Storm Witch

by Alys West

  Instantly the pain in her body was doused. Only the sting in her fingers remained. On wobbly legs she staggered to the bench and sat down. The clouds closed, extinguishing the light, forming a blanket of graphite grey against the platinum arc of the sky. Darkness was approaching.

  Chapter 19

  Saturday evening found Jenna suffering from a rare restlessness. After the stitches had been removed yesterday, a process which was almost as painful as when they’d gone in, she’d come home and fallen asleep on the sofa, waking disorientated and groggy in the middle of the afternoon. That feeling hadn’t left her and she’d gone early to bed, a little anxious about returning to work. It’d been a joy to drive again, less of a joy to return to the familiar worries and stresses of her job but she’d got through it. She’d been shattered when she got home and fallen asleep for an hour but the nap had left her with a fidgety energy she didn’t know what to do with.

  TV couldn’t hold her attention. Neither did reading. It was a week since the events at the Cathedral and they were no further forward. Grace’s letter had confirmed it was a woman they were looking for but that was all they’d got to work on.

  The photographs in The Orcadian had reinforced what she already knew. They had to find this woman before she did any more damage. And Winston had buggered off home to Glasgow. Alright, so he had a conference to go to but that didn’t mean he could leave all the research to her. He’d emailed on Thursday to say he’d been through the papers she’d given him and he didn’t know anything else that would shed light on the tensions within The Order. Yesterday she’d texted him to tell him she’d had the stitches out and got a quick and jokey reply. Since then there’d been nothing. Not that she’d expected it. Not really. Only it’d have been nice if he’d kept in touch, asked how she was getting on, that kind of thing.

  Except at the moment she’d nothing to tell him. She’d been on some seriously dodgy magic websites, flipped through numerous texts on Google books and found a woman on Twitter who called herself a sea witch but rather implausibly lived in London. Apart from joining Twitter and tweeting the sea witch woman, she was running out of options.

  Pacing around the flat wasn’t doing any good either. Sinking back into the sofa, she absently stroked Mansie. He stretched languorously, enjoying the attention. He’d been a bit neglected over the past few days, fed by her neighbour while she was away. She felt guilty about leaving him but he couldn’t come to her dad’s. Jet had a pretty relaxed attitude to cats provided they remained at a safe distance. She wasn’t going to test his reaction by having one staying in the bungalow.

  Pulling the laptop towards her, she opened Google and then stopped. She hadn’t a clue where to go next. There had to be something, some option she’d not explored, some avenue, however tangential, she’d not been down. She was good at research. She’d done plenty of it back when she worked at Holyrood and she never got as stuck as this. Of course, she normally kept a list. Every source, every webpage she’d looked at so she could find it all again when she wrote it up and didn’t lose her references. It helped to keep the shape of it in her head.

  It’d got to be worth a try. Not to write down every website she’d been on but to make a list of what she knew and what she’d found out. She crossed to the dresser and took out pen and paper. Fifteen minutes later, she had a list of everything they knew about the storm witch which was pretty scanty and another list of what she’d found out from the research she’d done which was significantly longer. Putting the two side by side, she frowned. There had to be something she’d missed. The fact that the storm witch had printed out very basic information on spellwork must be important. Winston as a druid may have missed how important. His powers were innate whereas spellwork could be learned, although you’d only ever be one of the amateurs he was so scathing about if you didn’t have potential. There were plenty of folk dabbling with witchcraft who’d never get any further than she had because, like her, they didn’t have the extra spark you needed to become a spellworker. The storm witch definitely had that spark but her skills needed to be honed and developed. Mum had taught this woman but, judging by the pages from the Crystal Goddess site they’d found at Maeshowe, her lessons hadn’t progressed very far. If the website was where the storm witch was getting her information then wasn’t it possible there’d be some trace of her on the site? Whatever Winston said, it was worth another look. There might be something that she’d spot which he’d missed.

