The Accidental Witch

by Gemma Perfect

  I climb out of bed and look at myself in the mirror. I groan. I look as rough as I feel, but with Sheelagh’s words echoing in my mind I shower, wash my hair, brush my teeth, get dressed – not in black, and join my family for breakfast.

  I make porridge for me and Isaac, and boil the kettle for my parent’s coffee.

  “Last night was good, yeah?”

  Isaac, bless him, looks gobsmacked that I’ve bothered talking to him and I laugh. “Sorry, Isey – I know I’ve been impossible since Molly died. I’m going to try to be better.”

  “You’re still the best sister I’ve got.”

  “Only sister.”

  “Exactly.” He looks chuffed as he eats his porridge, drowned in honey, and I ruffle his hair.

  My mum and dad look as surprised to see me as Isaac did. I think it helps that I’m clean and fresh too. I feel embarrassed as I smile at my mum. Molly would have been so angry if she’d been around to see what a slob I’ve turned in to. No wonder everyone looks the other way when I walk through the common room.

  I’m determined to do better today. To act like a normal human instead of whatever it is I’ve been.

  “You look lovely, lovely.”

  “Thanks mum. I’m going to walk in today – I’m not running late. I’ll do Miss Ledder’s makeup when I get home if that’s okay. I’m only in for a half day today.”

  “Great. Thanks lovely.”

  My dad opens his mouth and I know he’s going to protest – ask me to do it now – but my mother glares at him, and ushers me out of the door.

  I can hear her telling him off, but I don’t wait to hear what she says.

  I’m feeling good for the first time in a long time – and looking better than I have for nearly a year. I walk along, singing quietly to myself, humming when other people go past, so I don’t look too weird.

  I get to college right on time and strut into my lesson with the kind of confident nonchalance I see other people achieve. Stephen grins at me – and I’m not sure if that means I’ve achieved it, or I look like a dick. I sit by him, feeling bad about my judgement on his manure smell. Looking at the pile of clothes on my bedroom floor this morning, the dirty clothes, that I wear every day, I realise that I haven’t exactly been a catch to sit by.

  I can actually feel my toes curl as I think about how gross I’ve been. Brushing your teeth just on Sundays is fine, right? Same underwear on for two days in a row is okay, yeah? Deodorant – what’s that? Just for vain, frivolous girls. I want to cry; my attitude has been awful. I can almost hear Molly: “Sort yourself out, girl. You’re beyond gross now.”

  I’m ready to change and I’m hoping people will let me.

  How unforgiving can sixteen and seventeen year olds be, right?

  I let my head drop to the desk. I am beyond saving. Teenagers are evil and horrible and nasty, and you should never let them see your weaknesses – they are like dogs, they can smell fear. I know this – I am a teenager. What have I done?

  Stephen is looking at me like he’s actually scared of me, he even scrapes his chair over a bit, physically moving further away from me.

  I can’t help but laugh and then he looks really scared. “Sorry, I’m just feeling a bit odd.”

  He nods, refusing to answer me and I realise how low I have come. We all have those kids we make fun of – those kids that everyone makes fun of, well Stephen, bless him, was one of those kids. All through school and now college – it was almost a sport to make fun of him. Never to his face, of course, only ever behind his back. As though that made us better than him.

  And now he is looking down on me – and it’s exactly what I need. Even without my almost yearlong meltdown, who do I think I am to judge and be unkind to anyone else.

  I feel ashamed, and then luckily the lesson begins, and I get to tune out from my own mortification and enjoy some historical wars and shit.

  I wait for everyone to leave – as always – and then head out. I’m going to be brave today. I’m going back to my own self, one step at a time. Instead of rushing through the common room and then waiting in an empty classroom for my next lesson to begin, I am going to get something from the vending machine, and sit amongst my peers.

  I may well sit alone, but I can handle that. Hopefully the people who did used to like me – even if it was just for Molly’s sake – will see me trying and give me a break. It’s not what I would have done, Molly and I would have had the best time making fun of me. I’ve been an absolute loser.

