Witch (25 page)

My mother squatted down next to me. ‘Come here, honey.'

She put her arms around me and I melted into her. It didn't matter that I was the daughter of a dead witch – this woman was the only mother I needed right now.

It was late and the door to my bedroom was closed shut. My parents and I had talked about my need for privacy, and they had explained that their rule had been enforced not from a place of wanting to inhibit me but from a place of wanting to protect me. After my precarious beginnings in the world they'd never wanted me to be that vulnerable again.

The waning moon hung low in the sky. Through my bedroom window I gazed at the sliver of celestial beauty, so evocative and magical, and its dim light led my thoughts back again to the woman of Queen's Cross – my mother. She was a witch, and she had been casting a spell when she was killed. It had been a love spell, surely – the rose quartz, chilli and honey, the seven candles, all added up to love. But love under what intention?

I lifted the corner of the rug and prised up the loose floorboard. Despite our improving openness and trust, I still wasn't ready to tell my parents about my magic. I sensed that it was more important than ever to keep my craft secret. Now I knew there was an Anti-Witches League and I was the daughter born of the last true witch in the world, I needed to keep a low profile. Plus I was pretty sure my parents would freak out if they knew I was a witch.

From the very bottom of the pile I retrieved my most prized spell book. It had a yellowed leather cover and the title was stamped into the surface in brown dye:
Ancient
Charms
. It was over a hundred years old. Dean had bartered for it on eBay for three weeks before winning the bid at a hundred and forty-three dollars. I had cashed in a childhood gold bangle and pair of gold earrings at the pawn shop to come up with ninety-nine dollars, and he had chipped in the rest on the promise that I would not do any spells from the book without his involvement. As my witchling, he was in this with me.

But as I lay sprawled out on my bedroom floor with my door luxuriously closed and the night being mine alone, I figured he wouldn't mind if I did just one spell without him.

I flicked through the pages, scanning the text for any mention of chillies, honey, rose . . . and on page 66 I found the magic words.

TRUE LOVE COME TO ME
Hold sacred rose of crystal bone
And love shall find a constant home
Cut the heat of chilli sweet
Conjure up true love's heartbeat
Christened tongue of honey bee
Say ‘Come to me' thrice times three
Seven flames below and above
Will show the way of one's true love

This had to be the spell my mother had been performing the night she was murdered. It made me think of my father. Who was he? In all the upheaval it hadn't occurred to me until now. Why would my mother have been casting a love spell? Did my father not love her? Did she not know who he was?

I didn't like thinking that I might be the product of some random forgotten night.

I was a real witch, maybe I could cast the spell . . . and find out who
my
true love was. At the very least it would put an end to the expectations my coven had about Bryce and me. I could rule that out once and for all and not have to suffer any more embarrassment.

And I would have a boyfriend! Something I had never had in my whole sixteen years.

I carefully cracked open the door of my bedroom. How ironic that it would have been easier if it had already been open.

I went to the kitchen and got honey and a knife. Chillies were a bit of an issue. We only had dried flakes in a jar. I grabbed them regardless – I was going to have to improvise a bit. I thought back to the newspaper article and how it had mentioned salt and a black pot being found at the scene. Even though this spell didn't mention these items, I knew I could incorporate them. Salt was for purity; it would help my spell work smoothly. And I was now sure the pot my mother had been found with was actually a witch's cauldron. But we didn't have a cauldron in our kitchen cupboard – only a black saucepan. That was close enough, I decided.

I returned to my room. As I passed my parents' door I noticed it was shut and it occurred to me that they were probably enjoying the privacy now, too.

Closing my door carefully I placed everything on the floor in the centre of my room. I retrieved a piece of rose quartz from my jewellery box and a bag of small tealight candles from under my bed.

I needed to place the flames ‘below and above', which was a little confusing, but I settled on putting four tealights along my windowsill and three on the floor in front of me.

As I lit the candles in my window I noticed the waning moon about to slip over the edge of the earth, so low it hung on the horizon. It was not a full moon, and perhaps not the best night to do magic. But all the magic I needed, I knew now, was inside me, in my blood.

I sat in front of the candles and chopped the chilli flakes into smaller pieces. In the saucepan I mixed the chilli and salt together and then, letting my intuition guide me, I sprinkled the mixture in the shape of a heart in front of me. I took the lid off the honey jar and stuck my finger into it. I withdrew it, sticky and sweet, and placed it in my mouth. My tongue was now christened with honey.

Holding the rose quartz to my heart, I gazed at the flames, focusing on the intention of my spell – to know true love.

A sphere of blue light appeared around me, sparkling like a million diamonds were floating in it.

My honeyed lips silently mouthed the words: ‘Come to me. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me. Come to me.'

I awoke on the floor. The candles were still burning, but I had no idea how long I'd been lying there. I looked at the clock on my desk and its glowing digital display said three a.m.

