The Accidental Invitation (The Chronicles of the Accidental Witch Book 2) Page 13

  Elodie shakes her head, frowning. “I don’t know. I didn’t realise that he’d even been asked the question. This was all news to me remember. I can’t imagine him...unless...I don’t know, son, I just don’t know.” She is quiet, upset marring her features, tiredness filling her eyes. “Look, I need sleep. I know you don’t, but I cannot keep my eyes open any longer. I’ll think about it. I’ll think about what you’ve asked me. But, truthfully, I can’t imagine your father doing anything so cruel, not by choice.”

  She heads off to one of the beds in the safe house and Fletcher sits again, watching Zeta watching him.

  Not by choice. The phrase was so telling. What if his father hadn’t had a choice? What if there was something more to this whole mess than what it appeared to be.

  Zeta smiles at him. “Something troubling you boy?”

  “Everything. Nothing you can help with, though.”

  She cackles but he moves away from her. She looks sad and he realises that she just loves to aggravate, tease, annoy. She can annoy someone else; he needs to think.

  There is something niggling at him about all this business. If he could clear his head for a minute, and not worry about Ellis, the twins, Sally, the demons, his mum, Griff, his father...maybe he could figure things out, but for now his head is full of white noise.

  It will have to wait.

  He grabs a blanket and tucks it around himself, facing away from Zeta, facing Ember and Vann. They look pretty cosy.

  His eyes are closing. He doesn’t want to sleep but he cannot keep his eyes open a minute longer.

  Ellis

  “No!”

  “Just because Vann is handsome doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. Gregory turned out to be a bad guy. So did Zeta. Is there anyone who hasn’t betrayed us?”

  “I think our mum is in love with him...” Thea looks strangely sad.

  I can see the appeal of him joining the family. But not if he really is a bad guy, disguised as a beautiful fairy.

  “I might be wrong. But I have no clue how John would know we were at the safe house, otherwise.”

  “I still don’t understand why nobody’s been hurt. Why send the demons to hurt us, if they didn’t want to kill us?”

  I shrug. I don’t have all the answers, I’m not a witch war guru.

  “So what do we do?”

  “I think we escape,” I say, a much braver idea than I would normally come up with. “We’re safe for now, but we have a key. Why not use it, run away?”

  “What if it’s a trick?”

  “We don’t even know where we are.”

  “What’s the alternative. Go to sleep and wait for John to kill us? Or wait for him to take us to Zeta so she can kill us?” A thought occurs to me. “Girls, why hasn’t he taken us to Zeta?”

  They shrug. Crikey they’re slow.

  “I think we’ve got Zeta. Our side has got her and that’s why we’re here.”

  As I say it, maybe it’s the head witch-ness in me, but I know it – ooh flash – yes, we have her.

  But I have another flash. John doesn’t know we have her.

  So why are we here?

  I need to talk to him.

  Weirdly the girls are looking to me for the answers. “Do we have her? Is it over?”

  It isn’t over. But it might not be far off. And I know what to do. “Girls, you’re right. We should go to sleep. Rest. Then in the morning we’ll be fresh. John hasn’t hurt us yet.”

  “Now we have Zeta, maybe he won’t.”

  I nod, and tuck into bed. They do the same and I will them to go to sleep quickly. It works and I slip out of bed.

  I unlock the door, slip into the corridor and then lock them in. Safe.

  I don’t know where John will be, in this enormous place, but I open each door, and poke my head around each corner, I clear the top two floors without seeing him, or anything creepy.

  Then I am on the ground floor. I poke my head into a TV room. Empty. I poke my head into a laundry room. Empty. There’s nobody in the kitchen, or the dining room, or the conservatory.

  Then I find him. He’s in the games room. He’s alone, there’s music playing – it sounds like country music, the type my mum listens to when she goes line dancing. He has a drink in one hand, a snooker cue in the other. He’s taking shots by himself. Shot of alcohol and shots at the ball.

