A Witch In Winter

by Ruth Warburton

  I had no idea what she meant but I nodded again. I did trust Maya. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I did.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and closed her eyes. The others followed suit – so I shut mine too.

  For what seemed like a long time there was nothing. I felt like a fool standing there in Maya’s kitchen with my hands dangling by my side, the clock ticking loudly over the cooker. I still couldn’t shake a suspicion that I’d open my eyes and find them all holding their sides, cackling with laughter, unable to believe the gullibility of the girl from London. Certainly two weeks ago I’d have snorted, shouldered my rucksack and left the room after the first ten seconds.

  But I’d seen too much to be completely sceptical. So I stood, shifting from one foot to the other and feeling more than faintly ridiculous, and waited, and waited.

  After a while I became aware of a pressure, like a stress headache, a pushing, grinding sort of feeling at the base of my neck, in my temples and jaw. I put a hand up to massage the feeling and Maya took my other. She spoke very quietly. ‘Anna, relax and let me in.’

  It felt so, so wrong to open up my mind to a complete stranger, lower all my defences. But I closed my eyes tighter, consciously forcing the tense muscles in my neck and shoulders to relax. Suddenly there was a humming, a thrumming, a whirling buzz – and the magic flooded in.

  I staggered with the force of it; it was like a river rushing through my mind, a whirlpool threatening to sweep me into its vortex. A feeling of huge power welled inside me – I felt the presence of the others, glowing with their own light: Sienna’s golden aura, Emmaline’s garnet red, Abe’s dark brilliance, like onyx, each pulling me into the current of their will. For a minute I hung back, unsure. Then I let myself sweep into the flood, seeing how the others shaped and channelled it, forcing it into the paths of their choosing.

  The shining, swelling torrent streamed out throug Sed /p>

  The magic ebbed and surged around us with terrifying, exhilarating force while Maya worked, knit, renewed, tirelessly, patiently. I tried to add my will to hers, feeling the power flowing out of me like blood draining from my arteries and flowing into the dark shredded wound.

  And incredibly it was working; the threads were shining brighter and brighter, the black gash was closing, knitting. An invisible spider was repairing the ruptured web, coaxing it back into a semblance of its former beauty. It would never be the same, even I could see that. The scar would always be there. But Maya was closing the wound, and I could feel her using my strength to do it, the strangest sense of something unravelling out of me.

  I don’t know how long we stood, but suddenly the pulling, tugging ceased with a gust of release. I staggered backwards on shuddery legs, my eyes opening to a dark kitchen full of twilight shades. In front of me, Emmaline was rubbing her eyes dazedly. She sank to her knees and Abe bent over, his hands on his thighs, like a runner catching his breath after a fierce race. Only Maya was still standing straight, but her face was worn and drained. Still, she was smiling.

  ‘Well done,’ she said, the husky thread of her voice loud in the silent room. ‘Well done, everyone. Now, I think we deserve something to eat.’

  Two hours later, we’d stuffed ourselves with jacket potatoes running with butter, slatherings of cream cheese and handfuls of peppery rocket snatched from the dusky garden. The kitchen was full of candlelight, raucous laughter, and banter. I lay with my head on the sofa arm, enjoying the flow of conversation without trying to keep up. I was exhausted, my eyelids so heavy I felt like sleeping where I sat.

  ‘You look shattered, Anna,’ Maya said sympathetically as she took my plate. ‘I keep forgetting that this is all new to you.’

  ‘Did I – did we do OK?’ I asked, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Yes, you did more than OK.’

  ‘But,’ I felt like a broken record, but I had to know, ‘what about Seth?’

  They all looked at each other around the table, exchanging glances I couldn’t read. Maya took my hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, Anna, we don’t know what’s going on there. We can’t find out what’s still binding Seth. Simon has one theory although I’m not convinced …’ She trailed off and Simon took over.

  ‘You obviously have tremendous latent power, Anna, and Sr, t="0"as we were saying earlier, magic is largely a matter of exerting will, not of formal spells. It’s possible that you’ve removed the actual enchantment but that your subconscious will is still having an effect on Seth.’

