Abby the Witch (30 page)

Abby took a
step back until she was pressed up against the balcony's edge. 'You
don't believe it though, do you? You don't believe those sweet
witches we met – you don't believe they did this,
they 
do
 this?'

'Abby, it
doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what I think – because it's going
to happen, and we have to get away now.'

'It does
matter, Pembrake, it matters to me,' she was trying to back away
but there was nowhere left to go. 'I need to know if I can trust
you.'

'Of course you
can,' he said weakly, floundering at her sudden question.

'Can I?'

'Yes,' he said
defiantly as he took up both her hands, 'Abby, you can trust me.
I'll get us to a better future.'

His hands were
warm as they held hers, even though there was a chill wind circling
on the balcony.

'Abby, there's
something we need to talk about,' Pembrake took an obvious swallow.
She'd never seen him show such obvious nerves. Usually he was the
pillar of control, a man with a rock-solid mask of arrogance and
self-assurance. But now he was looking down at her, and she could
almost see his eyes wobbling from whatever emotion his thoughts
were stirring.

Her heart
hadn't stood still yet, wasn't your heart supposed to all but stop
at a moment like this? Wasn't the world supposed to draw to a halt
and time dwindle to a trickle: leaves and raindrops drifting past
in frame-by-frame slow motion?

That wasn't
happening at all. Her heart had begun, when he'd swept her hands up
in such a smooth motion, to skip erratically like a child jumping
through puddles. But now it was racing along, making her rib cage
shake with the effort.

What was he
going to say?

'Abby, I
think-' Pembrake paused suddenly and tipped his head towards the
balcony door behind him.

The break in
proceedings was torturous.

Was that sweat
accumulating on her brow, even on this chilly balcony?

'I think
someone's coming.' He stepped away from her and shrunk towards the
barely open doorway.

Abby slowly
put a hand up to her chest and rested it there, like a weary farmer
leaning on his pitch fork. She was all of a sudden very fatigued
indeed.

'Look, I'm
going to go out,' he was watching the doorway, his head bobbing
around like a hawk following the movements of the guests within,
'but after the Ball we'll finish what we started here.'

She couldn't
talk right now.

He turned to
her, looking up from under his eyebrows, his brow furrowed. He
always did that when he was making the transition for the
calculating, militaristic Commander to the arrogant but human
Pembrake.

She tried to
nod her head, but her neck was so stiff it came out as a wobbly
jerk.

One more
unreadable look and he was gone, leaving Abby alone on the darkened
balcony.

It took her a
good long while to settle down, but from what, she could
not put her finger on at the moment. Her heart, her body, her mind
– all were racing for some inconceivable reason.