I pushed myself up to a seated position. I felt stiff and my head hurt.

The chilli heart was intact, but a row of ants had found the honey and climbed up the side of the jar. My eyes followed them all the way to my window. The moon was gone and the sky was dark.

I went to the window to blow out the candles . . . and heard a loud rustle outside. I ducked down below the sill.

I heard more rustling, louder still, and then there was a sharp tap on the glass.

I froze. What had I conjured up at this time of night during a waning moon?

‘Vania . . .'

It was my name but whispered in an eerie, unfamiliar way.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

‘Vania, it's me.'

This time the voice sounded a little more familiar.

I peered up over the edge of the sill and the fading candlelight illuminated the face of . . .

Bryce.

I clasped my hand to my mouth.

He smiled and lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes dusting his cheeks. ‘Can I come in?' he whispered.

I looked at my door. It was closed firmly. I put my fingers to my lips before whispering, ‘Yes.' I carefully slid the candles out of the way.

Even with his arm in a sling he climbed through the window effortlessly. He looked deep into my eyes before reaching forward and taking my hand. ‘I had to come to you.'

I nodded.

When his lips touched mine they were velvety soft and more delicious than I could have ever imagined.

He put his arm around my waist and drew me close, pressing his lips more firmly to mine. I offered no resistance as he kissed me deeper and deeper, his tongue parting my lips until we were completely merged in bliss.

‘Mmm.' He took his lips from mine just for a moment. ‘You taste like honey.'

We lay down together carefully on my bed, his injured arm resting on my chest, and I felt the strength of his body as our legs entwined and his heart beat steadily. We fit each other perfectly, slotting together like pieces of a puzzle.

Now I could see that all along, ever since I'd met him, the energy and the chemistry between us had been real and made sense. I'd been holding back; I'd thought I wasn't good enough to experience something this wonderful – and I'd pushed it away.

I wanted to say sorry for all the times that I'd been angry and confused, and lashed out at him, at the coven.

Bryce's beautiful green eyes glowed with warmth as he smiled and ran his hand over my hair. ‘I can't believe the time we've wasted. I thought you just wanted to be friends; that you kept brushing me off because you wanted to concentrate on learning magic. So I tried to just be your friend. It was never enough. But I'm guessing now, you don't really want to stay just friends?' I could feel his chest shake slightly under my ear as he gave a small chuckle. But when I moved my head to reply, he just pulled me closer and pressed his lips to mine again. This wasn't a time for regret – it was time only for being in the moment – the most magical of my life.

We kissed for hours until the sun made its presence felt in the sky as pale-pink light. I had never, ever felt as happy.

‘Vania, I always knew . . .'

And now I knew, too.

My true love was Bryce.

He always was – and he always would be.

Acknowledgements

My first work of fiction could not have been completed
without these people.

Thank you to everyone at Allen & Unwin, and especially to my publisher, Anna McFarlane. Wow, Anna, I am so blessed to have connected with you. Thank you for believing in me and for giving me this chance and being the most amazing publisher an author could ever dream for. To Rachael Donovan, thanks for your patience and support – especially through the intense last stages of this book! To my editors, Clare James, Jeanmarie Morosin and Elise Jones, thank you for your terrifyingly thorough critiques and suggestions!

And I'm blessed to have so many other supportive people in my life. To Sarah Lassez, thank you, my dear friend and ally. I truly could not have written this book without your wisdom, insight and encouragement. Julia Ball, Kearie Peak and Melissa Torre, thank you my gorgeous friends for your support and enthusiasm throughout this whole process! To my beloved niece Julia Battese, thank you for reading the early pages of this book with all the big words, and for telling me you liked the enchanted cookies! And to Maddy and Claire Whittaker – Black and Blue! My Bandana Crew! Thanks for keeping me writing with a smile on my face! And to Bill Beattie, you planted the seed with me years ago, I hope you like the fruit! I will always treasure our connection. Thank you Jeff Sears, for your patience during the times I doubted myself writing this. And for listening to all my reading performances of this baby as it grew along the way, and getting me out of creative ruts with your ideas and input. To Diane Lake, thank you for being a true angel on this earth. And to Dannii Minogue, you wave a mean virtual pompom, hon! Thank you, for cheering me down the home stretch and across the finish line! Thank you, Jane Palfreyman – way back in the day you gave me my first writing break, which I will forever be grateful for. I am so happy to be back in the fold with you.

About the author

Fiona Horne is an Australian rock musician, radio and television personality, actress and author. She is famous for her public promotion of witchcraft and as the singer in Australian band Def FX. She has also written several bestselling books on witchcraft and magic and is considered a worldwide authority on Modern Witchcraft, being invited to speak at Harvard University on the subject in 2006.