  ‘You mean …’ My tired mind struggled to disentangle this. ‘I don’t really want him to go back to normal?’

  ‘Effectively, yes. It’s just a theory,’ he hurried on, as he saw me looking affronted. ‘I’m not saying you’re doing this deliberately. Just that if there is a small part of your mind that still wants his – his regard, then that might be enough to keep him bound.’

  ‘So what can I do?’

  ‘Hmm. Not a lot really. Well, there is one thing I can think of – but it’s not really a good idea.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ I said desperately. ‘I’ll do anything to release him. Tell me, please.’

  ‘Well … most people have quite effective inner protection against magical influence. It’s usually quite hard to persuade them to act utterly against their inclination. So my idea was kind of based on that – but it’s not actually practical. It’s much too dangerous.’

  ‘God, you’re coyer than a bride on her wedding night,’ Abe said. ‘Just spit it out, whatever it is. You can’t tease Anna with a solution and then get all mincy.’

  ‘Tell him,’ Simon said bluntly. ‘Tell Seth what you did.’

  ‘What?’ Maya dropped the plate she was holding with a crash. ‘That’s a dreadful idea! It’s far, far too dangerous. There’s a massive risk of antagonizing the Ealdwitan. And it might not work anyway.’

  ‘I agree!’ Emmaline said hotly. ‘It’s all very well for you, Simon, but we have to live here. The Ealdwitan would go apeshit if they found out. And what if word leaked back to the Malleus?’

  ‘Well, obviously Anna wouldn’t say anything about anyone else. The main risk would be to her. But I agree it’s a pretty terrible idea – I was only theorizing really.’

  ‘Simon.’ For the first time since I’d seen her Maya looked truly pissed off. ‘I suggest you think about your theories a bit more before you air them in future.’ She turned to me and spoke seriously. ‘Anna, listen to me, I absolutely veto this, do you understand? You’re not to do this – the Ealdwitan would be furious. I’m sorry poor Seth is still entranced but on the scale of things it’s not a big deal – you’ve undoubtedly removed the formal spell or we would have been able to see it, and any residual effect will wear off in time. Just ignore him. It will sort itself eventually – you’ll all be off to uni in a year or two anyway.’

  They argued back and forth but I heard little of the debate after that. The phrase ‘a year or two’ was ringing in my ears. A year o Sanger two? How could I condemn Seth to a year or more of enslavement?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A year or two. A year or two?

  I was still obsessing over this idea in History the next day. It seemed so wrong that, after the amazing events of last night, life could still go on in the same mundane way, that school still had to be attended, homework completed. But the sight of Emmaline stumping down the hill on her way to lessons brought me back to reality. Witch or no witch, Emmaline still apparently needed A-levels, so presumably I did too.

  I didn’t sit near Seth in History – I had a desk over the far side of the classroom – but he watched me across the room as Mr Brereton ticked off the register, his eyes worried as he took in my scarred forehead and battered face. My heart twisted and I had to look away. I hadn’t seen him since the accident and the sight of his concerned face brought the whole hideous mess rushing back. It was all very well for Maya to say ignore him. How could I ignore him when I’d forcibly shackled his heart to mine?

  I was so lost in
my thoughts that I barely heard the lesson, and jumped when Mr Brereton waved a basket full of scraps of paper under my nose.

  ‘Anna Winterson, have you heard a word I’ve been saying?’

  ‘Er, yes. No. I – I’m sorry, I was a bit distracted.’

  The class snickered and Mr Brereton sighed with exaggerated patience.

  ‘I was inviting you to pick a collaborator for the coming class project. And, as I have already explained, this time it will be randomly assigned by lot due to some people’s—’ He stared sternly round the class. ‘Some people’s misapprehension that a collaboration apparently means one person’s work adorned with two people’s names.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you.’ I reached forward and took a slip.

  ‘Name please?’ Mr Brereton said crisply.

  I unfolded the slip.

  ‘Seth Waters,’ I read aloud.

  Across the classroom I saw Seth’s worried face break into a smile.

  Crap.

