A Witch Alone (The Winter Witch Trilogy #3)

by Ruth Warburton

  I felt weak with hate, so overwhelmed by it that I could barely find the words.

  ‘At least I don’t have to pretend any more,’ he said softly. ‘It was getting rather trying, to be honest, feigning concern, feigning interest.’

  Despair rose up in my gullet.

  My mother. My grandmother. They’d both trusted him.

  Me. I’d trusted him.

  It was hard to breathe, the tears constricting my throat.

  And then suddenly it was really hard. Not just emotion choking me, but something real, as real as hands around my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

  ‘M—’ I tried. Only a whimper came out.

  My ribcage heaved like broken bellows. I could hear pathetic squeaks from my lungs.

  Everything was dissolving into black. I groped for a spell, trying to remember my grandmother’s charms, but I didn’t have the breath to say the words. I fell to my knees and felt the carpet rough against my cheek as my face thudded to the floor.

  I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. There was a roaring in my ears and sparks of red and black in front of my eyes.

  My fingers scratched at the short pile of the carpet, scrabbling uselessly for a hold, for a weapon.

  Then very, very faint above the roaring in my ears I heard Marcus laugh.

  The fury broke through like a scouring wave, brutally crashing away the threads of Marcus’ spell.

  I scrambled to my feet with a vicious slashing blast that sent Marcus flying backwards across the room, crashing into the window with a force that cracked the panes. He howled, a dreadful sound of fear and pain, and pressed his hand to the blackened hole in his chest. I should have followed it with another blow to send him spinning into the street, but at the sight of his agonized face I faltered for a second.

  A second was all it took.

  He lashed out with a smashing wall of light that left me blind and I stumbled to my knees, groping for something to hold on to, frantically gabbling out spells to clear my vision. Another blast caught me on my left side, sending me crashing into the wardrobe. The louvred door groaned and collapsed, the thin wooden slats splitting like matches.

  ‘Forescieldnes!’ I gasped, my arms clutched around my head, trying to protect myself from the blows raining down. How was he so strong? This was magic like I’d never encountered before. It felt like I was being battered by twenty people, not just one. I remembered the rumours I’d heard about the Others; the illegal procedures, the way they drained people …

  Another blast rocked the cupboard, hangers and chunks of wood raining down. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t see how close he was, where he was. I couldn’t see the next blast coming. I could only hear, above my own gasping, panicked breath.

  ‘Forescieldnes!’ I wept again, begging for protection more than invoking it. A weak shield enveloped me and in the moment’s respite I tore at my eyes, too scared to remember a charm now, just working from blind instinct.

  Somehow it worked – partly – and when I blinked I could see Marcus, dimly, over the far side of the room, as if through a fog. My eyes were watering as if I’d walked through mustard gas and I swiped again with my sleeve.

  But he raised his hand and I cowered, prepared for another blinding blow, and flung a charm beneath his shield before he had time to protect himself.

  It exploded in a hail of ice and snow, freezing him to the ground and, while he was cursing and shrieking charms to try to free his arms and legs, I scrambled out of the wardrobe and ran for the door.

  I was almost there, when I felt his magic whip round me like a lasso, yanking my feet out from underneath me so that I fell with an agonising crash, sprawling across the floor. He pulled tighter and tighter, reeling me in across the floor, the carpet burning my face. I struggled, clawing at the carpet and sobbing charms over my shoulder, but it was impossible to think with the pain in my face and the pain in my head. The room was filled with a smoky swirling darkness: the darkness of too many spells gone wrong, of magic burned by magic. With a huge effort I managed to twist myself so that I was on my back, instead of face-down on the floor, and I could see him through the smoke.

  ‘Don’t fight me, Anna!’ he said, between clenched teeth. ‘Stop fighting, you stupid girl.’

  He was standing with his back to the far wall, his muscles standing out with the effort of restraining me.

  ‘What’s the point in resisting?’ he panted. ‘If you get away, you’ll just be condemning Abe and Emmaline along with you. Is that what you want?’

