by Adele Abbott
“What’s funny?” she smiled.
“Oh nothing much. It’s just that I’m having a conversation with a ghost who used to be a witch. How screwed up is that?”
“Things would be better if you’d agree to move to Candlefield. It would be much easier to protect you there.”
“I’m not moving. My family—.” I hesitated. “My real family are right here. So is my business.”
Perhaps it was my imagination, but she seemed to flinch at the words ‘real family’. Good! I was glad. I wanted her to experience some of the pain I’d felt.
“I understand, and that’s why it’s even more important that you are aware of the dangers you’re going to face.”
I was parched. My tongue felt like sandpaper. “I need a cup of tea.” I hesitated. “Can ghosts drink?” It was now official. I’d taken the leap into full blown crazy. Not only was I having a conversation with a ghost (who don’t let’s forget, used to be a witch), but I’d just asked her if she’d like a cup of tea.
“I’d love one.”
“Really?” Not the response I’d expected. “You can drink?”
“And eat too. I wouldn’t say no to a custard cream. I was pleased to see you keep your biscuits in separate containers.”
“You too?” Maybe she was my mother after all.
“Of course. Your aunt Lucy always insists on mixing them up in that huge biscuit tin of hers. I’m sure she only does it because she knows I won’t eat them once they’ve been mixed together. That means there’s more for her.”
“Just like Kathy.”
“Your sister. Such a nice woman.”
“You know her?”
“Of course. Like I said, I’ve watched you grow up. I couldn’t have wished for a nicer family for you.”
I put the tea and biscuits on the coffee table, and then settled back onto the sofa.
“I like what you’ve done with this place.” She took a bite of biscuit. “I love the sixties theme.”
“Thanks. Me too. How come I never saw you when I was growing up?”
“The ‘invisible’ spell, which I used when I was alive, made it impossible for you to know I was there. It’s different now that I’m a ghost. I suspect you’ve already sensed my presence over the last few days.”
I had, but at the time, I’d had no idea what it was. “So what happens now?” I sipped my tea. “Do you plan to haunt me?”
“Haunt? Such a nasty word. It sounds kind of threatening. I hope you don’t find me threatening?”
Curiously, I didn’t. After I’d got over the initial shock, I’d begun to relax. Why wouldn’t I? After all, having tea and biscuits with an ex-witch, now-ghost was the most natural thing in the world.
“What would happen if Kathy walked in now? Would she be able to see you?”
“No. You’re the only one who can see me. Ghosts have to 'attach' themselves to a living person in order for that person to see and hear them.”
“So she’d think I was talking to myself?”
“Pretty much. But then she probably already thinks you’re a little crazy after yesterday, doesn’t she?”
I nodded. “I guess so. Why did the signpost and turn off to Candlefield disappear?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“Because Kathy was with me in the car?”
“That’s right. Only sups can go to Candlefield. Humans will never find their way there because effectively it doesn’t exist in the human world. Even you needed a little help the first time you went—that’s why Lucy provided you with a map.”
“I still managed to get lost . I was late for—”
“My funeral?” She smiled. “The one you were late for?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It gave me a good laugh.”
“You were there? At your own funeral?”
“Of course. The cakes afterwards were delicious.”
“Can Aunt Lucy and the others see you too?”
“A ghost can only ‘attach’ itself to one living person at a time. If I need Lucy to see me, I’ll have to break my attachment with you temporarily.”
“I like Aunt Lucy, but I’m afraid I’ve been rather rude to her.”
“Don’t give it a second thought. Lucy understands what you’re going through. We had a quick chat yesterday after you met her in the coffee shop.”
I talked to my ex-witch, now-ghost mother for ages. Most of the conversation revolved around my childhood. She’d been there for every significant event. I had to fight back the tears as I realised how much she really did care for me. All those years when I had thought I'd been abandoned, she’d been right there by my side. She remembered my first day at school, the day I slipped and broke my leg, and even my first kiss.
“I never did like Tommy Jacobs,” she said.
“Neither did I.” I laughed at the memory of me and Tommy kissing behind the bike sheds when I was fourteen. I’d wanted to know what it would be like to kiss a boy, and he’d been a willing volunteer.
“Your taste in men hasn’t improved much since then.”
“That’s not true.” It so was.
“It’s time you found yourself a nice young man and settled down.”
Something suddenly occurred to me. “If what you say is true, and I am a witch. Can I still marry a—”
“Human? Of course you can, but you won’t be able to tell him you’re a witch.”
“Wouldn’t he know?”
“It’s every sup’s responsibility to ensure that humans never find out we exist. It is the single most important thing you must do. If a human was to find out, their life would be in danger.”
“So I can’t tell Kathy?”
“You mustn’t tell any human. That’s why it would be much easier if you moved to Candlefield.”
“I can't do that. Do other sups live outside of Candlefield?”
