Storm Witch

by Alys West

  The sly devil, he’d not skipped a beat. Chatting up someone on the phone one minute and then having his arms around Jenna the next. He’d seen that through the window as he waited at the bar. But Hal was playing her. He’d heard enough of his phone conversation to realise that. Was it the Canadian supposedly ex-girlfriend or did the sandy-haired bastard have someone else on the go?

  It was obvious that Jenna cared about him. If she wore a big sign saying ‘I still love you’ it couldn’t be any clearer. She thought they were going to get back together. Why wouldn’t they now they were both living here? Provided the Canadian ex was really off the scene. But wouldn’t Jenna die of boredom with a guy like that? They might both love folk music but you needed more than that to keep a long-term relationship alive.

  Or so he’d been told. What the hell would he know? Since Amber, he’d never stuck it out for longer than six months and that one had only lasted because she’d been away digging in Galicia for half that time.

  Returning to sitting, he took his mobile from his pocket and pulled up Finn’s number. A picture of his friend, laughing with Zoe filled the screen. He’d put good money on those two being in it for the long haul. In a couple of years they’d be tying the knot and he’d be wondering what the hell to buy a druid and a seer as a wedding present.

  “What’s up?” Finn sounded a little drowsy and more than a little irritated.

  “How do you know anything’s up?”

  “You’re ringing me at quarter past midnight. It’d better not be to talk about the weather.”

  He’d not realised it was that late. Not that he was going to admit it. “Keeping you from bed with the missus, am I?”

  “Dangerous territory, Grant.” He could hear the grin in Finn’s voice. “What do you want?”

  “Help.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me for help? What’s happened? Has the storm witch beat the crap out of you?”

  Winston winced. He should have known this was the reaction he’d get. “Aye, right. Very funny. Not yet. But she might if we don’t figure out how to stop her.”

  “Okay.” All trace of drowsiness left Finn’s voice. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Find a way to use awen to defeat her. She’s got water and air on her side and I’m struggling to find ways to use awen against that.” Briefly he filled Finn in on what he’d attempted over the past hour and they talked about possibilities.

  “What about pushing awen through the trees to slow down the air she’s trying to use?” Finn said.

  “No good. There’s hardly any trees here.”

  “What? None?”

  “Only a few. The wind’s too strong for them.”

  “And that’s on an island where there’s an out of control storm witch on the loose? You really are in trouble.”

  “Aye, thanks. I am aware of that.” Winston stretched his hand out and his staff leapt into it. “We’ve found out that Nina was working with this girl—she’s called Rachel—before she died. Jenna’s convinced she’s responsible for Nina’s death.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “It doesn’t feel right. Rachel was starting out in spellwork. She was hardly likely to have wanted to wipe out the entire Order. There’s something else in play here, something that’s not come into focus yet.” He pulled his fingers along the stem of a sprig of heather between his feet. “Not that Jenna sees it that way.”

  “It must be hard for her, digging over Nina’s murder again.”

  “Aye, well...”

  “Well, what?”

  “Nothing.” A whisper of cool air crept under Winston’s damp t-shirt and met his clammy skin.

  Finn chuckled. Damn him. He knew him far too well. “Let me guess, she’s giving you the run around? This I have to see.”

  “You’d hate it here, McCloud. No trees, remember?”

  “I’d live. It’d be worth it to see you not knowing your arse from your elbow around this girl.”

  “Bugger off!”

  “If you like. But who else are you going to get to help you with your little storm witch problem?”

  They’d had a similar conversation on Glastonbury Tor when he’d teased Finn about Zoe and got an almost identical reaction. But this was different. He didn’t like Jenna. Not like that.

  When Finn rang off, Winston got to his feet and slowly walked back to the bike. The remains of awen fizzed within him but his body ached from the effort he’d expended. His mobile beeped as he reached the bike. Probably Suzie. There’d been a lot of late-night texting since he got back from Glasgow. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he saw Jenna’s name. He swiped the screen to read it.

  ***

  Jenna arrived home at half-past eleven. She called softly for Mansie but he didn’t appear. He must have headed out for his nightly perambulation of the streets of Kirkwall. Yawning, she put the kettle on and made herself a mug of lavender and valerian tea.

  Hal had been right. It had helped to go back to the session. She’d not played, her arm ached too much for that, but she and Hal had sung a few of the old favourites from their Parcel of Rogues days. The session had drawn to a close with them leading a rousing version of Whisky in the Jar. She’d forgotten the words to not one but two verses but no one seemed to mind and almost the entire pub was singing along with the chorus. The landlord had come over as they’d been packing up and asked if they’d be willing to do a support set in a couple of weeks’ time when a folk trio from Shetland were playing. Hal had looked at her and she’d looked at him and he’d said, ‘If you’re up for it?’ and she’d said, ‘I’m definitely up for it’ and before she’d known it the landlord was taking her email address and saying he’d send through the details.

