The Witch in the Lake (5 page)

‘Did you practise magic there?'

Marco closed his eyes.

‘Why haven't you ever taken me? Like
your
father did?'

Marco stood up suddenly, jolting the table. He turned to face his son. ‘Because my magic failed there, that's why. It used to shine with power, that place. My grandfather—'

‘Illuminato.'

‘He would hold up a finger, you know, just point to the walls and make you see things: ghosts of animals, fire, people dancing in the stone. It would glow with a golden light, and you felt powerful just looking at it, letting it seep behind your eyes.'

Marco's face was alight with memory. ‘Oh, Leo,' he whispered, ‘Illuminato could make
miracles
. If you only knew, could have seen how he was—'

‘Tell me.'

Marco threw up his hands. ‘He could change the nature of disease—transform it! He rescued the dying from the jaws of death. Just a glance from him—'

‘Is that true? Was he really such a great wizard?'

‘Yes.' Marco smiled. ‘This is no story, son, no silly superstition. I saw it with my own eyes. People in the village came secretly to him at all times of the day and night. They brought him their sick children under the cover of dark. He always helped, and the villagers felt safe, just having him there at hand until—'

‘What?'

‘Until he stopped.'

Marco turned back to the fire, and Leo's rush of questions choked in his throat. He recognised the set of Marco's face, the full stop of his mouth. Leo waited, watching the fire with his father.

When Marco spoke again, his voice floated quietly over his shoulder. It was hushed with awe, as if the things he was about to tell had only happened yesterday.

‘I remember when my little friend Domenico fell desperately ill with the smallpox.'

‘How old was he, were you?' asked Leo.

‘Oh, five, I think, or six. Dom's mother brought him to the house of my grandfather. We were there, my father and I, having lunch. Domenico was so sick, covered with terrible boils—he looked as if he had already died, lying there in his mother's arms.

‘Illuminato leapt up straight away. He led them in. My father was scared. I saw him clutch at Illuminato's arm, trying to pull him back. “Don't let them near us, Papà!” he begged.

‘Illuminato had a voice like thunder. “Manton, you coward, shut your mouth!” he roared in front of everyone.

‘I still remember the grateful look on Dom's mother's face, the shame on my father's. His shame became mine, too.'

‘But he was only trying to protect you,' protested Leo. ‘It's so infectious, the pox, isn't it? I know
you'd
have been worried about me.'

‘Well, they laid the boy down on a bed. His head lolled back. His forehead burned like fire. Illuminato stood near, his back to the boy. I saw him close his eyes for a moment. The room was so still, as if even the bricks, the table and chairs were waiting until Illuminato took his next breath.

‘Then he swung around and knelt down to the boy. His face was only an inch away. He stared into Domenico's face and suddenly the air began to crackle between them. Illuminato's eyes glowed green as a cat's—sparks flew and the boy's face was lit by an incandescent gold, silver, oh it was like lightning, Leo, a flash of silver on a dark, hopeless night. The boy moaned and tossed on the bed. His mother watched, rocking, the tears dropping from her chin. But then, it must have only been seconds—and Domenico lay still. He gave a funny little smile and turned on his side, for all the world as if he was just falling asleep after a big dinner and a goodnight kiss.

‘“He'll be well,” said Illuminato. He went back to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. “Leave him there to sleep, signora. Come now and eat with us.”'

Leo gazed at his father. He'd never heard so much from him—about their family, about the past. He wanted to hear more, he'd sit there forever in that same spot and never move a muscle if Marco would just go on telling him these things, these secrets that
mattered
.

Marco stared into the fire. Leo sat still, hardly daring to breathe. He watched his father's profile, the eyes sunk in memory, the glow of the fire bathing his cheeks.

‘Only once,' Marco said into the silence, his voice still far away, ‘just once, did I get close to my grandfather. Close enough to feel his power on my skin.'

‘When was that?' Leo whispered gently.
Don't break the spell
,
gently now
. . .