She put the
back of her hand up to her forehead, more strands of unruly hair
popping out with every moment. She felt quite hot: was this a
fever?

~~~

Pembrake
joined the crowd seamlessly. He inserted himself at the back and
made his way through the chatting and laughing guests until he
stood in what he believed was the most innocuous place in the
ballroom – in the centre.

His neck was
slick with a sticky layer of sweat, and he put a hand up and wiped
it off in a casual movement. Then he tugged down hard on his jacket
and straightened the cuffs of his shirt.

Sure enough by
the time he had safely made it back to the ballroom, the official
introductions were winding up. He had barely grabbed a grateful
drink from a waiter had the Princess begun darting through the
crowd looking for him.

He dearly
wanted to run back to the balcony, close the door, and finish what
he'd begun. There didn't seem to be a better time than now to tell
her. But he just didn't have that option.

Pembrake
smiled what he thought would be the most dashing of grins as the
Princess pushed her way to him. But his heart was not in it, and
the corners of his lips drooped like daisies in the night.

'Pembrake!'
she always exclaimed whatever she spoke. It was like listening to
the most chipper of primary school teachers.

He tried to
pull the corners of his lips up, alight his eyes with any false
interest he could manage. But once again his heart would not
comply, and he found his facial features frozen like a man laid to
waste in the arctic.

'Oh, Pembrake,
I was looking for you in the crowd but I couldn't see you! Did you
like the speech daddy made?'

'Riveting,' he
stared at the bottom of his glass as he took a wild draught.

'It was,
wasn't it?' Princess Annabelle grabbed his arm and hooked onto it
causing him to spill some of his wine on the floor. She was like a
terrier with his left arm, he'd be lucky if it would ever be the
same again. One more night with the Princess and it would probably
fall off.

Without really
thinking, he turned to stare back at the balcony. Abby apparently
had not come out yet. What was she doing out there, what was she
thinking?

'Oh you look
so thoughtful, Pembrake!' the Princess yanked at his arm, 'I hope
you aren't worrying about what will happen after the Ball?'

'Hmm,' that
was very perceptive of her; he was worrying about what would happen
after the Ball. How he would tell Abby his plans… how she'd take
them.

'Well don't
you worry at all! I'm sure daddy will understand once I tell him,'
the Princess moved closer to his shoulder and appeared for all the
world like she wanted to lay her head on his upper arm.

'Ah, what are
you doing?' Pembrake tried to pull his arm back, but could hardly
push the Princess away in the middle of the ballroom.

Several
officious looking men in regal clothes with matching facial hair
began to stare at them with drawn-lipped disdain.

Pembrake
coughed. 'Um I really don't think it's a good idea to do that
here.' He suddenly had the urge to loosen his collar, but couldn't
spare a hand right now.

The Princess
looked up at him, blinking under her eyelashes with over-the-top
emotion. 'But daddy will understand once I tell him.'

'Understand,'
his voice wavered as if it were breaking.

'He has to!
Because we simply must be together!'

There were
certain things that were worse than being punched in the face, and
this was one of them. Having a barely-old-enough effervescent
Princess hang off your arm in the middle of a packed ballroom and
admit her undying love for you was top on the list. Her undying,
and obviously one-sided love.

Several of the
officious gentlemen nearby cleared their throats. That would be the
prelude to ordering him into prison, no doubt.

'Oh…' what the
pleck was he supposed to say?

The Princess
shook his arm again, like a terrier latching onto a bone before
they trotted out to the garden and buried it forever. He shook so
violently that his wine slipped and splashed in his glass, covering
his hand and the floor.

Now it
appeared that everyone was staring. Why wouldn't they be? If it
were anyone but him at the centre of this farce, he'd be staring
right along with them.

He really
needed to loosen his collar; it felt like his head was becoming
turgid with blood.

'I… think you
need a drink… how about I get you a drink?' his voice went up at
the end of his statement like a kazoo, almost reaching the general
pitch of the Princess' own yelps.

The
disapproving gentlemen around him practically hissed. Offering a
drink to the barely-old-enough Princess? He knew what they were
thinking, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

She pulled
away, looking up at him with mascara-rimmed puppy eyes. 'Oh, you're
so thoughtful! Yes please, my dear.'

Pembrake took
a step away, placed his fingers into his collar and pulled it out
until he could breathe again. Then he turned quicker than a keen
cadet following his Captain's orders, and ran for cover, shaking
the wine off his hand as he went.

Pleck.

~~~

Abby leant
against the balcony edge, the thin fabric of her gloves not really
protecting her from the cold stone. Her bare neck and back were
chilled through by the cold night air, but she didn't want to go
back to the Ball just yet.

There was a
full moon in the sky. It was funny, she hadn't even known that
there would be one tonight and, for a witch that was unimaginable.
So much of what happened in life, the ebbs the flows, the waxing
and the waning – it was all influenced by the moon. When the moon
was full things always came to a head.

Abby stared up
at the grey-white orb in the sky. She hadn't even realised. She
hadn't once looked up in the sky since coming here. Hadn't once
checked and observed her usual witchly routine.

Things were so
different; she was so different.

