A Witch in Love (21 page)

I found myself nose to nose with a man.

Behind him was a small sitting room, with no way out. At the sight of the dead end I couldn’t stop myself – my hands flew to my mouth and I stifled a cry. Was it a mistake? A trap? Had I misheard the directions or had they never intended to let me go?

I had no idea where to go. I turned, about to run, blindly, when the man grabbed my wrist.

‘Hey, hey, what’s the matter? Are you OK?’

‘No!’ I was too beaten and desperate to pretend any more. ‘No – I’m not OK, please let me go.’ I pulled at my wrist but he held me, not roughly, but his grip was strong. ‘Let go!’

‘It’s all right …’ He put his free hand on my shoulder and I felt his magic reach round me, a soothing immobilizing fug. ‘Listen, just calm down—’

‘Stop it, please, just let me go!’ I tugged hopelessly at his grasp, hearing sounds from up the corridor and feeling the desperation of my predicament – entombed below London with the people I feared most in the world.

The man looked along the corridor and then back at me. He was young, I saw, only a few years older than me. In other circumstances I might have thought him handsome.

‘Please,’ I begged. The sounds were coming closer. ‘Please, tell me how to get out of here.’

‘OK,’ he said, seeming suddenly to make up his mind. He pulled me through the door and into the room, shutting the door behind us. Inside he let go of my wrist and turned to a long wall of books lining one side of the room. The books were behind glass doors and he took a key and unlocked one of the cabinets. ‘In there.’

‘In here?’ I looked incredulously at the heavy shelves and he nodded impatiently.

‘Yes.’ There was a knock at the door and he raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, do you want me to get that or do you want to trust me?’

‘Who are you?’ I said desperately.

‘My name is Marcus,’ he said. Then, as the knock came again, ‘You have about three seconds to decide. One, two—’

I opened the door, stepped through, and someone slammed it shut behind me.

The other side was cold – incredibly cold – and for a moment I thought this was the last trap of all, and I’d been led into some oubliette of no return. There were sheer stone walls all around me, cold stone under my feet. Water dripped, the sound echoing around the walls, and high above a lightbulb flickered dully. I was just about to panic when I saw a familiar signpost pointing upwards, to Blackfriars tube station. I must be in an underpass on the Thames Embankment – probably under Blackfriars Bridge.

I started to walk in the direction of the sign, clutching myself against the cold. The thin silk dress was no protection against the January night air and I began to shiver. To make things worse, I was still wearing the stupid heels and they slipped and skidded on the steep concrete steps up from the underpass. But I was safe, out of that hellhole, and that was the main thing.

I thought bitterly about my clothes and boots, still lying in that office. Would I ever get them back? At least I had my handbag – I was still too much of a Londoner to leave valuables lying around in a strange place, no matter how posh. Without my purse and train ticket I’d have been royally stuffed. As it was, at least I’d be allowed on the train to Winter. If I didn’t die of hypothermia or break a leg on the cobblestones first.

I’d never been so thankful to be on board a train. The meagre stream of warm air coming from the heating vents felt like a sauna after the freezing night air. I huddled into a corner seat and drew my knees up to my chest to try to get a bit of warmth into my chilled bones. Then I pulled out my phone and I tried Dad.

This time I let it ring until the answerphone cut in, hung up, and then tried again. Still nothing. What was going on? It was long past his usual supper time. Surely he’d be home by now – I just couldn’t believe he’d have gone for a night out without telling me, or without knowing whether I was home safe. It wasn’t like Dad and I got the first chilly presentiment that there was something very wrong in Winter.

I tried Seth next. His phone cut out – but I’d been expecting that. He was probably at either the pub, or the hospital. Next I tried the bar phone at the Crown and Anchor.

‘Crown and Anchor,’ I heard in a half-shout above the bar noise. It was Angelica, one of the regular barmaids.

‘Hi, Angelica. Is Seth there?’

‘No, sorry, is that Anna?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s over at the hospital with Elaine.’

