Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
H er heart in her mouth, Esme stood completely still. She didn’t know if the figure could see her, but as she was close to the rocks and down on the beach, with no light directly behind her, she thought there was a good chance that the other person could only see dark shadows from where they were standing.
The figure was moving along the promontory and then it disappeared. They must have moved below on the other side or around the headland. Who the hell was out at this time of night? Of course, she was, Esme admitted. But she was the Ward Witch. And this was her island.
Esme ignored the route up the rocks at the back of the bay. She would need to use her torch to navigate them safely, and the path was close enough. Once she had skirted the promontory from behind, she might be able to see where the figure had headed and follow.
As she took the path, another thought crossed her mind. The figure could be doubling back and be about to walk into her. Or they might be waiting on the promontory, crouched behind one of the large boulders and ready to leap out and attack.
Breathing in cold air through her nose, Esme straightened her shoulders and rubbed her sternum firmly. She was not going to give into fear. The old Esme would have run by now. The old Esme would be overwhelmed with anxiety, hyperventilating through a panic attack. This was her home. And, besides, the figure had been small and, Esme thought, female.
Stepping as softly as possible, Esme made her way along the path. After a few minutes, the path curved around and she saw a light up ahead. Whoever she had seen was walking along the path toward the castle and they had switched on a torch.
At the castle ruins, the breeze picked up. The cold air sliced Esme’s cheeks and she was glad of her thick coat and layers of clothes. The breeze carried more than cold. The smell of wood smoke set Esme’s heart racing. Whoever was out in the middle of the night had now set a fire in the ruins of the castle. This was more than a mere midnight stroll, the action of an insomniac. This was intent.
Esme crept toward the low wall of the castle. She could see the glow of firelight, bright in the winter darkness, and hear the crackle of burning sticks. Who was setting a fire at the castle ward in the middle of the night? Who would dare?
She felt her heart hammering but, for once, it was anger and not fear. Or not just fear. So that was a step forward. Holding her breath, Esme listened and then heard a low singing voice. Female. It wasn’t Fiona or Seren or Bee. Before her brain had finished working it out, the singing stopped and a loud clear voice said: ‘It’s warmer closer to the fire.’ A pause. ‘Come on, Esme. I won’t bite.’
Straightening up, Esme saw Kate Foster crouched by a circle of stones. She fed a stick to the small fire contained within the circle and looked up as Esme approached. The fire was properly contained and they were within stone ruins, but still she felt a sense of outrage. What was this woman doing setting a fire here? And, with her stomach dropping, she asked herself why she hadn’t done it before herself? With the firelight leaping up the ruined walls, illuminating the worn and broken edges, the castle seemed to be more alive than before. Esme felt the island approve.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Kate said. Her voice carried clearly in the still night.
‘What are you doing?’ Esme’s voice felt rusty in her mouth.
‘Paying homage to this old place. You can feel its spirit, can’t you?’
‘Who are you?’
Kate cocked her head to one side as if giving the question serious consideration. After a moment, she turned back to the fire. ‘You know my name.’
Esme looked at the scrubby ground between the ruined walls. There were a few low flat stones, maybe the remains of another inner wall, that would have been perfect to sit on. The flames danced in the darkness, illuminating Kate Foster’s face as she fed another, larger stick to the fire. ‘I read a book once, it was ever so interesting,’ Kate said conversationally. ‘There are ancient lines of power criss-crossing all over the land. You can find them if you know how to look. It’s like divining water.’
‘That sounds like an unusual book,’ Esme said.
Kate didn’t look away from the fire. She fed it another piece of wood. ‘Please. Someone has been doing a ritual around here. Maybe for protection, something like that. I’m guessing it’s not the barmaid.’ She shot a look at Esme.
Esme didn’t answer and she hoped that her expression was neutral. She waited until Kate was satisfied and had moved back from the fire, taking a seat on a stone. Esme had always been good at waiting. She wasn’t sure, in this moment, what she was waiting for exactly. But she felt as if she couldn’t walk away.
