A Witch Alone (The Winter Witch Trilogy #3)

by Ruth Warburton

‘I don’t remember,’ he said blankly. Then he looked down at his chest. The skin was black and streaked with blood from his ribs down to his belly, the dark hair above his belt matted and crusted.

  He touched it, his fingers turning sticky and red.

  ‘Christ, what happened? The last thing I remember …’ He rubbed his hand over his face, leaving a stripe of blood and then stopped. ‘This is so weird. I remember the caves … I remember walking through the forest … I remember …’

  He put his hand to his side and then to his chest, to his heart. He stopped, abruptly, frozen.

  ‘What?’ I was suddenly frightened by his expression. His face blazed.

  ‘I can’t feel it any more, it’s gone.’

  I stared at him, my face blank with shock.

  ‘It’s gone. There’s just – nothing …’

  Gone.

  It was gone.

  I felt suddenly cold – incredibly cold – and the hollow space inside me that my magic had once filled felt like a roaring barren emptiness.

  ‘What did you do?’ He moved towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders. ‘Anna, where’s your magic?’

  It was gone.

  I tried to say, ‘You’re free,’ I tried to feel glad. But I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t feel anything apart from the tearing emptiness that seemed to be spreading out from my heart.

  Seth caught me, holding me in his arms, his grip frantic and painful.

  ‘What did you do?’ he cried, his voice fierce. ‘Where’s the jar – your magic? What did you do?’

  ‘I gave it …’ I swallowed. My hands were shaking with tiredness. I felt if Seth relaxed his fierce grip on my shoulders I might fall. ‘I gave it – to you.’

  ‘No.’ His face was sick, blank. He began to shake his head. ‘No. No! How could you? How?’

  ‘How? I poured it into …’ I felt sick. ‘Into the hole. In your chest.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant! I meant, how could you do that? How could you sacrifice your magic for me?’

  ‘It wasn’t a sacrifice.’ My throat felt raw with tears. ‘It was selfish. I didn’t want you to die.’

  ‘But your magic!’ He put his head in his hands, his face agonized. ‘What have you done? Oh my God, what have you done?’

  ‘I’m glad,’ I tried to say. I swallowed against the pain. It felt like a thorn in my throat, choking me, making it almost impossible to speak. ‘I’m glad. Glad you’re free.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re free,’ I said again. And then I couldn’t stop it – the tears came, welling up, hot and angry and full of pain.

  I knew this was wrong – Seth was alive, nothing else mattered. And hadn’t I always wanted to know for sure? Hadn’t I always wanted him to be free, if his love wasn’t real?

  I’d still hoped. I’d always hoped. Hoped that one of my attempts had broken the spell. Hoped that it was real.

  But his words: I can’t feel it any more … It’s gone … There’s just – nothing …

  I should be glad. But I couldn’t feel anything apart from despair, as I realized that it had all been a lie. It wasn’t just the knowledge that Seth didn’t love me. It was the knowledge that none of it had been true. The times he’d said he loved me weren’t true. Our first date wasn’t true. The kisses weren’t true. The night we’d spent together in this boat, in this bed …

  I couldn’t go any further. I turned away and a huge sob ripped from my throat.

  ‘Anna …’ He touched my shoulder. ‘Sweetheart …’

  ‘Don’t call me that!’ I cried. How could he say that? The word he’d always used, back when he thought he loved me, back when I hoped it was true. It felt like a violation – proof that it had all been nothing but words, lies, illusions.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ His voice was a mixture of frustration and pain. ‘What are you talking about? Don’t call you what? Is it over? Is that what you’re trying to say?’

  ‘Is it over?’ I began to sob and laugh at the same time, a strange bubbling hysteria. ‘You should know! Didn’t you say it just now?’

  ‘Say what?’ Seth’s eyes were the colour of thunder clouds. His fists were clenched.

  ‘You said,’ I felt suddenly calm, empty, drained of everything – not just magic, but all feeling as well, ‘you said, “I can’t feel it any more, it’s gone. There’s just nothing”.’

  ‘Yes.’ His face blazed, fierce, full of an emotion so strong I couldn’t name it, but it looked close to joy. It made the emptiness inside me howl with pain. ‘Yes. It’s gone. The pain is gone. My leg, Anna – I can walk again.’

