A Witch in Love Read online

  ‘Right. Can I take your name, please?’ the operator asked.

  I hung up and ran to the car.

  In the car on the way back I was silent, trying to keep myself under control. Seth looked at me sideways in the darkness, and I could feel his concern.

  ‘It’s OK, Anna,’ he said at last. ‘It’ll be OK.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’ I stared into the golden tunnels of the headlights; a frightened rabbit leapt into the hedge with a flash of white scut. ‘I ruined our evening; I ruined everything.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Seth said angrily. ‘You didn’t ruin anything. Those blokes could have killed us both. You got us out of there the only way you could. Would we be having this conversation if you’d hit them over the head with a rock?’

  Probably. But anyway there was one massive difference, and Seth knew it. I was a witch and the two boys were just ordinary people, outwith, with no powers to defend themselves. I’d used an illegal weapon in an unfair fight – and put myself and Seth in danger.

  Ever since my run-in with the Ealdwitan last year I’d promised myself, once and for all, never to use magic again and, so far, it seemed to be working. I’d had no more terrifying visits from the Ealdwitan’s grey-suited ‘employees’, no more back-door recruitment attempts, only a dry, official letter with an embossed crow crest, regretting ‘an unfortunate incident in June of this year, in which certain of our personnel exceeded their responsibilities and committed certain errors of judgement’.

  Those ‘errors of judgement’ had resulted in the death of one of our friends, the flooding of Winter town, and the destruction of most of Winter Castle. And it all stemmed from my inability to keep my powers under control.

  The Ealdwitan’s letter had promised ‘no further action, providing our previous terms and conditions are adhered to’. Which meant, in plain English: no casting spells on ordinary people and no practising magic. It wasn’t only the actions of the police we had to fear over tonight’s outburst, but the fury of the Ealdwitan too, if they ever got to hear about it.

  The drive back from Brighthaven was a longish one, and I’d got myself under control by the time Seth bumped down the wooded track to Wicker House. He drew up in front of the house and took my hand.

  ‘Want me to come in?’

  I shook my head, thinking of his bloody shirt and Dad’s probable reaction.

  ‘Better not. Your shirt. You know. Dad would ask questions.’

  Seth nodded.

  ‘OK. But listen, Anna, please don’t fret about this. You did what you had to do. No one needs to know about this.’

  I nodded soberly, but Seth must have read my unconvinced expression, because he pulled me to him and kissed me very hard.

  ‘I love you, Anna. Please, please don’t beat yourself up. Promise me? Sleep well, have a good day with Emmaline tomorrow and put this out of your head. Promise?’

  ‘I promise,’ I said, a lump in my throat.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I tried to keep my promise to Seth the next day, but I couldn’t stop myself tuning to the local news at breakfast. Dad came down to find me listening to Coast FM and making toast on the Aga, and did a comical double-take in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘What’s this? Up before ten in the school holidays? And what’s happened to the Today programme?’

  ‘I fancied a change,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘And I’m up early because I’m going to London with Emmaline today, remember? I’m meeting her at the station at nine.’

  ‘Of course, I’d forgotten. Do you need a lift?’

  ‘I’ll cycle,’ I said, and then broke off as the news came on. Dad was chatting about the preparations he still had to make for Christmas: picking up the goose, cutting the holly and so on; but I wasn’t paying attention. Instead I was listening desperately for any mention of two bodies found in an alleyway in Brighthaven. Nothing came up though, so at least they couldn’t be dead. There was precious little real crime down here, other than small-scale shoplifting and kids dealing the odd bit of weed. One death, let alone two, would have kept the local news occupied for weeks. As the bulletin ended I gave a silent sigh of relief and turned my attention back to Dad.

  ‘Sorry, Dad, what did you say?’

  ‘I said, it’s half eight. If you’re going to make that train you’d better get a move on.’

  ‘Cripes!’ I looked at the clock above the Aga. ‘I’d better fly. Bye, Dad.’

