A Witch in Love

by Ruth Warburton

  Waiters were already hurrying round the room, sweeping and tidying, and within five or ten minutes there was no sign of my outburst except for a rip in the wallpaper behind the sideboard where the soup tureen had shattered.

  ‘It is of no consequence, darling.’ My grandmother nodded round the room. ‘The control will come, and look, no one is perturbed.’

  It was true – they had all returned to their meals, except for those unlucky enough to have been still on their soup course, and they were swiftly being provided with fresh plates of soup by the waiters. The stains had gone and, as I watched, a waiter hurried over and smoothed the torn wallpaper back into place. When his hand passed over, the join was invisible.

  ‘Where are we?’ I asked.

  ‘Do you mean what is the name of this place, or literally where are we? If you mean the latter, I can’t answer that. We are in a place between, in a place we have created for ourselves. It draws its power from the lost rivers of London, trapped by men but harnessed by us. The Effra, the Fleet, the Falconbrook, the Neckinger, and all the others. The roots, the foundations for this place are in the rivers, which is why the entrances are always close to where those rivers surface – the Effra empties into the Thames under Vauxhall Bridge, at Saint Luke’s gate.’

  ‘And the name?’ But as I said it, a woman stopped by our table and something seemed to grip me – a chill. Her face was familiar – and it made my spine trickle with fear. Why? Why?

  ‘Chair Rokewood,’ she said, ‘Chair Corax asked me to mention the paperwork from the Sennite meeting to you before I left and to ask whether you’d had time to sign the accord.’

  ‘Not yet,’ my grandmother answered composedly. ‘There are a few clauses I still need to consider.’

  ‘I’m not clear what needs to be considered, ma’am. Chair Corax made his views quite plain.’

  ‘Contrary to some beliefs, Corax is not the only person with an opinion on this accord.’ There was steel under my grandmother’s calmness, but I hardly listened to her words.

  Instead I stared at the woman, gripped by the need to remember who she was, where I had seen her face, and why her presence here filled me with cold dread.

  ‘Allow me introduce my granddaughter to you,’ my grandmother said at last. ‘This is Anna, Anna Winterson. Anna, this is Ms Revere, who works here for my colleague, Thaddeus Corax.’

  And then I remembered.

  I remembered where I’d seen the bird insignia on my grandmother’s calling card – and why it had disquieted me.

  I remembered the face of the woman opposite and where I’d seen her before.

  And I knew where we were.

  ‘You!’ I jumped up, rocking the table and causing the candle to totter and spill.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ms Revere, and her voice was calm and light, though her eyes were wary. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘Yes we’ve met,’ I spat. ‘We met when you and Mr Peterson threatened to kill my friends and family.’

  ‘What!’ She gave a baffled laugh, but it sounded fake as hell to me.

  ‘Anna, what are you talking about?’ My grandmother stood too, looking from Ms Revere to me in consternation. I stared back at her, trying to read past that immaculate mask. Was her confusion real? Was this all a massive con, a trap? Was she even really my grandmother?

  ‘Where are we?’ I said through gritted teeth.

  ‘In the dining room!’ my grandmother exclaimed with a touch of exasperation. ‘What on earth are you talking about, Anna?’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ I spat. ‘I mean what’s this place – this building? Who are all these people? Who are you?’

  ‘But I thought you knew,’ my grandmother said. ‘This is the headquarters of the Ealdwitan, of course it is.’

  ‘You’re part of the Ealdwitan?’

  ‘Yes – I am one of the five Chairs. Surely you knew all this?’

  ‘What do you mean? D’you think if I’d known you were one of them I would’ve let you anywhere near me – after what happened last year?’

  ‘What happened last year? Anna, please calm down, you’re becoming hysterical.’

  ‘Calm down? Calm down?’ I was almost sobbing. ‘After you threatened my family, flooded my village, killed my friend, for God’s sake! And you say calm down?’

  Waiters were hurrying over to our table, ready, I supposed, to throw me out – but my grandmother made a motion with her hand and they paused, waiting for her command.

