‘I have enjoyed our talks about magick,’ she said lightly, ‘but it is time I went home. My mother is not strong, and she has no daughters at home now.’
‘Of course.’ I linked my arm with hers, suddenly wishing she could stay at Hatfield a little longer. Not since Aunt Jane had I been able to speak at length with another woman about the magickal arts. ‘I knew the day would come, but I shall miss our late-night discussions on the proper use of the Devil’s turnip.’
‘Or how to counter a curse with human blood and bladderwrack!’
We both snorted with laughter.
‘When you have returned home, may I come to visit you sometimes? If her ladyship gives permission, that is.’
Cecilie smiled. ‘I insist upon it.’
‘Maybe on the night of a full moon?’ I teased her.
‘I think that would be an excellent time, yes. I expect Gilly Goodwife will be glad to see you too. And share news of our craft.’ She glanced at the heavy grimoire under my arm. ‘Bring your mother’s spell book. Unless you would prefer not to share it?’
‘No, I am happy to share my mother’s spells,’ I insisted, and in truth I was, for I had never before belonged to a coven, a group of witches with one common purpose and belief. It seemed a rare and beautiful thing to enjoy the fellowship of wise women under a full moon.
We had reached the bounds of the gardens, and woodlands lay ahead. Sensing that Cecilie was tired, I suggested we turn back, and walking slowly we returned to the narrow stretch of grass before the house. To my surprise the lawn was empty except for Richard, asleep now under his wide-brimmed hat.
‘The others must have gone into the house. Perhaps her ladyship has summoned them.’ I hesitated, then thought she might wish to speak with Richard alone too. ‘I am probably needed inside. I shall see you at supper.’
Cecilie smiled, a warm autumn sunshine lighting up her face. The seer bore little resemblance now to the thin, wide-eyed creature we had rescued from Marcus Dent’s cellar, looking more like a skinned cat than a young woman. Her hair was still short, her skin pale, but her face was beginning to fill out. She would always be slender though, small-boned, her wrists still cruelly scored from the manacles Dent had used to restrain her. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Suddenly I felt like a gooseberry. The odd one out. Again. I turned away, thinking drearily of the chores I had left undone, and trailed back to the house.
As I reached the door, I heard a wild cry behind me and spun, staring. What I saw was beyond any horror I could have dreamed in one of my nightmares.
It was Marcus Dent.
Alive.
Walking across the lawns towards me in a swathe of smoky black tendrils, his arms upraised, chanting steadily as he came.
The bright sky darkened with his approach, turning day to night.
It was not possible.
Time had never moved more slowly. Even as I took a step back towards my friends, I saw my mother’s ring on his finger, glinting proudly there, and knew he had fooled us at the river. I should have known it would not be easy to kill the witchfinder. But my relief at his death had drowned all my suspicions along with the man himself. Now he had walked straight in here, brushing aside our protective spells with an ease only one wearing the ring could have managed. And it was easy to guess what he wanted.
Cecilie was staring, white-faced and shaking at the sight of her captor, still alive and walking freely among us.
‘No, no . . .’
‘You devil!’ Richard threw aside his hat, hauling himself up from the grass in the same movement. ‘Get away from her!’
Marcus flicked his gaze that way, and at once both Richard and Cecilie were thrown backwards by a violent wind, cut off from me and Marcus by a ring of fire that sprang up from the grass itself, burning waist-high with a fierce and very real heat. I thought at first he meant to burn me himself, since I had evaded his damn bonfire every other way. But then Marcus turned, sweeping his hand up to the sky, then down to the earth in a graceful age-old gesture, and I realized what he was doing.
Casting the circle in fire. An ancient trick from the days when they still worshipped the sun and moon. I had heard of such a thing, but never believed it possible.
A thousand times more powerful than the hand-drawn circle, the fire ring was impenetrable by any magic, however strong, however determined the witch behind it.
Nonetheless I saw Richard struggle to his knees in the shivering darkness beyond the flames, sweat on his forehead, his eyes wild, pushing against the spell, spitting out word after word and still failing.