  She typed Crystal Goddess into Google and clicked on the link. The website was slicker than she’d expected with a picture of a beautiful blonde woman emerging from a crystal in the top corner. The menu offered her options on divination, pagan holidays, candle magic and moon phases. It also sold magic supplies and had a forum. A few clicks found the pages on casting spells which looked very like the ones they’d found at Maeshowe. She’d have to ask Winston to give them back so she could confirm it. But had he gone any further into the site? The forum had got to be worth a look. If the storm witch wanted advice, wasn’t there a chance she’d looked there?

  To access the forum she had to register on the site. Typing in her email was the easy bit. After that she had to select a user name. She needed something short and easy to remember that wouldn’t give away her identity. Thinking about names brought back her conversation with Winston. With a half-smile, she typed in Brigid and pressed return. After she’d ticked a box to accept terms of use she didn’t bother reading, the forum filled her screen. Reading every post and every answer, searching for anything that mentioned Orkney or storm witches or Maeshowe, she scrolled down.

  It was the name that stood out. Hamnowitch. Stromness had been called Hamnovoe by the Vikings. Jenna clicked on the conversation. “Has anyone started a spell and been unable to stop it?” Her eyes widened. It’d been posted a week ago, hours after the storm witch damaged the Cathedral. Could it be about that? Had the storm witch wanted to stop the storm but been unable to? Hastily, she scanned the replies, nodding at what Bosjack said. He was spot on. Hamnowitch, whoever she was, did need to stop until she could control her abilities.

  Jenna tensed as she read Hamnowitch’s response to Sarahdipity. “The spell kind of took me with it and it was a while before I realised I had to stop it.” How long? When the storm dislodged the pinnacle and it smashed through the window? When Amy screamed? When the ambulances came?

  Sarahdipity’s reply didn’t help. She was being far too nice to Hamnowitch. The woman needed to be stopped before she did any more damage.

  Leaning back, she ran her hand down Mansie’s spine, enjoying the silkiness of his fur under her fingers. This had to be her. Hamnowitch. She had to tell Winston.

  ***

  It was loud and hot in Blue Dog. Suzie was talking but Winston couldn’t catch all the words. He didn’t mind. He’d a fairly good idea what she was talking about. It’d be exactly the same as what she’d been talking about all evening: herself, her friends and the bars and restaurants they’d been to. She’d asked him two questions about Orkney: what was the weather like and were there any good places to eat? Both of which he’d given a fairly poor response to judging by her reactions. And then she’d returned to talking about herself.

  Suzie leaned forward, her hand on his knee, her laugh slicing through the chatter around them. Belatedly, he joined in. His gaze slid, as he suspected it was intended to, to her cleavage. She’d made an effort, there was no doubt about that. Low cut top, trousers in some shiny fabric, strappy sandals and a lot of makeup. He wanted to cut to the chase and get her out of those clothes. They might leave him with little doubt as to the body beneath but taking them off would probably be the only way he’d get her to stop talking.

  His phone vibrated in his back pocket. Sliding it out, he saw Jenna’s name on the screen. Cold formed in his stomach. Was she okay? Had the storm witch struck again? With a very cursory glance at Suzie, he slid from his bar stool. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.”

  The bar
was densely packed. Weaving through the throngs of drinkers, shoving when necessary, he headed for the door. As he pushed it open he answered the phone.

  “Are you alright? Hold on a mo until I find somewhere quieter.”

  Outside groups moved along the street, talking and laughing, the night air filled with good-natured banter. Sticking his finger in his other ear, he said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve found her. On the Crystal Goddess site’s forum. She was on there last Saturday asking how to stop a spell.”

  His heart was hammering at a hundred beats a minute. “That’s why you’re ringing?”

  “Yes.” Jenna’s excitement bubbled down the line to him. “Her user name is Hamnowitch. I’m sure it’s her. Hamnovoe is the old name for Stromness. I think she lives there.”

