A Witch Alone (The Winter Witch Trilogy #3)

by Ruth Warburton

  ‘I saw …’ I tried to think of something that was true, but bearable for Dad. ‘I saw an accident, in London. It was horrible. Someone died.’

  ‘Oh love.’ Dad’s anger ebbed. He’d never been able to stay cross with me for long. He pulled me into his arms and I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, wishing there was some way I could explain what had happened today. But Dad didn’t ask any more questions and at last I stood stiffly, wiping at my cheek with my sleeve.

  ‘D’you mind if I go up now, Dad? School tomorrow …’ I said it with a laugh, trying to make it a joke, but my voice faltered and it sounded more like a sob. Dad only nodded, soberly, and watched as I walked slowly up the stairs to my room.

  Upstairs, I stripped off my clothes. Even though Marcus had made them clean, I couldn’t shake the feeling of the river silt ground into my hair and skin, and I went and stood under the shower for a long time, trying to think of nothing at all – not of Caradoc, not of Thaddeus Corax, most of all not of Marcus’ white, stark face as he turned back to the horror and the mud.

  We’d both lost our mothers, too early to remember, and we’d had that great aching absent loss in common, but now Marcus had gone beyond. He’d lost both parents. He was a true orphan, no longer a child in any sense. I couldn’t begin to imagine his loneliness tonight.

  Before I went to bed I checked my email. What I saw made my heart leap, chokingly, into my throat.

  From: Caradoc Truelove. Sent: Today, 10.33 a.m.

  Subject: Further to my call.

  For a moment my hands shook so badly I couldn’t work the mouse, and I had to stop, take a deep breath, and wait for the trembling to subside. Then I clicked on the header and the email opened.

  Dear Anna,

  I imagine by the time you read this, you will probably have received my telephone message and will know that I have managed to track down, not the original, but the translation I spoke of in my message.

  In view of the ‘accidents’ with previous versions of this text, I thought that it might be wise to send you an electronic copy – attached herewith. Dear Jonathan has gone out for a moment so this is my first experiment in using the scanner – I hope it succeeds!

  In brief, it is a Victorian reprint of a sixteenth-century translation of the original. As you will see, it has been rather inelegantly transmuted into a form of sonnet which is certainly not an accurate reflection of the original poem. Without access to the Anglo-Saxon text it is very hard to know what is pure invention and what is original material, but I’m sorry to say that much of it appears to be, at best, a creative interpretation. Some of it is almost certainly entirely fabricated to fit the requirements of the sonnet form. Some parts are not even sixteenth century, in my opinion, but Victorian insertions.

  I am sure you will appreciate the significance of some of the elements, but I’m afraid I write in haste – dear Jonathan has run out for milk and a customer has just come into the shop above – so I must leave you for the moment, but perhaps you could call me when you are at leisure and we can discuss it in greater detail then.

  Your affectionate friend,

  Caradoc Truelove

  I should have cried myself dry today – but the tears threatened to overwhelm me again as I closed down the email, Caradoc’s distinctive chocolate-dark drawl still echoing in my head, and clicked on the attachment. For the longest time I could see nothing – nothing but swimming patterns of black and white and blue, though I scrubbed angrily at my eyes, drawing great shuddering breaths in an effort to calm myself.

  At last the screen swam into focus – the secret that had cost Caradoc his life. And it was blank. A beautifully rendered scan of a blank sheet of yellowing paper, with a few fly spots and marks and, very faintly through the thick paper, the heavy black type of the poem showing through the other side, utterly unreadable.

  He had scanned the wrong side of the page.

  He’d been so close to sending me the information – and then he’d put the paper in the scanner the wrong way up and, in his haste, never checked.

  I put my head in my hands, the water from my damp hair running down my wrists like tears.

  I woke with a jolt and a beating heart to find myself slumped uncomfortably over my desk, the wood damp and warm beneath my cheek. The phone downstairs was shrilling out in the darkness, and the clock on my computer screen said 5.43 a.m.

