A Witch Alone (The Winter Witch Trilogy #3) (5 page)

‘Well here’s to …’ She raised her glass and paused. ‘What shall we drink to? Family ties, perhaps.’ She smiled, and drank, and then said casually, ‘You two are – well, cousins of a sort, did you know that, Anna?’

Cousins? With a Corax? My face must have shown my astonishment, because my grandmother and Marcus both laughed and my grandmother patted my hand.

‘You will learn soon, my dear, that family relations among our kind are never simple. My younger sister, Catherine, was Marcus’s mother. I’m not sure exactly what that makes you two, but some form of second cousin, I imagine.’

A cousin. This smooth, enigmatic man was my cousin.

‘I never had a cousin before,’ I said slowly. ‘My dad’s an only child.’

‘I have dozens,’ Marcus said. ‘My father is one of twelve, so as you can imagine we’re quite a clan. But one more is very welcome, especially one so lovely and accomplished.’

The line would have sounded hopelessly cheesy coming from anyone else. If Abe had said it I would have rolled my eyes and snorted, but somehow Marcus pulled it off. I found myself blushing furiously and glanced at my grandmother, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

Luckily she was preoccupied with her cutlet, but before she could raise the fork to her lips the telephone on her desk shrilled out.

‘Oh, how vexing.’ She sighed. ‘Hello? No, don’t worry, Miss Vane, that’s fine. Yes, I see. Still, it can’t be helped. Yes, of course. Five minutes.’

She put down the receiver with an irritated click and turned back to me and Marcus.

‘I’m sorry, my dears, this can’t wait. Please eat and, if Franklin comes to clear, tell him to take my plate.’

She hurried out and Marcus and I were left looking at each other. He raised the bottle. ‘Wine, Anna?’

‘Yes, please.’ I felt I’d probably need it.

There was silence for a moment as he filled our glasses and then raised his.

‘Well, to echo your grandmother – to family.’

‘To family,’ I said. The wine was bitter and caught at the back of my throat and I coughed. I was half expecting him to challenge me – to ask me about what I’d been doing in the archives. But he said nothing, only sawed meditatively at his cutlet. When he raised a mouthful to his lips he made a face.

‘Ugh, cold.’ He let his hand hover over his plate and I averted my eyes. It wasn’t any different to microwaving your dinner to warm it up, not really. But Maya’s frugality with magic had rubbed off. I could never imagine myself using my power so casually.

I put a piece of cutlet in my mouth and chewed, but it seemed to stick in my throat. I couldn’t relax – I wanted to run after my grandmother and force her to explain. Who
was
this man? Why was a
Corax
eating food with us? And – most puzzlingly of all – why had he helped me, twice now? I owed him – and I didn’t like it. And I didn’t know why.

‘I knew your mother, did you know that?’ Marcus’ voice broke in on my thoughts. My fork clattered to my plate as he took a mouthful of lamb and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Only as a very small child of course. But my mother died when I was two and Isabella was very kind. She’d been close to my mother, so she understood my grief when my mother died and she comforted me. God knows my father didn’t, so I suppose I clung to her in lieu of any real parent. I missed her, after she left. I still do.’

I found myself staring at this stranger, who must have grieved for my mother as I never could. Then I dropped my eyes.

‘How awful. I’m so sorry.’

‘I never knew what happened to her.’ He looked away, at the fire, his face unreadable. ‘I knew that she’d disappeared with your father and that no one had been able to trace her from there. She became a taboo subject around here, completely unmentionable. The one who’d done the unthinkable: put her outwith lover before her family and her duty. But I never forgot her. I always hoped that she might come back. As did you, I’m sure.’

‘N-no …’ I said uncertainly. ‘I never did. At least …’

At least, not exactly. But the more I found out, the more I realized there was no reason for my mother to have killed herself. I didn’t hope that she would come back, but I had started to hope – what? That
I
could find
her
?

‘You’re very like her,’ he said abruptly. ‘That’s one thing I remember clearly – how beautiful she was.’

My cheeks flared up again, as scorching hot as the flames of the fire at my side. I dropped my eyes to my plate and fumbled taking a sip of wine. My hand shook and drops spilled on the cloth like a bloodstain.

‘Damn,’ I said under my breath, scrabbling for a napkin. ‘
Damn
.’

‘Anna …’ Marcus put his hand over my wrist. For a moment we were motionless, his warm brown eyes locked on mine. Then I pulled my hand away and the wine drops were gone, the cloth flawless white again.

