Abby the Witch (4 page)

It could
withstand no more.

Soon it would
break.

'Abby get away
from the window, please!' Charlie peeked out from underneath the
blankets. 'The glass could blow in!'

Abby reached
out and placed a flat hand on the wobbling pane. It calmed under
her touch slightly. She was pretty sure it wouldn't break. Because,
after all, this was not the storm of the century, and if it wasn't
the storm of the century then it wouldn't go around breaking attic
windows that belonged to witches….

'I'm worried,'
she mumbled to herself as she crossed the room to stand before the
lantern burning on the table, the only source of light in the
room.

'I'm terrified.' Charlie's muffled voice came from under the
covers.

'No…' Abby
stared at the flame, watching it pitch back and forth in its case
as if a draft had somehow squeezed between the glass. 'Not about
the storm.…'

They'd managed
to make it back from Mrs Hunters with time to spare before the
storm hit. Charlie had been very productive and had at once set
about grabbing his favourite blanket in his mouth and pulling it to
a space on Abby's bed that was furthest out of the draught. Abby
had just sat down heavily at the table and stared at her hands,
lost in thought.

The lines of
destiny on her hands were very different from what she
remembered….

Thoughts kept
on flitting past her mind, not tangible and formed, but loose like
wisps of smoke. Her feelings of unease had grown. She felt that
simply by getting out of bed this morning she'd set in motion a
terrible set of events that she could never hope to mend. And the
feeling ground her to the spot like a sack full of potatoes.

As darkness
had encroached from outside, the dark clouds finally claiming the
remaining light of dusk, Abby had lit her candles and waited.

There was an
important lesson she'd once learnt from Ms Crowthy, and it was
about reading the future. For some reason Abby wanted to know what
lay in her future, now more than ever. She wanted to look ahead and
see that, regardless of the storm, regardless of the cards,
everything would turn out right. The storm would blow over and
the cards would turn out to mean nothing – she wanted to see her
future safe and steady.

According to
Ms Crowthy, telling the future wasn't that hard really; all you had
to do was watch to see how things moved. If you watched closely, if
you concentrated really hard on the path an object took through
space, you could predict what would happen next. But it was not
just that you can say the floating parchment will fall to the
ground, or that the babbling brook will drain into the river –
because that's just remembering things. No, the movement of the
slightest thing, to the trained eye of a witch, could be used to
predict anything in her environment.

The sad fact
was, witch or no, people get distracted, there is too much stuff
going on in people's heads to really pay attention to the
world. Plus, the more you watched – as Ms Crowthy had put it while
she was stoking her huge cast iron stove for a pie – the less you
can do. So you had to strike a balance, find a way to let your
second sight run along in the background of your mind so you could
still bake a loaf of bread or see to the hens before nightfall.
Second sight was a gift, but there was a reason it was
called second. If you allowed it to run all the time, if you
paid absolute attention to the fall of an autumn leaf while on a
walk in the forest, you wouldn't see the cliff till you were very
dead at the bottom of it.

Plus, you
always missed out on the details. There are many versions or
perspectives of reality running along at the one moment, as
numerous as the many souls in the universe, in fact. And second
sight only ever gave you one version. So it never really made full
sense. It was like seeing events shot by an amateur film maker:
there were a lot of close ups of the fly on the wall and an
interesting pattern in the sand – but very little plot.

It is, after
all, said that it is only with the benefit of hindsight that events
become clear. So it is only logical that if you can't understand
things in the present, you can't possibly hope to
understand things in the future. So, yes, second sight was a gift –
true, but it was also a right bother.

Taking all
this into account, it was unsurprising Abby could make something
out in the dance of the flame then. Even less surprising that it
was unformed: wild and erratic like the fevered pitch of a
wasp.

She leaned
closer till she could feel the heat on her face.

'Abby?'
Charlie pulled himself out of the covers.

Shapes danced
to and fro in the heart of the flame, like shadows on a white
wall.

'Abby?'
Charlie jumped to the floor. 'You okay?'