  It felt so right to be playing with Hal again. She’d not said anything but she’d been surprised how rusty he’d been when he first came home but he was improving all the time and this evening it’d been almost like old times. They were going to need some serious rehearsal time to be ready for this gig. They’d arranged to get together on Sunday afternoon to run through some songs. Before then she needed to get her fingers working properly again. The nurse who took her stitches out had given her exercises but they hurt so much she hadn’t done them as often she should.

  Curling up on the sofa, she wished Mansie was here. Of course, he needed his freedom. All cats did. It was just that it’d been a huge evening and she didn’t want to be alone. His rumbling purr as she stroked him would have been enough to fill the room, to deaden the silence a little. Picking up the remote, she switched on the radio. An indie pop track she didn’t recognise poured out of the speakers. She turned it down to a background hum.

  She had to do it. There was no way she’d sleep tonight until she had. She wished Winston had stuck around so they could have read it together. It was easier when he was there. She crossed the room to pick up her bag. Once she’d returned to the sofa with it, she took out the letters and her mobile. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe he did have things to do. If he had stuck around then she’d not have gone back to the session, not sung with Hal and not got booked for the gig.

  She could always ring him. Or, she glanced at her watch, text him. He’d said that before he left, before he’d kissed her on the cheek. What with that and Hal hugging her, it’d been an eventful evening. Not that she was interested in Winston. Not one bit. Hal had got that all wrong.

  Her fingers fiddled with the torn edges of the envelopes and then, taking a deep breath, she opened the one sent on 12th December.

  ‘Dear Grace,

  You were absolutely right! Rachel came this afternoon and we walked along the path to Skipi Geo. It was raining so there wasn’t anyone about. Rachel didn’t mind the rain which was good because once I got her started with the water exercises you’d suggested there was a lot more of it! Once she’d done that I didn’t let her go far with air as we don’t need any more wind on these islands but, I’m sure of it, she really can control the weather! />
  I’ve met a few women who claimed to be sea witches but I’ve never been wholly convinced. It’s always seemed more like a heightened ability to predict the weather. What this girl can do goes far beyond that. I really think she’s like the storm witches of legend. When we got back and were drying out with cups of tea I asked her if she’s related to the Stromness storm witches, Mammie Scott and Bessie Miller. She shook her head and said, ‘No, we’re not from Stromness. My dad’s family comes from Westray.’ My eyebrows must have shot up because she said, ‘Why? What is it?’ ‘Have you heard of Janet Forsyth?’ I asked. She said she hadn’t so I told her the story. I thought her grandparents might have mentioned it and she’d forgotten Janet’s name but apparently not. She listened like the kid she tries so hard not to be.

  At the end she frowned and said ‘I don’t get it. Did she have any magic or not?’ It’s a good question and one that’s always puzzled me. I think she did and that it was as instinctive and untrained as Rachel’s. But I didn’t want to impose my ideas on her so I did the teacher trick of answering a question with a question and said, ‘What do you think?’ ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘If she did then why didn’t she use it against all the folk who tried to hurt her?’ She was all hunched over on herself in the chair, hair half covering her face, her foot tapping all the time. ‘Is that what you’d do?’ I asked. ‘I might,’ she said. ‘If folk treated me like they treated her.’ I saw in her eyes a simmering resentment against a world that’s let her down time and again. And then she blinked and it was gone and she was the same awkward half girl, half woman. I wish I could convince myself I’d not seen it. I’ve meditated about it but it’s not helped. Because I can’t help feeling that I’ve armed an angry child with a machine gun. She’s too young to understand what she can do, too governed by her hormones and insecurities to know who she is. I fear for her, I really do, and for anyone who hurts her.’

  Jenna pressed her fingers against her mouth, tears blurring her vision. Mum had known this girl was dangerous.

  Flipping the page, she read on:

  ‘When we have the Imbolc meeting of The Order in January I’ll ask the others if they’ve heard of anyone like Rachel. There must be something in the records about a gift like this. If we can find a way for her to perform spells using fire and earth with the same power she instinctively puts into air and water then she’ll be one of the most talented we’ve ever seen.

  Saturday was our demonstration against Andrew’s development. There was a surprisingly good turnout. About a hundred people marched with us from the harbour to the proposed site by the cemetery. About half of Stromness turned out to watch us pass and we ran out of leaflets long before we arrived at the site. A reporter from The Orcadian came along and took pictures of me, Pippa and Phil Croy. He said the article would be on the front page on Thursday. Andrew rang yesterday evening and actually told me I was being disloyal. When I told Graeme he laughed and said, ‘that’s rich coming from him!’ He’s right but I can’t laugh about it. When I think about what Andrew has done to push these developments through, how he’s betrayed everything that’s sacred to me I am so angry with him it hurts. His entire life is built on lies. The planning committee will vote in early January and I’ll keep fighting until the very last minute because I cannot let him win on this.’

  Tears blurred her vision and she scrubbed them away. What did she mean ‘everything that’s sacred to me’? Her magic? That was sacred to her but how could Andrew have betrayed that? He never took any interest in her magic. Mum must have meant something else. Family? But Jenna’s grandparents weren’t buried at the cemetery. They’d moved back to Cumbria when her grandfather retired and were buried in Keswick.