  I wanted to speak. But I couldn’t.

  He swung himself to his knees in an easy, fluid movement, without a flinch, and knelt in front of me.

  ‘I don’t know what your magic did, but it doesn’t hurt. I feel … normal again. I feel whole.’

  I stared at him, at his face, his eyes, his lips that I’d kissed, and loved, and kissed again.

  ‘It’s all gone,’ he said softly. ‘Every ache. Every pain. Even—’ he turned his wrist, so that I could see the soft skin on the inside, where his scar had always snaked, the long rope burn ‘– even this.’

  It was gone. The skin was smooth.

  I turned his hand over wonderingly and then fitted it to mine. There was one scar left – the white mark of a very old burn on his right ringfinger, matching mine. The mark of my love for him, my need for him, my desperation to save him, and the pain I’d inflicted on us both.

  ‘Anna …’ He laced his fingers with mine, kneeling in front of me on the bed, his voice low and urgent. ‘Anna, I love you. I’ve always loved you. Yesterday, today, tomorrow … Do you understand?’

  I couldn’t speak. I only looked at him.

  ‘Do you believe me, Anna?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I believe you.’

  And I did. I finally did.

  The magic was gone, for ever. But in its place – this huge welling certainty, a sureness I’d never felt before, never hoped for. So this was what it felt like – love. Love without magic. Without spells. Just love.

  And then I was kissing him, my arms around him, my fingers clutching at the muscles of his back, tracing the ridges of his ribs, his spine.

  His lips were against mine, his fingers in my hair.

  ‘I love you,’ he said, again and again, his lips on my throat, my collarbone, the soft skin beneath my ear. ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’

  EPILOGUE

  Once there was a girl.

  No, that’s not right.

  Once there was a witch.

  And yet…

  How can I tell it, this last part? Who am I?

  I remember Emmaline’s words, long ago: There’s no such thing as half-outwith. If you’ve got magic, that’s it. If you haven’t, you’re an outwith.

  So what does that make me? An outwith? A witch? A murderer? A nobody?

  ‘Anna, are you awake?’

  Seth’s voice broke in on my thoughts and I opened my eyes to see us drawing to a halt beside the tall, white house.

  I nodded and began to unclip my seatbelt with numb fingers.

  ‘Do you want me to come in?’ Seth asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. Then I sighed. ‘No, I’m being cowardly. I know the answer – you should stay here. This is between me and Elizabeth. I’m just …’ I swallowed. ‘I’m scared to face her.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to be ashamed of,’ Seth said. ‘You did what you had to do. He was a murderer. A murderer and a traitor, and he’d have sold you like a slave to the highest bidder.’

  ‘He was my cousin.’

  Seth sighed.

  ‘I’ll wait here. If you need me, I’ve got my phone, OK?’

  ‘Yes.’ I said. I climbed out of the car and stood, taking a couple of deep breaths to try to calm my thudding heart. Then I took my courage in my hands, climbed the wide, white steps and rang the bell.

  To my surprise she was
sitting in the drawing room, a tray of tea on the table by the window. She turned as I entered and her face broke into a smile.

  ‘Anna!’

  She opened her arms, but I didn’t go to her.

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘Please – there’s something I have to tell you.’

  She looked at me quizzically for a moment, then her face went quite grey. For a minute I thought it was another stroke and my hand went to the bell, to summon Miss Vane, but she pulled herself half out of her chair, the knuckles on the hand that clutched the head of her cane white with the effort.

  ‘Anna, what happened?’

  ‘W-what do you mean?’

  ‘What’s happened to you!’ She put out her hand, her grip on my arm so tight it was almost painful. ‘Your magic. Oh dear God, Anna. What happened to your magic?’

  And so I told her. The whole story. Every detail.

  When I finished I waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. She simply sat, her hand gripped over her cane, her face unreadable as stone.

  ‘I suppose you think I’m a failure,’ I managed. ‘Someone who threw her chances away for an outwith – like my mother. And worse. I’m a murderer.’

  There was a long silence. Then she nodded.

