Page 79 of Witch You Weren't Here

After finding a downstairs bathroom far away from the reception room, she came out into the hallway and let the quiet wrap around her. Small sconces lit the way, making pools of golden light at intervals on the deep carpet. She sighed and checked her watch. She could afford ten more minutes of solitude. One of these rooms must have a sofa.

She moved further down the corridor. She recognised this part of the house. It was where Adrian Ashworth’s study was, and the door which led out to the path down to Biddi’s cave. It sounded very unlikely he’d been using it recently, so maybe it would be a good place to go undetected for a while.

Pushing the thick door open, it resisted a little against the pile of the carpet before swinging smoothly back. She closed it behind her and a couple of lamps automatically began to glow.

It was bigger than she’d imagined it would be. The huge windows were set deep into the walls and gave away the fact she was in the oldest part of the house. A big desk, with stately armchairs facing it, was loaded with books. To its left was a wide fireplace, a clock and some photographs along the mantel. Above was an old family portrait, at least half a dozen people at a variety of ages, in a picnic scene. They all had ruffs around their necks, a woman – likely the mother – sitting at the centre, a tendril of fiery red hair visible beneath the fashionable grey wig. Kay drew closer, wondering if she was actually looking at Biddi and if there were any further clues about the witching family hidden in the scene.

A sudden snap and flare of light made her jump. The fire had kindled to life. Magic worked like an Alexa in this house, switching everything on as soon as it thought you might need it.

Much as she wanted to keep examining the portrait on the wall, she wanted to sit down too. She sank into the armchair closest to the fire and eased her shoes off her feet. The books on the table were a strange mix. Some old and delicate, frayed spines and yellowed pages, alongside newer, leather-bound tomes. Were some of these the grimoires the Witches Council wanted to get their hands on? She was reaching out to touch one of the newer ones – too in awe to touch the old ones without permission – when the door swung open, making both her and the person coming through the door shriek.

Becca used a spell similar to an invisible yo-yo to yank the camera she’d dropped back into her hand before it hit the floor.

‘Kay, what on earth are you doing in here?’ She fumbled her folded tripod to rest against the wall and shut the heavy door with a brief flick of her fingers.

‘Sorry. I was just looking for a bit of peace and quiet.’ Kay began to get up. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Wait.’ Becca paused, a frown pulling her dark eyebrows down. ‘It’s fine. You stay. You must be welcome.’ She took her camera equipment over to the table at the other end of the room and said, almost to herself, ‘You wouldn’t have been able to open the door to get in here otherwise.’

‘Oh.’ Kay wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Who decided who was welcome in the house? The family or the magic? She glanced around, looking for the runic symbols she was used to seeing everywhere, but instead her eyes fell upon a photo on the desk. Harry in his black graduation gown and cap, lined with white fur. She would have looked away again, but something about his eyes caught her and she couldn’t resist leaning forward and picking it up for a closer look. ‘Becca? What colour are Harry’s eyes to you?’

‘Ah.’ Becca smiled and came over, settling down in the other armchair. ‘So you know about the influencing thing.’

‘He told me. But he didn’t tell me what colour his eyes actually are.’ She blushed a little, but her curiosity was pressing her too hard for her to drop the conversation. His eyes had always had such an effect on her, suddenly the thought that it was just magic, trying to seduce her – and working – made a lump appear in her throat.

‘Well, since he’s my cousin and I do not want to find him attractive, I can see the true colour of his eyes. They’re blue.’ Becca nodded towards the photo in Kay’s hands and started to redo her ponytail. ‘You can see it in any photo of him – the magic doesn’t work through a lens.’

Inexplicably, the lump in Kay’s throat grew, making it hard for her to breathe. His eyes were the exact colour she’d always thought they were. A deep, vibrant blue, near purple in some lights.

‘He said they weren’t the shade of bluebells,’ she whispered.

Becca cringed a little bit. ‘You compared his eyes to bluebells?’

The blush deepened on her cheeks and she tried to defend her sappiness: ‘We were young.’

Becca laughed and leaned over to look at the photo, tilting her head as she considered it. ‘I guess they are a similar shade. Depending on the type of bluebell.’

She sat back, but Kay could still sense her scrutiny. She fumbled the photo frame back onto the desk, turning it a little so that he wasn’t looking at her. She hadn’t been fooled by his magic. She saw him for exactly who he was.

‘Harry can never take a compliment, though. He’s painfully determined not to see the best in himself.’ Becca sighed.

‘I’ve noticed he has that tendency.’

They were quiet for a minute and then Becca got up and went to a cabinet by the window. She pulled out a decanter and a couple of glasses. ‘Fancy a drink?’

‘I think I will fall to sleep if I have any alcohol.’

‘Fair enough.’ Becca poured herself a drink and took a few long swallows, wincing and gasping. ‘Goddess, that tastes like arse.’

Kay burst out laughing.

‘Listen, Kay, I’m going to talk to you about something, and there’s a possibility Harry might get mad at me, but I’m going to do it anyway.’

Kay straightened up in the armchair, as Becca leaned back against the windowsill. ‘All these books,’ Becca waved towards the table. ‘They’re because we’re trying to figure out why the tattoo isn’t working. You know about the tattoo?’ A dimple showed in her cheek as the blush reappeared on Kay’s face. ‘Oh, yeah, you know about the tattoo,’ she answered herself, slyly.

‘I’ve seen it.’ Kay cleared her throat. ‘What do you mean, it’s not working?’

‘Harry’s one hasn’t anchored. We’ve been trying to figure it out for months.’ Becca waved her hand to the books on the table. ‘See if there’s something we’ve missed. We did it all according to what his mum and dad could remember, but … there should be a period where the current anchor and the next share the responsibility. Before it’s permanently passed on. And it’s not happening. I thought maybe his dad was just too weak to put the magic needed into the ritual but … I don’t know. I have no proof for that and Harry has a different idea.’

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