Marcus looked at me, his smile an insult, his one good blue eye piercing straight through to my soul.
‘You could not kill me at the river, Meg Lytton, just as you cannot kill me now. I took your mother’s ring that night, and now I shall take her spell book, then the lives of your friends, and there is nothing you can do about it.’ I tried to run, and his spell cracked like a whip across my back, flogging me with pain. ‘Be grateful I do not take your life too. But where would be the pleasure in that? This way you will feel your loss more bitterly.’
I stumbled, backing away, shaking my head.
‘The book, Meg, protect the book!’ Cecilie was shouting above the crackle of flames.
He was almost within reach. I did not have my mother’s wand with me, but I was inside the circle of fire, which meant I could still use magick against him.
‘Leave this place!’ I shouted, willing the ground itself to rise up and devour him, or the birds in the air to strike him, any weapon I could find.
He threw back his head to laugh, clearly amused. ‘Weak. Very weak. Is that the best defence you have? I expected something rather spectacular after your efforts last time. But you had the Invictus ring then. Now . . .’ The witchfinder held up his hand, showing off the ring on his finger. ‘Now it seems I have the advantage.’
Then he spoke a single word and I was flung backwards, my face burning like it was alight, my scalp prickling as though I had been struck by magickal lightning again, unable to see anything but his shadow growing taller and taller.
Soon his shadow had filled the entire sky, a vast column of blackness whirling about him like a wind whipped up out of nowhere, spiralling up his body until he was nearly consumed by it, only his scarred white face showing.
As I lay helpless, a long thin arm came down out of the blackness, with hairy spider-like fingers, and plucked at the book I was clutching tightly to my chest.
I struggled and shouted and clung on desperately. My body bowed with the force of his grip, but the book was being prised away, loosened inch by inch, unable to resist his insistent fingers. Then suddenly the book flew free, and my arms were empty.
I wanted to rip his face off. But I had neither wand nor ring, and at any moment I could be reduced to cinders. My body already felt as though it were burning up from the inside, heat bubbling under my skin. Flame danced across my eyes as I stared up into whirling darkness, hating Marcus Dent for having defeated me. But all the hate and loathing in the world could not prevent him from taking my mother’s grimoire.
‘So now I have the book too. And I still have your friends to kill. I would make it quick, but I owe them a painful death for daring to take away my little pet.’ His triumphant smile flickered in the darkness. ‘Next time you stop a magician’s heart, Meg, check he had one in the first place.’
The black column of wind rushed higher, blowing the fire this way and that, great swathes of red-hot flame lurching towards me in a sudden fireball, then being sucked away into darkness. Abruptly the circle of flames was extinguished, now that he had got the book, and its massive, deadening pall of smoke seemed to conceal him entirely, turning the whole world black. All I could hear above the rising whine of the wind was his laughter.
He would go for Cecilie and Richard first. Then the house and the Lady Elizabeth. My brother and Alice . . .
I gritted my teeth. I could die, but I would be damned if
he would touch even one hair on my friends’ heads.
‘I’m not done yet, Marcus,’ I flung into the darkness after him, still lying on my back, the wind tearing at me.
I did not have a wand or a ring, but I had never truly needed them. And my voice alone had sufficed to send him from this world in Woodstock. It was time I reminded Marcus Dent why I was a witch born, and his powers merely borrowed robes.
My hand swept round in my own protective charm circle, throwing out every ounce of power to cover Cecilie and Richard, and the house beyond.
The darkness shook, threatening me with fury.
And as the wind rose, so did my voice.
‘By the fire you conjured, by the wind in the trees, by the good earth I lie upon, by the magickal blood in my veins, by the ninefold charm, by the knotted rope, by candle and bell, by the clapping of hands, by the four great directions, by the high road and the dark road, by those you have killed, I bid thee depart!’
I could hear him thrashing violently in the darkness above me, resisting the spell even as it tore at him. He was counter-cursing, throwing everything at me, but my protective circle was holding . . . just.
