The Witch’s Daughter

by Paula Brackston

  At last the sky cleared again, and the moonlight returned. I wiped blood from my cheek and grabbed a length of ivy, wrapping it tightly around my hand to stop the flow from the painful bat bites.

  ‘Why are you wasting your energies, Bess?’ Gideon shook his head, like he was telling off a naughty child. ‘You must know I would never have equipped you with sufficient power to prove a real threat. I have far more of an instinct for self-preservation than you credit me with. Do you really think I would have created a witch with the ability to kill me?’

  Elizabeth didn’t answer. I could see her lips moving, really fast, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. There were weird sounds now. Like voices. Or singing. No, not singing, chanting. And all through it, that bastard kept on smiling his sickly smile.

  Her words were drowned out by the howling wind and by the chanting. Then I noticed these shapes among the trees. People. No, women. No, witches. Four, five, six, seven … a dozen of them, I think. It was hard to count, they slipped out from behind the trees and began whirling about in the clearing. Gideon frowned. He didn’t look frightened, more pissed off.

  ‘Welcome, my sisters!’ Elizabeth greeted the other witches as they flew about. Gideon stood scowling at her as these fabulous creatures darted about the place. These weren’t old hags, not witches out of fairy tales. They were beautiful, all dressed in shimmering colors, their hair streaming, all with the same fantastic glow radiating from them, like the brightest fireworks. They were glorious. Elizabeth was really pleased, really touched that they had come to help her; you could see it on her face. I’ve never seen her look so happy.

  ‘You foolish creature,’ Gideon was yelling at her now. ‘You think I can’t deal with a few dried up harridans?’ He sent one of them sprawling and knocked another against a tree. ‘Did you really think this sorry mother coven of yours could kill me?’ he screamed.

  He was so powerful and so mad by now that I was really scared. He was hurling those lovely witches about as if they were dolls. Smashing them, breaking them, as if they were nothing. No matter how fast they moved or how much they used their magic, he was too strong for them. And still they whirled about him, dancing, flying, chanting. I couldn’t understand it. It was almost as if they knew they stood no chance, and yet they kept on and on, making him madder and madder. Then Elizabeth rushed at him. Straight at him! She got so close—too close. Gideon grabbed her and held her up, choking her.

  ‘I had not imagined you would be so foolish, Bess,’ he spat at her. ‘So foolish as to truly believe you could overpower me, you and your feeble crones.’

  I ran at him. I couldn’t help myself. He was squeezing the life out of her. I had no idea what I was going to do, I just knew I couldn’t stand there and watch him throttle her. I snatched up a rock as I went and swung it at his head. He had been so focused on poor Elizabeth I actually caught him with his guard down, and the stone hit him hard, right on the back of his skull. He staggered, just for a fleeting second, and loosened his grip. Elizabeth seized her moment and got away. Then he turned on me. I was lying practically at his feet. That was the moment I thought I was going to die. He was steaming with rage, roaring at me, cursing and spitting, his eyes flaming. Before I had time to wonder what he would do next, I felt a searing pain in my shoulder, as if a fireball had exploded against me. I screamed—I know I must have, it hurt so much—but I don’t remember hearing the sound. Just this terrible sizzling noise as the magic fire burned into my flesh. Elizabeth rushed to my side. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and the burning stopped. It still hurt and I could smell the revolting stink of burning flesh. My burning flesh. Elizabeth sprang up, high into the air, and circled around Gideon with dizzying speed.

  All the witches formed a circle around me, protecting me. Looking up, I could see Gideon and Elizabeth flying, hurtling around the enclosure, exchanging phosphorous blasts and spears of flame. One of the other witches, a girl not much older than me, touched my wound. At last the pain stopped completely, but I could feel raised lumps and knew the scar was mine to keep. The witches started to move away from me, to go to Elizabeth’s aid, but she shouted at them to stay with me and protect me.

  It didn’t take long for Gideon to bring her down. She crashed onto the smoldering woodland floor and lay there, totally still. Everything went quiet, deathly quiet. No wind, no howling or crashing or screaming or wailing anymore. Just this awful lifeless hush. Had he killed her? Was that it? Could that really be the end? Nobody moved—none of the witches, not even Gideon, who was now standing a few yards away from where she lay.

  ‘Elizabeth?’ I called, my own voice hoarse and breaking. ‘Elizabeth!’

