The Lighthouse Witches

by C. J. Cooke

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, forcing a smile on my face. “But I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  “I’ve been searching for years and years,” he said in a low voice. “I thought if I had the Longing painted with the runes, it would help me find you. And instead of leading me to you, it brought you back to me.” He took my hand in his and clasped it tight, and I didn’t dare pull it away. I saw his eyes were wet with tears. “I always knew you’d come back,” he whispered. “I always knew it, Amy.”

  Terror crept upon me. “Amy?”

  He is mad. Absolutely stark raving.

  And dangerous.

  He removed something from a strap on his ankle. A small, sharp knife.

  “Remember this?” he said, and I let out a cry. He frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I took a full step back in the direction of the room where my girls were playing. The sight of them brought my courage back, sending adrenaline through me. “My name isn’t Amy,” I said.

  I’ll bolt us in the room until he turns us around. I have to protect them.

  He shook his head with a smile, dismissing everything I’d said. “The runes must have wiped your memories. It’ll all come back to you eventually.”

  On the wall behind me was an old wooden oar, mounted for decoration. Quickly, I lifted it down and held it in front of me like a baseball bat.

  Patrick stared at me. “What’s going on, Amy?”

  “My name is Olivia,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m sorry, but you have me confused with someone else. Take us back to shore right now.”

  His face dropped then, and he held his hands up. “Please accept my apologies,” he said, righting himself. “You have children. It must be their bedtime.”

  When the engines roared back to life I felt a moment’s relief. But I didn’t let go of the oar, not even when he broke the silence.

  He turned to me, and I was alarmed to see he was crying. “I’m ever so sorry,” he said, and the nervous, awkward boy was back with me, dabbing his eyes. “It’s just been so long . . . sometimes you can miss someone so badly you just want to believe you’ve found them, you know?”

  IV

  And so, at the age of seventeen, I was shipped back to Lòn Haven. I had no home to return to, no family, and only a little money, but I hoped that Amy was still there, and that she hadn’t forgotten me.

  I walked from the dock to her croft, telling myself to keep my expectations low—she was likely married now, perhaps with a bairn. She might have moved away. She might have died.

  In the distance, I saw a woman outside the croft, flinging out a blanket. She was tall and wore her long black hair in a plait. Finwell, I thought, astonished. But as I got closer, I recognized her movements. The turn of her head toward me, her gait as she started walking down the path. Then her voice as she shouted my name.

  And in a second she was there, crying and shouting, her hands grabbing my clothes and pounding my chest.

  “You left!” she shrieked. “You never said good-bye!”

  I was too overwhelmed to speak. I opened and closed my mouth but only sounds came out, and I was crying. Suddenly she stopped pounding me with her fists and flung her arms around me, and I dropped my pack and held her, cupping her head to my shoulder. I had missed her so badly it had all but turned me inside out. I had missed her so badly that I hadn’t wanted to live. And yet, now she was here, and I never wanted to let her go.

  We were both different. I suppose we had been children when last we spoke and now we were adults. The scrawny, feral girl I’d known was now a woman, taller, beautiful, the wild daring in her eyes cooled to wisdom and sorrow. She pulled me inside the croft before anyone else could see, so my return might stay a secret awhile longer.

  “The island has changed since you left,” she said as she lit the fire. She served me oat bread and pottage as she told me what had happened. The year I’d been sent away, the sickness that Duncan had died from ravaged the island. Hundreds fell ill, including the laird, who was the first to die. All the judges who presided over the court that sent the twelve women to their deaths also died. Then Duncan’s sons, and his wife.

  Fifty men, women, and children died, and those who recovered bore scars from their illness. Rumors began to spread about an event that had preceded the plague. Mrs. Dunbar, an old woman who had lost two grandchildren to the plague, spoke of a little girl who had come to her door. She was terrified; Mrs. Dunbar knew the child was not from the island, and she did not speak Gaelic. She bore a mark on her leg, a strange burn with numbers therein. Mrs. Dunbar persisted in trying to communicate with the girl, using charcoal and scraps of paper to have her draw where she had come from, so that she might be returned to her family. The little girl drew the cave deep in the broch that had become known as Witches Hide.

  The child had disappeared, never to be seen again. The day after, the laird died. Mrs. Dunbar informed the Privy Council, who placed posters of the child around the village. There was no doubt that the child’s appearance was of the Devil, the witches’ curse coming to pass.

  I heard the fear in her voice, but I did not yet register the change that had swept across Lòn Haven. I was still stunned to be back in Amy’s presence, and although she had wept in my arms, I didn’t dare ask the question that buzzed in my head.

  “I’m not married,” she said then, as though reading my mind. She looked at me with caution. “Are you . . . promised?”

  I blinked. “No.”

  She sat down next to me and took my hand in hers. “I missed you, Patrick Roberts,” she said softly. “I hated you, actually.”

  My heart all but burst inside me. Amy was everything to me—my kin, the other half of me. “Believe me when I say I wanted nothing more than to come back.”

