A Witch Come True

by James Nicol

  She was sorry to leave so soon, but pleased her father was getting better. Although Salle was going to pop in when she had time, he clearly didn’t need anyone to be checking up on him every day and was itching to leave the hospital. Arianwyn couldn’t blame him.

  ‘I packed up some food for you for the journey,’ Grandma said, appearing with a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and a yellow thermos flask. She was wearing a long dressing gown with a thick woollen scarf around her neck. ‘Hot chocolate!’ she said, giving the thermos a gentle shake. Arianwyn forced a smile. ‘Oh, cheer up,’ Grandma said gently. ‘We’ll all be on our way to Lull soon for Yule.’

  Arianwyn felt torn. She wanted to do her work, and she missed Lull. But she felt terrible rushing away, leaving her father in the hospital, no matter how well he was. And then there was Gimma.

  Grandmother pulled her into a tight hug that Arianwyn hoped would never end. Then she planted a kiss on the top of her springy curls and whispered, ‘All will be well.’

  But Arianwyn knew that Grandmother was just as worried about Gimma’s disappearance as she was and the mystery that now quite clearly linked an elder witch to Gimma, the hex and her father’s encounter with the Urisian witch who bore the same strange hex-like markings on his skin.

  From behind her she heard the sound of a car pulling alongside the kerb. ‘Your taxi’s here,’ Grandmother said quietly, still holding her tight. ‘I’m sorry I can’t come and see you off but there’s a council meeting this morning and I’m going to raise Gimma’s disappearance again with a few friends who I trust.’

  ‘Thank you, Grandma.’

  Within a few minutes all Arianwyn’s bags were gathered up and secured in the taxi and Arianwyn was smiling at her grandmother through the rain-speckled window. She waved as the taxi pulled away from the kerb, until the bookshop and Grandmother were out of sight. Then she sat back in her seat and took a deep breath, trying to chase the sadness away with thoughts of Yule and being home in Lull. She bit her lip and fiddled with the catch on her suitcase.

  ‘Kingsport central station, isn’t it, miss?’ the driver called brightly across his shoulder as he sped along the quiet streets.

  ‘Yes pl . . .’ She paused as another thought rushed into her head. In her coat pocket she felt for the small ivory card that Mrs Alverston had given her just a few days ago. ‘Actually, could we make a very quick detour to Highbridge, please?’

  The Alverston house stood white and gleaming in a short row of similarly grand-looking and entirely intimidating houses. Its ebony-black front door waited at the top of a short flight of white marble steps. Perfectly clipped bushes guarded either side of the front door like fat green sentries. Arianwyn checked the card and the number on the brilliant brass plaque beside the door: number 14.

  ‘I’ll just be a few minutes,’ Arianwyn reassured the driver as she climbed out of the car and splashed through puddles towards the imposing house.

  She had fished out a package of charms that she had made for Gimma from her luggage. If Gimma turned up at home, she’d need them – there was no point in Arianwyn bringing them to Lull.

  She pushed on the bell and took a step back from the door. She could hear the chimes echoing inside the house as she adjusted her coat, suddenly realizing she had buttoned it up wrong and it was all wonky and a bit twisted as a result. She was just trying to re-button it when she heard a dry voice ask, ‘May I help you . . . miss?’

  The ‘miss’ was said almost with a sneer – as though the speaker was more used to saying ‘madam’ or ‘Countess’.

  Arianwyn looked up at the tall man framed in the doorway. He was dressed in a fine dark suit, his hands encased in pristine white gloves. He was looking down his long shiny nose at her, one eyebrow arched. ‘Oh, hi,’ Arianwyn said. ‘I’m Arianwyn Gribble. I’d like to see Mrs Alverston, please . . . thank you.’

  ‘And are you expected, Miss Gribble?’ he sniffed.

  ‘Not exactly, no.’ Arianwyn fumbled with an explanation. Why was she really there, after all? ‘I . . . have a parcel for Mrs Alverston,’ she said, quickly holding out the small box of charms.

  ‘Who is it, Lucas?’ The unmistakable voice of Mrs Alverston sounded from somewhere beyond the door.

  ‘A young witch, madam,’ Lucas replied.

  ‘Well then, do show her in, of course.’

