Storm Witch

by Alys West

  “Through here.” Zoe gestured past Finn who stood in front of the broken gate. God only knew what Winston had done to it. It’d grown three branches and looked likely to shortly sprout roots. “I’m Zoe. I rang for the ambulance.”

  “Kim.” The paramedic pointed for her to go ahead. “I’ll follow you.”

  Zoe sprinted past the tearooms and round the outside of the bungalow. She’d seen enough to know every second counted. She slowed at the door. “Jenna, his daughter’s with him and her boyfriend.”

  “Right.” Kim gave her a brisk nod and entered the room ahead of her. There was a strong smell of burning. Kim took two steps and stopped. Zoe looked past the woman’s shoulder and gasped.

  It was what she’d drawn. A ring of fire surrounded Graeme’s body. The flames obscured his features but the slackness of his limbs told their own tale. Within the fire, Winston held Jenna as she sobbed. Across the room, one bird cawed mutedly over Felicity’s body while the other flapped between the bookcase and the curtain rail.

  “What the hell happened here?” Kim crossed to the circle of fire. The flames leapt as she got closer and she leaned away from them. Across the room, Felicity stirred. One hand rose and brushed clumps of clay from her hair. “Bloody hell! Is that Mrs Stewart?” Kim said.

  Zoe’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Small island. She wasn’t used to that. Finn stood outside the window. He tapped his staff. With a popping sound each of the birds disappeared. A second later the fire flickered and died becoming nothing more than a black scorch mark on the wooden floor and woollen rug.

  “Mrs Stewart and a man called Ewan kidnapped Jenna. I saw it happen. I’ll make a statement when the police get here.” Zoe’s hands knotted as she explained. “Mr Henderson was distressed and tried to take his own life.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “And the birds?”

  Zoe met her gaze steadily. “What birds?”

  The paramedic gestured across the room and then did a double take. She shot Zoe a long look before she bent her head to talk into her radio. “Police emergency at Palace Tearooms, Birsay. Repeat, police emergency at Palace Tearooms, Birsay.” Then she strode across the stained and blackened rug. “Jenna, I need you to step aside now and let me take care of your dad.”

  ***

  Hal turned the car into the Stewarts’ drive. He’d taken Rachel home, helped her inside and reiterated Grace’s instructions to take a hot bath and then go to bed. Grace had asked him to return and wait with her. She hadn’t needed to elaborate what they were waiting for. There’d been no word from Archaeology Boy before he left. But he hadn’t only come back for that.

  He steered round the fence panels littering the gravel and parked by the front door. As he got out of the car, he saw Andrew’s face at a window. That was another thing to add to the list. How exactly had Grace trapped Andrew in his study? Because, as far as he could tell, there were no locks on that door.

  He shoved open the front door and, stepping over the crack, walked through to the dining room. Grace had moved one of the chairs next to the windows. Clouds massed across the sky with a few bright pink and orange streaks breaking through.

  Grace turned her head as he approached. “How was she when you got her home?”

  “Completely wiped out. It hit her when she walked through the door.”

  “I thought that might happen.” Grace shifted on her chair. “And before you ask, I’ve heard nothing while you’ve been gone.”

  “Have you rung them?”

  “Twice. It went through to voicemail both times.”

  That wasn’t good. Something bad was happening in Birsay and he was stuck here in a house where nothing made logical sense.

  He reached for one of the other dining chairs and swung it round to face Grace. “I want to know what happened with Rachel. And don’t fob me off and tell me it’s Jenna’s tale to tell.”

  “Alright, if you really want to know but it’s going to challenge everything you think you know. Are you sure you want that?” Grace put a hand on Hal’s arm. It was twisted, he guessed by arthritis, but Grace was no invalid and he wasn’t going to treat her like one.

  “It’s too late to worry about that. It was too late when I saw a whirlpool explode that door—” he gestured towards the kitchen “—and Rachel burst out of the middle of it.”

