Storm Witch

by Alys West

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked.

  “Erm, I’m expecting a friend that’s all.” Engrained manners made her open the door wider and gesture for him to come in. “But he’s not coming until half past.”

  “I won’t keep you. I’ve got half an hour before my next appointment and I thought I’d pop by to see if you’ve made your mind up about the flat.” His upper lip curled as he glanced around the tiny hall with its woodchip wallpaper and florid carpet and she knew her decision would seem incomprehensible to him.

  “Have you got time for a beer?” she asked as she led the way through to the sitting room.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Sticking her head in the fridge to avoid seeing his reaction to the sagging sofa and threadbare armchair she pulled out two bottles and popped the tops from them. Walking over to hand one to Andrew, she said, “How’s the plans for the party coming along?”

  Then she froze. The grimoire was placed in the centre of the coffee table ready for Winston to look at. Would Andrew know what it was? He’d never taken any interest in Mum’s magic so it might simply look like a dusty old book to him. Should she try to cover it up? Or would that only draw attention to it?

  She forced a smile. “Sorry about the mess. I’d not finished tidying.” As naturally as she could manage, she picked up the grimoire, plonked it on the floor by the armchair and dropped The Orcadian on top. After sinking into the chair, she tipped the bottle high and drank deeply.

  Andrew continued talking about the party and fortunately all she had to do was nod and look interested as he went on about the guest list, the catering and the difficulty of getting a large enough barbeque. Her breathing steadied as the conversation moved on to her cousins. Then leaning forward, Andrew said, “Have you made a decision about the flat?”

  The apparent concern on his face made her blink and the carefully prepared lies felt heavy on her tongue. “It’s a really great offer and I’m very grateful but I can’t leave work mid-season. It wouldn’t be fair. They trusted me enough to give me the duty manager’s job even after I’d had all that time away from the heritage industry.”

  “I know you’re good at your job, Jenna but you’re not irreplaceable. They’ll find someone else.”

  “I still have to give a month’s notice.”

  “What if I made a call? See if they could let you go sooner?”

  “No, that wouldn’t be right.” Jenna spoke with more vehemence than she’d intended. He probably did know someone who knew her boss, who could make a phone call and make it happen if she wanted. But she didn’t and she really didn’t want him interfering. “I mean, I can’t ask you to do that. I need a good reference from this job if I’m ever going to find another job in heritage.”

  “So the job’s not the only thing?” He leant back, one hand behind his head. “I thought not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something else stopping you leaving. Is it this man you’re seeing? The druid you mentioned?”

  “Winston? God, no! He’s just a friend.”

  “Then what? And don’t tell me there’s nothing, Jenna. I’ve known you since you were a baby. I can tell when you’re lying.”

  Could he? Because she’d lied to him pretty consistently for the past six years and he’d not seemed to notice. Deciding partial honesty was the best option she said, “I’m worried about Dad. I know he’s much better than he was but he still has bad days and I guess I’m scared that if I leave he’ll fall apart again and then I’d have to come back.” Not meeting his gaze, Jenna picked at the label on her bottle of beer. “And I couldn’t bear to have to give it all up again. It was hard enough the first time.”

  “Have you discussed it with Graeme?”

  “No, I didn’t want to upset him.”

  “Have you considered having counselling?” He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “You’ve been through such a lot since Nina died and if you think it’d help to have someone to talk to then I could make some calls and get a recommendation for you?”

  “No, really.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t need counselling. I’m—”

  “If it’s the cost then I could help out with that. I know it’s a pricey business but we could work something out to make it more manageable for you.”

  “That’s good of you but I don’t think it’d help.” She forced herself to meet his gaze and lifted her chin. “There’s too many things about Mum’s life and her death that I couldn’t tell a counsellor.”

  For a second, she thought she’d done enough to get him to shut up then he shook his wrist, jangling the expensive watch, and leaned forward again. “Who do you talk to, Jenna? There’s got to be someone. It’s not healthy to keep it all inside. I’ve not told you this but I saw someone a year or two ago. He helped me to see that I couldn’t blame myself for the fact that Nina and I had fallen out before her death and I had to let that guilt go.”

  She had never in a million years seen that coming. Andrew seeing a counsellor? It was as unlikely as the Queen going for therapy.

  “I’m glad you found it helpful,” she murmured. What else could she say?

  “I did and I really think you would too. I worry about you, Jenna. You’ve put your life on hold for too long. If you won’t take the flat, then at least let me help you with this.”

  Blinking, she glanced away. Why the sudden concern? Because he’d not shown any sign of worrying about her for the past six and a half years.

  “That’s kind of you but—”

  “Why don’t you think about it for a day or two? I can keep the flat open—” He broke off as the doorbell rang.

  Shit! That had to be Winston. She glanced at Andrew, expecting he’d stand and head for the door. He smiled blandly at her and leaned back against the sofa cushions as if he’d got all the time in the world.

  “That’ll be my friend. I’ll just…” Jenna said as she stood.

  “Don’t mind me.” Andrew picked up his beer bottle. “This is good. Must pick some of these up for the party.”

