Witchcraft

by Katie M John

  Fox froze, she wasn’t sure moving was necessarily the right thing to do. Sometimes, the trick of escaping was to stay exactly where you were. “It’s alright for you – you’ve got that weirdy magic thing going on,” she hissed. “You can probably teleport or something. If I start moving about, I suddenly become prime prey.”

  “Suit yourself but I’m heading home.” Swan turned on her heels, her light scanning back across the back of Fox’s shirt. She gasped. Saturated, Fox’s shirt had started to drip blood onto her jeans. “Fox, please, we really need to get you home.”

  “Stop stressing; it’s only a scratch,” she replied, more to convince herself than her sister.

  “You are totally impossible,” Swan said through clenched teeth. “I’m calling rank. We’re going home, right now.”

  The sound of movement to their left and the sweep of a flashlight made them startle once more. Fox felt her stomach tighten into a deep cramp and she cursed herself for being so pathetic.

  “Reckon it might be too late for that,” she whispered low enough for only her sister to hear. Swan snuffed out the light and tucked her wand into the sleeve of her jumper. They were now completely at the mercy of the nighttime wanderer.

  Fox held her breath, hoping whoever it was would pass by them.

  “Evening!”

  The shadowy, ominous form gave way to one far more familiar.

  “Jeremiah – what the b-jeez are you doing here?!” Fox asked, surprised as if she had just come across an axe murderer, and was only slightly less relieved it wasn’t

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “Well, I asked first.”

  “Fair.”

  “So?”

  “I thought I’d start our research project by doing a bit of a recky.”

  “In the dark?”

  “Why not? Thought I’d like to see it at its most… alluring. I find lots of things look better in the dark – even you, Foxy!” He laughed.

  Swan watched the two of them play out their little exchange with bemused curiosity whilst saying nothing. It was almost as if Jeremiah had not even noticed her.

  “Find anything good?” Fox asked, clenching her teeth against the pulsing pain that was upping its tempo.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve got your teeth all clenched, or is it that you’re just pleased to see me? Steady on, it almost looks like a smile.”

  “She’s injured; quite badly,” Swan helpfully informed him. He jumped at the sound of her voice and stared at her momentarily before looking back to Fox.

  “What’s happened?”

  “It’s nothing – just a …” her sentence was stopped by a sharp gasp.

  Jeremiah moved around her and shone the torch on her. He let out a low whistle, “Jeez, Foxy, that’s not a scratch! We need to get you …” his sentence morphed into a, “Whoa there!” as he dropped the torch and used both of his arms to catch her.

  “Told you it was serious!” Swan said, in the way that only sisters can totally underplay a serious incident for the sake of scoring a point.

  Jeremiah fixed Swan with a look of concern. “We really need to get her home fast – better still, to a hospital.”

  Swan let out a tight, distressed laugh, “You’ll be lucky, the nearest hospital is nearly an hour’s drive.”

  “Great, got to love the countryside!”

  Jeremiah placed one arm under Fox’s knees and scooped her into his arms. “Are you able to take my torch. Two will be better than…” his sentence trailed off as he saw the noticeable absence of a torch in Swan’s hands. “Or one will be better than… none!” His head gave an involuntary shake.

  “It’s okay, our mum will be able to fix her up,” Swan said,

  Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “Is she a doctor? I thought she ran that new-age shop?”

  Swan let the question slide. She didn’t have time to get into that kind of conversation. She led them back through the forest. Every now and then, she looked back at Jeremiah and he’d flash her a reassuring smile. She was bemused by the effect it had on her; she wasn’t one to usually be affected by a handsome face, but there was something about Mr. Chase that was different and she was surprised to feel her heartbeat quicken and her stomach flutter. She smiled to herself, thinking how her sister’s animosity towards Jeremiah was obviously an attempt to deal with similar strange feelings. Swan’s pace through the forest was swift. Every now and then, Fox would come around and fight against the arms that held her. It was a good sign; there was clearly still a lot of life left in her.

