The Accidental Witch Page 4

  “Yeah – loads done, all marked off, so you know where you are.”

  “Thanks, love.”

  He doesn’t leave and I know he’s going to ask about Fletcher.

  I still remember the day of his father’s funeral. I stayed out of the way, I’m very much behind the scenes anyway – especially since Molly died and I stopped washing so much – but I would never intrude on anyone’s grief. I remember standing behind a pillar, just watching him come in with his mother and the rest of his family. He didn’t look like the golden boy, the best looking, most popular boy, he looked young. Like a little boy. Frightened, scared and sad. I wanted to reach out and touch him then, which surprised me, as I’ve always felt he was a bit of a big head, but that day he was a little boy mourning the loss of his father. I ducked out of the way before he saw me, but I stopped slagging him off to Molly after that. I still didn’t fancy him like everyone else, but I wasn’t mean.

  “What did Fletcher want?”

  “Nothing. Just a college thing.”

  My dad nods approvingly. “He’s a nice young man. Nice family.”

  I can’t help but snort and he looks so alarmed that I pretend to cough. Fletcher might not be so bad with his delightful hair, but his family? The worst. Okay so I don’t know his mother or his aunt, but his cousins? Creepy as fudge for a start: twins, literally nothing to differentiate between the two, and beautiful – of course – it must be in their genes, but so odd. They are the horriblest of all things horrible. They look down their pretty noses at everything and everyone. And they still dress identically – like toddlers, not teenagers.

  There is nothing more creepy than seeing the two of them standing watching you, identical hair, identical faces, identical clothes, identical expressions of insanity on their lovely faces. I reckon they kill people in their spare time. Or at least think about it.

  And they keep trophies.

  Urgh.

  I hate them.

  And although I’ve never spoken to them in my life, I think the feeling is mutual.

  I frown – I have no concrete reason to base my dislike of them on. Weird.

  I try and stick up for myself by thinking that everyone hates me for no good reason, too, but then I remember my lack of cleanliness that they might have endured for almost a year, as well as the obvious disdain I feel for everyone around me that isn’t Molly, and I realise what an idiot I have been.

  Sheelagh’s words echo in my head again – damn her common sense, kindness and wisdom. I say the words out loud. “Isn’t it the best and the worst thing that when someone dies, we have to carry on without them.”

  My mum must have told her all about my moping – okay maybe moping is an understatement – and asked her to talk some sense to me.

  It’s worked. I feel embarrassed as I think of all the stupid things I’ve said and done since my best friend died. All the friends I’ve blown off. All the excuses I’ve made and generally just how horrible I’ve been.

  It’s like watching a film of the most obnoxious and immature girl ever known and I’m crying again. I wanted today to be the day I turned things around. Obviously, that didn’t go so well, but I did get to see Fletcher’s delightful hair up close.

  I think I’m losing my mind.

  I will get through the weekend, and then I will meet him on Monday morning, go into college with my head held high and make permanent changes to my attitude and my life.

  I am feeling strong again when I go back inside the house proper. Although it doesn’t always feel like it, there is a clear separation between the funeral home part of our house and the bit we all live in. I can hear Isaac and my mum chattering, but they go silent as the door closes behind me.

  My dad pops out of the lounge. He looks weird.

  “Are you okay, dad? Looking like you might be having a stroke there?”

  He rolls his eyes at my sarcastic question and beckons me forward.

  My mum and brother look like they might burst and I’m suspicious as I look at the three of them. My birthday was last week, it’s not Christmas and I don’t think we’ve won the lottery, so I don’t know why they are being so creepy.

  “What?”

  My brother cannot hold it in any more. “Mammy and daddy got you a dog to cheer you up. Look.”

  As he lets the cat out of the bag, my mum shifts and lets the dog out from behind her.

  “You’ve been down for so long, we thought that maybe having a little dog to love might cheer you up. A belated birthday present, if you like.”