  I shut the laptop with a click and ran down the stairs, trying not to trip over my towel. Still the phone shrilled as I stumbled to the ground floor. Then I stood in the hall for a brief moment, trying to gather myself, face the worst.

  I picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me.’ It was Marcus’ voice, low, full of weariness.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Stupid question. As soon as the words fell from my lips I wanted to hit my head on the oak beam in front of me. His father was dead. Why would he be all right?

  ‘I’m OK,’ he said, though his voice didn’t sound it. ‘But your grandmother asked me to call – she wanted you to know that she hadn’t forgotten her promise, but she couldn’t get away. She sends her love, she’s sorry she can’t talk to you at the moment but she’s very – they’re all very busy. Trying to sort things out.’

  ‘What – what happened?’

  There was a pause, as if Marcus was weighing up what he could say, and then he sighed. ‘You may as well know the worst. There’s no sense in hiding it now. The Neckinger has broken free.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, I keep forgetting – you wouldn’t know.’ He drew another deep breath and I could feel his intense fatigue, even at a distance of a hundred or more miles. ‘The Ealdwitan headquarters draws its power from the lost underground rivers – did you know that?’

  I nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see me, but he continued, ‘The rivers each have a spirit – a demon we call them when they’re chained. They’re very old spirits, older than witches or men, and very powerful. It’s part of the role of the Chairs; they each control a demon, keep it bound, keep its power and will tied to the foundations of the headquarters. My father’s death gave the Neckinger the chance to get free.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It was always a black river – one of the hardest to chain. Now it’s free, there have been collapses all throughout south London. The tap water is running red, like the Thames, and it tastes of blood. Water’s spraying up through the foundations of buildings, cracking the street tarmac. Underground warehouses and car parks have been flooded—’

  I closed my eyes, imagining the blood-soaked streets.

  ‘The remaining Chairs are trying to contain it. It’s our fault after all – a thousand years of servitude builds a powerful resentment.’

  ‘But what will happen? Can it be recaptured?’

  ‘In theory – yes. But with so few Chairs … That’s why your grandmother couldn’t take time to call.’

  ‘And you –’ I hardly dared ask, but I needed to know ‘– will you become Chair now, Marcus, in your father’s place?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I heard a rasping sound at the other end and guessed that he was wearily rubbing his unshaven face. ‘It depends on my father’s will – and we haven’t found it. Everything is in limbo until then.’

  ‘Marcus, you sound dead on your feet.’

  ‘I’m …’ he stopped. I felt his despair as if he were standing next to me. ‘I’m very tired. I’m very, very tired. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Go to bed,’ I said.

  I wanted to say, ‘It’ll all be better in the morning,’ but that wasn’t true. Nothing would be better. His father would still be dead. We would still be under attack from a strange, faceless enemy.

  ‘Go to bed,’ I repeated, hopelessly. There was silence on the other end of the line and then I heard his breath shudder.

  ‘Goodnight, Anna.’

  ‘Goodnight, Marcus.’

  The phone clicked.

  CHAPTER NINE
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br />   Maya’s kitchen was a warm fug of hot tea, hot cake, and hot beeswax. She was standing at the kitchen stove, dipping candle-wicks into a vat of melted beeswax. Abe was sitting at one end of the table, frowning over Emmaline’s laptop. Emmaline, Simon and I were at the other end, looking at the bloodied fragment of paper I’d taken from Caradoc’s dead hand.

  I hadn’t wanted to bring the poem round to Maya’s – even such a small scrap seemed tainted by the deaths it had caused. But, as Emmaline had pointed out, there was safety in numbers. As long as only one or two people had read it, they were vulnerable to the same fate as Caradoc. But whoever was behind this couldn’t very well pick off the entire Peller family, plus in-laws. According to Em, anyway. I hoped she was right.

  We sat in silence, staring at the lines of writing, and listening to the drip, drip of wax falling back into the pot and Maya’s slow, purposeful movements as she dipped the wicks, patiently building up layer after layer.

  ‘I can see why it gave Anna’s mother the shivers,’ Simon said at last.

