The Witch’s Kiss Trilogy. Katharine Corr

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      ‘Get lost, Esther.’

      She stepped forwards, but again the other girl blocked her path.

      ‘But why did he need rescuing, that’s what I want to know.’ Esther leant closer. ‘I’ve heard what people say about your family. My mum says your gran should be locked up. Says she’s a wicked old bag. Only a matter of time before she ends up hurting someone.’

       Stay calm, Merry. Keep control …

      Another deep breath.

       Oh, this would be so much easier if I still did magic.

       I could just put a memory charm on you.

       I could make you forget your own name, let alone mine.

       Just one little spell …

      But that was where it had started with Alex: one little spell, that had led to another, and then another – Merry had promised herself that she would never, ever let anything like that happen again. So instead, she slung her PE bag across her back and forced her way past Esther.

      The other girl’s voice followed her out of the changing room, taunting:

      ‘I know what you are, Meredith Cooper …’

      The day slid downhill from there. When her friends went out for a coffee at lunchtime, she had to stay in and finish some overdue art homework. She seemed to be developing some kind of hearing defect: there was definitely a random buzzing sound coming from somewhere, almost like the babble of distant voices, but nobody else could hear it. There was no answer when she called Gran’s landline – the only number she had – to ask about the trinket box. And everyone at school kept going on and on and on about the vicious knife attacks in town. The fact that no one had died so far was, frankly, miraculous.

      It was kind of understandable that people wouldn’t shut up about it. Until they started, Tillingham was probably the safest and most boring town in Surrey, if not the country. Gran and the others had made sure of that. The problem now, Merry thought, was the current of excitement running under the fear, the way some people were starting to – well, almost enjoy themselves: dissecting every detail of the attacks as if they were discussing the latest instalment of some gory Scandinavian crime show. After last night’s drama, the whole thing set her teeth on edge.

      Later that day, as Merry stood stuffing some folders back into her bag, two girls from her art class came down the hallway, chatting loudly. They stopped at their lockers, right next to Merry’s.

      ‘So, my aunt called last night – she’s a nurse at the hospital, right?’ said Eloise. ‘And she’s been looking after those people who got attacked.’

      ‘Oh my God, really?’ exclaimed Lucy.

      ‘Yeah. She said all four of them had lost huge amounts of blood. That’s why they’re all in comas.’

      ‘That’s horrible.’ Lucy grimaced.

      Eloise leant in closer.

      ‘Yeah. My aunt says the places where they were attacked must have been covered with blood. Running with it, she reckons.’

      ‘Ew, that is so disgusting,’ said Lucy. ‘Hey, Merry, did you hear what—’ She stopped. ‘Are you OK?’

      No, Merry wanted to say, I’m not OK. Because I can smell the blood, just like in my nightmare, I can almost taste it, and my fingernails are aching like I’m about to cast a spell right here in the middle of the corridor, and –

      ‘Merry?’

       Oh my God, I’m going to be sick.

      There were a couple of Year 11 girls hanging out in the toilets, but after one surprised glance at Merry’s face they both left rapidly. Merry held on until the door swung shut behind them then sank to her knees, gripping the edge of the basin in front of her, jamming her fingernails hard against the cold porcelain. Long, slow breaths – that was the key. If she could just calm down, the magic might ebb away again before it could do any damage.

      Gradually, the tingling in her fingers subsided. Merry risked relaxing her grip. She stood up slowly, turned on the tap, waited as the water ran over her hands and wrists. As long as she looked more or less normal before she ran into Lucy and Eloise again she could probably –

      There was a girl in the mirror. Just standing there, watching her.

      Merry jumped and spun around.

      The room was empty.

      She swung back to the mirror. The girl was still there: a long plait of dark hair hanging over one shoulder, green eyes, full-length dress belted at the waist. Merry began to tremble. Her brain was screaming for her to run, but her legs just wouldn’t cooperate. The girl moved closer, until she stood at Merry’s shoulder, so close Merry ought to have been able to feel her breath against her neck – she leant in, as if she was about to whisper in Merry’s ear –

      Pain lanced through Merry’s hands as magic exploded from her fingertips. The large mirror above the handbasins shattered. The girl’s reflection disappeared.

      Merry staggered into one of the stalls and locked the door.

      Fifteen minutes later, the shaking and the nausea had started to subside. She had no explanation for the imaginary girl. Because she must have been imaginary. It was probably just exhaustion. Or – she touched her fingers to her forehead – perhaps she actually was coming down with an ear infection, and it was giving her a fever. But what she’d done to the mirror … Her magic never used to behave like this, never; yet in the last few weeks it had become – unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Spilling out at odd moments, occasionally heralded by a painful tingling sensation in her fingernails. Completely different from the spells she’d managed to teach herself by sneaking books out of Gran’s house: no words, no rituals, no music. Just raw power. She hadn’t dared try to cast a spell deliberately, to check what was going on. Maybe it was all these months of not allowing herself to practise witchcraft, or the nightmare situation with Alex leading up to her decision to quit. Maybe it was because she’d never been properly trained. She had no idea – there was no one to ask about it. As far as Mum or Gran were concerned, she didn’t do magic.

      Merry glanced down at her fingers. Her nails still throbbed, but otherwise there was no outward sign of the energy that had surged through her hands. They looked normal, just like she did. Which was a joke, because she’d wanted to be normal for so long. Not in the beginning, not when she first found out she was a witch, but after Alex –

      She was desperate to be normal. At least, she’d thought that was what she wanted. It was what she’d wished for.

      Well, maybe she was finally getting her wish. Maybe her magic was going crazy because it was draining away. Leaving her. And that was a good thing. The best thing that could be happening to her.

      Wasn’t it?

      * * *

      The bell rang. Merry was still sitting in the stall, staring absentmindedly at some graffiti daubed across the cubicle door, asking anyone who happened to be sitting on the loo with a pencil to ‘Tick СКАЧАТЬ