The monotonous droning stopped, and Matilda looked up at the teacher, who was frowning as she looked out of the windows that ran down the side of the classroom. Matilda followed the teacher’s gaze, impatient shouts coming from the field. About fifty feet from where she sat in the classroom stood a girl holding a hockey stick, ready to strike the ball at her feet. Of all the girls she was watching before, she was the only one whose name Matilda knew.
Erin.
Matilda shifted in her seat as she locked eyes with Erin, her blue eyes shining out from her red face like diamonds ready to cut through glass. The teacher tried to settle everyone in the classroom, and some of the girls on the field jogged toward the rogue hockey player, while Erin kept her eyes on Matilda like there was nobody else around them.
A smile slid across Erin’s face, and Matilda gasped as Erin surged forward, sprinting toward the classroom and expertly controlling the ball in front of her until she stopped, looked up, then swung the hockey stick over her head.
“Get down!” shouted the teacher as the class screamed and ducked under their desks.
Matilda fell from her chair and shuffled under the desk, panting as she turned back to watch. A single pane of glass in the ancient classroom was no match against the speeding hockey ball and the screams deafened Matilda as the ball smashed into the window, sending shards of glass showering across the room.
The screams turned into whispers, then into confused chatter, and the glass crunched as everyone crept out from under their desks. Matilda poked her head out and slowly pulled herself up, then looked out of the window.
Erin stood with her legs apart, her hockey stick in one hand like she was a warrior who’d just slashed her way through an army. Thunder cracked from above and rain crashed down from the clouds, drenching Erin as she stood as still as a statue, a smile slashed on her face, staring at Matilda, oblivious to the two girls and PE teacher who were charging at her like rugby players.
They tackled Erin to the ground, and Matilda watched, her heart beating like a bass drum and her stomach twisted with confusion, as Erin let them pin her arms behind her back and hold her down on the slick grass, her eyes still on Matilda like a leopard on a gazelle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“So, she’s been suspended?”
Matilda watched Oliver as he nodded and blew into his cup. He’d messaged her after the news of the window had traveled through the school’s halls and made her agree to meet at Grounds for to-go coffee before they went for a walk. The whole school was buzzing with what had happened, photos of Erin soaking and red-faced as she was marched away in the rain popping up on social media. Everyone had their theories (Erin hadn’t been picked for the school hockey team and was trying to prove her worth; the biology teacher had given Erin a bad grade and she was pissed because she wanted to study zoology in college; people with red hair are naturally weird, etc., etc.), but Matilda only caught snippets of conversations, as nobody talked to her, and Oliver was her only direct source of school buzz.
Oliver took a sip of his coffee and glanced at her as they made their way through the trees, their feet squelching in the rotting leaves and rainwater from the storm.
“Apparently, yeah. For a week, according to one of the guys on the team. His sister is friends with her.”
The gaps between the trees grew smaller, and Matilda edged ahead of Oliver, using her free hand to steady herself against the trunks, her coffee sloshing in her other hand.
“Did she say why she did it? Erin, I mean?” asked Matilda.
“She just said she doesn’t know, apparently.”
“She doesn’t know why she tried to decapitate me?”
There was a pause, and Oliver sighed. “Matilda…”
Matilda whipped around. “Don’t tell me that she wasn’t, because I was sitting right there, Oliver. She had her eyes on me, like some kind of deranged Olympic medalist about to take a penalty, and she did not take them off me, not even when she swung the hockey bat over her head and smacked it right at me and then when they were holding her down on the ground. How can you not think that? With the slap as well?”
“Stick.”
“What?”
“It’s a hockey stick, not a bat.”
“I don’t give a shit what it’s called,” said Matilda, both of them looking up at the sound of wings flapping away from the danger of her loud voice. “How is there any other explanation apart from she was trying to hurt me? Again?”
Oliver looked at her, his eyebrows angled and his mouth in a stern line.
“I just … I just don’t like the idea of it, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“That someone’s trying to hurt you. First your mom and now Erin? It’s too much, and I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job of protecting you. Can’t I just pretend that Erin had it out for whoever was sitting next to you?”
Matilda’s heart rolled over like a puppy waiting for its tummy to be scratched. She moved toward Oliver and looped her arms around his waist, careful not to spill her coffee, and pressed her cheek against his jacket. She looked up at him.
“You don’t have to protect me. I can protect myself.”
“I know you can, Wonder Woman.” Oliver lifted the edge of Matilda’s woolly hat and kissed her forehead. “But we can still look out for each other.”
Matilda went up on her tiptoes and kissed Oliver, biting her lip as the warmth from his lips traveled through her veins.
“So you believe me, then? That Erin’s out for me?”
Oliver nodded. “Of course I believe you. She’s violent. You need to watch yourself. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did have something to do with Ashley.”
Matilda turned away from Oliver and started pushing past the branches again. There were a hundred spells she could try to find out who’d hurt Ashley or what was going on with Erin, but not when her magic was still so shaky.
“You really think so?”