  Frowning, he tried to concentrate on her words. Only he didn’t seem to be able to hear anything except her voice and that she was alright. He’d thought… He didn’t know what he’d thought but it hadn’t been good. It hadn’t been good at all.

  “Winston? Are you still there?”

  “Aye, I’m here.”

  “I was thinking I might reply to her post on the forum. I know it’s a bit late and she might not respond but it could be worth a try.”

  “Alright.” He sucked in a breath. Concentrate, Grant. “But make sure you don’t give anything away about who you are.”

  “I won’t. I’ll just ask a question and see what she says.”

  “Let me know. And send me a screenshot of what you’ve found.”

  “I will.” There was the tiniest hesitation before she added, “Sorry for disturbing your evening.”

  “You’re not.” The words were truer than he wanted them to be.

  “I’ll see you when you get back?”

  For the first time since the phone had rung he felt on solid ground. “Aye, you will. Alright if I pop round on Monday evening? Progress meeting?”

  “Yes, alright.” She sounded surprised. “If you like.”

  “And Jenna, I rang Grace. She’s kept some of Nina’s letters. She’s going to go through them and send me anything that might help.”

  “Oh, that’s great. Thanks.”

  A beat of silence between them grew then they both spoke together. Jenna said, “Good luck giving your paper tomorrow,” exactly as he said, “Pretty bad getting the stitches out then?”

  Of course she apologised, not once but twice before the conversation got back on track and she told him how the nurse who’d removed her stitches yesterday had used the opportunity to share her opinion on the Nethertown development.

  “Bet that really helped,” he said.

  “Oh yes, there’s nothing like having someone pull cat gut out of your arm at the same time as they’re abusing your relatives!”

  He laughed. “I don’t think they use cat gut anymore. And you agree with her. You think the proposal is wrong.”

  “I do but he is still my uncle. It’s hard to hear him called ‘a money grabbing concrete capitalist’.”

  “When do you go for dinner?”

  She groaned. “Tomorrow.”

  “Have fun!”

  When she’d rung off, he leaned back against the stone balustrade. She was funny. How had he not realised that? And smart. He’d already known that but she’d found something he’d missed. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d gloated a bit but she simply sounded excited, pleased that there was a clue, however tenuous. He had an idea about two thousand people lived in Stromness. If half of them were women then that gave them around a thousand suspects. Better odds than they’d had before but unless Jenna managed to tease something out of the storm witch on the forum they weren’t much further forward.

  Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he returned to the bar. Suzie was playing with the cocktail stick in her empty glass, her mobile in her other hand. Apologising for his absence, he bought her another drink. As the barman slid it towards her, Winston leaned in and whipped the olive from her glass. As she reacted, lips pouting, hands on hips, he slid his arm around her waist, waited until her head tilted back and kissed her.

  ***

  Jenna picked her words carefully, typing and deleting a dozen times before she came up with something she was happy with. “Hey Hamnowitch, coming to this thread a bit late. I’ve had the same problem a couple of times recently. Happy to chat about what’s helped me. Always good to share. That’s what I love about this forum!”

  She couldn’t decide if the last bit sounded a bit much. She’d copied it from a post in a thread about crystal magic but lots of what she’d read seemed similarly enthusiastic. In the end, she left it. As her reply, joined the thread under Hamnowitch’s question, Jenna watched the screen for a long moment as if there’d be an instant response. There wasn’t.

  Leaving the laptop open, she went to the kitchen and made a mug of valerian and lavender tea. She didn’t really need it while she was taking the painkillers the hospital had given her. She could manage without them during the day but the pain was harder to ignore at night and they helped her sleep. The tea was simply habit, a reminder of the days when Mum made it for her. Back on the sofa, she picked up Mansie and settled him on her lap, her hands rhythmically stroking him.