There was s
dark sky above, a dark sky below, but deeper, colder, stifling.

'Abby?'

Rising through
the air, rising up into a new sky.

'Abby!'
Charlie gently bit at her bare foot.

Abby jumped,
and the vision of rising – the all encompassing greyness and
horrific vertigo – popped like a soap bubble. 'Ow!'

'You looked
like you needed some help there. I don't know if you'd noticed, but
those were your eyebrows singing.'

'Oh,' Abby
rubbed at her face, suddenly aware of the latent heat prickling
across her skin. 'Thanks.'

'Sure, kid.
Your foot tastes pretty bad by the way. You might want to take a
bath sometime soon.'

'Well, now
that you mention it – I was planning a little impromptu shower.'
Abby remarked absentmindedly.

'Aha.' Charlie
padded over to his water bowl, clearly uninterested. 'Don't forget
to use soap.'

'I don't think
I'll have time.' She walked over to the door and grabbed her broom.
As an afterthought she grabbed her jacket too. 'But I'm sure the
rain will soak me through.'

Charlie spun
on the spot. 'What? You can't be serious, Abby! Listen to
the wind!'

'I am, and
you're coming too.' Abby lurched for the door, the remnants of the
long ascent she'd envisaged making her dizzy.

'You are serious. Abby!'

'Look I have
to do this, Charlie. Something is going to happen, someone is in
danger… I have to save someone, I think. I think it
is very important I save someone.' Abby's voice came in
sharp little bursts.

'No you don't.
That's what the doctors and guards are for, Abby – you're just a
–'

'Witch.'

'Ab-'

'Come on,
Charlie; we have to do this.'

Charlie rolled
his eyes but bounded after her, jumping into her arms with an
annoyed mew.

She raced down
the stairs of the old building, avoiding the cracks and holes in
the wood, allowing her broom to lift her just that little bit so
her feet just grazed them. To do otherwise would see her knee deep
in splintered timber. It was a tremendous security feature Charlie
had pointed out, unless termites and cockroaches were
invading…which they sort of were.

She didn't
really know where she was going, only that she had to
be somewhere. Images of a body tossing through the waves
filled her mind. Then, and this had come to her the millisecond
before Charlie had bitten her, a man lying sodden on the edge of a
cliff and her – Abby – standing over him.

That's how she
knew she had to be somewhere. Just who exactly she would save,
where, and from what, was lost on her right now, but that shouldn't
be too much of a problem; she was a witch, after all.

So Abby hit
the howling streets with Charlie in her arms, looking for the one
person that the future knew needed her.

It did not
take long for Charlie to point out that this was a terrible plan.
She'd had some horrible vision, fair enough, but wilfully going out
during the storm of the century was suicide. It went directly
against the witchly code of sitting by the sidelines and just
watching destiny whizz on by with a cup of tea in your hands and a
thoughtful look in your eyes. This was getting involved, Charlie
had assured her, and getting involved was wrong.

First there
was the cards, then the storm, now a terrible vision of rescuing
someone - was she trying to be swept up in adventure, Charlie had
asked with his whiskers twitching madly as they'd run down another
street. And she did not want an adventure, he'd reminded her, she
really, really did not want an adventure.

But the
strangest thing happened as Abby pounded along the streets,
searching for some clue that would lead her to whoever it was that
she needed to save. She started to feel… right. The heavy burden
and guilt of this morning were giving way to an almost heady
knowledge that this
was right
. Yes, she should be
out here looking for someone. Charlie was wrong; this wouldn't lead
to adventure… all she was going to do was save someone….

After a while
Abby found herself on the familiar wide boulevard of Esquire
Street. She hadn't planned on stopping for long, but had run along
half the street only to find a sodden figure standing propped
against the wall.

Abby had
approached the figure warily, not wanting whoever it was to be
scared off by the black cat and broom, but within metres she'd
recognised Mrs Hunter. The old dame was standing against her own
stonewall, looking up into the swirling clouds, her clothes and
hair drenched.

