“Candle magic is one of the first kinds of magic we learn, and the first lesson is using a candle for meditation.”
Matilda watched the candle flicker and could feel herself falling into the pumpkin’s burning orange eyes until she sat up suddenly.
“You okay?” asked Oliver.
Matilda shook her head, realizing that the frowning pumpkin face was trying to tell her something.
“I’m so stupid,” she said, pulling her bag onto her lap and rooting through it. “So stupid! I should have thought of this before. Candle magic. It can be used for all sorts of spells and casting, but it can also be used for insight or visions.”
Oliver frowned at the candles on the jetty. “Candles can do that?”
“Candles help witches do that. It’s ancient magic, what the first witches used. Using the candle flame to meditate connected them with the natural forces of the universe.”
“Right,” said Oliver, frowning at Matilda as she stopped rifling through her bag and turned to him.
She pulled a small glass bottle out of her bag, then jumped up and grabbed the pumpkin. She sat down cross-legged in front of Oliver, blew the flame out, then took the stumpy candle out of the pumpkin and held it up.
“Want to give it a try?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Oliver took the candle from Matilda, frowning as he turned it over in his hands. He looked at Matilda, then took the bottle from her, shaking the clear liquid inside as he held it up to his eyes.
“What is it?”
“Salt water. Another lesson for a young witch: You never know when you need to cleanse something for a spell,” she said.
Matilda opened the bottle and poured some salt water onto her scarf, then gently wiped the small candle as Oliver watched.
“Have you done this before?” he asked. Matilda glanced at him, then shook her head. “Why not?”
Matilda shrugged and looked up at the stars, a little nail of guilt scratching the back of her neck.
“Never really needed to. Normally I just do the magic and get what I want that way. But I know what I’m doing. I think.” Matilda remembered her mother teaching her about candle magic, drilling into her the importance of being able to access another plane in case she ever needed answers she couldn’t find in the usual places. She looked at the picnic basket. “Is there a knife in there?”
“A knife?”
“To scratch what I want from the flame into the wax.”
“Oh, right.” Oliver opened the lid and pulled out a butter knife. “Will this do?”
Matilda nodded and took the knife from Oliver, then scratched the letters into the candle wax as well as she could. She could feel Oliver’s breath as he watched her wipe the tiny curls of wax away, leaving the jagged word INSIGHT in the candle. She put the candle back into the safety of the pumpkin and got comfortable on a cushion.
“So, what do we do now?” asked Oliver.
“I’m going to light the candle, then clear my mind and focus on what I want.”
“Which is?”
“Answers,” said Matilda, shaking her hands and shoulders to loosen her muscles. “Then I’ll stare into the flame until it’s burned all the way down. Do you have a lighter?”
Oliver pulled a lighter from his pocket and handed it to her.
“We could be here awhile, until the candle burns out,” she said, lighting the wick.
“I can wait,” he said, draping a blanket around her shoulders, then holding her hand.
Matilda had never had anyone to hold her hand while she cast her magic, and Oliver’s presence made her feel more determined to make the spell work. She crossed her legs and watched the candle burn, remembering everything her mother had taught her about connecting with the fire and falling into its light. The wind blew gently on her face, and as she stared at the beckoning flame, Matilda felt as though she and Oliver and the croaking frogs were the only beings on the planet.
* * *
“It’s not working,” sighed Matilda after a few minutes. “I can’t see anything. Nothing at all.”
She frowned at the orange flame dancing in the breeze, mocking her. The weather had changed from a crisp autumn evening to a threatening prestorm chill in the short time she’d been staring at the candle, and the water lapped against the jetty more urgently than it had before.
The rushing wind turned from a whisper to a hiss, and Matilda looked around, her blood freezing as if there were something sweeping toward them, caressing the surface of the lake with its long, sharp fingernails. The water was choppy, splashing over the sides of the jetty and making the boards judder like they were trying to buck her and Oliver off. Matilda put her hands down on the wood to steady herself and blinked at Oliver as he tried to keep upright, too. The surface of the lake grew angrier, and the wind lashed around them, snuffing out the candle and whipping Matilda’s hair around her head.
“What’s happening?” said Oliver, raising his voice over the cracking branches and howling wind.
“Must be a storm,” cried Matilda. “Get to the car!”
They got up, hunching over to keep their balance as they collected the blankets and cushions of their now distant perfect lakeside picnic. The wind pushed against them from every direction until Oliver dropped the picnic basket and turned to Matilda.
“Forget the stuff, let’s just go!” he shouted.
Matilda nodded and dropped the blanket as a blast of wind forced her to stumble backward and tangled it around her legs.
“Oliver!” she shouted, panic strangling her vocal cords as she tripped over the blanket and lost her footing.
She fell backward, her arms flailing as she tried to get her balance, but the wind was forcing her away from Oliver and closer to the edge of the jetty. She gasped as he tried to reach her against the elements, his eyes wide as they both realized what was about to happen.
