A Witch in Love

by Ruth Warburton

‘And I’m not letting you carry it back to Winter without checking it out. Besides, don’t you want to know what’s been hiding under your step all these years? Don’t you want to see?’

  I did. I did want to see. I lifted the bag on to the table and fished inside.

  In spite of her encouragement Emmaline fell back at the reek of magic. So did I. The small packet throbbed with a bizarre numbing sensation that I’d never encountered before. I could hardly bring myself to bend closer, but I forced myself to pick at the knot of red string, and then peeled back the crusted oilskin, my eyes watering all the time.

  ‘For goodness’ sake.’ Emmaline was leaning as far back in her chair as she could go, her face averted from the parcel. ‘Get it over with. Just look and then get it back in the bag.’

  Through my watery eyes I could see scraps of something – some kind of parchment. There seemed to be two pieces, and as I unfolded the first I saw writing on it – small spidery letters draggling across the page. But the characters swam in front of my eyes and I couldn’t make out the words – in fact, they barely looked like letters at all.

  ‘I can’t read it, can you?’ I pushed the paper towards Em and she recoiled hastily.

  ‘Anna, please! Get that thing out of my face! No, I can’t read it either. It looks like …’ Mastering her disgust she peered closer, her eyes watering just as mine had with the effort of getting so near. ‘It looks like Greek, or maybe Russian?’ Then revulsion took over and she pushed it away. ‘Put it back in the bag; I’m sorry I asked you to look. This is beyond me – I don’t know what it is at all. Just … just wrap it up. We’ll take it home; maybe Mum will know what to do.’

  I folded it up, wrapped it as securely as I could, and then tied it in the thickest plastic bag and shoved it to the bottom of my shopping bag. Emmaline shuddered and wiped her hands involuntarily on her denim miniskirt where she’d touched it. Then we downed our coffees, paid our bill and left, glad to be back in the fresh air at last.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘What in heaven’s name is that foul magic?’ Maya was at the door as we climbed the steps to the flat, weary in body and soul from the ceaseless stench of the packet battering at us all the way home.

  ‘You may well ask,’ Emmaline said dourly. ‘A little souvenir from Anna’s old house.’

  I opened the carrier to show Maya the packet and she reeled back.

  ‘Good grief, what possessed you to bring it here? What if it’s dangerous?’

  ‘We dug it up out of Anna’s front step,’ Em said. ‘We could hardly dump it on the street.’

  ‘No, but … oh, Lord.’ Maya put her hand to her head as if warding off a headache. ‘Why on earth did you dig it up? No – don’t answer that. I can see that you needed to know … but what are we going to do?’

  ‘We hoped you’d have an idea.’ Emmaline’s face crumpled and she looked suddenly frightened. ‘It’s written magic but in a foreign script – Russian, I think. We couldn’t read it.’

  ‘OK, OK, let’s think. Simon maybe? It’s his sort of thing – he might be able to read it, or failing that maybe he’ll know how to safely dispose of it.’

  ‘Fantastic idea,’ Emmaline said gratefully. ‘I’ll ring him now.’

  She went to the phone in the corner of the flat. While she dialled, Maya rolled up the carrier and put it on the windowsill outside the flat, closing the window and the curtains too. It did little to hide the reek but shutting out the sight was somehow comforting.

  With the curtains drawn the place was suddenly dim and I watched Maya as she moved about lighting lamps and candles until the ramshackle cavern was filled with the gleam of light on copper pans, the glint of crystal and prism. Maya was holding a match to the last lamp when the screech of a boiling kettle split the air and we both jumped.

  ‘I think we all need a hot drink,’ Maya said. She poured water into the little earthen pot and the comforting smell of spices rose up. ‘Here, drink this.’

  She handed me a mug and we sat down at the corner of the long table, listening to Emmaline’s side of the conversation with Simon.

  ‘So, aside from your little archaeological dig, how was your day?’ Maya said as I drained the cup with a grateful sigh, feeling the spices do all kinds of good things for my weary muscles and strained nerves. I had my suspicions about Maya’s tea, for all her edicts about not misusing magic.

  ‘Good,’ I answered slowly. ‘Good shopping. It took my mind off last night, anyway.’