  The night had settled thick like a blanket and the west road out of the village was empty. Jeremiah, seeing Meadowsweet Cottage within sprinting distance, picked up his pace. Fox had become heavier as she’d slipped further into unconsciousness and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could carry her.

  He hadn’t the time to knock and politely wait on the doorstep, and so the result was a chaotic, noisy crashing into the cottage, where he dumped Fox on the first available surface he could find, which happened to be the kitchen table. Holding her like a rag doll over his one arm, he swept the table contents to the far end, sending some utensils scattering to the floor. Wren scuttled across with alarm.

  “What’s happened?” she asked, pulling her hand away sharply with the feel of sticky blood.

  Jeremiah roughly rolled Fox onto her side, knowing that tenderness was not a priority. Fox moaned in protest. “She’s been…” his sentence was cut short by Swan, who seeing the state of her sister under the bright electric light, started to cry.

  “She fell and landed on a stick. I didn’t think it was that bad,” Swan explained.

  “Pass me those scissors!” her mother commanded Jeremiah, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen worktop. He slipped off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He was efficient and calm, which could not be said about Swan. Bunny must have sensed the high drama unfolding and came bounding in from upstairs.

  “What’s happened?”

  “There’s been an accident. Fox is hurt.”

  “Should I call for an ambulance?” Bunny asked her mother, whilst moving around the table to take a closer look.

  Wren was snipping at Fox’s shirt, exposing her blood stained skin.

  “No, she should be okay once I put a stitch or two in. She’s fainted from the drop in blood pressure but she’ll soon be okay.” Wren pulled one side of the shirt away as Jeremiah pulled the other. He was proving to be a calm and useful addition. Bunny looked at him, trying to fathom what his role could possibly be in all of it.

  “There’s a lot of blood,” Jeremiah said with concern.

  “It looks worse than it is. Back wounds always bleed a lot; she’s lucky, it’s missed her spinal chord and it’s not deep enough to have damaged any organs.”

  Wren turned her attention away from Fox for a moment and asked Bunny to gather her medicine bag from The Sanctuary; Wren’s barely-used study at the back of the house. Jeremiah flicked a look at Bunny and then over to Wren, who was once again absorbed in her study of Fox’s wound. The words “medicine bag” and “sanctuary” niggled his brain. He was beginning to get the distinct impression the Meadowsweet family was not quite what it seemed.

  Bunny returned quickly, carrying an antique leather doctor’s bag. She put it on the table next to Wren and flicked it open. Wren instructed Bunny to get the honey from the cupboard and to fill up one of the large plastic syringes with water.

  “Honey?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Yes, it’s the most effective antiseptic for an open wound.”

  “Surely antiseptic lotion from the chemist would be more…” His reply was cut short by a sharp look from Wren.

  Bunny handed the syringe to Wren, who used it to wash out the wound. Then she took a large finger full of honey and smeared it into the wound, where it mixed with the blood to make a sticky, congealing mess.

  “It’s going to need some stitches. Swan,
could you please boil the kettle and make a sterile dish for the needle, and whilst you’re there, make us all a cup of sweet tea. I think we could all do with a cup.”

  The rest of the procedure was carried out in silence as Wren and her daughters worked together in well-practiced unity.

  Fox whimpered as the needle threaded in and out of her flesh, but Wren was swift and the stitching was over in a matter of minutes. It was clearly something she had done many times and Jeremiah’s curiosity was stirred. Wren unwound a piece of cotton muslin from her bag and placed a cotton pad over the wound. It created deep satisfaction in Jeremiah to see the wound tidily hidden behind the dressing, and for it to begin its healing. Swan brought Fox’s dressing gown in and between them, they maneuvered her to the saggy patchwork sofa at the far end of the kitchen. Wren instructed Jeremiah to sit and for Bunny to finish the tea whilst she scrubbed down the table with disinfectant. Whilst the girls were busy, Jeremiah’s eyes roamed around the large room that was part kitchen, part snug, and part study. It couldn’t have been further from the sleek, sanitised granite and steel kitchen of his New York home.