  ‘Child of the rook, I got that,’ I said bleakly. ‘It’s me, right? Rokewood comes from Rook.’

  ‘I’d say so. And were you born on the Feast of Kings?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Is that a festival?’

  ‘Yes, also known as the Epiphany. Hence the title given to the original document, I presume. It’s celebrated on the sixth of January by western churches.’

  Something cold trickled up and down my neck. So that was why my mother had changed my date of birth. Not just to hide my identity, but to obscure the link with the riddle.

  ‘Yes,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Yes, I was.’

  Simon turned away from me to look again at the scan on Emmaline’s laptop. Abe had spent an hour on Photoshop, sharpening up the image and increasing the contrast in an attempt to get the writing to show through, but nothing had worked.

  ‘It’s definitely the same piece, isn’t it?’ Simon asked Abe.

  Abe nodded. ‘Yes, the first few lines are showing through – you can see the word “Kings” quite clearly and something about fowl on the next line. But further down the page it’s still too faint to see.’

  ‘Anna, can I forward this to myself at work?’ Simon asked. ‘I’d like to show it to a couple of people at the university. It’s possible they could get more out of it than we can.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, at the same time as Abe said, ‘D’you have to?’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Simon asked, looking from me to Abe and then back again.

  ‘Well, I’d say it’s fairly obvious,’ Abe said impatiently. ‘Anna’s mother went to great lengths to keep this hidden. She may have had a reason for that. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I think it’s gone beyond that, Abe,’ Maya said. ‘Someone clearly knows about this – they’ve already made the connection to Anna, so the damage is done. Now the secrecy isn’t protecting Anna any more, it’s a danger to her. And to us, if it comes to that.’

  ‘I agree,’ I said. ‘And it’s my email, so I think I get the final say.’

  ‘I know what you’re doing.’ Abe turned to me angrily. ‘You think you’re protecting the rest of us at a cost to yourself. If we keep it a secret then we’re in more danger from whoever is picking people off. If we tell lots of people then you may be in more danger, but we’re safer. Well I’m sorry, but I’m not going to save my own skin at a cost to yours.’

  ‘Who’s to say my mother was right, Abe? Maybe she had it wrong altogether. Maybe she had her own agenda!’

  ‘Like what!’ Abe’s face was frankly disbelieving.

  ‘She ran away. Don’t you think that’s kind of worrying? What if—’

  ‘She did it to protect you!’ Abe cried. ‘Can’t you see that?’

  ‘We don’t know that. We don’t know anything for sure. No.’ I was suddenly coldly, flatly certain that this was right. ‘I’m fed up with secrecy and hiding. It’d be better to know. Anything would be better than this – this looking over my shoulder all the time.’ I leaned across the table, clicked forward on the email, and typed in Simon’s university address. Then I pressed send.

  Simon stood up and picked up his coat.

  ‘Thanks, Anna. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. Your mother clearly wanted to protect you while you were too young to fight, but I think her plan B was always to arm you to defend yourself.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, her protections only extended so far, didn’t they? She must have known you’d move out of Notting Hill eventually. And she deliberately limited the curb on your dad’s tongue to let him give you his side of events when you turned eighteen. I think she saw this coming, or saw that it was a possibility at least. She was never trying to keep this under wraps for ever – she knew she couldn’t. All she was trying to do was give you enough time to grow into your powers. Enough time to fight back.’

  He shrugged himself into his coat and added, ‘I’m sorry I have to run off. But I’m supposed to be at the hospital with Sienna in half an hour.’

  ‘Hospital?’ I said in surprise. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Wrong? No. Quite the reverse.’ Simon’s face was suddenly pink above his black beard, a rosy blush tingeing his cheeks. ‘We’re – well, she is – having a baby.’

  ‘Oh, Simon!’ I felt my mouth spread into a huge, wide, involuntary beam. ‘I’m so pleased!’

  Impetuously, I flung my arms around him and he laughed and squeezed me back.

  ‘Thank you. We’re pleased too. Obviously. Anyway I must run or I’ll be late for the scan. Do you want a lift? It’s not too far out of my way.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Abe said abruptly. ‘I’ll drop her.’

