Witch Dust

by Marilyn Messik

  “Sing!” Someone commanded, as if from a great distance. I ripped my gaze from Ffion’s, blinking and trying to re-focus. Mimi was moving towards me urgently, arms outstretched. “Sing, she can’t get to you if you sing.”

  Over the head of the wolf, I stretched out my hand to Mimi, except I seemed to be doing it in slow motion. She was walking towards me, but so unsteadily I was frightened she’d fall, she too was being affected by whatever Ffion was doing and, poor old soul, it had obviously tipped her over the edge. I’d no doubt a family sing-song might be the sort of fun, bonding thing people did and that was all well and good, but this was neither the time nor the place. I shook my head gently at her and as our hands met and gripped, I felt a faint echo of the shock that had reverberated through me when I touched Etty earlier. But there was no time to think about that, because Mimi has already hurled herself headlong, her voice warbling a little at first and then getting into stride, surprisingly strongly.

  “Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, and if one green bottle should accidentally fall, there’ll be nine green bottles, hanging on the wall. Come on,” She said breathlessly urgent, “Sing, now.” So I did – “Nine green bottles…”

  In front of me Ffion’s bemusement must have comically echoed my own, before her gaze hardened as she realised what was happening – she was way ahead of me, I still had no idea why or how this was working, but did know I was feeling measurably less dizzy and disorientated, which could only be an improvement.

  Behind me, I was aware of Etty rising to her feet and to my astonishment, pitching in firmly with her daughter, and then Bella’s lower tones, joined a beat later by Murray’s tuneless bellow, harmonising unsteadily with Roland who, needless to say, sang as smoothly as he dressed. I didn’t think we’d reach competition standard any time soon, but however completely ludicrous this all was, it was working. We were robustly surging into seven, when Ffion let loose her wasps.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Up till then, in the heat and confines of the room, the sound of the insects circling lazily overhead had been acutely alien and uncomfortable, but now the buzzing changed tone, and there was no mistaking, it wasn’t a change for the better. It was menacing enough to be heard even over our discordant chorus. And then they attacked, so we never made it to six.

  They went first for Mimi. Poor Mimi, of all of us she’d certainly had a basin-full, one way or another. As the surge of yellow and black viciousness launched itself, our voices fell away one by one. She let go of my hand and did something swiftly with her arms, and only a couple of the insects seemed to be able to reach her, but we could see from her face the pain those instantly inflicted. I wasn’t sure why she simply hadn’t disappeared, then I guessed if she did, she’d probably take some of the wasps with her, so it would do her no good. Beside me, Rostropovich was twisting and snapping as some of the insects dived for him. In front of me, Ffion tilted her head to one side, stretched her neck, smiled, opened her mouth and breathed out more insects. Cold knowledge rose in me and I made my decision.

  My parents had come round, although appeared still dazed, and were clinging tightly to each other on the floor, Murray was crouched, with an arm firmly round each of them. Bella and Roland had moved close to Etty. I could feel the power radiating from the family, multiplied because we were together, I also knew, with certainty that however strong they were and they were indeed strong – they probably weren’t strong enough to combat what was being unleashed against us. Things had gone too far and, like it or lump it, I had a responsibility. Without looking around, I reached my right arm behind me and knew, without seeing that Etty was instantly moving forward, fingers outstretched to meet mine.

  As our hands touched, slid together and grasped, I felt and knew she did too, the thrust of the power which swept through both of us; an unimagined, almost painful intensity. It rocked me back on my heels and rocketed through my body, so for a few seconds it felt quite possible it couldn’t be contained within me and the top of my head might simply blow right off. I can’t say I was thrilled, I don’t know what I’d thought would happen, but definitely nothing as physically overwhelming as this, and if it was having that effect on me, I hoped it wasn’t going to finish Etty off completely. But her hand, bony and cool in mine, didn’t flinch, maybe she was made of sterner stuff or perhaps she’d had an inkling of what was coming.

  The three facing us, knew in that instant, they’d failed. The precise thing they’d been sent here to prevent had gone ahead and happened. I wanted to point out that it really was their own stupid fault. If they’d only listened to what I’d been telling them and cut out the threats and unpleasantness, everything could have been brought to a far more amicable conclusion. But I wasn’t given time to tell them anything.

  Ffion drew her head back sharply and hissed in frustration and fury as Karl and Max moved in close behind her. I felt them mustering their own power, at the same time as harvesting that of all those others we’d had the pleasure of briefly glimpsing earlier. The force created was unseen, yet none the less malignantly fierce. I gently loosened my hand from Etty’s, the connection was there now, it couldn’t be broken, and I did the only thing I could, under the circumstances. I turned that force around, and with what I now had, magnified and sent it right back to them.

