Waywood

by Sarah Goodwin

  “Oi!” I can hear him shouting, “get back here!”

  The tiny toilet is windowless and smells like bleach and someone’s mega-bad stomach. I cover my mouth and nose with one hand, frantically trying to come up with a way out. Maybe he’ll get tired of looking and just go away? Maybe Ilex will come and help me if he sees I’m stuck?

  Even as I think it I know Ilex will do no such thing. This is one of those sink-or-swim things, and I am sinking fast. Besides, Ilex is the kind of person who wouldn’t cross the road to save his own mother (though after finding out a bit about his life I couldn’t say I didn’t see where he was coming from).

  No, I was on my own.

  I hear footsteps going quickly down the corridor and almost let out the breath I’ve been holding, then I hear him coming back. Shit. I still have his bag of weed, there’s a lot in it, too much for him to just let go of, he won’t stop until he gets it back.

  Slowly I press myself against the back wall, desperately reaching for the power that Chronicle taught me about. It’s like trying to grab a lucky penny from the bottom of a stagnant well. Apparently my fragile grip on magic is useless under stress. Terrific.

  The toilet door rattles suddenly and I yelp. He bangs on the thin wood.

  “Come out and give me my weed back,” he hisses, “or I’ll kick this door in and drag you out.”

  “I’ve got my mobile in here,” I shout, inspired, “I’m calling my friends from the next block and they’re coming to get you.”

  There’s a brief, thoughtful silence.

  “Bullshit. You’re a pikey, little, towney.”

  I know, just like I know Ilex isn’t coming back to help me, that I have to get away with the baggie. That’s the test – take the bag, get away, don’t get caught. It’s going so well so far. I squeeze my hands into tight fists, my nails digging grooves into my skin.

  “And you’re a stoner loser,” I shout through the door, “trying to be cool? Why do you need this so badly, eh? What would you do if I-” I rustle the bag and then push down on the flush. As the toilet roars he bangs on the door and I jerk down the handle and push outwards as hard as I can, shoving him into the wall opposite.

  I shoulder my way past him and into the corridor, my heart pumping. He’s swearing, trying to get up and I turn, throwing out a blinding hex as I claw desperately for some power, any power. Apparently my victory with the door has mended my broken confidence; as I gesture he is thrown back into the door and slumps to the ground, unconscious. I’m running away before any thought of checking his pulse or looking for blood where his head bounced off the wall can occur to me.

  Running down the dim corridors I pull my invisibility around myself like a thick coat and don’t stop until I’m barrelling through the outer door, straight into Ilex.

  “Easy,” he chides, holding me at arm’s length as I let my glamour drop, “that took far too long.”

  “But I still did it,” I say, thrusting the bag of weed at him, “I did it.”

  “You did. Congrats.”

  I freeze, recalling the heavy crack of the guy’s head against the wall. “Shit. I hope he’s alright. I threw him into a wall and he just fell down...should we go back?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Ilex says, like he’s not really listening. “We should get back home. There’s a ritual tonight, lots of things to prepare.”

  “What kind of ritual?”

  “Just lighting a few candles, chanting.”

  “Ilex,” I say sternly.

  “It’s a secret,” he explains, steering me on to the path away from student house, off towards the wildly overgrown car park that marks the entrance to the village and Waywood. “Only Sophia knows the actual ritual, it’s in an old language, not Latin, maybe Ancient Greek? Anyway, we hold the ceremony every month, or every time someone transfers to the Bristol house, whichever comes first. So maybe it’s a farewell thing, they probably have their initiation there on the same night.”

  “You mean they don’t come to the ceremony?”

  “Oh no. No they stay in Bristol once they go to live there.”

  Goosebumps rise up on the back of my neck. “You haven’t seen anyone who went there since?”

  He shrugs. “It’s not that weird, we all have stuff to do here, and they must be busy because they never visit either. But Sophia goes to see them sometimes.”

