Sounds simple, doesn’t it?
If you pass then the sponsor opens the front door and invites you into the house for a celebratory meal. This marks the start of your formal training as a witch. If you fail you’re sent home to try again.
It’s a simple test. But you shouldn’t confuse simple with easy.
You’re allowed three attempts. Get it wrong once and you have to wait until the next new moon before you can take it again.
Get it wrong three times and you can forget all about ever becoming a witch.
The first time I took the test I managed to extinguish all three candles.
The thing is I never got a chance to take the test again. Before I could re-sit it Ma Birch had her stroke.
That’s why, despite everything being in order, they would only offer me a Conditional place at Newton. I would have to find another witch to oversee the test. I only had until the Summer Solstice to pass.
The problem was that I couldn’t find another witch to administer the test –it’s a long story and involves my mother - so I never did complete it. I could say that it was the greatest regret of my life. But that wouldn’t be strictly true.
When the letter arrived from Newton I didn’t open it for nearly a week. When I did finally pluck up the courage, imagine my surprise when I saw that it opened with the single word: “Congratulations.”
There’d obviously been some terrible mistake but, when I contacted the college, they seemed unaware of any problem. In fact, my place had been confirmed by the Dean herself.
I took the letter with me when I next went to see Ma Birch. She was in a poor state at that point, propped up in bed. She couldn’t speak but she could hear well enough so I read the letter to her.
“Well,” I asked tremulously when I’d finished. “What do you think? I can’t go if I haven’t passed the test.”
She tried to say something but it came out all slurred.
“Can I?” She gripped my arm with such strength that she nearly pulled me over onto the bed. I watched as the thin membrane of her lips parted and she said, clearly enough to make herself understood, “Go.”
Her head dropped back onto the pillow and, after a few moments, she was asleep. It was the last thing she ever said to me.
“What’s wrong?” Marcus was waving his hand in front of my face. “Am I boring you?”
“Just got a lot on my mind.”
*
Half an hour later they dropped me at the Common’s northern most entrance. Apart from the fact that it was vast, the Common was located on the side of a hill giving excellent views of London. Even though we were still in early October the trees had started to develop their full range of autumn colours. The Common was awash with every hue from gold to deep russet, the grass already peppered with fallen leaves.
It was just starting to turn dark when I got there, the lights slowly coming on in the row of bars and restaurants sitting opposite reminding me of just how hungry I was. I imagined how nice it would be to walk over there now to find my dad sitting at one of the tables. In my little fantasy he’d have already ordered for both of us and be in the process of pouring me a large glass of red wine.
If only! He’d sent a text to me whilst we were in the car to let me know that he’d finally managed to collect Millie’s keys and was heading back to the flat.
As I was putting my phone away a taxi pulled up and Helena stepped out.
Chapter 10
“Hi,” Helena waved as she walked across. “Sorry about all this.”
I nodded. I didn’t have time for small-talk. I wanted to know what it was that was so important that I had to be dragged half way across London on a Friday night.
“Did you get a chance to speak to your dad?”
“The Estate Agents took too long. I’ve left him a Voice-mail.”
“But you got your keys?” she reached into her bag and produced a bottle of champagne. “Congratulations. I felt bad about calling you out again. Hope this helps soften the blow.”
She gave me the bottle and then she hugged me. I was more than a little confused. Perhaps it was the combination of her summoning me here, offset by the sudden display of generosity, compounded by the fact that she’d managed to fit in a complete change of clothes at some point during the day. She was wearing a stylish wool coat, knee-high boots, a skirt and blouse. I, on the other hand, was still wearing the clothes Millie had donated earlier: a jumper and a pair of jeans. Already, out of the sunshine, the temperature was beginning to drop and I was starting to notice it. I felt like I’d been totally out-manoeuvred and got the impression that this was going to happen a lot if I spent much more time in Helena’s company.
I weighed the bottle in my hand. Tried to picture myself cracking it open with some good looking guy. Which was when I realised just how tired I really was: the only person that my brain could offer up as my fantasy hunk was one Marcus Rolfe. And I found that a bit worrying.
I told her about what had happened with the other Land Rover but she didn’t seem that interested. Said that we’d have to wait until we got back to the office to check that it wasn’t just a coincidence.
I was a bit disappointed by her response but I decided not to push it. We had enough to do.
*
It was starting to get dark as we entered the common. We were the only people going in, everyone else was coming out. Helena started striding towards the boating lake. The temperature had started to drop already.
When she told me who we were going to meet I thought that I’d mis-heard her.
“A shape-shifter! I didn’t know that were any left in London.”
“Only one or two. But this one’s a werewolf. A member of the Hertfordshire pack, so not strictly from London.”
“A pack of werewolves? In Hertfordshire!”
“They’re very well-to-do. They deal art and sculpture which is why this particular one is based here. He has contacts with all the major auction houses. He might even have been offered the Iron before now. Certainly they’ve the funds to make an offer on it.”
