Page 64 of Witch You Weren't Here

‘I take it that pen wasn’t permanent ink.’ She lifted an arm to show his illustrations were completely smeared and unrecognisable. And then she pointed to his body, the long smudges of black along his chest and back and hips. He even had some on his cheekbone and she rubbed her thumb against it, making absolutely no difference to it.

He turned his head and kissed her palm before jumping down to dispose of the condom, using a brief pulse of magic to ease his descent – how did he have the strength? She was nothing but a puddle of sated nerve endings.

When he joined her again, she wiggled back to make room for him and he tugged the blanket up to their chins, heads close on the pillow, creating a little cocoon of their own on the rolling ferry. Pressure mounted in her chest, something light but powerful pushing against her diaphragm.

Don’t think about anything now, she begged her brain. Just enjoy this moment.

She put her hand on his chest, framing his tattoo between her index finger and thumb. She knew he’d always recognised his centre of magic as being there, and he’d told her that was where he felt his itchy magic compass. Perhaps it was to do with that. ‘Are these runes? When did you get it?’

‘Have you been waiting the whole time to ask about that?’ He pushed her hair back from her face, delicately untangling the strands stuck to her skin.

‘Totally. All I could think about.’ She smiled at him and coasted her hand lower, finally resting on his hip. ‘I lost interest in the experiment we were conducting on your magic as soon as I saw it.’

‘I think the experiment had long since ended at that point.’ He raised an eyebrow at her and the hint of playful scolding made a tiny shiver of delight work its way down her back.

‘All right, I’ll be completely honest with you,’ she stage-whispered. ‘I was never interested in the experiment.’

He cupped the back of her neck and leaned in. ‘Me neither,’ he murmured against her lips, and pressed a long, soft kiss to them.

When they pulled away from each other, the pressure was squeezing up between her ribs, but she was still ignoring it. Or letting it be, more accurately, rather than trying to chase it away with worries about what was actually happening here between them.

‘Is it to do with your gift?’

He laughed, pressing his hand over the top of hers, so she felt his heart beating beneath her palm. ‘You’re really persistent about this.’

‘Just curious. I guess I—’ She broke off, a blush touching her cheeks. Ridiculous considering the fact they were lying next to each other naked. But she’d almost admitted how often in the past she’d imagined getting his shirt off him, and never once had he been tattooed in her mind. It’s not like he couldn’t guess how much she’d always wanted him, but she didn’t need to advertise the fact.

He saved her from her embarrassment, either not noticing or pretending not to notice. ‘It’s not for my gift.’ He took a steady, slow breath, but even so, she felt his heart rate kicking up a little beneath her hand. ‘It’s part of the protective magic for Ashworth Hall and Biddicote.’

‘Really? Why? What’s it for?’

‘It’s …’ He licked his lips, easing slightly back, and she could feel her glasses shifting as a frown pulled at her eyebrows. ‘Whoever inherits Ashworth Hall also inherits the responsibility of anchoring the magic. Acting as a conduit of sorts. You know that, mostly, magic only resides in objects or places if it’s been built with it by a witch with an alchemy affinity, or layered there from years and years of usage, or has the resonance from a rune. And that accounts for a lot of the framework, but the spells that get activated by a particularly big incident, they still need a focal point of live magic to draw from. The tattoo directs that.’

Kay lifted her hand, dislodging his, so she could examine the runes while she puzzled through what he was telling her. ‘Like a call-back function,’ she said.

She recognised a couple of the runes: the yew tree, for protection; the cross which was linked to gifts but also generosity and helping others. There were more there, though, joined and overlapping each other in a special way, surrounded by a runic pattern she’d never seen before. All, right there, over his centre of magic. She couldn’t say why exactly, but she wasn’t sure she liked the idea.

‘On a phone?’

‘A little bit, I guess, but I was thinking more of something that’s used in coding.’

‘Oh, then I have no idea.’ He rolled onto his back, closing his eyes. ‘There’s a lot we have no idea about … just that it’s always worked in the past.’

He was looking tired again, and it was the middle of the night, so she pressed her lips together on a lot of questions and comments she wanted to make. Like questioning the sense of allowing your body to be tattooed with powerful magic just because it had ‘always worked’ before. According to his family, no doubt. The same family who would influence his behaviour when he was a child to ensure he was upholding their legacy.

And why was this a secret from the rest of the community? Had no one wondered how it worked before, or was it as simple as them benefiting from it, and no one complaining, so no one bothered to ask? She certainly hadn’t thought about it. But then she’d never really been aware of the extent to which Biddicote was protected until she went off to live outside of it.

‘If you were to have tattooed those drawings on me, would the influence have worked permanently?’ she wondered out loud. ‘Is that how this works?’

‘No. There’s more to it than that. Spelled ink, some of the runes are unique and we have no definitive record of them and precisely what they mean. There’s a ritual, with intention too. It’s a whole big thing. I’m sure there are magical tattooists, but the tenets would apply – you can’t stay in a state of one mood or emotion permanently, it’s not physiologically good for us, is it?’

‘But the witching tenets don’t apply to the Ashworths and this tattoo?’

He was quiet for a moment. ‘The Witches’ Council don’t know about it.’

‘Why not?’

‘They’re not very keen on the set-up in Biddicote as it is, apparently.’

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