Authors: Camilla Chafer
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Would it have made a difference?” Étoile picked up the cottage-shaped teapot and poured us both a cup, then added milk and sugar to hers. “Ah, I see. You would have trusted me more because our parents were friends. You’re getting better at hiding your thoughts, you know.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
“Good for you. I’ve always been on your side, Stella. Always. I don’t want you to forget that.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I digested what she told me and it was like a small weight had lifted. I always had a problem trusting people, and it wasn’t easy for me to accept someone being on my side, without complications. In the year since Étoile had found me, I’d gained so much and sometimes the thought of losing it, losing them, especially Evan, was crushing.
“There’s always spells you can do to make sure that I’m telling the truth, or you can send your magic into me. That’s a onetime offer, so if you want to be sure, do it now.” Étoile held out her hand to me. “I’ve always been your friend, but I’ve also had a lot of other pressures. I want you to understand that. If you ever thought I left you willingly, you’re wrong.”
I set down my cutlery, placed my hand over hers and let my magic flow through me and into her. The power of it shone slightly between our hands. Étoile didn’t put up any barriers and I had unfettered access into her very being. Her vulnerability in that instant made it a disturbingly powerful moment for me, and I willed our magic to offer me the truth, not just as I believed it to be, but as it was. Finally, I took my hand away from her and put it in my own lap and Étoile resumed drinking her tea, as if nothing happened.
Étoile hadn’t shown me, but I wound my way unguided through her memories, like snapshots of the past and then reached into what I could only imagine as her soul. I saw her sisters, and felt the love she felt for them and the pain at her sister, Astra’s mental struggles. I saw a handsome man, a man whom I thought she loved and missed. I saw how the Council really messed up her life, and I saw me through her eyes, that she wanted to help and protect me from the same problems that she faced.
I felt more than a little guilty that I’d taken her offer, but also glad, because I had no doubts now. “I’m your friend, too.”
“I know.” Étoile looked up briefly and smiled a lovely, uncomplicated smile, and then her face hardened. “Now let’s talk business. How are we going to kill these bastards?”
Ten
Over the rest of our breakfast, I explained to Étoile what I had seen at Hawkscroft the night before (not that there was much to say), as well as what Anders told me about the patrols and security in place. It was still scant information, but she mulled it over while we ate.
“It’s clearly going to be difficult to get inside, and I’m not sure that we should even try until Evan gets here,” she said at last.
“That could be days,” I pointed out. “Gage sent a message to say he was on his way. He made contact with the local pack.”
“That’s good. Does he know you’re in the area?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Let him know, just in case. And, for the love of God, call Evan, too.”
“I will.”
“When you do speak to Gage, tell him not to tell the pack who we are. They will certainly know there are witches in the area because of Anders’ coven, but I’m uneasy about them approaching us without us knowing who they are. We are at a disadvantage here.”
“You don’t think they can be trusted?”
“We don’t know them, that’s all. Trust doesn’t enter it.”
“But they’ll want to get Annalise out too, won’t they? They won’t want exposure either.” At least, that’s what I assumed and it ran along well with Evan’s theory that no supernatural wanted to be revealed.
“So far, the Brotherhood have only targeted witches, so we might assume that wolves aren’t high on their agenda. But remember, Annalise isn’t one of their pack, so they don’t have close ties to her, possibly not enough to risk their own members. Gage will be calling in huge favours if he asks them for help.”
“I don’t see what choice he has.”
“I want to meet this Anders,” Étoile said abruptly. “Is he coming back?”
“I hope so. Well, he said he would. I don’t think he lives far, but he didn’t say where. I guess we just have to wait for him to contact us.”
“Good. We should check out Hawkscroft again too, maybe tonight. I’d like to get a feel for the place.”
“I can take you there.” I checked my watch. “It won’t be dark for nearly nine hours. What do we do until then?”
“Keep planning until we find something that works.”
After cleaning away the breakfast things, Mrs. Peters chased us out of the pub. She gave us directions to Hawksley, telling us to, “Make ourselves scarce now.”
We walked along the winding country road that ascended to a moderately sized village after a few minutes. The houses were all nicely kept, with a cluster of identical, newly built homes in yellowed brick on the outskirts, giving way to terraced, row houses with thick wooden doors. They looked centuries old with their small sash windows. These older homes were chocolate box pretty. The local authority was clearly keen to keep the “Old World” style intact because the high street, instead of having garish hoardings, had neat signs that matched in complementing colours. It wasn’t big enough for any chain shops or coffee bars. I counted the usual shops, a bakery and a butchers, a post office that doubled as a newsagents, and a hairdressers. Outside the bookshop, Étoile paused, grabbing my wrist.
“Do you see what I see?” she asked in a low voice.
“What?”
“I’ve counted three witches just from walking along this road.”
“Are you sure?” I resisted the urge to look behind me.
“Absolutely. Each one of them recognised us too.”
“Um, isn’t that quite a lot, for one little town?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
It was so like Wilding in that no one was what he or she appeared to be, that I laughed. Catching my eye, Étoile laughed too. “This never happened when I lived in the city,” she said. “What is it with small towns and their freaky secrets?”
“Hawksley hardly qualifies as a town,” I said, looking back along the quiet little street, burying the pang of homesickness that I felt.
It didn’t take long to walk around Hawksley, just strolling casually, like we had nothing better to do with our time. After a while, we found a small library and went inside to get out of the cold.
As luck would have it, there was a small exhibition about the local area, just a couple of tables jazzed up with some beige cloth and a screen, covered in black cotton. We spent some time looking through the photographs of local industry, old journals and archives from the residents over the years. There were even some pictures of Hawkscroft in its heyday. It looked very grand despite the sepia. Pictures of horses and riders, the house looming behind them, and servants passing out drinks to the assembled crowd watching the hunting party ride out. Apparently, Hawkscroft had a history of hunters, in one form or another.