‘Are you going to sit?’ Kate smiled up at Esme, white teeth flashing in the light from the fire. ‘I didn’t bring marshmallows, I’m afraid. I didn’t know I was going to have company. I do have this, though.’ She produced a silver flask from her coat pocket and tilted it invitingly.
Esme felt as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff. Or in the space between two worlds. On one side, she had happened upon her eccentric new neighbour enjoying a midnight ramble, and on the other she could see a beautiful and powerful woman, blood pumping beneath her skin while she conjured fire, warming the ancient bones in the castle ward. Waking something up.
She told herself that she was imagining the feeling that something was stirring beneath her feet. And the creeping sensation across her skin was just the cool night air. The other voice, which sounded very much like Bee, told her sharply to look out. To mind her instincts. To trust her intuition. Normal folk had gut feelings, instincts they used for self-preservation and to avert catastrophe. Witches had gut and head and heart feelings, all working together with the extra sight that was there for the using if only she had the wit to do so. That was Bee, again. Her voice was insistent and Esme knew it was important she listen.
The two sides of her vision opened and, for a single instant, Esme saw something else sitting by the fire in place of Kate Foster. Instead of a woman with long, lustrous hair and smooth young skin, she saw a wrinkled creature. Small, hunched and with skin the colour of ash. Unnaturally large eyes gazed up, a skinny arm that was more bone than flesh, reaching out and holding the silver flask in offering. Another instant and the image was gone. Kate Foster was back. A beautiful woman clothed in cashmere and leather.
Esme swallowed very carefully and shook her head. ‘Not for me.’
The woman shrugged and unscrewed the lid, taking a long swallow. Esme watched the muscles of Kate’s throat move and tried not to show that her own skin was crawling. She was registering her base terror, but it felt disconnected. Her mind was working clearly and it was instructing her in very certain tones that she needed to make sure the creature that was Kate Foster had no idea that she had just seen her true shape. That if she suspected, she would kill her. ‘You’re out late,’ she heard herself say. Her voice was normal. A little too normal for a woman finding another making a fire in the middle of the night. She added a little self-conscious laugh. ‘I thought I was the only lunatic around here. I like walking at night, but Fiona and Seren think I’m mad.’ Invoking their names felt protective, somehow. As if just by saying them they might appear.
A split second and then Kate smiled warmly. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’ She glanced around. ‘They don’t know what they’re missing. It’s so peaceful at night.’
Peaceful was another word for deserted.
‘I won’t gate crash,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘And I’ve got to be up early, anyway.’ She placed a foot behind her. A single step that unlocked her limbs. She wanted to turn and flee. Every instinct was screaming at her to run, while her brain told her that she had to appear calm. Unconcerned. That she couldn’t let the creature know she was scared.
‘Fair enough,’ Kate Foster said. She held Esme’s gaze for a few more seconds and Esme felt herself being assessed.
Then, thankfully, Kate turned back to the fire. ‘Watch your step.’
‘Sorry?’
Another quick smile. ‘On the path. You should use a torch.’
‘Right. Yes.’ Esme turned and fled.
Esme didn’t know if Luke was back from his solo trip to the mainland, but she wasn’t going to ask him for help with this. He might think she was being jealous. He might already have feelings for Kate Foster that would cloud his judgement. There was only one person she knew would be on her side without question.
She knocked lightly on the door of the boathouse. She couldn’t hear any movement inside and had raised her hand to knock again when the door flew open. Hammer was towering over her in an instant, a snarl on his face.
She let out an involuntary squeak and took a step back.
‘Shit, sorry.’ Hammer’s face instantly softened. ‘What’s wrong?’
Esme realised he was mostly naked and that he had a hammer in one hand.
He looked down and seemed to realise that he was wearing jersey shorts. A split second later, he casually dropped his weapon. It hit the floor with a dull thunk.
Hammer’s body was solid with muscle, and his skin was a patchwork of scars. The moonlight caught the silvery tracing and Esme forced herself not to stare.