'Mrs Hunter?'
Water dribbled off Abby's lips as she spoke. 'What are you doing
out in the rain?' Abby had to shout against a sudden powerful blast
of wind.

Mrs Hunter
lazily shifted her eyes to Abby. 'Pembrake,' she said softly, 'he's
in trouble… I can hear him.'

Abby reeled
back on her feet as if she'd been burnt, and she could feel the
prickle of Charlie's fur as it stood completely on end. Magic was
crackling around Mrs Hunter and hissing as the rain slammed down
from above.

Without
stopping to think, Abby guided Mrs Hunter back up her garden path
and through the swinging open door. She had to get off the street
before someone saw them, before someone raised the alarm and called
the Guards.

It wasn't
until she'd locked the door behind them that Abby let the surprise
shake through to her bones. Her mouth was so dry from the shock
that it felt like her tongue was grating past sandpaper.

Abby did not
know much about magical talismans, she had to admit. After all,
very few still existed, especially in Bridgestock of all
places. But Ms Crowthy had still taught the young Abby how to
identify the effects of a proper talisman – how to read the aura
that it gave its user, how to understand the signs and symbols that
would appear at their feet.

So with her
head turgid from a strange tingle as if she had been struck hard on
the skull, Abby looked at Mrs Hunter square on. The old lady was
standing perfectly still, staring up at the ceiling as if she could
see straight through it and out at the rolling clouds above. Her
eyes were darting quickly from the left to the right, as if she
were watching a scene of theatre, or trying to keep a vast panorama
in her sights all at once.

Abby looked
down at Mrs Hunter's hands and, sure enough, they were gripped over
some object with white knuckled pressure.

'Abby,'
Charlie croaked, 'what's happening to her?'

Abby moved
forward very carefully. There was nothing for it; she would just
have to do it. 'Get down, Charlie, 'she released him from her
grip.

'Abby, you
can't just pull it out of her hands!'

Abby ignored
his warning and within another second had closed her hands over Mrs
Hunter's. She pried them open to reveal a bracelet with stone
beads.

She grabbed
it.

A crack in the
mast so deep that is would surely break! And the winds, so terrible
and quick, so biting and powerful that the waves were thrashing
with murderous ferocity. They could never survive, they would
surely all die. The Captain, the crew – all of them were done
for.

The wood
beneath his feet was cracking up around him like a giant clawed
hand clutching up from the depths. If he didn't impale on the
shards of wood, then the icy sea would drown him for sure-

'Abby!'
Charlie had launched himself at her, clamping his mouth so fiercely
over her wrist that his teeth drew blood.

Abby dropped
the bracelet and gasped, reeling backwards towards the wall till
she came up sharply against it.

'Abby, what is
that thing?' Charlie was low to the ground and sniffing very
carefully at the stone bracelet in the middle of the hallway.

She had been
in another person's mind, Abby realised with a terrible shiver. She
had seen through the eyes of man: watched the terrible and
unrelenting storm as he stood on the deck of a great ship as it
broke up underneath his feet. She had heard his thoughts, felt his
belly-shaking fear….

Abby's eyes
flicked to Mrs Hunter. She was standing in the hallway blinking
disconcertedly, as if she had been woken from a deep sleep. Then
her mind seemed to catch up to the situation and filled in the
blanks with whatever was at hand. Both Charlie and Abby watched
fearfully as Mrs Hunter took in their soaked appearances with
confusion.

'I was
wondering when you'd arrive,' Mrs Hunter said after a small breath,
'I saw you coming through the front door this afternoon, but when I
looked up I realised that it must have been much later.' Mrs Hunter
nodded at her statement, as if she believed it to be the most
clarifying thing that could possibly have been said in the
situation.

Abby locked
her gaze onto Charlie, and he shared her wide-eyed shock. Mrs
Hunter was using second sight.

'All
afternoon, ever since you left – I've not been able to get you off
my mind,' Mrs Hunter continued unabated. 'I kept on seeing you
coming through that door and taking the bracelet off me – over and
over and over again.'