‘By heath and by hollow,’ I continued doggedly, though it felt like my head was cracking asunder, ‘by the book in your hand, by the green spirits and the red spirits, by the ghost of my mother, by the death of my aunt, by breath and by bread, by the tongue in my head’ – I raised both arms, shuddering under the strength of the spell – ‘I bid thee depart this place, Marcus Dent, and never return!’
For five or six beats of my heart, I could see nothing. I lay there in despair, thinking the spell had not worked. Could I do nothing right?
Then I heard his furious roar, thundering at first, shaking the ground under my back, but growing fainter and fainter as the witchfinder was whirled away by my banishing-spell. Almost at once the blackness began to fade, clearing within seconds to show a cloudless blue sky – and a lawn charred black where he had cast the circle in flame.
Richard, released from Dent’s spell, got slowly to his feet. ‘How is that demon still alive?’
I rolled over, then managed to get onto all fours, my legs not quite obedient enough yet to stand. ‘I don’t know. But look to Cecilie. Is she hurt?’
He bent over the witch, who was kneeling on the grass, her face buried in her hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she cried, ‘I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help. He stopped my tongue. I could feel his power. Oh God, I wish I were dead.’
‘We should all be dead,’ Richard said, his hand on her shoulder. He looked across at me, and for the first time I saw awe in his face. Awe, and perhaps a tiny sliver of fear. ‘That was a powerful exorcism, Meg Lytton. Your mother would have been proud.’
Alice was running towards us from the house, clutching something in her hand. Her voice was a squeak. ‘What in the name of all that’s holy was that?’
Richard raised his brows at her. ‘You need ask?’
‘But . . .’ Alice stared from him to me, bewildered and scared. ‘Marcus Dent? I thought he was dead.’
‘You were not alone in that.’
I ignored Richard’s jibing tone. ‘Alice, is the Lady Elizabeth safe?’
‘Yes, of course. Though the whole house was shaking as if the windows would come in. But no one is hurt.’ Alice looked about herself, wide-eyed. ‘Is he . . .? Has he gone?’
I nodded wearily, slowly picking myself up off the grass. ‘Go back and tell her ladyship to stay in her bedchamber until I come though. Just in case.’
‘No, no.’ Cecilie shook her head, her voice husky and admiring. ‘No, your banishing-spell worked. It was mag nificent, Meg. It was so powerful, like being struck with a sword. I felt it myself. Marcus Dent won’t be coming back from that for a long time. Not to Hatfield, anyway. You have forbidden it to him for ever.’
‘A pity I couldn’t have found that spell before he stole my mother’s book,’ I said heavily, and wiped my hands on my gown. They were damp and grimy, and smelled strongly of smoke. ‘I’ve done nothing but fail this year. I’ve lost the ring and the book, I’ve lost Alejandro. What’s next, I wonder? My brother?’
‘Oh no, not William!’ Alice embraced me, trying to smile. ‘And at least you are alive. We are all alive.’
I heard William call, ‘Alice!’ from inside the house. He sounded urgent, though Alice merely glanced that way but did not move. The Lady Elizabeth would be waiting too. There would need to be explanations, discussions . . .
‘Without me, there would be no attacks by Marcus Dent. It’s my presence that brings him here,’ I pointed out bitterly.
‘True power attracts the hatred of the weak . . .’ Cecilie began, then suddenly stopped, her voice drying up, her eyes wide.
We both looked at her, surprised.
Then Cecilie made a horrible choking noise, clutching her chest as though she could not breathe. Her eyes suddenly blurred, mouth twisting sideways in an odd grimace. Her face was grey, spittle on her lips as she turned to me.
Was the seer having some kind of fit?
Her voice came from somewhere deep inside her body, the Scottish accent pronounced, hoarse and rasping. ‘He is in a desolate place. There is a darkness inside him, and it will devour him and all around him unless you stop it. Only you can destroy the darkness.’
‘Cecilie?’
‘Go to him, Meg Lytton.’ Her hand was a claw on my arm, her eyes narrowed to shining brown slits. ‘Lift the darkness from his soul. It is your destiny.’