  Lucas stepped to one side and Arianwyn caught her first glimpse of the space beyond: a vast hallway with a gleaming black-and-white marble chequerboard floor. Mrs Alverston stood in the middle of the hall, as elegantly dressed as when she had visited the bookshop. She clutched a glossy magazine in one hand.

  ‘Arianwyn – what on earth are you doing here?’ she asked, moving forwards quickly. Then she seemed to think twice and purposefully slowed, smiled, and asked, ‘How are you? What a pleasure to see you.’

  Arianwyn stepped into the hallway and walked cautiously towards Mrs Alverston. ‘I thought I should come to see you. I have to go back to Lull today.’

  ‘So soon?’ Mrs Alverston fiddled with the magazine. Arianwyn thought she looked tired. It was probably the worry about Gimma.

  ‘And I’m sorry, but I’ve not been able to find out anything more. Nobody has seen Gimma. But I thought I should leave these charms for her for when she does come home or in case you hear from her.’ Arianwyn offered the parcel to Mrs Alverston, who eyed it with a great deal of suspicion.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but actually Gimma is back.’ Mrs Alverston smiled a half-smile.

  Arianwyn felt a lightness come over her then, a relief. ‘That’s good. Is she here? Can I see her?’

  Mrs Alverston’s eyes flicked to Lucas and then back to Arianwyn. She slowly placed her magazine on the table that stood just behind her and held nothing but a huge vase of exotic flowers. ‘Lucas, don’t you have things to attend to elsewhere?’ It didn’t sound much like a question and Lucas responded by moving slowly across the hall and then disappeared through an archway, his echoing footsteps fading.

  Arianwyn and Mrs Alverston were now quite alone in the vast hallway. And yet Arianwyn couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were being watched. Perhaps it was just Lucas lurking behind a curtain or door somewhere. Mrs Alverston leant in close and said quietly and quickly, ‘Gimma turned up yesterday, as it happens. It was all just a bit of a silly misunderstanding and everything is fine now. But . . . I . . .’

  The feeling of relief was suddenly replaced with a stomach-wobbling sense of worry. ‘But what?’ Arianwyn asked softly.

  Mrs Alverston’s expression suddenly stiffened. She moved forward and placed an arm around Arianwyn’s shoulders and gently but firmly turned her back towards the door, which was still wide open. They moved together quickly, Mrs Alverston chatting brightly as they went: ‘You won’t want to get caught in the morning traffic, Miss Gribble. It can be awfully horrid this time of day. My husband is always complaining about Kingsport traffic. What a lovely scarf you are wearing, wherever is it from? What a gorgeous shade of red!’ Her fears and worries from a moment ago were apparently forgotten. She gave a high nervous laugh as they reached the door. ‘Thank you, Miss Gribble, for all your assistance. I shall pass your best wishes on to Gimma when she comes down for breakfast, of course.’

  ‘You’re sure everything is all right, Mrs Alverston?’ Arianwyn asked. She was quite certain something was not right at all.

  Mrs Alverston gave another smaller laugh and blushed. ‘Gimma is home now, and that’s all I care about. Gimma is my only concern.’ Her eyes widened a little now. She ushered Arianwyn through the open door, paused and looked down at the box in Arianwyn’s hand. ‘I’m not sure we will be in need of your . . . trinkets now.’ She looked out to the taxi waiting by the kerb. ‘I’ll wish you a safe journey back to Lull.’ The door swung shut.

  Arianwyn walked slowly down the steps, slightly stunned. She had reached the pavement when she heard a noise off to her left. The squeaking of a gate. She turned, expecting to see a member
of staff from the Alverston household emerging from the steps that no doubt led down to the kitchens and cellars. A pale face looked up at her. ‘Arianwyn . . .’

  ‘Gimma!’

  Gimma didn’t move any further forwards. Arianwyn couldn’t see any signs of a charm around her neck – but perhaps it was just hidden under her clothes. Though if there was a charm, it was fading: Arianwyn was certain of it. She could feel the rough brush of dark magic and she knew this came from the hex that lurked within Gimma.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Arianwyn asked.

  Gimma nodded slowly. But something in her eyes suggested fear. ‘But stay there.’

  ‘Oh, Gimma,’ Arianwyn breathed as she fumbled with the package of charms. ‘Where have you been?’

