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‘It shouldn’t be everything, though,’ Cam said.
Gwen turned away, put the bowl on the side. Cam tried, but he couldn’t really understand what it felt like. Not really. He wasn’t a Harper. He’d never woken up and found his life changed by a power that was at once external and completely part of him. He’d never felt the spark of power ignite inside his skin and watch it burn. He accepted her magic, her ability to find lost things and to make herbal remedies that were uncannily effective; he accepted that the people in their town came to the back door of End House at all hours of the day and night and that Gwen couldn’t turn them away, had to help if she could with advice, a spell or some foot cream. He accepted, he supported, but it was never going to be a part of him. Gwen felt sick. No matter how close you were to another human being, you were never truly inside them. You were always alone.
Gwen realised that Cam had asked her something. ‘Sorry?’
‘Drink?’ Cam was holding up a bottle of red wine, already undoing the top. She heard the crack of the screw cap and did a calculation that had become a reflex. She’d only just had her period so there was no chance she was pregnant. She was safe to drink. Could drink herself into oblivion, if she wanted, in fact. ‘Make it a large one,’ she said and ignored Cam’s raised eyebrows, his filthy smile. She felt the press of a thousand worries pushing down on top of her head. She couldn’t even think about getting in the mood. She took the offered glass, thoroughly depressed. When had ‘getting in the mood’ become a chore?
*
Katie was still shivering the next morning, but she was certain it wasn’t flu. She just felt cold. As if there were an air blower right next to her at all times. That wasn’t right — it was more as if she were standing inside an air blower. If she could get used to the weird sensation, it might be quite nice. The man on the radio had already cheerfully assured her that today would be another ‘scorcher’ and she had an eight-hour shift at the hotel, starting with breakfast.
Katie avoided the main road out of Pendleford, which was choked with cars even at this God-awful hour of the morning. Commuters heading to Swindon or Bath or Bristol, sitting in their metal boxes and trying to pretend that the olde-world charm of Pendleford made their hellish drive every morning and night worth it. Katie took an old farm lane, instead, feeling more cheerful. Slinging cooked breakfasts at MOPs wasn’t scintillating work but at least she wasn’t stuck in an office cubicle.
The hedgerows were so lush and green that they were hanging over the narrow road. The cow parsley had been thick and white, making the rows look covered in snow, but now it was dying back, overtaken by red poppies.
After half a mile or so, Katie realised something. It was too quiet. The birds weren’t chattering. In fact, looking around, she noticed there didn’t seem to be any birds around. No wrens or blue tits, no swallows swooping. She looked up, expecting to see a buzzard hanging motionless in the sky, frightening the little birds away. Nothing.
Feeling spooked, Katie looked carefully around. That horrible feeling of vulnerability was back. She hated her lack of knowledge, her powerlessness. Gwen would know why the birds were silent. Maybe there was a natural reason and maybe there was a magical reason but Katie was lost no matter what. She was cast adrift, floating between the two worlds. Aware that the magical one existed, but not powerful enough or clever enough to be truly part of it. She knew enough to be frightened and not enough to feel safe.
Then she saw it. A magpie, sitting on the wire fence a few metres ahead. It was looking straight at her.
‘Good morning, Mr Magpie,’ Katie said. She felt faintly ridiculous but that was the problem with superstition. It was hard to know which ones were based in fact.
The magpie didn’t move. It continued to stare as she drew closer. Katie kept expecting it to get startled, to fly away, but it didn’t. It shifted from foot to foot, twitched a wing, but continued to watch her approach. Katie was just thinking how weird it was when she was distracted by the warmth of the morning sun flooding through her. The cloud of cold air had disappeared and Katie stopped walking from the shock of it. She’d got used to it and suddenly the heat of the day was there, on her skin. She could smell burning, too. Like a struck match. Then the magpie spoke to her. ‘Watch. My watch. My watch.’
Katie looked at the bird. Magpies could imitate sounds, Katie knew, but those hadn’t just been sounds. Those were words. Clear words.
Katie resisted the sudden urge to say ‘pardon?’ to the magpie. Perhaps she did have the flu after all. She put a hand on her forehead, tried to work out if she was running a temperature.
‘My watch. My watch,’ the bird said again. There was something urgent in its tone. Something pleading. It was staring at her as if willing her to understand something. And then she did.
‘Mr Cole?’
The bird cocked its head. ‘My watch.’
‘What about your watch?’ Katie said.
The magpie squawked and flew away.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_65c44f36-3644-53c5-b957-246167359819)
Katie slammed through the back door at End House. She’d phoned in sick to work and changed direction, heading to End House as fast as she could.
