Abby the Witch (14 page)

Abby set her
jaw against the bitterness whirling across her mind. Some part of
her knew she wasn't being fair to him, but blast that part, it had
no place here. 'Charlie is my cat. So yes, I get to die alone.
Because that's all a witch is good for,' she turned from him and
spoke her bitter words to the cobbles, patting Charlie with a
warning hand lest he took this opportunity to introduce Pembrake to
his new-found voice.

'Cat, ha… okay
well you're still not alone,' he ended weakly, trying a smile on
Charlie which quickly died in the fierce cat-scowl Charlie offered
in return.

She turned on
him, face mottled by the filtered light streaming in through giant
leaves of an oak above. Why wasn't he taking this more seriously?
She had just robbed him of the perfect future! Why wasn't the
irascible Pembrake angry at her? 'Why are you laughing this off?
You had the perfect life, the perfect wife, perfect children,
perfect job – why aren't you angry that you lost it? Ha? Why aren't
you threatening to throw me off a cliff?' she pointed dramatically
at herself, the frustration and anger making her movement snapped
and sharp, 'because I ruined your future. And because I’m
a horrible little, worthless witch.'

Pembrake took
a step back from her, glancing up and down the street to confirm no
one was watching their little charade. Always the gentlemen,
right?

'Seriously,
why don't you care?' she shook her head angrily, her hair
cracking about like a whip, 'you were prepared to hate me because
I'm a witch – and now you're perfectly fine with me ruining your
future. I don't understand you!' she gave a large, desperate sigh
and turned to storm off.

'Because it's
just a story,' he remarked after her, 'it's just a story,
Abby.'

She slowed
slightly.

'Pearl, the
kids, you dying in the street – it's all just a story. Nobody can
tell you your destiny by looking in your cup of tea, no one. What
those witches said was just a story – it wasn't real.'

Her face was
crinkling from a strange mix of confusion and anger. Was he
insulting her? She was a witch too, if he hadn't forgotten. 'It is
not a story. It's where we were headed before this whole thing
happened. If I hadn't meddled, if I hadn't saved you – then you
wouldn't be stuck here in the past with me, you'd be off marrying
Pearl and living happily ever after.'

Finally his
light brown cheeks were starting to flush with anger; finally it
seemed she was getting through to him.

'Listen to
yourself – that doesn't make any sense! If you hadn't saved me, I
would have drowned. There would be no wife, no children, and no
job. I was going to die on that mast – end of story.'

Abby slowed
for a second, taking this in. It had seemed quite final the way the
ocean had swallowed him. He'd been unconscious and there was no one
else around to claim his limp body from the waves… but did that
really mean anything? Couldn't something else have happened,
couldn't some other miracle have occurred?

Abby shook her
head again, determined not to lose this one. 'That doesn't mean
anything. I changed things when I decided to intervene.
If I'd just left you, someone else could have saved you. Pearl
could have rowed up in a plecking dingy and saved you herself.'
Abby gave a little yelp when she realised she'd swore, but hardened
her face at Pembrake's amusement.

'You don't
seem the type to swear, little witch, nor do you actually seem that
stupid.'

'Stop calling
me that!'

'Then stop
saying that I would have been fine. Listen to yourself, I would
have died – there's no point in pretending that I wouldn't
have.'

'No-'

'Yes, I
would. And unless you made that storm yourself, then how exactly
were you responsible for this?'

'I-'

'Can't be,' he
interrupted again, 'in fact, if anyone is – it's me. I was the one
who had to go and drown, if you hadn't had to rescue me – then
neither of us would be here.'

Abby opened
her mouth, annoyance constricting her throat.

'Look, just
stop arguing for once. What exactly do you have to be angry about?
If you believe those witches, then you have
lost nothing by coming back in time. Starving to death on
the streets isn't exactly what I call a fortunate life. So what
have you lost in coming back here, ha?'

'Nothing!' she
finally snapped, more at his sanctimonious face than at his
words.

'Precisely, so
why the pleck are you so angry?'