  There was nothing for it but to turn her back on him and walk down the hall. As she reached the door, the bell rang again. She swung the door open.

  ***

  Her mobile rang at two minutes past seven. Snatching up the phone, Rachel took a long steadying breath before answering it. “Hello?”

  “Is that Rachel?” The voice was deep, almost gravelly.

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “I’m Sarah Parry.” A throaty chuckle came down the line. “But I guess you knew that.”

  Swallowing hard, Rachel managed a single word. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now as I said, we need to talk about what’s been going on with you but before that I’ve a few questions.”

  “Alright.”

  “Rachel, this might sound like a silly question but are you sitting down?”

  Looking down at her feet she muttered, “Erm, no.”

  “Then find yourself a comfy seat. We’ve got a lot to talk about and this could take a while.” Sarah’s voice had a pronounced accent which rose and fell in a way that made Rachel think of Cilla Black.

  “Okay,” Rachel murmured as she walked through to the sitting room and perched on the edge of her sofa. “I’m sitting down now.”

  “Good. Now, tell me about yourself. What is it you do?”

  “I work in the bar on the Northlink ferry.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “It’s alright.”

  “Which ferry?”

  “To Orkney.”

  “Is that where you live?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re lucky. It’s a beautiful place. Do you live in Kirkwall?”

  The questions kept coming. Sarah was a good listener and it wasn’t long before Rachel was saying more, revealing more. Kicking her slippers off, she curled her feet under her.

  “We need to talk about your magic, Rachel. How long have you known you could work with
water and air?”

  “I’m not sure.” As the conversation reached the point she’d been dreading, her hand tensed around the phone. “It started to happen gradually when I was a teenager.”

  “What did?”

  “Things that I didn’t understand. I wanted to be outside all the time and I was only really happy when I was on the water. I kept bunking off school, because I couldn’t bear to be cooped up inside, and taking Dad’s boat out on my own. It was only a peedie sailing yoal and then…”

  “Go on, Rachel. I’m still here.”

  The only person she’d ever told was Nina. It had been hard to find the words then. It was even harder now. “Well, one day I was really upset about something that had happened at school and this huge storm blew up. The boat capsized. I couldn’t get it back up and I was clinging to it for what felt like hours. The lifeboat was called out. An ambulance came to take me to hospital. Dad…” She couldn’t explain how he’d reacted. The grim fear on his face when he’d seen her at the Balfour, followed by the mute anger which had made him lock the yoal away and walk her to the school gate every day.

  “He must have been worried.”

  “I was in so much trouble. I wasn’t allowed to sail without him anymore. I landed in detention for a fortnight and it rained every day.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I met Kenny.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He’s my ex. We met when I was sixteen. I was crazy about him. He was four years older, worked on his dad’s farm over on South Ronaldsay. I spent all my spare time with him and the strange stuff stopped happening for a while. When I left school I worked at The Commercial and that was better because I could be outside all day and work in the evenings. But even then, things sometimes felt wrong.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I needed the sea too much. That if I wasn’t close to it, I couldn’t manage. Kenny took me to Glasgow for the weekend and it should have been great but I couldn’t enjoy it. By the end of the first day I had a godawful headache. I thought I was homesick and scared of the city. I’d never been anywhere that big and busy before. But when I told Nina about it...”

  “Nina? Nina Stewart?”

  “Yes. Did you know her?”

  “We met a couple of times.” There was a pause. The line crackled and Rachel was aware of the distance to Sarah’s cottage in Cumbria. “How well did you know her?”

  “She was teaching me before she died.”

  “Teaching you spellwork?” Sarah’s surprise was obvious.

  “Yes, but only for a couple of months.”

  “Did you tell anyone about this?”

  Even though Sarah couldn’t see it, Rachel shook her head. Who would she have told? “No.”

  “And what did Nina teach you?” There was an odd emphasis on the name. It almost sounded as if Sarah hadn’t liked Nina very much.

  “We mainly worked on the basics, like I’ve been doing with you, and then before she died we were developing my ability to control the other elements. She said I needed greater balance if I was going to be a successful spellworker.”

  “Balance. Yes, Nina would say that.” For a moment is seemed like Sarah was talking to herself and then she said quickly, “Who have you worked with since she died?”

  “No one. I stopped doing magic after Nina died. I couldn’t…I couldn’t face it.” There was no way to explain how Nina’s death had changed everything. How she’d known too much but been unable to tell anyone.

  “I see,” Sarah said slowly.

  Rachel stiffened again. Had she seen through the half-truth? Before Sarah could ask anything else, Rachel added quickly, “And then Dad got sick and Kenny and I split up and it all started to happen again. I didn’t know what to do. The doctor gave me diazepam for the stress and they helped for a bit but I didn’t want to take them forever and I knew I had to find a better way to control it. That’s why I joined the Crystal Goddess website.”

  “And did it help?”

  “A bit.” Rachel hesitated, her fingers absently picking at a loose thread on the chair arm. Should she tell Sarah about Maeshowe and what had gone wrong? “I wanted to be able to do proper spells and I got fed up that it was so hard for me.”

