Page 73 of Witch You Weren't Here

Leaving her mum in the kitchen, Kay took her bag from the hall and headed up the narrow staircase. Her mangled feelings all came rushing back as she shut the door to her old bedroom behind her. She couldn’t seem to keep the stopper in the bottle today. The small room with its white furniture and the pale wallpaper with little pink sprigs had witnessed it all. The nights she’d fallen asleep dreaming of Harry’s kiss. All the tears she’d cried when he’d stood her up and given her that note.

If being with him all weekend had clouded her judgement, maybe she needed to reset it. Remind herself what he’d done. Or rather – because she now knew why he’d done it – remind herself what he could do to her, if he felt so inclined.

Going to her wardrobe and pulling out a box at the back with her old diaries in, it was easy to find the one with the napkin in the back. She took it out and forced herself to open it. There it was – the smiley face.

Despite all the years, magic still pushed itself upon her. It must have been so strong at the time. He’d put so much into it. She knew he said how strong it had been was purely accidental, but wow.

She crumpled it in her hand, tears pricking her eyes as the fabricated feelings sloughed away. All she’d done was prove to herself how little she hated him, despite what he’d put her through. Despite how it would probably all go wrong because of their complicated designations.

‘Shit.’ She drew her hand back as heat bit at her fingers, dropping the napkin which was now aflame. ‘Shit.’ She stomped on top of it, to put out the fire. When she removed her foot, there was nothing but ashes left.

Chapter Eighteen

12.30 p.m.: sunday 31 october

Ashworth Hall

0 miles and 3 hours and 30 minutes until the wedding

Joe hadn’t been wrong about Sandy’s reaction to Ashworth Hall if her squeal as Kay drove beneath the archway at the bottom of the driveway was any indication. A shiver of magic started at Kay’s head and passed all the way down her spine, similar to when she’d crossed into Leon’s witches-only restaurant. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she saw some very old runes carved around the plaster images decorating the wide brick arch. Was that the protective magic that was linked to Harry’s tattoo? Part of her wanted to go and do a tour of the house, grounds and Biddicote as a whole so she could see exactly how much there was that she, and everyone else, appeared to take for granted.

It couldn’t have been designed to deter non-magical people though, because none of the others in the car even blinked or looked mildly uncomfortable. In fact, as Kay followed the gravel driveway, flanked by Scots pines, up to the front of the house where it wrapped around a circle of grass with a large rowan tree at its centre, it was clear from the bridesmaids’ faces that – despite not having any clue the house had been home to witches for over three hundred years – they thought the place was pretty magical.

Kay parked over to one side and they all stepped out of the car, faces tipped up regardless of the slanting rain, to stare at the imposing manor house. Mansion? Kay wasn’t sure at what point it tipped over. She’d always just thought of it as ‘the Hall’.

Somehow, the rain had made it even more attractive, dampening the orange brick to a warm ruddy colour, the stone lintels around the doors and windows bright in contrast and the tiles on the dormer roofs glistening.

Sandy covered her mouth, tears coming to her eyes. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she mumbled behind her hands. ‘I thought we weren’t going to be able to get married at all, and now we have this place …’ she broke off with a little hiccup of a sob.

‘Right, get those tears out now,’ Sandy’s cousin, Erin, instructed her firmly, while placing an arm around her shoulders. ‘Because no crying is allowed once your make-up is done.’

‘But we should go inside before you start crying,’ Chelsea, Sandy’s friend, said, hurrying up the steps to the double doors. ‘Don’t want to waste those tears out here, if the inside is a wreck.’

‘It’s definitely not a wreck,’ Kay assured her with a rueful smile. It had been a long time since she’d been in there, but she remembered the big rooms, tall ceilings, massive fireplaces, richly varnished wood. The way she didn’t want to breathe on anything in case she broke it. The way she couldn’t breathe whenever she’d spotted Harry, dressed up in dark trousers and a white shirt, but his freckles, wild hair, and wide smile always there, stopping him from looking formal and imposing. Like a flame in the darkness.

Her chest ached at the memory – that brand from his smiley face was back to burning a hole over her heart, an old injury she’d aggravated so it gave her phantom pain.

The door opened, but instead of it being Harry, her dad was standing there. Marvin was slightly taller than average, his short, curly dark hair going to salt and pepper, but still looking younger than his years. Witches did tend to age well and live long lives, between whatever different chemistry there was in their bodies and their ability to make use of healer magic. But it wasn’t always a guarantee – Harry’s dad was proof of that.

‘Marvin.’ Sandy pulled away from her cousin to throw her arms around Kay’s dad in a familiar, comfortable hug. ‘You’re here already?’

He embraced his future daughter-in-law back with the same ease and pulled away to smile down at her. ‘Yeah, been here for about half an hour. No time to waste. Harry’s already shown me the rooms for you ladies. Let’s get you out of the rain.’

Kay hung back, letting the others grab their bags from the boot before she locked the car up and followed them inside. As she dried her feet off on the enormous doormat inside the entrance hall, the bridesmaids were doing their meerkat routine, looking around them like their necks were adjustable periscopes.

On the centre table in the vestibule was a cornucopia display with an array of pinecones, mini squash and pumpkins spilling out, russet and gold and cream colours bringing an immediate sense of warmth and welcome to the home. A touch of magic wafted off it to create that hospitable atmosphere. It curled around her like sitting by a fireplace and made her feel a much-needed sense of serenity.

She wondered if that was Harry or his mum’s doing. With his dad being so ill, his magic would be drained … What did that mean for the magical tattoo? She couldn’t remember exactly how Harry had explained it, they’d both been so tired, but surely it didn’t use them like a battery? If it did and Adrian Ashworth was ill, the tattoo couldn’t be helping. Maybe he’d had it removed and all of that burden was falling to Harry now?

Thinking about the logistics of it unsettled her. When it came to the magic for the wards and deflective spells, how was Harry to know when his magic would be called upon? They were reactive to things outside of his control. If someone – like her – was having an off day on the edge of the village, risking a non-magical person spotting something they couldn’t explain, did that mean he would suddenly find himself wiped out? Like he’d been when they needed to move the car? Would the magic even have communicated with him when he was that far away? Or was there some other charm that avoided that?

Her curiosity over how it worked was interrupted as her dad left the rest of the bridal party to join her, opening his arms, a little hesitantly. ‘Kay. Hey there, sweetheart. Can I have a hug?’

A wave of guilt added to her niggling concerns. How awful was she for making her own dad unsure about whether she’d welcome his hug? She didn’t insult him by saying of course, because it wasn’t a given with them. Instead, she just stepped forward and hugged him. ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said.

‘I was so worried about you.’ He gave her an extra squeeze.

It was on the tip of her tongue to question that because it wasn’t like he’d tried to contact her to see if she was OK at any point over the weekend. But then, they’d grown used to mainly communicating through Joe until they met up in person.

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