His expression had gone stony. ‘What did he do? I’ll fucking kill him.’
‘It’s not Luke.’
Esme wasn’t sure if he would believe her instinct. Or, more accurately, whether he would take her instinct as enough of a reason to go tramping about in the darkness, but Hammer was pulling clothes on before she had even finished explaining.
‘I just want to make sure the fire is properly out,’ she said. It sounded silly out loud. There was nothing for the fire to catch in the middle of the ruin. And it was winter. The rain would no doubt smother it.
‘We should see what else she had done,’ Hammer said.
Esme felt the relief that he was listening to her, taking her seriously. Then she chided herself. When had Hammer ever done anything else? She had to stop expecting people to act in the way that Ryan had. He was long gone. And she had friends, now.
Hammer put on a head torch and handed another to Esme.
She could see the sense in keeping her hands free, so she tightened the band and pulled it over her head.
Hammer was quiet as they picked their way over the sand toward the coastal path. She wondered if he was embarrassed by her seeing his body. Or whether he felt exposed by his fast reactions. He had been her friend since the moment she had arrived on the island, but there was a reserve about him. Hammer was a private man, and she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you like this,’ she said, keeping her voice low.
He held out a hand and took her arm. ‘Watch. There’s a hole.’
After steering her around the trip hazard, he lapsed back into silence.
The walls of the castle stood out deepest black against the purplish-blue of the night sky.
Hammer’s footsteps were so quiet that Esme couldn’t imagine anything hearing him. She felt like a clumsy toddler next to him.
When they got close to the castle, Esme slowed down. Hammer widened the gap between them as he kept moving at the same quiet, deceptively swift pace. Watching him was like seeing a predator in the wild, and she felt a wave of gratitude that he was on her side.
The moon moved from behind a cloud and illuminated the ruins just as Esme joined Hammer. He had traversed the west side of the ruin, approaching it where the wall was highest and using the intact window to check the inside. Keeping to the edge of the opening, with one arm reaching out to hold Esme in place, he scanned the inside for a long moment. Esme saw some of the tension leave his body and then he turned and shook his head at her. She didn’t speak, not wanting to do the wrong thing.
He moved his head and took another, longer look, before moving quietly to the side. He leaned in very close and whispered into her ear. ‘Stay.’
Watching Hammer creep around the ruined wall and into the place she had seen Kate Foster ought to have been mildly comical. He was such a big man it should have been impossible, but in the moonlit darkness with his soft tread and the way he moved along the wall, so close as to be almost a part of it, meant he seemed to blend into the shadows. She wondered where he had learned to stalk like that. And shivered.
Hammer disappeared from view and, after a minute or so, just when she was starting to wonder if she ought to follow, he reappeared. ‘She’s gone,’ he said quietly. ‘We should head back.’
He didn’t want her to look inside the castle. The realisation hit Esme with the weight of certainty. He was already moving away down the path, expecting her to follow. She didn’t move. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘We should head back. It’s freezing.’
Before he’d even finished not answering her question, Esme had stepped around the broken wall of the castle.
She saw instantly why Hammer hadn’t wanted her to look. There was white paint daubed on a stretch of intact castle wall and the sheer vandalism of it took Esme’s breath away. How dare she? The stones of the castle were not the most ancient part of the island, but they had stood in place since the Middle Ages and they ought to be shown respect.
It was a rough circle with symbols that Esme didn’t recognise drawn at four places, like compass points. She stepped closer in order to examine it, the familiar feelings of inadequacy and frustration rising up. She didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but it definitely looked like part of a ritual of some kind. Which begged the question: what was the ritual supposed to do?
Hammer had joined her and was picking at the paint with a fingernail. ‘I can clean this up, easy.’
‘I’ll know it was here,’ Esme said miserably. The mix of anger and sadness was swirling in her stomach, and she didn’t know which was going to win. She was the Ward Witch. If anyone ought to be doing arcane rituals, it was her.