Page 1 of Witch You Weren't Here

Prologue

ten years earlier

Ashworth Hall, the village of Biddicote, Surrey

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when a group of teenage witches are gathered, magical mischief soon follows.

Well, not universally acknowledged, since the existence of magic is a secret to the majority of the human race … but certainly throughout the witching community.

Which was why Kay Hendrix and her two friends, Tina and Jaz, were currently creeping down the corridor at Ashworth Hall, seeking escape from the annual May Day party.

Their families, along with many of the other local witches and non-magical residents of Biddicote, were out, either on the patio or freshly cut lawn, mingling. Staff were offering silver trays full of smoked salmon canapés, rolled up to look like roses, and bite-size vegetable tarts, and topping up their glasses with the dandelion wine, which Mrs Ashworth had made herself, infusing it with optimism and light-heartedness. That touch of magic helped to ensure the party had exactly the right vibe of renewal and positivity to suit the Beltane festival. It was why witches travelled miles to attend any of the festivities at Ashworth Hall – that and its famous legacy.

Ashworth Hall was over three hundred years old, built by legendary witches who layered protective spells over charms, over runes, as they founded the manor and much of the surrounding village. It was a unique community even within the witching world, and one of the only places in the UK where witches could mingle among non-magical neighbours and know that if they had a little slip-up with their magic, it would go unnoticed, dismissed or forgotten.

‘No public displays of magic’ was the second WWT (Worldwide Witches Tenet) and, in general, it wasn’t too hard to obey, but having to repress your natural instincts every day would make any witch frustrated. Kay’s gift had yet to emerge fully, despite puberty being painfully well established, but even with her remedial-level powers, she could appreciate how hard it would be, given that she went to an ordinary secondary school and had to make sure she wasn’t tempted to access her magic around the other students.

But, honestly, who wanted to travel miles away to board at one of the few, tiny secret magical schools? She would have missed her family and her friends. And Biddicote offered enough of a sanctuary to her. Returning to the village after school was like taking off a pair of skinny jeans that she’d nearly outgrown.

The chatter of voices and strains of the string quartet out in the gardens faded further into the background as the teenage witches moved into the oldest part of the huge manor house, the shuffling of their feet absorbed by thick carpets and antique rugs displaying scenes almost like tapestries. Night skies and rituals and runes. Things that non-magical visitors would probably never even look at and notice were supernatural.

Kay was in the lead because her brother, Joe, had told her there was a side door in the East Wing which took you right to the edge of the woodland that made up part of the family estate. You had to go past Mr Ashworth’s study, down a small stairwell, and it brought you into a vestibule with a wooden floor and bare brick walls. Even though Kay had never explored that part of the house – she’d only ever been there for seasonal celebrations, like Samhain, in the gardens or the ballroom – she knew exactly where she needed to go. Sometimes it was very handy that her older brother’s particular gift as a magical influencer gave him the ability to explain things easily to people. Other times it just felt like he was the supernatural embodiment of a mansplainer.

A familiar zing of excitement and fear bubbled up in Kay’s stomach, like a potion brewing in a crock-pot at the family healers. Would she get a gift within the influencer designation like Joe and end up taking after their dad, too? Or would she fall within the empath affinity, like their mum? Or maybe it would end up being something completely different, like an elemental gift. Whatever it was, she hoped it emerged soon.

She turned the next corner and walked straight into a statue of Cernunnos on a plinth, automatically reaching out and grabbing him by the antlers and another of his … protrusions to stop it from toppling off and smashing. She gave a little squeak of horror and hastily pulled her hands away, cheeks flaming, as Tina and Jaz burst into laughter behind her.

‘Shh …’ she tried her best to hush them around her own giggles. ‘We’re almost there.’

Jaz pressed her face into Tina’s back, her shoulders heaving, and Tina clapped her hands over her mouth. Kay plucked at the soft breeze bringing the sweet scent of blossom down the corridor, using her meagre level of magic to channel it towards her friends like her aunt had taught her, hoping it would work to cool them down and shock them out of their hysterics.

She could hear voices nearby.

As they wiped the tears of laughter from their eyes, she pressed her finger to her lips and tilted her head towards the door up ahead. It stood slightly ajar, allowing low male voices to carry out towards them. Were they about to get caught? It was most likely to be Mr Ashworth in his study, but who was he talking to? Maybe his son, Harry? Kay’s belly turned over with that mixture of nerves and anticipation again, although it was for an entirely different reason.

Only one way to find out.

She crept closer.

‘Kay,’ Tina hissed behind her, tugging at the bow on the back of Kay’s dress. It unravelled, allowing her to carry on down the hall. She crossed to the opposite wall so she was on the same side of the door, edging along as though she was in a James Bond film.

‘You promise there’ll be no more stories like the one that our media coven found?’ a gruff male voice, bordering on elderly, asked.

‘Not about Biddicote,’ Adrian Ashworth’s rich baritone rolled the three words out with the calm inevitability of the tide. Even without being in the same room or knowing what they were talking about, Kay felt the conviction of his words. She believed him. The Ashworths were a powerful line of influencers and Mr Ashworth’s gift was the art of oral persuasion. A formidable ability.

‘I’m looking into the breach,’ he continued, ‘and will shore up any charms that may have lapsed.’

‘Perhaps something overgrew, or deteriorated?’ The other man already sounded mollified.

‘Perhaps. These things happen. Working with magic this established is a delicate business.’

‘If it’s becoming too painstaking or complicated a task, the Council will be happy to step in,’ a third, younger voice joined the conversation. Not infused with magic but no less self-assured. ‘With the concentration of witches here, failures are no small matter.’

There was a silence, then another tsunami of conviction sent goosebumps racing over Kay’s shoulders: ‘The Ashworth family is more than capable of maintaining its legacy.’

‘Indeed, indeed,’ the older man blustered. ‘How about a drink?’

Kay’s eyes widened. Mr Ashworth might have a bar in his study, but equally they might be planning to go back out to the party. She gestured quickly at Tina and Jaz to run for the stairwell. As they scurried past, Kay took one quick peek inside the study. She doubted Harry was in there but couldn’t resist checking. Nothing was visible except the back of a man in a grey suit.

---