The Witch’s Tears. Katharine Corr

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СКАЧАТЬ never wanted to go back to that place.

       But … But if I could go back to that time …

      If she had a second chance, she might be able to do things differently. Find a way to keep him alive.

      That’s my third wish, then.

      Perhaps there was a spell for time travel. Or perhaps she could invent one. Though Gran would be less than impressed. Time travel was almost definitely not on the approved syllabus. Maybe it would be better just to wish for Jack to come back from the dead—

      A wave of emotions – not hers, but somebody else’s, someone nearby – crashed across her thoughts. Ever since her ancestor, Meredith, had left her that night beneath the lake, this kept happening. It was like … like there was some vacant space inside her head, just waiting to be filled up by other people’s feelings. It was bizarre. Annoying, sometimes. But it was also intriguing. Merry opened her eyes and sat up straighter. The woman who lived next door to Gran was playing with her toddler in the garden. Merry concentrated, allowing her mind to float, to expand into the space around her. The emotions stopped being a random buzz of background noise and smoothed out into distinct strands of boredom and guilt. Or rather, guilt about being bored.

      Merry drew back, trying to close off her mind. Before she could, another swarm of emotions surrounded her, as sharply delineated as ice crystals. Gran’s emotions. Exasperation, a touch of disappointment and … nervousness? Gran hadn’t exactly made a huge effort to hide her frustration at Merry’s progress, or lack of it. But why should she be nervous?

      Just as well Merry hadn’t said anything about her new talent. Using magic to see inside other people’s heads probably broke ALL the rules. Besides, if by some miracle mind-reading was allowed, the coven would definitely decide to test the extent of this power too. Or tell her to go away and learn how to do it using the official, ancestor-approved method.

      It was too hot. She grabbed her phone and texted Ruby.

      You around? Need to go out. Anywhere with air con.

      She’d had enough witchcraft for one day.

      By the time Merry left the cinema that evening the heat had faded, but the air was still sticky, clinging to her skin like damp washing. Ruby – because she was six months older, and because she had the type of gran who bought her grandchildren cars, rather than setting them magical homework – had dropped her home. Now Merry was sitting by the window in her bedroom, leftover popcorn bobbing in the air above her head like a flotilla of tiny spaceships.

      The film had been all right. She’d let Ruby choose, so they’d gone to see a romantic comedy – definitely not what Merry would have picked. Fictional happy endings held zero appeal right now. But it wasn’t just the film: the cinema had been full of couples being … couple-y. At least her mental barriers had held. Merry closed her eyes and tried to replay the evening in her head, imagining that she’d been there with Jack instead of Ruby. Jack, the screen-light flickering across his face, sharing her bucket of popcorn and holding her hand in the dark …

      Merry swallowed and shook herself out of the daydream. Sitting here, imagining what might have been –

      Jack probably wouldn’t have understood the film in any case.

      Sighing, she reached across to her desk, grabbed a chunky A5 notebook and flipped it open to where she’d jammed a pen between the pages. This was her first spell book – or rather, the first that she was constructing herself. Gran had given her copies of what she called ‘the beginner’s standard works’. Four printed spell collections (technically known as ‘knowledge books’). Six books of instruction, stories and traditions (‘wisdom books’). But apparently it was customary (read: obligatory) for every witch to keep her own set of notes on the spells she tried, the effects she observed, and any other magical occurrences. The official name for this was a ‘journey book’. Merry had seen Gran’s journey books: thirty volumes or more of closely-written text, plus sketches and bits cut out from other books. There were even little watercolours. Merry flicked back over the last few pages of her journey book. In contrast to Gran’s neatly presented pages, her efforts so far were a bit … slapdash. There was a lot more underlining, crossing-out and arrows to show where something had been missed. The only colour so far came from fluorescent highlighters.

      She pinched a piece of popcorn out of the air and popped it into her mouth.

       So, where was I? Oh yeah –

      She picked up the pen and added: and apparently I should have stuck to the exact order and just been more patient. But there must be a way to speed the whole thing up. I mean, who has the time to spend THREE HOURS making ONE potion? She chewed on the end of the pen for a moment. In any case, why do these long recipes have to be learnt by heart? Why don’t witches just save all this stuff to the cloud? Then I could look spells up on my phone.

      Merry sighed, snagged another piece of popcorn and threw the journey book back on her desk.

      Being a full member of the coven should have been kind of cool. All the sisterhood, and that. But surely there were alternatives to everything that came with it? Better alternatives, perhaps. Maybe she could be a sort of … freelance witch? A witch with choices. Possibilities.

      Jack would have understood. He would have had something useful to say, if only she could talk to him. He would have taken her mind off the future, at least. Her throat tightened with sadness, and the remaining popcorn dropped out of the air.

      Merry swore, sang the beginning of a cleaning spell and sent the scattered popcorn zooming into the bin. Her biggest regret was that she’d never taken a photo of Jack. Right now she could still remember his face clearly, but would that still be true after a year had gone by? A decade? Merry knew she couldn’t have prevented Jack’s death, and she’d come to accept that. Most of the time. But it still hurt. And she still missed him.

      Then again, a photo might just have made things worse.

      She got up and stretched. Maybe she could talk to Leo instead – if she had any idea where he was. He’d told her that morning that he was going to the cinema tonight, but Merry hadn’t seen his car in the car park. And he wasn’t replying to any of her texts. Still, for a witch, there was always another way.

      Merry jumped up, grabbed the drawstring bag that was hanging from the front of her wardrobe, went into the bathroom and started filling the basin with water. Ever since what had happened at the Black Lake, she’d found spells using water – hydromancy – particularly easy. What she was about to do was, theoretically, supposed to be used for talking to another witch when no ordinary method of communication was available. She was just going to tweak it a little. If Leo ever found out, he’d be furious. But …

       It’s his own fault for acting so weird, making me worried about him.

      Merry had promised, after what they’d been through together at the lake, that she would always be completely honest with Leo. But now she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping stuff from her. Sure, she hadn’t exactly told him how much she was missing Jack. But he hadn’t exactly asked her. And she didn’t want him worrying about her when he seemed to be going through so much pain. Leo still couldn’t bring himself to even mention Dan by name. She’d begged him over and over to let her help him. But he just brushed her off. Every time.

      The basin was full. Merry opened the bag; a small selection of stones – some cut and polished, some rounded like sea-washed pebbles – СКАЧАТЬ