“Fine. So what did you do?”
Oliver’s eyes twinkled. “I made him mix up his left and right.”
“Seriously? Not bad. Very subtle.”
“It was hilarious watching him from the sidelines on my crutches. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, and everyone was shouting at him, even the coach thought he was messing around. Anyway, that’s when I got my first.” Oliver shrugged. “I didn’t think what I’d done to him was that bad.”
“That’s how it works. However small, however petty, it comes back at you.”
“It was the first thing that coven warned me about.”
“Where is it, your scar?” asked Matilda.
Oliver lifted his arm and pointed down his side. “Down there.”
“What name?”
Oliver smiled. “Davis.”
Matilda grimaced. “S’s are bad.”
“You’re telling me. I’ve got Susan here,” he said, pointing at the left of his chest.
“Why?”
Oliver shook his head. “Uh-uh, you have to tell me yours now. What was your first?”
Matilda flushed as she went back to her first scar, her first spell against someone, but skipped over that memory for one she was prepared to share with Oliver. “The name was Beth. I made her hair fall out.”
“What? Why?”
“Because her mom did it in a French braid and I was jealous.”
“That’s cold, Matilda.” Oliver put a hand up to his own head. “You’re not jealous of mine, are you?”
“At least she wasn’t my best friend.”
Oliver smiled and bit his lip. “You’re telling me you’ve never used magic against a friend? I don’t believe you.”
“I haven’t,” lied Matilda, not ready to share the name etched in the skin just under her hairline with Oliver. “So, what about Susan?”
Oliver’s face dropped. “She was the worst. I was getting cocky because of Davis and I’d managed a few other little spells as well, so thought I’d try magic to get myself some extra cash. Susan was behind the desk at the bank and, well, she ended up getting fired, so I deserved the two S’s.”
“Yes, you did,” said Matilda, giving Oliver a stern look before she stabbed another apple.
“Like you’re so innocent,” said Oliver, swearing under his breath as an apple bobbed away from him. “How many names have you got hidden on your face, anyway?”
“Enough,” said Matilda. “Do you have many more?”
“Just the one I showed you.” Matilda held her breath, hoping that Oliver would unzip his jacket and lift up his hoodie to show her Daniel carved across his abs. Instead he just pointed.
“You next. Who else do you have?”
Matilda traced her fingers over the names hidden on her face, trying to decide which name she would reveal to Oliver until she found the letters along the top of her forehead.
“Natalie—she couldn’t stop biting her nails, not even when she’d eaten them away and was chewing on her nail bed.”
“Gross.”
“She deserved it.”
“Why?”
Matilda frowned. “I can’t even remember now.”
Oliver shook his head, a smile twitching on his lips. “Who else is there?”
Matilda traced the names of the boys who’d ignored her or made fun of her, deciding not to share those with Oliver. She ran a finger down her cheek. “Sophie.”
“Don’t tell me; you can’t remember what she did, either?”
“Oh, I remember,” said Matilda, stabbing at the apples with a bit more force. “That girl made my life an absolute misery for as long as I can remember. First it was name-calling, then as we got older it got more sophisticated and she’d start rumors about me, bombard me with abusive messages on my phone. She made up a profile on the school site once, using my name and a photo of me, and said I was a witch.”
“Really?”
Matilda nodded. “I don’t know if she actually believed that, but it definitely stuck and made it harder for me to fit in or make friends. She was such a nasty piece of work.”
“What did you do to her?”
Matilda took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought about Sophie for a long time. Out of all the people she’d hurt, Sophie was one that Matilda had a slight tinge of regret for.
“I spent every night lying awake in bed worrying about what she was going to do next. Even when she lost interest in me for a bit, my anxiety got even worse because of the anticipation. I wanted her to know what it felt like, not being able to sleep because of the worry and the fear, so I gave her night terrors.”
“Night terrors?”
“Yeah, you know, like nightmares but with screaming, or kicking and lashing out, even sleepwalking. She was supposed to have them for a week or so, and I knew it’d worked because she looked terrible: bags under her eyes and her hair wasn’t all perfect like it normally was. She was obviously completely exhausted and too tired to bully me.”
“Glad she got what she deserved, then.”
Matilda fiddled with the athame. “It kind of went wrong, though.”
“What do you mean?” said Oliver, dropping the knife in the barrel and turning to Matilda.
Matilda shrugged. “I don’t know what I did, but instead of the night terrors being temporary, they went on for weeks and weeks until she ended up having to leave school.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think she changed schools. I went over what I did to try and undo it, but I wasn’t great at recording my spells back then.”
“Shit,” said Oliver, frowning at her. “That’s pretty harsh, Matilda.”
Matilda nodded, then looked down at the pretend athame in her hand; she didn’t like the way Oliver was looking at her. “It’s one I feel pretty bad about.”
The cool wind carried the cheery sounds of the festival over their heads for a few seconds as they stood in silence. Matilda clenched her jaw, angry with herself for sharing the story with Oliver and making him see what kind of monster he’d been spending time with, until she felt his fingers find her hand.