  I cast a sideways look at him as we walk. Ilex hasn’t stuck me as being particularly trusting, OK so he must have swallowed the whole idea of magic to be at Waywood in the first place, but that wasn’t believing, that was knowing. So why did he so readily accept the idea of a coven he had never seen, full of people who left Waywood and never returned, not even to say hi or borrow a book?

  “How many people are there in the Bristol coven then?” I ask as we start walking along the wooded path.

  “There’s actually quite a lot of them, but that’s only because in Bristol it’s easier to go unnoticed. Tons of homeless there, and a more relaxed attitude to squatting and well...other illegal pursuits,” he waves the weed at me, “we only stay here because this is where the coven was founded. This is where we train new recruits.”

  “So once I’ve finished my training I’ll be sent to Bristol?” the idea upsets me, not just because I’m getting seriously freaked out by ‘the coven of no return’, but because I don’t want to leave Cray.

  “Not necessarily, but most people do decide to leave. Bristol’s got more going on, a lot of new recruits find it hard out here, in the middle of nowhere with no clubs, no shops or anything to do but stay in and make their own fun.”

  “Who was the last person to want to stay?”

  Ilex nudges me knowingly. “Cray.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When we get back Cray is sitting in the scrubby back garden behind the house. I spot him through the kitchen window and force the stiff door open to get out there. The space is hemmed in on all sides by trees, with a cracked patio jutting out from the house to meet the wildly tangled lawn, where mushrooms and toadstools are growing in the fallen leaves.

  Cray is sitting on a plastic chair stained with mildew, a book in his hands.

  “Hey,” I say, from a short distance away, mind if I join you?”

  He looks up and grins. “How was your first practical?”

  “Second – I went to the shop with Chronicle, remember?”

  “They grow up so fast,” he says dramatically, “but how did you do?”

  “I was good. I got something from every student’s room on the one floor, and I managed to get away from a huge stoner who was not happy to see me with his stash.”

  Cray frowns. “Ilex let you get chased? What happened?”

  It’s the first time I stop and wonder if what Ilex did was coven-sanctioned or not. Clearly he wasn’t supposed to fling me into the fire quite yet.

  “I got chased into the toilets, shoved the door back into the guy’s face and got away. I used the extra-strong stunning hex, threw him into a wall.”

  “Was he alright?”

  I feel guilt and shame coiling in my stomach. “I’m sure he was.”

  Cray raises an eyebrow. “This is why Ilex shouldn’t train people. He’s got the morals of a tapeworm.”

  “He isn’t that bad...he told me a story about you.”

  “Probably not a true one.” Cray stands up and motions me towards two swings made of blue builder’s rope and plastic seats, bleached almost white by the weather. We sit down and I start to kick my legs a little to get moving.

  “He said you’re the only recent recruit who stayed on here.”

  “Ok, that’s true,” he says, “before me it was Nara, but that was months before I showed up. Chronicle and Ilex were already here. Campion was only slightly ahead of Nara.”

  “Why did you stay?”

  “I like it here,” he tilts his head to look at the black lines of the tree branches, bare of all but a few bright leaves against the bleak grey sky. “I like the countr
y and the quiet, the library, the lake, the house and the peace. I like Nara and Campion and Chronicle and even Ilex has his moments. It’s home.”

  I can’t help but think of my own home; my room with its dusky purple walls and glittery bead curtain over the overstuffed wardrobe. The leaning piles of books and heaps of shoes and the posters taped to the walls. Everywhere else in the house was decorated by my Dad in shades of cream and green, horrible old fashioned furniture and cases of historical novels and tat – glass ashtrays, paperweights, antique clocks that didn’t tell time. I miss it.

  Cray squeezes my hand. “I know it’s hard, leaving it all behind.”

  “I didn’t leave.”

  “Even so. I know you miss them. But this can be your home too. I can show you the whole campus, all the things to love here. And we’ll be your family.”