‘See?’ He gave a charming smile. ‘No use crying over spilled wine.’

‘Marcus,’ I said desperately, ‘why—?’

‘Presumably you’ve got a lot of catching up to do on Ealdwitan gossip, so why don’t I fill you in?’

As we finished our meal he chatted easily, telling stories about the Ealdwitan that made me see another side entirely from the fierce cut-throat politics that preoccupied my grandmother – funny anecdotes about old retainers and accounts of the dazzling parties held in the underground ballroom and tea-dances in the conservatory.

‘Ballrooms, conservatories, libraries – what isn’t down here?’ I asked.

‘Mmm … good question. There’s no swimming pool, as far as I know. Ironic really, considering the whole thing is rooted in river-water. But yes, it is a warren. I’ve been exploring these corridors all my life and I still find myself lost every now and again.’

‘Did you live here? Growing up?’ I wasn’t sure if it was a stupid question, but I honestly didn’t know.

‘No, not in the sense of sleeping here. This is an office building – we all have homes above ground. For a while, after my mother died, I ran wild here in the day while my father worked. But then my father noticed I was becoming – hmm, shall we say, a bit feral. So he sent me off to boarding school. I was there from seven to fourteen.’

Seven. The word was like a slap.
Seven
. But I only asked, ‘Why did you stop boarding?’

‘Oh, it became awkward, you know. When my magic started to come in. It was all right at first, I practised in the holidays and tried to keep it under wraps at school. But there were a few slip-ups.’ His knife screeched on the plate, and he winced and then gave a rueful laugh. ‘I don’t mean to start special pleading – I mean we’re all in the same boat as regards secrecy – but believe me, a dormitory full of twenty outwith boys can be a tough place to come into your powers.’

I tried to imagine – and failed. God, it had been hard enough becoming a witch in Winter, let alone in the unrelenting hothouse of a boys’ boarding school.

‘Were there any others like you?’ I asked. ‘I mean, at your school?’

He shook his head.

‘No. None. So it was quite a relief to come back here. But enough of me – what about you?’

‘Oh …’ I looked down at my hands, wrapped around the crystal stem of the wineglass. The seaglass ring winked in the candlelight. What to say? ‘It’s – it’s complicated. My mother left and my father – well, as you know, he’s an outwith.’

‘So what happened?’ Marcus looked at me, his brows drawn together into a frown. ‘That must have been very difficult to negotiate?’

‘Yes and no. My mother …’ I bit my lip. Was this very,
very
stupid? I had no idea whether I could trust him. He was an Ealdwitan.
And
a Corax. But on the other hand, my grandmother seemed to trust him – and really, what did I have left to hide? If I wanted answers to my own questions, I had to start talking. ‘My mother left a charm that kind of crippled my magic until I was in my late teens. So it wasn’t something I had to deal with until I was quite old.’

‘Really?’ Marcus put his chin on his hand and stared at me across the table. Little candle-flames flickered in his chocolate-coloured eyes. ‘And why did she do that?’

I shrugged helplessly.

If only I knew.

Later, much later, Franklin had cleared the dinner plates and brought us coffee and petits fours, and there was still no sign of my grandmother.

‘You should go home.’ Marcus looked at me. ‘It’s late. You look very tired. I think the Chairs have been called back to the chamber.’

‘And what does that mean?’

‘A very long wait until they come out. I assume you’re staying with your grandmother – do you have a key?’

‘No, I’ll just wait. I’m fine, honestly,’ I said. Then I spoiled the remark by failing to suppress a huge yawn.

‘You’re dropping on your feet,’ Marcus said. He stood and picked up the telephone on the desk. ‘Hello, Miss Vane. Yes, she’s still here but she needs to go home. Is there anyone who can let her in? OK, no problem. Thank you.’

He put the phone down and began searching for something in a stand on the wide oak desk.

‘There’s a spare key apparently – should be … Aha! Here we are.’ He held out my coat, helped me into it, and then began shrugging into his own jacket.

‘Are you going home too?’ I asked, stifling another yawn.

‘No, I’m walking you. No!’ He held up a hand. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but it’s very late and I’m – well, old-fashioned. Humour me.’

‘I used to make my own way home through London all the time,’ I protested. ‘I think I can manage a stroll through Knightsbridge.’