“Sounds like she really did make your life hell, though. Where did you say her name was?” Matilda ran her finger across her cheek and held her breath as Oliver did the same with his thumb. “Just remind me to stay on the right side of you, okay?”
Matilda’s heart almost burst open as she looked into Oliver’s eyes.
“Okay.”
Oliver put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“It’s getting pretty crowded. Let’s find somewhere a bit quieter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The night twinkled with stars and string lights, and Matilda was swept along with the merriment of the festival as families and groups of friends enjoyed the annual reminder that a witch had been sent to her fate down a well. She was pleased to see Oliver enjoying himself as much as she was, and having not recovered from his apple-hooking failure, he decided they should try the maze and split up to see who got to the center first.
They’d started off calling each other’s name, giggling when the other responded on the other side of the hay, but getting more and more distant the farther they went through, until there was no answer. Matilda stopped and jumped, but not high enough to see over the bales of hay stacked up to make the walls of the maze. She sighed and kept on walking, stepping over howling pumpkins and fake black cats as she followed the path, fairy lights strung all over the hay, lighting her way.
“Oliver?” she tried, pausing in case her footsteps drowned out his response, but there was still nothing.
Matilda turned a corner and gasped as a tall cloaked figure hovered over her, its clawlike hands reaching out to grab her. She stepped around a half-open trunk with a mummy arm sticking out of it, pausing when the fairy lights strung above flickered, then turned off. For a heart-stopping moment, Matilda was submerged in claustrophobic darkness until they pinged back o
n and she headed forward.
“Oliver?” shouted Matilda as she pulled out her phone.
The lights blinked out again, and she gasped as her phone was smacked from her hand. She crouched down and stretched out to search for it. Something brushed her fingertips and she yelped, pulling her hands into her chest when the lights returned and she was face-to-face with a blinking pair of eyes she could recognize anywhere. Victor peered up at her, like he was waiting for a handful of sugar cubes.
“How the hell have you followed me in here, Vic?” Matilda said, tickling the spot between his ears as her heart raced in her chest.
Victor responded with a bleat as the lights flickered again, and Matilda felt him disappear from beneath her fingertips. The lights came back on and Matilda squinted at the spot where the goat had been just before, her hand flying up to her mouth in horror as her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing.
Victor was lying on his side, one dull eye wide open and staring right through her. A dark pool of blood crept closer and closer to Matilda’s shoes, trickling from the gash that glistened across his neck. Matilda reached out to him but froze as she saw her hands smeared with the blood of her beautiful boy, one of them grasping a carving knife.
“N-n-no…,” she whispered, falling back against the hay. “This isn’t real … this isn’t happening…”
The lights blinked off and Matilda moaned, not knowing whether it was better to stay in the darkness or to try and find her way out. When they came back on, Victor was back to standing and looking at her with empty, soulless eyes, and he trotted forward, leaving tiny little hoofprints in the blood. His coat was matted with blood, and the smell of rotting flesh hit Matilda’s throat as she stumbled back and vomited.
Victor jumped up so his front hooves rested on her thighs, smearing blood on her jeans. He bleated at her, but it sounded more like the screams from the sheep than her precious goat.
Matilda closed her eyes and shook her head. “No! Please no, leave me alone!”
Fingers tightened around her wrists, and Matilda thrashed side to side until a voice made her freeze.
“Matilda? Shit, Matilda?! Whoa, whoa, whoa, it’s me; it’s Oliver.”
Matilda’s eyes flew open, and she gripped Oliver’s coat.
“Oliver!” she sobbed.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Oliver helped her sit, glancing at the vomit glistening on her coat. “What the hell happened?”
Matilda took a napkin from him and wiped her face.
“H-how did you find me?”
“I heard you; I think everyone at the festival heard you,” said Oliver, then held up Matilda’s phone. “I found this back there.” He put a hand on her cheek, his eyebrows drawn together as he looked her up and down. “Are you okay? What happened? Was it a blackout?”
Matilda looked around. The blood, the knife, Victor. It was all gone, just the haystacks and the twinkly lights of normality surrounded her again—the horror had all been in her head. She looked back at Oliver, her bottom lip trembling as she clenched his sleeves tight in her fists.
“Something’s happening to me, Oliver,” she whispered, feeling the familiar black cloud coming to pull the shade over her again, “something terrible.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Matilda sipped the sweet liquid and sighed as the warmth trickled through her body toward her soul. She sat with her legs pulled up and a knitted blanket around her in the comforting aromas of the kitchen with Victor curled up on the floor, Nanna May shuffling back and forth to a small saucepan warming on the stove.
“This is just tea, isn’t it, Nanna May?” she said, warming her hands on the mug. “I told you; I’m fine.”
Her grandmother patted Matilda’s shoulder as she moved past her, opening the larder and replacing small jars of powders and leaves, all telltale signs that what she’d just brewed for Matilda was definitely more than just herbal tea.
Despite what she’d said, Matilda was grateful to receive help to calm down. She hadn’t stopped shaking since the maze and felt such overwhelming relief when she saw Nanna May and Victor waiting at the door of her garden room that she’d burst into tears, leaning on the old woman as they walked to the warmth of the kitchen instead of the isolation of Matilda’s room, and covering Victor with kisses every few steps.
