The Accidental Witch

by Gemma Perfect

  “Thank you for joining us on this most auspicious night.”

  I jump out of my skin again, the voice is so loud, but I still can’t see who it belongs to – and usually the events are out in the open, facing a makeshift stage. Everyone is looking inwards, facing the thickest part of the forest. If Macaroon carries on scurrying away from me on her tiny little legs, I’ll end up right in the middle of whatever this is, anyway.

  “Macaroon!” She’s certainly not an obedient sausage either. I’m getting thoroughly fed up now, and my voice is sharper than I intend.

  A young girl turns to me. “Good idea – using the dog as a decoy to get closer. Wish I’d thought of that.” She looks glum and I smile because I have no idea what she’s on about. It’s a weird mix of ages and types for a convention too – usually you get one type of person, the geeks, or the gamers, or the film buffs or the foodies. This seems more eclectic as weird night time gatherings in forests go.

  “Welcome to you all – young and old, from near and far, and from our friends from different species. Thank you.”

  I’m sure he just said friends from different species. Is it an animal convention, or a farming thing?

  I am getting closer to the action anyway – I can hear the boom of his voice, but his actual voice too.

  Why would farmers or vets be meeting in the middle of the night. Ooh, unless they are protestors of some sort, setting up illegal stings.

  I think the night air is going to my head. I almost have her when I make another grab, and then I pause.

  And so does she.

  We have come to a clearing and there are hundreds and hundreds of chairs, set in circles, all facing inwards, facing a fire, and two figures who I can’t make out.

  I break out into a sweat, remembering the woman dressed as a witch. I’ve stumbled upon a devil worshiping group – that has to be it. Or a sacrificial rite. Shoot, I need to grab Macaroon before they do. Before they put her on a slab, split her open and use her fresh blood to thank their dark gods.

  “Macaroon!” I hiss and take a step towards her, but she’s off.

  “I use my magic, my power, my wisdom, and my position to pass the baton from father to son.”

  Crikey – definitely a dodgy ceremony of some sort. Luckily everyone is at least fully clothed.

  “Step in front of me boy.”

  I am getting closer. Macaroon will not listen to me. And if she makes it through the night – if she’s not sacrificed instead of a goat, I’m going to be giving her a good telling off.

  “Take this blessing. Take this curse.”

  Curse! This isn’t funny anymore. I feel uneasy, and people are noticing me now, nudging each other and muttering. I’m interrupting something very special to them. The creeps.

  I am near the fire now and I can see an older man in a cloak and what seems to be a younger boy with his back to me. He looks a bit familiar but-

  “Macaroon!” She’s gone again and I can’t let her get sacrificed. I chase her and as though she can feel my fear – which of course she can, dogs are cleverer than humans – she bolts closer to the fire side scene.

  I barrel now, shoving a few chairs out of the way. I ignore the shouts of indignation and run towards her. She shoots between the two figures and I follow her.

  “With my power I invest you!”

  BANG!

  Something hits me and I’m on the floor.

  BOOM!

  My whole body quivers and shakes and I think they might have tasered me. They are definitely going to kill me or cook me or eat me. I scream.

  WHOOSH!

  Multi coloured sparks shoot out of my body turning the air around me electric. Blue. Pink. Purple. I can see the air change colour and I’m fizzing, buzzing, humming from head to toe.

  The boy turns around and, it can’t be?

  Fletcher?

  “Fletcher?”

  5

  FLETCHER LOOKS AT HIS mother, who is looking at him, the same expression on her face as absolutely everybody else he can see – and he can hardly see because his vision is swimming – pure, unadulterated horror.

  What the hell has just happened? What did they just see?

  The four women rush over and form a huddle around the girl on the floor.

  “Is she dead?”

  “No. She’s breathing. Mam, she’s from our village.”

  “Oh, she’s the funeral director’s daughter.” Ember recognises her.

  “Yes, she’s also in our college.”

  “What the hell is she doing here?”

  “How the hell did she get in here?”