  He makes it sounds so warm, so welcoming. It’s a damp old house with wallpaper sloughing off the walls, secret ceremonies happen under its roof and everyone in it has a horrible story somewhere behind them...but somehow, sitting on that swing, listening to the trees and holding Cray’s hand, it feels almost like home.

  *

  I almost forget my unease about the mysterious Bristol coven as the afternoon rolls out in front of us. Cray takes me on a walk all around the campus, showing me the places he likes best. There are a lot of them; the tiny river that runs from the woods surrounding the rugby pitch down to the lake, the chestnut trees (we gather a bag full to take home) and the Italian gardens where fountains splash behind a huge gold gate and the grass is soft as velvet.

  As there are no students around we explore the castle-like buildings around it, climbing the crumbling stone steps and looking out through single-glazed windows covered in cobwebs and dead bugs. We read the ghosts of lecture notes on the whiteboards, flick through essays left on desks, we go through drawers and climb on tables and run from room to room, stirring up dust from the cheap carpets.

  The last thing we go to look at is an area out of bounds to students, the part of the lake and the wide river flowing from it that is used by fishermen. Down a narrow grass track we go, in and out of trees, picking our way between their roots and the water until we reach a deserted little slice of wooden jetty. Cray sits down and I join him, looking over the water which stretches like dirty glass in front of us, disturbed only by clumps of reeds and the black monsters of fallen branches. The trees and bushes close around us, it’s almost cosy.

  “I come down here sometimes, when I’m practicing my astral projection,” Cray says, keeping his voice low.

  “What’s that?”

  “Leaving your body and travelling without it, in this plane or another.”

  I wonder when I’ll get to learn that, whether I’ll be able to do it. When I think about everything that I can already do, things that would have seemed impossible only weeks ago, I’m proud of myself. Who cares about a predicted D in Maths when you can turn old leaves into money, or walk unnoticed into anywhere you want to go?

  “Cray?” I ask

  “Mmm?”

  “Have you ever thought about the Bristol coven?”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, Ilex says no one ever comes to visit from there, and no one but Sophia ever goes there.”

  “That’s not true, I mean, new recruits move there all the time.”

  “But no one ever sees them again.”

  He grins his easy grin. “And you think they’re being fed to a race of underground cannibals?”

  “No,” I nudge him, “but it’s a bit...odd, isn’t it?”

  “Everything we do is ‘odd’ by normal standards,” he says, “we do things that might seem weird, but it’s all for a reason. Different covens follow different practices, it could be that in Bristol they do things differently and they’re not interested in coming back here. They don’t see what’s to love here. But we’ve never been told we can’t go there – every time Sophia goes she asks if we want to go.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really...anyway, what’s the fascination with Bristol all about? Not thinking of leaving us already, are you?”

  He looks so anxious I can’t help but take his hand and squeeze it. “Not if I can help it.”

  He smiles, leans towards me and presses his lips to mine, arms sliding around me as I reach up to play with the hair at the back of his neck. I’ve never really ‘made out’ with someone, never had a real boyfriend. Not that Cray has said anything about me being his girlfriend. We’ve kissed before, but I still don’t really know what to do with my hands, so I pet his hair and occasionally stroke his shoulders as he kisses me.

  Kissing is weird, very close and breathy and wet, but nice. Like, you wouldn’t think having someone’s mouth all over yours would make your skin feel all tingly and hot, but it does. I pull away after a bit and see that Cray is pink in the cheeks, his lips a little puffy and his hair all over the place.

  “Wow,” he says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his long coat and pulling it around him so it covers his crotch. I blush, but it’s not like I couldn’t feel it while we were kissing. “I...uh...you should know I don’t do this with everyone that comes through here.”

  “Oh,” I feel my cheeks get hotter, “good.”

  “Yeah. So...”

  “So?”

  “We should probably get back, for the ritual.”