  Four feet away … three feet … I thrashed in his grip, lashing out with spells that had no effect. This wasn’t working. Fighting wasn’t working.

  But I’d got to get free.

  I’d got to.

  ‘I’ll have no compunction about turning you in,’ Marcus said. He grimaced and heaved again, the veins in his neck standing out like cords. ‘And they’ll come and get you. All of you.’

  A foot away. There was no fight left in me. Only despair.

  ‘You can’t save yourself. But you can save them.’

  And then he was hauling me to my feet, his muscles taut with the effort, even though I was no longer fighting him.

  I stood in front of him, my arms bound, my legs bound, all the fight gone from my body, all my magic exhausted.

  And he leaned down and towards me, his face very close, his lips just centimetres from mine.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Perhaps …’ I could feel his breath, soft on my face. Then he leaned even closer and put his cheek next to mine, so I could feel the warmth of his skin brushing my cheekbone and feel his lips moving next to my ear. My thighs were pressed against his, our bodies so close that I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine. My stomach heaved at the scent of his cologne.

  ‘Perhaps …’ he said again, very softly, ‘the question is, what do you want?’

  He pulled back.

  And suddenly it was Seth staring at me.

  Seth. His grey eyes dark as a winter sky. His lips so close to mine I could have leaned forwards and kissed him.

  There was no anger in his face. Only the steadfast love I remembered so well.

  I heard my breath whimper from my lips.

  ‘Seth?’

  ‘Anna …’ he put out a hand to touch me. It brushed my cheek and for a moment I closed my eyes, melted into his touch, feeling the familiar painful desire explode within me like a consuming flame.

  ‘Oh Seth…’

  His hand stroked lovingly down my cheek, my jaw, my throat … I couldn’t bear to move. I didn’t even breathe.

  His hand was smooth. Soft.

  It had never done a day’s work in its life, never hauled on a cable or struggled with an anchor.

  I opened my eyes.

  Seth’s grey eyes looked steadily into mine.

  And I kneed him viciously in the crotch.

  There was a sound like the scream of an injured cat and he doubled up, weeping with pain. I smiled.

  ‘Serves you right, you bastard.’

  Marcus raised his head and his face, beneath the twisted mask of pain, was full of hate.

  Then I really did run. Without waiting to see if he was OK. Without looking back. I just ran.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I crashed into the room I shared with Emmaline and slammed the door behind me, gasping. Emmaline wasn’t there, but Abe was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands, staring at a photo.

  As soon as he saw me in the doorway he twitched it back into his wallet.

  Then he registered my wild gasping breath and my face, and his expression turned to alarm.

  ‘What’s the matter? Is Marcus OK?’

  I shook my head, almost unable to speak, and then managed, ‘It was him.’

  ‘What was him?’

  ‘He’s the sp-spy. He was the crow – the one who attacked me last year. He k-killed Corax.’ I took a huge shuddering lungful of air, trying to get c
ontrol over my breathing. ‘He’s bargaining for control of the Ealdwitan. He’s been selling secrets to the Russian witches and in return they’re going to help him bring down the Ealdwitan and he’ll be the new head.’

  ‘No!’ Abe’s face was white with shock. ‘And did you tell him…? Does he know…?’

  ‘About me? Oh yes. He knows. He’s always known. I was the last thing to sell – he called me his “bargaining chip”.’ Nausea rose in my throat at the thought of his face leaning into mine, his smooth hands caressing my skin.

  Abe made a noise that was close to a snarl, a wordless growl of hate and fury. Then he seemed to rein himself in.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ he managed. ‘What happened to your face?’

  I glanced in the dark little mirror and saw there was a friction burn all down one side of my face where Marcus had dragged me across the carpet.

  ‘We fought.’

  ‘But he’s injured – how could he fight?’

  ‘I was stupid,’ I said bitterly. ‘I healed him.’

  Abe shook his head, but he could see I didn’t need his condemnation on top of everything else.

