How I Found You (18 page)

“No, I didn’t,” Caicus objected. “I merely called to update you on our progress.”

“And sell me out,” Oscar griped.

“No!” Caicus cried. “But… I’m worried about you, Oscar. You’re acting…”

All three of them looked at me, as though they’d just remembered I was in the room.

“You did the right thing,” Marco told Caicus. “There is no shame in requiring assistance. We recognised a cry for help; we had anticipated as much.”

Oscar gave him the finger.

“Now, now,” Marco scolded him, “I am your brother. And I’m here to help you. You certainly need my help.”

“The coven may not have chosen me for this task,” Oscar acknowledged, “but the prophecy did. This is my mission, not yours.”

Marco’s air was indifferent. “Yes, you have visions. But that does not deem you able. The coven has lost faith in you. Even your cohort has lost faith in you.”

“Hey!” Caicus protested. “I haven’t lost faith in him.”

Oscar tusked loudly. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, back-stabber.”

Caicus clutched his heart. “I would never stab your back. All of my stabbing is done upfront.”

Huh?
These boys were eccentric, to say the least.

I raised my hand. “Excuse me.”

They all stared at me.

“What’s going on here? Why have you lost faith in Oscar?” Something told me I was way out of my depth.

Oscar knotted his fingers through his hair. “Forget them, Rose,” he replied tautly. “Their faith means nothing to me. I’ll do what I have to do.”

Now it was Marco and Caicus who exchanged a private look.

I gripped Oscar’s sleeve as he abruptly steered me out of the kitchen.

“We can still stop Lathiaus, can’t we?” I whispered.

He answered with a reassuring smile, but I could tell that on the inside he was falling to pieces.

Something Old, Something New, Something Broken in Two

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

I groaned and pulled the bedcovers up over my head.

“Happy Birthday!” Oscar sang out again. He peeled back the covers and grinned broadly at me.

I squinted, adjusting to the sudden influx of daylight. A few seconds ago I had been deep in slumberland.

“Are you having a nice day?” he asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” I garbled.

“Oh. Never mind, then. What would you like to do today?”

“Sleep.” I wriggled further under the covers.

He shook me. “No more sleeping. Eight hours is enough.”

“Eight hours?” I peered up at him quizzically. “That’s the most I’ve slept in weeks.”

Oscar’s eyes glowed like hot embers and his dark hair fell tousled around his brow. “Happy Birthday,” he said again, winking.

I yawned and kicked off the bedding.

“That’s more like it!” Oscar applauded. “Shall we go downstairs? They’re all waiting for you.”

Okay, my tatty, purple-checked pyjamas were hardly the most glamorous birthday ensemble, but they’d have to do for now. I rolled out of bed, moving at a comfortably sluggish pace. Well, until Oscar intervened, jostling me out of my room and practically frog-marching me downstairs.

We swept into the kitchen and Oscar presented me to Mary, Roger and Zack, who were seated around the breakfast table.

Roger and Mary cheered.

“Happy Birthday!” Mary hooted.

“Happy Birthday!” Roger clapped his hands as though I’d achieved something momentous.

I grinned. “Thanks. You’re not at work, Uncle Roger?”

“I told them I’d be late this morning. It is a special day, after all.”

“Open your presents,” Mary insisted, sliding three gold-wrapped boxed across the breakfast bar.

I took a seat on one of the stools. “You didn’t have to get me presents.”

“Of course we did,” Mary gushed. “It’s your birthday!”

I stacked my gifts in a neat pile and tackled them one by one. Four pairs of eager eyes watched me on tenterhooks.

The first box I opened contained a pack of bath salts, all shaped like mini cupcakes—very cute. Next I unwrapped a book.

“
Double Jeopardy
,” I read the title aloud.

Mary nodded her head enthusiastically. “It’s a thriller,” she informed me. “I’ve never read it, but I think the idea is that if a man’s been convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, then in theory, if he ever
did
commit the crime in future, he’s already served his time for it. Is that right, Roger?”

Roger leaned over to see the book cover. “Hmm. Could be. I believe that ‘double jeopardy’
is the term used for the second prosecution of the same crime. I don’t know about all that ‘getting away with it’
business, though.”

“It’s only fiction, Roger.” Mary waved her hand to hush him.

“Looks good,” I said, placing the book down on the table. “Thanks. I’m in need of a new book. I’ve already read all of yours.”

Mary chortled warmly. “Now this one,” she urged, nudging the final gold present.

I tore the wrapper off and opened up the dainty jewellery box.

It was a brooch.

“It’s a poppy,” I murmured, lifting it to the light. Under normal circumstances, I probably wouldn’t have been overly keen on a brooch. But today I absolutely adored it. I knew instantly that it had been bought for me out of love. I saw the influences that had each played a part: my aunt and Oscar. I knew they’d chosen it together.

They looked at me, nervously, trying to measure my reaction.

Mary cleared her throat. “If you don’t like it, we can take it back to the shop—”

“No,” I stopped her. “No. I love it.” I hopped off my stool and hugged her. Then I hugged Roger and baby Zack. And lastly, Oscar.

His arms linked around me.

“Good choice,” I whispered into his ear.

“I never make a bad one,” he whispered back.

I returned to my stool, temporarily pinning the brooch onto my pyjama top.

After the customary present giving, Roger left for work and Mary produced a tray of freshly baked breakfast muffins.

Halfway through my second one, the phone rang.

Mary picked up the cordless receiver and held it to her ear. “Hello? Mary Clements speaking.”

There was a pause and then her face lit up. “Hello, David! How’s Africa?”

I dropped the muffin onto the tabletop.

Dad.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Mary gushed into the phone. “I’ll pass you over to Rose. Take care, dear.”

She handed me the phone.