  I have frozen. I have wanted a dog all my life and I have always been told no. I cannot believe this little ball of cuteness might be mine.

  “She’s a sausage dog.”

  “I love her. Is she really mine?”

  “Well, ours.” Isaac butts in. “But yeah,” he concedes because of the look my mother gives him.

  I am crying with happiness, and relief, and embarrassment about my awful day, and it all spills out until I am snivelling all over the poor little puppy. She fits in my hand, she’s so small.

  “What are you going to call her?”

  “Poison Ivy?” Isaac begs but I shake my head.

  This little puppy is so adorable and I know exactly what I want to call her. I have dreamed of having a dog for so long, I have had a name planned for years.

  I hold her up and gently wave a paw at my family. “This is Macaroon, everybody.”

  4

  FLETCHER IS SURE HE’S going to be sick, it’s pitch black outside, almost eleven o clock and time to head over to the forest. He feels like an idiot in his cloak – and he’s so glad that it’s dark. It’s nowhere near Halloween and he can’t think of any excuse he could give if he was to run into any of his mates.

  His mother is a rush of nerves and last-minute panic attacks. Ember is calm. “Sis, relax. Everything is in hand. All the senior families are there now, making a magic circle, putting protections in place. William is looking after the representatives for the vamps, shifters and fairies. All we have to do is arrive. And look pretty.”

  Elodie sighs. “Really? What about the marquees, and the food and the-”

  “All done.”

  They had been pretty clever with the organisation of this, and Ember wouldn’t stop reminding everyone that it had been her idea. The forest where the ceremony will take place is just off a huge park with an old castle, acres of forests and lakes, as well as modern holiday cabins and chalets, two minutes from their home. Ember booked the whole place – at a cost of thousands, reduced to hundreds, when she spelled the woman making up the invoice – and they have the run of it until Sunday morning.

  The witches make up the majority of the group, with vampires, shifters and fairies in a smaller number, and they’re only there because the magic Fletcher is being invested with covers their species too.

  It’s a whole lot of history which is so convoluted and complex that Fletcher often zoned out when he was being taught all about it, but he does know that he’ll be in charge of all magical creatures in the whole of Britain – not just witches.

  The ceremony will be over by quarter past midnight on the Saturday morning and then they intend to party until the Sunday morning.

  Well everyone except Fletcher does. He’s not sure what he’ll do or how he’ll feel. He’s so nervous he cannot imagine getting through the ceremony without it going wrong yet.

  “Ready?” The twins often talk in unison and he’s still not used to it, but he nods. They look beautiful and he wishes their insides matched their outsides. They think he’s a wuss for being too nice, but he thinks that they are like rotten apples, shiny and lovely to look at but bad and maggoty on the inside. He doesn’t think the girls have ever done one good thing in their whole lives. And they are only a year younger than him. They would be a force to be reckoned with if they decided to use their charms for good instead of being spiteful and vindictive. He knows that most of the girls in their village are petrified of them, not just t
he girls, truth be told.

  Ember joins them. “My beauties.” She kisses each of their heads in turn and then faces Fletcher. She looks amazing – she always does; he knows loads of his friends fancy her, and she doesn’t do anything to stop them. In fact, she actively encourages them. She has changed out of her habitual black tonight and she’s wearing a bright red dress. “My boy. I’m so proud of you. Your father would be so proud of you.”

  “He would,” Elodie says, joining them. She looks so lovely that Fletcher feels a lump in his throat. She’s never been as glamorous as her sister, and since his dad’s death she’s shrunk even further into herself. He knows how nervous she feels about tonight, about the scope of the event and how many eyes will be on her.

  Ember, on the other hand, thrives on it.

  “It’s time to go.” Elodie is going to drive them there – they live close but can’t walk the streets at this time of the night all dressed up without arousing some suspicions – and they have the biggest cabin to stay the night in. She will probably sleep; she’s not sure if anyone else will.

