The Witch’s Tears. Katharine Corr
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Название: The Witch’s Tears
Автор: Katharine Corr
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9780008188443
isbn:
And there it was, at the edge of the laurel tree next to the gate: an indistinct shape that could almost, if she squinted at it, be the outline of a man. A patch of light that could just possibly be the moonlight reflecting off blond hair.
Merry unlatched the window so she could lean out, half opened her lips to call Jack’s name …
But then clouds scudded across the moon, and her eyes watered a little from staring so hard, and the laurel tree was just a tree, after all.
She took a deep, jagged breath. Jack was dead. Dead and buried underneath the Black Lake. It had been too much, the last couple of days: the unexplained witch deaths and Leo seeing ghosts and being beaten up by Simon and—
She didn’t want to do this again. To be the person who couldn’t sleep because of strange dreams, the weirdo who saw visions in broad daylight.
Whatever was trying to happen – if anything was trying to happen – she wasn’t going to allow it.
Merry went to her desk, opened one of the drawers and pulled out a knife. Her new silver-bladed knife, with an ash handle. Obsidian knives, like Gran had, were the best, but silver was still good for conducting magic and warding off evil. Returning to the window, she reassured herself that Mum wouldn’t care, and carved a mark deeply into the sill: Algiz, the rune for protection and defence.
The fragrance of roses wafted through the open window, so cloying it made her feel slightly sick. She slammed the window shut, slipped into bed and turned out the light.
* * *
Leo was at the Black Lake again. It was late; the faint pearl sheen of moonlight slanted through the clouds. He could make out the shape of a tent a few metres away. As he watched, a figure emerged from the tent and walked towards him. He couldn’t tell who it was. Until an orb of purple light appeared in the hand of the stranger, illuminating his face: Ronan.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Leo. He’s been waiting such a long time for you to come back. To finally set him free.’ Ronan raised an arm and pointed towards the lake. Another shadowy outline had appeared at the edge of it.
Leo gasped.
Dan.
Leo ran towards his friend, shouting his name. Dan took a few paces in Leo’s direction before stumbling, falling forward into Leo’s arms.
‘Dan!’
But there was no answer, no heartbeat.
He lowered Dan’s body softly on to the grass. Moonlight struck the sword hilt protruding from his chest, silvering the gold.
Dan was already dead. Once again, he was too late.
Leo woke with a jolt, his heart pounding. He collapsed back on the pillow and looked around his room. He reached over, squinted at his alarm clock and groaned. Time to get up for work already. He was almost tempted to turn over and go back to sleep, maybe call in sick. Prising himself out of bed just seemed like far too much effort. But then he remembered: that afternoon, after work, he was meeting Ronan. He lifted his hand, glanced at the faint trace of biro still left on his skin and smiled. For the first time in what felt like ages, he was almost excited about something.
Six hours at the farm dragged by, but eventually Leo was back home, taking a shower and having a bite to eat. Mum was around but Merry had gone out and, for some reason, Leo was relieved that his little sister wasn’t there.
Ronan had suggested they meet at the Albany, a pub on the outskirts of Tillingham that Leo was able to walk to in twenty minutes. It was a Saturday afternoon and unsurprisingly the pub was heaving, people spilling out along the pavement in front. Leo went in and stood on tiptoe to scan the bar area, but he couldn’t see Ronan anywhere. He pushed his way through to the back of the pub and the deck that overlooked the river: there was still no sign of him. Leo checked his phone, but there were no messages. Perhaps he had misunderstood the plan? Or … or what if Ronan just wasn’t coming? What if he’d only invited Leo out of pity, and had now found something else to do, or someone better to hang out with?
Leo took a deep breath. He ordered a drink and found a spot where he could lean against the bar and wait.
Fifteen minutes later, he was still standing there on his own. His face began to burn: he’d been stood up. He looked around at the other people in the pub, laughing and chatting to each other, and sighed. This used to be one of his favourite hangouts, but he didn’t seem to fit in any more. Not here. Not with his old friends. Not even at home.
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