Mark of the Wicked

by Georgia Bowers

  “Go on,” he said, “you can tell me, Matilda. What’s going on?”

  “My face. I mean, the scars on my face from when I’ve hurt people. You can’t see them, but you can still feel them.”

  “Oh,” said Oliver, “I don’t care about that. I mean, it’s not like you’ve hurt hundreds of people … is it?”

  Matilda shook her head. “Not really,” she said, not making eye contact with Oliver as she said the words. She was certain she wasn’t into triple figures, but she’d stopped counting a long time ago. “I’ve just … I’ve got a lot of names on my face, Oliver. A lot.”

  “So, nobody’s ever…”

  Matilda crossed her arms.

  “I’ve been kissed, thank you.”

  “But?”

  Matilda’s shoulders sagged.

  “They … none of them were real. The kisses I’ve had, I mean. They didn’t kiss me because they wanted to, or because they cared about me, or … I guess I’ve just never known what it’s like to be kissed for real, so I’ve never worried about someone touching my face because I’ve never been kissed that way.”

  “Until now,” said Oliver.

  Matilda swallowed. A branch snapped in the darkness, coming from somewhere between the tree swing and the bonfire. Matilda had fallen so deep into their conversation she’d forgotten they weren’t actually alone. They frowned at each other and turned to where the sound had come from. Oliver squeezed Matilda’s hand as they peered at the rustling bushes. He swallowed, then stood up.

  “Probably just one of those idiots going for a piss in the bushes,” he said under his breath, then called out. “Put it away, dude, whoever you are; we have ladies present.”

  Someone stepped out from behind the tall bushes and stared at them from beneath a mass of curly hair wilder than it normally was.

  “I don’t believe this,” said Matilda, shaking her head as she stood up. “Erin?”

  “Erin?” repeated Oliver, frowning at Matilda, then turning to look at Erin just as she ran down the lawn.

  “Hey! Come back!” shouted Matilda, but Erin had already disappeared among the partygoers. Matilda turned to Oliver. “She had a go at me inside as well. What the hell is going on with her? Do you think she was watching us?”

  “I have no idea. Who is she?”

  “She’s the girl who was staring at us outside Grounds a few days ago, remember?”

  “Was that her?” said Oliver. “She likes staring, huh?”

  “Hmm,” said Matilda absently, her mind occupied with wondering what on earth was going on at this party.

  “Didn’t you say you were friends with her?”

  “Used to be friends,” corrected Matilda.

  “So, what happened?”

  Matilda shrugged. “Usual thing, I guess. Just grew apart,” she said, not wanting to get into the real history of their ex-friendship. She watched Erin’s hair disappear back into the throes of the party. “Maybe I should go after her? Find out what the hell her problem is?”

  “Forget about our stalker; probably just too many Jäger bombs. You were telling me that you’d never been kissed.”

  “That’s not what I said,” said Matilda, elbowing Oliver.

  “I’m teasing,” said Oliver. “So, you can hide those scars but if someone touched your face, they’d be able to feel them?”

  Matilda nodded. “And I can still feel the pain from each one.”

  “Ouch,” said Oliver. “How can you hide them?”

  “Family secret.” Matilda smiled. “Witches are supposed to bear the scars of those they’ve hurt, so others can see them coming and know to keep their distance. We can hide ours, but we still have to carry the pain of them like they’re fresh wounds.”

  “Cool.” Matilda frowned at Oliver as he shook his head. “I mean, it’s not cool, hurting people. I mean the whole witch thing. It’s cool.”

  “Really? You’re not afraid of me or anything?”

  “Yes, really, and yes, I think I am a bit afraid of you, but you’re not going to do anything horrible to me, are you?” Oliver’s eyes glowed from the bonfire light as he smiled at Matilda. “But I’m starting to see why your dad fell for your mom. I know I’m new to all this, but I really want to learn more, Matilda.”