  I’m disappointed, but I know how close we are to making a very dumb decision, so I nod and stand up, dusting myself down. We start walking back along the lake path, and when we reach the road Cray moves closer to my side and takes my hand. We walk all the way back to Waywood holding hands and a little fire glows warm inside my chest.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The ritual takes place after a dinner of instant pasta made with water from the kettle. We eat together in the lounge, apart from Sophia who is in her room. Ilex tells everyone a not too flattering account of my practical test, Chronicle swats him and tells him he didn’t do much better his first time.

  “My first time went rather well actually - he was a rugby player.”

  Nara and Chronicle roll their eyes, Campion slaps him on the leg.

  “You asked for it, as did he, repeatedly” he makes himself more comfortable on the sofa, his feet in Chronicle’s lap. “And now I want yours, let’s have them.”

  Campion clears her throat and raises a hand, “I’ll go.”

  “This is a good one,” Ilex says, winking at me.

  “It was my first week at Uni, and I’d been to the women’s football social up the student union. I’d had a few bottles of VK and I was a bit tipsy.”

  Ilex snorts. Campion gives him the finger.

  “Anyway, there was this girl in the same block as me-”

  “You’re gay?” I say, stunned.

  “Bi,” Campion says, “anyway, like I said, there’s this girl in the same block, and alright so I’ve got a fair few crushes going on at that point, I mean it’s the first time I’ve been around lots of people my own age for one thing, but she’s the one I really really like. I actually started hanging about in the communal kitchen just to chat to her whenever she came up for a study break. She had this amazing straight, black hair, all the way down to her bum, and really clear skin, and these wicked eyes...”

  Ilex yawns, a huge fake one that shows off all his teeth.

  “Bitch,” Campion says, “anyway, I’m a bit drunk and I get home to find her up in the kitchen watching a film, some horror film. All the armchairs are pushed together and there’s blankets and snacks everywhere, but there are no lights on and she’d the only one there. I sat down next to her and asked what she was watching, and she told me the name of it – which I forgot about a second later. And she asked me to watch the rest with her, so I did, and after a minute or two she just, leaned over and kissed me.” Campion grins, “five minutes later she had me in her room, naked, on the floor. I still had carpet burn at our first match a week later.”

  �
�Aaaand now it’s Cray’s turn,” Chronicle says.

  Cray glances at me.

  “It’s fine,” I say, even though I’m feeling pretty shitty because that means Cray’s had another girlfriend, maybe more than one and until I came to Waywood all I’d done was get high or pissed and been ignored by every boy in favour of Chloe and Tash.

  “It was crap. On a towel in her parent’s garage. She didn’t move the whole time, and afterwards she dumped me for an asshole from the lacrosse team.”

  “What the hell is lacrosse?” Nara asks.

  “A sport rich tossers play at public school,” Chronicle says, “when they’re not swapping beds and playing the soggy biscuit game.”

  “What’s the-” Nara says, but Ilex scrunches up his face and shakes his head. I so don’t want to know.

  “You know I don’t have one,” Nara says, in response to Ilex’s pointing, “I only let him get his shirt off before I told him I really didn’t want to.”

  “Spoilsport. That just leaves the newbie then.”

  “And Chronicle,” I say, before I remember the weird dream from the night of my initiation – remembering that horrible beery voice and the weight of a grown man on my – Chonicle’s – little girl bed.

  “Sorry,” I say, feeling my skin go cold, then hot with embarrassment.

  “I don’t have one anyway,” Chronicle says breezily, “not that I remember. Lots of ships passing in the night, lots of shagging behind various clubs.”

  “Newbie – spill,” Ilex says, “who was it who blighted your rose?”

  Nara chucks a pillow at him. “You’re a pervert.”

  “I’m a poet. Same difference.”

  “I haven’t got one,” I say, hoping that it’ll be buried in the general grumbling at Ilex’s creepy nature, but the conversation stops short, and Ilex grins as if sensing blood in the water.

  “Aww, a virgin. How sweet. I bet you’ve got a pink duvet with little hearts on it, and pictures of some castrato boy band on your wall.”