‘OK, thanks.’

‘Any message?’

‘No worries, see you later.’

‘Bye.’

She hung up and I texted Seth.

Will be Winter station 10ish if you want to give me a lift? No worries if not, can get cab. Ax

Then I let my head loll and waited for the train to carry me back to Winter. The cold couldn’t keep me awake. The noise of the station announcements didn’t rouse me. Even the sound of my mobile beeping with Seth’s reply didn’t get through. I simply slept.

‘Hey, gorgeous.’ Seth was waiting at the ticket barrier as I trudged wearily up the steps. ‘Christ, what are you wearing?’

‘Don’t ask.’ I shoved my ticket bad-temperedly at the collector and we left the station.

‘Anna, you’re blue with cold.’ Seth took off his jacket and I huddled into it gratefully. ‘Where’s your coat and stuff?’

‘Oh, Seth.’ I was so tired I could hardly think. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow – but not now, OK? It’s a long story.’

‘OK. Just tell me one thing – you didn’t get mugged, did you?’

‘No, no, I didn’t get mugged.’

I fell wearily into the passenger seat of Seth’s car and let my head rest against the window as we drove down through the town to the harbour, and then began the climb up the cliff road, towards Wicker Wood and our house. My eyes were shut, so at first Seth’s exclamation of ‘Holy … Anna!’ made no sense. I opened them blearily and looked around.

‘What – what is it?’

‘I don’t know but …’ He nodded out of his window and I peered past him into the black night. Except it wasn’t completely black. There was a reddish glow above the forest. Right where Wicker House should have been.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
 didn’t really believe it at first. Not when we saw the dull, fiery glow above the trees. Not when the smell of smoke started to filter into the car’s vents. Not even when we were bumping down the track in the forest and I could hear the crackle of police radios and see the blue pulse of emergency-vehicle lights.

But I had to believe when we drew up outside Wicker House and I saw the still-glowing embers, the fallen beams, the pools of dark water from the firemen’s hoses and, worst of all, my dad, sitting on a broken-down fence with his head in his hands.

‘Dad!’ I stumbled from the car and took a few steps over the sodden ground, but my heels instantly sank into the mud, leaving me pinned. Impatiently I ripped them off and ran, hot cinders crunching beneath my bare feet.

‘Anna!’ His head shot up at the sound of my voice and as I reached him he stood and put his arms around me. I buried my face in his fleece as I hugged him back. It smelt of smoke and my eyes welled with tears.

‘What happened?’

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Dad said. ‘The worst of the damage is to the barn and the garage. But the kitchen has pretty much gone. God knows how we’ll pay for the repairs …’

‘Oh, Dad.’ My voice cracked. ‘How? Was it the Aga?’

Dad shook his head wearily.

‘Unbelievably, they think it was arson.’

‘What!’

‘I know. I know. But they found traces of accelerants – and there’s that.’ He nodded towards the end wall of the house, which was more or less untouched. It was illuminated by the lights from the fire engine, and I saw, to my horror, in blood-red letters a foot high:
EX 22 18 MM
.

Oh God.

‘What does it mean?’ I asked mechanically, even though I was pretty sure I knew what it meant. Not the text – but who’d done this, and why.

‘Lord knows.’ Dad ran a hand through his hair. Maybe it was the light, or the ashes in his hair and on his face, but he suddenly looked very old and very tired. ‘Kids, probably. I told them about the other letters. They asked all the obvious: is there anyone who’s got a grudge against us, did you have any suspicious ex-boyfriends, have I offended anyone in town … ?’

‘What did you say?’

‘What could I say? No, no and no. I said I had no idea.’

‘This your daughter, sir?’ A policeman was picking his way over the muddy, rutted field towards us. Dad nodded.

‘Yes, this is Anna.’

‘I’m Sergeant Whittacker, Anna. I’m very sorry to trouble you under these circumstances, but you’ll understand I have to ask you some questions.’

