Slow Poison

by Helen Slavin

  “We’re marking our territory,” Emz said with a smile.

  “What did Grandma Hettie call it?” Charlie was energised with the memory.

  “Beating the bounds.” Anna said with a sad smile and, as they walked back down to Cob Cottage, their path was marked by the memory of Grandma Hettie’s weatherbeaten black boots, their chunky soles surefooted through the rough and tumble of Havoc Wood.

  At the porch Charlie hesitated.

  “You all desperate for some hot chocolate then?” she quizzed, zipping her fleece high enough to catch her chin. Emz shrugged.

  “Why?” Anna asked, dreading Charlie’s answer, some instinct that was shouting danger, a warning sign somewhere? She looked around.

  “It isn’t that late. Half nine? There’s a band on at the Highwayman, Karma and her boyfriend and his brother doing their stuff. Fiddle. Drum. Singing. Sort of.” She was doing a little shoulder shuffly shimmy and waving her hands to try to sell it, her face animated and wide-eyed.

  “Like the jazz hands,” Emz laughed.

  “Seriously. They’re good. They can actually play.” Charlie settled down. “First round’s on me?”

  “You never have any cash,” Anna grinned. Charlie pulled a tenner out of her pocket.

  “Abracadabra,” she joked.

  * * *

  The pub was crowded but in a ‘hail fellow well met and have a pint on me’ mood. It appeared that after its recent trauma Woodcastle was attempting to get over itself and The Banshees were doing their best to assist.

  “Shit, I’d forgotten their name,” Charlie said to Emz as they struggled back from the bar with the drinks. “I was hoping this would distract her from—”

  “Halloween.” Emz prompted. She nodded to where their sister waited, clapping in time to the music and singing along. “I think you’ve succeeded.”

  “For a few hours anyway.” Charlie conceded.

  * * *

  “You dreamt what?” Emz and Anna were a couple of pints of cider in and their faces were softened and warmed, their smiles easy.

  “She was wearing that bird skull crown hat thing.” Charlie made a whirling bird gesture around her head, gave a little burp into her hand. “You remember. Quite fancy one for myself. Now I’m a witch.”

  “No wait…” Anna was bright with laughter. “No, that wasn’t the bit I found mad. I can handle you dreaming about Roz and about her wearing the bird skull crown. I get that. Queen of the Craft Club… Fine. Done.” Anna was struggling to speak through her amusement. “What I can’t… I don’t get… Wha…” she dissolved into giggles.

  “It’s the toffee apple.” Emz said, attempting to be serious and then bursting into laughter, shaking her head at Anna. “What the hell is she doing with a toffee apple?”

  “Was it organic?”

  They spoke together in a high shriek that made the couple next to them turn around.

  “She was sort of looming over me with it. Waving it a bit. Like this.” Charlie waved her hand in mimicry of her dream and her sisters dissolved into yet more laughter. Emz was slapping at the table, Anna was making a whooping sound, her eyes streaming, leaning into Emz. Charlie watched them for a few moments.

  “I’ll get some more drinks,” she said. As she pushed her way through to the bar she was secretly pleased. She had not seen Anna laugh so hard in a very long time.

  At the bar she waited, and, as she did so, the music started up again. A rollicking drum beat that seemed to send a sharp sting up her arms as if she’d touched an electric fence. She stood back from the bar. What the hell? She touched the bar rail: the electricity was not coming from it. It was pricking into her from the air. Around her the bar was thronging and beneath it all, a thin hum. There must be a feedback issue with the amp. Ow. Charlie took the drinks and headed back. As the three sisters sat, triangulated around the table, the electrified inkling had a power surge and Charlie could tell instantly that her sisters felt it too.

  “What the hell?” Charlie was shouting above the music. Anna and Emz were looking over her shoulder. Charlie turned.

  Roz Woodhill had come through the door with her husband, Matt. The Way sisters watched as she made her way to the bar on a broken looking ankle. As she turned her gaze upon them her tinny eyes were obvious. Anna stood up at once, all smiles.

  “Roz?” She stepped out from behind their table, touching Charlie on the shoulder as she did so. “Roz, how are you?”