  Gimma’s too-dark eyes flicked to the front door, then away again. ‘I ran away,’ she said calmly. ‘I thought it was the best thing to do. I thought it was best for everyone.’

  Arianwyn knew that feeling. She had often thought of running away.

  ‘Well, it’s good that you came back,’ Arianwyn said. ‘We were all so worried about you.’ She stepped forward to hand over the parcel of charms.

  ‘I didn’t want to come back, though . . . it was the Council of Elders that found me. Now I think I’m in more trouble than ever.’ Her pale hand wrapped tightly around the black swirls of iron on the gate.

  ‘You’re not in any trouble, Gimma,’ Arianwyn reassured her.

  ‘Then why has the council sent someone to keep an eye on me then?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s an elder in the house right now, apparently for my own protection. I don’t trust them any more. I don’t trust anyone now . . . except for you, Arianwyn. What should I do?’

  Arianwyn could feel her heart thudding in her chest, suspicions flying round in her head. ‘Is it Elder Tully?’ she asked softly.

  ‘It’s someone different each day,’ Gimma said quietly, ‘. . . just like before.’

  Arianwyn frowned. Of course. She remembered Gimma telling her how the witch that had wanted her to obtain the Book of Quiet Glyphs had worn a different face every time, using a dangerous glamour spell to change her identity. Whoever the traitor was, were they once again posing as several different members of the council?

  For a second she thought about reaching out and grabbing Gimma’s hand and saying, Come back to Lull with me, you’ll be safe there.

  But would she really be? She hadn’t been safe there in the autumn, had she? The hex had spread through Gimma until she was almost lost entirely. At least this far away from the Great Wood and the worst of the spread – and now with Arianwyn’s box of new charms – Gimma would be able to keep the hex at bay. And here she had her family to look after her: Arianwyn was sure of that, if nothing else.

  It was her best chance.

  Gimma looked as though she might cry. ‘What if my parents are in danger as well because of me? Because of this?’ Gimma pulled back the sleeve on her dress to reveal the thick ridges and swirls of hex that marked her skin – it looked almost as bad as the first time Arianwyn had seen it.

  ‘You need to change your charm, Gimma,’ she said, handing over the box at last, ‘right now. And don’t let them drain right down. They’ll keep you and your family safe from the hex until we can work out something . . . more permanent. I’m trying, I promise.’

  Gimma looked as though she were considering it all, working it all through. Eventually she nodded. ‘OK.’

  Arianwyn breathed a sigh of relief.

  The taxi driver was still waiting by the side of the road, the engine rumbling gently. ‘We’d best be on our way, miss, or you’ll be too late for your train,’ he called across.

  ‘I have to go,’ Arianwyn said to Gimma. ‘I’ll ask my grandmother to watch out for you. I’ll write to her from the train, I promise.’ She hurried back to the taxi and climbed into her seat.

  As the taxi pulled away, she looked back at Gimma’s pale face through the iron twists of the gate. She was holding the box of charms tightly to her chest. Then Arianwyn lifted her eyes to the Alverston house. She thought she saw the movement of a curtain in a high window, but she wasn’t sure. And then the car was speeding away, heading for the central station in the heart of Kingsport.

  Chapter 7

  The 11.30 TO STANBURY HILL

  ickets please! Any tickets for Little Felsham or Bunton Loxley?’

  The train guard, a small wiry man with a grey moustache, wandered through the carriage glaring at people in a rather accusing manner that made Arianwyn instinctively reach for her tickets even though he had checked them twice already. She had been on the train since nine thirty and it was now nearly midday. And she still had most of the day ahead full of travel.

  She heard the snip-click of the guard’s ticket punch and she turned to the glyph notebook. A gift from Salle and Colin, the small leather notebook had the glyph of silence embossed on the front. Inside, she had started to record the other quiet glyphs she had discovered and notes on each of them. So far she only had three contained in its pages.

  The first was the shadow glyph, a glyph she had known for as long as she could remember, a glyph she had once feared as a herald of trouble and darkness but which had ultimately saved her and Lull from a terrifying night ghast. The second was the glyph of silence, the last glyph retrieved from the original Book of Quiet Glyphs which was lost when the feyling city of Erraldur was overrun by dark spirit creatures.

