The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches — Chapter no 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

ika went down to the sea as planned that afternoon. She went in her wellies (because thorns were thorns even if you were a witch), withM her phone and tiny, sharp herb shears in the pockets of her dress. All of her clothes had pockets, even if she’d had to sew them in herself.

Circe bounded ahead over the dunes and down to the empty beach, heading straight for the water, while Mika paused to snip a handful of sea holly heads off a shrub, right above the node so that they’d grow back. She was surprised they were still flowering; like the riotously golden sunflowers in the back garden, the sea holly was blooming well out of season. It had to be because of the sheer amount of magic gathered around Nowhere House.

By the time she got to the beach and kicked her wellies off, Circe was frolicking in the water, barking in tandem with a pair of seals farther out. A cold wind blew in from the water, with a fine spray of salt, and Mika stuck her tongue out to taste it.

She marvelled at how empty the world seemed from here. There was a fishing boat far out on the water, but the only other person Mika could see was just a speck a long, long way down the beach. It was lovely, but unexpected. November was certainly not the season of ice lollies and families slathered in sun cream, but where were the elderly dog walkers in their tweed coats and the artists with their canvases and windblown hair?

The only explanation she could think of was that Lillian’s wards extended all the way out here. If that was the case, she was very powerful.

Circe ran over, barking joyfully. She leapt up to put muddy, salty paws on Mika’s shoulders and give her a very wet kiss. Then she was gone again, off to befriend the seals once more, and Mika laughed and let her.

Once Circe was well and truly tired out, they trotted back up to the house together. Circe shook herself dry (or dryish, anyway) and went to a warm, sunny spot in the front room for a nap. Mika was tempted by the possibility of a nap herself, but she went upstairs to the attic instead.

There, she plucked the sea holly heads out of her pocket and carefully stripped them into their separate parts. Petals, pollen, the sap from inside the stems—these were usually the most useful parts of any plant, and she stored each of these safely in tiny glass vials retrieved from her potion kit.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor with everything laid out around her, she reached out for the fine gold threads of magic in the air and set a small witchfire going under the smaller of her cauldrons. Then she opened her spellbook to a blank page, bit the end of her pencil, and brainstormed ideas.

Finally, after a few false starts, she was satisfied with the short list she’d come up with:

2 sea holly petals

1 drop of sea holly sap

1/2 teaspoon of crushed pearl 1 drop of moonlight

Mika carefully measured each of the ingredients and dropped them into the cauldron. As the witchfire warmed the cauldron up, she watched the mixture combine and simmer down to a sparkling, bluish syrup. Potion- making was more of an art than a science, and it relied on a witch’s instincts, but Mika had been experimenting and practicing for so long now that her instincts were good.

She transferred the syrup to a vial and examined it in delight. The syrup had a scent, faint but unmistakable, and the only word Mika could think of to describe it was harmony. She knew, in that bone-deep way of witches, that if this syrup was added to tea, it would cool tempers and smooth the jagged edges of raw feelings.

It had been an experiment, a tiny burst of inspiration that had sparked inside her head when she’d seen the sea holly. Such a spiky-looking flower

shouldn’t have conjured up a vision of peace and harmony and other fuzzy feelings, but Mika had had a hunch and she’d run with it. The already calming crushed pearl and the bottomless well of enchantment in the moonlight had helped, of course.

She sighed happily. In moments like this, she really and truly loved being a witch. She loved losing herself for hours in the hum of magic, the sparkle of gold dust in the air, the soft warmth of witchfire, the ideas and the creativity and the fun. Why would anyone ever want to do anything else?

The only thing that could make it better was not having to do it alone.

Remembering that she was expected at Ian and Ken’s cottage for tea, she packed up her kit, put out the witchfire, and popped down to the kitchen to collect a jar of her tea leaves before going out the front door.

Ken let her into the cottage, looking genuinely pleased to see her. Lucie was already there, tutting over Ian’s chronic aversion to dusting and doing said dusting herself. Ian, meanwhile, was in an armchair knitting what looked like a scarf in an alarming shade of flamingo pink.

“It’s for Ken,” he said brightly to Mika, gesturing with his needles.

