Page 11 of Witch You Weren't Here

Where to start? She pushed her glasses up her nose, her mind first leaping to the strange idea that he was asking her what her problem was with him. As though he didn’t know.

‘Have you twisted your ankle? Are you feeling unwell?’ he elaborated, tilting his head. He was still handsome in that unconventional way that made him even more infuriatingly gorgeous, but some of the softness had evaporated from around his cheekbones and jawline. Not from his mouth, though …

She must be unwell if she was letting herself appreciate Harry Ashworth’s mouth. She looked away. ‘My heel is stuck. In the cobbles.’

‘Oh, right. May I?’ He bent his head, giving her a perfect view of how shiny and soft the waves of his hair looked, as well as assaulting her nose with the smell of his shampoo, all stomach-tinglingly fresh.

‘Sure,’ she said between gritted teeth, even though she could think of any number of tortures she’d prefer to enjoy rather than Harry Ashworth examining the embarrassing situation she’d found herself in, even more closely. Especially in a way that meant him putting his head level with her butt.

She stood up abruptly, belatedly realising that it would give him a perfect view up her skirt if he decided to look. His fingers touched the back of her heel and as soon as she felt the tiniest magical push, she yanked her boot free – and would have toppled over again, if he hadn’t quickly stood up and caught her elbow.

‘Cheers,’ she said, stepping back up onto the pavement as though the cobbles were lava.

‘What brings you here, then?’ he asked, glancing around the square, his head starting to turn towards Baba Yaga’s.

‘Work. Conference,’ she blurted out. Getting his attention back on her. He was bound to know it was Madam Hedvika’s shop. If he figured out she was having problems with her magic …

Well, it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like he was friends with Joe anymore – that he had ever truly been friends with him – so her family wouldn’t find out. Still, she’d prefer to keep her issues private.

‘Ah. You do something clever in IT, don’t you?’

‘Clever’ was rather overstating it, but Kay gave a robotic nod.

How did he know that? Maybe just through his parents listening to the small talk in the village – it was a tiny place. It was a surprise, nonetheless. What with Harry showing zero interest about whether she was alive or dead for the last ten years. Since the ‘smiley-face’ incident.

‘Have you had a chance to do any sightseeing? The architecture is—’

‘I have to go,’ she interrupted with zero shame. She truly didn’t have time to stop and make small talk. Definitely not with someone who was acting like they were going to sit and reminisce, or bond over shared interests, or whatever it was he was pretending would be totally normal between them.

‘Oh, right. Sure.’ He looked down at the cobbles which had very recently held her prisoner. When he met her gaze again, his eyebrows were drawn together in a way that shadowed his eyes. ‘It was nice to see you.’

Every polite bone in her body was screaming at her to return the empty platitude. But she couldn’t. With a quiet goodbye, she hurried away. And if she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder, it was just because she wanted to make sure he wasn’t going in the same direction as her.

He wasn’t. He was where she’d left him, his long, deep blue coat making him stand out among the tourists walking around him. He was facing Baba Yaga’s again, rubbing a hand absently against his chest.

It didn’t matter, Kay reminded herself. She’d left him behind. And she had a plane to catch.

Chapter Three

7 p.m.: friday 29 october

Prague Airport

810 miles and 44(+1) hours until the wedding

Delayed.

Kay had made it to the airport, only to find the departures board full of delays, including her flight to Heathrow. This did not bode well at all. It might only be a delay now, but what if the flights started getting cancelled?

The terminal was packed, with everyone either looking a little lost, staring up at the boards with concern, or charging off towards the customer service desks, which were already inundated with people.

Kay’s knitted work dress clung to her in a number of unflattering places and her feet were cramping in the boots that had betrayed her in Old Town Square. All she really wanted to do was sit down and get a cup of tea, but she needed to know what was going on.

The queues for the desks were overlapping and winding around the terminal in a nonsensical way, like one of those ‘find the right path’ mazes in children’s magazines. No doubt it was more organised than this usually, but no one had foreseen the bad weather picking up pace so much – apart from Aunt Lucille with her aching teeth, and probably a bunch of seers who weren’t allowed to tell non-magical people anyway.

Apparently, there’d been a period in the eighties when some enterprising witches had decided to sell their talents to companies for extortionate amounts, giving those businesses a leg-up with financial forecasting, and influencing others to get unfairly beneficial agreements. Then had come the crash and the Witches Council had decided that it was unethical to participate. That it broke the ‘do no harm’ tenet. Now, witches were only allowed to use their gifts for a living secretly and if they ensured it brought about no undue attention. A healer could become a doctor, but not go performing full-blown miracles every single day. Not that healers could cure everything anyway.

Even if Kay’s gift was useless, she was at least relieved her affinity wasn’t something which had to be curtailed or was limited according to the tenets. It would have been more devastating to have all that potential and still not be able to save every sick child that came to the hospital. Like the moment in The Imitation Game when Benedict Cumberbatch realised, even though he’d cracked the code, they couldn’t use the information or it would completely give them away. They couldn’t save everybody once without the risk of losing the advantage and saving nobody going forwards. Soul-destroying.

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