  But Estar, her feyling friend, had discovered that Arianwyn held all of the quiet glyphs within herself and so the slow process of discovery had begun. So far, she’d only managed to draw out one further glyph with Estar’s help – a curling, twisty glyph that Estar had helped her to find, buried within herself – though using it was proving more than a little tricky, despite weeks of trying. The glyph remained a mystery. Slippery and fast like an eel.

  She felt anxious about returning and continuing her work with Estar.

  The process so far had been painfully slow. She’d tried to see more new glyphs too – but there was no way to force the process, Estar had said several times. He had been at her side throughout, helping, encouraging and occasionally pushing her. But it was no use: she wasn’t making any progress at all.

  ‘Useless!’ she grumbled to herself, glaring at the notebook before shoving it back into her satchel.

  ‘Excuse me, but is anyone sitting here, please?’

  Arianwyn looked up quickly at an elderly lady with a gentle, warm face and soft curling white hair. She was peering through silver-framed spectacles and clutched a small travelling bag tightly to her chest.

  ‘No it’s free,’ Arianwyn replied. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I was certain I was going to have to stand all the way back,’ the lady chatted as she settled into the seat and started to extract items from her bag: a bundle of knitting, three books, a thermos, a pack of playing cards and a cake tin. She smiled at Arianwyn and then said, ‘You’re a witch!’

  Arianwyn nodded and smiled.

  ‘Me too!’ The other woman beamed, pulling aside her bright pink scarf and pointing at her own silver star, just like a newly qualified witch. ‘Hettie Cummings. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ She leant forwards, extending her hand.

  ‘I’m Arianwyn Gribble.’ Arianwyn shook the older witch’s hand.

  ‘So where are you off to? You’re not from round here, are you? I’ve not seen you before. Mint imperial?’ She had now plucked a small metal tin from her bag and was offering this to Arianwyn.

  ‘Thank you.’ Arianwyn reached for a sweet and quickly popped it into her mouth. Hettie did the same and Arianwyn assumed this would mean she wouldn’t be chatting for a while but Hettie just continued with the sweet in her mouth, which made it slightly difficult to hear exactly what she was saying. ‘So where did you say you were from?’

  Arianwyn smiled. ‘I’m from Kingsport—’

  ‘Oh, Kingsport – fancy that!’ Hettie cooed. ‘I l
ive in Stanbury Hill, have you been there?’

  Arianwyn had a vague recollection of visiting there once on a school trip, or perhaps it had been one of the few holidays with her father.

  Her father. The thought of him stuck in hospital suddenly made her feel terribly sad and worried again.

  Hettie, oblivious, had continued to chatter away. ‘It’s my day off and I’ve just been to visit a friend of mine, Elder Colby, d’you know her?’ Arianwyn shook her head. ‘She lives in Bunton Loxley, next to the library on Merry Street, d’you know it? Not a patch on Stanbury Hill, of course.’ As she spoke she took up her knitting needles and began to work, the needles going almost as fast as her talking. ‘And my, but the wonderful shops we have in Stanbury Hill, I’d say they are better than some of the finest in Kingsport! Just look at this cardigan I picked up last week at the department store, Glostermans. It’s a designer label, I’m certain of it.’ As she spoke she tried to show Arianwyn the label in her cardigan without actually taking it off, so she looked like she was trying to fold herself up inside the woollen garment. ‘D’you see?’ she asked, her voice muffled by her own arm and several layers of wool.

  ‘It’s a lovely cardigan,’ Arianwyn said. ‘Looks very . . . cosy.’

  Arianwyn tried to guess what it was Hettie was knitting and decided it was some sort of bed cover or possibly a jumper for an octopus. There seemed to be acres of it cascading over the older witch’s lap and the floor of the train carriage.

  ‘Where did you say you were going again?’ Hettie asked.

  ‘I’m on my way to Lull. That’s where I’m stationed.’

  ‘Lull? Lull? Lull?’ Hettie said quickly, her brow knitted in concentration. ‘Nope, never heard of it.’ She smiled even wider than before. ‘And are you spending the Yule holidays there?’

  Arianwyn nodded.

  ‘And will your parents be joining you?’ Hettie asked.