“Ellis saw the truth in her visions. She saw me murdering people, she saw Ember helping me.”
“No!” The twins cry out in unison, and then sob along with their mother. Confusion is etched on all the faces around the table, except Griff’s and Ember’s.
“Please. I know this isn’t what anyone wants to hear, but there is a good explanation. A good reason for this.”
“A good reason for killing people?” Elodie’s tone is cold and Ember looks up at her sister, fear and upset marring her usually perfect features. Elodie refuses to look at her.
“We think so. Or we wouldn’t do it.”
“Go on.”
“Several years back, before Adam died, we became aware of some problems.”
“Adam knew?” Elodie can hardly speak her late husband’s name, and Fletcher flinches at the sound of his dad’s name. “Tell me he didn’t kill anybody.” Elodie’s voice is a wail, and Griff is quick to calm her down. “No. He refused to. Thea – give her some pep. With vodka in, please.”
For once Thea does as she’s told with no fuss or drama.
Elodie sips the drink, never taking her eyes off Griff, still refusing to look at Ember.
“Witches were being killed. All over the country. In high numbers. It took us a while to figure it out. Adam sent me and a few others with no ties, to investigate what was going on – who was killing our kind, and why. Our biggest fear was that humans had found out about us.”
The fear around the table, the tension, is too thick.
“Had they?”
“It was worse than that. Worse than any of us feared.” Griff pours himself some pep and takes a big drink. “It wasn’t humans – it was the other species. A rogue collective, I presume you’d describe them as, had banded together to take back their autonomy. Not just take it back, not negotiate peacefully to change something they were unhappy with, but to kill all of us, to murder every single witch, until they were the only species left.”
Elodie downs her drink and holds out her glass for more. “And Adam knew about this? But didn’t tell me?”
“He never involved you in such matters. He knew how much it all scared you, how much you hated his role, and the fact that the role would be handed to Fletcher in time. It was a burden for you, and he tried to help.”
“By keeping something so big from me?”
“It was only to protect you.”
She shakes her head. “So, he knew about this collective? And asked you to stop them?”
“Exactly. I gathered a team around me and that’s what we do, that’s why I’m never home anymore.”
Fletcher speaks up. “So, you go around the country, finding and killing these people?”
“Before they kill us.”
“Why not bring it to the attention of the heads of their species? Let them sort it out?”
“Because we have no idea how deep this thing goes. It might be a completely secret rogue collective, or it might be something everyone knows about but refuses to talk about. We can’t risk it. If we bring it out in the open, and all the species actually know, then all bets are off. They’ll rebel in the open and kill us easily. We’re only just managing to win this fight because it’s all done in secret.”
“And you, Ember. How are you involved in all of this? You have a family. How did you even know about this, if I didn’t?”
She finally looks up, peering at her sister through her fringe. “Griff told me, after Adam died.”
“Why?”
“So someone in the family would know, to continue the good work, to keep it all going.”
“Why not tell me?”
“We knew you wouldn’t like it. But also, we knew we couldn’t tell you, not without breaking you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Griff came to me after Adam’s death. He told me all about the collective, he told me all about what he’d been doing, with Adam’s consent. We have insiders feeding back knowledge to us. We have so much intelligence on this. We want to close them down, permanently. And we’re getting close. Their numbers are dwindling.”
“Right. So why not tell me? How would this have broken me?”
Ember reaches across the table and takes her sister’s hands, looks at Fletcher, tears coursing down her face. “Because Adam’s death wasn’t an accident, sis.”
Elodie is shaking her head, crying and repeating the word no.
“It wasn’t an accident.” Ember turns to Ellis. “The man in the memory – in the carpark, screaming and writhing. He is the only man I have killed. And I’d do it again.” She turns to Elodie. “He’s the man who killed Adam.”
Silence falls over the table like a blanket of snow. The shock is thick and unsettling. Nobody looks at anybody else, and then a high-pitched keening noise comes from Elodie and she collapses down onto the table, unable to hold herself up any longer. Fletcher puts his arms around her and rests his head on her back, giving her all the love and strength that he can, while trying to wrap his own head around what he’s seen and heard.
“My dad was murdered. And nobody thought to tell me or my mother?”
Ember shakes her head, tears still falling. “We did what we thought was best. You were both grief stricken. We just wanted to take care of it for you.”
“And if Ellis hadn’t had her vision, we would never have known? You’d never have told us?”
Ember takes a breath. “Probably not. We thought we were doing the right thing. We thought we were protecting you, avenging Adam and sorting it all out. There aren’t many of them left.”
“And if they find out about Ellis?”
Ember shakes her head, refusing to answer, upset making her features soft for a moment.
Fletcher turns to his uncle. “Griff?”
“Fletcher, you don’t need me to tell you. They killed your father. They thought they’d won when they did that. They thought it would be over. They didn’t know that he had already passed his authority on to you, he’d already performed the heir ceremony. They had no idea. As soon as word gets out that you aren’t the head witch, that some human girl got invested instead, then the only thing we can expect is trouble. And an awful lot of it.”
