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Other books by Ruth Warburton
A Witch in Winter
A Witch in Love
Copyright © 2013 Ruth Warburton
First published in Great Britain in 2013
by Hodder Children’s Books
This ebook edition published in 2013
The right of Ruth Warburton to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means with prior permission in writing from the publishers or in the case of reprographic production in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency and may not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 444 90474 1
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For Ian, for everything
CHAPTER ONE
It was dark, but I could tell someone was there as soon as I opened the barn door.
‘Hello?’ My voice echoed in the rafters. ‘Hello?’
I waited for a moment, listening. Nothing. But I wasn’t alone. I didn’t need witchcraft to tell me that; someone was there – a living, breathing someone – and the knowledge made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
A long shriek broke the silence and I jumped, but it was only the barn door slowly swinging to behind me, the damp wood groaning as it went. Then it clunked shut and darkness engulfed the vast space.
I wasn’t afraid. If I was blind, so was he. I stood, waiting.
The blow hit me like a blindside, slamming into me so hard I staggered and saw stars. I stumbled against a wooden beam and clutched at it, holding myself upright as I tried to gather my wits for a counterspell.
‘Sl—’ I tried. But the blast of lightning came too quick, sending me sprawling to my knees in the straw.
In that brief, blinding instant I saw him, standing on a rafter in the centre of the room. It was a vantage point, but a dangerous one. For a minute I lay face down on the filthy barn floor, trusting that he’d be pulling himself together, readying himself for another go.
Then I leapt up.
‘Ábréoðe!’ I yelled.
There was a deafening crack from the beam he was standing on – then a bone-breaking crunch and a cry of pain as a body hit the floor.
I stood, panting, waiting to see if he got up. He didn’t, and for a moment I felt triumph. Then a suffocating web of threads began to drop from the darkness, sticking to my hands, my eyes, my mouth. The more I struggled the closer they clung, like a giant spider’s web, binding me in their grip. In a panic I struck out, useless curses right and left, countercharms that did nothing but singe my skin and rip my clothes. I heard laughter, mocking laughter, shiver through the dark and fury rose up in me.
‘Unwríð!’
The bindings sizzled into shreds and I concentrated all my rage into a spear of anger and flung it through the darkness in the direction of the laughter. It hit – I heard his cry of pain.
Now it was his turn on the defensive. I pushed home my advantage, hitting him again and again, punching him with every ounce of magic I could muster.
But I was tiring and he wasn’t. I could feel his energy and the strength of his magic as he pushed back my blows. Then he began to force his way across the floor of the barn towards me. I was concentrating not on hurting him, but on keeping him back. And I couldn’t. He forced me back, back, until my spine was against the rough wooden wall of the barn. He was so close I could feel the crackle of his magic, the heat of his skin, smell his sweat.
‘No!’ I panted.
But it was too late – I was trapped in a corner and he was inches away, crushing me. I felt him lean in, closer and closer in the hot blackness. It was all over. He’d won.
‘OK,’ I said, my voice shaking with exhaustion, ‘OK, I—’
His hand closed on my shoulder, the other gripped my hair, and he kissed me.
For a minute I couldn’t think – I just stood, shattered, all my defences down, and let him. All I could think about was the soft heat of his mouth, the hard strength of his body, the harshness of his unshaven skin against mine. For a long, long minute I did nothing, just stood and trembled as he kissed me.
It was only when I felt his hand slip beneath my shirt that clarity broke through. A vicious blast of magic shook the barn. His body was flung backwards, crashing against the opposite wall with a terrible cracking sound. And then there was silence.
‘Oh God, Abe!’ My hands trembled as I tried to remember the lamp-charm my grandmother had taught me. ‘Loet – no, léoht … Wait, oh God. L-léohtfætels-ábíed!’
The room suffused with a bright glow and there was Abe, lying quite still against the far wall with something ominous and dark pooling on the straw. I ran to him, my heart in my mouth, and knelt beside him on the dusty floor, cradling his head.
‘I’m so sorry. Are you OK?’
He coughed, spat blood on the floor, and then heaved himself to a sitting position against the barn wall.
‘Jaysus, woman.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘A simple, “Thank you, but I’ve got a headache,” would’ve done.’
‘Abe!’ With the knowledge that he was alive, all my anger came flooding back, sharper for being mixed with relief. ‘You’re supposed to be training me, not sodding goading me into GBH.’
‘Had to.’ He spoke shortly around a mouthful of blood, then spat again with a disgusted look. ‘You weren’t going to pull your finger out otherwise, were you? Yeuch, why does blood always taste so rancid?’
‘Are you OK? Should we go to A&E?’
‘A&E – you’re joking, right? I’m fine. It’s just a nosebleed, it’ll stop in a sec. You could help instead of standing around like the shy girl at the disco.’
‘Oh shut up,’ I said, but I put my hand to his cheek and did my best to help his body heal itself. The blood flow stemmed a little and I added, ‘Anyway, what do you mean, you had to? I was doing my best.’