  I clear my throat and he looks up. He doesn’t look shocked. In fact, he smiles like he’s really pleased to see me.

  Maybe he’s hungry.

  No, I know he won’t hurt me. I don’t know how I know it, but I do.

  “I want you to tell me the truth,” I say, holding my breath. I have never been alone with a vampire. Am I safe? I think so.

  He smiles and offers me the snooker cue. A weapon.

  I take a shot and miss. My dad would be disappointed. He’s snooker loopy.

  “You need to be slow. Don’t rush. Line up the shot. Line up the cue, the white, the ball, the pocket.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t need snooker lessons. I need to know why we’re still alive.”

  “Are you complaining?” He sits on an armchair, next to the fire. The fire is roaring, but it’s pleasant, not stuffy.

  “No. But I am confused.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Brave. Aren’t they scared that I’ll murder them in their sleep?”

  I shake my head again. “I know you won’t.”

  “You threw the food we brought you out of the window.”

  I have the grace to look embarrassed. “That was before I knew.”

  “Knew what?” He seems genuinely baffled.

  “That you wouldn’t hurt us. I just don’t understand why not.”

  “You’re so sure?”

  I nod and put the cue on the table, taking a seat opposite him, letting the heat from the fire warm me. I’m so tired I could close my eyes now and nap, but I need to figure this out first.

  He turns his head, watches the flames. “I have known Zeta a long, long time. And I have loved her a long, long time.”

  I don’t interrupt.

  “Have you ever been in love? No, you’re just a pup.”

  An image of Fletcher flashes into my mind. I do love him and yet I understand that I don’t really know what love is. I guess I’m obsessed with him, in the middle of a crush on him. There’s no real foundation for love, not yet.

  “Vampires are a tricky bunch – like I said, a lot of bad press, a lot of negative associations. But I’m a good guy, a nice chap. I have never killed a human and I have never turned anybody.”

  I tuck my feet under me, and he gestures to a blanket on the little table beside me. I unfold it and snuggle under it.

  “I met Adam – a witch – and we became best friends. Life was good. I had more witch friends than vampire friends, but it didn’t matter to me. I was happy. Then I met Zeta. You’ve seen her – she’s a wonder. Beautiful and clever, like a leading lady from a fifties film noir. Sexy, sassy, bitter. Oh, she’s bitter. I fell in love with her, and I loved Adam too. I hated the way she spoke about him. But I loved her more.”

  He looks sad and I feel so sorry for him. I don’t think this is hypnosis or suggestion crap. I think he’s giving me the truth.

  “I saw less and less of him. It was the only way to keep her happy. And me, if I’m honest. I hated spending time with him, with her negativity about witches ringing in my ears. I knew I was betraying him by not telling him how furious she was, how ill she spoke of him, and the other witches.”

  He takes a drink. “I hoped my love would save her. Especially after Efa was born. Our little bat baby. But nothing made her happy, nothing brought that woman joy. She was the banished crone, the forgotten one, the outcast...instead of my love saving her, her love altered me. I became mean, nasty, harsh. I hated Adam and all he stood for. I hated the witches and the power they wielded over us all. I was horrible to be around. Poor Efa grew up learning to ha
te before she ever learned to love.”

  He takes another drink, drains the glass, gets up to refill it.

  “Ellis, surround yourself with good people and you will be good, see good, do good. If you’re a fool like me then you’ll surround yourself with bad people and all you will see is the bad – the bad in life, the bad in people, the bad in the everyday mundane things. My life has gone terribly, terribly wrong and yet I still love this woman. This crazy crone. But I see now, I see the wrong and I can right the wrongs.”

  I knew we were safe.

  “I took you girls tonight because Zeta wants to kill you. She wants Efa to be head witch, and then she has all these terrible and horrendous plans – I won’t bore you with them or upset you with them. I can only hope that we can put a stop to them.”

  “So what’s happening tomorrow? What will Zeta be expecting?”

