Читать книгу The Witch’s Kiss Trilogy - Katharine Corr, Katharine Corr - Страница 19

Leo was home by early afternoon. The terrible weather – gale force winds now, as well as torrential rain and flooding – meant there wasn’t as much for him to do on the farm as usual. Now he and Merry were sitting at the kitchen table, the manuscript spread out in front of them. There were two words on the page now:

Eala, Merry.

Obviously, the damn thing was making a point.

‘So …’ Leo cleared his throat. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘Gran emailed me a few suggestions. Work through them, I suppose.’ Merry lifted her hands, held them above the manuscript; at least they weren’t trembling too noticeably.

Just get on with it. What’s the worst that can happen?

Er …

She slapped her palms down on the open pages, rushing the words out before she could change her mind: ‘Reveal. Speak. Show.’

Nothing happened.

‘Huh …’ Grabbing the carrier bag from the floor next to her, she tipped the contents out on to the manuscript.

‘What’s that? It looks like—’ Leo poked at the bits and pieces with one finger, ‘—bits of plant, and jewellery.’

Merry held up a spray of dark green needles.

‘Yew – I cut it off the hedge, earlier. It’s for divination and communication; Gran’s idea. This one is sage, for wisdom. That,’ she said, pointing at an earring she’d pinched from Mum’s jewellery box, ‘is turquoise, for psychic abilities. And this,’ she picked up a silver chain with a small purple crystal hanging from it, ‘is amethyst. For intelligence.’

‘I’ve never seen you wear it.’

‘It was a sixteenth birthday present from our so-called father. Why would I want to wear it?’ The necklace, its chain so tarnished it left black marks on her fingers, was the first gift their father had sent her since he left them. Merry remembered the letter that he’d sent with it. A pathetic letter, full of excuses and evasions. She dropped the necklace on to the parchment. ‘I don’t even know why I kept it.’

She arranged the objects in a rough circle around the pages of the manuscript and tried again.

‘Reveal. Speak. Show.’

The yew and the sage burst into flames.

‘Damn—’ Leo put out the fire by throwing his tea over the plants. The manuscript was unharmed, but it was also still blank apart from the greeting. ‘Maybe you need to say the same words, but in Old English? Or – could you just try saying hello back?’

‘Um, I suppose.’ Merry picked up the parchment, held it like a book in front of her, and took a deep breath. ‘Hello, er, manuscript. Do – you – speak – English?’ She caught sight of Leo’s raised eyebrow and flushed. ‘I mean, modern English?’

For a moment there was no response. Then more letters bloomed on the page.

Yes.

Merry glanced at Leo. His eyes were wide.

‘Put it down. See if you have to be touching it. Ask it – ask it something it must know.’

She replaced the parchment on the table.

‘OK. Where is Gwydion?’

The parchment didn’t reply, so Merry picked it up again and repeated the question.

‘Where is Gwydion?’

The wizard Gwydion sleeps still, under the Black Lake.

‘Right. Great. So, what’s next?’ Merry asked.

No response. Again. Merry threw the manuscript back on to the table and leant back in her chair.

‘Any more suggestions?’

Leo pulled the parchment towards him, traced his fingertips over the letters.

‘Dunno. Maybe,’ he wrinkled his forehead, ‘maybe the answers it can give are already set, so you have to know the right question. Try something else.’ He pushed the parchment back to Merry.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but picked the manuscript up again.

‘OK. Manuscript … how do we stop the King of Hearts stabbing people?’

The servant acts for his master. To end the danger, both must die.

Leo gave her a thumbs up.

‘Right. And what do we need to do, for them to end up dead?’

The puppet hearts must be destroyed.

That didn’t sound so difficult.

‘What are the puppet hearts? Oh – are they the same as the jars of hearts that are in the story?’

No. The puppet hearts are a dark magic, conceived by Gwydion. One heart for the master, and one for the servant. While the puppet hearts exist, Gwydion and his King of Hearts cannot be harmed.

‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ Leo said. ‘Sounds like the first thing to do is find these hearts.’

Merry nodded.

‘Manuscript, where are the puppet hearts?’

The hearts are hidden, under the lake.

