‘I don’t know. Something. Nothing, perhaps. It is so strange. It’s just my reflection. There’s nothing scary or weird, but … I am changed. There is something.’ She turned to me. ‘I feel it,’ she said, joyful tears brimming in her eyes. She sprang to me, wrapping her arms tightly about me, hugging me close. ‘Thank you!’ she whispered into my hair. ‘Thank you!’
JULY 24—DARK OF THE MOON
I am finding it increasingly hard to keep my irritation in check. Tegan’s continued tardiness and lack of commitment to the course upon which we were set is making me seriously question her suitability for the craft.
AUGUST 19—WANING MOON
I see now that I have, rather stupidly, underestimated the seriousness of Tegan’s relationship with her mysterious boyfriend. At first, she would arrive late for one of our sessions, breathless and apologetic. Then she began to miss meetings altogether. Now I feel she cannot be relied upon to keep our appointments, and when she does deign to attend, she is distracted.
AUGUST 25—DARK OF THE MOON
Things cannot continue as they are. I have attempted to raise the matter of unreliability with Tegan, but somehow the conversation always turns to her boyfriend and she becomes defensive. I see that if I press her, I may lose her completely. I will have to bide my time and hope that the initial flame of passion subsides soon, and sufficiently for her to be able to take a more long-term view of how she invests her time and energy.
SEPTEMBER 2—MOON IN LIBRA
A surprise this morning, and not a pleasant one. I was busy in the vegetable garden taking down bean sticks when I heard the front gate squeak. Footsteps padded up the path, two pairs of young, restless feet. Tegan appeared around the side of the house pink with pleasure and pride, her hand clutching that of a tall, fair young man.
‘Elizabeth, this is Ian,’ she told me, gazing up at him.
He is older than I had expected, not a teenager at all. In his mid-twenties at least, I think. Not a boy but a man. Surely unsuitably mature for Tegan. His sandy hair and pale blue eyes are undeniably appealing. He has a pleasing face and is soft-spoken. In short, there is nothing about his appearance to object to or which could give obvious cause for alarm. But Tegan knows practically nothing about him. He is not, as I had imagined, part of a family recently moved into the area. He is a loner, living in a narrow boat on the canal, and he has a motorbike. He performs for donations for a living, so he has no place of work. No friends. No past, it seems. I admit he appears open and polite and is charmingly attentive toward Tegan, but why is he bothering with her at all? She is a child. I am aware some girls her age are worldly and womanly, but Tegan is not. She is utterly in his thrall already, to the point where I could barely hold a proper conversation with her. She rabbited on about Ian’s gypsy lifestyle and how brilliantly he plays the guitar and how cool his houseboat is. While she spoke, I watched him. He smiled down at her, seemingly enjoying her girlish twitterings.
‘Elizabeth?’
Tegan broke into my thoughts, and I realized I had been staring. I pulled myself together and offered to make tea. I was relieved when they declined, saying that they had planned a trip to Pasbury on Ian’s motorbike. I waved them off, feigning cheerfulness, but I was concerned for Tegan—she is so very young—what does she know of the ways of men?
SEPTEMBER 8—MOON IN THIRD QUARTER
Tegan has missed two of our sessions. This morning I made myself take a walk along the canal. I was certain I would find Tegan with Ian on his houseboat, and I was no longer content to let him interfere with her instruction. Perhaps the sight of me would remind her of her commitment. I carried my staff and asked the sun god for protection before setting out. It was nearly eleven by the time I found Ian’s mooring. The boat itself looked unremarkable and quiet. The motorbike was chained to the aft deck. I approached slowly and was greatly startled when the door opened and Ian stepped out.
‘Elizabeth,’ he said, his voice honeyed. ‘Great to see you. Hop aboard. I’ve got the kettle on.’
‘I felt the need for a walk,’ I said. ‘Is Tegan here with you?’
‘Yeah, she’s still in bed.’ He watched my reaction, letting the information settle before continuing. ‘Great girl, isn’t she?’ He smiled.