‘No you weren’t.’ Abe grabbed my arm to haul himself stiffly to his feet. There was straw and blood on his ripped jeans. ‘You were faffing around with those sodding charms your grandma’s so keen on. You weren’t going to let go until I made you – so I did.’
‘You didn’t have to sexually assault me,’ I said grumpily, as we hobbled out into the chill night air.
‘Best way I could think of, off the top of my head.’ Abe gave me a wicked sideways grin. ‘Win-win scenario – if you didn’t enjoy it then you’d unclamp enough to actually do some damage, and if you did enjoy it – well, bonus situation for both of us.’
‘Shut up,’ I growled. Perhaps the anger in my voice got through to him, for he fell silent.
We walked slowly through the moonlit woods to his car and I felt my cheeks cool and my anger fade. After all, it wasn’t Abe’s fault that my heart was still so bruised that the lightest touch made me curl into a hedgehog ball of prickles. It wasn’t Abe’s fault that I still coul
dn’t fully access my magic without raw emotion ripping it from me. And it wasn’t Abe’s fault that I was starting to enjoy our practice fights a bit too much. I didn’t like to analyse the fierce snarling joy that had filled me when I sent his body flying through the air to smack into the wall of the barn.
Guilt made me stretch on tiptoes to brush Abe’s cheek as he stopped by the car, groping for his keys. He turned, his face naked, surprised.
‘What was that for?’
‘For putting up with me. I know there are probably more fun ways to spend your Friday night.’
‘Hmph.’ He stuck the car key into the lock, then folded himself painfully into the driver’s seat. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, trust me.’
‘I know.’ I climbed in the passenger side and shut the door gingerly. Too hard and the handle came off in your grip. ‘But I’m still … you don’t have to do this – help me, I mean. I’m grateful. I wish there was something I could do for you, in return.’
‘I don’t want your gratitude.’ His voice was irritable. I said nothing while he did a fast, bad-tempered three-point-turn towards Winter. But as the road rolled away beneath the tyres and the silence stretched, taut with unspoken feelings, I couldn’t stop myself.
‘So what do you want?’
He said nothing, only turned to look at me in the shifting, flickering dimness of the car, his black eyes fixed on mine in a hard stare that left me first uncomfortable and then, as the seconds ticked out, frankly panicked.
‘Abe, look at the road,’ I said at last. ‘Abe …’ Then, ‘Look at the damn road!’
‘Fine.’ He turned his gaze back to the winding forest road, staring into the darkness.
It wasn’t until we came out of the trees on to the coast road that I realized how the weather had changed. It had been a cool spring evening when I entered the barn. Now fog was rolling in from the sea and unseen waves crashed against the foot of the cliffs. A blank whiteness began to press against the windscreen, reflecting the car’s headlights back at us. When I turned to look out of the rear window, the wall was red as a hellmouth, flickering as Abe’s foot hovered over the brake, slowing the car as the mist thickened.
I watched as the speedometer dropped to thirty, then twenty, and then below even that. The road ran right along the cliff-edge. It’d be all too easy to miss one of the tight turns in the fog and hurtle into the sea. I’d survived two drownings, but even a witch’s luck had to run out sometime.
‘What a foul bloody night,’ Abe said at last, and I was relieved to hear the anger was gone from his voice. ‘It’s not normal, this weather.’ He wriggled his shoulders uneasily inside his jacket. ‘It’s all wrong. It – it goes against the grain of normal weather somehow. Can you feel it? Like the fog, with this wind. It shouldn’t—’
He broke off as a mournful echoing bray split the night air, booming against the cliffs and making me jump. I felt the car give a nervous stutter as Abe’s foot jerked reflexively on the brake and then he laughed.
‘Bloody foghorn. I’ve lived here eight years now and it still gives me the heebie-jeebies. It sounds like a giant cow dying in the throes of labour.’
The sound came again, a long lowing wail that sent a shiver up my spine. I thought of all the fishermen out there, bent low over their flickering GPS displays, peering through the murk towards the safety of the port. I thought of … but I pushed that thought away. Not now. Not here in the car with Abe. I couldn’t.
‘Want to meet up tomorrow for a rematch?’ Abe asked, breaking into my thoughts. I shook my head.
‘I can’t. I’m going up to London.’
‘Huh. Seeing Granny, eh?’
‘Yes, if you must know.’
‘You’re a sandwich short of a picnic, messing with that crew.’ He shook his head and the moonlight glinted off his eyebrow ring as he frowned.
‘It’s none of your business,’ I said shortly.
‘You’re right.’ His voice was rigid. ‘I have no say. Doesn’t stop me from caring whether you get made into witch-meat.’
‘Look, I have no choice.’
‘Because you’re related to the old bag?’
‘No, because …’ I found I was breathing fast. Why was I even bothering to justify myself to Abe? Why did I care what he thought of me? ‘Because I – I’ve decided to do something. I’m tracking down my mother.’
Abe’s head turned sharply.
‘Is that a good idea?’
