Witchcraft

by Katie M John

  He stopped talking and was watching her think. The compulsion to lean forward and kiss him right now came over her, but even though she guessed he would be pleasantly surprised, the fact he would still be surprised might backfire horribly. She was saved by the flustered arrival of Carmen, who came bundling in and plonked herself down next to Fox. She was already half-way through a conversation and she naturally expected Fox to catch up with.

  “So it’s hardly fair is it?” Carmen asked.

  “What isn’t?”

  “Compulsory-bloody-Enrichment! As if my life is really going to be enriched by playing tennis with Jock Strap Joe and that bitch, Thalia!

  Julia, a student who Fox and Carmen had very little to do with, leaned in from the desk behind and said, “Thalia’s not in today.”

  It took a moment to register what Julia had said and even then, it didn’t sink in until Fox asked, “Did you say Thalia isn’t in school today?”

  “Yep, something on with her family. She’s going to be away for the next fortnight. She’s got a family wedding abroad or something.” Having imparted her information and not really being keen on either “Freaky Fox” or “Crazy Carmen,” she returned to her conversation with her friend.

  “That’s strange,” Fox muttered.

  “Yeah, that is strange. I could have sworn I saw her this morning,” Carmen said, wrinkling her nose up. “Must have been seeing things. So anyway, great, that leaves me solo with Jock Strap Joe! I’ve a premonition I might have to have an emergency doctor’s appointment this afternoon. What do you think? Think I’ll get away with ditching?”

  Fox laughed. “You’d be a fool; Joe is pretty hot in his tennis shorts.”

  Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at Fox, as if genuinely surprised that she should find another boy attractive. Fox noted his reaction and filed it away for later ammunition. She was pleasantly surprised to see he was bothered by it.

  Carmen sighed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Just as long as he doesn’t try and talk to me; jeez he’s a total airhead!”

  Jeremiah coughed down his laugh and pretended to write something important in his folder. Fox slid him a conspiratorial smile.

  “So, bestie,” Carmen said, “when are we going to get to hang out together? Ever since he’s arrived on the scene,” she said nodding over at Jeremiah, “I’ve not had a look in.”

  Jeremiah continued to bury himself in his project work but Fox knew he was listening. She flustered, embarrassed again by Carmen’s lack of social grace.

  “If you haven’t noticed, Carmen, we’re meant to be working hard with our project partners on our History coursework; Jeremiah is my project partner and that’s why we’re spending so much time together!” Fox’s repetition was intended to deliver a message to Carmen, but it failed.

  “Ohhh,” Carmen replied over-dramatically, “I suppose that makes sense! Well, I was a bit confused because I thought you and Wi…”

  Carmen didn’t get chance to finish her brilliant display of social stupidity as Fox kicked her hard under the table, causing her to break off her sentence and replace it with outraged cries. The effect wasn’t exactly what Fox had hoped for, being it made more of a thing of it then it already was.

  At last, Fox was saved by the arrival of Mr. Saxon, who, true to form, arrived late with a mug of coffee swinging perilously in his hand. He made some general effort to get the class into order by basically informing them to carry on as they already were. He explained he’d be checking in with each partnership in the next couple of weeks and that in the meantime, “Have fun exploring, guys!” Once this required speech was complete, he sat down and began marking a mountain of lower-school exercise books.

  Carmen sulked off to the back of the room and reluctantly pulled out her folder and pencil case. Fox watched her and flashed her a smile of encouragement. Fox had always been Carmen’s own personal coach, pushing her to do better. The formal institution of school was not really considered a positive thing by her father, or the small community who lived on the back meadow.

  Carmen’s family, which was a term extended to all ten members of their camp, blood relative or not, had settled in Heargton many years ago and now, were almost accepted as “upstanding members” of the community – even having representation on the village council. Carmen’s father, Angus, made a modest living cleaning windows and her brothers did all right out of doing the gardens of some of the residents. The men drank in The Green Man as regulars, and were quite a force to be reckoned with on quiz night. The women took it in turns to help out at the local primary school, running workshops in sewing and music. It might have been a very different story of prejudice if they had rocked up in their large shiny caravans and quad bikes, but most Heargton people admitted that the traditional gypsy caravans dotted over the far meadow, added a certain romance to the village; adding to its chocolate-box aesthetics, even if life wasn’t quite a box of chocolates for Carmen.

  None of this held any sway at school though, where kids from the other satellite villages chose not to get past the media stereotype. As a result, Carmen had always been an outsider and increasingly, as she chose the more conventional life of college and possibly university, she was becoming an outsider from her own community, too. Fox understood more than most what if felt like to feel a disconnect with those around you.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jeremiah asked, pulling Fox from her thoughts.

  She shook her head and smiled, “Nothing much.”

  He returned his attention to the photos he’d printed out, peering at every one to see if he could find more evidence of Paulina.

  “Do we need to talk about last night?” Fox asked.

  Jeremiah flashed her a look from under his eyelashes and returned back to the photos. “What about it?”

  Fox fidgeted in her seat. She wasn’t entirely which part of last night she was asking the question about – the kiss that never was, or the crazy ghost lady in the photograph.