Matilda’s fingertips brushed against Oliver’s as she plunged backward into the freezing October lake. She inhaled water and tried to catch a breath. The lake muffled her screams as she thrashed around, kicking against the blanket that was still clinging to her and weighing her down. She blinked hopelessly in the darkness, unable to tell which way the surface was as the water stung her eyes and tried to suffocate her along with her panic.
Fear tightened its arms around her chest, choking her with every panicked, ragged breath. Something brushed against her skin, light and gentle, but ominous and dangerous in the depths of the lake. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds and gave her a touch of light to see by. Matilda looked down at a long fringe of reeds waving up from the lake bed, beckoning her to sink deeper into the lake’s shadows. A shrieking sound came toward her from the distance, getting louder and louder until screaming filled the lake and Matilda’s head.
The reeds waved against her skin as she desperately tried to swim upward toward the moonlight, but something stung her palm. She inhaled, and more water shot up her nose as a reed curled around her wrist and pulled at her. Another snaked around her other arm, and she pulled against it until suddenly it broke free and sprouted four legs and a tail, then skittered up her arm and across her chest. The lizard scampered around her neck as the reed on her wrist loosened and scuttled up her arm and over her face to join its companion.
More reeds curled around her ankles before turning into long, thin lizards and twisted around her legs, gripping her with tiny claws, each lizard piercing her ears with their unnatural screams. Matilda thrashed around, trapped under the water as they slithered over every inch of her, pulling her downward until the terror was too much and she opened her mouth to scream.
“Oliver!” she shouted, sitting bolt upright on the jetty, her voice echoing between the trees. She looked down at her crossed legs and the blanket that Oliver had put around her shoulders just before she’d lit the candle, and she felt his hand around her own. She was safe and dry, and her vision, or nightmare, was over.
“I’m here!” said Oliver, pulling
her into his chest. She held on to him, blinking into his sweater, her eyes flicking around as she took in the jetty and the dry blanket and cushions they were sitting on. “Jesus, Matilda, you’re shaking. You completely zoned out, then started screaming. What happened?”
Oliver tightened the blanket around her shoulders, then looked at her, his eyebrows angled over his wide eyes as they searched her face.
“They … they were pulling me under the water,” gasped Matilda, adrenaline shaking her limbs as her body refused to accept she was safe on the jetty.
“What were?”
“I don’t know. I … I was trapped and there was screaming and … and these … lizards … all over me, just all over…” Matilda’s voice cracked and she sobbed, her hands shaking as they gripped Oliver’s coat. She blinked at him, tears clinging to her eyelashes as her lip wobbled. “I can’t take any more of this, Oliver. I can’t! I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“Hey, hey, I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re safe,” he said as she slumped against him.
Matilda cried into him, feeling as though she would never stop shaking from the fear, from the cold, from the constant threat of somebody or something that was out to get her. Once she’d run out of tears, she leaned into Oliver, taking his arm and pulling it around her until she was nestled into what felt like her only safe space in the world. He took Matilda’s hand and brought it to his lips, closing his eyes as he kissed her palm. She looked up at him, the water casting an otherworldly reflection on his skin, then nestled back into his arm.
“I’m right here, okay?” he murmured, his fingertips gently tapping where her heart was beating beneath her ribs, his other hand gently stroking her hair. “I’ll always be here, Matilda.”
His words weaved their own spell on Matilda’s tired soul, and she let the warmth of his body lull her into a much needed, restful sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Six days until Halloween
Matilda smiled at the woman in the booth as she took the toffee apple from her, passed her some money, then turned to join the crowds milling around at the Witching Well Festival. Oliver had dropped her off at home in the early hours of the morning, and she’d crawled into her bed, her thoughts still full of lizards. Their plan to meet at the Witching Well Festival bonfire was the only thing that managed to put her head into a fuzzy enough place that she could fall asleep.
People bumped into her as she moved through the crowd, pushing past so they could get a good spot at the bonfire. Couples took selfies around her, smiling and kissing in front of the firewood and festive decorations, letting the world know that they were together, and they didn’t have to face it alone, just as she didn’t have to anymore. They’d arranged to meet after Oliver had run some errands for his dad, and her stomach flopped at the thought of seeing him again.
Matilda nudged her way to the edge of the firewood. Two men wearing luminous vests and carrying red buckets pushed through the crowd and gestured for everyone to step back. Matilda shuffled back with everyone else, craning her neck to look out for Oliver, hoping that he’d be there to see the bonfire ignite.
The men whispered important health and safety business to each other as they inspected the firewood, and the crowd rubbed their hands together and tightened their scarves. Matilda bit into her apple, crunching through the sharp toffee and juicy fruit as she watched the scouts scuttle back and forth, setting down more buckets of sand and water, then shifting the large stones that surrounded the firewood. Finally, there was a nod from one of the men and the crowd whooped with excitement as the men lit firestarters and circled the bonfire, crouching down and sticking them through the crooked gaps in the firewood.