Mika glanced at Ken, who could not possibly have looked less like a man willing to wear a colour so bright it was practically neon, and he gave her a slightly helpless shrug in response. “The things we do for the ones we love.”

“Ian, put away the knitting and make Mika a nice cup of tea,” Lucie ordered, now balancing precariously on the arm of a chair so she could dust the lampshade above them.

“Oh, I can do that,” said Mika. “If you point me to the kettle, I’ll make a cup for all of us.”

She held up the jar of tea leaves she’d brought with her. Ian let out a shriek. “Is that magical tea?”

“Sort of,” Mika laughed. “It’s good for achy bones.”

“In that case, I’ll need a whole pot,” said Lucie.

“What do you know about achy bones?” Ian asked Mika, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Bright and youthful as you are?”

Mika let out a hoot of mirth. “You’d be surprised! I swear, it was like the instant I turned thirty, my body said, That’s it, I’m done putting up with your nonsense. Look after me properly or I’m going to break down like an old engine. I’ve been taking the threat very seriously.”

She left the room to the sound of their laughter and promptly tripped over a pile of partially assembled wooden planks in the hallway.

“I’m building a beehive!” Ian shouted apologetically. “I’m thinking of taking up beekeeping.”

Ken, who followed her to the kitchen to help, said somewhat drily, “Yes, he’s building a beehive. Just like he was building an amphitheatre last summer. Half the stage is still sitting in the barn!”

Mika smothered a giggle. “Sounds like he likes having a project.”

“He’s never without a project,” said Ken. “He never finishes them, either. And God help anyone he ropes in to be part of it.”

Balancing four cups of tea on a tray, Mika returned to the living room.

Lucie had apparently decided the room was sufficiently dust-free for her because she was now holding a ball of yarn for Ian while he knitted. Mika handed over the tea and found a spot beside Ken on the sofa. She stayed for an hour, listening to Ian’s tales from the stage (from the fond but long- suffering expressions on Ken’s and Lucie’s faces, these were tales they had heard too many times already), and then she and Lucie returned to the main house together.

“Do you think the girls have finished helping Jamie in the library?”

Mika asked, straight-faced.

Lucie gave her a rueful smile. “It was too much to hope you’d believe

him, wasn’t it?”

“He wasn’t subtle.”

“Jamie can be difficult,” Lucie said, but her voice was soft with motherly love. “It’s not easy earning his trust. He’s been the only parent those children have had since they arrived, and he guards them like a lion. There’s a heart of gold in there, once you get past all the scowling.”

“How did he end up in that position?” Mika asked curiously. “He must have been in his mid-twenties when Rosetta first came here, mustn’t he? I

wouldn’t have thought him the obvious choice to care for three toddlers.”

There was a pause as Lucie hesitated, like she was deciding how much to say. “I owe Lillian a debt I can never repay,” she said at last. “It doesn’t sit well with me to speak badly of her, but the truth is, she has an iron will, pays no attention to anything she doesn’t want to hear, and she . . .” Lucie trailed off, hesitating again. She sighed. “I suppose I should just come out with it. Ken and I have been here so long that we’re family, and Lillian always said as much, but she still . . . well . . .”

“Oh,” Mika said gently, understanding. “She still treats you and Ken like the help.”

“We are paid to work for her, so she’s not wrong to treat us as such. But we’ve always felt like we have to stay in our place. It’s just how she is.

Imperious to a fault. So when it became obvious back then that she had no intention of actually parenting the infants she’d brought home, we didn’t know how to step in.” Lucie’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “But Jamie, well, she couldn’t put him in his place. He was the only one who could take her on in battle and actually win. We’ve all raised those girls, but Jamie’s the one they imprinted on.”

“And he doesn’t want me here,” Mika guessed.

“Give him time. He’ll come around.”

That night, tucked under the warm duvet with Circe stretched out by her feet, Mika was on the cusp of sleep when she became aware of the sound of footsteps crunching in the leaves below her balcony. Curious, she reluctantly left the warmth of her bed, plucked an old, soft, oversized hoodie off the back of a chair, and stepped out into the cold.

“Hello?”

“Jesus,” Jamie’s raspy, startled voice came from somewhere below.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Oh, it’s you.” Mika stood on her toes and leaned over the balcony railing. Jamie was in the back garden two stories beneath her, illuminated by a wedge of light from the kitchen. “I’m on the balcony.” She paused.

