by Helen Slavin
Anna looked at Charlie, waiting for a punchline. Charlie nodded. “It’s true. If there’s something she shouldn’t do this place won’t let her do it.”
The two sisters drank coffee in silence for several moments before Anna spoke.
“We just have to take a leap of faith, don’t we?”
And on that decision, Charlie headed into work.
With Charlie gone Anna tidied up the mugs and the breakfast things and realised that Emz had forgotten her lunch. It was still sitting in its plastic box on the countertop by the sink. She put it into the fridge. She was thinking over the story that Ailith had told them of her journey, trying to examine all the pieces of it.
They flickered through her head trying to arrange themselves and could not. Anna gasped to herself. What was going on there?
“Good morning.” Ailith’s voice cut into Anna’s thoughts and made her leap out of her skin. Ailith, Anna noticed, was polite enough to look away. Anna recovered herself and smiled.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Ailith nodded rather noncommittally.
“Thank you, yes. And you?” she asked. Ailith’s thin eyebrows, a very dark brown against the wheaten gold of her hair, were raised in genuine question.
“Yes, yes, I did, thank you.”
There was an awkward moment. Ailith’s gaze was intense, as if she was trying to work her out and for a few seconds Anna realised they were indeed in a kind of battle, each looking intently, trying to read the other. Anna broke away first.
“So, what about some breakfast?” she offered, and unable to find a smile she looked away, busied herself with the kettle. Ailith cast a searching gaze around the kitchen.
“Shall I fetch eggs? Or I can fry you up some bacon perhaps.”
Anna watched their guest’s eyes skim over the kitchen as she spoke, taking in the sink, the pans, finding her way around. Anna waited as Ailith’s eyes tracked back to her face. Anna realised she was waiting for instruction.
“Oh. No. That’s not what I meant at all. You’re the guest here, Ailith, I will cook for you.” Anna stopped herself. It was a small message, Servant. Ailith was used to being the one doing the work. With that filed away for reference Anna was breezier. “I was thinking of making pancakes,” Anna offered. “If you’d like? Take a seat?” Anna gestured to a chair. Ailith looked uncertain but after a moment, bent herself into the chair, held herself stiff and uncomfortable.
“Have you lived here long?” Ailith asked as Anna began to reach for the eggs, the bowl, the whisk.
“Not long.” Anna’s mind was in two places; trying to make small talk was struggling against trying to work out Ailith.
“Of course, no. Your grandmother. Of course.” Ailith seemed to be chastising herself mentally. There was a silence. It appeared their guest was no better at making polite conversation. As Anna moved around the kitchen fetching the flour and butter the tension from Ailith was tangible. She wanted, Anna could tell, to be busy and so, as she lit the stove, Anna nodded towards the bowl.
“Ailith, would you like to mix the…” she began. Ailith did not wait to be asked twice; leaping out of the chair she was cracking eggs before Anna finished the sentence. She was more settled with a whisk in her hand.
“You have always lived in the town?” Ailith asked once again. They moved around each other in their joint task.
“Yes. And in Havoc Wood of course, when we stayed with our grandmother.” Anna felt the rush of memory, felt safe within it. The scent from the pan was scorching a little. “Oh, butter…” she turned to reach for the pat in a small dish. Ailith reached, their hands touching briefly, setting off a flickerbook of images in Anna’s mind. Ailith pulled her hand back, startled. She stared at Anna. Anna stared back, her heart pounding with what she had seen. She looked down at her hands, recalled the edge of a memory. “What do you see Anna? I’ve asked you before… a long time ago when you were little… do you remember?”
It was like this. It was always like this. Don’t be afraid.
Anna reached her hand forwards once again with a gentle nod. After a moment or so Ailith took it. The flickerbook rattled by in seconds. Cliffs. Coastline. Castle. Kitchen. Smoke. Sword. Anna released her hand, looked at Ailith, unsmiling. It was intense, the details blurred and clashed but Anna understood something of what she had been through.