There were a few pictures of the grand families who once lived there, all predating the 1920s. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing about the current residents.
“Lovely house, isn’t it?” said the librarian, coming to stand by me.
“Yes, it is.”
“They’ve never opened it up to the public, like some of the grand houses hereabouts; but they used to hold a fête on the lawns for the village folk every summer.”
“Do they still do it?” I asked.
The old lady shook her head. “Oh no, love. The current generation aren’t so keen. Like to keep themselves to themselves, they do.”
“Are they very rich then?” It was a crass question, but I wondered all the same.
“Mmm, yes, I should think so. The house is very well kept. You can go by it, if you like, just don’t go onto the grounds, or you’ll be chased off.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I said, as the woman shuffled off, taking up her position behind the oval counter, tidying up the already orderly surface.
“Did she know anything?” asked Étoile quietly.
I shook my head. “Nothing at all. Just that the owners of the house have got money and no one goes up there.”
After we waved goodbye to the librarian and stepped back to allow a group of mothers to enter the building with their children, we left, turning back towards the high street.
Walking along the top end of the high street, we made our way across a small park, circled around a restricted area with children’s swings and a slide, and walked on. Finding a bench, we sat. From this vantage point, which rose slightly higher than the village, I could point to Hawkscroft in the distance.
“So that’s the seat of evil, huh?” said Étoile.
“The very same.”
From here, we could scrutinise the lay of the land much better, though our only view was of the back of the house. Hawkscroft was surrounded on three sides by dense woods, a hill rising above them to the north. It looked very lonely sitting all by itself. The grounds were easy to see from our location and I could just make out the road that travelled across the front as it darted past the house, twisting into the woods where I met Anders.
From what I could see, the wall travelled all the way around the grounds. No parts of it had broken away, and it was all of a similar level, evidence of its upkeep. There was a walled garden close to the house, then lush green lawns that stretched across the grounds to the property lines. It struck me as strange that the property was walled off. The pictures in the library suggested the owners had once enjoyed hunting, so it seemed logical that they would own the woods too. Perhaps poor economics had forced them to sell excess land, or maybe it was just easier to guard a smaller property, even one as expansive as this. I said as much to Étoile.
“On the plus side, the woods will make it easier for us to get closer,” she said. “Did you see anyone else in the woods last night?”
“Nobody. I got the impression from Anders that the Brotherhood didn’t cross over.” I recalled what Anders told me in the pub. “He said they might hear us, but not that they would find us.”
“It’s a big house. We can’t possibly search it without being seen.”
“Yeah. I figured we would need to locate Annalise before we tried to get inside.”
As we watched, two dot figures moved around the side of the house, two more dots shooting off. Guard dogs, I assumed.
“Let’s go back to the pub,” said Étoile, standing and tightening her scarf. She looked at my muddy coat. “Maybe we can try cleaning that thing too.”
Anders found us in the early afternoon, his night time spy gear replaced by jeans and boots. This time, he wasn’t alone; two women flanked him. The first woman was around my age, a little shorter than I, and had neat, dark brown hair that swung around her chin. She was dressed for the cold weather in jeans, a thick, padded jacket and hiking boots. Her scarf was pulled almost over her chin and seemed to take an age to unravel.
“This is my girlfriend, Rachel Kelly,” said Anders.
“Hello.” Rachel smiled as she freed herself from the scarf.
Anders continued, “And this is...”
“Bree Thorne,” said the second woman, her grip firm as she shook our hands before pulling out a chair. She took a seat at our table, sliding her jacket off and hanging it over the back of her chair. She was incredibly pretty with long blonde hair, almost white in hue, icy blue eyes, and very pale skin. Her hands were slightly rough, and her nails were chipped, like she was a manual labourer. She looked like a no nonsense type. “What brings you to this godforsaken place?” she asked without preamble.
“Didn’t Anders tell you?” I asked as Étoile made her own introductions, shaking first Anders’ hand, then Rachel’s. I was under no illusions that she was just being polite; she was checking them out.
“Mmm, but I thought you probably wouldn’t tell him everything after he pitched you into the mud.” She grinned suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “He has terrible manners.”
Anders scowled, but he didn’t look particularly unhappy. “Not true.” He reached into the rucksack he carried with him, pulling out some tubes of papers, which he laid on the table. “I’ve brought the plans you asked for. Bree knows the terrain around here better than anyone, so she wanted to come along.” He didn’t seem too happy about that.
“You’re not a witch,” I said, looking at her more closely.
“No, I’m not,” she replied, “I’m a nymph.”
The only nymph I could think of ended with “-omaniac,” and I was fairly certain that wasn’t why she looked so proud. “Oh?”
“A wood nymph. Traditionally, we live in forests, amongst the trees.”
Étoile looked as interested as I did. Anders said, “We’re very lucky to know Bree. Nymphs don’t reveal themselves often.”
“Why’s that?”
“We don’t like humans. The cut down trees and trample plants... They
litter
. The earth doesn’t like that.”
“We’re not all bad,” said Anders. “If we were, you wouldn’t do our gardening. Bree is a landscape gardener,” he added for our benefit. “She also knows all the paths and routes through the woods. She might help us find a better way through.”
“But not into Hawkscroft. I don’t like the magic there.”
“Why’s that?” asked Étoile.
“It’s not that it’s dark, it just seems confused. Like it knows it shouldn’t be there, but it can’t help itself.”
“You talk about it like magic has feelings.”
“Why shouldn’t it?” said Bree, her silvery hair sliding over her shoulders.
I didn’t know how to answer that, and apparently, neither did the other three witches sharing our table.