The Witch’s Tears. Katharine Corr

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      ‘Definitely, sounds great.’

      ‘Excellent. Here’s my number.’ Ronan pulled a pen out of his pocket, took Leo’s hand in his and wrote on the back of it. ‘Text me later and I’ll tell you which pub I’m going to.’ He waved at Merry and climbed into the van. She watched as he reversed out of the driveway and took off in the direction of the Black Lake.

      ‘Huh.’ Ronan was not what she’d expected, when Gran talked about a visiting wizard. Because it had to be him; how many wizards could there be, wandering around an average market town at the edge of Surrey? Clearly, not all wizards were going to be like Gwydion. But she’d still expected someone … weirder. She turned to say as much to Leo, but he was gazing at the mobile phone number Ronan had scrawled across the back of his hand. Now that was weird – too familiar, almost, from someone he hardly knew.

      ‘I wonder why he didn’t just get his phone out and text you.’

      Leo pulled a face. ‘Why? This was just as quick.’

      ‘I s’pose.’ Merry turned towards the house, but her brother put out a hand to stop her.

      ‘Hey – don’t tell Gran that I’m going to the pub with Ronan. You heard what she said this morning, about wizards.’

      He was right; Gran was unlikely to be thrilled.

      ‘Sure. I won’t say anything.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      A car turned into the driveway: their mother, back home from her yoga retreat. Merry waved at her and went to open the front door. ‘And just remember,’ Leo called out behind her, ‘I’m allowed to have my own life. OK?’

      No more spying on him, in other words.

       OK, Leo. I’ll remember.

      ‘Mum, I’m going up.’ Merry yawned and rubbed the muscles in the back of her neck. It was Friday evening – only 10.30, but she was definitely feeling a bit … bleugh. Lack of sleep combined with working all afternoon at Mrs Galantini’s cafe in town (her new summer job) and all the drama with Leo. ‘I think the cats are still outside.’

      Her mother didn’t reply; she just kept scrolling up and down through a document that was open on her laptop. It didn’t look like she was actually reading any of it.

      ‘Mum? You OK?’

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘I’m going to bed.’

      ‘Oh, all right. Do you know where the cats are?’

      Merry frowned. ‘Outside, I think.’

      Merry thought yoga was meant to relax you, but Mum had been restless all evening, fidgeting with stuff in the kitchen during dinner, rearranging cushions on the sofa while they were trying to watch TV. Leo had taken himself off upstairs at that point, having barely spoken two words to Merry since their conversation on the driveway earlier.

      ‘Is anything wrong?’

      ‘No, not really. I just feel a bit …’ Mum scrunched her face up. ‘You know that sensation of chalk squeaking against a blackboard?’ She laughed a little. ‘Probably not. Do they even have blackboards at school these days?’

      ‘No,’ Merry shook her head, ‘but I remember from nursery.’ And she remembered the feeling she’d had the other evening, that odd sensation of things being out of kilter.

      ‘Ignore me.’ Mum shut her laptop and got up. ‘There’s too much magic in the house at the moment, what with the cooling spells you’re using and the extra protection runes I asked the coven to apply. It gets to you sometimes. Gets to me, at any rate. Makes my skin crawl.’

      Too much magic? Merry wasn’t really sure what her mother meant. She glanced out of the window, but all she could see was her and Mum, their reflections broken into a mosaic by the leaded glass.

      ‘Do you want me to lift the cooling spells?’

      ‘Course not. Not until this heatwave breaks.’ Mum reached for the light switch. ‘Bedtime. Night, sweetheart.’

      Merry got into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. However tired her body was, her mind refused to switch off. After a couple of hours she got bored with lying in the dark, turned on the lamp and picked up her journey book from the bedside table. In the back she had tucked the list of spells that she was supposed to be practising before her next training session with Gran.

      She glanced over the list and tried to pick the most straightforward: a shifting spell, which enabled the caster to make an object disappear from one place and reappear in another. Eventually, some witches got so good at this type of magic that they could transport themselves instantly – a charm known unofficially as the ‘broomstick spell’ – which sounded really handy. She leant on her elbow for a moment, imagining herself zipping around magically: no need for buses or a car, or plane tickets … Unfortunately, getting a broomstick spell wrong tended to have terminal consequences – Gran had made her swear not even to attempt it. Not yet, anyway. All she was supposed to do at the moment was to pick an object and move it a short distance by singing the charm and visualising the spot where she wanted the object to materialise.

      How hard could it be?

      Merry scanned her room and spotted – forgotten and dusty on top of her wardrobe – a unicorn snowglobe that she’d been given one Christmas several years ago by a would-be boyfriend of her mum’s. The unicorn inside was pale pink, with a dark pink bushy mane and tail and an oversized gold horn. It looked a bit grumpy, unsurprisingly.

      She placed the globe on the floor in the middle of the room, sat down cross-legged in front of it and began to chant the short phrase over and over. While she was chanting, she pictured the exact spot on the dressing table where she wanted it to appear. Gradually, the globe started to fade, until she could see the carpet through it. She closed her eyes, trying to get inside the spell, to feel the magic rippling through her, the power of the words …

      Something skittered across the background of her mind, and as she winced and screwed her eyes tighter shut, trying to identify the distraction, her magic tumbled out of control. There was a loud thump and the brittle clink of shattering glass.

      The snowglobe was embedded in the wall above the dressing table.

      ‘Oh, for …’ The glass orb had smashed and glittery water was soaking into the carpet. Half of the base and about two-thirds of the unicorn were protruding from the wall, as if the bedroom had been built and plastered around them. She tugged at the unicorn’s head, but it wouldn’t budge.

      This wasn’t a healing spell, or something with five hundred different components that she had to remember in the right order. It should have been easy. But she’d lost focus and her magic had gone wild. Again. She could imagine a couple of the less friendly members of the coven shaking their heads and tutting. That Meredith Cooper. Calls herself a witch, but she still can’t master her power. Can’t be in the coven if she can’t be trusted.

      Well. Maybe she didn’t want to be in the damn coven. Gritting her teeth, she glared at the sparkling shards of glass scattered across the carpet, ordering them to get into the bin! A tiny whirlwind swept СКАЧАТЬ