  As sad as it makes her feel, their community has been waiting, since his father’s death, for Fletcher to turn seventeen so he could become head witch. The excitement amongst them is feverish – she’s already been informed of two girls who Fletcher might like to marry; whose families are willing. That made her laugh. Her little boy is as ready for marriage as he is to be the head witch.

  She takes his hand, giving him some of her strength, sharing her magic with him.

  They pull up outside the castle, and a young witch takes the car off them. He bows reverently when he sees Fletcher, and Fletcher feels ridiculous. He clutches his cloak around him like a layer of protection and they head off, almost like a royal procession, into the thick of the forest.

  The hundreds of thousands of witches cannot all get a good view of the ceremony of course, so they are littered around, some with blankets, others with tents, enjoying the atmosphere, regardless. The celebrating has already begun for them and many are drunk already.

  “Are the protections definitely in place?” Elodie will always find something to worry about.

  Ember nods, but shoots a spark of fire upwards to prove it. It hits an invisible ceiling and fizzles out. Elodie smiles. “Good.”

  “Sis, please. There is nothing to worry about. Everything is in place. From the smallest detail to the largest.”

  Elodie gasps. “Is Lincoln here?” She had forgotten to check if the head witch from America had arrived to perform the ceremony. It has to be done by someone of the same standing. The different countries never get involved with each other, apart from for this. It’s a friendly favour, a nice little holiday.

  “Yes. Of course he’s here.”

  “No need to snap. I’m just worried. Sorry. I don’t want anything to go wrong for Fletcher.”

  “It won’t.”

  They weave through the throngs of people, all happy and chattering – this is a big day in their social calendar. Families who live apart are having mini reunions, and the party atmosphere is absolute.

  Thea and Talia strut through the groups of people as though they are famous, whereas Fletcher can feel himself shrinking with each step. He’d really like to disappear. He’d really like to be in one of these tents, watching the drama unfold, enjoying himself at someone else’s expense.

  His mother holds his hand even tighter and he’s glad. He has a flash of memory from his father’s funeral. She held onto his hand all of that day too.

  “I’m scared.” It’s only a whisper but she hears him.

  “I know my lovely but you’ll be just fine. This is in your blood, you know. You were born to do this. Maybe not so soon, maybe not so young, but you were always going to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

  He knows she’s right and her words give him courage. He can walk a little taller, he does feel a little prouder.

  They finally get to the clearing where the most important attendees have set up their camps – folding chairs, blankets, picnic rugs – and the fire already burning.

  Lincoln greets them, his arms wide open, face beaming. It’s a lovely job for him to do. He wishes the boy was older, as he’s sure he does too, but there’s nothing that can be done. He’s seventeen – the youngest that a head witch can be – and so the day has come. He’s wearing his fanciest cloak and thoroughly enjoying his role in this.

  He nods at Fletcher who nods back, unable to speak suddenly.

  Elodie, Ember and the twins take seats and leave Fletcher to stand by the fire by himself.

  Lincoln takes his hands. “You’ll be fine, boy, just fine.”

  Fletcher smiles, but he knows the fear is showing on his face.

  “I’m just going to amplify our voices so everyone can hear us. Is that okay?”

  Like he has a choice. There’d be a mutiny if they couldn’t hear it – some of them are already grumbling that they don’t get to see it.

  “Are you ready? Anything you want to ask or say before our words are no longer private?”

  Fletcher shakes his head, no. He’s not sure he’ll be able to say anything. There’s a thick wad of fear in his throat that he cannot swallow down no matter how hard he tries.

  This ceremony is everything – the pressure, duty and expectations that have been placed on him since his father’s death all come to fruition here tonight.

  He will never be the same, he will never be plain old Fletcher again. He will be head witch until the day he dies.

  It’s a lot to take in.

  Lincoln uses his magic quickly and quietly to amplify their voices and then he speaks.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, we have finally arrived at this wondrous day. We can put our uncertainty aside and trust Fletcher to lead us onwards.”