'I'm angry for
you,' she conceded weakly, 'for all the things that you've lost.
For us being stuck here with no destinies and no hope of returning
home.'

'Well thanks,
but I can be pretty angry on my own – I don't need your help.' He
crossed his arms, Alfred's small shirt creaking ominously.

Defensive,
argumentative, irrational Pembrake was back.

'Of course you
can,' she said sarcastically, 'you can be angry enough for all of
Bridgestock. And I am so sorry for feeling sorry for you.
Trust me, I won't do it again.' All her misery and self-pity had
dried up as the licking flames of anger heated her cheeks to a
bright red.

'Good. Now we
know it's my fault, we can all move on.'

'Okay fine,
it's all your fault then.'

They both
paused and looked at each other with mutual loathing.

But it was
strange, Abby conceded after a moment, after she finally broke
their death stare. They were coming to a conclusion that they both
agreed upon, an important conclusion that they needed if they were
going to continue together. It wasn't Abby's fault, and there was
no point in blaming her. Their only option, despite their tendency
to argue and berate each other, was to travel together. They
couldn't do this alone, so they'd just have to learn to get
along.

Pembrake set
his jaw hard against this, as if he were only realising what he had
agreed to. It was clear that he didn't like her. Whether it was
because she was a witch, or for some other reason, but the little
mutinous glint in his eye told Abby this wasn't going to be an easy
journey. The arrogant, argumentative Pembrake was not about to hang
his attitude up at the door and settle in for a peaceful journey.
She was sure along every step of the way he would be winking at the
girls and sniping at her. Oh well, at least that was something.

'So we're
going to go now, find some way of tying down our destinies,'
he said, voice trilling with sarcasm.

'Yes.'

'Okay
then.'

The two of
them had walked the streets of Bridgestock for the rest of the
afternoon, Pembrake trying to breathe in his tiny shirt and Abby
trying not to trip over the huge clothes Martha had leant her. If
Abby had thought Pembrake was rotten company before, then she had
truly underestimated him. Once, it seemed to her, he had happily
convinced Abby that she should not hang herself from guilt and
leave him all alone in the past with no way of returning home, he
had returned to the aloof, indifferent man she'd grown to hate.

She may have
only known him for all of a day, but she was sure of her feelings.
Yes they had probably been coloured by her still vivid
conversations with Mrs Hunter, but knowing how the boy treated his
mother was surely the most clinching evidence of all.

As the
afternoon had drawn on, it had become clear their efforts were
fruitless. What exactly were they looking for? The witches had been
so vague. Abby half expected, what with her years of experience
with Ms Crowthy, the old girls were setting them up. If Ms Crowthy
had ever wanted Abby to do something that she might not agree to,
she'd just construct a scenario that would ensure Abby was at the
right place at the right time and would have no option but to carry
out the Crone's wishes.

Whatever the
old witches of this time were up to, it really did smell
dangerously of a set up. Just go out and look for clues – it was as
if all they wanted was for Abby and Pembrake to be on the
streets waiting for something. Wether that would be a
terrible storm, a visit from the Guards, or a rain of herrings – it
made Abby's skin itch just to think of the possibilities.

They had both
decided, for better or worse, not to go back to Martha's that day.
For some reason, for some witchly reason, Abby did have the feeling
that they were supposed to be in the city for the time
being. When she'd tried to explain this to Pembrake, he'd snorted
and waved her off. It was clear he had about as much respect for
her gut feelings as he did for everyone else on the planet.

But by the
time night started to fall around them, both were equally fed up
with their impossible task. They could not simply find a way to
'tie down their destinies' by walking aimlessly through the city,
nor could they realistically find a way into the palace. They were
stuck.

Pembrake
displayed his frustration by walking several steps ahead, staring
moodily at his shoes, rolling his eyes whenever Abby came up with
another place to check. And it was hard thinking of places to look
for 'clues' to finding their destinies again, so she didn't really
appreciate his mood. She'd tried any public monuments she could
think of or famous buildings and taverns. There was nothing of
course, because neither had any idea what they were looking for. So
when Pembrake would triumphantly pull a lost necklace from the
dust, Abby would laugh it off as trinket, and vica versa when Abby
would point excitedly at half-faded graffiti on a wall.

