by RM Walker
“I made my nose bleed. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I hurt you.”
“I frightened you. It’s my fault. I panicked, I thought I’d lost you again, and I was trying to get you to stay. I should never have moved towards you or slammed the door on you. You reacted subconsciously and exactly how anyone would. This is not your fault.” He used a clean patch on the cloth and wiped her face gently.
She closed her eyes. Not everyone would have reacted like she had. Not everyone was a freak. Not like she was. A dangerous freak.
“Lily? Talk to me, sweetheart.” He dropped the cloth to the floor.
“You can’t drive like this.”
“We’ll get a taxi. I’ll call a taxi, okay?”
His eyes were a warm brown full of concern, and she knew it wasn’t for himself, but for her. She’d hurt him, and he was worried about her.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, cradling the back of her head in his other hand. He drew her against him, her head resting over his heart as he held her tightly. She wound her arms around his waist, swept away by an avalanche of emotion. Noisy tears broke free as she cried against him. He held her tighter and rocked her from side to side gently.
“It’s going to be all right. Whatever happens, whatever you decide, it’s going to be okay.”
How was it going to be all right? How was anything going to be all right ever again? Her mother was right to fear her.
IT WAS TWO IN THE MORNING when she crept back into her cottage. She quietly locked the door and made her way into the living room, slumping onto the sofa.
She’d gone with Drew in the taxi to the hospital. It’d taken ages to be seen by the triage nurse, but after he’d finally been seen, they’d moved him up to majors. One scan and four hours later he was cleared to go. A nasty bump, three stitches, but no concussion, and to her eternal relief, no bleeding inside the skull. He’d called a taxi and they’d come home in silence. When she got out of the taxi he’d asked her to see him tomorrow morning and she’d agreed. She wanted to make sure he was okay, and the least she owed him was to clean up the mess in the living room.
“Lily?” Soft footsteps on the stairs brought her head up. She winced, waiting for her mother to be furious with her, demanding to know where she’d been.
Her mother moved across to sit in her chair and poke at the fireplace, trying to get the fire going again. She blew on the few embers, holding out some paper.
Lily nudged the fire, but abruptly stopped. She couldn’t trust herself to use something as dangerous as fire.
“There. It’ll be warmer soon.” Her mother sat back, tilting her head. “We’ve changed a lot, haven’t we? Since we came here. You’re eighteen, no longer a child. You’ve got a boyfriend, friends, a social life. I know you’re going to be out a lot, but I’m not asking for much.”
“I’m sorry it’s so late. There was a problem.”
“Just let me know if you’re going to be late, please. Just enough warning to stop the thoughts of you lying hurt, lost, or worse.”
“Sorry.”
“So am I. For moving here.”
Worry was etched into her face and posture and Lily now knew it was justified. If Drew had hit his head harder, or if his neck had snapped, she’d have killed him. A cold chill swept over her despite the now roaring fire. She had to do this, there was no choice.
“Have you got the tablets still?”
Her mother’s face filled with hope. “Yes. Why?”
“I’ll take two a day, like I used to. Not four. Four was messing with my head.”
“Okay. Okay, we can start with two and see how we go. It’s safer, Lily, it really is. You’ll be happier, and you won’t need to worry about Matt finding out. No one will ever find out, and you’ll be safe. Drew will lose interest once he realises you refuse to be tainted like him. He won’t do anything to reveal what you are, I know he won’t.”
“What do you mean reveal what I am?”
Her mother turned to the fire and poked it needlessly with the poker. “Oh, you know, in general, that’s all I meant.”
Lily’s head fell back against the sofa, a weariness washed over her that had nothing to do with how late it was.
Her mother was lying, keeping yet more secrets.
Dad
“You won’t regret this. But you might if you don’t take them.”
Lily swallowed the two tablets. She didn’t want to, but if it kept her under control, she wouldn’t hurt anyone.
“You won’t be too late,” her mother said.
“Late? Why won’t I be too late?”
“Well, I just meant it’s not too late to hide still.”
“Hide? From who?” A chill gripped Lily’s heart. “Who am I hiding from?”
“Well, Matt, people at school.” Her mother took the glass from her and went to the sink to rinse it out. “If you keep it hidden, then it isn’t too late to make sure you stay undiscovered by Matt.”
“Is Matt the only one you don’t want to know about me?” Would her mother know about the hunt? The huntsman who’d killed them all in her dream?
“Well, there’s his cousins as well, of course.” She set the glass on the draining board and picked up another to wash out.
“Just them?” Lily took a deep breath and braced herself. “No one else is looking for me, hunting me, are they?”
The glass slipped from her mother’s fingers and smashed into the porcelain of the Bristol sink. Lily’s heart stopped as her mother stared at her in horror.
She quickly shook her head, a bright smile plastered to her face. “Oh, silly me, it was slippery, I lost my grip. I think you’d better go now. You’ll be late for Matt.”
“I’m not meeting him till after lunch. What’s the hunt?”