  ‘No, don’t be silly, it’s nearer my route than yours.’

  ‘I said, I’ll drop her. Sienna will perform a blunt-spoon vasectomy if you’re late for the scan, and I’m assuming you want more kids, so leave Anna with me.’

  ‘Fine!’ Simon threw up his hands. ‘Good Lord, far be it from me to try to do anyone a good turn around here. Goodbye all.’ He kissed around the group and then left, and Abe picked up his keys.

  ‘Coming?’

  ‘D’you know what?’ Em said. ‘I’m going to walk Anna. Since she is my friend and all. Bye, Abe.’

  And she seized my arm and pulled me out of the flat and down the stairs.

  Out in the street, the air was blustery, the wind riffling our hair and plucking at our clothes. Emmaline set a brisk pace that had me struggling to keep up. As we turned the corner down to the harbour she gave me a look, not quite hostile, but something close to it.

  ‘What?’ I asked. Then, as the silence stretched out, ‘What?’

  Emmaline only shook her head and we continued in silence down past the quay. But then, as we began the climb up the coast road, she suddenly burst out, ‘What’s going on with you and Abe?’

  ‘Me and Abe?’ I was startled. ‘Nothing!’

  ‘Well what happened on that Friday then?’

  ‘Friday?’ I struggled to cast my mind back. ‘Which Friday?’

  ‘Couple of weeks ago. He turned up at ours in a weird bloody mood – said you’d broken his nose. And then, when Sienna asked how, he snapped that he was sick of the sound of your name. Then he got disgustingly drunk and Simon had to drive him home.’

  ‘Oh.’ I remembered our fight in the barn. It seemed like a hundred years ago. Then I thought of the kiss and my cheeks flamed scarlet. ‘Nothing. Nothing happened.’

  Em gave me a look.

  ‘Nothing, really? Is that why you’re impersonating a tomato? Come on, Anna. I’m not ten. Neither is Abe.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I mean, that you can act like he’s the brother you never had and all that bollocks, but he’s not. He’s—’

  She broke off.

  ‘He’s what?’

  ‘He’s not your brother. He’s … Oh, you know what I’m talking
about. Stop acting like a nun. Look, you and he want very different things, and I think you’re being—’

  ‘What?’ I was angry now, really angry, though I wasn’t sure if I was cross with Em, or with myself. ‘Why is it always the girl’s fault? He knows what I want. I’ve been completely honest with him.’

  ‘And you know what he wants,’ Em said shortly. ‘So try being honest with yourself.’

  ‘He’s not …’ I pressed my hands to my eyes. ‘It’s not like that. But …’ My cheeks flamed again and I was suddenly unsure how to talk about this – this unbearably, achingly intimate thing Abe had done. ‘Ever since he gave me his magic – you know … It’s been … there’s something. I can’t explain it.’

  ‘There was something long before that,’ Em said. ‘And if you really were being honest with yourself, you’d admit it.’

  ‘There wasn’t.’ I shook my head vehemently. ‘Not for me anyway. It was always Seth.’

  But Seth wasn’t here now. The fish-hook in my heart twisted.

  Emmaline didn’t answer. We walked on, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the sound of the keening wind and the sea.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘Can I speak to you for a moment, Anna?’

  I looked up from shoving books into my bag, startled.

  ‘Me, Ms Wright?’

  ‘You are the only Anna in the class, yes,’ Ms Wright said dryly.

  Emmaline gave me a slightly alarmed look and I shrugged. Ms Wright perched on the edge of her desk as the class filed out, tapping her heel on the lino. Emmaline was the last to leave, reluctantly trailing out of the door and, as she did so, Ms Wright edged it shut with her elbow and came over to where I sat.

  ‘Anna, is everything OK?’

  ‘Have you been talking to Mrs Finch?’

  ‘Yes, actually. And Mr Henderson. They’re both concerned.’

  I didn’t say anything – I couldn’t think what to say. Ms Wright pulled up a chair.