  Then there was this tiny movement. Not Elizabeth but the ground beside her. It seemed to stir. Then, silently, slowly, a shape rose up from the leaves and plants. It twirled and spun about, growing, still noiselessly, gently shifting and pulsating until it formed into a woman. Another witch. This one was tall and slender and looked a little older than some of the others. She wore flowing, soft robes the color of the darkened woodlands, all smudges and bruises. She leaned over Elizabeth and touched her tenderly.

  ‘Bess,’ she said, her voice like a crystal wind-chime moving in the breeze. ‘Bess, my child, wake up.’

  Elizabeth stirred. She moaned and opened her eyes. She struggled to focus for a little while, and then she saw who it was that had called her name.

  ‘Mother!’ Her voice was weak, but there was no mistaking the joy in it. Her mother had come to her. After so many, many years.

  Elizabeth tried to get up. ‘There, Bess, there,’ her mother said, brushing her daughter’s hair from her face, gazing at her with such love, such pride.

  ‘Mother, I am sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I was never as strong as you were. Never as good.’

  ‘Hush. You have nothing to be sorry for, Bess. It is I who should beg your forgiveness, for ever placing you in the hands of such a monster.’

  ‘You were trying to save me, that is all.’

  ‘And instead, look what you have endured. What you have suffered for so very long. On your own.’

  ‘No, Mother. I knew you were always there beside me.’ Elizabeth stood up now, and the two women embraced. And as they did so, the light went back into her—you could see it. You could see the strength and the magic pouring from the older woman into her daughter, filling her up, making her whole and healed again.

  Gideon was clearly fuming that she had found someone capable of helping her.

  ‘I lose patience with this mother-daughter reunion,’ he said. ‘You, Anne Hawksmith, you would have us all believe you did what you did from the very best of motives. Out of love as a mother for her child, nothing more. Well, I saw how you took to the magic I showed you, Witch, do not forget that. I saw how you lapped it up, how you reveled in it, just as your sorceress of a daughter does. As she always has. This false piety sickens me. The two of you were born for magic, for celebrating the dark arts. In your souls you both know it.’

  Anne and Elizabeth faced each other. They held hands and they exchanged smiles of pure bliss. And Elizabeth, when she stepped away and turned to Gideon, was incredible. If she had looked fabulous before, it was nothing compared to how she shone now, how she fizzed and pulsed with the light of magic, good magic inside her. Her mother dropped back a little into the moon shadows. Elizabeth glided forward on silent feet until she stood only inches from Gideon. Then she did the weirdest thing. The weirdest and the bravest. We had talked about it before. We had spent hours planning, going over and over what would happen, but I still can’t get my head around it. I still wish there had been some other way. She offered him her hand. She smiled and she held out her hand to him. He was stunned. Lost for words. At last—something he hadn’t been expecting!

  ‘Well, Gideon,’ she said softly, ‘I am offering you my hand. Will you take it? Do you truly wish to be with me?’

  He smiled a really cheesy I’ve-won sort of smile. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Y
es, my love. It gladdens my heart to see that you have, finally, come to your senses. That you know yourself. That you see that we were always destined to share our journey through time. Imagine how we will be together, imagine what we can accomplish!’ He seemed to grow, to pulsate with energy. At last he had what he wanted, what he believed was his right. ‘And so yes, as it was written, and as you were created witch in my name, most certainly, I do wish to be with you.’

  ‘Then you shall,’ she said. A heartbeat later, the other witches transformed themselves into fire, their whirling circle becoming a ring of flame around Elizabeth and Gideon in the center, who were now a good ten feet off the ground. White spheres of phosphorous swirled through the air. Sparks and burning leaves and pieces of wood were falling onto the forest floor. All about the clearing things started to catch fire. Anne floated upward, blending into the ring of flame and light. In the middle of it all, Gideon and Elizabeth remained calm and focused only on each other. Hand in hand, they began to rise up and up.

  ‘You are right.’ Elizabeth’s voice was clear even above the racket of everything else. ‘We could not kill you, Gideon. That was never really an option. But we can take you.’

  The tiniest flash of fear showed in his face.

  ‘We can invite you to join us,’ she went on, tightening her grip on his hand, ‘and if you come willingly, if you agree, as you just have, then you can be our guest in the Summerlands.’

  ‘No!’ he roared, but it made no difference. He struggled to free his hand, but nothing he could do would make Elizabeth let him go. Not now.

