A Witch Alone

by Ruth Warburton

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The hall clock was chiming midnight as I closed the door carefully behind me, then locked it with the unwieldy key. Wearily, I kicked off my shoes and climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the little white spare room awaited. This was ‘my’ room when I stayed – and I should have walked thankfully inside and flopped onto the narrow white bed.

  Only – for some reason – I kept climbing. Up into the darkness.

  The bulb had gone at the top of the stairs and, as I climbed, the shadows closed around me. By the time I reached the top floor it was almost completely dark and I had to feel for the doorknob by touch. I didn’t know what was inside. But I could guess.

  I turned the knob, the door swung open, and I stepped inside my mother’s bedroom.

  It was a teenager’s room, but a teenager of decades ago, frozen in time the day she’d left it.

  There were fading posters on the wall: bands I’d never heard of, plays that closed decades ago, gigs in venues long since disappeared. A timetable for A-level revision was pinned over the desk, giving me a guilty twinge about my own revision, which was somewhere around the bottom of my list of priorities.

  Photos were stuck around the frame of the mirror: laughing girls, groups of friends, their arms slung around each other. I looked carefully, but didn’t recognize anyone. No, that wasn’t true. There was one face I did recognize. A girl with long dark hair and smoky blue eyes, laughing at her friend. It could have been me, but it wasn’t. It was my mother.

  Suddenly there were tears in my throat; hot, painful tears that lodged hard in my gullet like a sharp piece of bone. My limbs were shaky and I sat down hard on the bed. Her bed. The covers were rumpled. The last person to sleep here had been …

  I lay down, very carefully, feeling as if I was disturbing a museum relic. And then I turned my face to the pillow and breathed in the smell of my mother, the scent of her hair, the ghost of her perfume.

  ‘Please,’ I whispered to the silent house, to her ghost, ‘help me.’

  But only the night-sounds of London answered me.

  When I woke up I was stiff and cold, and my mouth felt acid and hungover, though I hadn’t drunk much at dinner. I looked at my watch. 4.10 a.m. Yuck.

  Something about the quiet of the house told me that my grandmother was still not home. I made my way stiffly down the stairs and sure enough the door of her bedroom was still gaping wide, the bed covers smooth and flat in the grey dawn light.

  In the spare room I pulled on a jacket and scribbled a quick note.

  Dear Grandmother,

  I’m sorry, I had to leave unexpectedly. I hope the meeting goes/went well. Call me when you have time.

  Anna x

  Then I walked out into the pale, sour dawn and began the long trudge towards Victoria Station and the first train to Winter. I wanted to be out of London. I wanted home. I wanted … The answer as it came to me, surprised me.

  I wanted Abe.

  ‘Abe!’ I yelled through the door again. Surely he wasn’t out?

  He wasn’t. As I was just about to knock again, I heard a coughing shuffling sound from inside and the lock clicked. A tousled head, face crumpled on one side from the sheets, peered blearily around the door.

  ‘Anna – what are you doing here? I thought you were in London?’

  ‘I was. I had to come home. Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure, yeah. Sorry I’m a bit …’ He opened the door wider and looked down at himself. He was wearing stubble, a towel slung around his waist, and not much else.

  I don’t know why, but I flushed red. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth and he shrugged.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting guests at the crack of dawn. Wait a sec.’

  ‘It’s hardly dawn!’ I called down the corridor towards his retreating back. For answer, he stuck his middle finger in the air and I grinned and made my way to the kitchen. The other thing I wanted was coffee. And lots of it.

  By the time Abe came back, his black hair still tousled but now damp as well, and wearing jeans and a heavy jersey, I was sipping a cup of coffee strong enough to take the enamel off my teeth.

  ‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you!’ He sat down at the counter beside me and poured himself a cup too.

  ‘Sorry for dropping in unannounced. D’you mind?’

  ‘Do I get much choice?’ he said. But his voice, muffled by his coffee mug, had a smile. ‘Christ, this is strong enough to strip paint.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said again. ‘I needed it.’

  ‘Hard night? Grandma bit of a partygoer is she?’