  All three went down without a sound, other than the dull thumps they made as they hit the ground which would have hurt I supposed, had they been more compos mentis. Thankfully the wasps, at the same time, seemed to lose all motivation and began flying around in far less menacing, aimless and ever decreasing, circles. Within a minute, they’d given up the ghost and dropped to the floor, forming several desiccated little yellow and black piles. Then from my left, jarring my already sorely beleaguered nerves, came an impossibly high-pitched, eldritch shriek. Charley, it seemed was ready for a come-back.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  I have to say, she had proved herself a bit of a disappointment all round. I’d thought she was sweet – annoying speech pattern admittedly, but basically a good, reliable sort, which just goes to show, first impressions can’t always be relied upon, because now she was heading for me at speed, hands outstretched, fingers clawed, lips hauled back over clenched teeth and eyes so wide and white rimmed, they looked at risk of popping out altogether.

  Sandwiched and now restrained between Mimi and I, Rostropovich was a wolf who had just about reached the end of his tether. We felt him bunch powerful muscles, growl low in his throat and then with a snarl to match Charley’s he sprang, and the two hit each other full-on, in a crashing coming-together that should have knocked both of them out. I really didn’t know what had got into Charley at that point, but she certainly wasn’t the slightly harried young researcher we’d all come to know and like. She looked much the same, but this version was rolling and growling on the floor with a fully-grown wolf who wasn’t in the best of tempers, and she was fighting back with a strength and feral ferocity that took us even further into not-believing-what-I’m seeing-territory.

  I’m not sure how long we’d have stood there immobilised and gawping, had there not been a brief pause in the fray, into which came a polite knock on the closed library door. Adam, Ophelia and Murray, who were on the floor blocking the entrance, shuffled clumsily out of the way and it opened to reveal not Elizabeth or Alfred as we’d thought, but Mark Heywood, the solicitor.

  “Thought I’d just walk over.” He said, “And make sure everything was OK over here – see whether there was anything at all you needed.” He was wearing a business-like, fur-trimmed parka and pulled down the hood, as he cast an eye around the room. He took in my parents and Murray, helping each other up from the floor; Sasha still spark out in a corner; Charley pinned flat by the wolf, and the bodies of Ffion, Karl and Max and it belatedly occurred to me, we didn’t know whether or not I’d killed them. The latter three were surrounded by dead wasps
and assorted sculptured clay body-parts from when Felica had lent us a hand, in fact, several hands. I bit back a small giggle, but it came out anyway and sounded slightly more hysterical than I’d have preferred.

  “Well, I see you’ve been keeping yourselves busy then.” The Heywood chap observed. It was, I felt, a tricky situation. Etty stepped into the breach, as upright and restrained as ever.

  “Mark,” she said levelly, in what might have been the understatement of the century, “You’ve caught us at a slightly awkward moment. As you can see we’ve had a few… issues.” She was interrupted by a sharp yowl of pain from Rostropovich. We all spun round. Charley, still on the ground, goodness knows what the wolf on top of her weighed, now had her eyes tightly closed and with what little breath she had left, was chanting something. Whatever she was doing, was obviously hurting him. Neither Mimi nor Etty hesitated, but did the rigid hand thing and Charley once again opted out of the action. It added to the body count, but by this time I was kind of past caring. Mimi called the wolf back to her side and he moved to lean against her, casting a low warning growl every now and then in the direction of the recumbent Charley.

  “Mr Heywood lives just across the field.” Etty said in explanation, continuing as if nothing had happened. I nodded politely and moved to sit down, my knees suddenly weren’t working as well as they should. Still, I felt I had to keep my conversational end up, as nobody else in the room seemed ready to say anything yet.

  “Is he, you know,… one of you?” I asked.

  “Of course not.” Etty tutted as if I’d said something ridiculous. “However, his family have been handling our legal affairs for several generations now and have always been in our confidence.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” I said “Otherwise, all this,” And I waved an encompassing arm. “Might have given him a bit of a turn.” And then, to my utter mortification, I fainted dead away.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  “So,” said Murray, “What now?” The sun was shining fiercely and, despite the biting wind, it was seeing off the snow in no uncertain terms. It seemed ridiculous that only the previous day, weather-wise, it had looked and felt like the end of the world.

  Murray had come into the kitchen about 9.00 that morning, whilst I was knocking back a much-needed cup of coffee under the watchful eyes of Gladys, who seemed to have appointed herself guardian of my general health and well-being, and Rostropovich who had been granted kitchen privileges because of the bitter weather and his heroism.

  Murray said he thought a bit of a walk was called for, to blow away the cobwebs. If by cobwebs he meant yesterday’s events, I thought it might take more than a bit of a walk. But I grabbed a jacket and scarf and cautiously negotiating the front stone steps, which still held some treacherous ice patches and arm in companionable arm, we paced around the mermaid, who was looking no perkier, and slowly down the drive.

  “No. Absolutely nothing’s changed.” I said, in answer to his earlier question. He didn’t say anything, so I carried on, “Not as far as what I’m going to do. I want to get back to normal as quickly as I can because normal, right now, is looking more attractive than it ever has. All this,” I waved my hand at the house behind us and included in the gesture all that had gone on, “Isn’t for me, it’s not who I am, is it? I know I got hung up on getting everything sorted business-wise, but I’ve got the family started on what needs to be done, they’ll have to stand or fall on their own now. After all, they were managing before I pitched up, they’ll manage after I go. I’m out of here, leaving this afternoon if nothing else happens to stop me.” He was silent for a beat or two. Then,

  “And can you?”