  Lincoln has sunk onto a chair and is mopping his brow with his cloak. Thank goodness he has the presence of mind to undo his voice amplifier. “What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?”

  Elodie pats his arm. “She’s alive. You haven’t done anything. Give her a second and she’ll wake up.”

  The wretched angst and horror on his face grow. “Elodie!” His tone is sharp, and they all turn to him. “I’m not worried that I might have killed her. I’m worried that I have just invested her as the head witch of all the supernatural creatures in Britain. Bring her parents forward – why didn’t they tell her to stay seated like everyone else.”

  The blood drains from Elodie’s face, from all of their faces. “Lincoln, she’s not a witch.”

  “What do you mean, she’s not a witch. Don’t tell me she’s a vampire? A shifter? Fairy? Which one?”

  Fletcher steps forward. “None of those things. She’s just a girl, a human girl, from our village.”

  Lincoln shrieks and collapses even further into his chair, his head shaking from side to side, his whole body shuddering. “No! No, no, no, no, tell me it’s not true.”

  Elodie looks grave. “I’m afraid it is true.”

  “What can we do?” Ember’s voice is sharp, people are pushing forward, trying to see what’s happened.

  He lifts his hands, openly sobbing. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Of course we can do something. We’re witches, Lincoln.”

  “Which is why this investment is infallible. You can’t just undo it, you can’t just remove the magic, or alter it.”

  “All magic can be changed – that’s the point.”

  “Not this. This is meddle-proof, tamper-proof, supposed to be idiot-proof.” He’s wailing like a big baby and they block him out of their huddle. He’s no use to anyone now.

  “What do we do?” Elodie’s voice is mournful.

  Ember turns and grabs Lincoln. “Come here. Turn on your voice thing again – say it’s done. Say congratulations Fletcher. Say it’s time to party. In the confusion we’ll get her the hell out of here. Back to the cabin.”

  Elodie nods, glad her sister has a cool head in a crisis.

  Lincoln does as he’s told, and though his tone is far from joyful, the well-oiled witches don’t seem to notice. The cheer that goes up is deafening and in the chaos that ensues they get to work.

  Ember nods to Fletcher and they each grab an arm to hoick Ellis up. Then Ember turns to her sister. “Spell them.” She gestures with her head to the people sitting closest who saw everything, but still seem confused as to what’s happened. They cannot know how disastrously wrong this ceremony has gone.

  “Thea – bring him. Talia – bring the dog.”

  None of them notice the tall blonde woman watching from the other side of the fire, her sharp eyes taking in every detail and every word.

  Ember puts a bubble spell around them, shielding them from sight, and they walk the long way back to the cabin, away from the revellers and the fireworks and the drunken dancing.

  They do not speak; none of them can think of a single word to say. They can only hope that the panic and fear has made Lincoln exaggerate the hopelessness of their position, and that there is something they can do. Otherwise Ellis, the accidental witch, is the most powerful person in the whole of Britain.

  They bundle inside the cabin
and then stand, shell shocked and speechless about what has just happened.

  “How the hell did she get through the protections?” Elodie asks.

  Nobody answers; nobody knows.

  Thea’s voice is small. “There must have been a gap in the circle.”

  “Well that’s bloody obvious.” Ember snaps.

  “She asked. I-”

  “I think it was rhetorical.”

  Thea starts crying, and Talia goes to her side and hugs her.

  The silence takes over again, thick, nasty and oppressive.

  This cannot have happened. It’s impossible. Human people don’t just wander into witch gatherings, and they definitely don’t wander into secret witch ceremonies. And they certainly don’t get turned into chief bloody witches.

  Lincoln is sitting stock still, apart from his hands which are pleating and un-pleating the folds of his cloak. He is muttering to himself, tears coursing down his cheeks.

  Elodie has one hand on Fletcher’s shoulder, one hand on her own heart. “I think I’m going to die. I think I’m actually going to die. Seriously, I can’t handle this. I can’t... I don’t... I’m not.” She stops talking, shaking her head, unable to form a coherent sentence.