  Jeremiah saved her making a choice. “You know when I tried to print that photo off, it came out just a blurry mess.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” He shuffled through his papers and recovered a mess of black and white streaks. “Here, see!”

  Fox took the picture between her fingers. He was right, there wasn’t a trace of a figure.

  “Do you think we imagined it?” he asked.

  She turned the question over in her head. She knew they hadn’t, and she knew exactly who the woman had been. Jeremiah had stopped scrutinising the photos and turned his attention to Fox, who had her forehead screwed up in concentration. Fox felt her phone vibrate. She slipped it from her pocket and read the text under the table out of the sight of Mr. Saxon. It was a message from Will saying things weren’t good and he would be staying until things settled. Fox read between the lines and knew Will was really saying he’d be staying until his grandfather died. The thought made her feel sad.

  “Will,” she gave as means of explanation.

  Jeremiah mouthed, “Oh,” but didn’t expand. “So, the Ravenhearts,” he said by way of moving on, “owned The Rookeries and that whopping big house. They seem to be quite a dynasty in the area?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I think we need to do a little digging around their family past, don’t you?”

  There was something in the way he said it that made Fox’s skin prickle. All at once, the image of a game of poker flashed in her head and she saw Jeremiah with a handful of cards, but they weren’t the ordinary playing cards, but old tarot cards – he was holding them tightly to his chest. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, not sure if what she had seen was a momentary vision or just her over-active imagination.

  There was no way she could tell him what a stupid idea rummaging around the Ravenheart’s family closet was without giving the whole game away and so, she had to settle for a slightly strangulated noise and a nod of the head. All she could hope was the Ravenhearts had been clever enough to hi
de their skeletons well.

  14

  Jeremiah sat down and logged onto his e-mails. He was expecting a message from Daniel about the investigation. Jeremiah had been making a very determined effort to get Fox to trust him and he was pleased with the moves forward he’d made. He knew he needed to keep her close if he was to offer her any form of protection; he also knew he was courting dangerous ground. Daniel had no tolerance for Witches in any form, or so Daniel had said over the years. His regular quip had been, “Even the good ones are bad for you, my boy!” It was only as Jeremiah had got older, he was able to read the tone of regret woven between those jesting words.

  Instead of a message from Daniel, there was a message from his sister, Lucia. Usually, this would have made Jeremiah smile but there was something about the subject line that made Jeremiah falter.

  URGENT. PLEASE OPEN A.S.A.P. I LOVE YOU.

  Lucia was, by nature, a slightly over dramatic girl, but she’d never been the hysterical type. A little paperclip icon sat ominously next to the subject line. Instinctively, Jeremiah braced himself for the contents. Lucia’s message was brief but made the attachment all the more sinister.

  Jay,

  I tried to phone you but your phone has been off all day? Where are you????

  I wanted you to see this before it hits the papers tomorrow.

  I’m so sorry, Jay. I really didn’t want to be the one who you connect in your mind with this news.

  Know I love you and I’m thinking of you with all of my heart.

  Lucia x

  P.S. Please don’t tell daddy where you got the news - a courier delivered this tonight and I trespassed his office to get a hold of it. He’ll be furious with me if he finds out. xxx

  Jeremiah’s hand quivered as he scrolled over the attachment. The time it took for the little blue download bar to fill felt endless. He had a terrible feeling he knew what the news was. It had only been a matter of time before his father tied up all the loose ends. The PDF document unfurled on screen. It had been badly scanned, done in a hurry.

  Jeremiah let his eyes roam freely over the page, trying to close down his mind as he did. He really didn’t want to read it.

  CALL REPORT

  NYPD

  INCIDENT: HOME INVASION AND HOMICIDE

  ATTENDING OFFICERS: BROWN 3432 and PETERS 9802

  DATE: October 20th 2013

  TIME OF CALL: 20.03

  ADDRESS: 4, Hilton Avenue, The Hamptons.

  VICTIM: Mrs. Rachel Garison (Nee: Miss Rachel Scarlet)

  PROFILE:

  Female. 24.

  Caucasian. Brunette.

  Stats: 1.64m

  Marital status: Married.

  Profession: Lecturer at St. Sebastian’s College. New York City.

  INITIAL OBSERVATION FROM ATTENDING OFFICERS:

  Forced entry to rear side door. Home invasion. Female vic. found in Kitchen. Had been phoning for assistance at time of death. Jewelry removed. House disturbed. Initial motive, robbery. No initial signs of sexual assault. Initial MOD, extensive knife wounds to lower abdomen and chest. Defensive wounds evident. No other casualties.

  ACTIONS:

  House swept. All clear. CSI called. Officers remained until relieved.

  Too many emotions hit Jeremiah at once. She had married? Throughout Coldstone House the phones rang. The sound of them screwed deep into his head. He could hardly breathe. Sobs caught drily in his throat. A raging anger swelled. At last, the phones fell silent. He stood, despite his legs feeling weak and insubstantial beneath him.

  “I know it was you!” he said, pounding his fist against his forehead. “I know it was you, you bastard!”