  “I’d take you to Margam Park tomorrow, to where the ceremony took place. She’d kill you, Efa would be head witch and then she imagines she’ll live happily ever after.”

  “We have her.” I don’t want to anger him, but he needs to know. “She’s unharmed. She’s at the safe house.”

  He ponders for a minute. “She hasn’t tried to contact me or warn me.”

  “Maybe she can’t. Was the plan to meet at the woods tomorrow, with no other contact first?”

  He nods.

  “I think they have her and want to swap. Exchange her for us.”

  “We can do that. You are all safe, I promise you. I’ve had enough. I look at Efa and I’m sickened by the monster we created. She could have been so much, done so much; she was so loved. But she’s the image of her mother: bitter, twisted, cruel and so sure the world is out to get her. I’ll take you to the woods, but when they exchange you for her, you can keep her. I don’t want her.”

  It’s a huge thing for him to do, to turn his back on her, but I know it isn’t a trick; he is genuinely in love with her and genuinely sickened by what they have done together. Remorse. The word comes to me and I untuck myself from the chair. I touch his arm and then I hug him. He holds back at first, but then he holds onto me and I can tell he’s crying. “You’re a good man, John. Whatever she’s made you, you’re still in there and you know it. You’re a good man.”

  “Breakfast is at eight,” he says, and I can’t help but smile. Even in his heartbreak, he’s a good host.

  I leave him crying into his whiskey or wine or whatever it is, and I head back to our room.

  I feel better – I know we are safe, and I’ll see Fletcher tomorrow. John will keep us safe, and he won’t exchange us for Zeta – we’ll get to keep her and then we’ll be able to finish this war. She has the authority to call off the rebel trio – her daughter is one of them, after all – and she can call the demons back and then maybe she can live. Maybe they can strip her of her powers, and she can live quietly in Mumbles. After all, it’s lovely there.

  The girls are sleeping soundly, and I snuggle under the covers.

  I need Fletcher to know we are safe, so I close my eyes and picture him. I’m not sure of exactly how it works but I call out to him, silently. I tell him we are safe; I tell him all is well. I don’t tell him that John is on our side – I don’t want Zeta to know. I don’t want to give her time to plan something or plot something or come up with an idea that could ruin this.

  I feel good.

  It’ll all be okay.

  14

  It’s the middle of the night, Fletcher can tell; nobody is moving, it’s pitch black and he can hear more than one person snoring. He needs to stretch after an uncomfy snooze on the chair, and he hears all his joints crack when he moves. He heads for the fridge and pours himself a glass of pep and then sips it, mind still wandering, body tense; always ready for a fight at any moment.

  He keeps coming back to his father, thinking about him, wondering about him, worrying about him. Why would his father deny anybody what they wanted? There are only two reasons he can think of: one, somebody forced him to, two, there was more to it – some reason or complication that nobody else knew about.

  His dad was strong, clever, the head witch of all the supernatural creatures in Britain, who could have forced him to do anything against his will? Was there anybody, feasibly? Fletcher didn’t think so. So option two. If his dad had given the creatures their autonomy back something terrible would have / might have / could have happened. Like what?

  The allegiance which put the witches in charge of the other creatures happened long before his time and he’d read the story, everyone had, but it didn’t really help. Some crazy witch had wanted control over all the creatures to kill them and the humans and rule forever more...same old, same old. But some other witch had modified the magic so that while the witches were still in charge, they couldn’t abuse the power they wielded. Truth be told, there wasn’t much power to wield. They were living in modern times, with a Queen ruling the land, and supernatural creatures who kept themselves hidden from humans. Maybe there was more power up for grabs before, but it still didn’t explain why his dad would refuse the others what they wanted now.

  He sets his juice down and sits across from Zeta. Sleeping Zeta. She looks much older in her sleep; far less glamourous. He always liked her, thought she was irreverent, shocking, funny. It hurts to look at her and know that she hates him so much that she formed an alliance of her own, one designed to fight back and kill the witches, kill his own dad. Did she call for his death, or did the rebels decide to do it anyway? Was she angry with them afterwards, or secretly glad?