“Sean told me that the police are saying the party compromised any evidence they found, so they haven’t been able to arrest anyone. Another guy on the team’s mom works at the station, and she told him that’s actually bull and really they just didn’t find a single shred of evidence, no DNA, no fibers, hair, nothing.” Matilda frowned and looked back at Oliver, who raised his eyebrows. “That’s got witchcraft written all over it, don’t you think?”
Matilda pulled her coat tight around her, the chill creeping down her spine nothing to do with the cool autumn air. The possibility of an unknown witch in town made her feel uneasy, especially considering the trail of carnage that was getting more and more wicked the farther it went.
“Well, if that’s true and it is Erin, then she’s going to a very dark place,” said Matilda, wondering how she’d never known that Erin was involved with magic even if it was after they were friends. It just showed how getting mixed up in dark magic could turn a person inside out. They’d spent so many lunchtimes and sleepovers sharing secrets with each other, but this was obviously something Erin had hidden deep in the dark shadows of her soul. It was hard to believe she was the same person who Matilda had spent so many years joined at the hip with.
“So, we need to make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone else. We need to make sure she doesn’t hurt you.”
Matilda let herself smile. Having Oliver on her side chased the chill away, and the gentle flap of butterflies in her stomach puffed warm air inside her. The tree trunks began spacing farther apart until the two of them could walk side by side again, finally opening up onto a round clearing.
“We’re here,” panted Matilda, smiling at Oliver as she took his hand and led him away from the trees.
The quiet of the woods seemed like a brass band compared to the silence that embraced them, the tree branches reaching over to their companions around the clearing and shielding them from the outside world. The grass was lush, springy under their feet without the boggy patches they’d avoided in the woods, and dotted with weeds
and wildflowers, the fallen leaves awaiting the next stage in their life cycle.
“What’s that?” asked Oliver, pointing to the center of the clearing.
Small animals zigzagged across, pausing and peering at their visitors before darting into the safety of their woods. In the middle was a crumbling well, its stone sides obscured by ivy creeping around it. Wings flapped, sending feathers snowing down on them as they walked toward the well, and Matilda looked up at the silent audience members settling themselves on the branches overhead. She blew them a kiss, then squeezed Oliver’s hand as they reached the edge of the well.
“This,” said Matilda, letting go of Oliver’s hand and putting both of hers on the ivy covering the well, “is why we’re here.”
Oliver peered at the well, his eyebrows creeping up over wide eyes.
“Is this the well? Like, the well?”
“This is where they say Ivy was murdered,” said Matilda.
“Why don’t they do the festival here?” asked Oliver.
Matilda shrugged and looked around. “It’s not big enough, I guess. That or they’re scared Ivy might come crawling out of the well and curse everyone for disrespecting her. That’s what I’d do.”
“Hey, you weren’t complaining when you were wolfing down those fries at the festival the other day. Or when you were cheating at stabbing those apples.”
“I wasn’t cheating,” said Matilda, smiling.
“I believe you,” said Oliver, winking.
Oliver gripped the side of the well and leaned over the opening, whistling as he peered down into the shadows. He pulled out his phone and shone the flashlight down the well as if Ivy might still be down there waving at him.
“You really think she’s down there?”
“Maybe,” said Matilda. “I don’t think anyone wants to risk finding out whether the whole thing is a myth or not, though.”
“Don’t want to wake the witch from her eternal slumber.” Oliver swallowed. “It doesn’t look that deep. She didn’t try and get out?”
“Depends who you believe. People say she crawls out sometimes and creeps around town, leaving her mark so we won’t ever forget her.”
“The ivy. This stuff is everywhere,” said Oliver, rubbing a green leaf between his fingers. “So why are we here?”
Matilda took a deep breath. She was struggling to accept that her magic was waning, let alone admit it to Oliver.
“Do you remember when I showed you how to ground yourself? There are places in Gravewick that are like hot spots of energy, especially to my family, but I’m wondering whether a nonlineage witch can feel them, too.”
“And this is one of the hot spots?”
“If she’s really down there, I’d say it’s the hot spot.”
“Where are the rest of them?”
Matilda shrugged. “All over. Nanna May said the spots are where death and magic shake hands, where they strike a deal. I think I might have felt it in my garden room and the house. I’m not sure.” Guilt rushed over Matilda as she realized how little she’d worked to seek out the energy of her ancestors, especially for the last few years. Instead of listening to her mother when she talked about their bloodline, Matilda would automatically switch off and roll her eyes. “Do you feel anything?”
Oliver closed his eyes, a tiny line of concentration etched between his eyebrows. A minute passed before his shoulders sagged and he shook his head.
“That’s a shame. I thought we could try and draw on the energy here, and it might have helped with these shadows in my power so we can do some casting. A protection spell, from Erin,” said Matilda, wringing her hands.
“Hey,” said Oliver, putting his arm around Matilda. “We can still do that. Two witches are better than one, right?”
Matilda nodded weakly. Especially when one practically feels like a beginner, she thought.
“I guess so. I like being here, anyway. Reminds me of my dad.”
“It does?”