  ‘Last night?’ Maya asked. I told her about the night before, the men in the alley – staring deliberately into the depths of the mug, so that I wouldn’t have to face her horrified expression.

  ‘Oh, darling …’ Maya put a hand on my shoulder as I finished. I felt magic flow out of her, tendrils of reassurance and calm burrowing into my skin and bone, a flow of power designed to soothe and gentle.

  But I shrugged ungratefully and she took it away, a flicker of sadness crossing her face, though I could see she was trying not to be offended. For her, spelling out her love was no different to giving someone a hug to comfort them, and I sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maya. I didn’t mean … I don’t mean …’

  ‘I know.’ She put an arm around me. ‘Is that better?’

  I nodded and felt tears well up as her strong, slim arm hugged my shoulders.

  ‘Emmaline thinks I’m incontinent,’ I said, with an attempt at a laugh. Maya smiled back, cheering me in my attempt to be cheerful, but there was concern underneath.

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. But she’s right, in that power will find a way. If you don’t master it, it will master you. And that’s a bad situation to find yourself in.’

  ‘It won’t master me,’ I said fiercely. Maya looked at me, her face serious in the candlelight.

  ‘Are you sure? Anna, in your head you may still be nine-tenths outwith, but your heart knows what you are. You’re—’

  She stopped as there was a pounding at the street door and Emmaline jumped up from the window seat, her nails in her mouth.

  ‘Is that … ?’ Maya looked startled. ‘That was quick.’

  Emmaline gave a nod.

  ‘Yes. I caught him on his way home.’

  The sound of feet on the stairs, and then Simon’s long, serious face with its black beard and Roman nose peered round the door, wearing an uncharacteristically excited expression.

  ‘Good evening, ladies. Well, no need to ask where that parcel is.’ He nodded at the window. ‘From the reek coming from over there, I assume it’s behind the curtains?’

  ‘Outside the window actually.’ Maya rose to open the sash and retrieved the carrier, holding it by the tips of her fingers.

  ‘We’re hoping you’ll take it away and magically deodorize it or something,’ Emmaline said.

  ‘Well, I can’t promise that but I’ll do my best.’ He began to unravel the carrier.

  ‘Hi, Simon, how are you? How nice to see you. How’s my sister? Yes, fine, thanks and you?’ Emmaline said sarcastically.

  ‘Sorry,’ Simon said mildly. ‘I realize I’m skipping the small talk here, but as you know, I rather like written charms so this is quite interesting. In fact the power is—’ He stopped and choked as the bag fell away and the full force of the magic flowed into the room, ‘Qu-quite beyond anything I’ve experienced. Good Lord, what is it?’

  He was picking at the red threads I had loosely retied. As the parcel fell apart he peered at the scraps of parchment. It was a measure of his enthusiasm that he managed to examine them so closely.

  ‘What’s the writing?’ Emmaline asked from the other side of the room.

  ‘Russian. I know the characters but I’m not very proficient in the language. It’s something like: Let the witch of the living … No, hang on, the witch dwelling here … What’s that word – harmed? No, wait. Let me read that again.’

  He sat hunched over the page for what seemed like an age, occasionally tapping words into his phone and
presumably getting online translations or something. At last he raised his head. His face was pink above his black beard and his eyes sparkled.

  ‘Well, the first piece reads something like: Let the witch who dwells herein be crippled in magic; let her be as those without magic for as long as she call this place home. And the second piece is harder to translate but I’d stab at something like: Let those who dwell herein be as twigs within a forest, as feathers in a mattress, as rain upon the sea. For bone and stone and stick, for plate and water and inner eye, let this be so.’

  There was a moment’s silence and then Emmaline said wonderingly, ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘The first bit is pretty clear, I’d say. You did say you found it under Anna’s old house?’ We both nodded. ‘Well, it solves one riddle at any rate, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It doesn’t solve anything!’ Emmaline exclaimed. ‘Who put it there? Why? When? Did they want to harm Anna? I can’t see that it solves anything!’

  ‘It solves the riddle of why Anna’s powers manifested so strangely,’ Maya said slowly. ‘Isn’t that what you mean, Simon?’