  “Will you marry me?” she said softly.

  SAPPHIRE, 1998

  “I want to show you something,” she tells Brodie. “But you’ve got to promise me you won’t get scared.”

  They push open the door to the Longing.

  “Aw, man,” he says, frowning at the smell of paint. “I hate this place. If I’d known you were bringing me here, I’d . . .”

  She silences him with an ardent, hungry kiss. It sends white heat from her toes right up to her head, shooting through her skull in bright sparks. Then she plucks the skeleton key that’s tied around her neck between finger and thumb and holds it up.

  “Follow me,” she says, leading him through the dark across the floor of the Longing.

  “It’s creepy, this place,” he says. “They used to kill witches here.”

  “You’ve mentioned,” she said, enjoying the shift in power from him to her. She bends, a small torch between her teeth, and reveals the lock on the floor.

  “Watch,” she says, slipping the key and turning it slowly.

  “Do you even know what that is?” Brodie says in a low voice.

  “It’s our secret cave,” she says, pulling back the grille.

  “It’s Witches Hide,” he says. “Everyone says it’s cursed. You go through that cave and you never come back.”

  She delights in his sudden terror. “You’re not scared, are you?”

  She sits down on the edge of the hole and dangles her leg. The torchlight reveals a drop of about ten feet. As long as she falls right, she should be fine.

  “Saffy,” he says, warningly.

  She jumps. A second later, there’s a thud, then a light sigh. He looks down into the hole.

  “You OK?” he says. She looks up at him with a grin.

  “Come on, then.”

  In a moment he has lowered himself as deep as he can into the hole while holding on to the edge. And then he drops, bending his knees and rolling awkwardly in a bid to lessen the impact on his legs.

  He finds his cigarette lighter and flicks it to
life. The small yellow flame barely cuts through the gloom.

  Mercifully, the sheer drop leads to a long underground chamber that deepens farther into something that reminds Saffy of a cathedral. There are stalagmites and stalactites and pools of murky water. About thirty feet ahead, the cave seems to split in two directions.

  Brodie looks wary. She smiles to herself, relishing the fact that he is trying to conceal his fear. The cave is kind of creepy, she thinks, but with Brodie here she feels safe. “How far does the cave go?” she asks him, wondering if it cuts through to the other end of the island. If they might tumble out into the ocean without realizing it.

  “I’m not sure,” he says. “I’ve never gone through it. I’m not allowed.”

  “You’re not allowed?” she says, laughing.

  “It’s called Witches Hide for a reason,” he snaps. “And if my dad discovered I went through, he’d break my legs, I can tell you that. Here, have a look at this.”

  He gropes the rock with his left hand while holding the lighter close to the surface. She sidles up to him and squints. “There,” he says, running the light over the markings. Carved deeply into the stone are a dozen individual runes. Lines, circles, and geometric patterns, similar to the mural. Similar, but different.

  “What do they mean?” she asks him.

  “Apparently it’s black magic,” he says. “The witches did it when they were held here.”

  “But weren’t all the women innocent?” she says. “Like, witches weren’t actually real . . .”

  “I’m only going by what the stories say,” he says. “Look. Up there.”

  He stretches up high and illuminates the ceiling. Four digits. “1662.”

  She gasps. “Is that the year these were made?”

  “Apparently. They say there’s other graffiti farther on in, names and so on. But I think we’ve come far enough.” He turns to head back toward the entrance.

  “Wait,” she says, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him to her for a long, ravenous kiss. As if he is hers and hers alone, forever and ever.

  LUNA, 2021

  I

  She slides the key back across the front desk and holds Clover’s hand firmly as she heads toward the street.

  “Where are we going?” Clover asks.

  Luna shushes Clover and keeps her gaze firmly ahead. A man appears in the corner of her eye, a name tag on his shirt indicating that he works at the hotel. She doesn’t stop. They have to head to the car. It’s too dangerous to stay here.

  “But I’m starving,” Clover whines once they’re in the car. “Why was there glass in my pie?”

  “We’ll find a fast-food place,” Luna says, turning the key in the ignition. In the rearview mirror, rain has transformed the windows into surrealist portraits of the streets. But she can make out a figure getting into a car, the lights flicking on as she pulls out.

  “I thought you were taking me to see Mummy,” Clover wails in the back seat behind her. She grows more fractious with each second, kicking Luna’s seat with each word.

  Luna tries to keep the car behind her in sight as she pulls out of the car park. She can see the headlights in her rearview mirror moving behind them. She heads quickly onto the coast road, pressing her foot against the accelerator.

  The roads shine with rain, the windscreen affording only a staccato glimpse of road before a fresh deluge obscures her vision. Luna’s heart is racing. The road is empty, save her car and the one behind, the two headlights uncomfortably close. She presses a hand against her stomach. She should have called the police when she found the glass, she thinks. Driving was a bad idea. The person behind them seems to be following her.

  The only option is to drive faster. Her heart beating in her throat, she accelerates to sixty, eighty miles an hour, desperate to throw off the car behind.