That didn’t sound good. She’d used to swim a lot; for fun and competitively. But her relationship with water, apart from showers and baths, had gone sour since dragging Alex out of the river.

‘OK. So how do we get at the hearts?’

You must go to the lake.

‘Yeah, I think we get the lake part,’ Leo muttered.

Merry was about to ask another question, but more words appeared of their own accord:

This night, the servant will walk abroad after the Moon has risen.

Go to the lake.

* * *

When Mum came home from the gym, Merry retreated to her bedroom. There, she tried asking the manuscript for details of what she was going to have to do at the lake, how she was supposed to retrieve the puppet hearts, whether she was meant to try to kill the King of Hearts as soon as she saw him. But it just kept repeating itself: Go to the lake.

Leo knocked on the door and came in. ‘You OK?’

She shrugged.

‘Well,’ he sat on her bed and picked up the ancient, misshapen teddy bear that still lived on her pillow, ‘at least we have a plan now. Hopefully, once we get to the lake, the manuscript will give us more instructions. We’ll be able to finish this thing tonight and everything will go back to normal.’

‘Yeah. Maybe.’ Merry paused. ‘What do you mean, we?’

‘There’s no way you’re doing this alone. I’m coming with you.’

‘But Gran said only one witch could enter Gwydion’s evil lair, or whatever he’s calling it. You heard her.’

‘Screw what Gran said. You’re going to be in charge, but every hero needs an assistant, a – a – ’

‘Sidekick?’

Leo scowled.

‘I was thinking more like a second-in-command, a wingman, actually. Besides, we don’t know yet whether this is going to involve any actual lair-entering. And if it does I’m not a witch, am I? I won’t even register on Gwydion’s magic meter.’

Merry hesitated. It was so tempting, but –

‘No, Leo, it’s too dangerous. I won’t let you.’

Leo stretched his legs out and clasped his hands behind his head.

‘But you don’t understand, little sister. Either you agree that we’re doing this together, or I tell Mum everything that’s happened so far. Then Mum will probably go nuts, you’ll be grounded, and Gwydion will end up killing us all anyway.’ He smiled. ‘Your choice, of course. I’ll just pop downstairs and tell her now, shall I?’

‘Are you completely insane?’ Merry bit her lip. He was bluffing. Probably. ‘When this is all over, you’re dead.’ She made an exaggerated throat-cutting gesture with her forefinger. ‘So dead.’

‘If we’re both still alive when this is over, I’m willing to bet you’ll forgive me.’ He winked and grinned at her.

Merry couldn’t help laughing.

‘OK. You make a good point, my lovely assistant.’ She tilted her head and gazed at him appraisingly. ‘I wonder how you’d look in a sparkly leotard? Maybe with, like, an artistically-positioned feather boa …’

‘That’s something neither of us will ever know.’ Leo got up to leave. ‘You should call Gran. I’ll try to figure out how to get out of the house without making Mum suspicious.’

The conversation with Gran was surreal. Gran was happy that the manuscript was responding, and reassured Merry again that all she had to do – all – was follow the instructions; everything was bound to turn out fine. Then she said she would alert the rest of the coven so they could make sure the area around the lake was clear of ‘civilians’, by which she meant non-witches. Initially, Merry assumed this communication would be done by magic, possibly involving owls or bats, but no: Gran was going to text everyone and put a message up on the coven’s Facebook page.

Dinner was stressful. Mum was irritable; she picked at her food and looked like she hadn’t slept properly in days. According to Leo’s cover story, he had a pool competition at a pub in town and Merry needed to go to Ruby’s house to work on an art project. Leo would take her and pick her up on the way back; how late they got home would depend on how far he made it through the competition. Pretty good, Merry thought. Still, Mum immediately said no, at the same time as pointing out that it was a school night and that Leo had work in the morning. It took a while to persuade her that Ruby’s house was safe, and that the project wasn’t something Merry and Ruby could work on over Skype. Eventually, Mum gave in. But she was obviously suspicious.