  ‘Yes – and no.’ I told him about my discovery at the Ealdwitan headquarters and his mouth thinned.

  ‘What?’ I said at last, as I finished. ‘I thought you’d be pleased? It doesn’t tell me a whole lot more, I agree, but it feels like a step closer, don’t you think?’

  ‘Two things: one, I don’t like you going to that place.’ I wasn’t sure if he meant my grandmother’s, the headquarters, or just London in general. Possibly all of them. ‘And two, are you short of a screw, trusting that Corax bloke? What do you know about him, apart from the fact that his dad’s a bastard?’

  ‘He seems OK,’ I said, and then held up my hands at the sight of Abe’s expression. ‘I know, I know. But honestly, I really don’t think he likes his father a whole lot more than I do. They seem to have some serious issues.’

  ‘Anna, I’ve got serious issues with my family. Doesn’t mean Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ I said crossly. ‘And you know it.’

  ‘Well I don’t see your logic. The guy sounds a total sack to be honest.’

  ‘For your information, he saved my skin. Twice.’

  ‘Probably to get into your—’ He broke off, seeing my face, and amended: ‘Good books. His dad clearly thinks you’ve got something he wants; maybe Marcus is just handling his end of the campaign with a bit more tact.’

  ‘He helped me long before he knew who I was,’ I said shortly. ‘And how am I supposed to get answers about my mother without going through the Ealdwitan?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ His face was troubled. ‘But she went to hell and back to try to keep you a secret from them. And now you’re throwing all that away. It seems kind of … stupid.’

  ‘I’m not throwing it away, because the advantage disappeared the second I left London – can’t you see that? They knew where I was straight away. Whatever protection my mother gave me, I lost it when I moved to Winter. They know where I am – and I’m pretty sure some of them at least know who I am. And I don’t. I’ve got to get that information. Otherwise I’ll never know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Who I am.’

  ‘Who you are? What do you mean?’ His face was confused, frustrated.

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean – what I’m capable of. What I can do.’ I felt panic rise inside me.

  ‘What the hell are you on about? Surely you just do stuff and see what happens? No one ever told me what I was capable of. You’re a witch, not a bloody sports car. You don’t come with horsepower, nought to sixty, and instructions for how to operate the sunroof. You want to do something? Try it. See what happens.’

  ‘No!’ My voice was a cry, almost a shout. ‘I can’t. I can’t risk it.’

  ‘Anna, what are you on about?’ Abe put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. I tried to look away, but he touched my cheek, forcing me to look at him. ‘What’s the matter?’

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Look; Emmaline, Maya – everyone’s always assumed that whatever it was about me was something good, something desirable. But what if it’s not that?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Abe’s expression was wary.

  ‘What if …’ Words rose in my throat, choking me. I’d never admitted these fears to anyone, never said them aloud, not even to Seth. ‘Abe, what if I’m … evil?’

  His eyes widened and he opened his
mouth, but I hurried on, not yet ready to let him speak.

  ‘Maybe I should have been … destroyed. Maybe that’s what was supposed to happen. Perhaps that’s what my mother was doing; protecting her child at a cost to everyone else. But she couldn’t cope with what she’d done, so she fled.’

  For a minute Abe was silent. Then he started shaking his head, more and more vehemently.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It makes sense.’

  ‘No. No, no, no. You’ve no proof of any of this.’

  ‘I have no proof of anything. It’s as likely as anything else.’

  ‘It’s not. What the hell d’you mean, evil? You’re a good person.’

  ‘I hurt people, Abe. Even when I don’t want to.’ I thought of Seth, in pain a hundred times because of me. Because of my hands burning his flesh, because of storms I’d conjured to harm his family and wreck his home. Because of his love for me. A love that had twisted and maimed until we were both scarred by it. ‘That’s why I can’t risk it,’ I said. There was a lump in my throat. ‘I can’t just see what happens. What happens might be … death. Worse. So I have to know what my mother found out about me that set her running.’

  Abe didn’t answer. But, still in silence, he put his arms around me. I let my forehead rest on his shoulder, hard and muscled beneath his T-shirt.

