A Witch in Love (8 page)

‘Abe,’ I said. ‘Abe! Put me down! I can walk, for heaven’s sake.’

‘Really?’ He turned his head to look at me, his face strangely close now I was gripped against his chest. ‘So all that screaming stuff when I touched your foot, that was just play-acting, was it? Look, if you’ve got an alternative suggestion, bring it on. Otherwise …’

‘I’m too heavy …’ I struggled half-heartedly as he began walking, but he only clamped me closer. ‘Please, this feels weird, put me down.’

‘You’re not heavy, for God’s sake. You’re a teenage girl. Stop wriggling or I’ll lose my footing in the snow and we’ll both end up in A&E.’

I subsided, and a few minutes later we reached a street lamp and stopped beneath its pool of chilly light. Abe put me down in the snow and knelt beside me, pulling the blood-sodden denim up to my knee. What was underneath made me wince and Abe gave a low whistle.

‘You don’t do things by halves, woman. That’s quite a gash. And your ankle looks like you’ve got elephantiasis.’

‘So what do you think – A&E after all?’

‘Hmm … might not be necessary.’ Abe put his hand to my ankle again, not prodding but just letting it rest there, cool against the swelling. I had the impression that he was feeling for something. ‘If it was broken I’d say yes, we need a doctor, but …’ He was silent for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I’m pretty certain it’s not. We can sort this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Heal it.’

‘Heal it? How?’

‘How do you think? Magically, of course. If it was broken I wouldn’t mess with it – you don’t want to cause a bone to set in the wrong position; that’s worse than doing nothing. But this is just cuts and swelling, nothing your body can’t sort, with a bit of help.’

‘And you can do that?’

‘Yep. Only …’

‘Only … ?’ I echoed.

‘Only I’m not going to.’

‘What? That’s horrible! You’re telling me you can fix this, but you’re not going to?’

‘No.
You’re
going to.’

We stared at each other, hemmed together in the intimate little circle of the lamplight. His black eyes reflected the cold glimmer of the snow.

‘Well?’ he asked at last.

‘What will you do if I refuse? Leave me here in the snow?’

He was silent for a minute and then nodded, reluctantly. ‘If that’s what it takes, yes.’

‘This is blackmail.’ My voice cracked.

‘I’m trying …’ He swallowed and I saw his fist was clenched. ‘I’m trying to help. Anna, you
have
to start doing magic. I know you don’t want to, for some twisted moral agenda of your own, but you’re going to end up hurting someone if you don’t – probably yourself.’

‘But I don’t know how!’ It was a sob of desperation in the still night air. ‘Come on, Abe, I don’t know the first thing about this – what do you expect me to do? I need a spell – something!’

‘You don’t need a spell,’ Abe said impatiently. ‘That’s just bollocks, props, fiddling round the edges. Magic – real magic – comes from in here.’ He banged his fist on his chest, his black brows drawn into a frown. The cold light glittered off his eyebrow ring.

‘I need
something
,’ I said. ‘You’re not being fair, Abe. Give me a chance – you’ve had years – and what have I had?’

‘You’ve had enough time,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s not time that’s the problem – you’re afraid.’

I wanted to snap back that I bloody wasn’t afraid – and would prove it.

But he was right. I was afraid. Afraid of bringing the fury of the Ealdwitan down on myself and Seth again. Afraid of what might happen if I let go. And … afraid of myself.

‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘Goodbye, Anna. Have fun freezing your arse off here.’

‘No!’

But Abe just got up as if I hadn’t spoken, brushing snow from his knees, and began to walk slowly back to where he’d left the car.

‘No!’ I shouted. ‘Abe!’

He carried on walking, the crunch, crunch of his steps on the snow growing fainter as he disappeared into the night.

‘Abe, Abe, you bastard, please!’ Panic rose in my throat, choking me so that I could hardly breathe.

‘OK!’ I yelled at last. ‘OK, OK – I’ll do it. Please, please come back.’

The footsteps halted.

‘I’ll do it,’ I repeated. ‘Just please, please come back and help me.’

He came slowly back along the dark road and knelt beside me in the snow.

‘Go on then.’

‘But, what do I do?’

‘You just have to want it. Spells, incantations, all that crap – it doesn’t mean anything. None of that stuff has any real power. It’s a way of concentrating the mind; that’s why people use it. But it’s just a crutch – and you can’t rely on it. What counts is how much you want something, how much of yourself you’re prepared to give to make it happen.’

‘But for God’s sake!’ My teeth were clenched – with cold or fury, I wasn’t sure which. ‘For God’s sake, Abe, of course I want my bloody ankle to be healed. If that were all it took I would’ve walked away from this situation before you even got here. Of
course
, I want it, but nothing’s happening.’

‘Want it harder,’ Abe said shortly.

I sat there in the pool of cold light, feeling the pain from my ankle throb up and down my leg – and I willed it to heal. I wanted to be well, I told myself. I
wanted
it. I felt my power shift and flow, and tried to force it down into the damaged tissues of my leg, holding my breath with the effort of concentration. Abe just sat in silence and watched me, until at last I let out a great gasp of frustration, white on the night air.

‘It’s not working! It’s not bloody working, Abe – I don’t know what to
do
.’

Abe looked dispassionately at my ankle. It looked maybe a couple of millimetres less swollen, and a shade less red, but it was definitely not healed.

‘You aren’t trying, Anna. You want to be well – but you’re not prepared to let go of your reservations about using magic. You want to be healed, but not if it means getting your hands dirty. Listen.’ He crouched down beside me, his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. ‘It’s no good wanting it in a wishy-washy, “Oh, wouldn’t it be simply super if I’d never bashed my leg” kind of way. You have to want it so much that you burn with it. You have to want it
specifically
. You have want each muscle and nerve and cell in your leg to heal. You have to want your blood to clot, your skin to knit, your white blood cells to kill infection. Here …’

Before I could protest, he gripped my cold numb hand in his and forced it roughly down on to the gash on my leg, so roughly that I yelped. Then he pressed my fingers into the wound, so that the nerve endings screamed in protest.

