Kaydon and I spent the rest of the weekend perfecting our spells. Normally we would work together when doing basic magic, but curses are element-specific and so we drew our energies from different sources. His from water and mine from earth. So, when midnight rolled around on Sunday, my brother went to the lake and I set off for the nearest forest. That was the best time and place to cast curses: outdoors at midnight.

I felt most comfortable kneeling on the soft earth, which was trodden with spring leaves and petals. I could feel the magic in me stir and so I concocted a simple curse: one to make someone fall down the stairs. I imbued a cheap chain with the hex and stashed it in my pocket. I’d test it out tomorrow.

Then suddenly I heard noises coming from a nearby bush and yelped. I put out my incense so as not to cause a fire, grabbed my cauldron, tubes and bottles and high-tailed it out of there. I wasn’t scared as such … more like paranoid. I guess Mila must have rubbed off on me.

But if you think about it, I had every right to be. If it was an ordinary person rustling in the bushes I could maybe explain away doing the witchy business in the dead of night – but if it was a witch hunter? Yep, they exist, too.

For, when there is one unexplainable thing, another always seeks to destroy it. And our formidable foes are the dreadful witch hunters. They have weapons and tools that are far worse than being stoned to death or burned at the stake. They torture you until you break and gave up trade secrets. And even if you don’t tell ’em a damn thing, their devices are designed to make a witch go insane.

Witch hunters are scarce nowadays but there is the occasional incident. Our own family bears the scars of such a tragedy. My Aunt Debra and her daughter, Ariel, were captured by a witch hunter. One day, out of the blue. Aunt Debra escaped and came staggering back but we never saw Ariel again. No-one knows how Aunt Debra got out alive or exactly what happened and frankly we were all too afraid to ask. When anyone tried to talk to Aunt Debra about Ariel, she’d start screaming, “My baby’s gone!” over and over until they had to sedate her. Then she lost all sense of reality altogether.

Aunt Debra was alive but the way they left her was surely a fate worse than death. She was even crazier than my grandfather (more about him in a bit).

She refused to eat or sleep for the first few months and was convinced she was a clock. She’d tick, tick, tick away and at the top of every hour she’d scream, “Ding!” It was awful to witness but, and I shun myself for thinking this, rather annoying.

She’s a lot better now, although not one hundred per cent. My cousins (Debra’s remaining children, pre-insanity) tell me she still has relapses.

So you see why I was terrified when I heard sounds. Who else in their right mind would be out here at twelve midnight? Besides me, of course. I had a valid reason. Anyway, as I ran away with backpack in hand I dared a sneak peek back. No-one was chasing me. I sighed with relief but I didn’t drop my guard until I was safely in my room. Just an ordinary day/night in the life of a witch ….

***

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