I wasn’t sure what I was hearing: werewolf art dealers! “And he’s meeting us here?”
“We’re to walk across the Common and he says he’ll find us,” she could see my obvious apprehension. “Don’t worry. It’s what he does.”
*
It was nearly dark by the time we came level with the tree line. The path was steeper than I’d expected and we were passed by a middle aged man wearing compression leggings and a vest top wheeling his bike up the hill.
Truth to tell, I was more anxious with every passing minute. It was getting darker all the time and I didn’t fancy being out on the Common after sunset, shape-shifter or no. We were woefully under prepared: we didn’t have so much as a torch between us. Normally I can rely on a handful of showy spells to deter most people but, after the day’s events, I didn’t think that I could so much as change the colour of my nail varnish. It’s not the simplest of spells but it tends to be one of the first you master as an urban witch.
The path had dropped again and was taking us down a fair slope towards a bank of trees. Beyond that was what I took to be the boating lake.
“Do you know this place very well?” I asked.
“Reasonably well. I think that’s the bandstand over there.”
“Are you sure. That just looks like a lot of trees.”
“During the day I’d be fine. It just looks different at night,” Helena swung her bag over her shoulder, not missing a beat.
I tucked the bottle of champagne snugly under my arm, preparing myself for a long walk. “I know that you probably have to be careful about meeting these people but aren’t we taking this a little too far?”
“No one must know about this. I’m not kidding!”
“Helena,” I grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. “You have cleared this with Kinsella haven’t you? Please tell me that you have.”
We just stood there looking at one another. I expec
ted it to be totally silent in the park at night but even from where we were you could still hear the sounds of traffic over in the distance. The glare of fluorescent street lights bled into the sky.
“I meant to speak to him. Honestly, I did.”
“So why bring us out here,” I could hear the anger in my voice.
“Look, I tried to ring him but he wasn’t in the office and he wasn’t answering his mobile.”
“But you left a message?”
And I knew the answer before she said a word.
“I couldn’t risk it. It’s such a touchy subject. If anything goes wrong I didn’t want him to be implicated. I didn’t think it was fair.”
I wouldn’t have thought of that. She seemed to be constantly considering the ramifications of her every action. Like one of those chess grand masters, always thinking ten moves ahead. I’m normally a bit more impetuous.
“Who knows we’re here then?”
She was getting frustrated with me, “Marcus Rolfe and whatsisname. His partner. Terence ?”
“What if something goes wrong?”
Helena shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other.
“Look! This guy we’re meeting… I trust him – like – a lot!”
I laughed. “What if it’s a trap?”
“It’s not a trap. I had to badger him to come. Just remember though, when you’re talking to him – he can be quite - manipulative. He’ll try and mess with your head if you let him. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Whilst there are a lot of little sub-groups in the preternatural world it’s commonly thought to be split into two distinct halves: the Red Bloods and the Blue Bloods. It’s been like that for the last four hundred years. After the persecution of the seventeenth century the various groups had to make a difficult decision. Did we agree to respect human life and live by man-made laws as part of normal society or did we decide to follow our own instincts and live outside the law? Certain groups chose the latter, most noticeably the poor vampires, but also the nobles of the Seelie Court and the shape-shifters. As a result, they’ve become more isolated, trusting only the members of their own tightly knit group. So now vampires don’t trust shape-shifters and shape-shifters are wary of the Fae.
The Red Bloods tend to be made up from the races whose powers are relatively weak in comparison to the Blues - people with psychic abilities and suchlike. Whilst their powers are less impressive they tend to make up for it through sheer weight of numbers.
And then there are the witches and the wizards. We have a foot in both camps. Some of us come from families which have had a long connection with magic whilst others, often extremely powerful witches and wizards in their own right, have no previous family involvement whatsoever. It would be fair to say though that most young witches and wizards tend to support the Red Bloods for no other reason than that we recognise the sanctity of human life but, as the individual practitioner ages, the temptation to throw in their lot with the Blues becomes increasingly difficult to resist. We’re neither of us immortal but we can extend our life span to several hundred years if we’re shrewd. There is a price to pay for this and, as I see it, the price tends to be a loss of humanity.
Things came to a head during the Second World War which, for the first time, drew in members of the various races as active participants, for better or for worse. When it was over certain high ranking members of the Red Bloods decided that it was time to police the supernatural world in an attempt to stamp out abuses of power by all magic users. The situation was becoming more political and the Reds realised that, whilst the Blues were undeniably more powerful, we out-numbered them by at least ten to one. And that’s when the Red Bloods started getting themselves organised. The more the Blues resisted the further they were forced out into the political wasteland.
The situation is very finely balanced. In short: Red Bloods and Blue Bloods shouldn’t mix, especially not on Clapham Common on a Friday night.
“What have you done with the book?” I asked absent mindedly.
“Don’t worry about that right now. It’s safe, I promise.”
“I’m sure it is, but my job isn’t. I need to get the book back to the library for Monday morning.”
