Dark Spell (2 page)

“Don't you worry, Rose. We'll all do this together.”

“Thank you, Bessie.”

“Who are you going to tell first?”

“Callie. If I told Julia she might up sticks and move just to avoid the truth.”

“Surely not?”

“Well, maybe not, but I wouldn't put it past her to ship Callie off to some boarding school.”

“Well, we can't have that. You know,” Bessie mused, “it's a shame that Hogwash place doesn't exist.”

“Hogwarts, Bessie, Hogwarts. And can you imagine what it would
really
have to be like? All those untrained children… they'd reduce the place to rubble in half an hour. It would have to be built like a nuclear bunker, not a castle.”

They had a good laugh at that, causing little whirlpools to form in their watery images, before Rose
said, “Well, I'd better go. Let me know when the others are free.”

Bessie's image faded, and Rose was left staring at her own reflection once more.

Callie pushed open The Smithy's garden gate and Luath rose from the frosty grass to greet her with a welcoming bark.

“Hello, dog. What are you doing out here in the cold?”

She waited for the dog to follow her in through the front door, but he lay back down.

“Suit yourself, you daft animal.”

Callie dumped her coat on the bottom step. “Rose?” she called.

“In the kitchen.”

“Oh – hello,” Callie said in surprise when she went in, for not only was Rose sitting at the kitchen table, so were her old friends Bessie, Isobel and Barbara. Callie had known them all her life, but Rose didn't usually ask her to come over when they were there.

“Sit down, dear,” said Rose.

She looks nervous,
thought Callie.
What's going on here?

“Have a piece of chocolate cake.” Bessie pushed a plate towards her. “Isobel baked it, so it's delicious. Much better than Rose's. I'm sure Isobel would share the recipe if you asked her nicely, Rose.”

Rose bridled visibly before she realised that Bessie was trying to provoke her, to distract her from her
nerves. She poured Callie a cup of tea and watched as she cut herself a slice of chocolate cake.

Callie felt four pairs of eyes on her as she cut the cake. Why did this feel like an ambush?

She took a bite and made suitably appreciative noises. It
was
good, but not better than Rose's.

“How are things at school?” asked Bessie brightly. “Everything going well?”

“Same as usual,” said Callie slowly.

What was going on? They
all
looked nervous now. Her fingers began to tingle.

Rose licked her lips.

“We wondered if you'd noticed anything… unusual… happening? You know… anything strange… any odd feelings?”

Callie stared at Rose and the others, trying to pretend she couldn't feel the prickling sensation surging up her arms now.

“No,” she said, in a voice that didn't even convince her.

“It's all right. It's nothing to be frightened of,” said Isobel.

“We've all had it,” Barbara added.

Callie felt as though she couldn't breathe. She was going to pass out.

“What do you mean?” she gasped.

“You're like us, dear,” said Bessie.

Callie looked helplessly at Rose through the cloud of sparks dancing in front of her eyes. The feeling of pressure in her head, her arms, her hands was becoming unbearable. She couldn't stop it… she felt as if she was
going to explode.

“You're a witch, Callie,” said Rose.

“No!” yelled Callie, slamming her hands flat on the table as she surged to her feet. There was a loud
crack!
and the table burst into flames.

Luath howled, a long mournful note. The front door of The Smithy opened and emitted a faint cloud of smoke and a coughing Bessie. Luath howled again.

“Quiet now, dog. There’s no harm done, just a lot of noise. You see why we sent you out here?”

The dog wagged his tail and sank back on his haunches, for all the world as though he understood. Bessie disappeared back inside, leaving the door ajar.

The scene in the kitchen as she came back in was one of determined normality, like a smile through gritted teeth. Barbara and Isobel were concentrating very hard on washing-up, and ostentatiously paying no notice to what was going on round the table, which bore no trace of its fiery ordeal.

Callie sat, white-faced and trembling, Rose’s arm round her shoulders.

“What’s wrong with me?” she sobbed. “I’m a freak. I’m a monster. What’s happening to me?”

“You’re no more a monster than any of us, my darling,” Rose said firmly. “We’ve all been through this. You’re a witch like we are, but you don’t know how to use your power yet, and it can just… flare up like that. There’s no harm done. Look, the table’s not even scorched.”

“I can’t be a witch.” Callie’s voice rose. “There’s no such thing. Why isn’t the table burned?”

“If there was no such thing, the table wouldn’t have burst into flames. It was your untrained power that set it alight. But we thought something like that might happen, so we’d prepared the room – put protective spells on it.”

“And sent the dog out where he’d be safe,” Bessie interjected. “So you didn’t accidentally barbecue him. Singed dog is not a pleasant smell.” She sounded as though she was speaking from experience. “Try not to panic, dear – everyone’s the same when they find out. I can assure you you’re not a freak – unless you think the four of us are freaks?”

“Dangerous ground, Bessie,” called Isobel from the sink, as she and Barbara dropped the pretence that they weren’t listening avidly to what was going on.

“Forget about
Meg and Mog
and
The Wizard of Oz,”
said Rose, “and it might be a bit easier to believe. Real witches aren’t anything like that. They’re just normal people, like us.”