‘It was in the cave, his place of wizardry. You could feel him all around you there, in the rock, in the sandy floor, there was this taste, I don't know, a special heaviness in the air. He took me with him one day, just the two of us. Oh, Leo, it was so thrilling. Being with him was like standing on top of a cliff face, exhilarating but safe—he'd never let you fall. I stood close to him, I remember that my head came up to his waist. He had a silver girdle and a tinderbox tucked into it and I stood so close that I could breathe him in. I tried to breathe in his energy, the crackle of his power, he smelled of ashes and sparks. I thought if I could just fill my lungs with him, that heavy candle grease smell, I could touch the lights of his soul. But it didn't work. I saw his power, I watched with wonder, but he never became a part of
me
.'

Marco wrenched his eyes from the fire and turned to Leo. ‘I couldn't give you that, son. I couldn't pass on a power like that because I failed.'

‘But you were only young. You said to me that it takes time, practice—'

‘Yes, yes, but when it really counted, when I was a man, I failed.'

‘How? How did you fail?'

Marco shrugged. ‘I don't know. I didn't
want
to use magic—
dio
, I couldn't even save your mother . . . But she lay there in her yellow cloak—'

‘Who, Laura?'

‘Yes, Laura, lying there in the cave in her yellow cloak. She looked at me with such trust . . . what could I do? I put a cushion under her head, she was mumbling, she was far away, but I had the heart of her—I
saw
her, I did. And I thought, if I gazed long enough, gathered her up in my vision, I could heal her, just like my grandfather did. I could transform all that was diseased, purify her . . .'

‘So what happened? Did you lose concentration?'

Marco rubbed his hands over his eyes. ‘I don't know, son. I felt the shift start to happen, the slide of her soul towards me, and I had her there, all of her, in my mind. Who knows, maybe my heart was roaring too loud, but suddenly I couldn't hang onto her any more. I felt her curl away, she slipped like a stone from a peach, and escaped me. She had the energy of a wild one, a mad woman, the fever made her crazy and she leaped up. She was running and running and I couldn't catch her, I couldn't. And then the night swallowed her up and I never saw her again, even in my dreams.'

Leo was quiet a moment, imagining. His father's face was white and grey in the shadow-light.

‘But, Papà, did you see where Laura went? What direction she was headed?'

Marco sunk his head in his hands. ‘She was running towards the lake.' His voice was low and shuddering. ‘There was a terrible mist that night, it clung to everything. A wind started up, it had a voice—roaring, thundering over the lake. Oh, son, how can I tell you the horror? The voice blocked out any other sound. Waves whipped wild, the spray and the mist . . . The last thing I saw was Laura at the water's edge. She looked back, it was just for a second, and then the dark reached out and took her.'

Marco lifted his head. His face was ashen. He glanced away from Leo. ‘I won't ever speak of this again. What I will say is that my magic brought us disgrace and misery. Merilee's family will never forgive me for what happened—or you, for being my son.'

‘It's only Aunt Beatrice, Papà, she's the one full of venom. Merilee's told me how her mamma loved me like her own, she practically grew me up—'

‘I won't talk about it any more, Leo. We have to obey their wishes. Stay away from Merilee and the damn lake, do you hear me? Now go to bed and let me get on with my reading.'

Leo hovered behind his father's chair. His mind was buzzing—thoughts whizzed around like a bunch of bees in a hive. He saw his father's pale face, the lines between his eyes deeply drawn. He saw the slight tremble of his mouth. But he couldn't stop. The buzz of questions in his head became one loud insistent voice, shouting over everything else.

‘Papà,' he began in a rush, ‘I heard it last night. Down at the lake. There was a voice, a ghostly call. It was awful, Papà, it made you want to go there, find it, smash it or save it . . . I felt as if it was calling me. But it scared me so I couldn't sleep. Don't you see, the only way we'll ever know is to go and seek it out ourselves—'

‘Enough!' Marco cried, slamming down his notebook. ‘There are laws, and you must obey them.'

Leo drew himself up. He lifted his chin and saw that he was almost as tall as Marco. He noticed the slump of his father's shoulders, the drag of skin hooding his eyes. And all in the same moment Leo felt a piercing sadness and triumph at the strength coursing through his young heart.