“Of course.”
“So, there are witches, vampires, werewolves and other sups living among us here in Washbridge?”
“Yes. The number of sups who live outside of Candlefield is relatively low, but they can be found everywhere in the human world. Now that you have inherited your powers, you’ll find that identifying them is much easier.”
“How will I recognise them?”
“It’s difficult to explain. You just will. Not all sups allow themselves to be revealed though. Some choose to obscure their true identity. You must be on your guard at all times.”
“From what exactly?”
She went on to explain precisely why she’d given me up for adoption. The most evil sup of all was known as The Dark One. No one knew who he was or even what type of sup he was: werewolf, vampire, wizard or something else. His true identity was a mystery. He was extremely powerful, and had a small army of supporters who were known simply as Followers.
“Does this Dark One live in Candlefield?”
“No one knows for sure.”
“If no one knows who or what he is, how do you even know he exists?”
“He exists.”
“Why does he want to kill me?”
“You come from a long line of witches. A line more powerful than any other. The Dark One wants to claim that power for himself. If he were ever able to do so, he’d become unstoppable.”
“Did he kill you?”
“Someone or something managed to breach my defences and mortally wound me. He couldn’t have done it alone, but I believe he may have orchestrated it. That’s why I had to make contact with you, so I could pass on the power before he could claim it for himself.”
I remembered the energy I’d felt at my mother’s bedside at the moment she’d passed away. Was that her power passing to me? I was silent for a while as I allowed it all to sink in.
“Can I really do all the magic spells in this book?” I sat forward on the sofa and began to page through the book of spells.
“With practice, yes. Would you like to try a few now?”
Chapter 12
“No.” My mother shook her ghostly head. “They will only work for a witch. If your sister or any other human tried to cast the spell by picturing the images, nothing would happen. The images are just a key that unlocks and focuses your magic.”
“Where should I begin?” I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of spells.
“I’d suggest you start with something easy. How about the ‘take it back’ spell.”
“Aunt Lucy did that one in the coffee shop yesterday—on a piece of cake. I thought it was some kind of sleight of hand.”
“You’ll find it on page thirty seven.”
I paged through until I found it. The description said the spell would take an object back in time. It warned that it would work only on objects, not on living creatures, and would take the object back ten minutes in time.
“So I couldn’t send a person back in time?” I said.
“No. It won’t work on any living being. Why don’t you try it on the plate?”
The plate in front of me was now empty except for a sprinkling of crumbs. We’d made short work of the custard creams.
“Okay. Why not?” I was beginning to feel excited about the whole ‘witch’ thing.
Thankfully, the list of mental images required was quite short because I felt a little self-conscious with my mother watching. When I’d completed the final instruction, I stared at the plate, but nothing had happened. There was no sign of the biscuits.
“I must have done it wrong.” I began again. This time, I really concentrated on the sequence of images. The plate was still empty. “I’m useless.” I sighed.
My mother laughed.
“Are you sure I’m your daughter? Maybe there was a mix up at the adoption agency?”
“I’m sure.” She took another biscuit out of the Tupperware box and put it on the plate. “Eat that,” she said.
I didn’t need telling twice to eat a custard cream. I could eat them from morning until night.
“Right,” she said, after I'd polished off the biscuit. “Try the spell again.”
By now I’d lost all confidence, but went through the motions anyway. As soon as I’d finished the last instruction, the biscuit reappeared on the plate.
“I don’t get it,” I said, as I picked it up—just to check it was real.
“Read the description of the spell again.”
I did—taking my time over every word. “Ten minutes!” I said, louder than I’d intended.
“Precisely. The spell will only take the object back ten minutes in time. You ate the other biscuits much longer ago, so taking the object back ten minutes had no effect.”
“I’m an idiot. Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to illustrate the importance of reading the description of every spell carefully. There’s no point in being able to perform a spell if you’re expecting it to do something it wasn’t designed to do.”
I picked up the book of spells. “This thing weighs a ton! Can I get a digital version or an audio book?”
“You young people.” My mother laughed. “It’s only available in hard copy, I’m afraid. And, it’s the first of many you will have to master. This is just level one.”
“Level one? How many levels are there?”
“You don’t need to worry about that right now. Just focus on mastering every spell in this book.”
I flicked through the pages again. “All of them?”
She nodded. “I suggest you learn a few each day.”
The thought of having to learn every spell was daunting, and yet I was excited. “Can I try another?”
“Of course. Try as many as you like. The book belongs to you now.”
I flicked through the pages again. “What about this one?”
“Why not?”
The spell was called ‘lightning bolt’. I made sure to read the description really carefully this time.
“Are you sure it’s safe to try this one in the flat?”
“Provided you select your target carefully.”