  ‘Pity,’ he said shortly. Then, ‘Is he still there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Fear prickled up and down my spine and I looked involuntarily at the door. Abe looked at me.

  ‘How did you get away?’ he asked.

  ‘I kneed him in the crotch.’ There was a grim satisfaction in the memory.

  ‘Good,’ Abe said. ‘Can you bear to go back?’

  ‘What – now?’ I tried to keep the shudder out of my voice. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for Em?’

  Abe shook his head.

  ‘If he’s still hurt, we need to get back before he’s had a chance to recover. Basic rule of fighting: if you’ve landed a blow that hurt, you land another one before your opponent recovers. The sooner we go back, the better. Ready?’

  ‘OK,’ I said, feeling sick.

  Abe opened the door and we looked cautiously out into the corridor, our joint shield flickering faintly in the light from the dim bulb.

  When we got to the door of the room, Abe looked at me and his voice spoke in my head.

  I’m going to kick down the door. Ready? Five, four, three, two …

  On ‘one’ he slammed his shoulder into the door along with a blast of magic. It gave with a crunch and we both stumbled into the room.

  It was empty, the window swinging wide and the curtains blowing in a cold breeze.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Abe said. There was a mix of relief and disappointment in his voice as he pushed the windows shut and latched them. I felt neither – only a chilly foreboding as I remembered Marcus’ words: They’ll come and get you. All of you.

  ‘He’ll be back,’ I said. ‘Probably with reinforcements. How soon until we can get home?’

  ‘Well, that’s proving a problem,’ Abe’s black brows furrowed in a frown and he ran his hand through his hair, rubbing his face distractedly so that his stubble rasped against his palm.

  ‘Why?’

  He didn’t speak, just waved a hand at the window, and I saw what he meant. Outside, the afternoon was dark – very dark. Hail spattered in gusts down the street and I could hear the keening of the wind through the glass. I was cold, I realized suddenly. A shudder ran down the back of my neck.

  ‘But – it’s May,’ I said stupidly. ‘This isn’t normal!’

  Abe only shrugged. When was anything normal where witches were concerned?

  ‘Is it real weather?’ I asked. ‘Or is someone messing with it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said shortly. ‘I don’t think it’s real – but I can’t alter it. I’ve tried. It’s too big. This isn’t just some little local flurry – this is an ice storm that’s sweeping across half of northern Europe. It’s coming from right across Finland, probably all the way down from Svalbad, for all I know. There’s a weight behind this storm that’s unstoppable. All the airports are closed. Em’s been calling round but there’s nothing from here to Moscow. Even the ferries are down. She’s downstairs in the Internet café investigating transcontinental trains, but we don’t think they’ll be fast enough.’

  ‘They’re trying to stop us from getting away,’ I said. The wind howled outside the window. ‘They’re hemming us in.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Abe said. Something hovered in his black, unreadable eyes. Some shadow of an emotion he was trying not to give way to. I thought it might be fear.

  ‘Abe …’ I said, and I couldn’t help myself; my voice shook.

  He put his arms around me and spoke into my hair. ‘It’ll be OK, I promise.’

  His words didn’t reassure me – he had no way of knowing that. But there was something in his fierce grip, in the hard strength of his shoulders and his arms around me, that was comforting. It was beyond logic. If they came for us, Abe’s arms couldn’t shelter me. But perhaps I wouldn’t die alone.

  The thought set a chill echo in my heart.

  I wouldn’t die alone.

  Because Abe and Emmaline would die alongside me. Just as Marcus had promised.

  Carefully, so that Abe wouldn’t suspect my sudden panic, I eased myself out of his arms.

  Think, Anna, think.

  I walked to the window, pretending to look at the weather, but my heart was racing. The witches would come back. Abe and Emmaline would fight for me – like they always had. They would die. We’d all die.

  Except – if Simon’s theory was right …

  My heart thumped in my chest so hard I felt sick. What were my choices? Walk away and face – what? Marcus and an army of crazed witches? Alone? I’d be captured. Captured, and imprisoned, and probably enslaved. But if Simon was right, I might not die.

