Page 8 of Witch You Weren't Here

Stop. It’s OK. I’m not in a hurry, she recited to herself, trying to convince her magic to knock it off, but all that happened was a couple of light bulbs popped, causing a rising murmur of concern throughout the crowd.

Ilina nudged Kay firmly with her elbow – this time without the added burst of electricity. Clearly she didn’t need any more energy to add to her overflow. ‘Go.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can. And you need to. Now, before the fire alarm goes off or something. I will find your boss afterwards and tell him you got your period. You know men, he’ll be so mortified, he won’t even question you about it.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure—’

‘Fine, food poisoning then. You had a prawn sandwich at lunch, yes? If he had one too, he will not be surprised your stomach has rebelled. I think it was only the level of alcohol in my bloodstream that managed to kill off the bacteria.’

Kay chewed her lip, and then glanced around at the room where all the delegates were shifting and looking up at the lighting overhead suspiciously, while the presenter struggled to return to his place in his talk. ‘Right, OK, yes, I’ll do it. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. I hope she can help.’

‘God, me too.’

‘Let me know you made it safely onto your flight. Auf Wiedersehen.’

Kay squeezed Ilina’s hand gently in lieu of kissing her on the cheek to say goodbye and inched her way out of their row. She slung her handbag over her shoulder, put her hand over her mouth as though nauseated and kept her eyes trained on the exit as she hurried towards it, hoping that if her boss had noticed her leave, she would look like someone who had an unpleasant date scheduled with the toilet.

Chapter Two

5 p.m.: friday 29 october

Old Town Square, Prague

819 miles and 46(+1) hours until the wedding

Madam Hedvika seemed to have taken the old adage of ‘hiding in plain sight’ to heart and literally themed her shop, Baba Yaga’s, as a witch’s shack – albeit one that was clean and attractive and sold souvenirs – playing off the regular witches’ festival where effigies of witches were created and burned every year. Nice. Madam Hedvika obviously had a dark sense of humour and a flare for retail positioning.

Small children milled around inside, giggling at the cartoonishly ugly witch dolls made of corn husks. There was also all the typical ‘witch’ memorabilia to buy, from crystals and candles to little velvet-covered books claiming to hold love spells. The air was heavily scented with incense, which Kay might have dismissed as being part of the atmosphere, but she could detect the familiar notes of sage and rosemary beneath and there were at least two runes painted above the door. She doubted anyone ever shoplifted from this establishment.

As Kay approached the desk, the young woman at the till looked up at her with a smile. ‘Kay?’

‘Yes, that’s me,’ she answered.

‘She’s waiting through there for you,’ the woman said in heavily accented English and pointed to a small doorway, covered with beads and wind chimes, which clacked as Kay pushed her way through.

Rather than the small room she was expecting, she came up against a wall and had to turn right to find a steep, narrow staircase. Kay sighed, looking at her wheelie suitcase, and decided to risk leaving it at the bottom of the stairs.

It wasn’t that she’d overpacked for the three-day conference, but once she’d expressed an interest in going – somewhat more enthusiastically than would have been expected of her, so she could guarantee an opportunity to get to see Madam Hedvika – she’d been given the joyous task of ferrying across all the marketing material for their stand. Just for once, she wished any of the men in her office could have been chivalrous and offered to take the bulk of glossy brochures – which probably equated to the loss of a small Christmas tree farm – but no. It was equal opportunities in her office when it came to back strain and dislocated shoulders. Shame they didn’t have the same attitude towards salaries.

She hurried up to the first floor and found a square sitting room with waxed wooden floors, a high ceiling and beautifully arched windows that looked out over the Old Town Square, the famous astronomical clock just within sight, the setting sun flashing off its gleaming dials.

A woman, around her mother’s age, was sitting at a square worktable before one of the windows. A bunch of corn husks, thread and scissors was spread out before her.

‘Kay,’ she said without looking up from where she was organising the materials, sharing them out between her place at the table and the one opposite her. ‘Come and take a seat. Would you like a drink?’

‘Oh, no thank you.’ She took the seat opposite Madam Hedvika and shrugged her coat off, letting it rest against the back of the chair. Her mouth was dry, but she doubted any liquid would help with that.

Madam Hedvika inclined her head in acknowledgement and carried on with her organising. She had a long plait draped over her shoulder, her hair a deep brown, streaked with grey.

Kay glanced out of the window again and linked her fingers tightly in her lap to avoid drumming them. She was here now. Seeking help for this crazy magic problem she was having. Even if she did have a flight to catch, she needed to be patient. Magic couldn’t be rushed and Madam Hedvika’s approach needed to be respected. She was the IT support of the witching community. Except there was only one like her in the whole of Europe and getting an appointment was as difficult as folding a fitted sheet neatly. (There were some things even magic couldn’t help with.) All this … methodical approach might be vital to the ritual they needed to undertake.

‘What I need you to do is copy how I’m making a corn husk doll,’ the older woman explained once everything was organised to her liking, her grey eyes studying Kay’s face calmly.

Kay restrained herself from lifting an eyebrow at the possibility she was being charged to help create stock for this woman’s shop. Surely, that wasn’t the case. Benefit of the doubt, Kay, give it the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t like she didn’t know corn husk dolls were tied to magic. She used to make one each year at the Lughnasadh celebrations at Ashworth Hall … Her mind couldn’t help wandering to the last year she’d done it, though. When the house had felt empty because a certain someone had been absent and she couldn’t wait to leave.

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