  I kissed him and ran for the door, stopping only to grab my cycle helmet and rain mac. It looked like it was due for a downpour.

  Emmaline was waiting on the platform when I ran up, hot and panting. She lowered her spectacles as I approached and stared at me haughtily over the lenses like a school teacher.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I said, as she tapped her watch meaningfully. ‘I got sidetracked.’

  Emmaline snorted. ‘You mean you slept in! Did you and Seth stay up too late declaring your undying love for each other?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I said crossly, and told her about the scuffle in the alleyway. ‘So I stayed to listen to the Coast FM bulletin.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing, thankfully.’

  ‘So they’re not dead,’ Emmaline said thoughtfully. ‘Sounds like you got away with it this time.’

  ‘This time. But what about next time I slip up? I’m terrified, Em. It used to be such an effort to do any magic at all – now it’s an effort not to. I can’t control myself any more – electrical sparks, clouds of butterflies … Last night I made snow fall in the restaurant.’

  The train drew up at that moment and there was a momentary scramble as we found seats and settled ourselves in a carriage. So close to Christmas there were few commuters and we managed to find a compartment to ourselves. I stowed our bags on the luggage rack and we drew out of the station to the sound of the guard’s whistle.

  Emmaline had obviously been thinking things over, because as soon as we were seated she said, ‘Do you think you’re taking the wrong tack?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Over these … leakages, or whatever you want to call them.’

  I snorted. ‘Nice terminology! Shall I add incontinence pads to my Christmas list?’

  Emmaline laughed.

  ‘You know what I mean. I wonder if it’s because you’re trying too hard not to do any magic. So the power is building and building and it has to come out somehow, and it’s escaping when you’re concentrating on other things – moments of emotional stress or whatever. Small distraction, like, say, Mr Waters batting his lovely eyelashes at you, equals small leak; massive distraction, like, say, an attempted mugging, equals massive leak.’

  I thought about her theory as the wintry countryside flashed past: dark wet fields, leafless trees, pools of morning mist in the hollows. The telegraph poles reflected the noise of the train like a human pulse.

  ‘There could be something in that,’ I said at last. ‘So what’s your solution?’

  ‘Let it out, safely.’

  ‘But what about—’

  Emmaline didn’t wait for me to finish, she didn’t need to.

  ‘Away from the outwith, so the Ealdwitan can’t object. You could do worse than take up Mum’s offer of lessons.’

  She must have seen something in my face – dumb mutiny perhaps – because she leant forwards across the gap between the seats, suddenly serious, ‘Look, I know you’re doing some kind of normality kick, and I don’t want to piss on your snowball, but you’ve got to get this under control. It’s getting worse isn’t it?’ I nodded, tight-lipped. ‘And your stress levels are only going to go up between now and A levels. What if something really serious happens and you totally crack?’

  I looked away from her beseeching dark eyes, out of the window. Lessons. Witchcraft. Was I really ready to let go of my old life so completely? Did I have a choice?

  ‘We could try,’ I said at last. It was more to get her off my back than because I was convinced by her argument.


  ‘OK. Good. Anyway, more importantly,’ Emmaline changed the subject determinedly, ‘what are we going to do in London?’

  I made an effort to drag my mind back to pleasanter subjects.

  ‘Well, Selfridges and then maybe Bond Street, I thought. Dad gave me some money for clothes and I’ll probably find something there. And then Dad’s asked me to get some stuff from Fortnum’s for Christmas lunch, and I’m going to get him books, so we can nip to Hatchards. It’s a bookshop,’ I added in response to Em’s single raised brow. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I realize you’re revelling in your role of sultry urbanista, but please try not to rub in the fact that I’m just a lowly provincial. All those sound good – I’m going to get Sienna clothes so Selfridges works for me, and Abe and Simon will get books so Hatchets sounds fine.’

  ‘Hatchards,’ I corrected automatically.

  ‘Nobody likes a know-it-all, Anna. What are you getting Seth?’

  ‘Oh, he’s sorted. What about your mum?’