  Movement flickered at the corner of his eye, and Jeremiah turned to see the grey tabby cat sitting on an old tapestry cushion. It stretched out its limbs and yawned. Fox yawned, too; a natural response to her body needing more oxygen. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to orientate herself.

  “Here, drink this. It’ll restore your strength,” Swan said handing him the tea. He sniffed it. It wasn’t the usual English tea but it smelt sweet and syrupy. Swan watched him assessing the drink. “It’s oatstraw and lavender.”

  “Unusual!” he said, smiling tightly.

  “It’s nice, I promise.”

  He took a sip and nodded. Swan crouched beside Fox and stroked her cheek, encouraging her to come back to them. Fox stirred.

  “Try and take some tea,” she said, helping her sister to sip from the delicate china cup.

  “You have a charming home, ma’m,” Jeremiah called out to Wren, who was still scrubbing the table hard with a bristle brush.

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we got around to introductions. You can call me Wren.”

  “I’m Jeremiah, ma’m. Jeremiah Chase.”

  The rhythmic sound of Wren’s scrubbing fell silent and she fixed the young man with a look. “Chase?”

  “Yes, ma’m.”

  “As in the Chases of Coldstone House?”

  “The very same.”

  Swan looked at her mother, alerted by her off-chord behaviour. Her mother paused a moment, before taking up her scrubbing once more.

  “Well Jeremiah, it’s getting late. I’m sure Lady Asquithe will be concerned.”

  Jeremiah stood and put down his tea before smiling at Wren politely. “Yes, she probably will be. I’d better be going.”

  Swan was confused by her mother’s attitude towards the boy who had saved her daughter’s life. If Jeremiah was offended by their mother’s obvious desire for him to leave, then he was being too much of a gentleman to make a point of it. Embarrassed, Swan picked up Jeremiah’s jacket from the floor and held it out politely, smiling.

  “Thank you so much for your help this evening. You have been a true friend.”

  He flashed her a smile and slid his arms into his jacket. “No problem. Anytime.”

  “Good evening, m’am,” he said, walking towards the door.

  “Jeremiah!” Wren called after him. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I just happened to be passing. Anybody would have done the same.”

  As soon as the door clicked back in its lock, Swan came to her mother’s side. “Care to share?”

  Her mother picked up the cloth and rubbed the table, avoiding a response. Swan wasn’t deterred that easily.

  “I can’t believe how rude you were to that boy! He’s just carried Fox half way across the village and helped you stitch her back together and you treat him like he has just come in and tried to rob you.”

  Her mother shrugged. “I’m just not fond of the Chase family.”

  “But you don’t even know him.”

  “Leave it!” Wren warned. She swiped away a stray strand of hair. “There are things you do not need to know.”

  Swan sighed. That was exactly the sort of statement to raise her curiosity, but she saw her mother was in no mood for breaking. Sensing her daughter hovering, Wren instructed her to take Fox up to bed.

  Although pale and still woozy, Fox was looking much better than she had just half an hour ago. When Swan approached her, she managed a weak smile and asked croakily, “Jeremiah?”

  Swan smiled and nodded her head, “Yes, quite the Sir Lancelot!”

  Fox rolled her eyes. She was not unwell enough not to still be irritated and Jeremiah’s act of chivalry made him all the more annoying because now she owed him one.

  Once they were both out of the hearing of their mother, Fox asked, “Don’t you think it strange he happened to be there at that very moment?”

  Swan shook her head. “I think it was just lucky.”

  “I don’t know – it’s seems a bit… odd.”

  “Aren’t you two doing a project on The Rookeries?”

  Fox considered for a moment whether it was plausible he had gone to do a bit of research, but the internal was quite opinionated, What fool would head out to an abandoned asylum at nightfall?

  “Yes, but I don’t reckon that was the reason he was there.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just a feeling. I don’t trust him. Everything about him is a lie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Go search ‘Jeremiah Chase’ and get back to me.”