Abby looked
over her shoulder at the balcony door. She didn't want to go back
in there. She didn't want to pretend with the Captain of the Guard
anymore. She didn't want to pretend with the Colonel, with the
Princess… she didn't want to pretend with anyone anymore. She just
wanted everything to be over, to be home again, and to be free to….
return to her normal life.

Missing the
cycle of the moon was a symptom of her general life in the
Bridgestock of 28 years ago. The longer she stayed out of her own
time, the more she forgot what it was to be a witch.

That's why she
had to fix this already. That's why they had to find the Key of
Time, figure out how Mrs Hunter's bracelet was connected to this
all, and finally tie their destinies to something immovable.

She had been
distracted lately; she had allowed this time to take her mind off
the future. How many opportunities had she had to look at that
bracelet? She had not once thought of, let alone sought for the Key
to Time. Nor had she once thought concertedly of what two
temporally lost people could tie their destinies to.

So distracted.
Abby tapped a stiff hand onto the balcony edge. She'd allowed
herself to be so distracted. All this time running around and she
hadn't once done something useful. She was a witch, had she
forgotten that? Had she forgotten that destines, magic, and mystery
were exactly what a witch dealt with best? Had she forgotten that
this was up to her?

She shouldn't
be at this ball at all. She should be roaming the halls when all
the staff were busy with the party, and looking for the Key to
Time. The witches had said that the palace was important, no vital,
to her and Pembrake's quest – but she hadn't explored it at all.
Even when she was allowed to stay here legally under the auspices
of the Princess, Abby had not once taken advantage of her position
to scour the halls, rooms, and passages for the elusive Key to
Time.

Abby looked
down at the neckline of her blue dress and picked at the fabric.
Dresses, balls and…. Nothing like
that
should
distract a witch from her goal.

Abby nodded at
her thought. She was trying to convince herself of something, but
what that was she wasn't quite sure of. It was more like she was
trying desperately to convince herself that something was not so.
That some possibility that had been lapping at the island of her
mind was not in fact a fabulous white ship bound for better
times.

Whatever
opportunities existed for her… they would come to nothing. Abby
believed in destiny, even if hers was apparently broken. But she
still believed that her life would take a certain track, and that
it would be free from… distractions.

Abby sighed
heavily and leaned into her arms. Her emotions were swirling around
in her mind; at one moment making her want to slam a fist onto the
balcony in determination, and at other times burst into tears.

She didn't
want to feel this conflicted anymore; it was getting in the way of
her finishing this quest.

Abby put a
gloved finger up to her eye and wiped underneath, in case a stray
tear had somehow leaked out. She did the same to the other eye then
took the largest sniff she had ever made.

She smoothed
down her dress and walked back into the ballroom.

~~~

Pembrake saw
her walk out from the balcony finally. He'd walked as far away from
the Princess as was possible. There were waiters walking around
with drinks, after all – there was only so far he could go on his
quest to grab her a glass of wine before it looked suspicious.

He tried to
catch Abby's eye, but she had them firmly rooted on the patch of
floor below her feet. She had her arms crossed and appeared to be
distracted by something. Her forehead was pale but her cheeks
strangely blotchy.

She did not
look happy.

Pembrake's
stomach gave the slightest of kicks, and he gripped harder onto the
glass of wine he had secured for Princess Annabelle. Abby looked
like she needed it much more right now.

He knew he
shouldn't, but he walked up to her.

Her eyes began
to shift uneasily as she finally recognised his presence. It was as
if she were looking at a treacherous mirage in the desert, watching
him shift between a hill of sand and a glorious oasis.

'Pembrake,'
her lips barely moved, her voice almost inaudible.

He handed her
the drink. She took it and began to stare at the bottom of the
glass somewhat like he had done in the Princess' company moments
before.

'Shouldn't you
be with the Princess?' her voice was so distant, as if someone had
carried the Abby he had been talking to on the balcony – the Abby
full of passion and zeal – and sailed her over the furthest sea
until only an echo of her voice remained.