  He nodded, looking at me. ‘Yes, as long as you thought of home as London, this little charm was crippling your magic. When you moved to Winter and gradually stopped thinking of London as home, your powers recovered. The more at home you feel in Winter, the greater your powers become.’

  ‘Of course …’ I said slowly. ‘And that was why I couldn’t use my magic to break the step, back in London. For a moment I felt like I was home. I even said it – do you remember, Emmaline?’

  Emmaline struck her hand on her forehead, ‘Of course – I’m such a doofus. And that must be why you didn’t notice it at first, or while you lived there. I couldn’t work out how anyone could live within a hundred yards of that charm and not feel like a dying duck but, without magic, you wouldn’t feel its effects.’

  ‘Yes, it’s quite a clever catch twenty-two,’ Simon said. ‘Without magic you can’t detect it – and without detecting it you can’t recover your magic. Even if you leave temporarily, as long as you think of the place as home it will work its magic. It’s only the chance fact of your moving away for good, Anna, that saved you.’

  Saved me? I would have laughed, if I hadn’t felt so bitter. Had I really been saved from a life without magic? It wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. But Simon obviously saw it quite differently – to him I’d been rescued by chance from … what? Obscurity? Normality?

  Emmaline’s voice broke into my thoughts. ‘And what about the other one?’

  For a moment I wasn’t sure what she was speaking about, but then I remembered: the other parchment.

  ‘Ah,’ Simon said. ‘Well, I’m guessing it’s some kind of confusion charm, perhaps designed to give some protection from people scrying for your location. But I don’t know what’s been lost in translation. I’d need to get someone else to look at it. There may have been subtler implications in the original Russian.’

  That last word recalled me to something that had been puzzling me from the first.

  ‘Of course – they were written in Russian. Why would that be?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Simon was frowning now. ‘But to me that seems one of the more worrying and puzzling aspects of the whole business.’

  ‘Worrying?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m more concerned about the strength of the charm,’ Maya said. Her eyes met Simon’s and the anxiety in their faces made them a strange mirror, in spite of their dissimilarity.

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said. ‘That is a poser, I must admit. This is power the likes of which I’ve rarely seen. I don’t personally know of anyone who could perform a charm like this, even in teamwork. The kind of talent required to pull off something on this scale is extremely rare. But it’s rumoured that there are certain … techniques.’ I wondered at the uneasiness in his voice. ‘Methods of increasing the power of individuals.’

  He exchanged another look with Maya that made the back of my neck prickle with cold, and I didn’t ask, but Maya must have seen my expression for she came and sat beside me on the sofa and put her arm comfortingly around my shoulders.

  ‘Try not to worry too much, Anna. We don’t know what’s behind it, but whoever did it, they’ve been content to leave you alone for nearly eighteen years. Let’s hope that continues.’

  ‘And it’s quite possible,’ Simon put in, ‘that it was directed at a previous inhabitant of the house – maybe your dad just stumbled on to it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said dubiously.

  ‘You don’t sound convinced?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Not really – it’s just that I’m pretty sure Dad bought the house while he was still with my mum, who was a witch, as far as I know. So it seems quite unlikely that she could have moved in and not noticed.’

  ‘But you don’t know for sure, do you?’ Emmaline asked. I shook my head.

  ‘No, I don’t really know anything. Dad’s never told me a thing about her.’

  ‘Well …’ Simon spread his hands. ‘I don’t think there’s any point in fretting about this. If you all agree I’ll take the parchments back to the university, see if there’s anything else we can discover, try to contain the power somehow. Is that OK?’

  ‘OK?’ Emmaline raised one eyebrow. ‘Simon, it’s the main reason we invited you. Go, and take that thing with you.’

  ‘Anna, is that all right?’

  ‘Me?’ I looked up, startled. ‘What are you asking me for?’

  ‘Well, it’s yours, if it’s anyone’s, I guess.’

  ‘Take it,’ I shuddered. ‘Do what you like. I never want to see it again.’

  We waved him off down the stairs. The feeling of relief as the parcel disappeared down the road was like the passing of a thunderstorm. Emmaline wriggled her shoulders like someone shrugging off a heavy rucksack.

  ‘Thank goodness for that; it’s gone! Out of sight, out of mind.’