  Winston had sounded odd. As if he’d expected her to be ringing about another disaster, another storm. She’d thought he’d be more pleased. She’d not even had chance to gloat a bit that she’d found it where he’d missed it. She’d been looking forward to that part. Was he pissed off that she’d interrupted his night out in some swanky Glasgow bar? She wondered who he was with. Colleagues? Folk from the conference? A woman?

  He’d not seemed in any rush to get back. Maybe not a woman then. She couldn’t imagine he’d have been happy to chat about stitches and the Nethertown development if there’d been a woman waiting for him. Probably it was people from the conference. They must need a drink after a long day of academic discussion.

  Jenna’s eyes flickered back to the laptop screen. Someone called ‘Amythyst67’ had asked a question about divining rods but nothing else had changed. She couldn’t sit here all night waiting for an answer. She shut the computer down. She’d check again in the morning.

  Chapter 20

  Across Scapa Flow the mountains of Hoy were disappearing into mist as heavy clouds rolled in across the Pentland Firth. The gas flare on Flotta was bright as the light dimmed. Closer was Graemsay, its easterly lighthouse flashing red then white.

  Turning away from the enormous plate glass windows, Jenna sank back into her seat at the oak dining table and wondered how soon she could make her excuses and go home.

  “Felicity will be down in a while,” Andrew said as he strode through the living area, which was divided from the dining room by a half wall with open shelving above it. The shelves displayed vases, objets d’art and glossy hardback books. “She’s getting Callum to bed and then she listens to him read. Only way the little monkey ever opens a book. And we’ve lost Angus to his PlayStation I’m afraid.”

  “That’s okay.” Jenna glanced at her watch. “I should be making a move anyway. I’ve got a busy day at work tomorrow.”

  “No, don’t go yet.” He gestured to three matching cream leather sofas arranged around a wood burning stove. “I know Fliss wants a word with you about our summer party.”

  Repressing a sigh, Jenna followed him into the living area. “You’re having another one?” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise. “I thought last year’s was your big housewarming.”

  “We had such a great time we thought we’d do it again.” Andrew smoothed his hand over his bald head. “It’s a great opportunity to get the community together and put a bit back, you know.”

  It was only too easy to imagine who’d be on the guest list. Councillors, planning officials, anyone and everyone with influence in the islands.

  “Graeme and you will come, won’t you?” he added. “It’s on the 24th July. It’s a Sunday.” />
  To be rolled out as the Orkney relatives, Andrew’s link to the community? Not if she could possibly avoid it. “I’ll have to check with Dad. I’ll let you know.”

  Andrew poured himself a large glass of Scapa single malt. “Sure I can’t tempt you?”

  Jenna shook her head. He might be prepared to flout the drink-driving laws but she wasn’t. Plus she wasn’t supposed to drink while she was taking the painkillers.

  The leather sofa was butter soft and probably cost more than she earned in a month. But then her entire flat would fit into this space with room to spare. Winston’s jokey comment popped into her mind. All of this might make you successful in Glasgow or Aberdeen but being bigsie didn’t make you any friends in Orkney. Even with your niece.

  Taking the other sofa, Andrew sank into it clutching his glass. His belly protruded over his trousers straining against the buttons of his shirt. “I wanted a wee word with you about the Nethertown proposal anyway.”

  She should have known there was an agenda to dinner, that the North Ronaldsay lamb came with a price tag. “Whatever you’re going to say it won’t make any difference. I can’t support something Mum fought so hard to prevent.”

  He raised his hand, palm towards her. “Hear me out, Jenna. I’ve listened to the concerns Nina and the protest group raised and I’ve made a lot of the changes they wanted. There’s housing designated for locals, the landscaping’s better and we’ve included wind turbines which could provide up to half of the power the development needs.”

  “But the new development is even bigger than the old one.”

  “Because Orkney is growing. The tourism industry is booming, you must see that at Maeshowe, and the county needs more housing. Especially in Stromness.”