Page 15 of Witch You Weren't Here

She was about to argue back, because a) who was he trying to kid that he cared, and b) this was sounding like a very similar conversation she’d already had once this evening with a man who couldn’t take a hint to go away. But then the woman whose glass she’d magically stolen and smashed caught her eye over Harry’s shoulder. If Kay did get stuck at the airport all night, she would be surrounded by people. And security cameras. What if something else went wrong? It wouldn’t be safe. Not for her, and not for other people.

If she went with him, it would at least minimise the risk. She could manage one night in the same room as Harry Ashworth if she really had to, couldn’t she? And if something accidentally went flying at his head, he’d at least be able to use his own magic in self-defence.

‘OK, fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

Chapter Four

9 p.m.: friday 29 october

New Town, Prague

818 miles and 42(+1) hours until the wedding

Heading back into the city in the back of a taxi with Harry sitting next to her was a disconcerting experience for Kay. He’d lived like a ghost in the haunted wreck of her brain for the last decade. Initially, more of a poltergeist, constantly banging around, sometimes making her lose sleep, other times just prompting a rage where she wished his entire presence could be exorcised. Over the years, he’d faded to one of those spectres caught out of the corner of her eye, walking up the stairs at the same time each night, yet still making her heart leap for a moment before she settled down and could ignore him again.

And now here he was, his body conspicuously solid. As a teenager, he’d been a collection of attractively long limbs, but now that height had filled out into an athletic build, still lean but firm too …

It had been a half an hour wait at the taxi rank. After they’d briefly confirmed they were both scheduled on the same flight to Paris early the next day, she’d kept her attention on her phone, letting her mum know that she wasn’t going to be leaving Prague until the morning now. Harry had occupied himself much the same way once he’d put the sweets away.

His quip about comfort eating brought his mother’s gift to mind. Had she made him magical food when he was a child? Kay wasn’t sure whether that would have counted as being against the rules about influencing a minor’s behaviour. It felt like a grey area. If he’d had a tough day at school, a plate of milk and cookies from his mother would have literally changed his mood, and didn’t mood dictate behaviour? It was also some dangerous Pavlov’s Dog energy.

Not that Kay should care. He hadn’t.

She glanced over at him. His head tipped against the window, the lights from the street lamps dancing over his face, causing a shadow in the hollow of his cheek and under his bottom lip, and illuminating his eyes momentarily. Either he was enraptured by the view, daydreaming of escape, or doing what she’d come to expect from him over the last decade – ignoring her.

She took a deep breath and forced her eyes away before she looked at his fingers. God, she’d been so obsessed with his fingers. How long and agile they were, and so controlled too – moving from quick sketches, barely discernible with the naked eye, to tiny, detailed strokes or strong, confident sweeps, with a pencil or pen.

The taxi pulled over and Harry sat up, turning to her as though he was waking. ‘Ah, we’re here.’ He leaned forward and paid the cab driver, speaking some quick, pleasant-sounding words in Czech, and then proceeding to unfold himself, one long leg at a time, from the back seat onto the street.

Kay followed suit and found him removing her suitcase from the boot.

‘Goddess around us, what is in this?’ he grunted, setting it down with a thump on the pavement beside her.

‘The skulls of my enemies,’ she retorted. ‘And shoes.’

He started wheeling her case away and she jogged a little to catch up, each impact making her sore feet throb, as though pointing out exactly where her weakness for lovely shoes had got her. ‘You don’t have to do that, I’m perfectly capable.’

‘That’s OK, I’m the one who knows the way and I can steamroller anyone who gets in our path.’

She snorted, tightening the belt on her coat against the frigid night air.

‘So, what’s the ratio?’ he asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘I’m just curious as to what ratio of skulls to shoes was necessary for your conference. Or did you add to it during the trip?’

‘Oh, I’m adding to my collection all the time.’ She gave him a sharp smile, which she hoped communicated that she was very willing to add his if the opportunity presented itself. Skull or shoes. He could take his pick. His coat might be over the top, but those trainers with the painted rainbow ticks were exceptionally cool.

He gave a strange low laugh and then glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Why haven’t you used a charm on it?’ he asked, lightly. ‘Too many skulls could cause you to sprain something.’

She pressed her lips together. There was no way she was going to tell him about her magic being on the fritz and therefore on lockdown too.

‘It would take more energy than it’s worth,’ she said tightly and, to be fair, it was a solid excuse. An enchantment to alter gravity on something significantly heavy – without it floating off – for more than a few moments, was hardly easy, everyday magic.

Well, it probably was for him. That was the irritating thing. While all witches had a special gift within their magical designation that allowed them easy access, other spells used up their energy, and even with the right words and rituals, it was a skill. A physical skill. They needed to exercise their magic, practise it regularly in order to keep it limber and strong. Even before her magic was having problems, Kay didn’t exactly do that, and so everyday magic took marked concentration and could be draining. She was the wheezy, gaspy type of witch, whereas someone like Harry, who didn’t even blink about using his magic in a public place like Old Town Square, was probably the equivalent of a triathlon champion.

He paused in front of a door inset between two shops and made a little shape with his mouth as though he was about to say something, but shook his head instead. ‘Would you like—’

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