Crackles popped through the noise of the crowd, and Matilda squinted as smoke filled the air, the fire catching and growing brighter as it forced her to shuffle backward. She took another bite of her apple and watched the flames grow stronger; her eyebrows pinched together as she missed the feeling of Oliver’s hand in hers. She lost herself in the orange flames and floated into the memory of the night before, when she had woken up in Oliver’s arms all snuggled under a blanket, hiding away from thoughts of lizards and drowning.
Matilda stared at the smoke rising up from the flames, but the warmth from the fire and her thoughts of the lake were extinguished by long icy fingernails prickling a trail down her spine—she could see Oliver’s image in the smoke. Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked to clear her vision, but she could still see his face twisting and dancing above the flames.
“Oliver?” she whispered, dropping her toffee apple and stepping closer to the fire.
“Miss, you need to step back, please.”
Matilda ignored the voice and frowned into the fire, her eyes darting around, searching for the image in the smoke.
“Miss?” said one of the luminous-vest men. “Miss, are you okay?”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No.”
The smoke swirled into the sky like a gray dragon twisting its body in and out of the stars, stretching Oliver’s face until it vanished. She knew nobody else could see what she saw, that only a witch could read the smoke rising above the fallen branches of elder trees and know that it was a message from her bloodline. Matilda felt as though she were being pulled away from the laughter and clapping around her, the revelry and the happiness getting farther in the distance as she realized that Oliver was in grave danger.
The vest man looked at her, waiting for her to confirm that she was okay, but she ignored his concern and backed away, barging past the happy attendees to the exit of the festival, fear driving her legs faster than she’d ever run before.
* * *
Matilda slowed to a jog and tried Oliver’s phone again, holding her breath as it rang and cut through to voicemail.
“Shit! Oliver, answer the phone, please!”
She’d run back to her house in the hope that she’d misunderstood their arrangement, but he wasn’t there. She ran into the night, past stragglers on their way to the bonfire, completely oblivious to what the flames had shown Matilda.
The sign for Gallon Street glowed in the moonlight, and Matilda surged toward it despite the elastic band that had tightened around her chest. Ignoring the voice in her head that was hissing if he’s not there, then what?, she ran down the street, slowing in the dim light coming from the only functioning streetlamp on the road.
She looked past the overgrown gardens and broken bicycles abandoned on sidewalks and held her breath as she got closer to the end of the cul-de-sac, then saw movement in front of an open garage door. She froze, recognizing Oliver’s car with its hood open, and then, safe, oblivious to any danger, a line of concentration across his forehead, out walked Oliver from the garage and leaned over the engine.
“Oliver!”
He looked up, squinting into the darkness as Matilda ran toward him, then smiled as he wiped his sleeve across his forehead.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m so sorry. This heap wouldn’t start and I couldn’t find my phone and I’m all sweaty so was going to take a … whoa, are you okay?”
“Are you okay?” she asked, barely able to get the words out between the running and the fear that had driven her.
“Pissed off with this hunk of junk that thinks it gets to choose when it runs, but apart from that I’m fine. Just sweating like a pig,” he said, shrugging out of his hoodie. He threw it onto an old chair in the garage, then undid a couple of buttons on his shirt and flapped some air down it, his eyebrows drawing together as he locked eyes with Matilda. “Hey, what’s going on with you?”
Matilda looked up and down Oliver’s body, checking for injuries or a sign that he’d been attacked, but there was nothing but a few smudges of engine oil. She took a deep breath and launched herself at him, clamping her arms around his back. Tears pooled in her eyes and she pressed her face against his chest, warm and musky from sweat and engine oil.
“I thought you were … I thought something
had happened to you,” she said, looking up at him. “I saw you, in the smoke from the bonfire.”
“You saw me what now?” he said, kissing her on the top of her head.
Matilda shook her head and pressed her face back into his chest. “I saw your image in the smoke. A warning, a warning that…”
Matilda froze, a sense of déjà vu bubbling in her stomach like a cauldron full of shadows. She frowned at Oliver’s chest, his shirt spotted with oil stains and damp with hard work. Something peeked out of the neckline. She shuffled backward, staring at the spikes of silver scar tissue on his skin, and looked up at him.
“What’s that, Oliver?” she asked, nodding at his chest. “I thought you only had three scars?”
Oliver frowned and glanced down for a few seconds, then straightened up and looked back at her, shadows from the trees above waving their crooked fingers across his face.
Matilda blinked as he undid another button and pulled his shirt open, where a tangle of names were whittled across one side of his body, but she couldn’t focus on any letters but the ones that were carved across his chest, spelling out her name.
Matilda.
Oliver bit his lip, trying to keep down a smile that didn’t belong on his face.
“Caught me,” he said as the smile slid across his jaw and Matilda recognized what it belonged to.
A viper.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The moon and stars shuddered in the sky, and the horizon seesawed. Matilda lifted her hand to her face and swallowed.
“What … caught you? Caught you doing what, Oliver?”
Matilda could hear herself saying the words, but she didn’t know why, and her voice didn’t sound like it belonged to her. The feeling of dread in her stomach, the look on Oliver’s face, nothing of the last few moments felt like it belonged to her.
Oliver wiped his hands on a rag, then sat on the edge of the car and crossed his ankles.
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