  The boom of cheering and clapping is deafening, and Fletcher cannot help but laugh and relax. Just a little bit.

  Ellis

  MACAROON IS THE CUTEST thing I have ever seen, and I have to take her outside in the cold to wee one last time before she goes in her cage to sleep. I feel mean putting her in a cage, but apparently it’s the best way to train her.

  I wrap my coat around me, and pop her down on the grass. I hope she just wees, I don’t fancy scooping her poop in the dark.

  She waddles away, and I watch her, full of happiness. I’m so pleased – and a tiny bit guilty – that my melancholy has resulted in this delicious present.

  I perch on the bench and let her do her business, maybe she’s shy, so I ignore her a bit, let her wander over to the fence. Then I see her duck under it and out into the lane.

  “Damn it – Macaroon!” I daren’t go and ask for help in case my parents take her off me. I am a neglectful mother, indeed. But she’s got pretty short legs and I’m sure I can catch her. I spot her in the lane and run after her. “Come here little lady. I’ll ground you.” I’m quite amused by myself until she runs behind the stone wall and into the grounds of Margam Park. If I can’t catch her before she gets to the trees, she could get lost. I put the light on my phone and chase after her. “Macaroon!” She probably doesn’t even know her name yet, daft dog, so she’s not listening.

  She’s not too far ahead of me – but this isn’t fun. It’s almost midnight and-

  Weird. I watch her hit something and bounce backwards. There’s nothing there that I can see, and she’s unperturbed, but I have never seen anything like it. She keeps walking in the other direction. I run to where I spotted her bounce, and I can feel something. This is ridiculous. I’ve got one eye on her and one on the blank space in front of me. It looks like thin air, but I can feel something. Almost like an invisible bouncy castle. I keep my hand on it and follow her at the same time.

  I must be sleep deprived or losing my mind. I can definitely feel something under my hand but there is nothing there. I cannot see a thing. I feel a tingle of unease. Something is wrong. It’s late and dark and I’m on my own, apart from a wayward sausage do
g who doesn’t know her own name.

  “Macaroon. Please!”

  She pauses for a minute and I run towards her, ready to grab her and go home, but she vanishes. I rub my eyes – I know what I have seen but I do not trust myself. I am only a few steps behind her, so I push against the invisible bouncy castle until I feel a gap. I slip through and spot her, she’s running now.

  And then I pause. I am no longer alone in the forest chasing my dog. I am in the forest surrounded by people and flood lights, and tents, and weirdly nobody notices me. There must be hundreds of people here, thousands. The noise is deafening – but there’s definitely a happy vibe here. I don’t feel scared or threatened. Just confused.

  “Cute dog,” someone says, and I smile, raising a hand in thanks, or greeting, or confusion. I’m not really sure.

  Then Macaroon speeds up and I chase her again. I thread between groups of people, coloured tents, wondering what on earth they all are doing here. Is it an outdoor cinema screening maybe? They’ve done that here before, my brother came with his friends to watch a film, but it rained, and they all got fed up and left.

  I look around, there aren’t any screens, just reams and reams and reams of people.

  Suddenly a voice booms out of nowhere and I jump. I flatten myself against a tree. This is odd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.”

  Okay so I relax a bit – it’s definitely some sort of event. Probably private. Probably somewhere I shouldn’t be. I call Macaroon again and get glared at by a woman, who is weirdly, dressed as a witch. It’s not Halloween and nobody else is dressed up. Maybe she’s crazy. I smile and make a ‘sorry’ sort of face and rush after Macaroon.

  She’s a fast little thing for a sausage, and I am weaving further and further, deeper and deeper into the woods. I still cannot believe how many people there are crammed into this place. I’ve been here hundreds of times for food festivals and live music events, ghost tours, and kayaking on the lake; I have never seen it so busy.

  No one is paying me much attention, which is good, because I do not want to get in trouble.