  ‘I don’t know … I thought something a bit different – an antique maybe. Is there anywhere, you know, kind of vintage, junk-shoppy?’

  ‘Not on Piccadilly,’ I said doubtfully. ‘Unless you want to spend a couple of grand. But we could go to Portobello Market. It’s right near where I used to live.’

  We ended up wandering round Notting Hill, a mountain of shopping bags over each arm and hot bourek burning our hands in lieu of lunch.

  ‘There’s this bakery’ – I spoke round a mouthful of scalding feta – ‘that does these amazing little Portuguese custard tarts. It’s just down this road. Shall we head there and we can have coffee and a tart for pudding?’

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ Emmaline sighed, uncharacteristically soft with longing. ‘Growing up round here, all these amazing shops, the cinemas, the nightclubs …’

  ‘Not that I got much use out of the nightclubs at any rate,’ I said regretfully. ‘I left before they’d believe my false ID. Anyway, I’m not lucky any more; I’m just one of the lowly provincials too, remember?’

  ‘But you’ll go back, will you? For uni, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know … maybe.’ Ms Wright had pushed me into applying for Oxford, but I still wasn’t sure – partly put off by the shady rumours of Ealdwitan involvement in some of the colleges, although I didn’t want to admit that to Emmaline. But Dad had been up at Magdalen and I knew he’d burst with pride if I followed his footsteps. And then of course there was Seth, who wasn’t likely to get into either Oxford or Cambridge with his results – and wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. He planned to study Marine Biology and was applying to Plymouth, Bangor and UHI up in the far north of Scotland. Either way, I was unlikely to see much of him unless I was prepared to go to a coastal institute.

  I looked around for something to change the subject and stopped dead in the street. We’d been wandering almost aimlessly towards the Portuguese bakery and I’d barely noticed where my feet had taken me.

  ‘Emmaline – look! Look where we are!’

  ‘What?’ Emmaline looked up and down the road. ‘It looks just like all the other streets. Is it famous?’

  ‘It’s my street – my street where Dad and I used to live.’ I stopped outside number 31, gazing up at the long clean lines of the terraced house. ‘And this is our house. I’m home!’

  ‘This one?’ Emmaline jerked her thumb at the dark-green door. ‘This one right here was your house?’

  I nodded.

  ‘That’s my room.’ I pointed to the second floor; the little window still had a CND sticker on it from my passionate Green Party phase.

  ‘Yuck.’ Emmaline shuddered involuntarily and backed away into the road.

  ‘What’s with you?’ I was suddenly deeply offended. This was the house where I was born, had grown up, where all my childhood memories were. I thought of me and Dad in the kitchen, baking my first fairy cakes, flat and burnt on top. I remembered climbing into his bed on Sunday mornings for hot milk and chocolate digestives, leaving chocolately handprints on his duvet and the Sunday Times. All the memories of my life before Winter, all bound up with this tall white house. It had been my home for more than seventeen years and, in some way, would always be home in a way that Winter never could. Every inch of me bristled at Emmaline’s reaction.

  ‘What on earth do you mean, yuck?’

  ‘Anna, this place is just lousy with magic. Can’t you feel it?’

  With a great effort I took a step back from my nostalgia and looked at the house anew – as a witch.

  She was right. A strange dead-feeling magical force was throbbing over the entire front of the house. I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed it before – the stench of magic was like a physical slap in the face. Once I had noticed it, I couldn’t suppress an echoing shudder of my own.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but it’s coming from there.’ Emmaline pointed distastefully at the front step of the house.

  ‘Can’t we find out what it is?’ I asked.

  ‘I think there must be something buried under there – it’s too localized to be anything general. It must be a charm, I guess – no way of knowing without seeing it though.’

  ‘So what are you saying – we need to dig it up?’

  Emmaline nodded.

  ‘But … but it’s solid stone! And we haven’t got so much as a spade!’

  Emmaline rolled her eyes. ‘Not with a spade, you divot. Have you forgotten your powers?’