  But it stops. Now.

  I hold my head as high as I’m able – which isn’t very. Now I’m in here, I feel disgustingly claustrophobic. It’s a huge room, with tables and chairs all the way down both sides, and an archway through to even more seats.

  Everyone is loud, laughing, joking, messing around. I used to be one of these kids – sitting in a group, safety in numbers, and now I’m alone. Like a target. I can feel all their eyes on me as I head to the vending machine.

  I can feel – or I think I can – the silence growing as people look at me, whisper about me, nudge each other about me.

  Are they impressed at least that I’m clean, or taking the mick – like I would have?

  Ooh, karma – I’ve heard of you but never experienced you until now. I don’t love it.

  I have to buy something now – or I’ll look even more stupid than I feel – but I won’t try to find a seat. I will retreat. Retreat. Retreat. Before they attack.

  I choose a chocolate bar and press the button. I press it again, but nothing happens. I press it again. Forcefully.

  I hear a laugh. Are they laughing at me? I’m not even going to look. I do not need it confirmed.

  I knee the machine, trying to get my chocolate to budge – but it refuses to move. I can feel tears swimming in my eyes, and I can’t see. This is horrific.

  I can hear more laughter, the noise rising again, and I’m about to leave, when I feel someone standing beside me.

  It’s Thomas – one of Molly’s old boyfriends. He smiles at me, kindly and I am crying even more. “Let me help you.”

  I wipe my eyes. “Thank you so much. Stupid machine.” I hear myself laugh – a ridiculous noise that doesn’t even sound like me.

  He knocks the button with the heel of his palm, at the same time as kneeing the machine, and I hear the chocolate clatter down. Thomas bends down to grab it.

  Relief floods through me and my legs go a little wobbly. I’m so chuffed that I washed my hair this morning and put makeup on. I smile up at Thomas, my saviour, and he grins, turns to face the room, and then slips my chocolate into his pocket.

  The roar of laughter is immediate and immense, and I figure out what’s happened a second too late. He only helped me to take the mick out of me and steal my chocolate. I’m the butt of a common room wide joke and I feel sick. I am crying, blushing to my toes, and wishing I could disappear.

  As I rush out of the room, I am still crying, mortified and swearing under my breath that I won’t ever come back to this stupid college and these stupid teenagers.

  3

  FLETCHER WATCHES THE joke go down, waits for Thomas to re-join his group, and then clips him round the head. “Dick. What did you do that for?”

  “Come on. That was so funny.”

  “Lighten up Fletcher.”

  “Wish you’d thought of it?”

  Fletcher shakes his head and holds out his hand. He doesn’t need magic to get Thomas to hand over the bar. He is well regarded enough among his peers, that he knows Thomas will give it to him – but he would have used magic, if he’d had to. Thomas is whingeing, and the group is protesting, but he gives the chocolate to Fletcher.

  “Cover for me. Tell Mr James I’ve been sick.”

  “Shut up – you’re not going after her?”

  “She’s such a loser.”

  Fletcher ignores them and leaves the common room. She is a bit of a loser from what he can remember of her – he thinks her best friend died last year – bu
t as always, his father is his compass. His father would have helped her.

  By the time he gets outside he’s lost her, but he knows where she lives; her father buried his father. He’ll give her time to get home, then he’ll take it to her.

  He takes his time walking to the funeral home. He usually does everything at one speed – fast, but he doesn’t want to beat her home, it would only worry her parents.

  He calls in the little village shop and buys a bottle of water and then sits to check his phone for ten minutes. He can’t wait forever so he goes up to the front door and rings the bell.

  Her father answers, his face a mask of dignified sympathy as always, but he smiles when he recognises Fletcher. “How are you, young man? Tell me you don’t need my services today?”

  Fletcher quickly shakes his head. “No, thankfully. I’ve come to see your daughter.”

  “Ellis?”

