Page 59 of Witch You Weren't Here

Not yet.

But now the magical influence had eased and, as Harry said, she was mostly sober, she could acknowledge that this wasn’t as easy as she’d imagined it to be when she was riding her high in Leon’s bathroom. She was raised by an empath at the end of the day. She knew that feelings couldn’t evaporate, like the water spilled over Madam Hedvika’s table, no matter whether it was illogical to hold on to them. No matter how she felt like she was seeing him again properly for the first time in years – maybe even understanding him better than she ever had – it didn’t mean her hurt and resentment were going to disappear.

And then there was the fact that he was an influencer with another affinity linked to the seer designation – and she was an empath, possibly with another affinity linked to influencing – and she’d spent many, many years strongly believing that was an absolute recipe for heartache and toxic relationships. What if one day he had inconvenient feelings for her again and instead of talking to her about it, he chose to avoid her, like she suspected had happened when he stood her up? That particular gift wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much she wished it would.

So, he might not regret the kissing. She might even want more kissing … OK, she definitely wanted more kissing. But if there wasn’t any potential for more between them, maybe giving in to temptation wasn’t for the best?

Instead of saying any of that, though, she just murmured: ‘Sleep, Harry. You need to sleep. We’ve got all tomorrow morning with the drive back to talk.’

He nodded into the pillow, his eyes already closing. ‘I guessso.’

She turned to drape his coat over the armchair with hers and when she looked back, he’d pressed himself up against the wall and had his hand outstretched to her.

Her heart gave a painful kick in her chest. Actions spoke louder than words sometimes and if she chose to lie down beside him, now that she was sober, without them even discussing the kiss or anything else about it, it would be saying something. At least partly. And she’d just reminded herself that it probably wasn’t a good idea.

She hated the fact that he’d been right to warn her about this before they kissed. And she hated that his fingers curled in on themselves, forming a gentle fist as he pulled his arm back in towards his body as though he’d read her hesitation and was resigning himself to her rejection.

Only one day ago, she would have been rejecting him and thinking that it served him right. But now, she chewed her lip and took off her boots, going over to the bottom bunk, and leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.

‘We’ll talk later,’ she repeated, and his eyes opened wide for a moment, watching as she moved away again.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said softly, his generous mouth barely moving around the words, but they landed like a sledgehammer blow. It was part solace and part pain because those were the words she’d sent him in the text when she’d asked him out at sixteen. What he’d said back to her when he suggested them meeting at the cave.

And it still hadn’t stopped him from hurting her.

He dropped off, almost as soon as he’d spoken. Kay closed her eyes to stop herself from staring like a deranged stalker at his face. It wasn’t like she couldn’t picture it in her mind’s eye anyway. The angle of his cheekbones and the hollow beneath, the creases at the corner of his eyes, the dip under his bottom lip …

She climbed up onto the top bunk, alone, and wrapped the blankets around herself.

Dreaming came faster than she would have expected. Maybe because she was sure it was a memory. She was out in the garden, lying on a blanket, reading a book about a handmaiden of death; a mix of magic, myth, and history and romance that had her ignoring her coursework. The sun was hot on her back, the blanket cool and a little damp, the smell of freshly cut grass in the air. Her stomach flipped as Harry appeared, because Joe wanted to finish watching a football match before they started working.

The memory began to twist into dream then. Food laid out on colourful plastic plates between them that wasn’t there a moment ago. Cookies, pastries, a Bakewell tart, a slice of wedding cake. She levitated the Bakewell tart away from him because they were her favourite and a game began. She could tell they were teasing each other and she knew Harry’s husky voice was in her head, but she couldn’t hear the words either of them were saying. It was more laughter than words anyway.

The plates were empty now and they were all up in the air, spinning like the art deco lampshade at Leon and Alex’s. A bright yellow one lifted up and floated away. But she wasn’t using the lightening spell. Or pushing it with a simple force of energy. She was using the spell Auntie L had taught her for harnessing the breeze, and it came so easily now.

‘You see, I told you, you’re powerful,’ Harry said, standing up to watch the plate rise higher and higher.

A cool rush of wind whipped around her, billowing her summer dress up, so she laughed and pushed down with her hands.

But then she was lifting up too. And so was Harry. The tree at the end of the garden was swaying back and forth and Harry was floating away from her, higher now, up above the roofline of the house.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She needed to get back down to the ground, the buffeting wind was tipping her forwards and backwards, dropping suddenly so her stomach launched up into her mouth. And Harry, he was disappearing away from her. The more she tried to control it, the more it didn’t work, and then she panicked and the wind grew stronger.

‘Help,’ she cried out. ‘Harry. Help.’ She reached her hands out to him, but he was vanishing from her sight and the ground was so far below her now. She had to get a grip on this or they were both going to die. All the air in her lungs was being stolen as she went higher and higher, the village tiny like something from a toy train set. ‘Help,’ she sobbed. ‘Help—’

And then the force dropped and she was falling, falling, falling.

She woke up screaming, sitting up but narrowly missing hitting her head on the ceiling as she nearly tumbled out of the bed.

‘Kay? What’s wrong?’ Harry was already halfway up the ladder and when she stared at him, gulping in air, trying to convince her panicked body that it had been a dream, he came the rest of the way, kneeling beside her. ‘You were having a nightmare?’

She nodded, pushing her glasses back up her nose, feeling them mould back into their normal shape. Her fingers were shaking and she gasped as he suddenly wrapped his arm around her waist to stop her from falling against the wall … Because the ferry was rocking. Not the gentle, almost invisible swell of its buoyancy as it moved through the water. This was lurching and falling, her stomach going light, then plummeting down with it each time. The wind dashing rain and waves against the side of the boat.

‘It’s the storm, Harry,’ she said in a strangled voice, grabbing onto his arms as he held her in the bed, trying to steady herself as their small cabin shifted on its axis, threatening to throw them out of the bunk.

‘The water is rougher than earlier,’ he commented, tightening his grip as he stretched out on his side, pulling her in closer.

‘Bit of an understatement,’ she yelped as her stomach rose up her throat again.

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