“Yeah. He used to take me horseback riding at a farm near here. I rode the same pony, every time. Checkers. She was beautiful, black and gray. God, I loved that pony.” Matilda felt something pressing down on her heart, and she looked at her boots before she could carry on talking. “Mom didn’t want me wasting my time learning to ride a horse, so Dad used to bring me here on the way so we could say that I’d been studying magic. ‘Let’s drop in on Ivy, shall we?’ he’d say.”
“You don’t ride anymore?”
“Not since he left,” said Matilda, her lip wobbling. She wiped a warm tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you here to cry all over you.”
“Hey, come here.” Oliver pulled Matilda into his chest and squeezed her tight. “It’s okay. I’m sorry about your dad. I wish I could do something.”
Matilda relaxed into Oliver’s arms, the assault of her memories retreating into the distance as she breathed in, his familiar smell calming her like a magic spell. He put his hands on her arms and looked down at her.
“Did you want to try the energy drawing thing now?”
Matilda shook her head. “I feel kind of drained. I’m not sure it would work. Can we try another time?”
“Sure,” he said, adjusting Matilda’s pom-pom hat. “That kind of works out well. I’ve got a little something planned for us.”
* * *
The sun was on its way to bed, but not before it had diluted the sky with its glow, dyeing the clouds into pink, floating puffs of cotton candy. Matilda followed Oliver down a path, ducking as it took her between crooked limbs of trees that grew so close together they’d formed a tunnel overhead. Oliver stopped suddenly and turned back to her.
“You wait here and don’t move until I call you, okay?” he said.
“Why do I…”
“Okay?” said Oliver, smiling at her.
Matilda nodded and watched Oliver carry on ahead of her between the trees. Once he was out of sight, she listened until he called her name and then she hurried forward, peering through the slim gap in the trees and hedges at the end of the path. She could see sparkling ahead, and when the smell hit her she realized exactly where they were: the lake. She pushed through the last of the hanging branches and, after her eyes adjusted in the waning light, she couldn’t suppress her smile.
The beauty of the sky shared its image on the water, bathing the surroundings in a warm radiance. Straight ahead of Matilda was a short jetty that stretched out over the water with a wider section at its end. Tiny glass jars with flames flickering inside each one lined the jetty up and down, plus there were two little glowing pumpkins. At the end was a checked blanket with cushions scattered on top, and sitting with his legs crossed at the ankles was Oliver.
Matilda bit her lip as she made her way down to the water and stepped onto the jetty, beaming at Oliver as he smiled at her. He pulled himself up and walked to meet her halfway, taking her hand as he led her to the blanket, its edges dotted with more candles.
“Hungry?” he said, putting his arms around her.
Matilda nodded, her stomach growling at the sight of the large picnic basket that sat on the blanket. Oliver pointed to the cushions and a bundle of blankets, and Matilda sat down, her cheeks aching from smiling.
“Good,” he said, picking up the basket and sitting next to her. He lifted the lid and unzipped an insulated bag, a glorious aroma of fries escaping and floating up to Matilda’s nose. Oliver pulled out a cardboard container and a foil parcel and handed it to Matilda. “I didn’t know how to transport mac and cheese, so I got takeout instead. I hope that’s okay.”
Matilda nodded as Oliver beamed at her, then retrieved the same two items for himself.
“So, we have here hot dogs accompanied by the best fries in town.” He glanced at Matilda, then went back to unwrapping his hot dog. “I found the people that ran that food tent at the Witching Well Festival. You said it was the best hot dog you’ve ever had, so … um, are you okay? I mean, is this…?”
Matilda blin
ked at Oliver as his question hung in the air. “Yes, of course.”
“Are you sure? That’s the first thing you’ve said since you got here.”
“It’s … it’s … wonderful, Oliver. I can’t … I can’t believe you did all this. It’s just so completely perfect I guess I’m a little speechless.”
Oliver let out a little whistle and grinned at her. “Good. Okay, that’s good.”
“Why did you do all this?”
Oliver shrugged. “Just because of everything that’s been happening. I really wanted to do something nice for you.”
Matilda held her breath, not wanting her emotions to overflow and become tears. She leaned into Oliver and he turned to her, accepting her kiss as appreciation in the absence of coherent speech.
“Eat up, before it gets cold,” he said, tossing a fry into his mouth.
* * *
Matilda blew into her mug and looked out onto the lake, sighing as the stars mirrored on the water twinkled when the wind tickled its surface. Oliver had poured them both hot chocolate from a flask, and they’d nestled into the cushions and thrown a couple of blankets over their legs to keep the October night from chasing them away before they were ready.
“All good?” asked Oliver.
“All good,” said Matilda, stretching out her limbs and smiling. Being with Oliver surrounded by the warm glow of candles made Matilda feel safer than she had in weeks.
“I love the candles.”
“Me too,” said Oliver. “I can stare at a candle flame for ages. Really helps me wind down.”
“You’re sounding more and more like a lineage witch,” said Matilda, resting her head on Oliver’s shoulder as she watched the pumpkin’s face blink and wink in the wind.
“What do you mean?” asked Oliver.
Mark of the Wicked Page 15