  “Can I what?”

  “You know, just go back to your everyday stuff, you’ve had a taste of something.” He shook his head, “Don’t know quite what, but whatever you want to call it, can you just forget about it, isn’t it part of you?”

  I thought about what he’d asked, thought about the painful intensity of the connection with Etty, the overwhelming and frankly terrifying strength of what had been generated between the two of us. I thought about how, although it was completely new, there was a knowingness in me that recognised and welcomed it back. And I knew I had to reject it and why. I tried to put it in words for him.

  “Growing up,” I said slowly, “I deliberately turned my back on what Ophelia is, pretended I didn’t see, didn’t know, although of course I did, deep down. But what I felt then and what I feel now hasn’t changed one iota. It’s not me, I don’t want it, don’t want to use it, don’t want it to use me. My decision, my choice.” My breath was coming faster, vapourising in the frigid air, He squeezed my arm, held in his,

  “OK, Sandy, don’t get your knickers in a twist, up to you. You know I’m right behind you whatever you want to do.” I nodded, there wasn’t much I was sure of after recent events, but Murray’s backing was and always had been, solid as a rock. We walked on in comfortable silence.

  ***

  Due to my humiliating opting out yesterday – I never faint, that’s Ophie’s territory, Sasha’s too, certainly not mine – I found myself a bit hazy on the way things had panned out. I hadn’t properly come round until I was being dumped unceremoniously on my bed upstairs, by Roland and Mark Heywood. They were both panting a little, having apparently made a chair-lift of their hands to get me upstairs. Roland was pulling the bedspread over me,

  “Blimey,” he said, “You’re heavier than you look.”

  “Thanks.” I said. Mark Heywood, putting a glass of water on the bedside table next to me, frowned,

  “Well, it would have been easier if she hadn’t struggled all the way up. Don’t you,” he said to me, “Ever do what you’re told?” I wanted to say something crushing, but was feeling too much on the woozy side to think of anything worthwhile. However as my senses returned, I struggled up to a sitting position, grasping Roland’s arm in panic.

  “I shouldn’t be up here, what’s happening downstairs – did I, did I…” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say it.

  “Kill them?” Supplied Mark, obviously not the sensitive type. Roland and he exchanged looks above my head. “We don’t know.” He said.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” I squeaked, then lowering my tone to something that not only dogs could hear. “How can you not know?” They exchanged another look, if they didn’t stop doing that I was going to thump one or both.

  “They went.” Said Roland.

  “Went? What do you mean went?” He shrugged,

  “Well, you dropped down with such a thump, everyone’s attention was on you and by the time we’d got you back on the chair, they’d gone.

  “Gone?”

  “For Christ’s sake Sandra,” snapped Roland, “Will you stop repeating everything I say? I can’t be any more specific than that, they’d gone, disappeared, vanished, pouf – there should have been a puff of smoke but there wasn’t – one minute they were there, all over the floor and then they weren’t. Ffion, the two blokes and Charley, all gone.”

  “But that’s impossible.” I said. Mark Heywood sat down on Ophie’s bed opposite and laughed. I glared at him and then Roland started to chuckle too.

  “I really don’t think,” said Roland, “Impossible’s a word that can apply in any way, to what’s been going on, do you?” I shook my head slowly, he wasn’t wrong.

  “Is everyone else all right?” I asked, “Devorah and the baby?” He nodded.

  “Bit shaken, but fine. Bella’s with them now.”

  “Ophie and Adam?” I said. “They were completely knocked out.”

  “I think Ophie took more of a hit than your Father.” He said. “But they’re both all right and she’s playing wounded martyr to the hilt.” I grinned, her brother knew her as well as I did. “She says,” he elaborated, “That she’s never going to forgive him, but they’re c
anoodled up on the sofa downstairs, so I suspect all might be well.”

  “And Sasha?” I asked apprehensively. Mark Heywood answered with a brief slashing gesture across his throat, I gasped and he chuckled,”

  “Don’t be daft, I just meant she was history. Whatever plans she had for your Father seem to have gone down the tubes and she’s sulking somewhere. Murray said he’d stay with her until she calmed down. She was hardly a match for Ophelia anyway.” He added.

  “But what does she say about what happened, everything she saw?” I couldn’t begin to imagine how we could explain things. Mark shook his head,

  “From what I understand, she actually didn’t see too much, I gather it all happened so fast and she passed out at an early stage.”

  “But didn’t she have a whole load of questions?” I asked.

  “I don’t think,” he said reflectively, “That she’s the sharpest knife in the drawer, and anyway she was far more preoccupied with the way things were going between her and Adam.”

  “Mimi’s fine too.” Roland supplied, before I could reach her in the roll call.

  “And Etty?” I asked with trepidation, remembering what the impact of our touch had done to me. He smiled,

  “She’s a game old bird, my sweet, you should know that by now. Turned her nose up in disgust when you fainted, said she thought you were made of sterner stuff and stalked off upstairs, mind you she did hang around long enough to make sure you were all right.” I grimaced,