  ‘So it’s got to be a five-thousand word, collaborative project on an aspect of local history.’ Seth bounded up beside me as we joined the flood of others making their way outside for first break. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said dully. Oh arse. How cou Vnvitinld I blank Seth if we were forced to do a project together?

  I’d spent the rest of the lesson racing through increasingly impractical ideas for getting out of the project. My first thought had been to simply go to Mr Brereton and be reassigned, but what reason could I give? It seemed unlikely he would agree to my rather pathetic plea to swap because, er, well, just because really.

  I don’t know what was going across my face, but Seth suddenly stopped, pulling me into an alcove out of the flow of students.

  ‘Look, Anna, I can see you’re pissed at being paired with me—’

  ‘I’m not pissed!’ I interrupted wretchedly. ‘Seth, please, that’s not it at all, truly – it’s just …’

  For a minute I thought he was going to just stand there, watching me tie myself into knots, but then he closed his eyes wearily and put up a hand to rub his temple.

  ‘Hey, it’s fine. I was out of line – I know that. And I’m sorry, I really am. But I don’t know what else to say – we’ve got to do this project together somehow. How about you do your best to forget last week, and I do my best not to sexually harass you again. Deal?’

  He held his strong, brown hand out towards me.

  I wanted to put my head in my hands. I wanted to cry. I wanted to grab him and scream, ‘You weren’t sexually harassing me you idiot – I wanted you to kiss me – I’m the one who should be grovelling here.’

  But I didn’t. I didn’t say any of that. Instead I took his large hand in my smaller one and nodded weakly.

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘I’m not doing the castle again,’ Seth said, as we walked together towards Maths. ‘I’ve done a project on that every sodding year since I was five. I had thought of local witchcraft, there’s quite a bit in the town museum …’ I shuddered involuntarily at that suggestion, but before my face could reveal my horror he continued, ‘But I think James and Claire are doing that already and we don’t want to compete, I guess. Can you think of anything different?’

  ‘What about the local fishing industry?’ I mumbled, thinking of Dad and his bloody book. Seth stopped dead and grabbed my shoulder.

  ‘Anna, that’s genius! My grandad is a fisherman – well, was – and I’m sure we could get some interesting stuff out of him. Well, at least …’ He seemed to have a moment’s doubt and then shook himself. ‘No, I’m sure we could. Shall we go over this weekend and talk to him?’

  ‘OK,’ I was a little taken aback but prepared to go along with anything that didn’t involve more witchcraft. ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Out on Castle Spit.’

  I’d never been to Castle Spit but had seen it often from the cliff-tops. A narrow strip of pebbly sand ran out to a small, barren island about quarter of a mile away. At extreme low tide you could walk out to the lighthouse there, but I’d been given many warnings about the treacherous speed of the tides.

  ‘I didn’t know anyone lived out there,’ I said, surprised. ‘It must be so lonely.’

  ‘My grandad used to be the lighthouse keeper, before the light went automatic. He still lives in the keeper’s cottage. It is lonely, but he’s a bit of a loner so I don’t think he minds too much.’ He hesitated again, then added, ‘He’s … well, he’s a bit odd.’

  ‘Odd how?’

  ‘Just … er … odd. He’s disabled and doesn’t get to the mainland much. But he knows a lot about the local fishing industry – he was a professional fisherman before he took on the lighthouse.’

  ‘OK.’ I was becoming quite enthusiastic about this, in spite of myself. ‘What time do you want to meet? Will we walk over?’

  Seth shook his head.

  ‘Not unless you want to spend twelve hours there. It’s either that or set back almost as soon as we get there.’

  ‘Oh.’ I hadn’t thought of it like that. ‘So how then?’

  ‘In my boat, if you don’t mind sailing?’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ In fact I felt curiously excited about sailing with Seth. I wanted another glimpse of the stranger I’d seen in him that day at the quay.

  ‘Good.’ Seth looked pleased too. ‘Saturday then, I’ll meet you at the quay at noon.’

  I had no idea what you wore sailing so I dressed in jeans and trainers, with Dad’s Gore-tex jacket in my backpack in case of bad weather. It looked like it would be unnecessary though – the day had started out a blazing hot one, and I was pink and perspiring by the time I got to the cliff road, in spite of the breeze from the sea.

