It was more like … a feeling. An actual emotion.”
Bo frowned, looking at her but not really, his mind elsewhere. He leaned back in his chair at the table, knocking into her as he stretched out his leg.
“Sorry,” Joy said even though he’d banged into her, as was her way.
“So you usually get a sense from the water you connect with, but an abstract sense. The same way a house can feel homely or haunted.”
“Um, yeah,” Joy said with a shrug. “But this time it felt more like a person.” That was what had been bugging her the whole walk here. “The water felt like an actual person. Like a spoilt teenager.”
Bo raised an eyebrow. He was very good at it; so was Gabi. Joy couldn’t stop
remembering her and wished her memories would be less cruel. “You’re telling me there’s a spoiled teenager wrecking the water in our fountain?”
“Yeah.”
“Agedale’s screwed.”
Five
Joy was reluctant to leave Bo’s house. She didn’t resist as he convinced her to stay for dinner, and then corralled her into helping him tidy the cupboard under the stairs, snickering through a Harry Potter reference every other minute. It was nice, this almost-father figure in her life.
It was nice to be around an adult who had life figured out and could help Joy figure out her own. But the illusion of safety was interrupted when her phone blasted out a Little Mix song and Victoriya’s image popped up—her beautiful face glaring out from the middle of her two favourite dogs, one enormous and scowling, the other tiny and vicious. Victoriya did not call except in emergencies. Joy’s stomach dropped.
“Victoriya?” she answered meekly, already feeling her face heat in preparation of tears.
Mor—she was gone. Joy knew it in the twisting pit of her stomach.
“Joy?” There was absolute worry and unexpected relief in her witch sister’s voice. “You bastard. Where are you? Gus was worried about you.” Translation: I couldn’t find you and I panicked.
“I’m with Bo. Bo Pride? We figured out something about the fountain. Maybe. Something weird, either way. I tried to purify it and it didn’t work at all—”
“Joy,” Victoriya cut her off in a voice that had become flat. Unsettlingly flat for a voice usually full of scorn. “You need to get to the clinic. Salma fainted.”
“What?” Joy’s knees were suddenly weak. She reached for the cupboard door to keep her standing. “What do you mean she fainted?”
“I mean she fainted,” Victoriya snapped. “The healers think she’s poisoned. Mum says they’ve had seven witches come in today with the same symptoms.”
Joy shook her head. No. This wasn’t making sense. It couldn’t be—not Salma, not her friend. “Is she—is she okay? Is she stable?” That was the word they used in soaps and on
Casualty. Stable. Unstable meant death lurked close by. Joy’s throat closed up; she gripped the cupboard door very hard.
“For now.”
“That’s not,” Joy said through her aching, swollen throat. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, Victoriya.”
“Just get here. It’s bad enough Maisie can’t get in. We need you here.” The phone went silent and Joy lowered it, staring at the cupboard under the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Bo asked, no trace of his usual charm and humour in his voice. Not even his deadly serious cop voice. He peeled her fingers from the door one by one and pulled her into a hug.
“Salma—” Joy couldn’t get out the rest. “I need to go to the clinic.”
He squeezed her once and let go when she could stand properly. “I’ll come with you.”
Six
Joy kept thinking about the night before, when Salma had looked washed out, when she’d said she had a headache. Why hadn’t Joy noticed the signs that she was sick? If Salma had come here last night, if she’d had the care of the doctors and healers, would she be alright now? Instead of being unconscious, her skin ashen instead of healthy brown, looking small and vulnerable tucked into the clinic bedsheets. Looking at her, all Joy wanted was to go back in time to when she and Gabi were still together, so Gabi could fold her into a hug and hold her for long minutes. Instead she had the wrong Pride’s hand resting on her shoulder, Victoriya’s mum watching her with concern, and Gus trying to tell her she had to go home, that visiting hours were over.