  “Well, I guess you nearly vomited on the right person then, didn’t you?”

  Oliver smiled and curled his fingers around the rope.

  “I guess I did.”

  He leaned back and grabbed the rope on Matilda’s side, then kicked his feet across the mud, pushing the swing a few steps backward. Matilda grinned and lifted her feet, letting Oliver steer them both on the swing.

  They both looked up and frowned. Instead of swinging forward, they trundled back and forth in a zigzag, forcing Matilda to squeeze up against Oliver as the swing came to a stop, leaving them stranded in an awkward position.

  “That was a total letdown,” said Oliver. “Feels like there’s something caught at the top. Hop off a sec.”

  Matilda jumped off the swing and watched Oliver pull himself up so he was standing on it.

  “Okay. This is probably going to end badly so don’t laugh.”

  He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, held the rope with one hand, then jumped up with his other hand stretched above him. Matilda sucked air into her chest, grimacing until Oliver landed on the swing with both feet, upright, but staring at her with wide eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Oliver swallowed, an audible cartoon gulp, only his face said they weren’t in any kids’ cartoon.

  He jumped off the swing and rushed to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and tried to turn her around as she stared between him and the swing.

  “Get inside. We need to get inside.”

  “Oliver, what’s…”

  They both looked up as the branches cracked and the swing juddered under the weight of something. Matilda yelped and jumped back, and Oliver clamped a hand over his mouth as the something fell from above them, landing partially on the swing and on the ground, at an awkward, terrifying angle.

  Matilda stepped forward, glad of Oliver as he grabbed her wrist so she couldn’t get any closer. She shivered as something icy, something terrible, went through her, the two coats she was wearing powerless to stop it getting into her bones.

  “Is that…?” said Matilda, not insulting herself or Oliver by finishing the question.

  They both knew what it was.

  Or who it was.

  “Where did she…?” whispered Matilda, staring at the body in front of her, then looking up into the broken tree branches above them.

  “I … I felt her arm caught up in the branches when I reached up.” Oliver swallowed, waiting a few seconds before he could carry on. “I must have dislodged her.”

  There was no sound as they both stared at the body, a girl’s body, her legs caught on the swing, her torso twisted so she was facedown in the mud. The wind rustled the branches, scattering leaves over her as if there were nothing out of the ordinary and the scene in front of them was perfectly autumnal. Matilda held her breath. Maybe if she held it for long enough, the girl would wake up, pull herself up from the ground, and drunkenly stagger back to the party. But she wasn’t drunk.

  She was dead.

  Matilda jumped as she felt Oliver’s hands fumbling over her sides until he pulled his phone from his coat pocket, dropping it twice before he managed to unlock the screen and turn the flashlight on. The beam of light juddered in front of them, and they stared at the girl’s carefully selected party outfit: a red plaid A-line skirt with a white fitted T-shirt tucked into it, smudged with blood and grass stains. Matilda and Oliver blinked at her metallic ballet flats, one of them just hanging on, hooked on her stiff, pedicured toes.

  “Oh my God,” whispered Matilda, tears springing in her wide eyes. “Oh my God, that’s Ashley.”

  “We should call the police,” said Oliver, the light shaking in his hand.

&nb
sp; “Is she definitely…?”

  Oliver looked at Matilda, then crouched down to get a closer look at Ashley. He sucked his breath in suddenly and then spun around and bent over, splattering vomit across the bottom of the tree and all over his shoes. Matilda ran to where he’d dropped the phone, picked it up, and took tiny footsteps closer to Ashley.

  “Matilda, don’t!” gasped Oliver between heaves. “Please don’t look.”

  Matilda shone the light over Ashley. It wasn’t just the blood that had made Oliver throw up; it was what was carved on Ashley’s sallow, gaunt face.

  A name.

  Her name.