  ‘Anna, there’s been some misunderstanding,’ my grandmother said carefully, ‘some mistake.’

  ‘Damn right there has.’ I swiped at my cheeks – furious with myself for my weakness but unable to stop the tears of rage spilling out. ‘My mistake was trusting you.’

  ‘Anna, please.’ My grandmother reached out with her hand and I backed away.

  ‘Don’t touch me. Let me out.’

  ‘Anna—’

  ‘Let me out of here, now. Or you’ll regret it.’ I meant it. I could feel the power rising inside me in line with my fear, and if I didn’t get out soon we would probably all regret it. For a long moment we just stood, my grandmother and I, facing each other across the table, and then she let out a breath of defeat.

  ‘Very well. There’s an exit to your left as you leave the dining room, take the second turning and then it’s the third door on the right-hand side of the corridor. But, Anna, please—’

  I didn’t wait to hear any more. I turned so sharply that my chair tipped backwards and banged on to the floor with a crash in the silent dining room. Then I left.

  I walked as fast as I dared down the corridor, my heart beating painfully as I tried to ignore the startled glances from the secretaries.

  Second left. I turned. One door, two doors, three. It was an unobtrusive thing sandwiched between two huge vases of flowers. I tried the handle and it turned – was it really possible they were going to let me go so easily? I glanced up and down the corridor; it was empty. I half expected Ms Revere to appear and block the way – but no one materialized and the door opened as smoothly as silk.

  I found myself nose to nose with a man.

  Behind him was a small sitting room, with no way out. At the sight of the dead end I couldn’t stop myself – my hands flew to my mouth and I stifled a cry. Was it a mistake? A trap? Had I misheard the directions or had they never intended to let me go?

  I had no idea where to go. I turned, about to run, blindly, when the man grabbed my wrist.

  ‘Hey, hey, what’s the matter? Are you OK?’

  ‘No!’ I was too beaten and desperate to pretend any more. ‘No – I’m not OK, please let me go.’ I pulled at my wrist but he held me, not roughly, but his grip was strong. ‘Let go!’

  ‘It’s all right …’ He put his free hand on my shoulder and I felt his magic reach round me, a soothing immobilizing fug. ‘Listen, just calm down—’

  ‘Stop it, please, just let me go!’ I tugged hopelessly at his grasp, hearing sounds from up the corridor and feeling the desperation of my predicament – entombed below London with the people I feared most in the world.

  The man looked along the corridor and then back at me. He was young, I saw, only a few years older than me. In other circumstances I might have thought him handsome.

  ‘Please,’ I begged. The sounds were coming closer. ‘Please, tell me how to get out of here.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, seeming suddenly to make up his mind. He pulled me through the door and into the room, shutting the door behind us. Inside he let go of my wrist and turned to a long wall of books lining one side of the room. The books were behind glass doors and he took a key and unlocked one of the cabinets. ‘In there.’

  ‘In here?’ I looked incredulously at the heavy shelves and he nodded impatiently.

  ‘Yes.’ There was a knock at the door and he raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, do you want me to get that or do you want to trust me?’

  ‘Who are you?’ I said desperately.

  ‘My name is M
arcus,’ he said. Then, as the knock came again, ‘You have about three seconds to decide. One, two—’

  I opened the door, stepped through, and someone slammed it shut behind me.

  The other side was cold – incredibly cold – and for a moment I thought this was the last trap of all, and I’d been led into some oubliette of no return. There were sheer stone walls all around me, cold stone under my feet. Water dripped, the sound echoing around the walls, and high above a lightbulb flickered dully. I was just about to panic when I saw a familiar signpost pointing upwards, to Blackfriars tube station. I must be in an underpass on the Thames Embankment – probably under Blackfriars Bridge.

  I started to walk in the direction of the sign, clutching myself against the cold. The thin silk dress was no protection against the January night air and I began to shiver. To make things worse, I was still wearing the stupid heels and they slipped and skidded on the steep concrete steps up from the underpass. But I was safe, out of that hellhole, and that was the main thing.