  Roz looked threatened, Anna casting a beaming smile at Matt as she reached to hug Roz.

  “Roz. It is so good to see you.” She wrapped her arms fully around Roz. The power surged, pushing her away but Anna held tight and let the flickerbook images rush her. The real Roz in the kitchen at Villiers House and the letterbox clattering. Invite me inside. More, “I pin you I pin you I pin you”, all the bones that had been broken down centuries, the power, the darkness, and finally a white bite taken from a blood red apple. The surge of it was almost too much; just as Anna felt her own darkness begin to cloud in, billowing and smothering velvet black, she let go. At once the electrified zap lowered to a cracking tick. There was a faint diesel glimmer of blue and purple to the tin glaze of Roz’s eyes before they settled back to their grey dullness.

  Anna was afraid, a thin, sharp fear. She did not cut it off, let it seep towards Roz and observed the glimmer in those tinny eyes.

  “Hey Anna… can we get you a drink? Join you perhaps?” Matt looked tired and desperate and it was all Anna could do not to react.

  “Oh, no, that’s okay… we’re just…” Anna fumbled for an excuse and Matt nodded as Charlie and Emz bustled up behind.

  “Hey Roz.” Charlie glanced casually at Roz Woodhill. “Anna, time we were off…” She tapped at her watchless wrist.

  “Oh yes, yes.” Anna faked. Emz faked a smile and a small wave at Roz. Anna made a calling gesture with her hand.

  “Another time, Matt. Roz, call me about Craft Club. I haven’t been for ages. Or I’ll speak to Mari. See you around.”

  Roz glared at her and then, turning, hobbled on her mangled ankle towards the bar.

  The Way sisters were hurrying down the street and not talking. They were part way up Long Gate Street when Charlie said,

  “Are we not going to say it out loud?”

  Anna was striding.

  “Halloween,” she said. Charlie increased her pace.

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “You meant, Mrs Fyfe is possessing the body of Roz Woodhill?” Emz slotted the thought in.

  “Halloween,” Anna said again, sounding more breathless as they headed uphill. Emz and Charlie kept pace.

  “Tinny eyes. Broken looking ankle. It’s a no brainer. What happened when you hugged her?” Charlie asked Anna. At last she halted, her breath coming in heavy gulps.

  “Oh, full on flashcard memory of everything. And I don’t just mean Apple Day. The lot.” Anna sagged a little. “She’s in there alright.”

  The silence rolled a little between them.

  “We have to get her out,” Emz said at last.

  “You mean exorcise Roz Woodhill.” Charlie made it sound as though there was a practical approach to the situation. The other two looked at her.

  “Exorcise. Yes, I suppose that’s it,” Anna nodded. “I’ve been thinking about how to do it. Trying to remember if there was anything at any time that Grandma Hettie taught us that might cover this.”

  There was another long silence. Charlie’s mind blinked with the image of Roz and the toffee apple from her dream.

  “The toffee apple,” Charlie said. “The apples. We’ve got bait. Surely?”

  “We use the apples. Somehow,” Emz began. “She’s weaker, you could feel that.”

  “If we offer up another power source, more fuel. Maybe there’s a way to overload her,” Charlie suggested.

  “Use the negative energy against her. Weaponise it.” Anna was filtering and sifting her thoughts.

  “Are we going to have to p
oison someone to do it? Poison us perhaps?” Emz was tentative. Anna shook her head.

  “Halloween,” she said. “That power. That’s what we must use.”

  There was a moment of silence. Charlie nodded and reached an arm around Anna, another around Emz, and pulled them in close. They stood like that for a few moments.

  “Home,” Anna said as they pulled apart a little, Charlie linking Anna’s arm on one side, Emz on the other.

  In the shadow of the castle walls a ghost in a black waxed raincoat watched them break up and walk onwards, towards Old Castle Road.

  * * *

  There was hot chocolate and toast on the table at Cob Cottage as the Witch Ways planned.

  “So. Trap her.”

  “Where?” Charlie was crestfallen. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Do we bring her to the wood?”

  Anna shook her head, doubtful.

  “It doesn’t feel right. We can’t hem her in. Too many ways out.”