  He said nothing, just sat and held me. But I felt his magic wrap around me, more tender and more urgent than Abe himself would ever let on. I remembered again the fierce, burning exhilaration I’d felt when Seth had injected me with Abe’s magic. I remembered it coursing through my veins, filling me with Abe’s power and passion for life.

  There was no going back from that. I could feel his life inside me – and I knew that he could feel it too.

  As I trudged up the long, rutted drive to Wicker House, I was thinking of only one thing: firing up my laptop and doing some digging. There had to be a copy of the Codex Angelis somewhere. The British Library. Google books. Somewhere.

  Failing that, maybe ‘The Riddle of the Epiphany’ would bring up some hits. Or perhaps Caradoc would know something.

  It was a lead, anyway. At last I felt like I had something concrete to get started with.

  But when I opened the front door Dad was in the hall, lacing up his walking boots and humming to himself. He looked like he’d had Prozac for breakfast.

  ‘Anna!’ he said as he caught sight of me. ‘You’re back early. Fancy a walk?’

  I bit my lip.

  ‘I’d like to … but …’ I scrabbled for an excuse. ‘I should be revising.’

  ‘You’ve been revising too hard.’ Dad straightened up and wagged his finger at me. ‘You’re looking positively peaky – Dr Winterson prescribes a pub lunch. Come on – it’s a gorgeous day and I’ve hardly seen you all week. Give this old man a bit of company for a change. I was going to treat myself to a roast at the Cr—’ He broke off and covered his tracks awkwardly. ‘We could drive out somewhere,’ he finished, looking down at his walking boots slightly wistfully.

  I sighed.

  ‘How about we walk to the Crown and Anchor, Dad? Then we don’t have to drive anywhere and you can have a pint with lunch.’

  ‘Sure?’ Dad looked uncertainly at me. ‘I don’t mind a spin down the coast if you’d prefer that.’

  Yes, yes, I’d prefer that. To be honest, I’d prefer rancid chips on Brighthaven pier. The thought of sitting in Seth’s pub, with his mum waiting on us and being lovely, made me want to stick knitting needles in my eyes.

  But I had to get over this. Winter was a small town. The Anchor was one of the few places that did a decent meal. And there was no point in punishing Dad and Elaine with my pain.

  ‘Honestly, Dad, it’s fine. I’ll enjoy the walk.’

  ‘Anna!’ Elaine looked up from the bar as we entered and, for a minute, her expression was complete shock. Then she recovered and came out from behind the bar smiling, kissed me on both cheeks, and showed us to a sunny table by the open window. ‘And Tom. How nice to see you both. Lovely weather, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very summery,’ Dad agreed, spreading his Gore-Tex out on the polished oak bench. ‘We celebrated by walking over the cliffs. It was fantastic wasn’t it, Anna?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ I agreed. And it had been. The walk had blown away the shadowy fears from earlier and reminded me exactly how lucky I was to live in a place like Winter.

  ‘Well, I’ll get you some menus and leave you to it,’ Elaine said. ‘But I will tell you that the roast lamb is particularly good – it’s from Jenks’ farm, and it’s absolutely delish.’

  ‘Lamb it is for me,’ Dad said. ‘And a pint of Old please, Elaine.’

  ‘Lamb for me too, then,’ I said.

  ‘Any drink for you, Anna?’ Elaine asked.

  ‘Just water please.’

  ‘Okey-doke. See you shortly.’

  Dad watched as she made her way back to the kitchen and then turned to me.

  ‘Sure you don’t want anything more exciting? It’s a special occasion, after all.’

  ‘Is it?’

  I ran through the possibilities in my head, silently panicking that I’d missed something vital. It was only April – Dad’s birthday wasn’t until August. Mine had been and gone. I had no idea when my mother’s birthday was and Dad had never marked it, nor his wedding anniversary. What could it possibly be?

  ‘Today, my dear, it is exactly a year since we moved to Winter. Remember our first night cuddled up with the spiders and mice? Seems a long time ago, doesn’t it?’

  It felt like a lifetime ago.

  A year. A year to the day since I’d moved to Winter, discovered the truth about myself, met Emmaline, met Seth … How had so much happened since then, how had everything gone so right, and so wrong?

