Page 19 of Secrets of the Forgotten Heir

She looked worried. ‘Is everything alright, Beatrix? Do you need help? From me, I mean?’

I flashed her the easiest smile I could, grateful that I wasn’t dealing with another empath because, without a doubt, she’d have felt my bull. ‘It’s fine, I promise. Just wondering, that’sall.’

Mrs D gave a slight hum and pinched her brow as she thought. ‘There’s Old Jacobson at Shingle’s End,’ she said finally. ‘You could try him, I suppose.’

‘Shingle’s End?’ The only house that had been on Shingle’s End when I’d lived here was an old, run-down shack where we may or may not have occasionally gone to smoke cigarettes. ‘I didn’t think anybody lived there.’

‘He moved in a couple of years after you left. I only know because I was out for a walk one day and saw him. He very much keeps to himself. What type of magic he does – or if he’d be happy to speak to you – I can’t say. I’m sorry I can’t be of more use.’

‘No, that’s good to know. Thank you.’ I patted her hand again. ‘And don’t you worry about the poisoning. I’m sure they’ll work out whoever is behind it soon.’

Her smile was watery and I suspected that our conversation had worn her out, so I offered one last swift wave before I disappeared into the corridor.

The nurse who’d been horrified by my name was in reception when I left, and I felt her eyes follow me all the way out of the door. She wasn’t scared of me, though, because I’d have felt it if she was. She was wary. Probably rightly so.

Back on the street, I turned to walk up the hill that led to the cottage but stopped after only a couple of steps.From where I was standing, it was only a short walk to the cemetery.

A deep throbbing radiated from my chest. The feeling was always there, 24/7, but as the years had passed I’d got better at ignoring it. That was a lot harder to do now that I was back.

I drew in a deep breath and, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t bother trying to quash the sensation. Maddie wasn’t the only person who deserved an apology for me being away for so long. They did too.

And there was no time like the present.

Chapter Twelve

You’d think that someone who loved their parents as much as I loved mine would actually visit their grave more than once in a decade. And to be fair, I used to.

When they first died and I was still living in Witchlight Cove, I spent more time there than anywhere else. I could be found lying on the grass at almost any time of the day, staring at the grey headstone they shared, wishing they would respond. I even tried knocking once, just in case. Turns out graves are not doors to the afterlife, no matter how politely you rap on them.

I spent hours in front of that grave, praying that my parents understood how I felt. How I would’ve gladly taken their place and been the one my grandmother had killed. How I would’ve gone with her, the way she wanted me to, rather than having them lose their lives. God, I would have hunted her down and gone with her then and there if it would have brought them back. But there was nothing that could do that. They were gone.

Back in the here and now, I hesitated as I stood at the edge of the cemetery. I’ve conversed with a ghost a time or two, but my parents hadn’t stayed behind as lost shades. If they have unfinished business to deal with, ghosts come back immediately after their death, then they hang around generally irritating the crap out of the living until their business is sorted. If it ever does get sorted. If it doesn’t, they stick about, growing more and more annoying with every passing century, like that one relative who overstays their welcome at Christmas. Except ghosts are slightly more transparent and significantly less interested in the last of the mince pies.

The fact my parents hadn’t come to me after they died – and trust me, I tried to make them – meant that they didn’t have unfinished business.Iwasn’t unfinished business and that had hurt like hell. You’d think wanting to keep an eye on your only child would count as unfinished business, but apparently it didn’t. Clearly they had more faith in my ability to function than I did. Love really is blind.

I was bitter about their absence for a good couple of years, but now I was older and wiser and I wasgladthat they hadn’t felt their lives were half done. I had survived dear old fucking grandmama, and I had Maddie and Yanni; they knew I’d be okay. If you consider running away andignoring all your responsibilities like I’d been doing is okay. Still, everyone’s allowed a sabbatical, right?

As I walked through the gravestones, I found myself wishing I’d brought Eva. Part of that was for the moral support she offered, but the other part was me wanting her to meet my parents in the only form that was possible for her right now. If their spirits were there, I suspected she could sniff them out; if not, there were loads of squirrels in the cemetery and she’d love that too. A win-win situation – unless you were a squirrel.

I briefly contemplated going back to fetch her, then recognised I was using delaying tactics. My dog could come with me at any time. It wasn’t like I was going back to London straight away, not until I’d found a way to find the Flame and get the absurdly attractive Fraser Banks out of our lives for good. And, whilst I was in Witchlight, it seemed like a good idea to look into whatever happened to Mrs D. We couldn’t have a poisoner on the loose; our tourism industry would take a hammering, and we relied heavily on our supernatural tourists. We had to protect our brand: ‘Witchlight Cove — Now With 100% Less Murder (Hopefully)’.

I was prevaricating again. Speaking to my parents, or at least to their headstone, was on me and me aloneright now. Mustering courage I shouldn’t have required, I continued on the path towards their grave.

I was still several feet away when I stopped. ‘That’s weird,’ I muttered. There, beneath the headstone, were two wreaths. The first one was yellow calla lilies, and I suspected Maddie had placed it there.

Maddie knew they were my mother’s favourite flowers; the house used to be filled with them, mainly because Maddie had begged Mum to whip them up out of nothing every time she visited and Mum had always obliged. When it became clear that Maddie’s dominant magic wasn’t aligned with shifting, I think my friend had hoped she’d turn out to be an earth witch, or at least master creating flowers with enough practice. As far as I was aware, that hadn’t happened. Even so, everything about the yellow wreath screamed Maddie.

But it was the other bouquet that held my attention. It was placed a little to the right, directly in the centre of the shared grave. And it was a bunch of irises.

Iris, like my mother’s name.

‘Your mother is the only iris I will allow in this house,’ my dad, Greg, would mutter when someone brought a bouquet that contained those vibrant blooms. He normally had the common sense to wait until the visitor had left before he spoke, but not always.

He hated their smell and the stamens with their bright yellow pollen that stained everything it touched. He once nearly threw a guest out of the house because they brought irises and – I quote – ‘committed floral treason’.

‘If I had my way, I’d ban all irises from the whole of Witchlight Cove,’ he used to say. ‘Honestly, they’re the most revolting, pungent flowers. I don’t care what they look like. They stink, they’re a nightmare, and I don’t want them in the house.’ It always struck me as odd – and unfortunate – that he had such a strong reaction to the flowers that his wife was named after.

Why would somebody place a wreath of those flowers on their grave? It made no sense. Had it been a passing witch who saw my mother’s name and did a quick spell to whip them up? It certainly couldn’t have been anyone who actuallyknewmy parents.

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