“Hi!” I exclaimed. I was rather excitable—after all, this was the first time I’d heard from my parents since they’d left for their trip a month ago.

“Hello, Rose,” my father’s voice came through faintly on the poor telephone line. “Happy Birthday!”

“You remembered.”

“Of course we remembered.” He seemed a little disgruntled by my comment. “How are things in Millwood?”

“Great!” I replied.

“Really?” He sounded shocked.

Actually, even I was a little shocked by my over-zealous response. It was odd, but despite the drama and catastrophic bombshells, this had still been the best summer of my life.

“Really,” I assured him.

The telephone line crackled, and his words began to break.

“That’s… other… Africa… but we… again?”

I wrinkled my nose. “What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“Oh, that’s… Must… bad connection. Here’s your mother to speak to you.” He moved away from the mouth piece, but I heard him call to my mother, “Adele, Rose is on the phone.”

Then her eloquent voice drifted into my ear.

“Hello, Rose. Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks. How are you? How’s Africa?”

“Terrific,” she stated. “We’ve got some excellent shots… work with such wonderful… once in a… experience.”

“The connection is really bad.” I jammed the phone closer to my ear.

“Oh dear. We’ll have to call again… better line.”

“When will you be home?” I asked. The plan had been for them to stay in Africa until the end of August, which was only two weeks away. That meant I’d be seeing them in fourteen days—assuming I survived the night, of course.

“We’ve been commissioned… stay out here… longer than planned.”

“How much longer?” It was hard to disguise the sudden frostiness in my tone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mary and Oscar busy themselves clearing the table, pretending not to listen to my conversation.

“Six months,” my mother replied.

My heart sank. “Six months?”

“Hopefully we’ll… after Christmas.”

“You won’t be back for Christmas?” I spluttered.

“I’m afraid… for Christmas... but… in the new year.”

I sighed. I supposed I should have seen that coming. I’d heard this story one too many times. Even if they had been back for Christmas, they’d swan off somewhere else again within a few months.

“Okay,” I muttered, resigned. “If you have to…”

“Remember, Rose, this is how we’re able… afford… send you to such wonderful schools.”

I pulled a face. I couldn’t care less about the wonderful schools.

“So, what about you… have any news?”

News. Now there was a question.

Tonight a demon will rise, and there’s a pretty good chance that I’ll die at his hand. Oh, and I got a new brooch.

“No news,” I said.

“Oh. Have you made… friends?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” My mother seemed astounded by this revelation. She’d probably have had an easier time believing me if I’d told her the demon thing. “What’s her name?”

“Oscar.”

“Oh.” There was friction in her voice now. “And where did you meet Oscar?”

Well, he put a spell on my aunt and uncle to trick them into letting him stay at the manor so that he could stop a prophecy that foretells the end of all witches. And me.

“Millwood,” I answered.

“Is he a nice boy?”

Hard to say. He’s a deadly witch.

“Yes.”

She clucked disapprovingly. “I shouldn’t… remind you that your focus… on school… at this stage… life.”

“Okay.”

“Not to mention… boys should not… with school… throw it all down the drain… we’ve worked so hard to… plenty of time for boys… older… Do you understand?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call again.”

“Okay.”

“Send my love to Roger and Mary.”

“I will. And Zack,” I added.

“What? Who?”

“Your only nephew.”

“Oh, yes, of course. The little one.”

“Bye,” I said into the cold, plastic phone.

“Bye…”

And the line went dead.

I SLOUCHED IN A SALMON
pink armchair in the conservatory, pensively watching the rain pour down outside. The drops fell like bullets, pattering on the evergreens and slowly turning the garden into boggy, waterlogged slush.

Oscar perched on the edge of the coffee table, twitching restlessly.

“You’re upset, aren’t you?” he said. I could tell he’d wanted to ask that for a while.

“Nope.”

“About your parents?” he deduced.

I shrugged.

He pressed his knuckles together. “Because they’re not coming back?”

“It’s not the end of the world.”

We exchanged a momentarily troubled look, unsettled by my wording.

I sighed and returned my gaze to the garden. The sky churned with a brewing storm. Bulging grey rain clouds hovered over the estate like enemy aircraft.

“Why am I what I am?” I asked distantly.

Oscar scratched his head. “Can you elaborate?”

“Why do I have a witch’s heart? And what have I got to do with Lathiaus?”

“I don’t know.”

I was sick of hearing that. “Does anyone know?”

“I don’t know,” he answered again.

“But there must be a way of finding out. Someone
must know.”

Oscar stared down at his hands. “Well…”

“Well?” I prompted.

“There are ways…” he trailed off.

I sat up straighter in my seat. “Ways for you to find out?”

“Ways for
you
to find out,” he amended.

My breath caught. “How?”

Oscar glanced to the closed conservatory door. We were alone.

“There is a spell,” he confessed.

I regarded him carefully, watching his gaze as it darted between me and the door. “What kind of spell?”

“I… I think there’s a Retracing spell.”

“Retracing spell?” I echoed. 

Weird. I was chatting about spells now. Very weird.

“It’s like regression,” he explained. “It shows you your roots. How it all began, that type of thing.”

“Sounds good,” I mused.

Oscar rubbed his hand over his face. “No. Not necessarily. I’ve never done it before, and it’s heavy magic. Besides, I’m not sure how safe it would be for a human.”

I pretended not to hear that last part.

“Could we try?”

“I don’t do magic unless I’m sure of its consequences,” he flatly rejected the idea.

“But, people—
witches
—have done it before?” I argued. “Isn’t it worth a try if it means the chance of piecing together the puzzle?”

“Witches have done it before, yes. But I haven’t. I don’t know what it entails…” He winced. “I don’t know why I mentioned it in the first place.”