Star Witch

  I kept my distance on the off-chance that he might try something. ‘Why, Gareth? Why did you do it? Was it the power?’

  He stared at me. ‘Wh – what?’

  For good measure – and because I had to ensure that Gareth didn’t get up again – I cast my next rune, pinning his body flat to the ground. If he’d been an Order witch, he probably could have countered it. Fortunately for me, death magic appeared to be rather limiting. With my safety assured – for now – I stepped closer to him as my phone rang off again once more.

  ‘Who’s Alistair? Is this your partner in crime?’ I knelt down to get a better look at his face. I’d definitely managed to draw blood but it was still too dark to tell how much, beyond the fact that it was wet and dribbling down his cheek. ‘Tell me where he is.’

  Gareth’s jaw worked uselessly. He was trying to talk – even I could tell that – but my last spell must have hit him harder than I’d realised. Either that or he’d already set the next raising in motion and he was exhausted from the effort.

  With one eye on him, I scanned round anxiously. There was police tape around one grave, a mound of earth next to a gaping hole and the name emblazoned on the headstone was Mark Fulwright, rest in peace. Then I spotted more police tape a metre away around one of the graves on the next row. Swallowing, I took a step over to see. Scott McGuthrie.

  Wrinkling my nose, I focused on Gareth. ‘Why these two?’ I asked. ‘Why did you raise these two men as zombies?’

  ‘Unghhh.’

  Arse. I wanted answers. Unfortunately Gareth was in no position to give them. ‘Unghhh,’ he repeated, his eyes flicking to the right.

  I followed his gaze, finally noticing that the untouched grave next to Mark Fulwright and in front of Scott McGuthrie belonged to someone who had once been Morag McAllan. Born 1761. Died 1799.

  Suppressing a chill, I closed my eyes momentarily. In terms of necromancy, Gareth was a baby. He’d been aiming for Morag, one of his direct ancestors; instead he’d brought up two strangers whose only crime was being buried next to her. The catalogue of mistakes that had brought both of us to this point was staggering. I slumped down beside him.

  ‘You fucked up,’ I told him frankly. I leaned over, holding my breath as I slid my index finger along the blood on his cheek and held it up to the moonlight to get a better look. ‘So did I.’ I sighed and reached for my phone once again. ‘You don’t really have any idea about what you’ve unleashed, do you? No matter what your blood reveals, you’re a dead man. There’s no other option. Necromancy is too powerful and too uncontrollable. The only thing that remains to be seen is whether I’ll be joining you.’

  Gareth’s expression was clouded with confusion. I turned on my phone to use its light and breathed out. His blood was a pure, beautiful red. That meant there was only one thing left to do.

  ‘I’ve been so focused on my own impending doom,’ I told him sadly, ‘that I’ve not really thought about what it’ll be like to end the life of another human being. If there were any other choice, I wouldn’t do it. If you hadn’t been such a damn good liar and hadn’t managed to take things so far already, maybe there would have been another way out. But by raising two dead bodies, you’ve abused too much necromantic magic, Gareth. Whatever your reasons were, there’s no way to contain what you’ve done now other than by killing you. I really, truly am sorry. I’ll make it as swift and painless as I can.’

  The confusion in Gareth’s eyes was rapidly changing to terror. ‘Unnnnngh!’

  I ran a hand through my hair. I could do this. I had to do this. If I wasn’t going to get a full explanation from Gareth then I’d have to deal with that. But there was one answer I had to get first.

  ‘Blink once for yes and twice for no. Is this Alistair working with you?’

  ‘Puh-lease,’ drawled a voice behind me. ‘I wouldn’t work with that loony loser.’

  And then something hit me on the back of the head and everything went dark.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  When I came to, it wasn’t just the pain from my head where I’d been hit that was pulsing through me. I was hogtied, my ankles and wrists bound together, and the chafing of the rope, not to mention the uncomfortable position and the hard, damp ground, did not make for a happy Ivy. I was also incredibly disorientated. My vision swam and I had to shake my head to try and see properly. All that did was to make me even more dizzy.