  Winston had suggested bribes, brown envelopes with used fivers changing hands. She’d laughed at the time but perhaps he was right. But would Mum have referred to bribery in that way? Hadn’t she known Andrew too well to be surprised to discover he broke the law from time to time?

  The pressure was building in her chest again but she couldn’t stop now. She scrubbed tears from her cheeks. There were only another two paragraphs. She could get through this. The next paragraph was about the trouble Luke was in because of his pot growing enterprise which must mean the letter she’d found from Grace had come a week or two before this.

  The last paragraph read:

  ‘Graeme and I went to Edinburgh last weekend. It was wonderful to see Jenna in her new flat. They’ve decorated it and she’s got very ambitious plans for painting furniture she’s found in a charity shop and making her own curtains. Goodness knows where she thinks she’ll find the time but that’s the enthusiasm of being young for you! We went to see her play with her band on Saturday night. I couldn’t believe it was my little girl on that stage. Who’d have thought she’d get so good? It only seems like five minutes since she was moaning about having to do her fiddle practice. They seem like nice boys that she’s in the band with. As you know I was a bit worried about her being the only girl with three lads but they’re really good with her and tease her like she’s their little sister. You’ll never believe it but I know one of the boy’s grandmothers. She lives in South Ronaldsay and I’ve met her at the craft guild a few times. Talk about a small world!

  Bright blessings

  Nina xx’

  That weekend had been the last time she’d seen Mum. She’d forgotten about them coming to the gig, forgotten Mum telling her not to take on too much as she’d poured out her plans to decorate the little flat as cheaply as possible. As the memories flooded back it was impossible to hold back the tears, impossible to do anything but put her head down on the sofa cushions and let the grief spill out.

  ***

  “I’ve read the third letter,” Jenna’s text said. “It’s a bit huge. Mum did know Rachel was a storm witch and thought she might be dangerous. I could really do with talking to you. If you’re still up will you ring me?”

  Winston glanced at the time. Half-past midnight. Then he stuck his mobile back in his pocket. He’d only used the ‘ring me anytime’ line because Hal was listening. He’d call her in the morning. That’d be soon enough.

  Chapter 24

  Rachel checked her rucksack for the fourth time. She’d got the biscuits he liked, some Orkney cheddar and a box of his favourite tea-bags. Glancing at the kitchen clock, she slung the bag on her shoulder and hurried down the hall.

  Once she’d locked the front door, she looked up at the pebbledash exterior of the house. He wasn’t coming back. She’d known that for a while but it didn’t stop it hurting. Her stomach tightened, tying itself in the familiar knots that happened before every visit. She hated herself for dreading it, for lingering until the very last minute.

  Walking through the almost silent streets before six it was almost as if it was a normal day. Only she wasn’t going to work.

  Boarding the ferry with the other passengers she found a seat on the foredeck. The weather had closed in, the clouds obscuring the view of Hoy and the other islands. It’d probably be raining by the time she came back. Rachel pulled her woolly hat lower and took her gloves out of her rucksack. It’d be colder when they got out of the harbour but today she wouldn’t be trapped inside. She could soak up the sight and sound of the sea. With luck, that’d give her strength to get through the rest of the day.

  ***

  The text arrived as Jenna was eating her breakfast and making her sandwiches at the same time. She’d slept very badly. When she’d returned to the session she’d had a bottle of Latitude and with that much alcohol inside her she couldn’t take the painkillers before she went to bed. Halfway through the night, as her arm ached evilly and thoughts of Mum constantly spun, she’d never craved the oblivion they brought more. She must have slept for a while because she’d woken up, groggy and exhausted when her alarm went off at seven.

  Stuffing a bite of bagel in her mouth, she picked up her mobile. It was from Winston. “You free later?”

  She was already in danger
of being late for work. She’d reply to him when she got there.

  ***

  “You alright, sweetheart? You seem a bit quiet this morning.” Finn dropped his hand on Zoe’s shoulder as he put his empty cereal bowl in the sink.

  “I had a dream, that’s all.”

  “When? I didn’t hear you.”

  “About three.” She reached around him to drop two slices of bread in the toaster. “You were actually asleep.”

  “I thought I didn’t feel as knackered this morning.” He ran his hand through his hair making the curls stick up at all angles. “Good thing too seeing as Winston wants my help with his storm witch problem.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve got an idea about using broom.”

  “How’s a broom going to help?” As she spooned the last of her muesli into her mouth, she glanced up at him.

  Finn laughed. “Not a broom. The plant. There’s loads of it around Lisfannon beach. I’m going to drive over there and get some.”

  “Isn’t that gorse?”

  “No, the two look pretty similar but broom doesn’t have thorns and the flowers are larger.”

  “Oh.” The toast popped up and she reached for it. “Did they teach you that at druid school?”

  “No, they taught me that at conservation school.”

  She dropped a slice of toast onto each of the plates Finn had got out of the cupboard. Quite how they’d got into the habit of having breakfast standing up she didn’t know but she liked it. It was nice to revolve around the kitchen together before they went off to do their jobs for the day.

  “So how’s broom going to help with Winston’s storm witch?”