Burn

CHAPTER 3

Saturday morning found Carter and Margo on Velma's doorstop.

At least, Carter hoped it was her doorstep. They'd driven around for a while struggling to find the address; now as they rang the bell a second time, Carter just hoped a complete stranger wasn't about to witness a black-clad girl in spiky doc-martens and a scruffy-haired boy bearing a casserole dish lingering on their doorstep.

"I'll admit I'm still not sure why your brought that thing," Margo said, eyeing the dish. It was floral and draped in a checkered tea-towel. "This isn't exactly a social visit."

Carter merely shrugged. "It's polite."

The door opened with a sudden squeal, startling both into an anxious silence.

There, standing in the dimly lit doorway, was a incredibly tall woman with bright purple hair and a constellation of freckles dotting her bare shoulders. She looked older, about 40 perhaps, and wore copious amounts of eyeliner. A collection of skulls and pentagrams danged from her ears and on chains around her neck.

She was the most stereotypically witchy person Carter had ever seen, and the scent of incense wafted from her in poignant waves.

The woman ran an appraising eye over them, and Carter at once felt stripped bare, as though she could see into his soul. When she spoke it was crisp and crackling, like dried leaves crunching underfoot. "So I take it you're those friends Velma's been talking about?"

Carter and Margo exchanged surprised looks.

"Not exactly," Carter hedged.

The woman quirked an unimpressed brow. "So you're what? Her enemies?"

After they'd stared at her for several long moments, Carter spluttered weakly, "I brought a casserole."

He lifted the dish into the air, then froze as the woman leaned forward and stared intently at its cloth-covered shape.

Finally, she withdrew back into the doorway. "Very well. Follow me."

Carter exchanged a nervous glance with Margo, then began to follow at a slower, tentative pace.

As they entered the hallway, Margo nudged him and murmured, "I take back what I said. Casseroles rock."

Despite his nerves, Carter grinned.

Behind them, the front door gave a sudden THUD as it slammed shut behind them.

Carter and Margo jumped.

"Oh, don't worry about that," the woman called up ahead, waving a dismissive hand over her broad shoulder. "It'll do that sometimes."

The rest of the house, from what Carter could see, was as dim as the hallway. Every window was obscured by thick curtains, blocking even the smallest fragment of light from the rooms. Instead, candles were aflame upon every available surface, choked with wax at their bases.

Occasionally they'd flicker, which, given the lack of wind, frightened Carter more than he wanted to admit.

"You can just leave that there," the woman said suddenly, gesturing to a nearby counter.

Carter, squinting, realised they'd entered the kitchen, which was open plan and faced the living room. The cupboards and drawers were wood, and brick-a-brack (clumps of herbs, incense, books, more candles) cluttered the space.

It was just as hard to see in here, and Carter nearly dropped the dish as he was placing it when the woman began to shout into the gloom.