwork, the better. He remains at his post, wears his uniform, keeps the peace… but when the matter turns strange, he reports directly to us. Consider him a candle left burning in a quiet room.”

His headquarters had been informed—told to assist without question, and sworn to secrecy. A new constable was assigned to Easterwich to cover his day-to-day duties.

Sam had accepted the role without hesitation.

Still, it troubled her. Not the assignment—but what it might cost him.

She had walked to the harbour without realising. Now she leaned on the railing, looking out across the water. The sea rolled in, unbothered by gods or ghosts.

She sighed. Compared to all this, she was just a grain of sand. But sometimes insignificance brought comfort.

“Hmm,” she murmured, letting the breeze carry the weight of her thoughts.

“Chocolate,” said a voice behind her. “An excellent cure for ailing deities—or so I’m told.”

She turned. Sam stood there in uniform, on duty, holding a bar of chocolate.

“Have you been following me, Mr Gambrill?”

“Nope. Called in at the shop to check on you. Elsie said you’d gone for a walk. I knew where you’d end up.”

She smiled. In troubled times, this place had always grounded her.

He unwrapped the bar and broke off a piece, holding it out. She took it. He stepped beside her at the railing.

“How many times have I found you here when the world was falling apart?”

Mabel sighed. “More than I care to count.”

“If you’re worried about me, don’t be. Trouble finds me every day. I could just as easily be killed by a drunk in a Friday night brawl as a monster in a graveyard.”

He turned to her. “I chose this path, Mabel. No one forced me.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But the stakes are higher now. We’re about to walk into a darker world than either of us has known. I won’t always be able to protect you. There will be times… when you’ll face things with no defence.”

“Really?” said Sam, pulling a wand from his coat pocket.

Mabel blinked. “Who gave you that?”

“Mr and Mrs Dobson,” he said casually. “Comes with lessons—and a share of power.”

She stared at him, half proud, half alarmed. “You got Felicity to agree to that?”

“I didn’t ask,” he grinned. “She offered. Frank backed her up.”

He handed her another square of chocolate.

“Now stop worrying and eat. That’s an order.”

They stood together, side by side, facing the sea—just as they had done since childhood.

She let herself melt into the moment, wishing it would never end.

But deep down, she knew it would.

And she knew what was coming.

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