A Witch Come True

by James Nicol

  ‘Well—’ the nurse tried to interrupt, her face reddening.

  ‘Well nothing. I will have you know that I am a member of the Council of Elder Witches, young lady, and I am not used to being talked to in such a manner. Precisely what is your name?’

  Arianwyn hid her smile behind her hands. Her grandmother rarely used her position on the council in such a way and she was never rude to people unless she felt they had been rude to her, but this poor nurse was getting the full works, it would seem.

  ‘I’m Nurse Maitland . . . ma’am,’ she added quickly, and curtseyed clumsily.

  ‘Well, Nurse Maitland, we will escort Sergeant Gribble back to his room and be on our way for now.’

  ‘Very good . . . Your . . . Worship,’ Nurse Maitland squeaked and curtseyed again, before spinning on her heels and dashing off down the corridor.

  Arianwyn giggled, catching her dad’s eye.

  ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Maria!’ Sergeant Gribble grinned.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Grandmother smiled. ‘Now let’s get you to bed, shall we?’

  The bedroom was sparse, with two metal-framed beds shoved against the walls, thick grey blankets and crisp white sheets tucked into orderliness. Arianwyn didn’t think it made the beds look at all comfortable. She steered her father’s wheelchair beside one of the beds, then tugged on the blanket and sheets to turn back the covers, which took two attempts, so that her dad could slide into the bed.

  He shifted himself half out of his wheelchair, his face creasing in pain.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ Arianwyn said, reaching to support him.

  ‘No. It’s fine,’ he said, his voice surprisingly sharp as he batted her hand away, upsetting a pile of books and letters on the small bedside table. They tumbled to the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to snap, I’m just tired.’

  ‘I know,’ Arianwyn said as her father lifted his legs into the bed. Once he was settled she pulled the sheets and blankets back over him. He lay back against the pillows.

  ‘It really is cold in here,’ Arianwyn said brightly, trying to change the subject and atmosphere.

  ‘Shall I fetch that heater from the sitting room?’ Grandmother suggested.

  ‘No, why don’t we just . . . ?’ Arianwyn leant over the bed and quickly sketched Årdra, the fire glyph, against the cold stones of the wall. There was just enough magic nearby to complete the spell, to make the brick glow with warmth.

  ‘There, that might help a bit,’ Arianwyn said – but her father didn’t respond.

  Grandmother, however, smiled warmly at her. ‘I’ll go see about getting us a taxi. See you out the front, OK? Goodnight, Oliver.’

  For a moment, Arianwyn and her dad waited in total silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle: ‘I’m so pleased to be home, so pleased you are here,’ he said, reaching up to pat Arianwyn’s hand on the rough wool blanket. ‘I’ve missed you and things will be better now I’m here to look after you again,’ he added sleepily.

  Arianwyn paused for a second. Did she need looking after? She wasn’t sure. Is that what her father really thought?

  She was about to reply, but saw her father’s eyes were closed. He looked as though he was already fast asleep. Arianwyn turned to gather the fallen books and papers back up on to the bedside table. Amongst them were her letters, as well as some official army forms. She tucked these all back carefully as they had been, and then noticed a few photographs lying on the floor. She gathered these up. Most of them showed various groupings of soldiers, including her father, standing beside tents, marching or on parade. One was less formal, and showed a group of people standing beside the ruins of what might have been a small stone cottage. Six of the people were soldiers and two were military witches, bright silver stars pinned to a uniform of thick trousers and woollen pullovers in the traditional dark navy of the standard witches’ uniform but made for trenches and marching.

  In the middle of the photograph was a figure partly swathed in long flowing black robes. On the man’s bare arms and bald head were swirls of black, like strange tattoos or . . .

  Arianwyn turned over the photo. On the back, her father had written the names of all the people on the photograph and in bold at the bottom: ‘The Urisian witch’.

  Sergeant Gribble shifted suddenly in his bed, mumbling in his sleep. Arianwyn jumped and replaced the photographs alongside the books and papers. But at the last second she snatched up the photograph of the Urisian ‘witch’ and stuffed it into the pocket of her coat.