  ‘Anna, I am not one to mince words. Yes, you killed him. Nothing I can say will change that fact – you murdered my sister’s child and you will have to live with that blood on your hands for the rest of your life.’

  I felt cold, very cold. Hearing it from her lips …

  ‘But,’ she continued, ‘it was him or you. And moreover, it was him or the Ealdwitan. If he’d lived, free to continue his betrayal …’

  ‘But you loved him,’ I said huskily. ‘I know that.’

  ‘More fool me,’ Elizabeth said grimly. ‘If I had not been such a trusting old simpleton …’ She sighed and passed a hand over her face, the rings winking as they caught the light. ‘You have paid, Anna. God knows, you’ve paid. And, if I know you, you’ll continue to pay for the rest of your life. The guilt – the loss of your magic …’ Her voice cracked. ‘If someone had to shoulder the burden for this, it should have been me. The Ealdwitan was my burden; it should have been my price to pay, not yours.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for the Ealdwitan,’ I said. She shook her head and started to speak, but I forced myself on. There was no honour in accepting her gratitude for something I hadn’t done. ‘No, listen, Grandmother. I can’t let you think that. Yes, I killed Marcus. Yes, I laid down my magic. But it wasn’t for the Chairs. I can’t let you—’

  ‘Nevertheless, you did it,’ she broke in fiercely. ‘It does not matter why. You paid the price. You could have turned away, but you did not. And for that reason alone, if for no other, you will always be my granddaughter. There will always be a room for you here. There will always be a seat for you in the chamber.’

  ‘Though not a Chair?’ I said, with a twisted smile.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She turned to look out at the garden and I saw the white streaks in her hair, more white now than black. ‘It was my dearest wish, but without magic … Is there really nothing – nothing there at all?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said huskily. ‘I’ve tried and tried. I can’t even get a witchlight. And anyway, I can feel there’s nothing there. It’s just … empty.’

  Elizabeth made a small sound, barely a sigh.

  ‘I never wanted the Chair,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t have done it, Grandmother, truly. I couldn’t live your life – I couldn’t carry that weight of responsibility.’

  ‘You have a far heavier weight to carry,’ she said sadly, and she sank back into her chair, letting her head rest wearily against one wing. For a moment she looked far, far smaller than I’d remembered and impossibly frail. Her wrists looked as if they might snap. Her throat, in its heavy collar of gold, was like the brittle branch of an ageing tree. Then she straightened her back and reached for the teapot.

  ‘No more of this,’ she said firmly. ‘Anna, please ring for more hot water and we will have tea, and talk of less maudlin things.’

  Elizabeth came to the door to say goodbye, when I left. Her footsteps were slow and dragged on the polished parquet, but she was up and walking. Her strength of will astonished me. I thought of the frail, slurring skeleton under the covers just a few short weeks before, and it was hard to believe she was walking and talking beside me. Her steps were faltering, but she was bearing her own weight, and her eyes were bright and snapping as ever.

  At the door she kissed me.

  ‘Goodbye, my darling.’

  Then she looked over my shoulder. Seth stood against the bonnet of the car, his dark hair tousled by the wind, his grey eyes watching us.

  ‘So this is the one, is it?’ she said under her breath. ‘One outwith: the source of all this chaos and grief. Well, Lord knows I’ve made mistakes in my time …’

  She straightened her spine, let go of my arm, and then slowly – very slowly – she descended the steps towards the car. I went to help her, but she held out an imperious hand, keeping me in my place.

  At the car she put her hand on Seth’s arm and he bent his head low, listening to words too faint for me to hear.

  My stomach clenched with sudden nerves. I don’t know what I thought she might say – something awful, something unforgiveable, perhaps. After all, she’d never forgiven my mother, nor my father.

  But Seth only nodded and said something quietly in return. And when he straightened to meet my eyes, there was a smile on his lips.

  ‘Go on,’ my grandmother said firmly. ‘Be off with you back to Winter, Anna. I’m too old to stand around on the street.’

  I kissed her again and climbed into the car and we drove away.

  ‘So what now?’ Seth asked, as we drove over Hammersmith Bridge, and began the long, slow weave out towards the M25.