  Jeremiah’s anger was full and fierce. In place of his father’s face, he picked up the bedside chair and threw it hard against the paneling, where it crashed and splintered into a pathetic heap, mirrored by Jeremiah’s own crumpling frame. He lay on the bed, curling his knees up under his chin. He rocked himself backwards and forwards, trying not to let the screams escape. He had not heard the turn of the doorknob nor his aunt push the door open.

  She stood, with her willowy and formidable six-foot frame held straight as a rod, and said in a voice that could have lead men into battle, “Now, that is quite enough of that, young man. Pull yourself together. Your father has phoned and informed me of the news. It is unfortunate, as is the waste of all young life, but we do not need to conduct ourselves in such an unnecessary manner.”

  The shock at his aunt’s cold commands startled him out of his hysteria and he lay looking at the wall. His breathing eased and his sobs calmed.

  “I shall see you in the library in five minutes when you have composed yourself. I don’t expect to have to come and get you,” she concluded before leaving and closing the door.

  With no real idea how he should respond to such hard-hitting grief, the rigid, clipped instructions of his aunt offered him structure to which he could cling. He swung his legs off the bed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. His breath snagged and his frame shuddered, but he felt himself solidifying back into flesh once more. He swept his hands through his hair and straightened his shirt before heading down to the library. He knew he was in shock. Reality felt like a thin veil, billowing in and out on a light breeze. Carefully, he made his way down the stairs, not trusting his legs not to buckle underneath him at any minute. Voices whispered all around him,

  “It wasn’t love, Jeremiah.”

  “Let her go, Jeremiah.”

  “She was nothing to you, Jeremiah.”

  His aunt was waiting for him in the library and pouring out two large tumblers of golden spirit, which could have been Scotch or brandy. Jeremiah didn’t really care which as long as it numbed the pain in his chest.

  She met him with a steady eye and handed him one of the tumblers. He took it and watched with confusion as she raised her glass in salute to him before tipping back most of the spirit in one gulp. Jeremiah brought the heavy crystal tumbler to his lips and filled his mouth with the burning liquid. Flames licked his throat.

  Aunt Penelope pulled herself up tall and breathed in heavily, preparing herself for the speech she was about to make.

  “I’m going to make a few things clear to you, before your head has the opportunity to conjure up all kind of fanciful ideas. You will not be going back to New York at present. You will not be involving yourself in any of this circus. You will be staying here and moving onwards with your life. You will lock this away in your memory as a bittersweet experience; the kind that defines who we are and what we become. The death of Rachel Scarlet is a tragic and unfortunate accident, which has happened to a person you once knew but who is not part of your present life.”

  Jeremiah listened to her intensely with a curious and disbelieving surprise. The coldness that penetrated her words was almost inhuman and yet they were strangely comforting.

  “You are going to feel out of sorts for a while; that will be the effect of the shock, but don’t for one minute, start to fantasise you are grieving for any kind of love between the two of you. If you think what you had with Miss Scarlet was love, then clearly you have no understanding of the word.”

  She paused to top up her tumbler. She drank and Jeremiah mirrored her. “But…” he began to stammer. She raised a hand and cut off his words.

  “I’m sure it was all very romantic and exciting, and I’m certain that in some of those moments you had together, you believed you were as happy as you could ever be, but it wasn’t real, Jeremiah, and your insistence on following the dream caused damage, not only to you, but to the family, too.”

  “It had nothing to do with the family,” he blurted out.

  “Not initially, but things were getting… complicated.”

  “Complicated?” he repeated. “In what way?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “That does not concern you. There is a duty within any family for the elders to ensure the family is protected, and that shame and embarrassment do not stain the good name
of that family. The Chase bloodline is hundreds of years old and is one of the powerhouse families of the world. I don’t quite think you really understand how far reaching our blood flows; it runs through global governments, the Vatican, world banks, all major global industries, from diamonds, to oil, to pharmaceuticals. The Chase family have financial stakes in most of the large media corporations and their altruistic charity contributions to health care and police systems across the world ensure the Chase family maintain their power.”

  Jeremiah downed the rest of the brandy. Too much information was hitting him at once. His father had spoken of their family in terms of Chase Enterprises; he had been raised knowing he was part of something bigger than his own mother and father, but it wasn’t until Aunt Penelope laid it so bluntly in front of him that he really began to understand. The feeling wasn’t one of being impressed, rather that he was standing on a desolate beach watching an incoming tsunami and there was nowhere to run.

  “This is all too much,” he said, rubbing his hand fiercely over his face.

  “You need time to absorb it,” she replied. “But I think we really should sit down and have a proper conversation about your family history at some point, Jeremiah. Clearly, your father has been remiss in fully educating you.” She sat down in one of the high wingback chairs and picked up her silver cigarette case from the side table, flicked it open and had it lit in a couple of deft movements. She handed the open case in offering to Jeremiah, who declined with a shake of the head.

  “You may go now. You should have some time to meditate on the events of this evening.” She inhaled deeply and let out a slow winding plume of smoke. “Feel free to take the rest of the decanter with you; it might help you sleep.”