  “Tell me about the spell that you couldn’t stop. The one you were asking advice about on the Crystal Goddess site.”

  Rachel tugged harder on the thread. “It was to do with Kenny. He was getting married.”

  “That must have hurt.”

  “He was marrying my ex-best friend.”

  “Ouch!”

  Sarah’s reply was so unexpected that Rachel almost smiled. “He was seeing both of us for a while. It was after Dad got ill. I was spending all my time at the hospital and at some point, I’ve never known exactly when, he and Amy got together.”

  “You poor kid! Where was your mum when all of this was going on?”

  “She left when I was eleven. She lives in Australia now. She’s married, got two step-kids.”

  “Jeez, Rachel, you’ve been through some shit! How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “It’s time the universe cut you a break, kid.” The accent was getting stronger the more Sarah talked. “So you lost it at the wedding, did you? I don’t blame you. I’d have done the same.”

  “But I hurt folk! I didn’t mean to but the wind broke off a bit of stone from the Cathedral and it fell through the stained-glass window. Amy’s dad ended up in hospital for over a week. They had to take him to Aberdeen for treatment. And other folk had really bad cuts.”

  “You didn’t mean that to happen, did you?”

  “No! All I wanted was for Amy’s day not to be perfect. She’d been planning her wedding since we were peedie girls. Knew exactly what her dress would be like, how many bridesmaids she’d have, everything. I couldn’t bear her to have that too.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Had she said too much? With her free hand Rachel tugged again on the loose thread and braced herself for rejection.

  “You know, everything happens for a reason—” Sarah’s throaty voice drawled the words out “—and I think you and I are going to get on just fine, kid.”

  ***

  There were two high spots of colour on Jenna’s cheeks. She was still wearing her Historic Scotland uniform. Or at least the top half of it. The jeans, which moulded to her hips and legs in a very attractive fashion, weren’t likely to be regulation issue.

  “See?” He brandished his iPhone at her. “I’m two minutes early. What do you say to that, Miss Henderson?”

  She gestured for him to come in. He stepped through the door and reached into his rucksack to pull out the four pack of Peroni he’d picked up at Tesco’s. They didn’t stock Latitude so he’d bought his favourite lager instead. “Beer as requested.”

  “That’s great, thanks,” she said slightly too loudly. Then she leaned in, her chest pressing against his arm and whispered, “Uncle Andrew’s here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Came about the flat.”

  Automatically his arm came round her, pulling her to him. “What did you say?”

  “No, of course. Only now he’s trying to convince me to have counselling.”

  “The arrogant git—”

  “Shush!” Her breath was warm against his cheek.

  He let her step back a pace but kept his arm around her waist to propel her forward. They couldn’t spend any more time whispering in the hall or her uncle would definitely suspect something.

  “So what are you cooking?” His voice, like hers before, was too loud, pitched for the man in the sitting room. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

  He let her go as she stepped into the living area and dropped his rucksack, containing the grimoire she’d left him with last night, inside the kitchen area.

  “Beef and ginger stir fry. I was doing the prep when Uncle Andrew arrived.”

  He was taller than Winston had expected
. Six two or three. The top of his bald head reflected light from the window. He wore a grey suit which appeared too small as it looked like it would barely close over his significant paunch. His tie was loosened, the shirt collar unbuttoned. In his hand, he held a bottle of Latitude which he switched to his left hand as he approached.

  “Andrew Stewart. Always nice to meet a friend of Jenna’s.”

  “Winston Grant.” He took the proffered hand, aware as they touched that he’d taken an instant dislike to the man. As Andrew smiled genially at him, Winston found himself wishing he was the kind of person who used his title in introductions. But he wasn’t and he’d always secretly despised those who did. Jenna was pretty much the only person who ever called him Dr Grant.

  “What brings you to Orkney?” Andrew returned to his seat on the sofa.

  “I’m working on the Ness of Brodgar dig.” Winston took the chair which was a mistake because then Jenna’s only option was to sit next to her uncle on the sofa.

  “Oh! I know Jim, the dig director. Great guy.” He glanced at Jenna. “Do you know him? He’s coming to the party. I’ll introduce you.”

  “Thanks—”

  “You don’t mind if Jenna brings a plus one to the party, do you?” Winston interrupted.

  Andrew’s gaze swung to meet his. “Not at all. I was just asking about you. She tells me you’re a druid.”

  Fuck, how had that come out? He resisted the temptation to shoot her a glance that said, ‘I’m going to kill you later’ and gestured as deprecatingly as he could manage. “Strictly off duty while I’m here. Do you know much about the dig at the Ness? I guess you do, seeing as you know Jim but what we’ve found re-writes the books on the Neolithic period…” As Winston talked about the dig, lecturing in far more detail than Andrew could possibly want to know about the structures they’d uncovered and the artefacts they’d found, he watched him. This man was dangerous. He could feel it. And he’d do whatever it took to make sure Andrew underestimated him.

  Andrew glanced at his expensive watch. “I’ve got to be going.” He drained the last of his beer and stood. “I’m meeting my accountant at The Viking Hotel at eight.”