  Fletcher is so glad her father mentions her name; he couldn’t remember it. He nods.

  “Come in.”

  He sits Fletcher in a beautifully furnished room and goes to get Ellis. Fletcher looks around while he waits. It’s strange being back in here, the last time had been the saddest day of his life. His father’s funeral.

  “Hi?” Ellis is standing awkwardly by her father, the fact that she’s been crying clear to Fletcher, but maybe not to her dad.

  “Right, I’ll leave you to it.” He rushes off and Ellis stays where she is, standing in the doorway, wringing her hands together, a blush colouring her tear stained face.

  He feels so sorry for her. She looks mortified and strangely vulnerable.

  “What do you want?” Her voice is harsh, accusing, defensive, and Fletcher feels flustered. He reaches for his bag, opens the zip and spills the contents all over the floor, including her chocolate.

  He drops to his knees, trying to gather everything together and back into his bag. She humphs but joins him; she is aware of how many grieving families pass through the doors each day, and she won’t let them come into this mess.

  She spots the chocolate bar, touches it, then pulls her fingers back as though she’s been burnt or stung. She pauses, looks up at him. “Why did you bring it back to me? I don’t want it.” Tears fill her eyes again and he reaches out, touches her arm. “No don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She shakes her head, refusing to look up, then wipes her eyes. She feels as though something heavy is pressing on her neck; she cannot look up; she cannot bear to see the pity on his face again. “Um, thanks.” Her voice is a squeak. “You can go now.”

  “Ellis.” He places his hand, so gently, under her chin, that she has to lift her head. Their faces are so close, he can see the ring of green around her brown eyes, see them fill with tears. He wipes a tear away with his thumb. “Thomas is a douche. Ignore him. Nobody thinks he’s funny.”

  “They do. I heard them laugh.”

  He shrugs. “For a minute. They’ll have forgotten about it by Monday.”

  She shakes her head and he removes his hand. “I’m never going back.”

  “Don’t say that. He’s not worth it.”

  “I’m so embarrassed.” She’s crying again, and Fletcher feels so sorry for her. He scoots closer to her, on his knees, and hugs her. He allows his magic to envelop her, to make her feel better, to make her forget how excruciatingly embarrassing her day had turned out to be. He pulls back, wipes her tears away and smiles. “Feel better?”

  She nods. She’s not sure how but she does feel better. “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing. Eat this and forget about college till Monday.” He presses the chocolate into her hand.

  She shakes her head again, but he interrupts her. “Look for me Monday morning. I’ll walk in with you.”

  She looks unsure but he takes her hand. “Don’t leave me waiting.”

  Eventually she answers. “I won’t?”

  “Promise!” He grins and lets himself out of the door, pleased with himself for cheering the poor girl up.

  Half way home, he’s shaking his head. Why did he offer to meet her on Monday morning? There was something so sad and delicate about her in that moment, it was like he wasn’t thinking straight. She’d looked so forlorn, then he’d remembered that her best friend was dead, which made him remember how his father was dead, and all of a sudden he was being even nicer than normal.

  The twins would go wild if they knew what he’d done today; they would never let him forget it. But he knows he’s done the right thing. It’s only one morning. He’ll survive.

  And by then he’ll be invested as the most important person in the supernatural community. He’s dreading the ceremony, the fuss and drama. But witches love it; there’s nothing he can do. He’ll wear whatever cloak his mother prefers, and he’ll get through it. And then he’ll be in charge. He knows his mother will look after him, but it’s a huge burden for a seventeen year old to bear.

  What if he isn’t very good at it? What if people don’t like having such a young leader? All the insecurities come to the fore and he runs the rest of the way home. Running always helps him shake off a bad mood, a worried mood, or a why-did-you-offer-to-rescue-Ellis mood.

  As soon as he walks inside, he can tell that the twins already know about his rescue mission, and he knows they are going to roast him for it. He’s laughing as he puts his hands up to ward off an attack. “Easy. I was just being nice.”