I nodded wearily.

‘OK.’

‘That your young man?’ He pointed towards Seth, waiting by his car, not wanting to intrude on Dad’s misery.

‘Yes, Seth Waters.’

‘Seth Waters, eh? I know that name.’ His lips thinned and I almost groaned. Not this again. Would Seth ever manage to live down that one dreadful fight? It was nearly four years ago, he’d been little more than a child, and he’d been picked on by a grown man who should have known better. But none of that seemed to matter to the police.

They knew his name. That was that.

‘I’ll need to speak to him as well.’ He motioned to Seth, who came over slowly.

‘Been for a night out, have you, Anna?’ the sergeant asked me.

‘No – yes. Sort of. I’ve been up in London. With a friend. I was there all day, I just got back. Seth gave me a lift from the station because I couldn’t get hold of Dad.’

‘I see. And what about you, Seth?’

‘I worked in my mum’s pub this afternoon, then my mum and I went to visit my grandad. He’s in Brighthaven Hospital.’

‘I see. And you’re old enough to serve behind the bar, are you?’

Seth raised one eyebrow and I could see his anger rising. I knew he was biting back a sarcastic retort. I took his hand and squeezed it gently and he exhaled and just nodded curtly.

‘What time were you in the pub from?’

‘Look, I didn’t torch my girlfriend’s house,’ Seth said through gritted teeth. The sergeant said nothing for about ten seconds – just looked at him with unconcealed dislike.

‘Just answer the question, son.’

‘From about two. Maybe quarter past two. I was with another member of staff all afternoon, and then my mother picked me up. Is that OK?’

‘We’ll check it out,’ the sergeant said flatly. Then he turned back to me. ‘And what about you, Anna? Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?’

Yes.

‘No,’ I lied miserably. ‘No one who’d do a thing like this anyway.’

‘Are you sure?’ he pressed. ‘People – specially kids – often do things for very trivial reasons. Small things get blown out of all proportion. No one at school you’ve offended?’

‘No, honestly,’ I said more categorically. ‘I’m sure no one at school is connected to this.’ That at least I could say honestly. But Seth was looking at me uncomfortably, biting his lip.

‘What is it?’ The sergeant, in spite of everything, was perceptive, and he saw that Seth was holding something back. ‘Something you’ve remembered, Seth? If it’s anything you think could help …’

‘Well …’ Seth turned to look at me and his lips silently formed one questioning word:
Caroline?

‘No.’ I shook my head vehemently. ‘No, no, no.’

‘What is it?’ Sergeant Whittacker pressed. Seth’s face was miserable but he turned back.

‘My ex. Caroline Flint. She was very upset when I got together with Anna; she said at the time she was going to make Anna regret it.’

‘No.’ I shook my head again, frantic to shut him up. ‘Seth, honestly, I’m
sure
Caroline’s not behind this.’

‘Anna, there are loads of other people who’ll make the connection, you know. She threatened you – in front of the whole school. She said she’d make your life a misery.’

‘She meant blanking me in the corridor and hiding my underwear after PE, Seth, you
know
she did. Come on, Seth – please,
please
don’t do this.’ I stared at him, willing him to understand, read my mind,
know
that there was something I couldn’t say in front of Dad and the policeman. If I’d trusted my magic I would have tried to put the words silently into Seth’s head – the way Caradoc had done in the bookshop. But I didn’t. I might split Seth’s brain, send him mad – kill him even – if I tried to mess with his mind. I could only stare beseechingly and beg him with my eyes to understand and
shut up
.

‘Caroline … Flint …’ Sergeant Whittacker wrote the name down in his notebook. ‘Lives in Winter, does she?’

‘Yes, out along the Anchor Road.’

‘I see. Well, and you’re sure there’s nothing you can add for the moment?’ He turned to me and my dad in turn, and we both shook our heads. ‘Then I think we’ll leave it for tonight, I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get to bed. If you think of anything in the morning, here’s my card.’