  Chapter 3

  FRIENDS & ENEMIES

  ’m just going to take these parcels round to the post office, Arianwyn. Will you be OK keeping an eye on things here?’ Mr Lomax pointed to a stack of tightly wrapped, brown packages and smiled at Arianwyn, who was sitting behind the counter, reading. Mr Lomax had helped in her grandmother’s bookshop in Kingsport for years, but these days he was practically running the place as Grandmother was so busy with her council duties that she didn’t have time for the bookshop any more.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Arianwyn said, glancing up from her book.

  ‘Not rushing off to see your father?’ Mr Lomax asked as he pulled on his jacket.

  ‘We can’t visit until this afternoon, hospital rules!’ Arianwyn sighed. ‘I’m going to meet Grandma there later.’

  ‘Jolly good, won’t be long then.’ Mr Lomax smiled and padded quietly towards the door, partly hidden behind his stack of brown paper parcels.

  Arianwyn heard the door charms sound and had just turned back to her book when a shadow fell across the pages and a sharp, crisp voice sounded in front of her: ‘I say, do you happen to have anything on the theatre?’

  Arianwyn dropped the book in surprise. ‘No, I’m sorry. We specialize in magic and—’ She glanced up at the customer, expecting to see a tourist or fancy Highbridge resident who had wandered in by mistake. But standing right there, on the other side of the counter, was her very best friend in the whole wide world. ‘Salle!’ Arianwyn leapt from the chair, the book sliding to the floor. She dashed around the desk, toppling a pile of books that were waiting to be sorted, and grabbed Salle into a tight hug.

  ‘Oh, Wyn, I’ve missed you so much!’ Salle said.

  ‘Missed you more!’ Arianwyn replied.

  The girls stepped apart at last, still holding tight to each other’s hands and enjoying their first sight of each other for over a month. Arianwyn noticed that Salle’s hair was shorter than when she had last seen her, and she was wearing a brand-new green velvet coat that glistened with beads around the collar and cuffs. She looked so confident and happy, quite unlike the tearful girl she had met on the bus to Lull, all those months before.

  ‘What a fancy coat!’ Arianwyn said, tracing the beaded pattern with her hand.

  Salle turned a pirouette. ‘They let me borrow clothes from the theatre wardrobe sometimes. I think the wardrobe mistress likes me!’ She smiled. ‘I wasn’t sure if I’d manage to see you – how long are you here for?’

  ‘I don’t know. I want to stay here until I can get Dad out of that ghastly hospital – but I can’t be away from Lull for too long either. Mayor Belcher was quite clear about that.’

  ‘How is your dad? You know I can always keep an eye on him if you go back before he gets out,’ Salle offered.

  ‘Oh, he’s OK, I think. Tired, quiet. It feels odd to see him again. But Salle, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.’

  ‘It’s no bother, honestly.’ Salle smiled. ‘I did learn a few things helping Dr Cadbury out you know.’

  ‘He said to say hello,’ Arianwyn said.

  ‘He’s so kind holding the job for me while I’m doing the play.’

  ‘How is the play going? I really want to see it whilst I’m here, if I can.’

  ‘I’ll get you some tickets,’ Salle said proudly.

  ‘That would be so exciting. Perhaps we could see if Colin wants to come as well?’

  ‘Oh .
. . actually, he’s been twice already,’ Salle said, and she blushed and looked away quickly.

  Arianwyn didn’t know why exactly, but she blushed too. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Do you think your grandmother will want to come? Where is she anyway?’ Salle peered around as though Grandmother might suddenly materialize from the bookcases.

  ‘Council meeting, of course,’ Arianwyn explained. ‘And I’m sure she’d love to come. Do you want some tea? I think we might even have some of Mr Lomax’s oatmeal cookies – and they’re the very best!’

  ‘Yes please,’ Salle said, settling in the chair and picking up Arianwyn’s discarded book.

  ‘Keep an eye on things and I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ Arianwyn said as she raced to the back of the store and the stairs to the apartment above.

  When Arianwyn emerged a few minutes later, pushing the door open with one leg and rushing through as the teapot and mugs rattled on the tray, she saw Salle standing very straight behind the counter, a book clutched to her chest. A tall, impeccably dressed woman stood opposite her. ‘Oh, here she is!’ Salle said with obvious relief as the door closed with a loud bang behind Arianwyn.

