Page 1 of The Witch and His Crow

PROLOGUE

Astorm ruled the sky the night my parents were murdered.

I’d never forget the snakes of lightning cutting through ominous clouds, or the way the droplets hammered against our Victorian sashed windows so loudly it was as if something was warning us of the foreboding event that was about to take place.

The storm had begun in the morning, forcing my mother to rush me to school beneath her umbrella. I’d woken only hours before, pleading and screaming that I didn’t want to go in. Salem Tanner would steal my Legos and pinch me, I’d told her, but to no avail. All it took was the promise of chocolate pancakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—and mother teasing about sending nasty creatures after Salem—to get me out the door.

We skipped over puddles as though it was some game, laughing when our boots filled with muddy water. In hindsight, it was our way of taking our minds off the strange feeling which had seeded in our guts—a feeling which had only grown throughout the day, sinking roots into my soul and showing no signs of ever releasing.

We should have listened. A witch’s intuition never lied. By nightfall, it would be my life’s greatest regret.

Everything happened so fast. As evening swept over Oxford, bringing with it a bitter autumn wind, doom arrived like one of the four horsemen. Supper was ruined, my mother’s wine glass tipped over in her urgency to snatch me from my seat.

‘No matter what you hear, donotmove.’ My mother’s nails had bitten into my upper arm, breaking skin. I knew she didn’t mean to hurt me, but fear had taken over her. Her breath smelled as it always did, of sharp, sour berries, even if she never ate berries at all. It wasn’t until years later I knew why.

‘Tell me you understand, Hector. I need to hear you say it.’

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes, my vision blurred. ‘Yes, Mummy. I understand.’ My reply seemed to calm her, if only for a moment.

The lines creased across her forehead lessened, her pupils widening like dark caves. I was six years old, and I had never seen her cry before. Now, her expression mirrored mine. It was unnerving, watching my great protector crumble before my eyes.

‘Peter, secure the boundaries,’ my mother had shouted to my father.

I looked to him, my ever stoic and silent protector, rushing through the living room at her back, spitting on his fingers before running them over the windowsills. A charm, or hex, I couldn’t be sure. Why he wasted his time playing pretend with old magics, I’d never understand. Those powers had faded away a long,longtime ago. My mother had brought me up on the old tales of grand witches using nature to do their bidding. One story I loved the most was about Eleanor Letcombe, better known as the last witch, who died on a pyre and in doing so forever changed the course of a witch’s abilities. Shedding old magic for new.

Our plates had been left upon the table, hardly a scrap of food touched before the atmosphere had changed. Within seconds my parents had gone from hiding their pride when I told themI knocked Salem’s bricks over using only my mind, to snatching me from my seat and wrenching me to standing. Only when my back was pressed against the cold bricks of our fireplace could I finally comprehend what we were about to face.

Death. It hung in the air, a scent like an orchard of rotten apples. At least, that scent was the promise of it.

‘I’m scared,’ I said, clutching onto my mother. I didn’t have nails to bury into her skin, forcing her to stay by my side. So, I did the next best thing. Reaching out to my gift, I wrapped cords of invisible string around her waist, refusing to let her take a step away.

Telekinesis, my mother called it. I’ll never forget the day it manifested and the elation on her face as I lifted one of my toy cars from the carpet during a tantrum. Even when it sliced a clean cut on her cheek, she looked at me as though I had solved one of life’s greatest mysteries.

Even at six, I knew there was a pressure to come from being the son of the Grand High. If I didn’t manifest a gift, I would’ve been an embarrassment to my family, and a waste to witch-kind.

‘Take that fear, and turn it to something useful,’ mother had replied. ‘Do it for me.’

‘I can’t, I don’t know how.’ Being frightened was the right emotion, even if I felt like a flock of birds battled beneath my little ribs, cawing and flapping for a way out.

‘The world can be a dangerous place,’ she replied, kneeling before me, taking my cheeks in both her hands. Soft hands, like silk. Her fingers caught my tears, clearing them away. I felt the cool metal of her wedding ring leave an imprinted line in my flesh.

I did the same, raising a hand to her cheek, capturing her tear like a jewel on the tip of my finger. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘There are few who wish to see us thrive, and more so who would seek to ruin us.’ I didn’t understand her answer then, notcompletely. But the feeling never wavered. The intuition. The sense of impending danger—a thorn breaking into the shield that was my home, my family.

‘Heather,’ my father called, voice thunderous as his gaze. Haloed by the window, his outline flared as stark purple-white light cut across the sky. His usually neatly parted hair was now a mess of curls, curls I longed to touch, to take a cutting of it, so I could eternally tie him to me. Even my young mind knew it would be the last time I could see every fine detail of him and drink it in. ‘They’re here.’

They’re here.Two words Ididunderstand.

‘Hector, my darling, it’s time to play hide and seek. We’ve practiced this. You’re the world’s best at hiding, aren’t you my boy?’ Her smile was forced. It pained me, deep in my core, seeing how hollow her stare was compared to the pinched rise of her lips.

I couldn’t reply. Fear choked back my words.

‘Quickly,’ my father hissed, refusing to look at me.

It was not shouting nor screams that my father heard, but a feeling he sensed. As though the air was charged with the promise of danger. It was as if the lightning entered our home uninvited and left its mark fizzing in the air.

‘Hide with me,’ I begged.

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