“Hunt? What hunt, darling? I thought they’d banned hunting now, or was that only on National Trust land? I can’t remember. I need to pop out a moment. Don’t touch the glass. I need to get a box to put it in. There’s some in the car.” She rushed through the kitchen door, snatching up her phone as she passed the counter. “Have fun today. I need to go into town, and I don’t know when I’ll get back.”
Lily looked at the empty Cornflake box on the side where the phone had been. Her mother didn’t need a box, she needed a way to escape. A way to avoid telling her the truth, a way to keep her in the dark. Sharp disappointment and anger warred for dominance over her. Despondency joined the war and won, settling over her like a blanket of fog.
She picked up the bottle of tablets, closing her eyes. One thing she had to do was make sure Drew hadn’t died in the night. Guilt crept under the fog and put a lump in her throat. She left her cottage and went over to his door, knocking once.
He opened the door, smiling at her. “I’m going to give you the spare key that’s under the flower pot.” He stepped aside to let her in. “You won’t need to keep knocking, just come right on in.”
“How’s your head?” She stepped inside.
“Perfectly fine.” He closed the door after her.
She went into the living room and slumped onto his sofa, the bottle clutched between her hands. “Are you lying to me?”
“No. Do we need a candle?” He tilted his head, watching her closely.
She looked away. “No. Can we do this now?” She lifted the bottle giving it a rattle.
He took the bottle from her. “These are the tablets?”
“Those are them.”
“Terrible grammar.” He tutted.
“Sue me.” She laid her head back on the sofa and looked over at the wall. The blood was gone with no sign it had ever been there. “I was going to scrub that off today.”
“Why scrub, when you can snap?” He opened the bottle and sniffed at the contents.
“Snap?”
“Yeah.” He snapped his fingers together and the fireplace which had been full of ash was now cleaned and set ready to light again. “This is quite a dose you have here.”
“I took t
wo this morning.” She didn’t know how he was going to react, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. She wasn’t even sure why she’d told him.
He went into the kitchen. “I’ll set this up, you can make us a pot of tea and tell me why you took them.”
Lethargy kept her on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Her phone rang in her pocket and she knew it was Matt texting her. Guilt ripped through her as she dragged her phone out. In her self-pity party she’d forgotten what Matt was going through.
“They’re staying on today. We’re not going to be free till after tea. Sorry, baby. Believe me, I’d rather be with you. Love you. M.”
Her fingers moved across the screen quickly.
“Love you too, don’t worry. L”
Another text came through, but it was from the twins.
“We’re going to die. We’re so bored already. Did Matt tell you we’re in hell until after tea? We just want to be with you. J.J.”
Two texts came in, one from Nate and one from Matt. She read the text from Nate first.
“Miss you. Pick you up as soon as we can get away without causing a ruckus. Love. Nate. P.S. Wear your hat, and gloves.
She sent out replies to them and put her phone away in her pocket.
“All sorted out in the land of love?” Drew asked, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded.
“How do you know it wasn’t the land of friends from school?”
“Because you don’t have any, other than the boys. They’ve made sure of that.”
“What do you mean?” She frowned at him.
“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “Who do you sit with at lunchtime?”
“The boys.”
“Who takes you to school? Who monopolises you in Reg? Who drives you home and then knocks on your door again two hours later? Who do you hang out with on the weekends?”
“Okay, I get it. You can stop now. Although I’m hanging out with you now, not them.”
“I’m your dad, it’s not the same. Make friends outside of them.”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed. In case they discover I’m some sort of broomstick flying, cauldron brewing, cackling freak?” Bitterness crept into her voice and she turned her head away.
“If you ever get a broomstick to fly, I’ll eat your pointy, black hat. And as for being a freak? Who wants to be boringly normal? I can cast magic, and if that makes me a freak, I’ll take it any day of the week. Stop with the pity party and get your arse out here and help me.”
His words broke the heavy cloud that hung over her, and she got to her feet laughing. He turned and went into the kitchen. The back of his head had streaks of dried blood around the uncovered stitches. The black cloud closed over her again, and she stopped in the kitchen door, her arms around her waist.
“What we’re going to do is use a cleansed pestle and mortar to grind—” He stared at her. “Who died between here and the sofa?”
“You could have done,” she whispered.
Understanding dawned on his face, and he set a box on the table. “That’s why you took the tablets, isn’t it?” He looked sideways at her as he opened it and took out a black, marble mortar.
She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. He hadn’t been angry with her, not even last night, but he had a right to be and she waited for it now.
“Well, don’t just stand there, the tea won’t make itself. Well, it would, we haven’t got that far yet, but we will.” He went back to taking things out of the box and setting them on the table.
She crossed to the kettle. “How can you be so casual about what I did?”
“I should’ve seen it coming, to be honest.”
“I didn’t know I was doing it, how could you possibly know?”
“Because that’s the type of behaviour I would expect from a four-year old.”
“I’m childish?” She didn’t think that was the problem.
“Your abilities are, not you,” he clarified. “We aren’t born knowing how to control our magic. We’re taught, like everything else: walking, talking, reading, writing, control, spells. I’ve never heard of another person who’s got to your age and not known what they were or how to control it. It was up to Lynda to make sure you learnt, and she failed you.”
