Page 84 of Witch You Weren't Here

‘Holy grimoire. You’re sure? You wouldn’t lie to me?’ He looked back down at her.

‘I promise you. I swear it.’

His chest rose and fell and then he gathered her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly. ‘Thank you. Thank you, so much.’

She squeezed him back, his body in her arms, warm and right, sinking into her. A little too much actually. His weight was suddenly too heavy for her to hold up. And she was holding him up. ‘Harry?’

‘I feel a bit weird,’ he slurred and put his hands to the wall either side of her shoulders to prop himself up. All the blood had leached from his skin.

‘Harry?’

He pressed his hand to his chest, wincing, and she looked down automatically. Her eyes filling with the tangle of colours between them. They were too close to decipher and it wasn’t anywhere near her priority.

‘Harry?’ She touched his cheek, the hand he was pressing over his heart. This time when she said it, she thought she heard an echo of it coming from his dad’s room. ‘What is it?’

‘I think …’ he panted and started to unbutton his shirt further. Beneath the bright colours of the bonds, the ink of the magical tattoo was so stark, it was like liquid, his skin raising like an old scar around the edges.

Elenor came to the bedroom door. It said something for how preoccupied she was that she didn’t even react to seeing him virtually pinning Kay to the wall and baring his chest to her. ‘Harry, your dad just called for you.’

Harry pushed himself upright, swaying a second later, like he had a head rush. Kay grabbed his arm to steady him. His eyes were wide as he looked between her and his mum. ‘He hasn’t been able to speak in months.’

‘I know.’ His mum’s voice was thick. ‘Come now.’

‘I will. Just. A second.’ He tried to straighten again. Kay was reluctant to let go of his arm in case he face-planted, but he lifted his hand to wipe it down his face.

‘Are you OK? What is it?’ Elenor’s voice rose.

‘I think it’s the anchor, Mum, I think it’s finally happened. It’s finally working.’

She gasped. ‘Oh my love, that must be why.’ She hurried out to him, putting her arm around his waist and staring at the exposed tattoo. ‘You’ll need to sit down and rest for a little while. It’s normal to feel weak.’

‘Kay?’ Despite his mum being right there, ready to drag him to a chair it seemed, Harry’s hand caught at hers.

She squeezed it and forced herself to let go. ‘It’s OK. You need to go. Go speak to your dad and rest. I’ve got to get back to the wedding, too.’

‘I’ll find you later,’ he promised as his mother started walking him away.

‘Only if you’re feeling up to it.’

As the distance between them widened, it became impossible to ignore the bond stretching out across that space between them. The gold of her feelings looked like it continued all the way to his, but then she realised at around halfway the proportions changed. They became his. There was more grey, red, blue … and purple, too.

She’d hurt him? At first, her mind automatically jumped on the defensive, wondering how she’d hurt him. But she knew how. Because she was holding back. Had she ever actually said that she’d forgiven him after he apologised? And she had judged him and his magic so harshly when they first met back up. Whether he had instigated that bad feeling between them or not, she’d pushed him away, said harsh words to him. There was guilt in her bond for a reason.

But … that was all entwined with the gold. Travelling from him to her. Reciprocal. Gold.

Harry loved her back.

It was … utterly overwhelming. Everything she’d once dreamed of and yet nowhere near the simple joy she’d thought it would be.

Chapter Twenty-One

6.30 p.m.: sunday 31 october

Ashworth Hall

The Wedding Reception

On the way down to the massive function room, Kay did her best to stuff her discovery about Harry’s feelings for her away. It reminded her of trying to get one of those pop-up snakes back into its can, but she was determined. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Nothing necessarily to be done about it ever, unless he wanted to ask her for more than a dance.

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