I was horrified, trying to push her away. ‘You want me to . . . to give myself to Marcus Dent?’
‘Not Marcus.’ Cecilie was shaking violently now as though in the grip of an ague. ‘Not Marcus. Alejandro.’
‘What?’
I could not breathe. I could not take my eyes off her.
Nor could Alice, it seemed, both of us staring at the seer with our mouths open.
Cecilie slumped down onto the grass, waving me away as I bent instinctively to help her. ‘No, no, I’ll be myself again in a moment. Forgive me if I frightened you. The visions come and I . . . I cannot hold them back.’
William called insistently again from inside the house. Alice shook herself and turned away, mumbling, ‘I must go and tell them about Marcus Dent . . .’ then stopped abruptly, coming back to me with a shaky smile. ‘Forgive me, I almost forgot. Talking of Alejandro, Lucy found this down the side of his mattress after he had gone. It’s a letter from his father in Spain. You remember, it arrived while he was with you at Lytton Park and I gave it to him on your return? Well, I . . . I’m afraid I took it to the Lady Elizabeth, since the seal was already broken, and she wrote a translation on the other side, and . . .’ She looked so pityingly at me, I was suddenly struck with terror. What did the letter contain? ‘I think you should read it.’
Frowning, I took the letter she was holding out to me, unsure whether it would be a betrayal of trust to read his father’s letter when he was not there. But Alice was already walking away, and if the Lady Elizabeth had thought this letter important enough to translate for me . . .
To my son, the Most Noble Alejandro Carlos Fernández de Castillo
In my last letter I asked you to return to Spain at once, to take up your rightful place at my side. You did not reply, nor have you returned. My mind is greatly troubled by this disobedience. It is imperative that you return home. Do not think that you can escape your duty to your family and to Spain.
To add to these concerns, I have received a worrying letter from one Miguel de Pero, a priest of the Inquisition who serves the Queen of England on our King’s behalf. He tells me you have become entangled with a young English commoner, a girl not only suspected of the terrible sin of witchcraft but who serves the Princess Elizabeth, known for her heretical denial of the Catholic faith.
You must cut yourself off from this witch and her mistress immediately. If you do not, I shall myself write to His Majesty, King Philip, and request that you be removed from th
at heretical household.
You bring great shame upon our name with this evil association, and also upon the Holy Order of Santiago de Compostela. I must warn you that de Pero had suggested you could be removed from the Order of Santiago if you have comported yourself in any irregular way with this girl. He has also indicated his willingness to have the girl arrested and condemned if you refuse to comply with our wishes. I do not need to remind you of the treatment this girl can expect at the hands of our Inquisition if found guilty of witchcraft. For you have seen such executions with your own eyes.
I advise you to consider your future seriously, Alejandro, and write as soon as possible so we can arrange your voyage home. I have not forgotten the heat of youth, nor its desires, but you are not free to seek a wife in England. Remember you have been promised since childhood to Lady Juana, and will be expected to marry her when she comes of age.
Your father, Carlos de Castillo
Oh, Alejandro, I thought, closing my eyes in pain as I imagined his reaction to such a letter. What kind of ludicrous, noble idea have you got in your head now?
And who was Lady Juana?
PART FOUR
Spain
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Castle de Castillo
I turned, my skin prickling. Somewhere across the valley I could hear a great thunder of horses’ hooves, a cavalcade riding steadily towards me in the shimmering afternoon haze. A moment later I could see them too, sunlight glinting off helmets and flashing armour, so impossibly bright I had to shield my eyes: Carlos de Castillo and his knights returning home from the Spanish court for his son’s wedding.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the doorway of the rough stable where I had slept the night before. Why had I come all this way, across the sea, across the land, through the hot dusty mountains, after the way Alejandro had spoken to me when he left Hatfield?
Because he had lied.
‘Please, please, please let it have been a lie,’ I whispered, my sunburned cheeks even hotter as I considered the horror and humiliation ahead if he had meant every word when he told me I should burn my spell book and marry Richard, that our love had been ‘a childish dream’.
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