  “You’re always being nice.”

  “Don’t you get bored?”

  “Isn’t it too nice to be nice?”

  “Don’t you ever just want to be mean?”

  “Don’t you ever want to be the bad guy?”

  He lets them rant – half of their fun isn’t in his reply, but in having a go in the first place. He doesn’t feel so nice now, he wouldn’t mind slapping their supercilious little faces.

  “What’s her name anyway?”

  “Ellis. I felt really sorry for her. She’s sweet.”

  Talia makes a sick face and Thea groans. “Sweet?”

  “You know that’s an insult to a girl, right?”

  “Yeah. Girls don’t want to be sweet.”

  “They want to be sexy.”

  “Or sassy.”

  “Or sporty.”

  “Clever.”

  “Funny.”

  “Pretty.”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Anything other than sweet.”

  “Thanks girls, I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “You should.”

  “So, looking forward to tomorrow?”

  “Or technically tonight?”

  They switch so quickly he gets dizzy sometimes, and he grins at them. They are family, and as much as they annoy him, he loves them.

  Tonight.

  As the clock strikes midnight – cliché, but the witches love it – hundreds of thousands of members of the magical community will gather in the forest to watch him be invested with the power, knowledge, magic and wisdom of all the species.

  It’s going to be hard for him not to throw up.

  “Do we know if the Richards have arrived yet?” Thea says. “Do we know if Caleb is coming?”

  “I assume so – we really hit it off last time.”

  “Only because he thought I was you.”

  Talia laughs and the two girls scurry off to worry about boys.

  Fletcher can remember Caleb, a nice witch from Scotland. After tonight, he’ll be in charge of him. And everyone else.

  It will be so strange.

  “Hiya lovely. College okay today?”

  Fletcher nods. His mum asks him every day and every day it’s the same answer.

  “I heard what you did.”

  He rolls his eyes – his mother hears everything, knows everything, sees everything. Even when she’s nowhere around. It makes teenage rebellion a non-starter. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good guy?

  “You know it was the right thing?”

  “I always do
the right thing, mam. I just don’t think anybody appreciates it.”

  “Oh, they will when you’re in charge. Don’t you think they’ll want fair treatment and kindness then – when it’s their neck in the noose?”

  He shrugs. He supposes so, but he can’t help but feel like a bit of a wuss.

  She ruffles his hair. “Don’t worry lovely. It’ll all come right. After tonight.”

  Ellis

  EVEN THOUGH HE’S GONE, I answer him. “Promise.”

  I touch my hand, where his skin touched mine and my stomach flips. I know Fletcher, everyone does. He’s one of those – popular, sporty, clever, universally adored, which makes me not like him very much. I always scoffed when Molly would harp on about him, and how handsome and nice he was, but now I think I want his babies.

  I shake my head, ridiculous. He only brought me a bar of chocolate for crying out loud. That I paid for. It doesn’t take much to impress me, does it?

  I stomp through to the mortuary and sit on the stool close to Miss Leddon’s dead head. She’s looking lovely. I’m really good at doing makeup now – sometimes they don’t even look dead when I’ve finished with them. It makes me proud, and it makes their families happy, which is everything we stand for here. And it helps me forget Fletcher. Stupid, kind Fletcher. And stupid, horrible, cringe-making Thomas.

  Once I’m done, I line three coffins with the correct coloured silks, and tick my work off the board. I phone a family to collect ashes when they are ready, and I switch on the engraving machine.

  I have seven nameplates to make up and it shouldn’t take me too long.

  I picture his face so close to mine. He’s got the bluest eyes, the thickest eyelashes, quite unruly eyebrows. His floppy brownish blondish hair is a delight.

  A delight. Really?

  I shake my head at my own ridiculousness and start engraving.

  As soon as I’ve made one, I drill it straight onto the correct coffin lid.

  It doesn’t take me long and I’m on to the last one.

  My father pokes his head around. “How are you doing?”