  Matilda.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The party was bathed in blue and red as the police and ambulance lights set the night alive with a fear that was getting much, much closer to home. Matilda felt as though the police had taken ages to arrive, but Oliver had told her it was only fifteen minutes. One of the officers checked the body while another spoke to Oliver, and Matilda was certain that Ashley would suddenly start coughing and sit up like in a movie, then spend the rest of the night being the center of attention.

  But she didn’t.

  Matilda flinched again as the officer took another photo of Ashley, the flash adding to the otherworldly feel of the scene in front of her. She watched the detectives work around the body, wishing she could sit down but too afraid to move to search for a chair. Yellow-and-black police tape cordoned off the area around the tree, flapping in the wind as the words the police officer used when he spoke into his radio repeated in Matilda’s mind.

  One female adolescent, not conscious, not breathing; no signs of life.

  No signs of life.

  Oliver stood next to Matilda, his jaw clenched against the cold and his shoulders shaking. Matilda dropped the blanket someone had put around her and started pulling Oliver’s coat off. He put his hand on her arm.

  “Just keep it. Please,” he said.

  It was all he’d managed to say to her since the murder team had arrived about an hour before. As well as the tape around Ashley, the police also put tape across the garden between the house and the tree in an attempt to stop the drunken partygoers traipsing up and down with their phones in the air, trying to get a view of the scene. They lingered in clusters, wiping one another’s tears or whispering theories about the death they weren’t allowed to get any closer to.

  Crows cawed from the top of the tree as if they’d known what was hiding in the branches. Of all the things she’d inflicted on others—an itch they couldn’t stop scratching until their skin wept with blood, visions of spiders the moment they closed their eyes, or a sudden excruciating broken bone—Matilda had never been this close to death. Especially the death of someone she knew and had messed with just days before. She felt like the ground was uneven and she couldn’t get her footing, shock and shame pushing against her from every direction.

  The paramedics pulled the zipper over Ashley’s head.

  “Don’t catch her hair!” said Matilda, then squeezed her eyes closed. She felt Oliver’s hand on the small of her back, and she looked at him, grateful that he was holding her up when he was just as drained and stunned as she was.

  “Matilda? Matilda Hollowell?”

  Matilda looked over her shoulder, searching in the darkness for the owner of the voice and where she recognized it from.

  “I thought it was you. You were here at the party?” said Officer Powell, narrowing her eyes as she leaned into Officer Seymour and showed him a small notepad. He frowned at it, then looked at Officer Powell blankly. “We were at your house the other day, right? Did you report the body?”

  “A-actually, I did,” said Oliver.

  “If you could let Matilda answer the question, I’d appreciate it,” said Officer Powell.

  Matilda swallowed.

  “Yes. I mean, no, I didn’t report the body,” she said, ignoring the question about being at her house. Maybe her grandmother’s brew hadn’t worked as well as her mother thought. “Oliver did. But we found it, found her, together.”

  “Right,” said Officer Powell. Matilda pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders as the officer watched her. “And it’s your name that was found on the body, is that correct?”

  “Yes, but, but I wouldn’t … I mean, am I a suspect or something?” said Matilda, her mouth dry. She looked between the two officers, tears stinging her eyes. “Please, when can I go? I’ve already given my statement.”

  “Not yet; you’re a significant witness and one of the detectives will want to speak to you.” Officer Powell locked eyes with Matilda. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  Matilda opened her mouth, but felt Oliver’s hand clasp the blanket and the coat she was wearing.

  “Of course, Officer. We’ll be here,” he said.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” called Officer Powell as both officers turned toward the crowd down the garden.

  Matilda and Oliver watched them walk away, the groups throbbing with excitement as to who would be questioned first. Matilda exhaled the breath that had been trapped in her lungs since Officer Powell called her name.

  “What was that about? How’d she know your name?” asked Oliver.

  Matilda shook her head and started backing away from Oliver, away from the images that were seared into her mind ready to creep out in her nightmares.

  “Shit, this is too much; it’s too much!” said Matilda, feeling panic constricting her chest as she tried to breath.