  I thought bitterly about my clothes and boots, still lying in that office. Would I ever get them back? At least I had my handbag – I was still too much of a Londoner to leave valuables lying around in a strange place, no matter how posh. Without my purse and train ticket I’d have been royally stuffed. As it was, at least I’d be allowed on the train to Winter. If I didn’t die of hypothermia or break a leg on the cobblestones first.

  I’d never been so thankful to be on board a train. The meagre stream of warm air coming from the heating vents felt like a sauna after the freezing night air. I huddled into a corner seat and drew my knees up to my chest to try to get a bit of warmth into my chilled bones. Then I pulled out my phone and I tried Dad.

  This time I let it ring until the answerphone cut in, hung up, and then tried again. Still nothing. What was going on? It was long past his usual supper time. Surely he’d be home by now – I just couldn’t believe he’d have gone for a night out without telling me, or without knowing whether I was home safe. It wasn’t like Dad and I got the first chilly presentiment that there was something very wrong in Winter.

  I tried Seth next. His phone cut out – but I’d been expecting that. He was probably at either the pub, or the hospital. Next I tried the bar phone at the Crown and Anchor.

  ‘Crown and Anchor,’ I heard in a half-shout above the bar noise. It was Angelica, one of the regular barmaids.

  ‘Hi, Angelica. Is Seth there?’

  ‘No, sorry, is that Anna?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s over at the hospital with Elaine.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  ‘Any message?’

  ‘No worries, see you later.’

  ‘Bye.’

  She hung up and I texted Seth.

  Will be Winter station 10ish if you want to give me a lift? No worries if not, can get cab. Ax

  Then I let my head loll and waited for the train to carry me back to Winter. The cold couldn’t keep me awake. The noise of the station announcements didn’t rouse me. Even the sound of my mobile beeping with Seth’s reply didn’t get through. I simply slept.

  ‘Hey, gorgeous.’ Seth was waiting at the ticket barrier as I trudged wearily up the steps. ‘Christ, what are you wearing?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’ I shoved my ticket bad-temperedly at the collector and we left the station.

  ‘Anna, you’re blue with cold.’ Seth took off his jacket and I huddled into it gratefully. ‘Where’s your coat and stuff?’

  ‘Oh, Seth.’ I was so tired I could hardly think. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow – but not now, OK? It’s a long story.’

  ‘OK. Just tell me one thing – you didn’t get mugged, did you?’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t get mugged.’

  I fell wearily into the passenger seat of Seth’s car and let my head rest against the window as we drove down through the town to the harbour, and then began the climb up the cliff road, towards Wicker Wood and our house. My eyes were shut, so at first Seth’s exclamation of ‘Holy … Anna!’ made no sense. I opened them blearily and looked around.

  ‘What – what is it?’

  ‘I don’t know but …’ He nodded out of his window and I peered past him into the black night. Except it wasn’t completely black. There was a reddish glow above the forest. Right where Wicker House should have been.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I didn’t really believe it at first. Not when we saw the dull, fiery glow above the trees. Not when the smell of smoke started to filter into the car’s vents. Not even when we were bumping down the track in the forest and I could hear the crackle of police radios and see the blue pulse of emergency-vehicle lights.

  But I had to believe when we drew up outside Wicker House and I saw the still-glowing embers, the fallen beams, the pools of dark water from the firemen’s hoses and, worst of all, my dad, sitting on a broken-down fence with his head in his hands.

  ‘Dad!’ I stumbled from the car and took a few steps over the sodden ground, but my heels instantly sank into the mud, leaving me pinned. Impatiently I ripped them off and ran, hot cinders crunching beneath my bare feet.

  ‘Anna!’ His head shot up at the sound of my voice and as I reached him he stood and put his arms around me. I buried my face in his fleece as I hugged him back. It smelt of smoke and my eyes welled with tears.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Dad said. ‘The worst of the damage is to the barn and the garage. But the kitchen has pretty much gone. God knows how we’ll pay for the repairs …’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ My voice cracked. ‘How? Was it the Aga?’