  “If it helps, I didn’t expect the whirlpool either.” Grace folded her hands together on her lap. “But that wasn’t the question you asked. To answer that I’ve got to begin somewhere else and tell you what you’ll think is a fairy story but, as you listen, you need to remember what you’ve seen today. Can you do that?”

  “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  “I was hoping for something a bit more positive—” Grace raised a hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “No, let’s get on with it. You’re going to have questions. Lots of questions and I don’t know how long we’ve got. The story starts way back in pre-history when men lived in harmony with the earth and the heavens and prayed to their ancestors.”

  She went on to tell him of spellworkers, like the witches of folktales but more powerful, who had the power to weave spells to change everything around them and druids who were connected to awen, the earth’s energy. It was preposterous and he tried to tell her so but, each time he interrupted, she kept talking in that calm yet determined way. Then she told him of Nina, who was a spellworker and part of something called The Order which sounded suspiciously like The Ministry of Magic.

  Was this where Grace was getting this stuff from? Had she read too much fantasy and created her own from it? She badly needed psychiatric help because she clearly believed every word. According to her, Winston and Finn were druids —Hal had problems keeping a straight face at that point — and Rachel was a storm witch able to control air and water but had the potential to become a great spellworker. As Grace explained that Rachel had created the storm using magic, Hal couldn’t contain himself any longer.

  “Why are you doing this?” He stood, shoving the chair back. “You can’t feed me some Harry Potter crap and expect me to believe it!”

  “Sit down, Hal. I haven’t finished.”

  “But I have.” He strode towards the hall. Grace clearly had some serious issues but that didn’t mean he had to stay to listen to any more of her shit.

  “Don’t you want to know about Jenna?”

  “What about Jenna? And don’t try to tell me she’s part of whatever fantasy you’ve concocted because I know her better than—”

  “Jenna may have very little magic but she’s her mother’s daughter. When your parent is part of The Order, the laws of our world are engrained. One of those laws is not to tell those who don’t have magic. Partly, I suspect, because those conversations tend to go as badly as this one. However, that’s not the point. The point is that even when Nina and the rest of The Order were dead, Jenna couldn’t bring herself to break those rules.”

  “You’re trying to tell me Jenna is part of all of this and she’s kept it from me? She wouldn’t. She loved me. We—”

  “It wasn’t her choice, Hal.”

  He took a couple of steps back towards her. Grace was silhouetted against the fading light outside.

  “Look around you,” Grace continued. “Does anything in your rational brain explain what you’ve seen here today? Because if it doesn’t, isn’t it worth considering the alternative? You don’t have to believe it but as a scientist shouldn’t you test the evidence before you reject it out of hand?”

  “I’m not a scientist. I’m an engineer.”

  “Same difference.” Grace waved a hand. “You only believe in what you can see.”

  “No.” He moved closer. “I believe in gravity and I can’t see that.”

  “But you believe in it because you experience it. Is what I’m asking any different? Is there any other explanation for what you’ve experienced today? Any laws of physics that make what Rachel did possible? Because if there are then let’s hear th
em. I don’t mind a debate although you’re going to have to simplify the science for me. I barely scraped my O’ level.”

  He shook his head. Nothing explained what Rachel had done. That was why he’d begun this crazy conversation in the first place. Could he do what Grace asked? He glanced behind him but he couldn’t see the door to the utility room from here. It’d been shredded by something on the other side. He’d checked and there’d been no tools, nothing that could turn a door into woodchips. But that was nothing compared with what happened next. How the door being pulverised revealed a foot of water which was held in place by an invisible barrier; how a whirlpool had hovered in the doorway but no moisture had hit him even though he stood only six inches away; how something had broken — he’d felt the pressure change as water sprayed over him — and the whirlpool spun into the kitchen before collapsing to reveal Rachel at the centre of it.

  Magic was the least plausible explanation. He’d go with alien invasion and collective false memory before he’d accept magic but, if Jenna believed in it, the least he could do was hear what Grace had to say. He took three more steps and rested his hand on the chair back. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “You’d better sit down.” Grace gestured at the chair. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

  “I need a drink. Do you want one?”