  Ember is pacing, her red dress swishing as she moves. If she wasn’t in the most awful predicament, she’d be enjoying how lovely she looked as it swirled around her knees.

  Nobody can think of a single thing to say; there is nothing to say. This has gone from the most important and exciting night of their lives, to the worst and most damaging thing that could have happened.

  Ellis is laying on the floor, unconscious but alive, and twitching every now and then from the newly minted magic that is flowing through her human blood. With every breath she takes, a tiny puff of coloured smoke unfurls from her slightly open mouth, and if it wasn’t catastrophic it would actually be quite funny.

  Nobody looks at anybody else; the pain and panic on their faces is too scary. This is worse than frightening; this is a breach of security like their world has never had before.

  Elodie pats Fletcher and goes to kneel in front of Lincoln. She has to take charge – she is Fletcher’s mother, and she is responsible. “Lincoln listen to me. Nobody else is here, nobody else can hear us.”

  He looks at her, but she can tell he’s not seeing her. Elodie sighs, crosses the room and slaps him. The sharp sting startles him into alertness. “Yes?”

  “Lincoln – this human girl has just been invested. We need to do something. We need to know what to do. There must be a reversal we can do, or a shifting spell or something, anything that will work to undo this. Please?”

  His eyes fill with tears again, wetting his cheeks and the bereft expression on his face tells them everything they need to know. “You cannot undo this, or change it, or alter it. It is not normal magic. It’s special.”

  “Well, we can’t just let this accident take over.” This from Ember, spitting fury with every word.

  “We have no choice.”

  “What happens if we kill her?”

  This makes everyone in the room – even Thea and Talia – gasp out loud.

  “Ember!”

  “What? Don’t act like none of you thought the same thing.”

  Elodie stands up in front of Ellis. “I won’t allow this. Do no harm, Ember – you are not a dark witch.”

  “It wouldn’t make a difference. She cannot be killed by another witch.”

  They all turn to Lincoln. “And if she is killed by another, the power goes to them. The one way – the only way – you could end this disaster is to give your power to one of the other species.

  They all bristle. “Well, there’s no way we’re doing that.”

  “We’ll just have to...” Elodie cannot finish her sentence. She does not know what to say.

  Fletcher takes a step towards Ellis – he suddenly feels sorry for her, protective of her. Thank goodness she doesn’t know that a bunch of witches are plotting her death. “We will handle it. We will manage it. We will do what we can and try to figure out something more permanent as we go along.” He holds a hand up. “I know you say the only way is to get a vampire or shifter or fairy to kill her – but there is so much magic that we do not use and do not know. If we go back far enough, to the allegiance even, we may find something – in our history books, in our spell books.

  Lincoln shrugs and Fletcher takes his hand.

  “In the meantime, do you promise to not speak of this to anyone?”

  “Oh, believe me I do not want anyone to know what I just did.”

  “We cannot risk the other species finding out what’s happened. That I’m not in charge. Blood bond?”

  “Blood bond.”

  They split their skin and mingle their blood while Elodie says the magical words that bind them in this secret.

  And then they all turn as Ellis groans and sits up.

  Ellis

  OOH MY HEAD HURTS. Like really hurts. And when I open my eyes it hurts, so I shut them, and I’m not sure if I’m going to faint, or if I have fainted. I feel weird. Not just a bit weird, like really weird. My bed feels too hard, and I can’t remember anything, I can’t think, I can’t.

  I open my eyes again and hold them open, to let my eyes adjust to the light. It’s strange that I fell asleep with the light on...

  I must be sleeping, or in hospital, or dead. There are people I don’t recognise looking at me.

  An old man, who is crying, and clutching his heart, no one I know.

  A woman with a concerned expression on her face. Maybe a kindly nurse.

  A similar looking woman to the first, but with white hair in a pixie cut, who looks angry. At me?

  I look around, pain still filling my head as I turn it and see three people I recognise.