‘Papà,' he said quietly, ‘I am a wizard with the twin signs and I've been practising magic for six years now. Why else did you spend all those hours teaching me, if not so that I could use my power?' With a sudden blaze of courage he took hold of Marco's hands. ‘If I do see that witch, Papà, you can be sure I'll destroy her, I swear it on my mother's grave. And just think, there will be no more disgrace and misery. The Pericolo family will be heroes again, and we will all be set free!'

Leo's shining eyes stared into his father's face. But Marco Pericolo only looked at him sadly, as if Leo had just announced, like silly old Signor Butteri, that everything would be all right because he had just bought a whole stack of red furniture, enough to cure all the illness in the world, forever.

Merilee woke early on Saturday morning. She curled her toes under the blankets and thought,
Leo
. Then she threw back the bedclothes and tiptoed out into the courtyard.

The air was cool and shiny, dew still sparkling on leaves and grass as if the morning were a bowl of crystal. Merilee hugged her nightgown around her and began to plan her day.

There were her jobs to do first, of course. She'd feed the hens and the pig. She'd sweep the floors and peel the vegetables for lunch. And then, afterwards, when Aunt Beatrice and her mother retired for their siesta, her time would be her own.

Merilee's heart lifted. A familiar feeling of excitement swept through her like a fresh breeze. But as she went back inside to get dressed, the trickle of anxiety that often came with the thought of Leo now became a steady stream. She remembered the smooth surface of the lake parting, heard that awful, breathy moan, and her heart began to thump.

She pulled on her boots and buttoned her dress. The devil take him, why did he always have to push and pull at things? Why couldn't he just let the world alone, and accept it as it was? She thought of his fierce face as he made his promise, and sighed. She knew that if
she'd
accepted things as they were three years ago, when her family forbade her to see Leo again, she wouldn't be planning her day with him now.

‘And I wouldn't give him up for anything,' she said to herself determinedly.

For lunch Merilee and her mother prepared a delicious minestrone. They'd had to do battle with Aunt Beatrice, of course, who'd wanted to make the entire meal herself—with Merilee as kitchen maid, that is. ‘You'll only tire yourself,
amore
,' Beatrice had nagged at Francesca. Still, they ate the soup with the thick crusty bread that Aunt Beatrice had baked that morning, and very good it was too, as they told her several times.

But Aunt Beatrice just waved her hand. ‘Oh,
si
, I had to get up before dawn this morning to bake that for you.'

Francesca began to protest, murmuring how sorry she was, but Beatrice just charged on.

‘Then it was just rush, rush rush—there were ten aromatic posies to make up for the apothecary—he's always running short of things for his shop, he's the chaotic kind, you know, quite disorganised, I don't know how he runs a business. But he relies on me so I couldn't disappoint him, could I. And I'd promised Signora Scardino that I'd make a new face salve for her—she's so particular, with her awful dry skin. Oh, I'm quite worn out. Still, if I didn't keep going, what would happen to this family, I ask you?'

The family had given up saying that they would be quite all right, thank you, as Aunt Beatrice always seemed to turn quite deaf when they did.

Merilee watched her aunt as she chewed. Large square chin, meaty hands always hovering like a sturdy pair of gloves over her mother's. Merilee tried not to show her irritation as Beatrice smiled falsely at her mother, offering her a tonic of lavender and myrrh, scolding her slightly, treating her as an invalid as she had done ever since Laura disappeared.

It seemed to Merilee that from the moment Francesca began to shrink with grief, her sister grew and bloomed with power. Merilee saw her studying their faces greedily as they ate, hungry for the praise that she was owed. She was forever busy, clattering cutlery, measuring and labelling herbs, smelling of wild and potent things. A whirlpool of energy surrounded her like a small cloud, powerful and noisy, and you kept far away unless you wanted to be dragged into her universe and enslaved.

Beatrice slept in Laura's room now, where the floor was strewn with aromatic herbs. Cloves, sage, and rosemary—Beatrice said they helped her remember her dear niece. Ever since Laura was very small Beatrice had taught her about the healing properties of herbs. When she went for a walk in the forest Laura would often bring a bundle of plants back with her and faithfully copy the stems and flowers into a book she kept under her pillow.