  The woman turned and Arianwyn knew at once who she was.

  ‘Mrs Alverston,’ Arianwyn said. They’d never met, but the resemblance to Gimma was clear: the blonde hair, styled just so in the very latest fashion, the hard pale eyes, the tight smile that looked a little forced.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Miss Gribble.’ Mrs Alverston moved towards Arianwyn slowly, the thick fur draped around her shoulders slipping casually down her arm.

  Arianwyn met Salle’s gaze and noticed her raised eyebrow.

  ‘It is good to meet you at long last. I have heard so much about you.’ Mrs Alverston reached out a gloved hand towards Arianwyn, who was still holding the tea tray. With a clumsy clatter she set it down on a table piled with books about spirit creatures, knowing her grandmother would go through the roof if she ever found out. Then she reached out to shake Mrs Alverston’s hand, realizing too late that her own was covered with ink smudges and biscuit crumbs.

  Mrs Alverston smiled a small quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Yes, well,’ she said, without taking Arianwyn’s hand, and then moved past her and turned slowly, taking in the bookcases and tables. ‘What an odd little store. I was informed that it belongs to your grandmother?’ She sniffed.

  ‘Yes – that’s right.’ Arianwyn smiled. ‘Was there a book you wanted – for Gimma, perhaps? How is she?’

  When Mrs Alverston turned back to face Arianwyn, her face was creased with worry. Her eyes darkened. ‘Well, I was rather hoping that you might have seen her, or that she might well be here . . .’

  ‘Gimma? Here?’ Salle asked incredulously. Arianwyn had to agree: it did seem highly unlikely. Despite everything the two young witches had been through, she and Gimma had never exactly been the best of friends.

  ‘You see, there was something of a disagreement yesterday,’ Mrs Alverston said slowly, peering into the nooks and crannies of the bookshop. ‘I thought perhaps she would come here.’ She fiddled with the clasp of her handbag.

  Arianwyn shook her head, bemused. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Alverston. I’ve not seen Gimma since she left Lull.’

  ‘Oh, Lull. That ghastly little place. If she’d never gone there, well, perhaps none of this would ever have occurred.’

  A stab of fear jolted Arianwyn. ‘Mrs Alverston, was Gimma wearing any charms when she left?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Mrs Alverston asked.

  ‘Her charms for the . . . um . . .’ Arianwyn didn’t quite know how to politely mention the charms she had fashioned for Gimma to keep her hex infestation under control and dormant.

  But thankfully Mrs Alverston seemed to catch on. ‘Oh yes, yes – I’m sure she was.’

  That was something, at least.

  ‘Could she be staying with friends perhaps?’ Arianwyn offered, thinking back to the gaggle of girls that permanently trailed after Gimma when they had been at school together.

  Mrs Alverston looked as though she might be considering this for a second but then said, ‘Well, naturally I have called on them already.’

  Of course, Arianwyn thought. This was the last resort bookshop!

  ‘Is there anywhere else she might have gone?’ Salle asked, coming to stand beside Mrs Alverston. ‘How about the Civil Witchcraft Authority offices?’

  Mrs Alverston turned and looked at Salle as though she was surprised to find her there. ‘I suppose I hadn’t really considered that . . .’

  ‘I could ask my grandmother when she gets back, as she might have seen Gimma perhaps, or heard something,’ Arianwyn said reassuringly.

  ‘Or we could ask Miss Newam?’ Salle suggested, thinking of the head of the Magical Research Department they knew from the C.W.A.

  ‘Hmm.’ Arianwyn didn’t relish the thought of seeing Miss Newam, even if there was a sort of truce between the two of them. During her time in Lull, Miss Newam had inadvertently discovered that someone – possibly someone from the Council of Elders – had deliberately spread hex in the Great Wood. Since then, she and Arianwyn had set aside their differences and worked together, but Arianwyn really did not like her, try as she might.

  ‘Or Colin?’ Salle added eagerly.

  ‘Would you mind? That would be so very helpful.’ Mrs Alverston turned back to Arianwyn, her eyes wide with hope.

  ‘Of course,’ Arianwyn said.