  ‘I know you didn’t choose to leave London and it wasn’t the best time, what with me being fired and so on, but are you glad we moved?’

  I looked out of the window at the children playing in the beer garden while I thought about that. Was I glad? What a question. I was a different person because of Winter – my old life in London seemed impossibly ordinary, stiflingly safe. Would I change anything, if I could? Give up all the terrifying and wonderful and heart-wrenching things that had happened to me in Winter?

  ‘Yes, I’m glad.’ I said at last. ‘There’s lots I miss about London but – yes. I’m still glad.’

  ‘Good.’ Dad patted my shoulder. ‘I’ve always loved Winter, right from the first time your mum and I saw it. Somehow it always seemed like a place I could call home.’

  The word ‘mum’ still gave me a little jolt. Dad’s eighteen-year silence had broken on my birthday, three months ago, but I still wasn’t used to hearing that word on his lips. It took a minute before the little shiver of surprise subsided and I realized what he’d actually said.

  ‘Hang on.’ I interrupted something he was saying about the house. ‘What did you say? You first came here with my mum?’

  I didn’t ask: How come you never told me? I knew the answer to that: a charm that had silenced his tongue as brutally as a knife. But surely Dad could have told me he’d been here before?

  ‘Did I never tell you that story?’

  ‘No,’ I said, astonished that Dad could even ask.

  ‘We came here on honeymoon. We were supposed to be going to Russia – St Petersburg, I think it was – and then at the last minute your mum had problems with her visa and we cancelled and decided to stay in the UK. So we were flicking through a guide to romantic B&Bs and your mother saw a listing for a fisherman’s cottage in Winter. And she said instantly that that was the place we absolutely must go, it was a sign – because she was about to become Mrs Winterson, you see.’ He paused as a waitress put a pint in front of him and a glass of water for me, and then added, ‘It’s a tea room now, that one up past the library, on the cliffs.’

  ‘So – that was why you came here, when it all fell apart in London?’ I asked. Dad rubbed the side of his no
se.

  ‘Well, if you put it like that, I suppose perhaps yes. It was one of the last places I’d been completely happy with Isla, before – you know.’

  I nodded. I knew. Before she got pregnant with me, and the paranoid delusions started, and they had her sectioned and drugged.

  ‘Because it wasn’t long after that – well …’ He laughed and picked up his pint. ‘Let’s just say, there’s a strong chance that you were conceived in Winter. In fact, pretty much a certainty. Isla gave me the news virtually the day we got back to London.’

  ‘Ew, Dad!’ I groaned. It wasn’t like I could have got here without Dad having had sex. But I didn’t really want to hear about it. I was very used to Dad being comfortably single and that suited me fine.

  ‘Sorry, sweetie.’ He raised his glass, drinking to hide his smile. ‘Let’s change the subject to something more suited to your delicate sensibilities. Oh hello, Elaine.’ Elaine bore down on us with two plates of roast lamb. ‘You’re just in time to save Anna’s blushes.’

  ‘Anna’s blushing?’ Elaine put the plates down. ‘Something I should know?’

  ‘No, no.’ Dad grinned. ‘Just me trying to embarrass her. Have you got time to sit down for a drink?’

  ‘Well …’ Elaine looked at the bar, ‘Not really. But I haven’t had a break this morning. Ange!’ she yelled across the bar. ‘Can you manage for a tick? I’m just going to have a quick sit down.’

  ‘Yup,’ Angelica called back. ‘No probs.’

  ‘OK, I’m officially on a break.’ Elaine sat gratefully on a bar stool at our table and kicked off her shoes. ‘How are you two?’

  ‘Oh fine,’ Dad answered for both of us. ‘Anna’s supposed to be home doing her revision, of course. But aside from that … How are you, Elaine? Any news on Bran?’

  ‘News?’ I looked from one to the other. Elaine sighed and ran her hand through her hair, in an echo of Seth’s characteristic gesture that tugged at my heart.

  ‘Dad’s not so good. I was telling your dad yesterday. He’s in Brighthaven Infirmary. They don’t think he’ll be coming out. And he’s asking and asking …’