I knew just the thing. My last boyfriend had been a total loser—one in a long line of losers. When I’d finally had enough and told him it was over, he’d sent me a large stuffed cow with a note on it that had read ‘A cow for a cow’. Charmer eh? I’d put it in my wardrobe and more or less forgotten about it, but now was the perfect time to bring it out again.
“You’d better put it on the hob,” my mother advised. “The splash guard will prevent you from damaging the paintwork.”
Once the cow was on the hob, I went back into the living room to get the book. To my surprise my mother had disappeared, but when I stepped back into the kitchen, she was seated on one of the stools.
“Okay. Here goes nothing.” I took a deep breath.
Once again I worked my way through the sequence of images. This was far more complicated than the ‘invisible’ spell. The final instruction read ‘point the middle finger of your right hand at the target’.
The blast almost knocked me off my feet. A lightning bolt shot out of the tip of my finger and struck the cow in the centre of its belly. What had once been a stuffed cow was now a smouldering heap of cloth and stuffing.
“Wow! That was fantastic.” I studied my fingertip, half expecting to see a burn mark, but there wasn’t even the slightest blemish.
“You must use all of the spells with great care.”
“I will.” Even as I made the promise, I had an image of Jack Maxwell on the wrong end of my lightning bolt.
My mother stood up from the stool. “It’s time I was leaving. This ghost stuff is all still new to me. I find that making myself visible for any length of time can be exhausting.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be around. Just be on your guard and make sure you keep an eye open for anything suspicious.”
Before I could reply, she’d disappeared.
Holy moly. I was a witch. An actual witch. I desperately wanted to tell someone, but I couldn’t. Normally, Kathy would have been the first person to have heard my news, but I wasn’t allowed to tell her because she was a mere human. Pah! Humans—ten-a-penny. It’s all about the witches! It was probably just as well that I couldn’t tell her. What kind of reaction would I have got? She’d have probably put in a call to the men in white coats.
It would have been nice to spend more time practising spells, but it was already mid-morning. Mrs V would be wondering where I was. I’d left my phone in the bedroom, and sure enough when I checked, there were three missed calls—all from Mrs V.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Jill? Are you okay? I was beginning to worry when you didn’t answer your phone.”
“Yeah. I’m okay now. I had a bit of an iffy tummy overnight, so I slept in. My phone was in my coat pocket, so I didn’t hear your calls.” I hated lying to Mrs V, but what else was I supposed to do? She’d have disapproved of the hangover, and I could hardly tell her that I’d been practising spells with the help of my mother’s ghost. “Anything I need to know about?”
“That stupid cat has got himself caught up in the blinds again.”
Not again. Winky loved to sit on the window sill, but would occasionally get carried away and launch himself at a bird that was flying past the window. That usually only resulted in a sore head when he crashed into the glass, but occasionally he’d get tangled in the blinds.
“Did you get him out?”
“No.”
“Is he still stuck there?”
“Just a minute.” I heard her place the phone onto the desk. Next, I heard her open the door into my office, and then slam it closed again. “No. Looks like he got himself out.”
“Is he okay?”
There was silence on the other end, and I realised Mrs V was probably shruggi
ng.
“Okay. Well I’m on my way. Anything else I should know?”
“You had a call from Mr Peterson. He wanted to know if you had any news for him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t know. I asked him if he had any idea how to free a cat from a blind.”
I cringed. “What did he say?”
“He said he didn’t, but that he’d like you to contact him with an update.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
I was going nowhere fast with this investigation, but then in my defence it wasn’t every day that you discovered you were a witch, and had a visit from your mother’s ghost. Not that I could tell Danny Peterson that.
Spells are addictive. After I’d showered and dressed, I started for the door, but my gaze was drawn to the book. Maybe I had time for one more before I left for work. Something quick and simple. I flicked through the pages looking for those with the least number of images to be memorised. Eventually, about two-thirds of the way through the book, I found one with only five images. It was one of the shortest I’d seen. Titled ‘faster’, it allowed you to move at what it described as 'breakneck speed' in short bursts. Hmm, interesting—that could come in handy. I read it through a few times until I was confident I had it memorised. After sliding the book under the sofa, I made my way out into the corridor. I did a quick check to make sure no one was around, and then I cast the spell. Nothing happened. Had I visualised the images out of sequence? There wasn’t time to go back and check, so I began to walk down the corridor. The next thing I knew I was standing next to my car. Wow! I hadn’t made a mistake with the spell. It just hadn’t taken effect until I had started to walk. This was wild.
“Afternoon,” Mrs V greeted me. I took the sarcasm on the chin—I deserved it.
“Sorry about this morning. Iffy tummy.”
“Alcohol can do that.”
The woman knew me too well. No point in arguing—I never was a good liar.
“What do you think?” She held up her latest project. A red and white striped scarf.
“Very nice.” It was hard to get excited about yet another scarf.
“Don’t forget to call Mr Peterson.”