  ‘But … but here? In front of everyone?’

  ‘Who’s here?’ Emmaline pointed out. ‘Anyway I can shield us from any outwith who come past – it’s not hard to do a deflecting spell.’ She rapped on the door and listened for a moment. ‘No one in the house, so that’s good. Go on, you blast the step and I’ll keep us hidden.’

  She looked up and down the road and, as if on cue, an old lady’s face peered curiously out of the window opposite. Emmaline pointed a finger at her imperiously; the lady’s face went blank, and she turned back to her front room, suddenly quite uninterested.

  ‘Go on!’ Emmaline urged. ‘This’ll be a good test of my theory about your magical incontinence. Let a bit out and we’ll see if you have any more leaks tonight.’

  ‘Em, please, I don’t want to.’

  ‘For God’s sake, why not?’

  ‘Do you have to ask? After what happened last year?’

  ‘Oh, come on! You haven’t heard from the Ealdwitan in months. I don’t believe it’s anything to do with them; this is about you trying to pretend you’re an outwith so you can be the perfect couple with Seth. Anyway, you didn’t have any qualms about blasting them to shards last summer, did you?’

  ‘That wasn’t a choice, it was a necessity.’

  ‘Well, try this for necessity,’ Em said. ‘I’m going to lift that step; if you value your continued liberty from the Ealdwitan then give me a shield.’ She pointed a finger at the step and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I don’t know how!’

  ‘Oh, of course you do, it’s not hard. Just, you know, think blanketing thoughts. If anyone looks out, tell them that there’s nothing to worry about. Ready?’

  I stiffened, ready to shield us from any passers-by – but nothing happened. I could feel my power throbbing with painful intensity in the core of my body, but I couldn’t access it. It was like being in the loo and desperately needing a pee, but hearing someone in the stall next door and being unable to let go.

  Emmaline pointed her finger at the step and I yelped out, ‘Stop!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t do it!’ I said desperately. ‘I can’t get it out. My magic, it’s like it’s trapped.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Em said shortly. ‘You’re just worried because of what happened last night. Don’t force it – just relax.’

  I shook myself, took a few deep breaths, and tried to let the magic flow. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing! What was happening?

  ‘Anna, I�
��m warning you, I’m lifting that step in five … four … three …’

  ‘I can’t!’ I gasped. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong, but I just can’t. Someone’s going to see us.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, do I have to do everything around here?’ Emmaline snapped. Her shoulders tensed and I could see she was concentrating desperately on shielding, while still trying to maintain enough of her power to lift the step. There was a moment’s internal struggle, and then a crack, and the earth erupted in a small quiet volcano, rich soil bubbling up through the snapped stonework. Emmaline gave a great sigh of relief and we both hurried forwards to examine the earth. There, in the middle, was a stained oilskin packet, caked in dirt and tied up with red string. It stank of magic so strongly I could hardly bear to touch it, but with a great effort I snatched it up and shoved it in a shopping bag. Then, with a glance up and down the street, Emmaline crushed the earth back down and smoothed the stone step back in place, and the house and its porch looked just as it’d always done for all the years I’d lived there.

  At the Portuguese bakery we ordered custard tarts and coffee, although I really didn’t need anything likely to make my hands shake any more, and then sat at a quiet table in the little back room. I was too preoccupied to drink. The packet felt like it was burning a hole in the plastic shopping bag.

  ‘What are we going to do with … it?’ I asked at last in a low voice.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Emmaline bit her nail. ‘I wish we knew what it was. It feels … bad. I think we have to open it.’

  ‘What – here?’ I said incredulously. ‘But what if there’s some kind of dreadful magic that leaks out – kills someone maybe?’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll be anything harmful to the outwith – I mean, it’s been under your step for a while, by the looks of things, and all your neighbours seem to be OK. If there’s any danger I’d say it’d be to you or me. But what choices have we got – dump it here or take it home, basically, right?’

  ‘We can’t dump it here,’ I said instantly. Emmaline nodded grimly.