Page 69 of Witch You Weren't Here

He caught her in his gaze, eyes sparkling with laughter and heat. ‘Kayla Hendrix, you can trap me in a bed anytime.’

She flushed, a livewire feeling shooting through her when he said her name like that. ‘I meant by the ankle.’

‘Well, you have more knowledge of that area, but I’m very open to exploring it with you.’

Her laugh erupted from her, and the wide smile on his face in response was everything, filling her with such a sweet lightness; she almost thought she would see it glowing from her skin if she looked in the mirror.

She watched the windscreen wipers, moving at a frenzied pace, and instead of trying to shut it down, she simply waited. Recognising the excess magic crackling from her, but not trying to bury it, feeling her magic flow … and then settle.

They made it to London without too much delay despite more diversions around flooding and fallen trees. The most frustrating part was trying to find a parking space near her flat, but that was to do with it being London, rather than the weather.

Kay took the umbrella, leaving Harry in the car to make the call to his mum, hurrying through streets that looked like the aftermath of a Ghostbusters movie, pumpkins capsized and decorations of ghouls and witches bedraggled, leaning haphazardly against gateposts, or crumpled into a wet heap on the lawns, amid bright yellow warning tape.

Taking the four flights of stairs up to her attic flat, she was breathing heavily by the time she got the door open and wondering how much time she should give Harry to talk to his mother. The clock was essentially on pause until they found a new wedding venue, but her sense of urgency hadn’t disappeared.

She put her phone on charge and gathered together her two dress bags, and the multiple pairs of shoes she’d spent too much money on, sending out every good thought she could, that they would be needed. Unpacking her tote bag, she repacked the contents into a small leather holdall, then paused, debating whether to take her corn husk doll. She could just leave her at home, shoved under the bed to avoid the risk of her family spotting her and asking questions. But they’d been this far together and Kay was beginning to feel strangely attached to her. Maybe even like she’d been wrong to treat the doll as if she was the aggressor when, truly, she was the injured party, having been flambéed in an unprovoked attack.

Kay rubbed her eyes. Maybe the effects of the marijuana weren’t entirely out of her system?

Twenty minutes later, loaded with bags she was trying to keep dry under the umbrella, she made it back to the car. Harry popped the boot open for her and she dumped everything inside. Before she could get back in, he climbed out of the driver’s seat. ‘You OK to drive the last leg?’ he asked her, hunching against the rain.

‘Sure.’

‘Great,’ he said with a smile. ‘Because I need to get on the phone to your brother. He’s got a wedding to relocate to Ashworth Hall.’

Chapter Seventeen

11 a.m.: sunday 31 october

Biddicote, England

2 miles and 5 hours until the wedding

Even in the rain, there was something pretty about Biddicote. Leaves had been blown prematurely from the trees, yet, instead of looking stark, the colours mingled along the edges of the lane and turned the water of the duck pond into a beautiful marbled mirror.

Kay pulled up in front of her mum’s cottage, the home she’d grown up in, and cut the engine. Harry had spent most of the time on and off the phone to Joe and the housekeeper at Ashworth Hall. He’d found a notepad and pen in the glovebox, so he could scribble down notes about things to prepare at Ashworth Hall, and questions he needed to call Joe back with answers to, once he was home again.

They were both going home. It was time to say goodbye.

‘Joe said he’ll be here in a minute.’ Harry stretched over to the back seat to tuck the notepad and his phone in one of the pockets of his coat. The way his jumper lifted to reveal a tiny sliver of skin, his jeans low on his hips as they twisted in her direction, had Kay’s breath shallowing.

‘Great,’ she managed.

He settled back into his seat, looking over at her. The rain was closer to a drizzle now and, with the wipers off, the sudden quiet was so obviously loaded.

‘Thank—’

‘Have you—’

They both spoke at the same time and then laughed, small and awkward.

‘You go first,’ she said, unclipping her seat belt and turning to face him too.

He rubbed his hands roughly through his hair. He’d rolled his sleeves up for the drive and she wanted to run her fingertips along his forearm, dancing her nerve endings along the light hair and freckles and lines of his muscles. ‘I was wondering … have you got someone you’re taking to the wedding?’

‘Oh.’ She opened her eyes wide. ‘No. I don’t. I decided to go stag. This is the twenty-first century after all.’

‘So, no one would mind if I found you at the reception and … asked you to dance?’ The way his eyes fastened on her mouth had her feeling that ‘dance’ might be a euphemism. But even if he did only mean dancing, the idea alone made her heart skitter. It had been palpitating so much over the last two days, she was beginning to think an ECG might be in order.

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