  “Hartfield then. Winn will let us,” Emz said as she reached for some toast.

  “No. Anna’s right.” Charlie spread jam over her toast, concentrating. “What we need is a fortress.” She crunched her toast.

  Anna looked up.

  “We’ve got one,” she said.

  “Cob Cottage?” Emz looked alarmed. Anna shook her head and grinned.

  “The castle.”

  39

  I Pin You

  Anna had a busy day ahead with prep for the booked-out Halloween Party at the Castle Inn. The kitchen resembled a proper fairy-tale with pumpkins rolling around every surface.

  “Lella overdid the order,” Casey explained as they picked their way through the bumper orange crop. Anna took in a deep breath. Her heart was fluttering, thoughts were shifting and altering inside her, the darkness of her grief trying to sweep forward. She pushed it back and focused on the task that lay ahead, dealing with Mrs Fyfe.

  Anna moved quickly to the work surface; as she picked up her knife it made a sound like a sword. The peel on the first onion crackled, the scent rising, raw but savoury, and Anna breathed it in deep.

  One year. One entire, whole, complete year. She had come this far. As the morning and the chores wore on Anna’s thoughts deepened. At first she focused her attention on the chopping and slicing, on the frying and roasting and boiling, but the plan to exorcise Roz Woodhill and defeat Mrs Fyfe bubbled and boiled and in her head the deep well of memory began to ripple a little.

  * * *

  Charlie seared a path through the brewery that morning. The water splashing into the mash tun sounded alive and energised. The scents of barley and malt, of hops, all seemed to make her breathe deeper, to imbue her with more energy.

  As the afternoon drew on Charlie could be found decanting more Blackberry Ferment, this time into an earthenware flagon she had picked up this morning from under the sink at Cob Cottage. The crackles in the brown glaze had seemed, to her, to show a map of Woodcastle, one that was old and slightly skewed and showing the Castle itself at the centre. Where, in the last few weeks she had felt lost and afraid, now Charlie felt that she knew the way, knew what must be done, and, more important than anything, had the skills to do it.

  * * *

  At Prickles, Emz Way was in charge of the small school group, all the children dressed in mini high-vis vests with the school logo on the back. They had collected leaves and oak galls and beechnuts, pheasant feathers and caterpillar cocoons.

  At a particular turn in the path as they headed to the hide at Cooper’s Pond a spider web stretched between the branches of the birch trees. The autumnal sunlight caught the rain in it so that it glittered like diamonds for just a moment before the clouds scudded over once more. Emz stopped. A fierce memory of Grandma Hettie,

  “And a warp of web for winding…” her tongue just peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she twisted the thread of it, wound the spider web around her finger, around, around, a gossamer skein. Her wink as she put it into her pocket. Her black waxed coat pockets usually filled with feathers and pebbles, pine cones and seed heads. Emz felt in the pockets. Nothing. She took a step off the path and with care wound the web onto the spool of her fingers. It settled into the corner of her pocket.

  In the kitchen behind reception there was a quantity of black smoke and Winn was struggling to wrench a singed crumpet from the aged toaster.

  “You might as well trot off early, Emz,” Winn suggested, knife rattling in the toaster’s innards. “Usual Halloween rules and all that.” She looked up at Emz with a sympathetic gaze. “I imagine your family have something quiet planned.” Emz took in a deep breath at the notion of what Halloween might hold for them. She looked into Winn’s face and was not surprised to see that the only face she could see was Winn’s true and real one. The apple-cheeked girl looked concerned. Emz nodded assent.

  “I will see you tomorrow,” Winn said firmly. Emz saw the apple-cheeked girl reach up and touch a small brown leather pouch that was strung around her neck. Emz could not help but stare until the image blurred away and left the here-and-now Winn behind. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Winn barked. “Mind you, I suppose tonight is the night for it.”

  * * *

  Emz took her leave and walked the wood, made a circuit of Cooper’s Pond itself, aware that the scent of the water was strong, that it carried an earthy coolness inside it that she breathed in deep and that gave her a bright energy. This bright energy she carried with her, all the way through Leap Woods to the manicured edge of lawn and the rambling flower borders of Hartfield Hall.