Merry forced down the last spoonful of her spaghetti carbonara and went upstairs to get ready. As she shrugged herself into her coat – it was raining again – she had to resist pinching her arm. She knew the events of the last couple of weeks had really happened, but right now she felt like she was moving in a dream. Or a nightmare. She tried to quickly memorise her room: the pink Union Jack duvet cover, the Sherlock poster on the wall, the dressing table, strung with lights and overflowing with make-up and hair accessories. Maybe she should have written a note for Mum, explaining, just in case she didn’t get to come home –

Leo knocked on her door.

‘Where’s the box?’

‘Under the bed.’ The key and the box were now both at least twice as big as they had been, and Merry had taken to wearing the key on a chain round her neck. She handed the chain to her brother; Leo retrieved the box and unlocked it.

‘You want to take all of this?’

‘May as well. Just in case.’

‘OK. So … let’s put the instruction book in this pocket.’ Leo lifted Merry’s arm and shoved the parchment into a large side pocket. ‘And the sword hilt, which would probably be much more useful if it had an actual blade attached to it, can go in this pocket.’ He lifted Merry’s other arm. ‘And finally the hair extension can go …’ He paused, then tied the braid of hair around Merry’s left wrist. ‘There. All set. You can put your arms down now.’

‘Great. Have you got a torch?’

‘Yep. Torches, a flask of coffee, and some chocolate bars.’

Merry hesitated. ‘OK. But I think you should bring the big carving knife from the kitchen too.’

Leo raised his eyebrows.

Merry shrugged. ‘Like I said – just in case.’ She glanced around her room one last time. ‘Let’s go.’

It didn’t take long to get to the Black Lake. There was a tiny gravelled parking area with a faded information board, but compared to the other open spaces nearby, the woods here were dense and sombre; the area never seemed to attract many visitors. Merry was surprised to see a silver saloon parked by the path into the trees.

‘Great start,’ Leo muttered, switching on his torch. ‘Let’s hope whoever it is goes home soon.’

Hoods up against the rain, they were walking past the car when a figure got out and stepped into the torchlight.

‘Merry? It’s me, Mrs Galantini. Your grandmother, she sent a message.’

Mrs Galantini, owner of the Italian deli on the high street, her accent still strong after forty years living in English suburbs. And also, apparently, a witch.

‘Er … hi, Mrs Galantini. Terrible weather, isn’t it?’

Great, I’m talking about the weather. I’m only sixteen and I’m already turning into my mother.

Mrs Galantini shrugged. ‘It’s England. It rains. Now, you are not to worry. I make sure nobody else gets through here. Your grandmother and others are in the woods, casting shielding spells.’ Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Leo.

‘Leo’s just here to – keep an eye on me. He’s not going to get involved.’

Mrs Galantini made a dismissive sound – the sort of sound that clearly meant ‘Men – what’s the use of them, really?’ – and turned back to Merry. ‘Good luck, brava ragazza. I pray for you.’

That, Merry reflected as Mrs Galantini climbed back into the warmth of her car, was not very comforting.

They plodded along the path through the dripping trees, following the signposts to the lake. Eventually the trees gave way to open heathland, and the lake lay before them.

‘It’s bigger than I remember,’ Leo said eventually.

Merry shivered. The lake stretched away from them, its farthest shore lost in the darkness. The near shore was flat, apart from one section where the land rose into a hill. A cliff, really; it dropped away sharply into the water. The restless surface of the lake, rippled by raindrops, mirrored her own disquiet. She turned to Leo.

‘I think you should wait here, at least until we’ve got more of a handle on what’s going on. The King of Hearts – Jack, or whatever – is only interested in attacking couples. We don’t want him to find out too late that he’s made a mistake.’

Leo pulled a face, but he nodded. ‘Alright. Here: you should take the supplies.’ He pushed the backpack into her arms and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘I’ll just be hanging around in the bushes then. Lurking. And watching.’

‘Thanks. Feel free to intervene if it looks like I’m about to get murdered.’

Walking away from Leo and from the shelter of the trees was so difficult. Merry forced herself to keep going, until she was about six metres from the lake edge. She put a plastic bin liner on the sodden ground, pulled her hood as far as it would go over her face, and sat down to wait.