‘I said, humour me.’ He took my elbow. ‘Anyway, how will you find your way out of here?’

OK. That was a good point.

Marcus led me through a warren of corridors, rooms and chambers, until we came to a small panelled door between two potted palms. When he opened it the chill, damp smell of the river wafted out. I stepped through and found myself stumbling on to the hard concrete of a pavement beside Hyde Park.

The night was cool and the streets were still unbelievably busy. It was hard to believe that it was getting on for eleven. There were more people out and about than in Winter town centre on a Saturday morning. Marcus took my arm and we walked along the dusty pavement past Harrods, beautifully brash in the darkness, towards Kensington Road.

‘Where do you live?’ I asked, more to make conversation than anything.

‘I’m up at Cambridge at the moment,’ he said. ‘Christ’s College. But it’s the Easter vac so I’m staying with my father. He has a flat just off Piccadilly.’

The phrasing struck me; the way he said ‘I’m staying with my father’ rather than ‘I’ve come home’. I couldn’t ever imagine just
staying
with Dad.

‘Do you …’ I paused, suddenly not sure if I was overstepping the mark. ‘Do you get on with your father?’

‘Frankly? No.’

Something in Marcus’ voice made me glance up at him, trying to see his expression, but he was facing down the street, not looking at me. His profile, in the shifting gold light of the street lamps, was uncompromising and I could see his brows were drawn into a deep frown.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said meaninglessly. He let my arm drop and rubbed his forehead, as if trying to smooth away the frown into something more sociable.

‘Truly, don’t worry, Anna. It’s no secret. My father’s old and for a long time he’s considered himself the most important member of the council, though by tradition there’s no hierarchy among the Chairs. I’m his only son – his only child in fact – and he’s beginning to recognize the fact that his Chair will, one day, pass to me, no matter what he does to prolong his life. And that fact is causing … tension. For both of us. He wants my support, but he wants it unconditionally, without listening to my opinion and, frequently, without telling me even what I’m supporting. And I won’t do that.’

‘Marcus …’ I gulped. This was a leap in the dark. Maybe a suicidal one. ‘Did you know your father tried to recruit me? That he threatened to kill my family?’

‘Yes, I do know that – now.’ He looked at me, as if trying to read my reaction. I kept my expression as even as I could. I didn’t want the murderous hatred I felt for Thaddeus Corax to spill out between Marcus and me. ‘But I didn’t at the time,’ he said. ‘Your grandmother was very angry when she found out and she kicked up a huge dust at the council meeting. I’m very sorry – if I’d known …’ He took my arm again as we crossed the road.

‘It’s OK.’ I’d never forgive Thaddeus Corax, but I didn’t see why Marcus should be punished for his father’s actions. ‘But why did your father want to recruit me so badly? It’s something I’ve never worked out.’

‘I don’t know.’ He looked at me again. ‘But if I can find out, I’ll—’

He broke off. A girl was standing in front of us, her hands to her mouth in exaggerated shock.

‘O. M. G! Anna Winterson!’

I blinked. The girl flung her arms out, looking like she expected – what, a
hug
?

‘Anna!’ she said. ‘It’s me – Lauren, for goodness’ sake!’

‘Lauren!’ I looked closer, almost unable to believe my eyes. Lauren? Here? Somehow the coincidence seemed crazy, impossible. And yet – we were only a few hundred metres from my old school. ‘Lauren!’ I dropped Marcus’ arm and ran forwards to give her a hug. ‘I can’t believe it – I nearly didn’t recognize you with the new hair. How are you?’

‘I’m good! And blimey, mate, I don’t need to ask how you are, you look a-bloody-mazing!’ She held me at arm’s length and gave me an admiring once-over. ‘Has your dad won the lottery? Where did you get that fantastic dress?’

‘Oh …’ I realized I was wearing clothes my grand-mother had given to me. They were, as ever, ridiculously fancy designer pieces, totally unsuitable for wearing to school or anywhere useful. How could I explain that – explain everything that had happened in the single short year since I’d left London?

‘Long story,’ I said at last. ‘It was a present.’

‘And I suppose you must be Seth.’ Lauren smiled flirtatiously at Marcus, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. ‘You’re every bit as good-looking as Anna said.’

It was like a kick to the stomach. I felt suddenly sick, faint with the unexpectedness of the blow.

Marcus waited for me to reply and then, realizing that for some reason I couldn’t, he stepped in.