Fire Girl (26 page)

‘So do you.’ Hecate reached up and pushed the hair away from his face.

‘The old grump’s gone bashful,’ Bramley said. Hazel leaned heavily against a windowsill, too bewildered to respond.

David hovered uncertainly by the wagon, still clutching the blunderbuss. ‘What’s going on, Boss?’

Titus ignored him. ‘So this little pipsqueak is yours, is she?’ he said, looking Hazel up and down. ‘Well, well’ Hecate nodded and took Hazel’s hand.

‘They’re Wielders, both of them,’ David said, edging closer. ‘We’ve got to arrest them, hand them over to the Witch Hunters.’ He grabbed Titus’s arm.
‘Are you even listening to me?’

‘You want to hand a little girl and her mother over to those butchers?’ Titus growled.

‘They’re witches. It’s our duty to take them in.’

At last Hazel found her voice. ‘David – I thought we were friends.’

David glared at her. ‘That was before I found out
what
you are.’

‘That’s enough.’ Titus grabbed the blunderbuss from him. ‘We’re letting these two go while we nail Murrell.’

‘Is that what you’re doing here?’ Hecate asked. ‘Looking for Nicolas?’

‘He kidnapped you, tried to kill me and my apprentice, and has been summoning demons. Damn right I’m looking for him.’ He turned to Hazel. ‘He’s still here,
isn’t he?’

‘In the castle, and he’s on his own – for the moment. Although Lilith, the witch who attacked David, and her spider-demon are in the town somewhere . . .’

Titus grunted. ‘Then we’d better be quick. Tell me everything I need to know.’

As quickly as she could, Hazel told an increasingly astounded Titus about the magic circle, the ceremony, Murrell’s pact with Baal and the woodsman’s transformation into a mindless
soldier under Murrell’s command.

‘The rest of the Chosen, as Murrell calls them, are outside the walls rounding up more people to feed to Baal,’ she finished.

Titus appraised Hazel with grudging respect. ‘Well, slop-sprite, you have been busy.’

‘We shouldn’t trust a word she says—’ David blustered.

‘I said, enough,’ Titus said.

‘We should go,’ Hazel said, looking around nervously. ‘I want to get out of here before the rest of them come back.’

‘Yes,’ Titus said. ‘We’ll find you later. Samson has your scent. Now go.’

Hecate squeezed Titus’s hand as she passed. ‘It’s so good to see you again, Titus.’

The old Witch Finder mumbled something in return as Hazel led Hecate up the alley, with Bramley bouncing up and down on her shoulder and Tom scampering at her heels. They peered on to Tower Road
and saw the gatehouse not far away.

‘It’s getting light,’ Bramley said. ‘No time to waste.’

‘Ready, Ma?’

‘Ready.’

A scream ripped through the morning silence.

‘That sounded like David,’ Hazel said, her heart hammering.

There was a deafening bang followed by an orange flash lighting up the walls, and then a bestial roar of rage.

‘Titus,’ Hecate cried and she ran back down the alley.

‘Ma!’ Hazel leaped after her and managed to grab the hem of her robe. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I won’t run away leaving them in danger,’ Hecate said. ‘Not this time.’

‘It was their choice to stay,’ Hazel said. ‘They knew what they were up against.’

There was another scream, louder this time.

‘All right,’ Hazel said, staring into her mother’s determined eyes. ‘We’ll help them. But . . . you need to wait here for me.’

‘Hazel, don’t be ridiculous, I’m coming with—’

Hazel pushed Hecate into a doorway. ‘Please, Ma, for me. Just wait here. Keep Tom safe.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Hecate asked, looking at Hazel as if she’d never clearly seen her before.

‘I’m a Fire Witch,’ Hazel replied. ‘So I’m going to start a fire.’

After the Witch War, fortune-tellers,

alchemists, astrologers and wise-women all fell

under the suspicious gaze of the Witch Hunters.

England – After the Witch War
by Dr Breege Whiten

H
azel sped down the alley, letting her magic flow to the surface. Fire trailed behind her like a cloak; sparks crackled through her hair.

‘Be careful,’ Bramley said, clinging to her ear. ‘Your magic is lethal – I don’t want to be a murderer’s familiar.’

‘Ma was right, we have to help them,’ Hazel said.

‘Just think of the consequences before you act . . .’ Bramley persisted. ‘Because one wrong decision can mean a lifetime of guilt.’

The wagon blocked Hazel’s view of the courtyard, but as she got closer she sensed frantic activity behind it; flitting shadows, a stirring in the air, the scraping of boots on stone.
Emboldened by the magic swirling through her, she skirted the wagon and entered the courtyard. What she saw froze her to the spot.

David and Spindle were locked together like dancers performing a ghastly waltz. Gripping Spindle’s front legs, David leaned away from her gnashing fangs until he screamed and slipped on to
his back. Spindle bore down on him, gibbering triumphantly.

Titus was sprawled in the gutter like a toppled statue. Lilith, her face framed with an icy mane of hair, straddled his chest with her hands frozen blue around his throat. The smoking
blunderbuss lay on the ground, just out of his reach.

In the corner of the yard lay Samson, curled up, unmoving, with two puncture wounds on his neck. Froth bubbled around his mouth. Hazel gave a cry of anguish.

Spindle saw her first. With a hiss, the spider-demon squirted a jet of white silk from its abdomen. Hazel threw her arm up to protect her face and the thread wrapped like a whip around her
wrist, sticking fast to the skin. It pulled tight, nearly jerking Hazel off her feet. Without even thinking, she let out a pulse of burning magic.

Fire bit into the thread, sparking and speeding up its length like a lit fuse towards Spindle. The demon howled and juddered away, but the thread was still attached to its spinnerets. Freed,
David crawled towards Samson.