  Swan raised an eyebrow. “On the internet? Is he famous?”

  “Just do it. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  Swan guided Fox down into her bed and tucked the duvet up around her.

  “Rest. You’re going to need your strength for tomorrow. I’m going to contact Violet and ask how we can get around the Shield Spell.”

  “I think you should tell her everything,” Fox said, surprising herself by this statement as much as her sister.

  “Are you sure? I mean, I think we should. Violet has studied the Dark Arts; I think she’ll be able to help us.”

  “I didn’t know Violet…”

  Swan cut her short, “Well it’s not common knowledge – even mum doesn’t know. You know how she is about all of that; she wouldn’t understand. She’d assume the worse. Violet has studied the Dark Arts so she can defeat them, there is no other reason.”

  “And you?”

  Fox’s piercing question caused Swan to falter. “I…I…yes, Violet is tutoring me.”

  “Why?”

  Swan shrugged. “It’s late and I’m really tired. I need to rest up for tomorrow. We can talk about this another time.”

  Fox sat up, wincing with each movement. “No, I want us to talk about it now.”

  “Well you can want it all you like, but I’m not talking with you now.” She stood up and made towards the door. “Until tomorrow, sister. Heal well.” She blew a kiss and left, closing the door behind her.

  Fox stared at the space her sister had occupied for many minutes after she had left. She had thought Swan straightforward; nothing but light and sweetness but now…?

  9

  The Meadowsweet sisters were woken by the sound of screaming sirens; a sound alien and terrifying in the quiet village of Heargton. As Fox woke, she let out a low groan of discomfort at the pain in her back. She dragged herself out of bed and pulled back the curtains of her bedroom window. Several police cars streamed past, not slowing for the junction. Dread filled her stomach; something terrible had happened and her instinct told her it had to do with Martha Paisley.

  She threw on her jeans and jumper, limped painfully down the stairs and headed out of the cottage. Swan must have followed a similar pattern as shortly a
fter, she heard her sister’s footsteps behind her. They travelled towards the commotion, which focused on the well. A large policeman, dressed in full anti-stab uniform, formed an almost successful wall – yet his arms were not large enough to stop Fox from seeing the horror. Desperately, he yelled for someone to get him a bed sheet.

  Propped up against the small bonfire which had been set in the tray of the well as part of the New Light festivities, was the body of Martha Paisley. She looked like a Victorian rag doll, dressed in a flowing white gown, spattered with rubies of blood. A tight, white bandage had been wrapped around her head, and in the place of her eyes, were two red blooms of blood. A garland of ivy had been placed on her head in mockery of The Queen of The Flame. Around her neck, hung by a piece of coarse rope, was a piece of ripped fencing, which had been used to fashion a sign. There was no writing on it, just the glyph of an inverted pentagram, drawn with chalk.

  Bright flashes of phone camera flashes broke the morning gloom, giving the surreal impression of a lightning storm taking place under the cover of the well.

  “Anybody else take a photo and they can consider themselves nicked! Where is that ruddy sheet?” the policeman asked.

  Fox heard her own voice screaming, “No!” and felt the thin, iron arms of Swan holding her tightly.

  “Please return to your homes, ladies. The police are dealing with this. You shouldn’t distress yourself further.” The policeman took receipt of a sheet at last and swiftly covered up Martha Paisley, hiding her away from the swiftly swelling crowd.

  “We’re too late. We’re too late,” Fox repeated the mantra over and over until, fearful the police officer should hear Fox and find it of interest, Swan placed her hand over her sister’s mouth and ssshed in her ear.

  “Let’s go home. There’s nothing more we can do.”

  “I don’t understand…I …”

  Swan squeezed her sister’s hand as she led Fox back towards the cottage. “We’ll talk about it when we get home.”

  As Swan and Fox headed back towards the cottage, Bunny came bounding towards them, desperate to see what all the activity was about.