  “Are you thinking tea or something stronger?”

  “Stronger.”

  There was an oak sideboard against the wall. Hal opened doors until he found glasses and a fine selection of single malts. Normally he wouldn’t dream of drinking a man’s whisky without his permission but none of the usual rules seemed to apply today. He showed the bottle to Grace and she accepted with a sharp nod. He was pouring two generous measures when her mobile rang.

  “Yes, Winston?” Grace listened for a long moment. “She’s alright then? That’s such a relief. I’ll tell Hal, he’s—” As she broke off, Grace frowned. Hal’s grip tightened on the bottle. “Oh no!” she said and there was such grief in the words that he knew whatever news came next would be very bad indeed.

  Grace exchanged a few more sentences with Winston. She put the mobile on the dining table and reached out her hand. Hal put the glass in it. She knocked back the whisky in one gulp.

  “What is it?” Hal sat down. “What’s happened?”

  “Jenna’s fine. It’s Graeme. He’s dead.”

  “What? How?”

  “He killed himself. Felicity was trying to use him to get Jenna to do what she wanted and Graeme slit his wrists. He died shortly after the paramedic arrived.”

  “Oh my God!” Hal took a long slug of the malt. “That’s the absolute worst thing that could have happened.”

  “I know,” Grace said.

  PART FIVE

  LAMMAS

  Lit by the harvest moon, Lammas is a time for reflection on what you’ve achieved and preparing for what’s yet to come.

  The Spiral Path by Nina Stewart (unpublished)

  Chapter 56

  Winston sank into the basket chair opposite the bed in the bungalow’s guest room. Someone, Nina presumably, had decorated this room in yellow; with daffodils on the curtains, cushions the colour of egg yolk and an abstract painting in shades ranging from primrose to ochre. It was like being inside an ode to Oestar.

  Jenna was asleep, tucked beneath a duvet covered in more bloody daffodils. The ambulance crew had arrived too late to do anything for Graeme but they’d strapped her ankle and re-stitched her arm. He’d already used awen on her wrists and neck but he wouldn’t risk it with the other wounds in case he did more harm than good.

  The police had arrived shortly after the ambulance. He’d let Zoe do most of the talking. She’d witnessed enough to make the police take it seriously despite Felicity’s protestations of innocence. Finn had hauled Ewan back to the bungalow and although the man was babbling about birds, dogs and inexplicable storms the police had quickly realised he already featured on their database. His arrest swiftly followed. Felicity was asked to assist them with their enquiries which everyone knew was police code for ‘we’re pretty sure you did it but we haven’t got enough evidence yet’.

  Jenna had sat next to him on the sofa in the living room as the police questioned her. He’d kept hold of her hand, awen flowing through his skin into hers. It could only do so much though. As soon as the police left, Jenna admitted she’d got a pounding headache and had gone to bed. She’d been through way too much. If she slept for a month it wouldn’t be enough.

  Hearing whining outside the door, he stood to open it. Jet sniffed along the bed until he reached Jenna’s sleeping form and then settled down next to her. If she got up, she’d fall over him but Winston didn’t move him. They’d both lost someone they loved. They needed each other.

  He walked through to the hall and opened the front door. He’d taken his boots off some time ago and he couldn’t be bothered to track them down. The paving slabs were damp with dew and freezing against his bare feet. Above the bay, the sky was pearlescent, the sun not far from rising. The sea murmured to him, a gentle slap of waves against rock. He headed along the path to Nina’s room. The police had stuck tape over it. He pulled that down, opened the door and flicked the light switch. Tomorrow the forensics team were coming. God only knew what they’d make of the burn marks on the floor and rug. There’d been enough raised glances about the blood-covered athame as the constable bagged it as evidence.