I heard them before I saw them. Three men, two standing back in the shadow of the trees whilst the third was moving directly towards us. We’d be much easier to see, silhouetted as we were against the moonlight.
“Helena,” I said keeping my voice low.
“It’s okay, he’s harmless.”
I relaxed a little. Did she know him? I very much doubted that this was the werewolf. A go-between perhaps.
“Evenin’ ladies,” a male voice, late teens.
“Good night,” Helena said with a hint of finality.
“I wonder if you could point me in the right direction? I’m looking for Clapham High Road.”
Helena came and stood next to me, “Just keep going on up the hill and you’re there.”
“She don’t know what she’s talking about,” he waved Helena away and turned to me. “What about you?”
I could smell the alcohol now. He’d given up on Helena and was moving towards me, his arms out-stretched as if intent on giving me a hug.
“Helena!” I was frightened. The two figures had detached themselves from the shadows and were moving towards her in a kind of pincer movement.
Not good.
I started to move back up the path weighing my options, uncertain as to how to proceed.
“Come here. I only want a chat.”
He grabbed me by the wrist and that got my attention. He was solidly built with a fair sized beer belly under his Chelsea football shirt.
I flexed the fingers of my right hand. A charm would be worse than useless at this point. I’d just have to go straight for a spell. The question was: which one?
I realised that I still had the champagne. Considered just hitting him with it. But then I reconsidered - I didn’t want to kill him. Keep it simple, I thought, my heart hammering. No need to over complicate. My mind settled on a spell and, despite the fact that my breathing was becoming more laboured, I spoke the incantation slowly and clearly.
My tormentor heard the first few words of Latin and edged forward confidently, “Ah, English not very good is it? What are you then? Polish? Come here, let’s have a look at you.”
He made to lunge for me just as I discharged the spell so that it hit him squarely in the chest. He faltered and staggered backwards. When he did make to grab me again I simply side stepped him causing him to trip, going over in a confusion of limbs.
“You little bitch. I’ll have you for that,” but he would do no such thing. He placed both hands on the ground, bracing himself like a sprinter poised for the start but, as he attempted to push himself upright, he lurched to one side, ending up face down in the grass. “Christ! What ‘ave you done to me?”
He snatched at my foot. I hopped backwards to avoid him.
I stood and watched him flailing around: a perfectly judged Vertigo spell. I couldn’t take full credit for its effectiveness though, the amount of alcohol he’d consumed had no doubt given it an extra boost. His long levers just adding to the spectacle.
So I was feeling pretty pleased with myself when I looked around for Helena. Only to find that she’d gone.
She must have made her way over to the trees making a bad situation worse. The bottle of champagne was passed from hand to hand as I tried to think. Finally, after I’d made up my mind, I raced across the grass.
The trees were fairly evenly spaced out, the canopy providing almost complete coverage meaning that the moonlit only filtered through in places. My eyes were taking a long time adjusting to the sudden drop in available light. But then I saw movement, over to my left and I was suddenly pitching through the undergrowth, intent on finding Helena before something bad happened.
I had to really concentrate in order to pick her out. She was almost waist deep in the long ferns which sprouted everyw
here, chasing after one of the men who seemed to have her bag. He was happy simply to be drawing her in, holding out the bag, taunting her.
What made matters worse was the fact that the man’s partner was, all the while, circling round behind her. Taking his time. I didn’t like the way that things were developing. This was clearly a scenario that they’d played out before – the guy with the bag serving as a distraction giving his partner the time to make his move.
“Helena!” I was part running, part hurdling over the uneven ground, clutching the champagne to my chest like a rugby ball. “Watch out!”
Either she didn’t hear me or she was too intent on re-claiming her property. Whatever she intended doing she’d better do it soon or the second man would be on top of her. I watched him stop; looking down at the ground and for a second I thought that I’d mis-read the situation. That they were simply having some fun at her expense. But then he bent down and picked up a length of wood. He smacked it into his palm a couple of times. Satisfied, he came forward.
I tried to think of a spell that I could cast at a distance and on the run. I couldn’t think of anything which wouldn’t affect them all equally as badly. My mind slipped back to the Burden Conundrum. Three candles but you must only extinguish one. That’s why I would never make a decent witch. Lack of control.
All the time this was happening I could hear a voice in my head screaming: Why don’t you just do something? What are you waiting for? Do something!
So, in the end, I did.
I screamed.
It wasn’t subtle or particularly clever but at least it got a reaction.
The attacker nearest me turned, hefting the length of wood like a club. With his back to Helena he was effectively shielding the weapon from her, turning it over in his hands, checking his grip, its surface glinting in the moonlight.
I could see the calculations on his face as he measured the distance between us. Helena was closer and presented the easier target but, if they grabbed her then that would give me time enough to escape and go for help. However, if he came after me he’d have a decent chance of running me down, leaving his partner to deal with Helena.
Urban Witch (Urban Witch Series - Book 1) Page 8