I wanted to seize the moment, to say something to him about there being other important demands on Tegan’s time besides him. If he truly cared about her, it might be possible for me to persuade him to allow her more time to pursue her interests. I opened my mouth to speak but was silenced by a noise from inside the boat. Tegan emerged, hair tousled, half dressed, obviously having just got out of bed. Here she was, fresh from the warmth of his arms, a girl enraptured by her first love. She would not be ready to hear a word said against her romance; would not want it in any way diminished. I felt defeated before I had begun.
‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ I asked.
Her face darkened. ‘Are you checking up on me? Is that why you’ve come? To tell me I should be at school? Didn’t bother you if I skipped the odd day to dig your garden or make things for your stall, did it?’ Her jaw had already set defiantly. I knew she might still be sulking about my inhospitable response to meeting Ian.
‘I was concerned about you, that is all. Does your mother know where you are?’
Tegan laughed. ‘Like she cares!’
I could see that by coming to the houseboat I had crossed a line. It had been her choice to keep me apart from her boyfriend, so that we were separate pieces of her life. True, she had introduced us. Not to have done so would have been odd after a while. But I could see, standing there on the towpath, looking at the confusion and distress on Tegan’s face, that she had never intended for the two of us to spend time together. She did not want these important and challenging aspects of her life merging. I saw that today but too late. I had trespassed where I was not wanted, and however reasonable my motive, Tegan was furious with me.
‘Look, it’s none of your business what I do, okay? You are not my mother. You’re not my anything, in fact, so keep your weird witchy nose out!’ She slammed back inside the boat.
Ian was still smiling. He gave a shrug.
‘Looks like she’d rather be with me,’ he said.
He turned as if to follow her. I could not bear the thought of Tegan alone with such a creature.
‘Wait!’ I called out. He paused and looked at me, eyebrows raised in question. I licked my dry lips and raised my staff. ‘If you harm that girl, you will have me to answer to.’
‘Harm her?’ Ian looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I’m nuts about her. Why would I harm her?’
In truth, I do not know what made me say such a thing. Even to me, it sounded odd, uncalled for.
There was a moment of complete stillness. Under his gaze, my breath caught in my throat.
A pair of ducks landed noisily behind the boat, breaking the moment. I saw them course through the water in a splash of feathers and quacking. When I looked back, Ian was shutting the door of the cabin behind him.
SEPTEMBER 12—FULL MOON
I have done my best to be sensible about my reactions to Ian. He has given me no cause to doubt his feelings toward Tegan, and yet I still have my misgivings. Could it be that all these years of being persecuted, of looking over my shoulder, of running from the terror of my past, have left me unable to see danger rationally? Have I lost my intuition as a witch that should allow me to detect danger, to be warned, without muddling the signals? Am I no longer able to meet a solitary stranger without instantly feeling suspicious and threatened? I fear I have already handled the situation badly. Tegan has not visited me, and I cannot visit the boat again. I must talk to her. If only she would return to her course of instruction, return to me, I could keep closer watch over her. This evening I will write a note and post it through the door of her house. I only hope she is not too entranced by her lover to listen to me.
SEPTEMBER 14—LUNAR ECLIPSE
My hand shakes as I write this, but write I mus
t. On my way to deliver the letter to Tegan, I called in at the village shop only to find her standing at the post office counter. She was withdrawing money from her savings account.
‘Hello, Tegan,’ I said, as casually as I could. She gave only a nod in reply. ‘On your own today?’
‘Ian’s performing, if you must know. Went on his bike into Pasbury this morning.’ She folded notes into her purse.
‘Well, it’s been ages since you’ve been to the cottage. Why don’t you come back with me? Have a cup of tea? I’ve baked some raisin bread.’
‘Look, I don’t want to be rude, Elizabeth, but I’m busy, okay?’ She started to push past me. I stepped in front of her.
‘Tegan, please listen to me. Ian…’
‘For God’s sake, I don’t want to hear it! Why can’t you just be happy for me? What’s wrong with you? Are you jealous or what?’