‘Spindle!’ Lilith cried.

Titus bucked, knocking Lilith to the ground. He reached out and curled his fingers around the blunderbuss.

The last few feet of thread were devoured and Spindle was engulfed in a ball of flame, thrashing around the courtyard trailing smoke and jets of steam. Titus cut short Lilith’s howl by
smashing the blunderbuss into the side of her head. David crawled under the wagon with Samson in his arms as Spindle skittered headlong into the corner and exploded, showering the yard – and
Hazel – with warm slime.

‘Oh, this is
disgusting
,’ Bramley spluttered. ‘This smell will never come out of my fur.’

Hazel stood, transfixed with horror at what she had done. She wiped her face and tottered over to Titus, who sat in the gutter rubbing his throat.

‘Hello again,’ he growled. ‘Did you forget something?’

‘I thought you might need some help,’ she croaked. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Better than her,’ he said, gesturing to Lilith who lay face down next to him. ‘Help an old man up, would you?’

David emerged from under the wagon, his face blank with shock. Samson dangled limply in his arms.

‘Did Spindle bite him?’ Hazel asked.

‘She crept up on us,’ Titus replied, gently taking the dog from David. ‘We didn’t even notice until it was too late. Where’s your mother?’

‘I’m here.’ Hecate appeared from the alley. ‘Hazel, are you all right?’

‘Can you help my dog?’ Titus said, his voice cracking. ‘He’s been poisoned.’

‘Let me look at him.’ Hecate hurried towards them.

‘Take him into the wagon. We need to get moving,’ Titus said.

‘What about her?’ Hazel said.

Titus grimaced, and rolled Lilith over with his boot. ‘We can’t take her with us, she’s too dangerous. David?’ David stared white-faced at something far away.
‘David!’ Titus snapped his fingers. ‘Hide this witch in one of these houses and tie her up.’

‘We should kill her,’ David whispered. ‘Let me do it.’ ‘We are
not
murderers,’ Titus said. ‘We’ll come back for her later when we’re
better prepared. Go on now. Here’s some rope.’

David did as he was told while Titus and Hecate carried Samson into the wagon. Hazel climbed into the driver’s bench to wait, all the while listening out for the return of the Chosen.

Bramley stroked his tail against her neck. ‘Little witch?’ ‘I’m all right,’ she said shakily. Her hands still flickered with magic. Taking a deep breath, she
watched the light fade.

The little dormouse appeared from her hair and surveyed the courtyard. Spindle’s remains smouldered in the corner.

A bristling leg dangled obscenely from a windowsill. Titus climbed out of the wagon hatch and sat next to Hazel, closing the doors behind him. His movements were stiff. Bruises covered his neck
and he sounded even gruffer than normal.

‘Your mother’s seeing to Samson. She says he’ll survive.’ ‘Maybe she could help David by getting the rest of Spindle’s poison out of him, too?’ Hazel
said, handing him the reins. ‘It’s the poison that’s making him hate me, I’m sure of it – it’s sort of curdled in him, like milk.’

Titus jerked the reins and the horses clopped down the alley towards Tower Road. The echo of their hoofs and the creak of the wagon seemed terribly loud.

‘It’s not the poison,’ Titus said. ‘He hates you because you’re a witch.’

A weight dropped into Hazel’s stomach. ‘But I can’t help what I am. I’ve not done anything wrong. All I’ve ever done is try to help him.’

‘David hates your kind because he’s been taught to, in every school lesson, every god-damned church sermon, every news pamphlet, since he was a boy . . .’

‘But
you
didn’t teach him to hate witches?’ Hazel asked.

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘So you . . . you
like
witches?’

Titus glanced at her sidelong. ‘Only the ones who don’t cause trouble.’

Hazel managed a smile. ‘Since when do I cause trouble?’

Titus grunted and turned the wagon on to Tower Road. ‘I saw the hatred in him from the start, but I was too drunk to care, let alone do anything about it. I failed him. I’ve been a
poor master.’

‘It’s not too late,’ Hazel said, remembering the warm feeling she’d had when she first saw David smile. ‘I’d like for us to be friends again.’

‘I think recent events involving witches and their familiars might well have made that impossible.’

They sat in thoughtful silence for a while.

‘Look, the gatehouse is ahead,’ Titus muttered. ‘I hope that godforsaken bridge holds.’

Hazel sat forward, trying to quell the hope rising in her heart.
We’re not free yet
, she told herself.
Not by a long shot.

‘Tell me about Murrell,’ she said. ‘How do you know him?’

‘He used to be one of King Charles’s most trusted chief ministers, back in the days when witchcraft was tolerated.’

‘Before the Witch War.’

‘Indeed. He was fascinated by magic and he coveted the power it promised, but he was not a Wielder. So he spent years studying witchcraft until he was the foremost scholar on the subject.
But even those closest to him did not know that he was dabbling in the dark art of demonology.’

‘Which he did hoping he would be able to gain magical powers?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘So did Murrell—?’

‘Quiet now – the bridge is coming up. I’ll tell you more when we’re safely out of here.’

The creaking of the wagon got louder as they passed into the gatehouse. Across the dilapidated bridge lay the forest, its roof capped green by the early morning sun.

There was a scuffle somewhere behind the wagon. The horses tossed their heads and whinnied. Hazel looked round and saw robed figures emerge from the shops and run towards them. A few had animals
by their sides – a dog, a floppy-eared hare, a raven.

So they’re Wielders too
, Hazel thought.

‘It’s an ambush,’ Titus said. ‘They must have heard the cannon and come back. Damn it to hell!’

Something reared up by the side of the wagon. Hazel caught a glimpse of a horrible face and then the old Witch Finder was gone, dragged from his seat.