“You’re here now, in Havoc. You made it.” Anna said. In the pan, the butter burned. Anna turned swiftly to tip it into the sink and to snick another knob into the pan. As it sizzled Ailith asked her question once more.
“Your sisters, do they work in the town?” Ailith reached for cutlery from the pot on the drainer and Anna talked.
* * *
It was a good hour later when Anna realised that she had talked a great deal about herself and Ailith had told her almost nothing in return. A little black cloud began to drift over Anna’s internal horizon. Hmm. She might have made some sort of small mistake. She felt it, clearly, as she sat across the table from Ailith who was nibbling at the last of the stack of heavily syruped pancakes. She backtracked over all she’d said. Nothing too deep, nothing too serious, but still. She thought she would text Emz and Charlie later and tell them to keep a watch out for this. Anna was not certain, but she felt that she might have been manipulated into her actions as if Ailith had some knack of always turning the conversation onto the track she wanted.
Or was Anna just being paranoid? She watched Ailith, the wary way she ate. This woman had travelled a long way from dangerous times and with a precious, to her at least, package. There was nothing trivial about her.
“I have to head off to work in a while.” As she mentioned it Anna watched and was rewarded by sight of the smallest flash of fear in Ailith’s face. She was relieved rather than sympathetic.
“You are going out?”
“Yes.” Anna waited. Let the track go her way in this conversation. We are the Ways. Let Ailith tell her something this time.
“Do I have to go out?” Ailith asked. Anna thought about her grandmother and the idea of asking yourself questions and finding the answer. This seemed like an answer, but she was going to push Ailith.
“I don’t know. Do you?” she waited for the response. Ailith’s thin lips mashed together for a moment’s deep thought.
“No.”
“What about your task?” Anna asked. She was aware that last night they had not been given the details of that task. Where, for instance, was Ailith taking the head?
“Today is not the day for that.”
There was a moment between Anna and Ailith, their eyes locking. There was the thinnest glimpse of fear from Ailith, as small as the dilation of her pupils but it struck Anna. She was concluding very definitely that Ailith was not a threat or a danger, that she had come to Havoc Wood for help.
That said, as Anna left for work she licked her finger and made the pentacle sign on the door as she headed off.
* * *
She was aware of the looming personal anniversary that October was bringing. Halloween, the anniversary of the accident that had robbed her of husband and baby son. She had thought she was still safe in September, but on arriving at the Castle Inn she noted the red number on the small white square of calendar that sat on the reception desk. 1st October.
Some might think of a season of mist and mellow fruitfulness, some might dig out their favourite boots and scarves and prepare to kick through amber leaves, others might crave a little comfort food, a pudding here, a stew there. Anna Way saw time ticking down into a pit.
To avoid this, she strode on through to the kitchen and snatched at her fresh pinny and began clattering pans about as if the noise might scare away ghosts. Nothing scares ghosts. She began to prep for the lunchtime covers. They had a party of Japanese ladies coming in from the Castle, courtesy of a new local tour guide offering bespoke holidays in the Woodcastle area.
“Hey.” Lella entered the kitchen wearing her usual little black dress, this one seeming littler
than usual; it was slightly too short and rather too tight and Lella looked like a prisoner in it. She had the paper desk diary with her and her tablet, so she meant business.
“Have you got a minute after lunch to sit down and go through the Halloween stuff?” Lella asked. “Only we need to start advertising this week… so any ideas or brainwaves would be welcome…” Anna took in a deep slow breath. She could do this. This was how she could do this, with Cob Cottage and the Castle Inn combining to keep her busy. Of course.
“Yes. Round about 3:00? Lunch will be done by then and Casey can clean down…” Anna gave a beaming smile and, as her face stretched the muscles, she was reminded of Ailith and her wide grin.
“Lella…” Casey’s voice had a warning in it. Lella stood in the doorway. “Can I have a word in the bar?” Casey wiped her hands and was pushing Lella out into the bar area. Anna felt a cold little hand of dread on her shoulder. To escape it, she followed her colleagues out. They were already arguing, Casey looking heated and Lella looking hurt and harassed.