Other families were leaving. There were eleven people now, who’d been poisoned by the fountain’s water in some way. Most of them because of apothecary herbs that had been watered the morning the fountain turned black, sold hours before the contamination made itself known. Paulina had issued a town-wide ban on ingested potions and spells to contain the illness and no one was allowed in the apothecary until Mor Margaret woke and decontaminated all her stock. The warning meant the main coven had thrown everything at the fountain to fix it and failed. Bo told her even the elves couldn’t remove the stain on the water.
Nobody had spoken about the people who’d fallen ill in straight-forward terms but Joy knew they wouldn’t get better. The healers had tried everything. There was little hope.
“Joy,” Gus said again, his voice so soft it made tears prick her eyes.
“I know.” Joy struggled to stand, not because her knees were weak this time but because every bone in her body wanted to stay. She took a step, then another, and kept walking until she was out the door. Victoriya and the others waited in plush seats in the corridor, all except for Maisie. “Thank you for looking after Salma,” Joy said to Regina Stone before she left,
because even wrecked as she was, she’d been taught manners too thoroughly by her mum to forget them.
The healer gave Joy the reassuring smile all nurses had and took out a set of car keys, handing them to Victoriya. “You can drive the car just this once. Take everyone home, then go straight home yourself. No late-night joyriding, especially after last time. You’re lucky Bo didn’t throw you in the cells.”
“Seconded,” Bo added, though he looked the opposite of stern. “Also, I could take you all home. I am in possession of a car, remember?” This last part was aimed at Victoriya’s mum.
“Actually, could you stay?” Regina asked. “I could use your opinion on … this.”
Joy wanted very suddenly to leave, to avoid any talk of what might happen to Salma and Mor Margaret. She set off down the corridor without saying goodbye, but as soon as she reached the blustery cold air outside, sea-scented and knife-sharp, she felt bad for being rude.
“She’ll be okay,” Eilidh murmured, right behind Joy. “She’s Salma.”
Joy composed herself with effort. It was only the thought of making Eilidh more upset that made her reply, “You’re right. She’ll be fine.”
Seven
Joy tried to sleep, she really did. She went through her nightly ritual of reading two chapters, drinking hot chocolate, and listening to gentle, acoustic music. It usually worked but not tonight. Her mind wouldn’t shut off, thought after thought tumbling into her head without her say-so, the image of Mor thrashing and muttering nonsense finding her as soon as she shut her eyes, followed closely by Salma still in the hospital bed, and then the imagined scene of her fainting in the middle of the art department at school where she worked as a technician.
Joy laid for three hours and begged her mind to shut up, her body to relax and allow her to drift off. The sooner she got to sleep the sooner she could go see Salma again.
But around half three in the morning she groaned in frustration, wide awake, and swung her legs over the side of her bed. Sleep wasn’t coming. She didn’t bother dressing, just threw a coat over her pyjamas and stuffed her feet into grey suede boots.
Joy’s house sat right by the sea, the last house on the road before sand dunes took over the landscape and swept down to the beach. Joy would usually have headed in that direction and trudged through the sand until she was exhausted enough to fall into bed and sleep. But tonight, stood on her doorstep, inhaling the salt-citrus sc
ent of the sea and the earthy warmth of the herb garden behind her house, Joy looked towards the heart of the town. She locked the house behind her and set off up Beach Road towards the high street and the fountain.
She only meant to try again to connect with her fae nature, to purify the water while she had more time, but when she sat on the stone lip of the fountain, peering into the moonlit water, she found her mouth opening and words pouring out. Joy sat there for long minutes and confessed all her fears and worries to the night, but she hadn’t planned on the night speaking back to her, and especially not in such a sneering tone.
“Boo hoo, your life is terrible. Try being me.”
“Um.” Shock and confusion cut right through the sadness that had been squeezing Joy’s heart. “Who … who’s talking?”
“Me, dumbass.”
That tone … such derisive petulance. Joy had a very bad feeling. That feeling intensified when the shadowy water in the basin sloshed onto her hand and that same feeling as earlier arrowed into her.