  ‘What now?’ I looked over my shoulder for the A-Z. ‘I’m not completely sure, but I’d take signs for Richmond if I were you. Or Twickenham maybe.’

  ‘No, I meant, what happens next. For you. For … us.’

  ‘Oh.’ I bit the inside of my lip. ‘I don’t know. Dad thinks I’m going back to school, but …’

  ‘I know,’ Seth said. He knew what I meant – the impossibility of going through all we’d seen and done and suffered, and then going back to the old life we’d left. He drove for a while, his face set and unreadable. Then he spoke.

  ‘D’you remember once, I said we could run away?’

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled at the memory. ‘Sail away on your boat. Catch fish for food.’

  ‘Because, I still have to take that boat to Helsinki and somehow I’ve got to earn enough to pay off the harbour fines and stuff.’ He took a breath, his fingers tight on the wheel. ‘And if you wanted, you could – well … come. I know!’ He hurried on, before I could answer. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Everything that’s happened, everything that’s gone wrong. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to set foot on a boat again. But the sea will always be part of me. I can’t tear that out. And you could learn how to sail, to navigate. With two people crewing we’d make better time. Who knows, you might even learn how to fish.’

  I thought about it while we drove through the streets of London, past the places I’d lived and loved, past the Thames, with all its hidden secrets.

  Then something occurred to me.

  ‘What did she say, Seth? My grandmother, I mean. What did she tell you when we were leaving?’

  ‘Oh!’ Seth said. Then he smiled. ‘She said, “Look after her, young man. She’s even more remarkable than you know”.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said, “I know. But she doesn’t need me to look after her, she’s stronger than both of us.” And your grandmother nodded.’

  Poor Dad. He was horrified of course. He wanted to know what would happen to my A-levels, my poor, stuffed-up A-levels. But I told him it would be OK. There were always retakes. I could revise from the boat, take a year out, app
ly next year. He was still unpersuaded though, even when I told him how good it would look on an Oxbridge application form. It was Elaine who talked him round in the end, I think. And, as I told him, I wasn’t giving up on uni, just taking the long way round.

  The quay was full of faces when we left: Dad, Elaine, Maya, Emmaline, Sienna with her bump just starting to show, Simon with his arm around her – all smiling, though there were tears in Dad’s eyes and in mine.

  I shouldn’t have been crying. I didn’t cry when I left for Russia. But perhaps it was because one person wasn’t there: Abe.

  ‘He’s wrong,’ Emmaline said fiercely, as she hugged me goodbye. ‘You’re still one of us, magic or no magic. You always will be. He’ll come round, I promise.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me,’ I said. She hugged me hard, fierce, and all of a sudden I couldn’t hold back. ‘Em, you have to say something. To Abe. Please say something – what have you got to lose?’

  ‘What have I got to lose?’ Her laugh was bitter. ‘Christ! Only his friendship. Only my self-respect. Only a very happy status quo, thanks very much.’

  ‘But – you love him. I know you do.’

  She pulled back, her face rueful.

  ‘I’m not promising anything. I’m not as tough as you are. There are some sacrifices I won’t make, not even for that. What you did … What you gave up …’ She shook her head.

  Then Seth loosed the painter, Em took a step back, and we began to move out, between the closely crowded boats lining the quay.

  ‘Goodbye, darlings!’ Elaine shouted, over the flapping of the sails.

  ‘I’ve made a charm!’ Em called. She held up a plait, blowing in the wind, her hair and mine, twisted into one. ‘You’ll have to come back.’

  ‘Be safe!’ Dad shouted. ‘Don’t forget to email!’

  As Seth’s sure hands guided us out into the deep water I watched the faces lining the quay, thinking about Em’s words, about Abe, about what I’d given up, and whether it was worth it.

  And as the little figures on the quay grew smaller and smaller, still waving, still smiling, I realized something: I didn’t give anything up, not really. I just chose a different path. All the remarkable people I know – my mother, my grandmother, Emmaline, Abe and all the others – they’re not remarkable because of their magic, they’re remarkable in spite of it. Their strength, their determination, their capacity to love and be loved – none of that came from magic. That came from something else. Something you can’t take away.