“No… I am sorry. I am… I had not ‘forgotten’… How could I forget that? Don’t be…”
“Then why come in and harp on about Halloween? Hmm?” Casey was arms folded, defensive. Lella was leaning forward, her neck pinking with frustration and embarrassment.
“Seriously… I hadn’t. I just didn’t put the two together… I had my business head on Case…”
“Your business head? Is that the one full of air freshener? You weren’t thinking…” Casey began. Lella had caught sight of Anna’s approach and was trying to silence Casey, but Casey was in full flow. “She just doesn’t need…”
“What don’t I need?” Anna’s voice was cool and calm and had the effect on Casey and Lella of a hand on their foreheads; they both took a deep breath and looked at her. “I don’t need to think about Halloween festivities because of what happened last Halloween?”
There was a silence. Lella made a sort of popping sound as her mouth opened and closed, unable to find any words. “Wrong.” Anna tried to sound reassuring. “I need to do this more than ever. I need to be super busy, the more faff and fuss there is this year the better it will be. I do not need to be sitting around thinking about the past. So, Lella, our meeting at 3:00 still stands… so let’s… roll on the pumpkins!” She gave a smile that was glassily bright, but it would do. She touched Casey’s shoulder.
“…Casey… breathe…”
Casey let out her breath with a splutter.
* * *
Later, in the quiet of the guests’ sitting room Lella talked of her plans for Halloween. They were looking over the posters and flyers for the Crimson Ball.
“The Crimson Ball is more… grown up I suppose? You know, a bit supernatural but in an elegant way.”
“Gothic?” Anna suggested. Lella lit up at the suggestion.
“Ooh, yes, oh rats, I wish you’d said that to me before I got the posters printed. Dress code red and Gothic. Vampires. Tuxedos.” Lella was daydreaming and enthusiastic and her glee reached into Anna, soothed a little.
“Sounds glamorous. It will make a change from all the orange and black trick or treat stuff,” Anna said, fixing the smile on her face. Her mind drifted and she pulled it back, stopped the dark thoughts.
They discussed possible menus with seasonal ingredients for Witch Wednesday lunches and Anna heard herself talking about cakes and pastries and chi-chi puddings that people could lick seductively off spoons at the Crimson Ball.
“Seriously Anna…” Lella was pale faced, her hand stopping swiping at her tablet. “Is this all going to be okay?”
Anna smiled the glassy smile again. It was the facial equivalent of Cinderella’s slipper and it might fall off her face at any second and smash on the floor.
“Yes. I mean it. Lots of noise and activity. Full on, full tilt, let’s go for it.”
Lella paused for a moment and Anna kept the energy level, smiled until her muscles were creaking under the strain. Lella looked down at the screen of her tablet and was swiping away once more.
“Okay. Witch Wednesdays. I had another thought? Get some broomsticks and some hats, not cheap witch hats, I’ve got a friend in Castle Hill who makes hats, she’s got some really stylish ones which we could use as a display? Draw people in. Advertise to groups. Maybe? D’you think?” Lella was full of ideas. Anna smiled, the conversation was interesting. Where before she had been unsettled by the thoughts of Halloween and the anniversary it brought, now she was perturbed by the use of the word ‘witch’.
“Okay. So. That’s all done and dusted so we can start properly stressing over Woodcastle Apple Day.” Lella shuffled some papers.
“We’ve got the pop-up then?” Anna asked. Lella was nodding.
“And some. All our info is on the website and they’ve given us a prime space…” Lella pulled up a map of the Apple Day Festival guide, her finger pointing to where in High Market Street their pop-up would be.
“Are you still on to do the hog roast? Or is that just too much to tackle?”
Anna discussed the hog roast plans and preparations with smiling enthusiasm but all she could think about was last year’s Apple Day Festival, wheeling Ethan in his buggy, the sweet of cinnamon, the sour of the cider vinegar. Anna talked about apple cake and toffee apple flavoured titbits. She could hear herself talking: calm and clear above the rolling images of her memories, and there was a relief in the fact that she could do that.