“Oh gods,” Joy whispered, shooting to her feet and stepping back. Normally, she’d be worried to be standing in the middle of the road but that worry had been eclipsed by the fact that the fountain was talking. “Amerelda?” If Joy was communicating with the founder of their town, that amazing alchemist who had done so much for Magedale, for the witches of Britain, and she turned out to be a petty spoilt brat, Joy was going to be so disappointed.
The fountain snorted, and the water sloshed again. Sloshed and rose, forming a wave and then a column and then a figure. Joy was right—it was a girl, and definitely not Amerelda Lance. Thank gods for that. Joy hated when her heroes turned out to be horrible. The murky water figure put her hands on her hips, one of them cocked so far it had its own wealth of sass and attitude. Moonlight caught on her edges and shone right through but that didn’t make her any less intimidating.
“My name’s Cassidy, actually,” the girl sneered. She sounded around fourteen years old.
“Uh. Hi, Cassidy,” Joy replied timidly. What exactly was she supposed to do when faced with a living figure of water? A living figure of water that had infested the fountain, not infected it. This girl, water or not, had poisoned the herbs, poisoned Mor and Salma and those other patients. This girl had hurt Joy’s witch sister. Joy straightened, tilting her chin up, strengthening her voice. “Whatever you’ve done to this water, you’re going to undo it. Now.
Or I’ll purify you right out of the fountain. I’m fae, so I can do that.”
Cassidy snorted again. “Yeah, right. They’ve already tried that, those weirdos in robes.”
“Don’t be so rude,” Joy chided automatically. “And those were elves. I’m fae.”
Cassidy was silent. Joy matched her silence, full of anger and a tiny bit of hope—that Cassidy could be reasoned with. “I’m not leaving. I like this fountain.”
“Leaving,” Joy repeated, and then understanding hit. “You’re a naiad.” She wasn’t a brat who’d contaminated the water—that was her. She was inside it, occupying it. “Please. My friend’s sick and I can’t lose her. If you could just undo what you did…”
Cassidy sighed. “I heard your sob story once already, I don’t need a replay. And say I could undo it … why should I?”
Joy frowned at the watery outline. “What?”
“What do I get out of it?”
Joy opened her mouth and shut it. She didn’t know what she could offer this water spirit, this utter brat. “Why are you in here in the first place? Why not go somewhere else?”
“Uh, because I can’t,” she replied, the duh heavy in her voice. “I tried that already, why’d you think I’d pick this fountain in the middle of the road? My mum kicked me out because I
‘reached maturity’.” The watery girl made air quotes as she spoke. “And I couldn’t find anywhere else. My bestie Krystle has a fountain next to a freaking manor house.”
Joy blinked, thinking this was the answer, if only she could come up with something good enough to entice the naiad out of the fountain. “I’ll think of something. I’ll find you somewhere better. And then you’ll leave, and make everyone alright again?”
“I guess, if they’re not already dead.”
Joy flinched. “Is there a way to heal them?”
Cassidy sighed dramatically. “Look, if they were dumb enough to drink water I’m living in, they deserve it.”
Joy’s anger resurfaced. “Deserve what?”
“To get all wrinkly and die.”
Joy flinched again. That was going to happen to Salma, to Mor Margaret? She had to get to the clinic and warn the doctors and healers. When she spoke again, her voice was steel. “Is there a way to heal them?”
“Pretty sure I’ve already said no, but in case you’re not listening, NO.” This last word was shouted so loud someone was bound to hear it. “I can undo it if I feel like it, but I don’t.”
Joy clenched her jaw, burning with anger. “There’s no need to be mean.” Cassidy once again executed the snort. “I’ll find you somewhere better than this to live.”
Joy marched away before the bitch could reply.