‘It’s not that…’ I was stopped mid-sentence by the sound of Tegan’s mobile phone ringing. In those few seconds, my world collapsed. I felt time rushing through my head, century upon century, my sanity sucked into the vortex. I watched Tegan fish the phone from her bag, smiling. I saw her lips move, knew she was saying something, but I could discern no words. All I could hear was the tune ringing out of the mobile phone. A tune I knew. A tune I feared. It was the tune of “Greensleeves.”
I fled. In fact, I do not remember getting from the shop to my kitchen. No! It could not be him! Not now, not here, not so terrifyingly close to Tegan. And to me. It may be that Ian has a dark secret, that he is not the good and gentle person Tegan believes him to be. But surely that does not mean he has to be … Even now, I cannot bring myself to write the thought down, fully formed. I must not give way to panic. But no, I cannot deny the evidence of my senses. I find myself unable to order my thoughts. My first impulse was to pack and leave. I still had an opportunity to evade him if I left before he knew I had discovered he was near. It would be a simple matter to gather the few belongings I care about and disappear. After all, I have done it many, many times before. And yet, I am surprised to find I cannot run. Even though I am certain Gideon has sent me a signal of his proximity. Even though I must surely face the fact that he is close by, watching me, and now using Tegan to reach me. How long has he been so close? And what would be the consequences of my flight? Leaving Matravers would mean leaving Tegan. And if I were to succeed in slipping away and thwart Gideon again, how would he react? And whom might he vent his fury and frustration upon? No, I cannot leave. The time has come to face him. I will not run anymore.
SEPTEMBER 30—NEW MOON
I have not seen Tegan since the night of the lunar eclipse. I am, of course, concerned, though I do not believe she is in any real danger as long as I remain. I encountered her mother in the village shop this morning. It seems all is well. She has met Ian and declares him a well-mannered young man. If she knew only half the truth, what would it do to her, I wonder. It seems to me all she wants is to convince herself that Tegan does not need anything from her. It suits her that the girl is so taken up with her new man; it assuages her guilt at having so little of herself to give. It is hardly surprising that Tegan has thrown herself at the first man who has shown an interest, given the lack of care she receives at home.
I have arrived at the conclusion that there is only one way I can both face Gideon and protect Tegan. I must take her further into my confidence. I must entrust her with the ultimate truth about myself. Only then can I teach her how to protect herself, should the need arise. It had been my intention only to instruct her in the ways of a hedge witch, to give her the skills of a healer. But now, now that I sense Gideon’s heavy presence, I must go further. She must learn the craft proper. For only the dark arts are strong enough to be of use against such a foe. Somehow, I must make her understand. She needs to believe that I am Eliza. That I am Bess. And the only thing that will convince her of any of this is magic. Long ago, when I clung to the shadows all those dark and lonely years, I shunned my own powers. I truly thought that to use them was wrong. Of course, I also knew that to do so would be to reveal my whereabouts to Gideon. Magic travels. He would have been able to detect my craft from hundreds of miles away, perhaps thousands. And as for every practicing witch, access to the forces of magic opens a two-way portal. While I am connecting with the sisterhood of witches, with the strength of the underworld, with the power of magic through all time, those same entities are connecting with me. At that time, I am empowered, but I am also vulnerable. I chose to spurn that power in part because of this. My main reason, however, the thing that had me turn away from what I might have been, was my own guilt.
I still believe I was responsible for my mother’s death. She could have saved herself, but to do so would have been to offer me up as a sacrifice to those who wanted retribution. She eschewed her own power so that I might survive. How could I then allow myself the glory of that magic? And it is truly glorious. I have shown Tegan only a glimpse of that wonder by relating Eliza’s transformation from earthbound immortal to fully functioning witch. Heightened senses and sexual awakening are but a part of what a truly powerful witch will experience. And I know myself to be of the first order. Gideon saw to that. What pact he made with the devil I hope never to find out, but in me he saw all his dreams of the perfect mate made flesh. Why else would he have pursued me so relentlessly all this time? Gideon had prowled this earth for centuries before he happened upon my family. In me, he saw the potential for what he had yearned for. An equal. He took that raw material and he schooled me and guided me until I was ready. Then he asked for his master’s blessing and for my transformation. On the night in Batchcombe jail, when I pronounced the words he had taught me, the transmutation was complete. His equal, did I say? Well, now we shall see.