‘I have to try!’ The desperation in my own voice surprised me. ‘I have to. I can’t go through my whole life not knowing if she’s still out there, if she died, if she killed herself even.’
‘What makes you think you’ll do any better than your dad and your grandmother and all the other people who tried to track her down? If she’s out there, she doesn’t want to be found, that’s pretty clear.’
‘I’ve got more information than either of them. They each had only half the picture. I know much more – for example, I know that she returned to the Ealdwitan headquarters, after she was supposed to have gone missing.’
‘Are you sure?’ Abe’s voice showed his scepticism. ‘She was running from them like her life depended on it, from all you’ve told me. Why the hell would she go back to their HQ?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But a passer-by saw her jump from St Saviour’s Dock a few days after she disappeared. They thought suicide, of course, and dredged the river, but no body was found. But I looked at a map and I realized—’
‘That St Saviour’s is where the Neckinger enters the Thames,’ Abe finished. ‘One of the entrances to their headquarters.’ His fingers tapped the steering wheel with restless energy. ‘But that still doesn’t answer why.’
‘I know. That’s why I have to go there again. They must have some kind of records – some kind of witch equivalent of CCTV. I’ve got to get access to their files. Find out what she did.’
‘You’re nuts,’ Abe said shortly. ‘Anna, for God’s sake don’t do anything stupid. Nearly getting yourself killed by them once was enough. If you get caught going through their papers …’
‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got Elizabeth on my side now, don’t forget. If it comes to the crunch, I’m pretty sure she’ll protect me.’
‘You reckon blood’s thicker than water?’ He turned to look at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then he turned back to the road, the dim light illuminating his grim, uncompromising profile, the hard set of his mouth. ‘I wouldn’t rely on it, Anna. Not as far as the Ealdwitan are concerned, anyway.’
‘Did I hear a car?’ Dad came out of the kitchen as I slammed the front door behind me.
‘Yes, Abe dropped me,’ I said.
‘Hmm.’ Dad withdrew without further remark. I knew what he was thinking. Abe wasn’t exactly the boy next door. He smoked, drank, and swore, and tried only half-heartedly to hide those facts when he was around my dad. He was also – well, I wasn’t quite sure how old. It wasn’t really surprising that Dad wasn’t keen. But at the same time, Abe had played a big part in keeping me sane after … after Seth left.
Even thinking his name still caused a tearing sensation inside me, as if small unhealed stitches were ripping open. It was hard to believe it was – what? Eight, ten weeks since he’d left? Two months. It felt like forever, and yesterday, both at the same time.
Dad had made my favourite food and refrained from telling me to woman up and get over myself because he’d been through the same thing, only twice as bad, when my mum left. Instead he’d just comforted, and cooked, and let me take my own time getting over it. And Em had jollied, and joked, and propelled me round school with sufficient force to stop my grades completely collapsing. Between them, they’d got me through. But Abe – Abe had made me angry. He’d made me laugh. He’d made me feel again. And Dad knew that.
A delicious smell was coming from the kitchen and, when I pushed open the door, the air was heavy with the scent of something rich and mouthwatering.
Dad was bent over the stove, stirring, and the smell of butter and spices rose up to greet me.
‘Wow, what’s in there?’
‘Moong daal. Thought you’d be pleased.’
I was. It was one of the few things that I still really, really missed about London. Winter had a Chinese takeaway but no Indian, and there were times when I yearned for our old curry house in Notting Hill.
‘That’s nice. What are we celebrating?’
‘Oh, nothing much. Friday, the weekend, end of school. What are you up to tomorrow? Would you like to come into Brighthaven with me? I’m driving over to pick up some things for El—’ He stumbled and finished, ‘A friend. Would you like to come?’
I sighed.
‘It’s all right, Dad. You can say her name, you know.’ There was enough in Winter to remind me of Seth, and it wasn’t like Dad tiptoeing around Elaine’s name made it any less obvious. Besides, I liked Elaine. I knew she worried about Seth as much as I did. I liked to hear Dad talk about her.
‘OK. Sorry. Anyway, do you want to come? You were saying you needed some new jeans.’
‘I do. But I can’t. I’ve arranged to see Elizabeth this weekend – I’m staying the night, remember?’
‘Oh.’ Dad’s expression turned closed, reserved. He looked down at the bubbling pan. I knew it had been hard for him to forget past wrongs and accept my grandmother in my life. There was a lot to forget; she’d cut her daughter off when Isla fell in love with my outwith father. ‘Now you mention it you did say, but I forgot to write it on the calendar.’
‘I’m sorry, only …’ I trailed off and Dad gave a slightly forced smile.
‘Don’t apologize! It’s nice that you’re spending time with Elizabeth. I still feel guilty that you lost out on eighteen years of each other because of—’
‘Dad …’ I put my hand on his. ‘Please, don’t. It wasn’t your fault. I understand, truly.’ Dad had been bound, barely able to speak my mother’s name, until the charm wore off when I turned eighteen. I knew that now. What I still didn’t know was why.
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