Eight
Joy didn’t go back to bed, didn’t sleep at all that night. Instead she spent an hour telling the healers on duty what the naiad had said would happen. The healers and doctors shared looks at this, as if they’d already noticed the effects. Joy didn’t dare visit Salma while she was there, not sure if she’d recognise her friend. Instead she poured through her personal collection of books, searching them for any scrap of information on naiads and people who fell sick around them. She found one record of a family who’d all aged in a week and died of natural causes, the youngest of which had been a three-month-old baby whose milk had been made with contaminated well water. Joy had to step back and take a break after reading that, sick at the thought of Salma ageing that fast, dying before Joy could find something to help her.
As soon as the sun rose, Joy began ringing around, asking if anyone knew of other fountains nearby, giving the briefest description of why she needed it. Her network was pretty small, thanks to most witches abhorring her, but she still knew people through her mum, and her neighbour—her mum’s best friend, Neil Ivers—came around on his lunch break to help her look.
They found a crappy fish pond, a bird bath, and a dried-up brook. Nothing that would convince Cassidy to undo the damage she’d done.
When Neil went back to work, Joy called her coven and finally updated them, hunching her shoulders against the silence when she repeated what would happen to the fountain’s victims. She’d waited as long as possible to tell them for this exact reason, this horrified silence, this fear that pervaded even through the phone.
“We’ll find something,” Eilidh attempted to reassure them.
The others were silent, not even Maisie offering an optimistic bark.
“Joy,” Victoriya said before she could end the conference call. “Come around to mine. I’ll leave the front door open. We can look for something together.”
“Alright,” Joy agreed, too tired and miserable to unpack the implications of Victoriya wanting to talk alone. “I’ll be right there.”
Victoriya answered the door in frayed black jeans and a faded band shirt, her hair in a messy ponytail and her face clear of her usual dark eye make-up and violent red lip. Even the pack of dogs behind her—her familiars—were subdued, their eyes downcast and tails unwagging.
Joy had forgotten to bring them treats and for some reason this was why the tears finally overflowed and she broke down.
Victoriya’s bony arms came around her. She kicked the door shut and the two of them stood there in the hallway, clinging to each other as Joy sobbed and Victoriya silently cried.
When Joy finally quieted and Victoriya stepped back, it seemed they were to act as if the mutual hugging and crying had never happened. Joy wiped her face with her sleeve, a tiny smile forming as the dogs pushed against her legs, depositing a shelter’s wor
th of loose fur on her leggings.
“What did you want to tell me?” Joy asked as she followed Victoriya down the hallway to the back door.
“Nothing. I needed your help cleaning this.” Her voice was still a bit nasally from crying but they both pretended that was normal. She swung the door open and pointed across the patio to a sad looking garden. The Stones had obviously had big plans for it, as there were flower boxes and a pagoda and copious dead flowers. And at the end stood the requisite water feature. This was nothing like the one she and Neil had uncovered earlier. This was vast, as wide as a car, and had three tiers that, when working, would flow water in elegant arches from the cupid perched on the top to the basin at the bottom.
Joy exhaled in relief so severe she wobbled, leaning against the back door. When she finally found words what she said was, “Tacky.”
“Don’t.” Victoriya’s voice was back to normal. “My mum loves this disgusting thing. She paid thousands of pounds to have it imported from God knows where with her inheritance.”
Joy raised an eyebrow at the bitterness that bled through.
“I wanted to go to Disneyland,” Victoriya admitted. Clearly, she still held a grudge.
Joy started across the patio. “Will your mum let us put a naiad in it?”
“Doubt it, but let’s just do it and tell her after.”
Joy shot her friend a look. She didn’t like disobeying parents, or risking their wrath. Or worse, disappointing them.
“It’ll be fine,” Victoriya said, waving a black-fingernailed hand. “Besides, this’ll save Salma.”
Joy nodded. A bit more hope found her.
“We just have to make this thing look nice enough to get a stroppy naiad to move in.”
Joy chewed her lip. “It sounds easy when you put it like that.”
Nine
It was not easy. It took all afternoon and several tea breaks—one of them tasting suspiciously like brandy and earning Victoriya some serious side-eye—as well as hourly calls to Mrs.
Dark Water: An Urban Fantasy Story Page 3