  As I gradually returned to full consciousness, panic and fear rushed through me. It wasn’t a trickle, it was more like a deluge. It was still dark so I couldn’t have been unconscious for long but it was long enough. I was in deep trouble.

  Twisting around, I tried desperately to see what was going on. There were heavy grunts and mutters off to my right. To my left, there was another body. I craned my neck and spotted Gareth, trussed up just like I was. His eyes were on me, warning reflected in their depths. It was too late: my captor had already realised I was awake.

  ‘Stop that,’ he yelled. ‘Or I’ll hit you again!’

  I blinked, focusing on his face. When I saw who it was, my mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  ‘Yeah,’ he sneered. ‘You remember me. Well, I remember you too. And I don’t like being treated like a fool.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled packet, drawing out a cigarette and lighting it, his boyish features momentarily illuminated. ‘You’re not going to set these fags on fire,’ he told me with a snort. ‘You’re not going to do anything.’

  I stared at the teenager, the one who’d told me where to find Gareth when he was in the gym. It didn’t make any sense. Neither did the fact that I’d been bested by a damn kid. So much for my supposed magical talent.

  ‘Alistair?’ I asked.

  His lip curled. ‘Yeah. You didn’t really think that gormless Gareth was behind all this, did you? He’s useless.’ For good measure, he kicked Gareth’s legs. The force he used was considerable and Gareth’s sharp moan of pain attested to its violence.

  I didn’t understand. My gaze swung from Alistair to Gareth and back again. ‘But…’

  Interpreting my confusion for what it was, Alistair laughed. It was a humourless sound but I didn’t think I imagined the tremble in it. ‘Calls himself a McAllan. But he’s not really. Tell her what you really are.’

  Gareth mumbled to himself.

  ‘Speak up,’ Alistair yelled, his fury growing. I realised that this wasn’t teenage angst expressing itself in a particularly ugly manner. The necromancy he’d already conjured up was taking root within him. Veins were bulging across his forehead and his eyes had a peculiar glazed look. How on earth had he managed to slip through the net? But I already knew the answer – he was a kid. The Order and the police wouldn’t have given him a second thought. I doubted he’d even been interviewed.

  ‘I was adopted,’ Gareth said, his voice still barely above a whisper.

  ‘His mother didn’t want him. Ain’t that right? Even when you were a baby she knew that you’d turn out to be nothing. Gave you up the first chance she got.’

  I glanced at Gareth. ‘You’re brothers?’

  Alistair answered for him. ‘We are not brothers. The only reason Mum and Dad didn’t get rid of him when I came along is that they felt sorry for him.’ There was another long-drawn-out snort. ‘He’s a waste of space.’

  Bloody hell. This was like a gender-swapped Cinderella. I wondered if my role was supposed to be that of the Fairy Godmother. Somehow I didn’t think glass slippers and a pretty gown would do the trick.

  ‘I should be grateful to him. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have learned what I’m really capable of.’ Alistair paused and gazed down at his hands. ‘I can do amazing things. I will do amazing things.’

  ‘Alistair, what you’re doing is highly dangerous,’ I said, shifting round and trying to get into a position where I could wriggle out of my bonds, or at least move my hands enough to cast a rune. ‘The magic you’re using comes at a high cost.’

  ‘You??
?re just jealous. When did any other witch manage to talk to the dead? When did anyone else do what I can do? At first it was just a bit of fun. I found an old book with her name in it.’ He pointed towards the grave. ‘And spells for stealing sheep. You’ve no idea how much fun it was watching him running around the countryside after those stupid creatures. Got him out of my way as well.’ Alistair smiled in smug self-satisfaction. ‘And he got the blame for losing them.’

  I felt sick. This was what happened when magic appeared without the Order around to keep it in check and to make sure it wasn’t abused. What had begun as a few cruel pranks had escalated into something entirely different. No one expected someone like Alistair suddenly to show magical talent, despite his ancestry. He’d kept it quiet and been able to use it for his own vindictive ends.