  How bitter and twisted must a person be to want to kill, hurt, attack? It makes no sense to him. He’s always hated confrontation, always been a pacifist. Always been the good guy. Same as his dad.

  “Zeta,” he calls her name, quietly, hoping to wake her consciousness but not her. “Sleep and talk,” he suggests to her, hearing a little snuffle of a snore. Can he even trust anything she says, believe anything that comes out of her mouth? She has caused so much harm, but he asks anyway. “What do you want?”

  He jumps a little when she answers; he wasn’t actually expecting it. “World peace.” She cackles softy and then snores again.

  He shakes his head. Zeta is as aggravating asleep as she is awake. Maybe more so, because without her eyes telling you exactly what she thinks of you through her disapproving and supercilious expression, she could actually be mistaken for a sweet old granny snoozing here beside him.

  “Why do you hate us so much?”

  “Witches in general or you and your family?” Her words are slurring ever so slightly, and he’s convinced she is asleep.

  “Both.”

  “Witches are great. I’m a witch. I’m proud to be a witch – not that many people would believe me. I’ve always been proud of my powers, my magic, my place as crone, and then it was taken from me. I admit I became bitter. The further I was pushed away from the family; the more I began to hate all witches. With each new head witch, I would try to show how much they needed me, how dependable I was; I know so much, I could help so much. But with each generation, a crone is less and less useful. We aren’t waging battles anymore. We aren’t fighting the good fight or warding off the evil wrongdoers. We are working in Costa and volunteering to help feed the homeless. What do they need my wisdom for? My knowledge of our history? With each new head witch, it was less and less likely that I would ever be reinstated to my place within the family – at the head.”

  She snuffles and turns slightly, pulling her blanket up to her chin. “So I decided to have a family of my own. Who is as ageless as a crone? A vampire of course. I knew John and we got on well. He fell in love with me and I fell in love with him, in time. And then little Efa came along, our bat baby. Oh, she changed everything. Suddenly my selfish fight seemed just that, selfish, but what a mother won’t do for her bat baby?”

  She is silent for a minute or two and Fletcher thinks he’s had all he’s going to from Zeta, when she talks again. “It will all be ove
r tomorrow. John will bring the girls from his lair, and then...”

  “Where is his lair, I forget?” Fletcher has no idea where John might live, but he thinks the conversational tone might help trick Zeta.

  “You know – you’ve been there a million times. Down by the river.”

  Fletcher gets a flash of a huge, morose looking mansion – again somewhere he must have been with his father, and grins.

  “And what time are we meeting him in the morning? What time will he bring the girls?”

  “Not too early. You know John. Breakfast is at eight.” She cackles so hard; it turns into a cough and then she opens her eyes.

  “Fletcher.” She looks at him with suspicion. “Why are you watching an old lady sleep?”

  He grins. “I was just thinking how sweet you look when you’re asleep.”

  She tuts and sits up. “This is a cruel way to make an old lady lay, I’ll have you know. I should be in a bed, comfy, warm, not crumpled on a sofa with hardly any blankets...”

  Fletcher walks away from her, letting her grumble to herself. He knows where the girls are, and he’s not going to wait for John to bring them anywhere near Zeta. He’s going to sleep now, set the alarm on his phone for seven and rescue them before John’s even finished his croissants.

  And he finds that he can sleep. The knowledge of where the girls are, along with the fact that he knows they are safe – for now – is like a little warm ball of contentment inside him. Peace. He smiles as he wriggles deeper under the covers. The beds in the safe house are ridiculously comfy, and he knows he won’t be awake for much longer.

  Ellis

  I sleep like a baby.

  In a horror film.

  As nice as John might be, as much as he may be regretting all the terrible things he’s done with Zeta, all the torture and murder they enjoyed, like some creepy hobby, he is still a vampire.