  “Matilda?” whispered Oliver, gently grabbing her wrist. “Stay calm and tell me what’s going on.”

  Matilda rubbed her eyes and turned to Oliver. “You know those dead animals that keep showing up?” said Matilda. Oliver nodded. “Those two came to my house the other day because a herd of cows was found slaughtered.”

  “Yeah, I heard about the cows. Why’d the police come to your house, though?”

  Matilda wondered what the others were telling the officers and what they were writing down. Did they have a suspect already? She looked back at Oliver, who was frowning at her, searching her face for some enlightenment in the darkness they’d stumbled on together.

  Trust him, she thought. You can trust him; he knows what you are.

  “They had a name carved on their sides. All of them did.”

  Oliver swallowed. “Oh, shit.”

  “Yes, oh, shit. And now there’s a dead girl, a girl I was friends with once upon a time, and she’s got my name on her face. What the hell? I mean what the hell is going on? They’re going to think I did this, aren’t they?”

  Oliver looked at the circus around them, where they’d felt like the only two people in the world just hours before, then grabbed Matilda’s hands and shook his head.

  “No, no, look; it’s going to be fine. They need to take statements from everyone here, but us especially because we found her. There’s no way anyone could think it was you, you have, like, a hundred witnesses who saw you at the party, and you have me, too. We’ve been together the whole time.” Matilda looked up at Oliver, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. “What? What’s that look? Oh, shit. You went to the bathroom on your own.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?” Oliver looked at Matilda, his eyes wide. “Matilda, you need to tell me what happened, and you need to talk fast because if you’re dragging me into something and we’re about to talk to the detective…”

  Oliver’s question hung in the air and Matilda grabbed his words with both hands, knowing she couldn’t be in this alone.

  “I didn’t go to the bathroom. I went to find Ashley.”

  Oliver’s hands went up to his head, but he glanced at the police and dropped them.

  “Okay. Okay, so that means you were the last to see her alive.”

  “No, but I didn’t. She wasn’t there, in Sean’s parents’ room. It was empty. And then I … that’s when you found me. What if … what if I…”

  Oliver shook his head. “What if you managed to
find her while you were unconscious, kill her, carve your name in her face, then carry her through the party, past everyone, and stick her up that tree?”

  “Not when you say it all like that, but…” Matilda’s eyes stung every time she blinked, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull her blanket over this nightmare. “I could have done something while I was unconscious, something terrible using magic, or hate, or something wrong got mixed up in the spell I used on Ashley the other day…”

  “Matilda…”

  “Let me finish. You can’t deny the facts. Dead animals and now a dead human, all with my name carved into them. I’ve never felt anything like these blackouts. It’s like something is coming for me, and I’m not in control of my body.” Matilda watched as the paramedics wheeled Ashley away. She shook her head and looked back at Oliver. “I hated that girl, Oliver. I hated her so much that I swallowed a bee so she would vomit up a hive. What if this darkness is taking over and I’m losing control?”

  “Look,” said Oliver, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You have nothing to hide. We came together, you used the bathroom, I met you outside, then we came down here. That’s all.”

  Matilda shook her head.

  “We’ll talk to the police and then I’ll drop you off at home, and we’ll work this out after some sleep.”

  “I need to clear this up,” she said, “I need to find out what’s going on with all these deaths and my blackouts, but right now I need to not get into trouble for this.”

  Matilda looked over her shoulder and tried to count how many people there were in the garden, as well as the police officers who were hanging around like flies. She turned back to Oliver.

  “I can do a spell to change people’s perception or just make them forget about things, but I’ll need to do it on everyone, not just the police. There are so many people here. I’ve never…”

  Oliver straightened up, finally looking more like himself than he had since they found Ashley.

  “Maybe I could help you? I mean, I know I’m still learning, but those old ladies at the library taught me a thing or two about witchcraft. Plus, I want to learn more, so it’s a win-win.”