  I was happy, I realized, as I walked along the cliff. Which meant I was officially a really bad person. I should have been taking Maya’s advice, avoiding Seth, trying to keep my distance. Now Mr Brereton had made that impossible – and I couldn’t stop something inside me unfurling and fizzing with joy, as hard as I tried to damp the feeling down.

  Seth was already on the boat when I crested the hill. He was too absorbed to notice me as I approached, so I was free to watch him to my heart’s content as I walked the last half mile down the road towards the harbour. He moved about the boat with swift efficien [wif" align="jt movements, tugging at ropes, tying knots, deftly threading up sails. By the time I got to the quay he seemed satisfied with the sails and their arrangement and was bent over, tinkering with the little engine, his back towards me.

  He was stripped to the waist, his skin tanned the deep red-brown of someone who spends a lot of time in the open air, and he had a small tattoo at the base of his back. I couldn’t see what it showed, but I remembered June’s words that first day at Winter High, ‘Seth’s not exactly flavour of the month with authority … Drinks, smokes, got a tattoo against the rules … Smacked some guy’s head against a wall …’

  It was strange, none of her words fitted with the Seth I’d got to know since my arrival in Winter. I’d never seen him smoking, far less ever seen him violent, except if you counted his anger towards Caroline and Jess in my defence. Perhaps he drank – I wouldn’t know. I didn’t join what June derisively called ‘the cool crowd’ on their Friday nights down at the harbour. But I did hear the Monday morning gossip, the stories of who’d got served, who’d been refused, who’d chucked up the best part of a bottle of Merrydown and who’d got off with who. Seth rarely ever featured in the gossip, except as a bystander. If he did drink, he wasn’t one of the people throwing up over the seawall and engaging in drunken snogs.

  And yet, here was that tattoo. Against the rules, as June had said. And illegal, as he was underage. I wondered who’d done it for him. There were places in London, I knew, that would tattoo anyone with the money to pay for it and the nerve to sit still for long enough – but I wouldn’t have drunk a cup of tea in most of them, let alone let them stick a needle in me.

  As I got closer I tried to see what it was. At
first sight it looked like a circle, about a third of the way up his back, where the deep hollow of his spine started to flatten out with his ribs. The ink was dark blue-black against his tanned skin, and it stretched and shimmered in the sun as he moved, twisting a knob on the engine, then pulling the starter. He listened to the note for a few minutes then, seeming satisfied, he cut the engine and straightened, just as I reached the boat.

  ‘Nice tattoo,’ I said mischievously into the sudden silence. He jumped, grabbing his T-shirt reflexively and yanking it over his head.

  ‘Hi, Anna,’ he said. First his tousled hair, then his face appeared through the opening. He hadn’t shaved and his cheeks rasped against the material as he forced it down. ‘Glad you like it.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Want to see?’ He pulled up the back of the T-shirt a little, twisting round so I could look. I bent down, and there it was; a little fish, not blue-black, as I’d thought, but very dark blue-green. It was beautifully drawn, each scale individually shaded, the eye it cocked towards me bright and intelligent. Its body was twisted into a circle, the snub nose yearning towards the frisking tail, forever doomed to just miss the connection.

  ‘So you like fish?’ I said. I spoke more mockingly than I meant to, trying to cover up the way my fingers itched to reach out and [eaceight="touch the smooth tanned skin beneath.

  He shrugged and dropped the T-shirt. There was a blush of self-consciousness under his deep tan.

  ‘So what made you…?’

  ‘Get it done?’ He shrugged again. ‘Not sure really. I had a bad time a few years ago. It was not long after …’ He didn’t finish the sentence but I could guess. Not long after his dad. ‘I did some silly things, getting a tat was probably one of the sillier ones at the time and I got a lot of grief about it, but I’m quite fond of it now.’

  Suddenly I felt bad for teasing him.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, and I meant it. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He smiled briefly. ‘At least I had the sense to get it done below the neckline, eh?’