At afternoon tea, busy today with the Castle Conservation Society Autumnfest, Anna dusted with icing sugar, sprinkled with caster sugar, made things ooze and squodge with cream, but inside she felt raggedy and thin, so much so, that by the time she was heading back to Cob Cottage she expected that the next breath of wind would blow her away.
3
Trespasser
Mrs Fyfe was moving at a swift and stealthy pace behind the raggedy girl and they had been travelling together, in a manner of speaking, for some days. Mrs Fyfe was careful not to let her travelling companion become aware of her own presence.
It had been a long dry time of late and she’d been tired out. She was not yet sure what talisman or tool it was that the girl carried. The power that leaked from her was not the kind that Mrs Fyfe could just drink in. Whatever she carried with her it was old magic indeed, the oldest, the kind you had to be very careful with, the kind of power that could own you, could draw you in until there was no way out. It was tempting in the dangerous challenge it offered.
Mrs Fyfe, it must be admitted, was up for a dangerous challenge. If she hadn’t stumbled upon the girl sleeping in the hollow of the oak that night then, well, her current circumstances would be rather reduced. You could only live so long on a diet of squirrels.
At first, she had assumed the girl was a wanderer, the kind who was lost. She had tracked her for a few hours and when she was certain that the girl seemed ill at ease in the wooded country Mrs Fyfe had taken herself by a quicker route to head her off at the crossroads at Five Ways. Mrs Fyfe always managed a mugging or picked up a stray here. She had a particular hiding place in a coppiced hazel where the saplings had grown up into a curve that was a most comfortable seat if you were in need of an hour or two’s waiting. Her heart had been pounding at the prospect of this little adventure. One did not often stumble upon such powerful treasure.
Turned out the girl was no wanderer. She was ill at ease because of the burden she carried but she knew her way well enough. When it came to the crossroads she chose her route carefully and, fuelled by disappointment and desperation, Mrs Fyfe had followed and watched. The girl chose her paths with thought; they were not the main routes. These were the side ways and the shortcuts. This girl had been taught well. Damn her.
Mrs Fyfe did not give up. It was worth keeping up with this power. Just the drifts that came from it were invigorating to her. She would follow and, sooner or later, an opportunity to steal it would present itself.
Except that as the days tocked onwards Mrs Fyfe re
cognised the path and knew where the girl was heading. She took a moment, set her basket beside her on the stile just beyond the boundary and watched the raggedy girl enter Havoc Wood at Top Hundred. It would be easy to let her heart sink, to let the fear get a foothold. Mrs Fyfe was bound out of Havoc, couldn’t take one step inside it on pain of, well, one didn’t need to finish that sentence.
Mrs Fyfe sat for a few moments longer, her mind stretching itself. She’d come this far, there must be a way. The rain began to lash down, the wind nudged at her. In the distance the crenellations of Woodcastle Castle reached into the storm-tossed sky. Mrs Fyfe smiled to herself and dropped down towards Leap Woods, the mud speckling her neat black boots, the rain settling sparkling diamonds into her once black hair.
4
Marking Territory
Every time Emz ventured onto school grounds she felt something like the panic a squirrel might be prey to when it attempted to cross a road by running across the tarmac instead of leaping through a tree or two.
This was for two reasons. The whole Logan/Caitlin/Mark scenario was top of the list.
The events of Jess’ party, the mad drunk insane moments in the summer house where Emz had been tricked by Mark into being witness to Logan and Caitlin’s clumsy sex were not the most emotionally wrenching. Instead, the small moment on the stairs the other day, when Logan had put his hand on her arm as she tried to scoot by. I’m sorry. She could feel his heartfelt apology as if it had burned into her arm and it felt dangerous and raw. He might just as well have reached into her ribcage and tugged out her heart. The panic and hurt and desire bubbled upwards from the mental hole she’d dug. Emz rejigged her whole thought process and put Logan Boyle at the very top of her panic list. She panicked if she was going to see him and she panicked if she wasn’t. It was emotional DEFCON 1.