  Dad shook his head wearily.

  ‘Unbelievably, they think it was arson.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I know. I know. But they found traces of accelerants – and there’s that.’ He nodded towards the end wall of the house, which was more or less untouched. It was illuminated by the lights from the fire engine, and I saw, to my horror, in blood-red letters a foot high: EX 22 18 MM.

  Oh God.

  ‘What does it mean?’ I asked mechanically, even though I was pretty sure I knew what it meant. Not the text – but who’d done this, and why.

  ‘Lord knows.’ Dad ran a hand through his hair. Maybe it was the light, or the ashes in his hair and on his face, but he suddenly looked very old and very tired. ‘Kids, probably. I told them about the other letters. They asked all the obvious: is there anyone who’s got a grudge against us, did you have any suspicious ex-boyfriends, have I offended anyone in town … ?’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘What could I say? No, no and no. I said I had no idea.’

  ‘This your daughter, sir?’ A policeman was picking his way over the muddy, rutted field towards us. Dad nodded.

  ‘Yes, this is Anna.’

  ‘I’m Sergeant Whittacker, Anna. I’m very sorry to trouble you under these circumstances, but you’ll understand I have to ask you some questions.’

  I nodded wearily.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘That your young man?’ He pointed towards Seth, waiting by his car, not wanting to intrude on Dad’s misery.

  ‘Yes, Seth Waters.’

  ‘Seth Waters, eh? I know that name.’ His lips thinned and I almost groaned. Not this again. Would Seth ever manage to live down that one dreadful fight? It was nearly four years ago, he’d been little more than a child, and he’d been picked on by a grown man who should have known better. But none of that seemed to matter to the police.

  They knew his name. That was that.

  ‘I’ll need to speak to him as well.’ He motioned to Seth, who came over slowly.

  ‘Been for a night out, have you, Anna?’ the sergeant asked me.

  ‘No – yes. Sort of. I’ve been up in London. With a friend. I was there all day, I just got back. Seth gave me a lift from the station because I couldn’t get hold of Dad.’

  ‘I see. And what about you, Seth?’

  ‘I worked in m
y mum’s pub this afternoon, then my mum and I went to visit my grandad. He’s in Brighthaven Hospital.’

  ‘I see. And you’re old enough to serve behind the bar, are you?’

  Seth raised one eyebrow and I could see his anger rising. I knew he was biting back a sarcastic retort. I took his hand and squeezed it gently and he exhaled and just nodded curtly.

  ‘What time were you in the pub from?’

  ‘Look, I didn’t torch my girlfriend’s house,’ Seth said through gritted teeth. The sergeant said nothing for about ten seconds – just looked at him with unconcealed dislike.

  ‘Just answer the question, son.’

  ‘From about two. Maybe quarter past two. I was with another member of staff all afternoon, and then my mother picked me up. Is that OK?’

  ‘We’ll check it out,’ the sergeant said flatly. Then he turned back to me. ‘And what about you, Anna? Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?’

  Yes.

  ‘No,’ I lied miserably. ‘No one who’d do a thing like this anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he pressed. ‘People – specially kids – often do things for very trivial reasons. Small things get blown out of all proportion. No one at school you’ve offended?’

  ‘No, honestly,’ I said more categorically. ‘I’m sure no one at school is connected to this.’ That at least I could say honestly. But Seth was looking at me uncomfortably, biting his lip.

  ‘What is it?’ The sergeant, in spite of everything, was perceptive, and he saw that Seth was holding something back. ‘Something you’ve remembered, Seth? If it’s anything you think could help …’

  ‘Well …’ Seth turned to look at me and his lips silently formed one questioning word: Caroline?

  ‘No.’ I shook my head vehemently. ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sergeant Whittacker pressed. Seth’s face was miserable but he turned back.

  ‘My ex. Caroline Flint. She was very upset when I got together with Anna; she said at the time she was going to make Anna regret it.’