  The back door had been blown open and as Emz entered a squirrel shot out from the dresser at the far side of the room and bolted out through the cracked pane in the window. The Witch Ways had talked over their intentions and where, earlier in the day, Emz had felt rattled and uncertain, she now felt sure. The kitchen at Hartfield felt empty, there was no lingering sense of Mrs Fyfe, except for the sickly scent that now crept under the larder door. It was an odd aroma, Emz thought, as she stepped into the small cool storage space. There was a hint of something tasty and appealing and then a thicker layer of repulsion and disgust. As she picked up the basket of apples from the marble countertop this thicker scent wafted like a cloud. She saw too how the apples had grown darker red still. As she lifted the basket handle the apples felt suddenly leaden and heavy, the basket’s weave screeling itself against the marble. These apples, Emz understood, did not want to be taken. Security measures were clearly in place.

  “No.” Emz spoke the word quietly, it caught on the air. She put both hands onto the handle of the basket and held tight. In her mind she recalled her first encounter with Mrs Fyfe, when Winn had been up the ladder. She took Winn out of the memory and focused on Mrs Fyfe’s real face, angular, stretched. As she did so the face, thinner and more stretched, loomed into her mind, challenging, the eyes intense but tired looking. Before she could speak Emz pushed herself mentally forwards with a sudden burst.

  “BOO.” As the word rang off the cracked cheese dish in the larder so Mrs Fyfe’s face vanished from Emz’s mind with a look of startled horror and the basket of apples was suddenly the correct poundage. Emz hefted it onto her arm and, kicking the larder door shut behind her, headed out. At the edge of the courtyard she put the basket through the gap in the wall of the walled garden and followed after it. Night was falling fast and here and there across town fireworks were being let off. Emz seemed tuned to every bang and boom, as if the saltpetre and the gunpowder were her own weapons, topping her mental energy up and each step she took bringing her nearer and nearer, she knew, to the safe haven that was Havoc Wood.

  * * *

  At the castle Barbara Bentley, custodian, took the heavy iron key and locked the main gate. After she had done that she moved to the small riveted door and opened the latch, stepped out onto the gantry beyond. She turned and with another less heavy iron key she locked up. This was the favourite part of her commute, the short walk along the gantry with
the keys clanking in her pocket.

  The Witch Ways did not care whether the castle was closed or not. Already Anna was walking up through the Cromwellian siege tunnel that the fox had so carefully led them to and which now she imbued with extra meaning. This tunnel was a useful bit of knowledge to have. It felt as if the castle belonged to them, linked it closer to Havoc.

  She emerged into the castle yard and took a few strides up to the highest rise of the greensward. She was carrying with her nine pieces of wood that she had gathered from the nine checkpoints in Havoc Wood that she and her sisters had beaten the bounds of in the last week or so since the Crimson Ball. They were all different: oak, ash, elm, beech, elder, alder, holly, rowan, and hawthorn. She had walked up to the wood after work, taking a long route up to the very top of Old Castle Road. Here was a narrow-hedged lane that, when followed, would bring her out at Thorn Thicket and as she reached the spot she saw at once where the slim branch of the hawthorn had been chewed at by deer and was broken almost clean away. True to her Grandma Hettie’s grandparenting Anna never left home without her small pocket knife and now she hooked the blade open and sawed the deer damaged limb free.

  At each and every point the chosen bough, branch, or switch was visible; at Thinthrough the thickened out and ancient holly snagged at her sleeve and as she pulled free so a long whipping bough came with her, the leaves looking like spiked shields; at Quill’s Gate the elder leaning, uprooted by wind, a branch trailing across her path, so that, by the time she was down at Birch Stripes she felt the wood had given her these tools, and, in the giving, fed her Strength.

  On the greensward Anna put the nine branches on the grass and took in a deep breath. She understood the significance that each of the switches and branches held but, if she was being honest, she did not have a real idea of how they were going to tackle this situation. The only clear thoughts she had were simple and were bait and trap. Her well of memory sounded a note as if a stone had dropped into it and she felt its cold darkness. Weaponise it. She would know how. She was trusting in her instincts.