Matilda’s phone buzzed, and she picked it up from the table and smiled. She replied to Oliver, telling him she was okay, then took another sip of the drink and sighed. She turned to Nanna May, who was back at the fireplace, her wrinkled face glowing from the flames.
“It won’t make me forget?” she asked, her shoulders relaxing as her grandmother shook her head without looking up from the pot she was stirring.
“Good,” she said, taking another sip.
Matilda’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking on her way home in Oliver’s car. What she’d seen in the maze was terrifying, and she had to squeeze her eyes closed every time her precious goat’s body flashed inside her mind. But she didn’t want to forget.
Someone was using magic against her, but not the type of magic she would ever access. The blackouts kept leaving her with holes in her magic, but they also left a sour aftertaste of something very dark and very dangerous. Matilda knew she tiptoed on the line with the things she’d done to people, maybe even accidentally stepping over it a couple of times, but whoever was messing with her had the line so far behind them it wasn’t even a speck in their rearview mirror. Whoever it was would be sorry they started this dance with her. She tickled Victor’s head again, then brushed her cheek with her fingertips. The letters were so gnarled into her skin that one more name wouldn’t make a difference, whoever’s name it was.
The front door slammed and the faint kissy-kissy sounds of Lottie greeting Nimbus drifted through the cottage. Matilda straightened up and fixed her glare on the entrance to the kitchen, the clip-clop of her mother’s expensive boot heels getting louder until she appeared at the top of the steps, her frown lines deepening across her brow as she laid her eyes on Matilda.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, sighing as she adjusted her navy pashmina, then picked the kettle up from the stove.
“Surprised to see me?” asked Matilda, her eyes not leaving her mother for a second.
“Well, yes,” said Lottie, letting Nanna May take the kettle from her but refusing as Nanna May tried to usher her to a wooden stool. She leaned against the counter and folded her arms, her usual stance when she was conversing with her daughter. “You’re normally holed up in your room. Too good for us, right, Nanna May?”
Nanna May frowned and shook her head as she filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. Matilda glared at Lottie, angry that she was trying to draw her grandmother into the hatred she so clearly had for her.
“So,” said Matilda, leaning down and stroking Victor’s downy head, “it’s pretty late. Where’ve you been?”
“Out,” said Lottie, looking down and twisting a silver bangle on her wrist.
“Out where?”
Lottie looked up from fiddling with her jewelry. “Excuse me, do I have to report my movements to you, little one?”
Matilda smiled. “Just showing an interest in my mother, that’s all. Mother.”
Matilda’s cheeks ached from smiling, but she let the quiet push down on her mother until she responded.
“I went to see a movie.”
“Who with?”
“A friend.”
“What kind of friend?”
Something flashed across her mother’s face, her features taking on slightly sharper edges than before.
“Just, a friend, Tilly. Is that okay with you?” snapped Lottie.
“Okay, okay. Very quick to anger there, Mother.” Matilda lifted her hands up. “So, do you want to know where I’ve been tonight?”
Her mother shrugged. “Sure. Where have you been?”
“The Witching Well Festival.”
Red crept up Lottie’s neck and flushed her cheeks li
ke a warning light that she’d been caught in a lie. She cleared her throat.
“Really?”
Matilda nodded. “And it was a very interesting night, for lots of reasons. Somebody tried to scare me.”
Her mother frowned. “Who did? Who tried to scare you?”
Matilda stood up, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders, her eyes fixed on her mother’s.
“Doesn’t matter. They’ll get theirs.”
“Matilda, I…”
“You what?” Lottie opened and closed her mouth, her eyes darting around the room. Matilda shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Come on, Victor.”
Matilda opened the door and walked out, Victor at her side, the whistle from the boiling kettle ringing into the dark night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Seven days until Halloween
The girls ran up and down the field, shouting to one another as they got into position, their hockey sticks poised and ready to receive the ball. Matilda watched them speeding beneath the gray clouds bulging with rain, not having to think about anything apart from scoring against the opposite team. Matilda recognized each player but couldn’t place any of their names, all of them in her class but not in her life.
Matilda turned from the window and looked around at everyone in her biology class, the majority of whom were covertly checking their phones behind textbooks or in their laps as the teacher talked through the parts that make up a cell.
Why am I here? she thought to herself, feeling more disconnected from her fellow students than she ever had before. Why bother with high school when she could never leave Gravewick anyway? What would be here for her when everyone else moved on to college or to travel the world? Would she live with her mother, who apparently wanted her dead, and Nanna May for the rest of her life?
The only good thing in her life was Oliver. She had completely fallen for someone who wouldn’t stick around in Gravewick longer than he needed to. Could she go with him? Could she live a life without magic?
I may have no choice, she thought to herself as she doodled stars on the cover of her notebook. She’d tried a spell to see the truth in her mother, to find out what was going on with her, but it hadn’t worked. Matilda couldn’t focus; she was rattled from what had happened in the maze and found it impossible to ground herself enough to do a spell that she’d used a hundred times before.
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