  ‘You will cause no harm there, Gideon. Who knows, perhaps among us you may even learn a little humility.’

  He was screaming now, his face changing all the time. He transformed wildly, madly, red eyes, fangs, tusks, horns. He bellowed and writhed and thrashed about, but she held him fast.

  She turned her head slowly and looked down at me. I knew she was saying good-bye. I wanted to be brave for her, to show her I understood and that it was all right. To thank her for all she had done for me. But my heart was breaking. I couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving me.

  ‘Elizabeth!’ I called out to her, tears streaming down my face. ‘Elizabeth!’

  She shook her head and smiled, and though I couldn’t hear her, I saw her mouth the words Be strong!

  And then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone. There was nothing. Just me and the woodland. I couldn’t move. I felt stunned. Only when I realized that the forest was on fire properly now, was I able to make myself think about getting to safety. I was about to run when I noticed something, a small movement on the ground. My white mouse! I went to scoop him up, but the little rat ran off.

  ‘Hey! This is not the time to play around.’ I went after him. He hopped onto a stick. It was Elizabeth’s staff. I picked it up. The mouse jumped into my pocket. I looked around, checking, just once more, but I was alone. I ran. I knew I couldn’t manage the bike, so I kept going on foot. I stopped when I got to the road and used my mobile to call the fire brigade. I threw the phone in the ditch after that, glad to be rid of the last thing he had given me. Then, keeping to the shadows, I walked home.

  Well, I say home. Funny, that’s how I think of this house now. It is mine, after all. Elizabeth showed me her will. Imagine, a whole house. Mine.

  I don’t know what Mum is going to make of that. But I’ll deal with her. She’ll be so pleased to have a rent-free place to live I don’t think she’ll ask difficult questions for too long. The main one being, where is Elizabeth? Tough one to answer that. I mean, I know where she said she was going, but I don’t really get it. And no one else will, that’s for sure. The Summerlands, that’s what she said. Like a heaven for witches; only it’s not forever. They come back. When the time is right, they come back. And she will too. One day. She promised me. Meanwhile, here I am, in her cottage, with all this stuff to find out about, all these books. Her Grimoire full of spells and recipes. And this, of course, her Book of Shadows. Well, I’ll be ready. When she does come back, she’s going to be seriously impressed with me. I’ll finish this now. It’s not really the end of Bess’s story, or Eliza’s, or Elise’s, or Elizabeth’s. But she’ll want to start a new journal when she returns. And who knows, one of these days I just might write my own Book of Shadows.

  Taken from the Matravers and Batchcombe Express, November 1, 2007

  BATCHCOMBE WOODS ABLAZE

  Three fire tenders and nineteen firemen battled with a blaze at Batchcombe woods at around midnight last night. The fire, which spread as far as Batchcombe Hall to the west and the A324 to the east, was believed to have been started by campers. The remains of a burnt-out motorbike were found at the site. There were no witnesses, and the fire was reported anonymously. Batchcombe Hall was never under direct threat, thanks to the firebreak which lies behind the house. However, many acres of ancient oaks and beech trees were destroyed in the blaze. Police say they are investigating the fire, although they consider it to be carelessness rather than arson. A spokesman for the fire service admitted they were so far baffled as to what had actually started the blaze. They were unable to find evidence of a recent campfire. There is a theory that fireworks may have been set off in the woods, as remnants of phosphorous-like substances have been taken from the scene.

  So Ends The Book of Shadows

  Also by Paula Brackston

  NOVELS

  Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

  Nutters (writing as P. J. Davy)

  NONFICTION

  The Dragon’s Trail: Wales on Horseback

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

  An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

  THE WITCH’S DAUGHTER. Copyright © 2010 by Paula Brackston. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  Incantation from The Craft: A Witch’s Book of Shadows by Dorothy Morrison © 2001 Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. All rights reserved.

  www.thomasdunnebooks.com

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Brackston, Paula.

  The witch’s daughter / Paula Brackston.—1st U.S. ed.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-312-62168-1

  1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Warlocks—Fiction. 3. Immortality—Fiction. 4. England—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR6102.R325W58 2011

  823'.92—dc22

  2010037441

  First published in England by Snowbooks as The Book of Shadows

  First U.S. Edition: January 2011

  eISBN 978-1-4299-8985-5

  First Thomas Dunne Books eBook Edition: January 2011