Lucie had said Jamie could be difficult, but maybe this would be a good moment to ease the way a little. “Hang on, I’ll be down in half a second.”

She levered herself over the railing, and then floated herself to the ground. It was all very graceful and elegant, like a superhero descending grandly from the sky—until the very end, when one bare foot landed on a spiky pinecone, and she ruined the grandeur of her entrance with undignified yelps of pain.

Jamie’s hand shot out, catching her by the sleeve before she could topple over. “You okay?” His face was perfectly serious, but there was a suspicious tremor in his voice.

“You can laugh, you know,” Mika said, her yelps already giving way to

somewhat hysterical giggles.

“I’ll resist.”

“Is that because you don’t know how?”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch, which she found rather charming. He gestured up to the balcony, his breath foggy and white in the air between them. “So you’re like the kids, then. You’ve got your windows open in the dead of night in November.”

“It’s not that I don’t feel the cold. I just don’t mind it. Within reason.”

Mika tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “What are you doing out here?”

“Altamira left her penguin outside.” He fished a stuffed animal out of his own pocket, its colours so faded and its fabric so chewed that there was no universe in which Mika would have guessed that it was a penguin if he hadn’t said as much. “I convinced her to go to sleep without it, but only by promising that I’d find and restore it to her before she wakes up.”

“Seems fair to me.”

“So”—the shift in his tone took her by surprise, and she watched him warily—“Lucie mentioned she talked to you.”

“I kind of thought I’d be the one to bring it up first,” Mika said ruefully.

“You weren’t getting round to it, and I haven’t got all night,” was the brusque reply.

Mika laughed. She could see what Lucie had meant when she’d said Lillian had found it impossible to put him in his place: this was not a man who had the slightest interest in social niceties. She liked it. She had spent

all her life colossally afraid of fucking up those very same social niceties and giving away just how not normal she was, so it was both novel and nice to not have to worry about it for a few minutes.

“I didn’t want anyone coming here,” Jamie explained. “It’s not you. It’s anyone. There’s too much at stake.”

“Which is extremely reasonable,” said Mika, nodding. “That’s the thing.

I get it. I understand what it’s like to not trust people. I understand what it’s like to be afraid that one mistake will destroy the life you’ve built. So I don’t resent your mistrust in the slightest.”

He cocked his head at her. “But?”

“But I think this is doomed to fail if you don’t keep that mistrust to yourself. I’m here to teach magic, of all things, and that’s tricky on a good day. It’ll be downright impossible if the girls pick up on the way you feel.

They need to trust me, even if you don’t.”

She was only too conscious of his intent, searching gaze. After a

moment, he nodded. “Okay.”

Oh. Well, that could have gone worse.

“Okay,” she echoed. “Good. I guess I’ll go back to bed, then . . .”

“Why the videos?”

Mika blinked at the unexpected question. “My videos?”

“I’ve gathered that you thought it would be safe to create them because you assumed, rightly, that most people would think of them as theatre. I just don’t understand why you wanted to create them in the first place.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “See, outside of a few hours every few months, I’ve never been able to talk to anyone about magic. There’s no one I can text or call or shout to in the next room when I crack a difficult spell or figure out a new potion. Then, a couple of years ago, I joined an online group dedicated to my favourite book series, and I discovered I love talking to people who are just as excited about the thing I’m excited about.”

“You’d never had that before?” Jamie’s voice sounded odd.

“No, but it got me thinking that maybe I could find a way to re-create it with witchy stuff. So I created an alter ego, a witch who brews potions in an enchanted tea shop.” Pausing, Mika shrugged a little sheepishly. “I don’t

know. It felt like a way to talk about the thing I was excited about without actually talking about the thing I was excited about.”

He didn’t respond, and as the silence stretched between them, she

wondered if she’d said too much.

“It probably sounds silly—”

“No.” He said it at once, his voice all jagged edges. “No, it doesn’t. It sounds like you’ve been alone for a long time.”

“Oh, I’m used to that,” Mika said, her voice just a little too bright.

“That’s the way it is.”

“Not here, it’s not,” was all she got in reply.

OceanofPDF.com