Elodie sits up. “We need to go to the crone. We need to get this thing reversed and we need to keep everybody safe until we do it.” She turns to Ellis, fury flashing on her face. “Ellis, I will not let them – anyone – hurt you. I will not let these bastards win.”
Nobody mentions the swearing.
“Get ready – we’ll all go to see the crone. From now on, we stick together.” She looks at her sister. “I’ll sort you out later.” Ember shrinks from her sister’s glare, but nods, docile, for once.
The room clears and Ellis touches Fletcher’s hand. “I’m sorry about your father. I had no idea what I was seeing.”
“It’s not your fault. I just-” He shakes his head, unable to speak, tears splashing from his eyes, sobs wracking his body. Ellis holds onto him and he snuggles close to her, wishing he could go back in time, wishing his father was safe, wishing he had known about this collective and been able to protect his father. His father had definitely known he was in danger – there’s no other reason he did the heir ceremony before he needed to. He knew. He knew they were coming for him. Why didn’t he say? Why not give Fletcher or his mum the chance to save him, to keep him safe, or to say goodbye?
Fletcher pulls back and wipes his face. “I won’t let them get away with this.”
“Ember said that she killed him. The man that did it.”
“That’s not enough. I won’t rest until they are all dead.”
Ellis nods and kisses his forehead and he cries some more.
Ellis
MY LIPS AGAINST HIS skin feel like heaven, even though I know he’s going through hell. That’s all my fault. There’s no way I could have known about all this, though. Talk about a can of worms.
And then it hits me – this collective, whoever they are – killed Fletch
er’s father and made it look like an accident. I remember it was in the paper. The car crashed in awful weather. There was nothing anyone could have done. It wasn’t the driver’s fault.
This collective will kill me. If they find me, they will kill me. No doubt in my mind. I’m sweating. Suddenly my whole body is actually a pool of sweat. I might throw up again. I pull back from Fletcher – regardless of how scared I am, I do not want to throw up on this delicious boy.
Delicious. Really?
I shake my head at my own ridiculousness and then throw up in the sink again. Sexy.
When I’m done, I wipe my mouth and refuse to look at him. He’s still crying and while I want to comfort him, I remember that I’ve been sick three times and must smell like a pig. Then I remember I’m a witch and try to clean myself up with my magic and end up with a bar of soap in my mouth. I spit it out and see that Fletcher is actually smiling – no, even better, he’s laughing at me.
Ah well, I’m glad I helped cheer him up.
“Trying to clean yourself up?” He comes over to me and easily helps me clear away the sick from the sink, the sick from my clothes and the sick smell from clinging on to me. “I’ll make sure your safe.” He pushes my hair, thankfully clean now, away from my face and brushes my cheek with his thumb. I want to melt but I’m too scared. Actual real-life vampires, shifters and fairies will try to kill me if they find out about me. “Do fairies kill people, though? You think they’d be too nice.”
He shrugs. “They must do. I don’t know, Ellis. I’m reeling from all this.”
“Me too.”
I am reeling. I want to go home, but I know I can’t. That would potentially put my family in danger and there’s no way I’d risk that. But I kind of don’t want to be in danger either.
But I am.
And apparently our only hope is an old crone.
Doesn’t sound like the best sort of plan to me, but I’m new at all this.
The door opens and they all troop in.
It’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one scared, petrified, reeling, and I am more than happy to let Fletcher’s mother take over.
We all pile into the minibus and I whisper to Fletcher, “where does the crone live?”
“Mumbles.”
Figures.
There is no sound in the minibus, except for Griff’s snoring. Randomly, as soon as Elodie drove out onto the main road, he fell asleep. His snores aren’t too loud, and the rumbling is weirdly comforting. It gives me something to listen to, to focus on.
In my whole life I have never felt this level of fear. Even when Molly was diagnosed and we knew she would die, there was a strange sort of resignation to it. At least we knew, and at least the end meant that she’d be in no more pain. And of course, my fear then was for her. Fear of the pain she was in, fear of losing her, how she must feel knowing that she was so close to death and being able to do nothing about it.
I swallow down some vomit. I am not going to be sick in this minibus.
I am frightened. I’m not a brave girl, I’m not one of those fearless girls they write books or make films about. I’m just an ordinary girl – maybe a little extraordinary now – from an ordinary family. I like my life as it is, small and safe.
This scares me so much that fear isn’t even a big enough word to describe it. Petrified maybe? Still not enough.
If this bunch of maniacs were willing to murder Fletcher’s dad, the head witch, whose powers would have far surpassed mine, they will not hesitate to kill me.
They will not hesitate to kill me.
I’m sweating again and Fletcher puts his hand on my leg. Just by my knee. I turn to look at him and I want to cry. He’s so lovely and kind, but I’m only in this mess because of him and his family, and the stupid witch who left a hole in their circle of protection.
For a second, I hate him. I feel a white-hot flash of pure resentment and irrational hatred. I hate all of them.
And then I do cry, because if they refuse to help me, I’m toast.