But with night
came the clouds and wind, and soon a gentle but steady drizzle had
set in from above, forcing both of them to walk along faster,
searching for whatever shelter they could find.

'I can't
believe you hadn't thought of this before,' Pembrake spat angrily,
a dribble of rain cascading off his lips, 'where are we supposed to
stay tonight?'

'I don't know,
Pembrake,' Abby had taken a leaf out of his book and rolled her
eyes, 'and why exactly is this my fault?'

'You're the
one who's dragging us along on this witchly mission of finding our
rotten destinies. You're the one who didn't bother to ask for the
forecast before you set off. You're the one-'

'And you're the one who threw away my broom, Pembrake. If
you hadn't done that, I could have flown us to one of the sea
caves. But oh no, you had to have a tantrum.'

Pembrake's
face went very dark at the mention of tantrum, and Abby almost
shivered at the concentrated loathing behind his eyes. She wasn't
too sure what he was going to do until a cascade of water flew off
the top of the wall above and drenched Abby completely. Pembrake
laughed into the back of his throat and stepped out of Abby's
dribbling path.

'AHH!' the
water had saturated every last dry inch of her clothes and was
trickling down her back making her skin tight and tingly. Charlie
scattered, running, treacherously, behind Pembrake's legs. 'Stop
laughing!'

'I have a
plan, little witch: why don't we get out of the rain? You're little
cat here is getting cold and wet.' He did not bend down and pet
Charlie but he did share a look with him that set Abby on edge. He
wasn't supposed to be looking at her cat, and certainly not
exchanging meaningful glances with him.

If looks could
kill, Abby would have melted him on the spot.

Getting out of
the rain was relatively easy, but finding a dry, free, safe place
to spend the night was another matter. As usual, Pembrake felt the
need to leave it up to her first, so he could delight when she
failed miserably. She'd suggested they go back to the witches, but
he'd flatly refused. She'd suggested they find an empty warehouse
in the slumps, and he'd laughed so hard his wet shirt, which Abby
had tried hard not to notice, had creaked ominously. She'd finally
opted for walking all the way to the caves she'd mentioned
previously, and Pembrake had, infuriatingly, rolled his eyes again.
Neither of them wanted to impose on Martha and Albert again, which
showed Pembrake did have a decent side somewhere under his trash
heap of a personality. Plus, the walk back to their house along the
cliffs was unrealistic in this weather.

Finally, with
Abby running out of sanity and starting to shake like a leaf in a
hurricane, her back and middle cold and wet, Pembrake apparently
had finished his game. With a devilishly charming wink, one which
Abby was sure she hadn't blushed at, Pembrake took the lead. He led
them back through the quickly deserted streets to the port, and
just as Abby was about to ask what on Earth he was planning, he led
her to the back of several large storage sheds, behind a fence, and
to a rusted iron door.

With a heave
of his shoulder, which of course Abby had looked demurely to the
side to avoid seeing, Pembrake had busted open the door to reveal a
large barn-like shed inside. With one whiff, Abby had been reminded
of the pastures and barns of home – the slightly damp, grassy smell
of hay. There were mountains and mountains of it, all piled in
sections, obviously waiting to be fed to the livestock that came
through the port.

For want of a
dry, safe, free place – Abby would probably have opted for a house,
but this would do perfectly. She wouldn't admit if of course, and
tried to keep her face disdainful and mirroring, she hoped, what Ms
Crowthy would have thought of the situation.

Pembrake
abruptly threw himself onto a low pile of hay and kicked out his
legs, tucking his hands behind his head. 'Aren't you going to thank
me?'

Abby made a
horrible face, sure that he couldn't see her. 'Why?'

'Because once
again I've saved the day. You are horrendously rude, little witch,
you should be thankful you can rely on someone like me.'

Abby kept on
pulling faces. 'And you should be thankful this plan of yours
actual worked. We are in the past remember, this shed could have
been anything.' It was a weak argument, but Abby was cold, wet, and
hungry.