  Perhaps, though … I pushed the thought away, trying not to let it taint my decision. But it forced its way back, a tiny frightened voice insisting, Perhaps there are worse things than dying. Perhaps there’ll come a time when you’ll wish you could die.

  I ground my fists into my eye sockets, welcoming the flare of pain as my nails scratched at the tender burnt skin.

  I had to think.

  Abe and Emmaline would never let me face this alone. And we couldn’t escape – at least, I couldn’t escape.

  Which meant – I had to go without telling them. I had to be the lure – distract the hunt from their scent, entice the pursuers somewhere else completely so Em and Abe could survive.

  ‘Anna?’ Abe’s voice sounded from over my shoulder, suddenly wary. ‘What’s the matter? What just happened?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said in a voice that sounded brittle and hard and untruthful, even to me. ‘Just tired.’

  He came over to the window and turned me to face him, studying my torn, bloodied face in the dim grey light. Snow filled the air now, gusting past at a dizzying speed, drifting up against the ledges and the sill. I tried to concentrate on the snow, tried not to look at Abe, at his face, his worried frown, his eyes, black as oil. But I felt his gaze on me.

  ‘You’re lying,’ he said slowly. ‘Why are you lying?’

  ‘I’m not lying.’

  ‘You are.’ He laid his hand on my chest, feeling the racing of my heart, and then drew my hand to lie on his chest, where his own heart thudded with a strong, ceaseless beat. ‘I can feel it in here. I know. I know something’s wrong.’

  ‘Of course something’s wrong!’ I burst out. ‘It’s all bloody wrong. We’re trapped, like rats, and there’s nothing we can do. And it’s all my fault.’

  He put his arms around me, trying to hug me, comfort me, but I had only one thought: I had to get away, before he worked out what I was trying to do. I had to betray him, both of them, in order to save them.

  My heart gave a great broken thud and I shut my eyes, unable to look at him.

  ‘Please let go of me,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ His hands dropped. He took a step back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I tried to keep my voice steady, hard. ‘I’m just … I want to get chang
ed. I need to get out of these clothes.’ They were stained with blood from my head wound and covered with chunks of plaster from my fight with Marcus.

  Abe looked at me, his black brows drawn into a worried frown, but he only nodded.

  ‘I’ll come. I’ll sit outside the door while you get changed.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head, feeling numb and cold. ‘I want some time on my own. Anyway you – we – should pack. We should find another hotel, I think.’

  ‘OK …’ he said reluctantly. His eyes followed me as I went out of the room. Something was wrong. He just didn’t know what.

  Back in the room I shared with Emmaline, I slammed and locked the door and then looked around, trying to work out what to do first. I didn’t have long. Emmaline might be back any minute.

  First I took the smallest of the two rucksacks, shoved in all the warm clothes I’d thought to bring, along with my wallet and my phone. Then I slung it on my back and picked up Em’s pen from her bedside table.

  There was nothing to write on except a printout of our airline tickets on the bed. I turned it over to the blank side – and got stuck.

  Come on! I told myself. Write! Write! Em would be back any second, or Abe would be along to check. Write something.

  But the words wouldn’t come. They boiled up inside my heart – but my pen just hung in the air.

  How could I put all the huge weight in my chest down on paper?

  I couldn’t. There were no words for this huge tearing love and sadness.

  Goodbye, I wrote. It’s best I do this alone. I love you. I’m sorry. Anna.

  Then I whispered an invisibility charm and left, before my courage could fail.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The receptionist didn’t even raise his head when I tiptoed past. I waited until the phone rang and then I opened the door and slipped outside while his attention was on the call. The wind and snow hit me like a slap in the face.

  The street was white with spiralling specks. The sky was grey as slate, and as dark, and the specks swirled and gusted in the light from the street lamps.

  I pulled my thin summer coat around me and yanked the hood up to try to get some protection from the wind. What time was it? I glanced involuntarily at my wrist before I remembered the invisibility charm, but just then a clock struck: six loud, echoing notes.