Page 51 of Witchbane

‘I believe this is the best place to begin ridding ourselves of this parasite,’ she said.

She was right, although knowing this didn’t make me feel any more comfortable having them in the attic. Even without the blackness, the place was a mess, and I wished I had done what I had meant to do for some years and sorted through all the trunks, dusty boxes and sheet-covered furniture.

I spotted the ornate white birdcage I recalled my father buying for my mother, remembering only too well his hurt when she immediately asked him to carry it over to the window, unclasp the door and allow the two doves inside to fly to their freedom. I supposed the cage must have been up here ever since.

‘If we are ready, I propose we begin,’ my grandmother said, clearly wanting this over with as quickly as possible. When each of the women had acknowledged that they were, she spoke again. ‘As you are aware, we have gathered here today to help banish whatever evil this blackness is that has begun taking over our home.’ She gestured for the others to move closer for a better look. ‘As you can see, it appears to have originated from the chimney breast over here⁠—’

There were mumblings of shock and bewilderment.

‘—and has stretched along this wall into the next attic room and worked its way down to the next floor.’

‘Is it in either of your bedrooms?’ Appoline de la Mare asked. She was the oldest of us witches and was our high priestess until she had a stroke last year and was not expected to survive. My grandmother had taken over from her.

My grandmother hesitated and I suspected she wasn’t sure whether to share that it was now taking over my bedroom. Desperate to be free of the thing, I spoke for her. ‘It is now spreading across one wall in my bedroom.’

The women shuddered.

I cleared my throat, intimidated by their shock and the accusing expressions on a couple of faces.

‘Why do you look at my niece that way?’ my aunt asked, glowering at those who had given me a sideways glance.

I was grateful for her support but less concerned with my own humiliation than with finding an explanation for this thing.

‘Please, I’m fine,’ I addressed the women. ‘We need to know what this is, why it’s here and why especially it has invaded my room. If anyone can explain that, I would be grateful.’

‘We all would,’ my grandmother said.

No one spoke for a moment. Then Iris, a young woman who had been initiated into the coven only months before me, raised a hand. I had barely heard her speak before and was surprised.

‘What is it, Iris?’

She gave me an apologetic smile before answering. ‘Could it be that the—’ She hesitated, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call it.’

‘The blackness?’ I suggested, eager to hear what she had to say.

‘The blackness,’ she repeated. ‘Maybe it’s chosen this house and, um, Rue’s bedroom for a reason?’

Silence filled the attic as we all contemplated her suggestion. There was some sense to what she was saying. But why would this thing be coming for me specifically?

I realised everyone was staring at me. Recalling the advice my mother had given me when I was younger and didn’t know what to do about something, I closed my eyes, emptied my mind and allowed my instincts to guide me. ‘Your instincts are more powerful than anyone else I know,’ she liked to tell me.

I did as she had instructed. Distant sounds – waves at the beach a mile or so away, a cow mooing in a field – faded until all I could hear was my heartbeat. I knew without doubt that my earlier suspicions had been right. ‘I believe this is my mother’s way of telling me something.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Maisie, Daisy and Jessie, the Trehorel triplets, said in unison.

They were the only ones who reacted immediately. Surprised not to hear more comments, I looked from one to the other of them, my confidence in my theory growing. Could this be the case?

I looked at my grandmother. ‘Is this as ridiculous as it sounds? You didn’t tell me what you thought when I said as much earlier.’

She frowned thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I knew my twin better than most,’ Aunt Sorrel said, looking unsure, ‘and Martha was one for grand gestures.’

‘This is no grand gesture,’ Clarice Coutanche said. ‘Why would Martha give a sign that was so ominous and unsavoury?’

Aunt Sorrel placed her hands on her hips. ‘Probably because anything less than this could have been ignored, or put down to the deterioration of the house.’

My grandmother glared at her, but Aunt Sorrel either didn’t notice or chose to ignore her.