Callie looked dubious.

“But you’re old. Witches are old. I’m young. I can’t be a witch.”

Rose saw Bessie gathering herself to take offence.

“We were actually the same age as you, once,” she said hurriedly. “And we were witches then too.”

“You need to forget everything you’ve ever read about witches,” said Isobel.

“Or seen in films,” added Barbara.

Bessie glanced round the kitchen. “In fact, I think it’s about time that Barbara and Isobel and I went home.”

A few minutes later, Rose and Callie sat alone at the kitchen table.

“This isn’t some sort of crazy old-person joke?” Callie asked, hoping against hope.

“No, dear,” replied Rose, carefully ignoring the insulting part of the question. “But you already know that, don’t you? You’ve noticed things happening.”

Callie nodded, looking miserable, then blurted out, “I think I broke someone’s arm at school.”

Rose waited quietly for the story to tumble out. When it reached its end, she said, “You didn’t break the girl’s arm. You didn’t even
mean
to make her fall. This doesn’t make you a bad person, Callie, but it does show you why it’s important that we train you to use your power, otherwise things like that will just keep happening. I know this has been a shock. You need time to take it in properly, then we’ll start your training.”

“What about George? Does he know what I am?” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “Does he know that
you’re
a witch?”

“Well, he knows most things that go on in this house, but it’s easier for everyone if he doesn’t have to admit to it. Of course he knows what I am, but we don’t discuss it. I think he’ll have a fair idea about you too, even though I sent him off to Fife Ness to keep him out of the way just now.”

“And Mum and Dad – how am I going to keep things secret from them?”

“Ah.” Rose looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think
your father’s likely to notice. His mind doesn’t work that way. Julia’s another thing.”

“She’s not…?”

“Goodness, no.”

“Does she know about you?”

Rose nodded. “And disapproves of me thoroughly because of it. We’ll have to tell her of course, but not just yet. Wait until you’ve got used to the idea.”

“When I’m about your age, then?”

They both laughed, a bit shakily.

Callie logged on to Facebook and stared at the screen. Nothing new. She’d been hoping that there might be a message from Josh – he should be back from his ski trip by now – but obviously he was far too busy having a real life. Unless he’d broken both arms and couldn’t type. Nothing from any of her other so-called friends either.

It was probably just as well there was nothing from Josh. She might have been tempted to tell him what was going on.

Yeah, that would work well…

HI JOSH, HOW ARE YOU? BY THE WAY, DID I MENTION I’M A WITCH? THAT’S RIGHT, I REALLY AM A FREAK.

It was a few days since Rose’s kitchen table had burst into flames, and Callie was still battling with herself over whether to believe what Rose had told her.

On the one hand, it couldn’t be true, because there were no such things as witches – not now, at least,
although she’d discovered last summer that one of her ancestors, a girl called Agnes Blair, had supposedly been a witch. But on the other hand, it explained so much.

She’d been trying to ignore the tingling, and the accompanying feeling that she was some sort of human kettle coming to the boil, for months now. It had all started when Josh was here last summer, and had been getting steadily worse ever since. It was a relief to get any explanation for it, however unlikely.

Callie turned back to her computer and opened iTunes, determined not to go downstairs: Rose had arrived ten minutes earlier to talk to Julia about her, and Callie certainly didn’t want to be in the same room when Rose broke the news. She could feel her fingers prickling at the thought.

Cautiously, she held her hand out over her desk, pointed her fingers at a pen, and spoke.

“Move.”

The pen remained resolutely immobile. Callie sighed. She must have tried this, or something like it, two dozen times since she’d found out what she was, and nothing had ever moved. Behind her, unseen, a postcard dislodged the drawing pin that held it and fell off her noticeboard.

She stiffened as she heard raised voices from downstairs. It sounded as though Rose had reached the point of the visit.

A few seconds later, her mother shouted up the stairs, “Callie?”

She crossed her fingers and pretended she hadn’t heard.

“Caroline, come down here now!”

There was obviously no escape. Reluctantly, Callie dragged herself down to the kitchen.

Rose sat, thin-lipped, clutching a mug of tea as though it was an anchor in a storm, while Julia glared at her.

“Whatever your grandmother’s told you, I want you to forget it. It’s nonsense,” Julia spat out as soon as Callie entered the room. She stared at Rose, daring her to say anything, but Rose held her peace.

“It’s not nonsense,” Callie said quietly. “I’ve known there was something wrong – something strange, anyway – for months. It made sense as soon as Rose told me.”

“Callie, this is rubbish. You’re not a witch.”

“Are you going to tell her there’s no such thing, Julia?” Rose asked. “Even you don’t really believe that. So, since you acknowledged years ago that I’m a witch, why won’t you believe that Callie’s one? You know that it can skip generations.”

“I won’t have this happen to my daughter.”

“You don’t have a choice, and neither does Callie. She is what she is. I’m not asking you to be happy about it; just don’t make things difficult for her.”

An uneasy silence descended on the room. Rose got up to leave.