  ‘If you do hear anything, you’ll let me know immediately, of course?’ Mrs Alverston took a small ivory card from her handbag and handed it to Arianwyn. The address for the Alverstons’ Highbridge home was printed on the other side in crisp black letters. ‘I’d be ever so grateful.’ She pulled the fur stole tighter around her shoulders and then turned and headed towards the door and out of the bookshop.

  ‘Crikey!’ Salle sighed. ‘You can see who Gimma takes after, can’t you?’

  ‘I think she was just worried, that’s all,’ Arianwyn said.

  ‘No excuse to be so rude, though. You should have heard her before you came back, bossing me about as if I was a servant just like . . . well, just like Gimma.’

  ‘I’d better get a message to my grandmother,’ Arianwyn said, searching through the piles of books for the shop telephone.

  ‘Won’t it wait till she gets back?’ Salle asked.

  ‘The hex, Salle!’ Arianwyn said.

  ‘But Mrs Alverston said Gimma had the charms on when she saw her last. So she should be fine, right?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean the charms are still working. They don’t last for ever, Salle, and the hex is so strong.’ Arianwyn turned to face her friend. ‘Look, I know you and Gimma have never seen eye to eye but she could be in serious trouble. And if she doesn’t replace her charms so could other people.’

  Salle chewed her lip and blushed a little. ‘Sorry, Wyn, is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Go and use the phone upstairs and see if you can get through to Colin or Miss Newam. I’ll try Grandmother on the shop phone.’

  Salle dashed off to the apartment upstairs as Arianwyn dialled the number for the C.W.A.

  Chapter 4

  A NIGHT AT THE THEATRE

  rianwyn leapt from the taxi on to the pavement outside the Ethel Claymore Theatre. The bright lights made it feel like midday but the city around the theatre was dark, lost to the night. Grandmother followed her from the taxi and smiled. ‘Well, this is very thrilling indeed, coming to see young Salle in her first play!’

  Excitement and pride bubbled up inside Arianwyn. She’d been worrying about Gimma since Mrs Alverston’s visit the day before and this was just the distraction she needed. ‘She said to go to the stage door and ask for her there,’ Arianwyn said, hurrying down the narrow alleyway beside the theatre. It was far less glamorous than she had imagined. She had pictured crowds of fans clamouring for autographs, but perhaps that happened after the performance? For now the alleyway was littered wit
h crates. Stagehands hurried this way and that or stood chatting in small groups.

  ‘I’m so pleased I can come and see the play before I head back to Lull,’ Arianwyn added, as they approached a very ordinary-looking door at the end of the alley, sidestepping sack barrows piled high with discarded bits of scenery.

  ‘Do you really have to go back so soon? You’ve only just arrived!’

  Arianwyn would’ve liked to spend more time in the city too, but the mayor had been insistent. ‘It’s the rain, its causing some flooding on the water meadows and the mayor thinks the qered should be moved elsewhere.’ She knew she needed to help the huge, horse-like spirit creatures; it was her job, after all.

  She pushed the door open and they passed through and into a long corridor that was decorated in rather dingy brown paint. Another door at the end of the corridor was labelled ‘Dressing Room’.

  A long list of names was pinned to it.

  ‘Oh, look!’ Arianwyn smiled, spotting Salle’s name. She knocked.

  Immediately a chorus of voices shouted: ‘COME IN!’

  Pushing open the door Arianwyn was hit with a riot of sound and colour and light. Bright lights surrounded huge mirrors that seemed to fill one whole wall of the room. The other was hidden under layers of costumes in all manner of colours and styles and shapes. People dashed across the small room, some pulling on costumes, others straightening hats and wigs, and yet more applying make-up to someone beside them whilst also doing their own. It looked like utter chaos.

  ‘Wyn!’

  Arianwyn heard Salle before she saw her. But then the crowd parted for just a moment and there was Salle, and somebody else Arianwyn wasn’t expecting.

  ‘Colin?’ Arianwyn hurried forwards, but just a metre or so from her friends she tripped over a discarded velvet cape and stumbled. The floor loomed up at her and at the very last moment hands reached out and grabbed her, carefully pulling her upright just as both Salle and Grandma cried out in dismay.