OCTOBER 2—WAXING MOON
It has taken me all my scant reserves of patience to wait until this day to seek out Tegan. I believe my forbearance will pay dividends. I forced myself to allow time for Tegan’s temper to cool. I dropped a letter through her door yesterday asking her to come and see me so that I might apologize for meddling or for presuming to tell her how to live her life. I assured her that I wish only to put things right between us. I promised not to raise the subject of Ian or poke my nose in any of her business. I would never again push my help or advice upon her unless she asked for it. For friendship’s sake, I urged her to come. I have brewed some fresh ginger beer, and we could sit in the garden and drink it, which would give her the chance to see how many of the plants she helped me with are now flourishing.
Of course, I recognized that such a letter might not be sufficiently persuasive to bring the child to me. It is vital that she come. To this end I took it upon myself to dress the letter with a spell. A gentle one, designed only to lure and to coax, not to force or frighten. Tegan will be unaware of it, but she will find herself keeping our rendezvous without resistance.
OCTOBER 5—SECOND QUARTER
What a night of wonders! Tegan arrived at my cottage a little after eight o’clock. It was an unseasonably warm evening, the mildness of the waning day still lingering in the sheltered garden. Late-flowering jasmine filled the quiet air with its heady scent. Tegan was a little wary at first and gave the impression she could not stay long. I bid her join me at the table beneath the apple tree, where I had already set out a jug of ginger beer and almond biscuits.
‘Yum, this is really good,’ she said after downing half a glass. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, for a moment seeming worryingly young and childlike. We sat and talked about the garden, remembering what she had planted and how hard she had worked, particularly on the herb beds. She began to relax, but we were talking about everything and nothing. I had promised not to raise the subject of Ian, and I feared talk of my own history might cause her to bolt again. But time was running out. I had to do something.
‘Another glass?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, go on then.’ She held out her tumbler.
I moved as if to
pick up the heavy glass jug but then stopped. I sat back in my chair, focusing on the ginger beer. Slowly the pitcher began to move. At first it merely shook a little, causing the drink to slosh about inside it. It was a small movement but enough to attract Tegan’s attention. She watched openmouthed as the jug rose silently into the air, tipped at precisely the required angle, and poured the beer into her waiting beaker. Job done, it settled back on the table. Tegan remained transfixed, arm still outstretched, staring at the glass in her hand. She glanced at the jug, then back at her glass, then looked at me.
‘Tell me you saw what just happened!’
I nodded.
Her eyes widened further. ‘It was you!’ she said. ‘You did that!’
I nodded again.
Tegan took a swig of the drink before setting it back on the table. ‘Oh my God! Do more,’ she said. ‘Do something else. Go on.’
I focused on the drink in her glass now. It began to bubble vigorously. Tegan shifted back a little on her chair. In seconds the cloudy beer had been transformed to a frothy blue liquid that boiled and bubbled until foam spilled out over the top of the glass and began to cover the table.
Tegan screamed in amazement.
‘Look at that! That’s brilliant. Can you show me how to do it? Will you?’ She stood up, dipping her finger into the bubbles that were now running down the sides of the table. I clapped my hands and the blue liquid vanished. Not a bubble remained. The drink had returned to ordinary ginger beer. Tegan picked up the glass a little nervously, sniffing the contents. I stood up and met her gaze, my expression serious.
‘Stay with me through this night, Tegan, and I will show you wonders you have only ever dreamed of. If you decide to come with me and to witness these things, you must do so with an open mind, a kind heart, and a steadfast soul. What is more you must tell no one of the things you see. Do you agree?’
‘Yes! Yes,’ Tegan replied, her face betraying something of her own nervousness.
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