  Out of sight maybe, I silently corrected, but not out of mind. In fact I thought of little else, as I cycled the long, dark miles back to Wicker House.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Luckily I had plenty to keep my mind off the packet over the next couple of days, what with wrapping presents, cutting holly and ivy for the house, putting up the tree and helping Dad with preparations for Christmas lunch. Four of Dad’s friends from London were coming down, so we were making a special effort.

  I always felt, not jealous exactly, but a little wistful when friends had great tribes of relatives descending on them for huge family celebrations. Dad was an only child, like me, and his parents were both dead. As for my mother’s side of the family, I didn’t even know their surname, let alone if they were alive. Dad had never let a single piece of information about his dead wife pass his lips since the day she disappeared.

  In between jobs I thought about asking Dad about the buried parchment, but I couldn’t seem to start the conversation. It wasn’t just his resolute silence about my mother – it was the practicalities of phrasing the question without sounding like I was off my trolley. I didn’t think, ‘Dad, did you ever see a witch digging under our front step?’ would do the trick. Besides, any witch who could perform that charm could certainly deflect outwith eyes while they concealed the packet – it was highly unlikely Dad would have noticed anything, even if he was sitting in the front room at the time. Still, for a couple of days I toyed with the idea of asking – until our Christmas guests turned up, which put the conversation well and truly out of bounds.

  James and his wife Lorna, and Rick and his partner Ben, arrived on Christmas Eve bearing a mountain of presents and two enormous boxes of food and drink – as if we didn’t have enough already.

  I was doing my homework in my room when I heard their cars draw up and by the time I came downstairs Ben was already unpacking a bulging Harrods bag on to the kitchen table.

  ‘Dates, figs, chocolate-dipped orange peel, bag of walnuts – hope you’ve got nutcrackers, Tom – kumquats, cranberry pre
serve, Christmas tea – nasty stuff I think but Rick loves it – marmalade, er, what else have we got? Oh yes, here’s the Fortnum’s bag – that needs to go in the fridge, it’s got the foie gras and the smoked salmon in it. Rick’s bringing up the rear with the champagne.’

  ‘Ben, you’ve got enough to feed an army,’ Lorna protested.

  ‘An army of gluttons,’ Dad agreed.

  ‘Well, glutton number one’s here,’ I said from the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Anna, darling!’ Ben kissed me exuberantly on each cheek. He was one of my favourite honorary uncles – Dad had known Ben and Rick since university and my childhood birthdays had been peppered with their wildly over-extravagant and fabulously unsuitable presents. My favourite had been a Dior handbag I’d received for my sixth birthday.

  ‘Hello, Anna!’ Lorna gave me an affectionate peck. ‘How’re you? How’s the new school?’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Not so new any more, really. I feel quite at home.’

  ‘Enjoying the civilizing influence of the male sex are you? Ho ho!’ James guffawed. This was his idea of humour as my previous school in London had been an all-girls private school, while Winter High was a co-ed state school.

  Dad smirked from the corner. ‘Anna’s got a boyfriend.’

  ‘Dad!’ I groaned.

  ‘What? I was merely stating a fact.’

  ‘I hope you’ve horse-whipped the presumptuous young fellow?’ Ben wanted to know. ‘Or are you leaving the kinky stuff to Anna?’

  Dad chose to ignore the second part of his remark and merely said, ‘Seth is a very nice young man, and I thoroughly approve. Perhaps he’ll be over this Christmas and you can meet him. Anna, will we be seeing Seth?’

  ‘Mmph,’ I muttered crossly. Dad’s enthusiasm for Seth bordered on the unseemly, in my opinion. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d come home to find Dad and Seth side by side on the sofa watching the cricket highlights and earnestly discussing England’s hopes in the Ashes, or companionably tinkering with some piece of misbehaving plumbing. Wicker House was a work in progress – far from the wreck it had been when we moved in, but not nearly complete – and Dad was not above co-opting Seth as occasional chippy and plumber’s mate. It was all deeply creepy. Surely fathers were supposed to hate their daughters’ boyfriends? And Seth was equally to blame. It was all ‘Tom said this’ and ‘Tom reckons that’.