  Before that there was something he had to do. She’d told him she’d lost it in the fight. From what Zoe had said, that’d happened by the back wall. Creating a light ball, he directed it into each corner, crouching to scan the polished floorboards. There was nothing but dust in them. As he straightened, the light ball floated towards the window. Beneath it, lodged next to the radiator pipe was a glint of silver. In two steps, he’d snatched it up. Blood clogged the broken chain but the pendant was unharmed.

  Heading back to the door, he stopped in the centre of the blackened circle. How had Jenna done it? Earlier in the week she couldn’t light a candle with magic and tonight she’d summoned a ring of fire as her father lay dying. Had she more magic than she realised or had something else been in play?

  He could have cheerfully strangled Graeme Henderson when he’d realised what he’d done. The man might think he’d acted altruistically to set his daughter free but it seemed utterly self-serving to Winston. Didn’t Graeme know what this would do to Jenna? The guilt she’d carry? She’d barely recovered from the death of one parent and now she’d lost the other one.

  He ran his hand over his face. They’d had no time. No time to be together, to date, to have fun. How could a relationship as new as theirs survive this? It wasn’t like he knew how to cope when things got tough. Since Amber, he’d never stuck around in a relationship long enough to deal with difficult.

  After replacing the police tape, he headed back to the bungalow. In the kitchen, he scrubbed the chain clean, teasing the blood from each link before drying it on a tea-towel. In the guest room, he stepped round Jet’s sleeping form and, careful not to wake Jenna, laid pendant and chain on the bedside cabinet.

  ***

  Rachel woke to someone hammering on the door. She yawned widely, making her jaw crack and glanced at the clock. Nearly half-past ten. The knocking continued.

  She flung the bedclothes back and grabbed her dressing gown. Halfway across the room she halted. Her legs felt like she’d run a marathon. She took the stairs slowly, crossed the hall and peeked through the spyhole. Grace stood on the doorstep, her multi-coloured hair blowing this way and that in the wind.

  Rachel opened the door a few inches. Grace gave her a long assessing look as she stepped inside. “How do you feel? If you say fine, I’ll know you’re lying. No one could handle that much power and be fine afterwards.” Grace opened her arms as she spoke and Rachel let them enfold her. Grace looked different this morning. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying and she was leaning more heavily on her st
ick.

  “I’m completely wiped out,” Rachel said as Grace released her. “I can’t remember ever feeling this tired.”

  “Go and sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.” Grace gestured towards the open door into the sitting room but Rachel moved past her. There was no way she was going to let Grace see the chaos in the kitchen.

  “No, I’ll do it. You’re the visitor.” Rachel waited while Grace took a seat on the sofa and then slipped into the kitchen. She was ravenously hungry. She put a couple of slices of bread in the toaster while she waited for the kettle to boil. She made the tea properly using the teapot and even put milk in a jug. She carried the tray through to the sitting room, cursed under her breath when she saw the coffee table was piled high with books, laptop and newspapers and bent to put the tray on the floor.

  “Let me help you with that.” Grace stacked things into neat piles until the glass surface of the coffee table emerged.

  “Thanks. I don’t have many visitors.” Rachel put the tray down. “Well, except for Mrs Sutherland. She lives next door.”

  “The lady with the Yorkshire terrier? I saw her as I was waiting for you to open the door. I guess, she doesn’t miss much.”

  “She’s been looking out for me since Dad got sick.” Rachel curled her legs under her and sat on the floor.

  “Hungry as well?” As Grace picked up the milk jug, her hand shook slightly. “That’s a good sign. Milk and sugar?”

  “Yes, please.” Toast with raspberry jam had never tasted so good. Grace slid a mug of tea across the table towards her.

  “Rachel, there’s something I have to tell you. Something that happened after you came home last night.”

  “Is it about Jenna?”

  “It is.” Grace wrapped both hands around her mug and took a sip of tea. Then she told Rachel about Felicity and Ewan taking Jenna to the tearooms at Birsay and threatening Mr Henderson to ensure Jenna’s compliance, about magical birds created by Nina that helped Jenna win a fight with Felicity and about Graeme Henderson taking his own life.