  “You’re going too fast!” Clover yells. Luna grips the steering wheel and concentrates on the road ahead. There are small turns ahead, she thinks. A sharp turn might be the only way to lose him.

  Clover is screaming in the back seat. At the side of the road ahead, Luna spies the glint of a metal gate leading to a field. A small opening, just big enough for her little car. But the glare of another set of headlights appears on the crest of the hill; she’ll have to pull in front of the other car if she’s to make it. She counts in her head, jerking the car left at the last second. There’s a terrifying moment when the car on the other side of the road is too close, within meters of them, and a horn blares loudly. With a bang, she brings the car to a stop against the grass verge.

  There is a horrible stillness from the seat behind her.

  Luna rubs her stomach in panicked circles. “Are you OK?” For a terrifying handful of seconds, the baby is still. Then he nudges, as if to say he’s still there.

  “Clover?” she says. “Clover, are you all right?”

  No reply. Luna can’t turn around far enough to see if she’s OK, so she quickly gets out of the car and steps into the rain, pulling the passenger door open. Clover has been rolled into the passenger footwell, curled up with her face in her knees.

  “Clover?”

  A whimper lets her know that she’s conscious.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I hurt my knee.”

  “Let me see.”

  She looks over Clover, determining with relief that she’s fine, other than a few bumps from jerking forward. The seat belt caught her.

  Suddenly, a bright light shines on them both. Luna turns to see a car heading straight for them, coming to a screeching halt at the side of the road. In seconds, a man has stepped out and is striding toward them.

  He’s tall and rakish, with greasy black hair to his jaw, a tattoo of a panther on his neck, a missing front tooth. A grin.

  “You’re Luna Stay?”

  She frowns, confused by the shift to a smile. “Yes?”

  He steps forward and eyes her coldly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  II

  Luna tries to conceal her terror. A stint in juvenile detention taught her this—you show fear, you give away your power.

  “Brodie,” she says, reading his name badge. “Do I know you?”

  He narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Very modest of you to think I’m here for you,” she says. “Is that why you put broken glass in my food? So very brave of you.”

  He spits on the ground. “Look, I’m not here to start a fight.”

  “You could have fooled me,” she says, her nerves jangling. “Or maybe the car chase was meant to kill us outright.”

  He steps forward, his hand raised, and she jumps back.

  “Back off,” she says loudly. “Or I’ll scream.”

  His face softens. “Look, I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

  She laughs. It sounds insane. “No?”

  He glances behind her. “They know you’re here. I came to warn you.”

  She frowns. “Who knows I’m here?”

  “All of them. As soon as you boarded that ferry, they were waiting for you.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t think to change your name?”

  “What are you talking about?” she hisses. “Who was waiting for me?”

  He looks at her up and down. “Are you really Luna? Saffy’s sister?”

  The mention of Saffy feels like a slap. “What do you know about Saffy?”

  Another glance behind her. “They say your ma tied you to a tree and cut out your heart. When they said you were here, I had to come and see for myself.”

  “Do ‘they’ know where Saffy is?”

  He turns to walk away. “You’d better go,” he says. “You’re fucking mad, coming back here.”

  A sudden memory of Brodie and Saffy together clangs in her mind, and she takes three quick steps toward him, h
er eyes blazing. “Did you kill Saffy?”

  He stops, his back to her, then keeps walking, pulling his car door open.

  “I’ll go to the police,” she shouts after him. It’s intended as a threat, but he stops and strides back toward her, his face dark with anger. She grits her jaw and stands her ground.

  “Do you know what I’ve risked to warn you?” he says, his face close to hers. “I’ve lived with what happened to Saffy all this time.”

  “So have I,” she spits back, tilting her jaw up. “I lost my whole family. And you can tell whoever put glass in my food that I’m coming for them.” Her words—their sudden, truthful venom—shocks her.

  “You better watch that temper,” he says quietly. “If you’re still on the island in twenty-four hours, you’ll be buried in it.”

  He stares purposefully at her pregnant belly, then at Clover, before getting back inside his car.

  III

  Luna drives straight to the ferry port, shaking with anger and shock.

  “Who was that man?” Clover asks.

  “No one,” Luna says.

  “He looked scary. Did he want to rob us?”

  “No,” Luna mumbles, pulling into the port.

  How did he know it was me?

  She allows herself to breathe out in relief at the sight of the ferry. It was a mistake to come to Lòn Haven. It had always been her biggest terror, and now that she’s here, she’s risked her life and her son’s. And Clover’s.

  The only reason Brodie would know it was me is because he’s been waiting.

  They all have.

  She pulls to the ticket officer and rolls down her window, covering her face when the ticket officer glances in. She doesn’t know who to trust.

  “No tickets for the rest of the day, I’m afraid,” he says. “Wind’s too strong for the crossing.” She gapes. The cars in front of her are all pulling back around and driving away.

  She watches as the ferry sits dormant in the dock, swaying in the wind.

  A text from Ethan pings on her phone.