“It’s okay. We know now.” Fletcher’s voice is low.
I lay my hand on top of his but don’t answer. What do I say?
How did I get caught up in this? It doesn’t seem real, or fair.
I try to breathe in time with Griff’s snores, keeping myself calm and refusing to let panic overtake me.
I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to die in the middle of a species war. Species I thought were made up until now.
I find myself itching to get to the crone’s house, itching to see if she can help us – help me! I watch the view out of the windows, ticking off the landmarks as we get closer to Mumbles.
I voice my next fear to Fletcher. “What do we do if she can’t help us? If there is no way to uninvest me?”
He shrugs and shakes his head. “I have no idea. What do we do about you? What do we do about this collective? How do we keep ourselves safe? How-” He pauses and then turns to his aunt. “Ember. If this collective killed my dad, why haven’t they been back for me?”
She closes her eyes and doesn’t answer for a minute. We are all looking at her. Griff has woken up. Was he even sleeping?
“They have. But we’ve kept them away. We’ve managed to keep you safe.”
Fletcher looks incredulous and a shade paler. “Really?”
Ember nods. “We have a team at the house all the time, as well as me, of course, and we stop them.”
Elodie pulls into the side of the road, tyres screeching. I shudder. This is horrible.
“Stop them? How many of them? How many attempts have been made on Fletcher’s life since Adam died?”
Ember shrinks back at her sister’s furious tone, and Griff answers.
“Adam died last year, and we have stopped more than three attempts each month since.”
“And you never thought to tell me? Us? This isn’t good enough, Griff. Ember – you’re my sister. How could you keep this danger from me?”
“Because I knew I could keep you safe.”
“That’s bull!” Fletcher shouts, fury making his cheeks pink. I can feel the anger radiating from him and I shift closer to the window. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us. If I’m in danger, I should know. What if they come to the school when I’m running with the kids? Or down to the homeless shelter on Sundays? It’s not right that you didn’t tell us.” He shakes his head, anger making him cry.
Ember speaks up. “I’m so so so so so sorry. I can see now that we should have told you, of course we should have, but there never seemed to be a good time. I knew I could keep you safe. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you – not after Adam.”
“Don’t speak his name!”
Silence fills the bus again and I lean against the window, feeling awkward and out of place. I thought my family could argue. I suddenly feel grateful for the mundane and ordinary life I used to have. Will I ever get back to it?
At the moment I cannot imagine how.
Elodie starts the bus up again and glides into the traffic. It is always busy heading into Mumbles, and today is the same. Don’t all these people, all these cars, buses, and motorbikes know that we have somewhere important to be?
It’s pretty life and death actually.
And I have to swallow another mouthful of vomit. Nice.
Fletcher hasn’t moved or spoken, and his arms are folded across his chest. I can’t imagine the turmoil he’s going through. I feel sorry for him, and sorry for myself. I fold my arms too, consciously mirroring him; this is a pretty rubbish day for both of us, actually.
“We’re here,” Elodie says, pulling up in front of a neat little cottage, across the road from the sea, with such a lovely view.
I’ve passed this cottage thousands of times, heading for breakfast on the pier with my family. I would never have guessed that an old crone lived here.
11
ELODIE USHERS THEM all out of the minibus, a grim expression on her face. She doesn’t knock on the front door,
just opens it and heads inside. The six others follow after her, Fletcher keeping Ellis at the back.
The tiny cottage isn’t as tiny as it appears from the outside. The old crone’s magic makes the place exactly what she needs on any given day. Today her front room is no longer a cosy space, with a TV and two comfy armchairs, a fire roaring and a table with flowers on it, instead it has morphed into a large room, with seating for all of them and a big brown book placed on a central table.
“I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.” She sweeps into the room and the only person who is shocked by her appearance is Ellis. Despite the gravity of the whole business, Fletcher smiles to see the look on Ellis’s face.
Nobody would ever guess that the old crone, was an old crone. In every film or storybook depicting witches, crones are ancient, decrepit and downright scary looking.
This crone, all crones in real life, are anything but. This woman is dazzling. She is older than all of them, maybe in her fifties, but she is elegant, regal almost, and beautifully put together.
She looks like she could head to any formal event, any red carpet event and fit right in. She sits down and smiles, encompassing all of them and then frowning when she reaches Ellis. “She’s new. The accident?”
They all nod. Her voice matches her perfectly, a Welsh accent, but not too strong; refined – just like her. She shakes her head. “I know you’re hoping that I can help, but I really don’t think I can.”
The hopeful expression on every face falters and Elodie is crying. “Please, Zeta, I know you don’t like me-”
The crone holds up a hand. “That isn’t true. I like you very much.”
She gives no other reason or explanation, just flicks through the book on the table. Elodie brokers no argument. She knows the crone hates her, always has done. And she knows why.
The leadership of a coven was usually a female witch’s forte, but in their coven, there had been no females born for seven hundred years. There had been no daughters to pass the mantle on to, and so the men took over. And they felt like they didn’t need the crone’s help or wisdom.
The Accidental Witch Page 10