  ‘Then you switched things up, didn’t you?’ I said, doing what I could to keep him talking so he was focused on himself rather than me. Bit by bit, I was managing to free my fingers. My right pinkie was loose but what I really needed were both thumbs. Right now they were bound tightly against my palms. I just needed a bit of wiggle room and I’d be able to get both Gareth and myself out of this. ‘You used some kind of herblore on the sheep to cause hallucinations.’

  Gareth started and stared at me but Alistair let out a crow of delight. ‘You noticed?’ He crouched beside me, an eager expression on his face that revealed his youth. ‘What did you see? What happened? Was it really trippy?’

  Deciding that he’d be disappointed if I told him it was just a bloodstain, and hoping that happy Alistair was more controllable than unhappy Alistair, I used Mazza’s tale and embellished it further. ‘I saw the devil,’ I said, my eyes wide as if to convey my horror. One of my middle fingers slipped out of the bindings. I was almost there. ‘He had horns and glowing green eyes and he tried to attack me with blood. I thought I was drowning. There was so much blood.’

  A distant, wistful expression crossed Alistair’s face. ‘Blood. It took me a while to realise how important it could be. Old Morag’s book kept going on about it. She didn’t call it blood, though, she used the word ichor. At first I didn’t pay it any attention. But then I got curious.’ He smiled. ‘Google is a wonderful thing. With ichor, I can do whatever I want. I’ve used sheep up until now but that’s where I think I’ve been going wrong. Sheep’s blood isn’t good enough. Human blood will be much better. I was going to use Gareth’s. I won’t take too much. I won’t kill him.’ He paused, desperation leaking into his voice. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want the magic that Morag can teach me.’

  He looked at me. ‘You’re a witch. Your blood will be stronger than his. I can use it and this time I will succeed. It will be Morag herself I bring up, not those others. Then she can teach me more about who I really am and what I’m capable of.’

  Given how long old Morag had been in the ground, I doubted she’d be teaching anyone anything other than how to run away very, very fast.

  Thinking quickly, I looked Alistair directly in the eyes and tried to convince him that what he was doing wouldn’t work. At the same time, I shifted round with small jerky movements. I’d almost freed my thumbs but they wouldn’t do me any good if I started cramping up after being tied like this. I had to be ready to attack.

  ‘Blood won’t help. You know that the first body you raised killed someone. By doing what you did, you caused the death of an innocent man.’

  ‘That wasn’t my fault! He shouldn’t have been up here!’

  Ignoring Alistair’s desperate attempt to blame his victim, I persisted. ‘His name was Benjamin Alberts. He had his whole life ahead of him and your actions meant he died alone and in pain. It was a brutal way to go. Gareth will tell you that.’

  ‘I’ve got more control now! That won’t happen again.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, Alistair. You have less control now, not more. You’re an inch away from the magic taking you over completely. You’ll destroy yourself in the process. You were talking about blood. What colour is yours?’

  Alistair’s eyes were shifting from left to right. I could see from the expression in them that he wasn’t going to believe me. He didn’t want to believe me. ‘Red, of course.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I pressed. ‘Because I wasn’t lying when I said that necromancy was dangerous. If your blood has even the faintest tinge of black then it’s already too late. The power you’ve unleashed will destroy half this land. Not just me and Gareth, but your parents. The town of Tomintoul and everyone around it. You’re releasing hell, Alistair. You need to stop.’

  What I didn’t mention was that whether his blood was black or not, it was the end of the road for him. I doubted that would go down well.

  Alistair spun round with a flounce. The momentary freedom from his gaze was exactly what I needed. With one last jerk, I managed to get not only my thumbs but also my fingers free enough to perform the rune I required. In three heartbeats, my bonds were loose enough for me to escape fully.

  I remained cautious, however, and stayed in place so that Alistair wouldn’t get suspicious and attack. He already had necromancy to his name; there was no telling what other magical abilities he could boast of. I was determined not to give him the chance.

  When he turned back to face me, he was holding a long-bladed knife. There was a bleat and I realised that a few graves away there was a tied-up sheep: Alistair’s Plan A before Gareth and I had foolishly presented ourselves. He brandished the knife and for one horrified second I thought he was going to plunge it into one of us. Then he lifted it up and sliced the back of his own hand, blood immediately welling up along the cut. He held his hand aloft.