Her mobile buzzed as she half walked, half ran, and she slowed down to answer it.
‘Please tell me you’re not really sick,’ Anna said. ‘I wanted to go to the pub tonight.’
‘I’m not really sick,’ Katie said, out of breath. ‘Sorry to leave you short-staffed for breakfast.’
‘That’s okay. There’s hardly anyone here,’ Anna said. ‘Are you running?’
‘Going to Gwen’s.’
‘Secret family stuff?’
‘Kind of,’ Katie said, feeling bad. Whatever Anna said, however accepting and chilled out she appeared to be, Katie still found it difficult to talk to her. Gwen had painted such colourful portraits of the dangers of telling people about their magic, but it was more than that: Katie was always waiting for Anna to realise that she wasn’t such good friend material, after all. That the weirdness wasn’t worth it. Katie wanted to be honest, didn’t want to live a lie, so she ended up being cagey.
At End House she crashed through the back door and shouted, ‘Gwen!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Gwen was in a silk blue dressing gown, her hair up in a messy ponytail and a miniature rocking horse in one hand.
‘Sorry, you’re working.’ Katie tried to push down on her panic, squeeze it into something manageable.
‘Woke up with an idea,’ Gwen said, pulling the door to the hall shut. ‘Cam’s still asleep.’
Katie winced. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ Gwen said. Then, ‘What’s wrong? You look pale.’
Katie laughed but the sound turned into a kind of hiccup. ‘I had a really bad dream. About the man who died.’
‘A man died?’ Gwen said, her face draining of colour. ‘Who?’
‘At the hotel. Just a guest.’ Katie shook her head, realising that she hadn’t told Gwen. She’d planned to and then had heard her and Cam arguing and the weirdness of that had shoved it right out of her mind. ‘I found him.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Gwen put down the rocking horse, her face softened in sympathy. ‘No wonder you had a nightmare.’
‘And something weird just happened. A bird spoke to me. With a man’s voice.’
Gwen put a hand on Katie’s forehead. ‘Do you feel sick?’
‘I’m not ill. I think it was Mr Cole’s voice. The guest. He had a heart attack.’
‘Sit down,’ Gwen said. ‘I’ll make some tea.’
Katie sat at the kitchen table, feeling comforted by the familiarity. Gwen’s kitchen. A mug of tea. In a moment, Gwen would explain it all. Maybe the Harper powers always began with a chat with a magpie. ‘Have you ever heard a magpie talk?’ Katie said, over the sound of the kettle boiling.
Gwen was getting milk out of the fridge and the bottle slipped from her hand. Smashed on the floor.
Katie got up to help but Gwen stepped through the spreading milk and grabbed her hands. ‘Are you sure it was a magpie?’
‘Yes.’ Katie would’ve felt insulted, they’d covered bird identification when she’d been fifteen, but Gwen sounded too freaked out. ‘It said something about a watch. I think Mr Cole wants me to find his watch. Or do something with his watch. Or watch something, perhaps—’
Gwen’s complexion had gone grey and her mouth was turned down. She suddenly looked much older than usual. ‘A man who recently died spoke to you through a crow?’
‘A magpie.’
Gwen shook her head as if she could erase Katie’s words. ‘No, no, no.’
Katie felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Gwen was usually so calm. This had to be bad.
‘Gwen?’
She was staring to the left of Katie, her expression grim. ‘I knew there would be consequences,’ Gwen said, her voice bleak. ‘This is my fault.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Blood magic.’ Gwen seemed to be forcing the words out. ‘I used blood magic. It’s serious stuff. Dark. I knew there’d be a price.’
Katie frowned. Why did Gwen have to be so negative? And when was she going to be able to stop paying for that one little mistake? ‘You don’t think this is my Harper family thing? Maybe—’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t—’ She broke off and reached for the nearest notebook, began leafing through it. ‘I mean, I think there was something like this a long time ago, but—’
‘That’s it, then. I just inherited the crappest power. That’s it.’
‘None of them are simple,’ Gwen said, still looking as if she was about to throw up. ‘Lost things don’t always want to be found.’
‘I know that.’
‘And giving people what they need isn’t always fun.’ Gwen looked angry now. ‘Did you even read Iris’s journals?’
‘Of course,’ Katie said.
‘What about the stuff I wrote down for you? Did you read it? Did you take it in?’
‘Yes! Of course I did. You know I did. I’ve been training with you every week for the last seven years. You know.’