The first hour went slowly. The rain stopped. A couple of times Merry nearly fell asleep, catching herself as her head nodded forwards. She read her Twitter feed. She drank some coffee and watched the moon rise higher and higher above the treetops, washing the landscape silver. Around ten, fingers numb from the cold, she pulled the manuscript out of her pocket.

‘Hey, manuscript. So, where is the King of Hearts?’

Still beneath the waters of the lake.

‘Still under the lake? I wish he’d get a move on.’

The manuscript didn’t comment. Merry’s wrist itched, and she remembered the braid Leo had tied there: her entry ticket to Gwydion’s realm.

‘How does the braid of hair work?’

The braid provides protection.

Vague, but good to have confirmation.

‘Is it our ancestor’s hair? Did she put the protection in place?’

No. The protection was devised by Gwydion.

Gwydion? That couldn’t be right. Her phone beeped: Leo checking in. Pushing the manuscript back into her pocket, she picked up the phone to text him back.

This is weird. The

She stopped and looked up at the lake, straining her eyes to see into the darkness.

There was nothing there. The gently shifting surface of the water glimmered silently in the cold air. Yet Merry could feel goose pimples rising on the skin between her shoulder blades, despite the warm clothes she was wearing. She pulled the zip on the coat up higher, bent over her phone again. But it was no good. Dread grew like a lengthening shadow in her mind.

Something was coming.

The breeze sprang up again, tumbling last year’s dead leaves across the ground and blowing Merry’s hood back from her face. She stood and hastily stuffed the bin liner into the backpack before it blew away.

I should definitely get further away from this damn lake.

But she couldn’t move. Her limbs felt as though the blood pumping through her veins had been replaced with lead. And she could not tear her gaze away from the lake.

The wind strengthened, ruffling the water into waves. As she watched, a disturbance grew at the edge of the lake: the wind seemed almost to be forcing the water into a spiral, carving out a depression in the lake’s surface.

The water started to spin, faster and faster, filling the air with flying spray, forcing Merry to fling her arms over her face until –

– until Jack leapt gracefully on to the shore, the vortex behind him collapsing instantly back into the lake.

The wind whipped Jack’s hair away from his face. His cloak billowed out, and Merry saw a sword belt slung low around his hips, the jewelled surface catching and reflecting the moonlight. For a moment he stood, scanning the landscape in front of him. Then he turned away from Merry and began walking in the direction of the town.

Merry gasped as whatever had been pinning her in place – terror, or magic – vanished.

‘Damn—’

She dropped her phone and fumbled for the parchment. There was a new line of writing, an instruction.

The monster is intent on sin. Name his name to draw him in.

There was a single sentence underneath:

Ætstand, heortena cyning

Was she supposed to translate it? Right now?

‘Seriously?’ Merry yelled at the manuscript. But Jack was getting further away. Merry swore again, and ran after him. ‘Hey, you! Jack!’

There was no response.

‘OK. Um … eye-t-stenday … sinning – or maybe kinning, – hay-or-tan …’

Jack stopped walking, turned around and stared at her.

‘Er …’

He started moving towards her. Merry backed away, holding one hand out in front of her, fingers spread wide. There was a shielding spell she’d learnt ages ago – had used successfully a couple of times – but as she chanted the words under her breath, over and over, nothing seemed to be happening –

Oh, God – where’s an insane burst of magic when I need it?

She heard Leo screaming at her to run, but that would mean turning her back on Jack, not knowing whether he was about to catch her. Better to keep walking backwards, faster and faster, hoping not to stumble, not to fall.

Jack grinned, and drew his sword. The blade was snapped off about a third of the way down. The broken edge was jagged and uneven.

But probably still sharp enough to kill me.

Merry had always thought of herself as strong. Tough, even, given all her sporting activities. But the shock of the King of Hearts’ appearance, of the brutality and bloodlust written so clearly across his beautiful face, made her feel weak and exposed, like she might just shatter at his slightest touch –

‘Leo – help!’

Leo was pounding towards her across the grass, but he was going to be too late, she knew he was going to be too late –

The ground dipped, twisting her ankle, throwing her sprawling on to the grass.

Jack stood above her, silhouetted against the stars.

He raised the blade above his head –