  ‘See?’ he declared. I peered through the gloom and relief washed through me. Alistair’s blood looked as natural as mine. The necromantic magic hadn’t taken him over just yet. There was still time. ‘This is proof that you’re lying. My blood is as red as yours. But it’s yours that will be spilt this night.’

  Not if I had anything to do with it. Unable to waste any more time and regardless of the consequences, I raised my hands and threw out an attack rune. This one was designed to take no prisoners.

  Alistair let out a high-pitched cry, one hand going immediately to his throat as his windpipe closed off. He dropped the knife and it fell to the ground with a dull thud. If I’d thought he was going to give up because he couldn’t breathe, however, I was sorely mistaken. Still scrabbling to breathe, he ducked his head and barrelled towards me just as I got up to my feet.

  Despite my best efforts to avoid cramp, I was wobbly enough to sway and half collapse on one knee, allowing Alistair the time he needed to smack into my chest and knock me down on top of Gareth. I couldn’t maintain my hold on the magic and Alistair’s breath was released. He spun round for another attack but his magic was too clumsy.

  I flung out a ward rune, creating a protective barrier around both Gareth and me. Alistair rammed into it but he didn’t know of any way to break it down apart from brute force. It held, shimmering in the night air.

  He let out a curse and spat. Then he turned once more and walked over to the knife. He picked it up, his finger touching the tip of the blade as if to test it.

  ‘Ivy,’ Gareth said in a strained voice.

  ‘Shhh.’ My attention was on Alistair. When he made a beeline for the sheep, I hissed and dropped the ward. I stalked forward, throwing a rune out behind me to loosen Gareth’s bonds. ‘Leave the animal alone, Alistair.’

  The sheep bleated, as if it knew what was coming.

  ‘Everything else is ready,’ he muttered. ‘I just need the blood and the words and then I can set Morag free.’

  ‘Morag is at peace,’ I told him. ‘She’s no longer there. What lies beneath that headstone is just a shell.’ In fact, surely she was nothing more than bones by this point. Even if he did bring back to claw her upwards, I reckoned her skeleton would collapse before it took a single step. At that point, though, it wasn’t Morag’s corpse that worried me it was what w
ould happen with Alistair’s magic if he succeeded.

  Alistair started to mutter as the night itself filled with his power. It was so strong I could almost taste it. It was now or never.

  There was a faint whoosh of air on my nape and Gareth burst forward. He tackled Alistair and they both fell to the ground. I darted forward to grab the knife but they rolled away from me, grunting – and then the entire area was bathed in bright light. What the hell?

  Both Alistair and Gareth froze, as startled by the light as I was. A voice boomed out and I spotted several shadowy figures towards the end of the line of graves. ‘Keep going! Don’t stop because we’re here!’

  Morris Armstrong. And not just him: there was a cameraman, pointing the lens in our direction, and the white faces of both Barry and Amy staring at us.

  ‘This is not a damned television show!’ I yelled.

  ‘You’re right!’ Armstrong called back. ‘This is better!’ I heard him mutter an aside to Barry ‘Enchantment might be down the toilet but with this kind of footage our careers aren’t over. Not by a long shot.’

  I briefly closed my eyes. This was all my fault; this was what I got for trying to warn them what was happening. The idiots had probably put their numbskull brains together to discuss what I’d told them and decided to track Barry’s car. I’d have thought Amy would have known better. Their interference was the last thing any of us needed.

  Fortunately Gareth recovered quickly. Taking full advantage of Alistair’s shock, he lunged desperately for his hand and wrestled the knife from him. Gripping it tightly, he sprang to his feet and backed away. ‘You don’t need to do this, Alistair. You don’t want to do this.’

  I walked up to Gareth’s side. ‘Give me the knife.’

  ‘An hour ago you were going to kill me, Ivy.’ He didn’t look in my direction.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ My words fell hollow. ‘There wasn’t any choice.’

  ‘So you’re going to kill Al instead? He’s just a kid.’

  I reached over and took the knife from him, relieved that he let it go. ‘Just a kid who’s bullied you. Who was prepared to kill you. Who has hurt your sheep.’