‘Well, it’s a shame you didn’t pay more attention.’ Gwen snapped the notebook shut and frowned at Katie. ‘Talking to a magpie? What were you thinking?’
‘Charming,’ Katie said, her anger matching Gwen’s. ‘What else was I supposed to do?’
‘You need to be more careful.’
‘I’m always careful,’ Katie said.
‘I’ll look into it.’ Gwen passed a hand over her eyes. ‘There might be someone who’ll know.’
‘Not Gloria.’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I won’t tell her, yet. I need to figure this out, first. Figure out what this means.’ She grabbed Katie’s hand. ‘Don’t tell anybody else.’
‘So, do I look for his watch? I feel like he’s asking for my help.’
‘No. Don’t do anything.’
‘But—’
‘It’s probably not him. It’s probably a curse or a hex or a rebalancing. This is not your power,’ Gwen said. ‘It can’t be.’
Katie felt the disappointment. She was a victim again. Cursed. Or whatever. She was so careful, she trained hard, she’d read Culpeper’s Herbal and The Modern Herbalist and everything else Gwen told her to read. She took notes in an A4 binder and never tried any magic unsupervised. She followed every rule Gwen gave her and now, when something had finally happened, Gwen was telling her to ignore it.
‘Sit tight and don’t do anything. I’ll sort it out.’ Gwen pulled her in for a quick hug. ‘And if you see a magpie, put your fingers in your ears.’
‘Are you being serious?’ Katie’s disappointment was rapidly growing into irritation. Gwen was dismissing her. It was like talking to her mother all over again.
‘I’m completely serious. If this is a side effect of some kind, you’ve got to resist it.’
‘Fine,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve got to go to work. I’m late.’ She headed for the back door.
‘I think you should stay away from that place. Just until things settle down.’
‘It’s where I work,’ Katie said. She kissed Gwen’s cheek and headed for the back door. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid.’
*
Katie crept along the upstairs passageway. She knew there weren’t any guests in the rooms and she’d checked the time sheet for housekeeping and they should’ve completed the rooms on this floor. She flipped all the lights on and headed straight for The Yellow Room. The yellow police tape had been removed as per Patrick’s instructions. Not letting herself hesitate, or think about what she was doing too much, she unlocked the door and slipped inside.
The room had been thoroughly cleaned since the incident. Housekeeping had done a bang-up job and the room looked just as it had on the day before Oliver Cole checked in, although someone had obviously knocked the thermostat as the room was freezing. She checked the en suite, not really sure of what she was doing, what she expected to find. The toiletries had been replaced, the loo roll was folded to a point, and the sink sparkled. Katie caught sight of herself in the over-sink mirror and grimaced. Pale skin, dark circles around her eyes and cracked lips. A frightening sight.
A sound from the bedroom made Katie’s heart rate kick up. The door had been pushed open and there were footsteps, muffled on the carpet. Katie looked around wildly. She picked up the only portable item that wasn’t a travel-size bottle of shampoo and edged to the doorway. A slice of the room was visible and she saw a male shape.
‘Argh!’ Katie sprang out of the bathroom, brandishing the toilet brush.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Max spun round.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Katie felt ridiculous, which made her furious.
‘What were you going to do with that?’ Max pointed at the brush. He stepped forward, frowning. ‘Is that a—?’
Katie turned around smartly and stashed the toilet brush back in its rightful place. She washed her hands to give herself a moment to regroup, then ventured out to find Max on the floor, peering underneath the bed.
‘What are you doing?’
He shuffled backwards. ‘They’ve cleared out this place, then.’
‘Apparently,’ Katie said. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Then realisation dawned. ‘You wanted to look through his stuff.’
‘Don’t you?’ Max stood up, brushing down his jeans.
‘No!’ Katie said. The window was draped with heavy velvet curtains and they weren’t fully shut. There was a section of sheer voile visible in the gap and it was rippling, distracting Katie. She crossed the room to shut the window but it was firmly closed. Up close the voile stopped moving and she wondered if it had been a trick of the light. She turned to find Max disturbingly close. ‘You can’t be in here. You’re a MOP.’
‘I just want to check a couple of things.’ He shook the velvet curtains and then began searching the furniture — the bedside cabinet, the wardrobe, the chest of drawers.
‘It’s been cleared. His stuff is gone. It’ll be with the police. Or his family.’
‘Damn it.’ Max had pulled the bottom drawer of the chest completely out and was up to his shoulder as he searched the space. ‘Sometimes things slip down.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Or, paranoid types tape their cash in unlikely places.’
‘If you find anything, you’ll have to hand it in. It’s stealing.’