  The creepy twins from college. And Fletcher, with his delightful hair.

  I shift position and my vision swims. Fletcher drops down in front of me, takes my hands, and I am so confused that I start crying.

  I was in my house and now I am here – where? – and I’m not sure how I got here.

  “Ellis? Can you hear me.”

  I nod, still crying.

  “You’re okay. You’ve had a bump to the head. You blacked out, but you’re okay.”

  I nod. That’s good to know. But I don’t feel okay. I feel...I shrug and close my eyes.

  “Ellis!” Fletcher again, his voice sharp. If I’ve hurt myself why is he being so mean? I open my eyes again but I’m pouting.

  “Christ!” The pixie cut witch swears and pokes her head closer, examining me like I’m a bug or something. She rolls her eyes and clacks away on ridiculously high, high heels.

  “Guys, why don’t you give us some space? Let me talk to Ellis?”

  “And say what?” Pixie cut asks; her voice icy with fury. I have no idea why she’s so cross, and I don’t feel well enough to ask.

  “The truth.”

  “What?” More than one voice exclaims, and the shrillness has me reaching for my ears, covering them up.

  “We have to. There’s nothing else we can do.”

  There is silence and then some grumbling and then some nodding. “Just don’t let her go anywhere.” This sounds like a threat from the nicer looking woman who I think might be Fletcher’s mum. I recognise her from the funeral. And pixie cut must be his aunt. And maybe his mum’s not so nice after all. My head hurts trying to figure out why they all seem cross with me.

  There’s a bark and I turn my head too quickly. “Macaroon!”

  She comes bounding over to me and then I remember.

  Running through the forest, chasing Macaroon, seeing a ceremony – a devil worshipping or if not, at least as dodgy, ceremony of some sort or other.

  Fear must have coloured my face because Fletcher looks alarmed. I stand up, seeing stars, but keeping my feet solidly on the ground, refusing to fall and be sacrificed. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Don’t hurt me. Don’t kill me.”
>
  “What’s she on about now? The bang to the head has turned her loopy.”

  “I saw – in the forest, I saw the ceremony. Devil worshippers!”

  Pixie cut bursts out laughing, and for such an angry looking woman it’s the most pleasant sound. I smile, despite myself.

  She nods at Fletcher, and they all file out of the room. “Yes, you need to talk to her.”

  There’s only the two of us and Macaroon now, and I’m so scared that I must say his hair does not look delightful anymore. It looks quite menacing.

  “Ellis. You’re going to want to freak out when I tell you this. You won’t believe me, and it’ll sound ridiculous. But I’ll show you it’s true and I’ll show you it’s okay. Can you trust me on this?”

  I shrug.

  I’m not loving this; I have to admit.

  His face is so close to mine, and his features are etched with concern. I can see the fuzz along his jawline, and the weirdly unruly eyebrows. He has the longest eyelashes, and the nicest smile. His teeth are so white. His hair flops over one eye, no longer menacing, but delightful again, and I nod.

  Who am I kidding? He’s too handsome to be a devil worshipper.

  I hope.

  He takes a deep breath, I can see him swallow, see his Adam’s apple bob, and I, suddenly, desperately want to touch him. He takes hold of my hand, and I hope it’s not too sweaty. It’s been a rough night.

  Macaroon has fallen asleep in the crook of my other arm and I’m a bit stuck.

  “Ellis. What you saw tonight wasn’t anything bad, it wasn’t a sacrifice, or anything dodgy, but it was a secret. It has to be.”

  He’s watching me closely, waiting for a reaction, but I just nod. I do believe him if he says it wasn’t dodgy, I think.

  “So what was it, then? Ooh, a secret society.”

  “Ellis, shh. Let me explain.” He smiles at me, and I am quiet. “Just give me a minute. I’ve never had to tell anybody this. I don’t know how to say it, so you’ll believe me – so you’ll understand.”

  He’s still holding my hand, and I’m very aware of it. “Just tell me. I promise to listen. To not freak out.”