“Surely not every witch or fae is born into a family where there are others like them. Matt, Nate, the twins? They weren’t. There was no one else in their family.”
“Well, the jury is still out on that one. It’s very odd how that teacher arrived just as their magic was kicking in. And with four of them, I find it odd no one in their immediate family is magic.”
“They had a great-gran, a hedge witch. But she died before they were old enough, I think.”
“Maternal?”
She nodded her head slowly, maybe it hadn’t been wise to tell him that. They might not want him knowing, although she couldn’t see the harm in it.
“The mothers. They’re triplets, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.” She filled the teapot with hot water and gave it a stir. “Where’s your strainer?”
A drawer opened, the strainer lifted into the air and the drawer closed again.
He started whistling a tune she didn’t recognise. He was so casual about it all, it was obviously a way of life for him. She was torn; half of her wanted this life, wanted to be able to do what he did. But the other half of her was terrified of where it would lead her, and how much damage she would cause, even unwittingly.
He came over, plucked the strainer from the air and placed it over the mug. “Don’t try and hide from who you are; you won’t be able to.”
“Hide.” How many times was she going to hear that word? “You say don’t hide, Mum says hide, even my flipping dreams are telling me to hide.”
“Dreams? What dreams?”
She told him what had happened at the pool as she made the drinks.
“Were they definitely the hunt?” he asked.
“I don’t know. The only supernatural hunt I know of is the Wild Hunt and that’s a myth.” She sighed. “Or at least I assumed it was a myth.”
He chuckled, and picking up the biscuit tin, he crossed to the table. “Yeah, well, you’re technically right. Woden’s Hunt, or Herlaping as it’s known here, is a myth. But, like a lot of things, it has its roots based in fact. However, I don’t think you saw Woden’s Hunt.”
“Saw?” She sank on to a chair.
“It wasn’t a dream, too much interconnected for it to be a dream.”
“Jo...er, Josh seemed to think it was a dream.”
“Jo...er, Josh? Was he the one to suggest you were a seer?”
She took a biscuit to avoid looking at him. She’d tripped up, and he’d let her know.
“I think you need to ask this Jo...er, Josh, if you can drop the painful pretence. I know he’s around, I saw him in Johnston’s memories, I know how to find out who he is easily enough.”
“Then why haven’t you?” She dunked her biscuit, looking at all the glass vials, bottles of liquid, and other items he’d unpacked.
“Because I hoped you’d tell me voluntarily. But, you need his permission, I get that. Now—he was, wasn’t he? Just a nod will do.”
She nodded, biting into her biscuit.
“And he definitely told you you’re a seer?”
She nodded again, and he pulled a face as he turned back to the bottle of tablets. She watched him take the top off, but he didn’t say anything.
“Okay, so let’s call him Subject B for the moment.” She picked at her biscuit.
He sent her a sideways look, snorting with laughter.
“I’m Subject X.” She ignored the laughter.
“X? Why not A? If he’s B, why aren’t you A?” He pushed his hair out of his face.
“Because I want to be X not A.” She scowled. “Makes me a mutant.”
“Ah, right, so you’d be happy being a mutant, but you don’t want to be a freak.”
“Mutants aren’t real,” she s
aid.
“Neither are freaks, it’s a horrid word used to insult someone else. So, Subject B has told Subject X she’s a seer, and then when X has a vision, B fobs her off with it being a dream.”
“Subject B could be mistaken. But so could Subject D. That’s you.”
“D? D for Drew? You slipped on the imagination there.”
“Oh. I had it for Dad.” She heard herself call him Dad, and it had been subconscious. When had that happened?
He was turned away from her, but she’d heard his sharp intake of breath.
“There’s a possibility Subject B could be mistaken.” He cleared his throat and turned to her. “But given past observations on his words, Subject D thinks it’s more likely Subject B is lying.”
“And does Subject D think B is lying because it’s wrapped up with why B is here?”
“Yes.”
“Subject X is inclined to agree with Subject D,” she said, catching his gaze. “What did I see?”
“I don’t know.” He held her gaze. “I don’t know why you saw huntsmen, but I’m sure it’s nothing to do with Woden’s hunt.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they don’t kill, they don’t reap souls, and they don’t steal people in their sleep. They never have. The folktale was embellished and twisted, changed to keep people under the control of church leaders. The hunt brought blessings to the land and welfare to the people who offered them gifts of thanks. It still does, but people just see the changing of the seasons. They don’t see the magic behind it.”
“That’s sad,” she said. “Maybe B knows this and thought I was being silly, like with the Scrabble board.”
“Scrabble board?” He ground a few tablets with the pestle.
She told him what happened, and she could see that he wasn’t impressed by his facial expressions.
“Could I have subconsciously placed the tiles?” she asked, picking up a small blue jewelled glass bottle.
“No. He did it.”
“What?” She stared at him as he set the pestle to one side.
“You scared him, and he did his best to warn you away from them. Less drastic measures than I took, granted, but for similar reasons. He sees you as a threat, and we know why now.”