‘Feel that? Feel where the pain is? That tells you what’s wrong. It tells you what you need to do. Don’t just stop it from hurting – that won’t do anything but numb your leg and you’ll walk on the wound and probably lame yourself for life. You’ve got to
want
to be healed, want to be
whole
.’

I lay in the snow, panting with pain, Abe’s hand gripping mine, mine gripping my leg, and I made the power flow, hot and urgent through my body, down through my hand, into the flesh and bone and blood of my leg where the pain screamed and howled.

I wanted it. I
wanted
it. I wanted to be healed and healthy and not to be lying here in the snow unable to walk, unable to help myself. There was nothing else in my head apart from the overpowering need and the heat of Abe’s hand on mine.

At last I collapsed. I crumpled sideways in the snow, still clutching my leg, and Abe caught me just before my head hit the pavement.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said hoarsely. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t do any more.’

‘Look,’ Abe said quietly, and he peeled back my hand from my leg. There was blood on my hand, blood on my jeans, blood on the snow. But my leg – my leg was whole. Abe wiped my skin gently with handful of snow, smoothing away the last traces of blood. A faint silver scar marked the skin. Abe traced the mark with his finger and I shivered.

‘You see that?’ he said. His face was set in lines almost like grief.

I nodded.

‘That line, that marks the limit of witchcraft. Magic can help your body do what it can already do for itself, and it can help it do it better – but no more than that. You can help heal, you can fight infection, you can slow disease. But no one can regrow a limb. No one can take away a scar. You can’t undo what’s already done.’

‘I see,’ I said numbly. ‘Thank you, Abe.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ he said, suddenly cold. He hauled himself to his feet and then put out a hand to help me up. There was a twinge of stiffness as I put my weight to my ankle, but no more than that. ‘You did it yourself.’

He walked me back to my bike and got into the car, revving the engine to help it warm up. Then he wound down the window and looked at me, his breath a cloud of frost as the engine growled.

‘So long, Anna. See you around.’

‘Abe—’

But he was gone.

I set my foot wearily to the pedal and began to cycle home in the still-falling snow.

CHAPTER SIX

W
hen I awoke next morning even the slight stiffness in my ankle was gone. I lay for a moment, flexing my toes, and then I ran my fingers over the shallow ridge of the scar, pondering over what I’d done. What I’d done? Or what Abe had done? In spite of his parting words I still wasn’t sure how much had been me, and how much he’d helped.

I didn’t know whether to be grateful to him for helping me, or furious that he’d blackmailed me. Whatever Emmaline, Maya and Abe said, I still felt deeply uneasy about using magic. If I had to: yes. But not if there was any other way. Not just because I could. Not after what I’d done last year.

I’d lived without magic for seventeen years, quite safely. And since my decision, six months ago, to stop doing magic, I’d had six months of peace and happiness. Peace from the Ealdwitan, happiness with Seth. Was it so impossible to carry on like that?

At last I braved the cold and climbed out of bed to pull back the curtains. The sun wasn’t yet up, but there was a pre-dawn luminance in the sky, and the forest was white – a white so stark and beautiful it was almost unbearable. A perfect carpet of snow covered the meadow in front of the house, broken only by the footprints of birds and foxes, and behind it the black tangle of Wicker Wood was transformed into delicate frosted glory. As I watched, a group of birds took flight and wheeled up from the trees, sending a shower of snow to the carpet beneath with a soft pattering sound.

But in spite of the loveliness it was too cold to stay for long and I hopped back into bed. My toes bumped against the heavy, misshapen weight of a stocking and I slid my hand under my pillow, where Seth’s parcel made a small, solid lump. As I drew it out I wondered again what the small box could be. It was heavy in my hand but not surprisingly heavy, just a satisfying weight for such a little thing. Like a watch, perhaps, or a paperweight, although the box was a little too small for either.

The gold paper peeled back and inside was a little wooden box, prettily carved. It was a lovely thing but still, I was slightly surprised at Seth’s choice of present. What could I do with a tiny wooden box? Keep my earrings in it? It would barely fit one pair. Use it for pills? I didn’t need any medication. Still, Seth had chosen it and given it to me, and that was enough.

It was almost as an afterthought that I opened it. Then I gasped.

Inside, padded with roughly scrunched-up linen, was a ring. No, not just a ring, but the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen. It was made of silver, twisted around an irregularly shaped stone of a strange, smoky dark amethyst-blue. It was heart-stoppingly lovely and I couldn’t bear to think how much Seth had spent or how he’d obtained the money.

Grabbing my dressing gown I flew downstairs to the phone in the hallway and huddled in the stairwell, dialling Seth’s mobile number with trembling fingers.

‘Hey,’ he answered sleepily. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ I said, my words tumbling over themselves. ‘Oh, Seth, I opened your present; it’s so, so lovely. But you shouldn’t have – however did you afford it?’

‘Don’t worry.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘I should have put in a note. It’s not a gemstone, just a piece of seaglass I found one day. It reminded me of your eyes, so I saved it and got a friend to set it in a ring. Like I say, it’s only glass, so you’ll have to be careful if you wear it; it’s not as hard as a real gem.’

‘I love it,’ I said positively. The ring’s humble origin did nothing to take away my delight. ‘I really mean that; I love it more than I can say.’

‘That’s fitting then,’ Seth said quietly.

For a moment I couldn’t speak, I was so full of feeling, but then I managed to clear my throat and said huskily, ‘Did you open mine yet?’