“Please, Julia. Think about what’s best for Callie.”

“Do you think I don’t usually do that?” Julia retorted angrily.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Rose sighed. “I think I’d better go now.”

“Yes.”

When Rose had gone, Julia and Callie stared at each
other.

“It’s all rubbish, Callie. Everything these old women have told you. Don’t let them suck you into all this. You’ve got a normal life to live, just like everyone else.”

“But I want to understand what this is, what’s happening to me.”

“Nothing’s
happening to you. You’re just growing up. Of course there are times when everything seems strange. Ignore it, and you’ll soon forget all about it and get back to normal.”

“I want to find out about it. This is happening to me, Mum, whatever you want to believe.”

“Do you want me to have to tell your father what’s going on?”

Callie raised her eyebrows. “If that’s a threat, it’s not a very good one. You wouldn’t do that. You’d have told him about Rose long ago if you were ever going to talk to him about witches. Mum, this is happening. Face it.”

Callie and Rose sat at Bessie Dunlop’s kitchen table in St Andrews, as they had done twice a week since the confrontation with Julia a month before. Bessie put a blue and white striped teapot and two stubs of candles in the centre of the table and sat down.

The two women stared at Callie.

“Well?” said Rose.

“Aren’t you going to light the candles?” asked Callie.

“No dear,
you
are.”

“Where are the match… Oh. Right. Of course.” Callie wriggled herself comfortable and leaned forward in her chair, concentrating on the candle wicks. Rose and Bessie sat very still so they wouldn’t distract her.

Callie stared, frowning, at the candles. After a few seconds, wisps of smoke came from the wicks, then tiny, buttercup-yellow flames that grew and steadied.

“Good girl!” exclaimed Bessie.

“Now the net, Callie,” Rose urged her. “Remember what to do?”

Callie nodded and, standing, reached for the tips of the candle flames and drew them up, longer and longer, strands of living flame that somehow didn’t burn her. She twitched her fingers and twisted the flames together into a shining filament, then, tongue poking out as she concentrated, waggled her hands as though she was playing with an invisible cat’s cradle.

The filament became a net the size of a mixing bowl, suspended between her hands.

“That’s it…” Rose said encouragingly as Callie prepared to flick the net of light over the teapot.

For the first couple of weeks she hadn’t been able to do any of this. When she tried to control the tingling, the lights would flicker or the radio would howl with interference, but nothing more. She remembered how astonished, how elated she’d been the first time she managed to focus her power on a candle and saw the wick bloom into a flame.

It was all going so well.

But in remembering, she’d let her concentration waver for a second and the flame forgot it couldn’t
burn her. She gave a yelp of pain and yanked her hand away from the net, which detonated with a
snap
and a whoosh of sizzling air.

There was a
crack
and the spout fell off the teapot.

They stared at it sadly.

“I’m sorry,” said Callie indistinctly, sucking a burned knuckle.

Rose tried not to show her frustration with her granddaughter’s failed attempt at this simple piece of magic.

“Ach, don’t worry, Callie. I can soon mend that,” Bessie reassured her.

“With magic?” Callie asked, brightening at the possibility that witchcraft might actually be some use.

“Dear me, no,” said Bessie, rummaging in a drawer. She produced a small tube and held it up triumphantly. “With superglue.”

“I’m never going to be able to do any of this properly,” said Callie gloomily. “I’m not even sure I
want
to. What’s the point of all this stuff with the net? I didn’t ask to be a witch. I’d rather just be normal. Surely if I don’t use whatever power I’ve got, it’ll just… fade away or something?”

Rose sighed. “I keep telling you it doesn’t work like that. Untrained power can be very dangerous. Even if you choose never to use it, you have to be able to control it.”

“Mum says if I ignore it, it’ll go away.”

Bessie looked sideways at Rose, then concentrated very hard on glueing the teapot.

“I wouldn’t pay too much heed to your mother as an
authority on witchcraft,” Rose said in a tight voice. The two of them were barely on speaking terms because of what was going on.

She shook her head as if to clear it. “Let’s stop for today. We’ve been at it for over an hour anyway. You
are
getting better, Callie. You just need to let your power flow more freely. Don’t worry, it’s hard for everyone at first.”

“I had to give up cooking for two months when I was learning,” Bessie interjected. “Everything I made came out smelling of wet dog. I still have no idea why.”

“I never knew that,” said Rose, trying to hide a smile.

Bessie sniffed haughtily and put the repaired teapot down gently. “It’s not something I like to dwell on. My brother teased me about it for months. Barking Bess, he used to call me. Before I turned him into a slug.”

Callie looked at Bessie, wide-eyed.

“Och, I’m joking dear. It’s no challenge fooling you; you need to try a bit harder not to believe everything I tell you!”

Callie gave an uneasy laugh. She was never quite sure about Bessie…

Rose stood up. “We’d better head off before we break anything else.”

“Sorry about your teapot, Mrs Dunlop.”

“Bessie,” said Bessie. “We’re all witches, and I keep telling you that witches are all on first name terms. And the teapot’s fine anyway.”

With a tiny thud, the spout fell off again.