Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

6

The Pendle folk went first in groups of three.

Granny Demdike was dead, but her fear driven confessions still hounded the poor women of the parish. Pages telling of fantastic spirits that visited in the shape of a boy, and then a dog, and then a cat. Those stupid clay poppets that she used to sell for her bread. Everyone knew that they were good luck charms.

When that bastard Roger Nowell was finished they were sinister talismans with the power to castrate, the tools of those man-hating whores, the witches of Pendle Hill.

All the while, that unnatural girl, Demdike's own kin, watched and smiled.

He came to tell me every night in my cell, the man who had saved me. Showing me what he had done for me when all those I loved were scorned and found guilty.

I hated myself.

I hated him, Thomas Potts, Clerk of Assize.

The morning slowly filtered into my consciousness, dejection weighing heavy in my soul. My apartment had been trashed, but it was more than that.

I'd been dreaming again.

Like always, the details fled as soon as I woke, leaving only a hazy sense of disjointed time and people; familiar but always out of reach.

I tried to put it out of my mind, but the emotions remained. A deep sense of loss had settled over me during the night. Distrust mingled with it, making me suspicious of the speed with which my new neighbours had embroiled themselves in my life.

And Emily. The blond woman from the trading estate. The woman with a gun. Something was going on, and I was the only one in the dark.

Sun streamed into the room through a gap in the curtains encouraging me to change all that, now, when the silence told me that I was alone in the apartment

I snuggled deep into the comforter anyway, making the most of the warm security it offered, knowing that this moment was probably the highlight of the grim day.

But however much I wanted to hide away, the chance to find answers was too much to resist. This might be my only opportunity to get them.

After I had folded up the camp bed, it was clear that Emily had very few possessions. She obviously went for the sleek minimalist look.

The varnished floor boards throughout the apartment were bare. An awkward looking designer chair, a small glass coffee table and a bookcase made up the sparse furniture. It was modern and expensive looking, but it was hardly sufficient for one person to live comfortably.

There was only one place to start. At the bookcase I expected to see textbooks. Something to confirm her position at the University that Evan had told me about last night.

Wrong.

Martial arts, swords and a firearms catalogue were her books of choice. Somehow I didn't think she was studying modern warfare.

Emily's bedroom was next. I paused.

This was a terrible way to repay her hospitality. I was still wearing her cute onesie, for God's sake. But her appearance at that unit and then moving in to the priory on the same day?

I didn't believe in coincidences.

The bed was unmade and the wardrobe door hung open. She had just a couple of identical outfits of skinny jeans and t-shirts. Unease trickled through me. This apartment was not a home, but a temporary camp.

My heart leapt into my mouth when the front door clicked open.

Crap, she was back.

I slammed my back against the wall behind the bedroom door, holding my breath. Footsteps sounded through the front room, stopping with the shuffling noise of my duvet being picked up from the floor.

"Emily?" A man's voice called out.

I let the breath out in a gust. It was only Evan.

Scurrying out of the bedroom, I stopped. One arm leaning against the doorframe, I slapped what I hoped was a casual expression on my face.

Evan's eyes crinkled up as he took in my outfit.

Oh yeah. The onesie.

"It's not mine, ok."

"Whatever you say," he laughed, "look, I thought you might need a hand this morning."

"Thanks, yeah, that'd be great," I said, starting for the door.

"Erm, don't you want to get dressed first?"

"Kind of homeless and without possessions here."

A bundle of clothes missed my head by a fraction.

"Hey!"

I scooped up the soft grey henley shirt, sweatpants and warm socks, heat rushing to my face as I realised that Evan had brought me his own clothes to wear.

Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I was surprised how normal I looked. Just a bit of a shadow under my grey-blue eyes; nothing to indicate what had happened to me over the last twenty-four hours. I ran my fingers through my tangled chestnut curls trying to bring them into some order. I failed as usual.

Giving up, I found Evan looking at Emily's bookcase, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed. His face smoothed to a look of deep satisfaction when he saw me.

"Suits you," he said, voice a low rumble.

The breath caught in my throat at his tone. Pushing past him, I tried to ignore the heat that shot through me when our hands touched.

"Better get started," I blurted out, as Evan watched me fluster, a wide smile making him even cuter than usual.

The door to my apartment was slightly ajar, as it had been last night. Fortifying myself to face the destruction, I took a deep breath.

The apartment was not in the complete state of disarray that I had thought. Shock had distorted my memory, making me imagine that all my belongings had been ravaged beyond repair.

In fact, it looked like somebody had already been over the place, setting things to rights. Granted, I had been kind of out of it last night, but I had definitely not imagined the books that had been strewn all over the floor.

They were now all piled up in stacks, neatly placed at the bottom of the bookshelves ready to be shelved. My book cases had been set back up against the walls. When I inspected the stacks of books, I found they were grouped in alphabetical order.

A mirthless snort erupted out of my nose, they'd never been arranged so carefully before.

It did make it easier to see that a few of my most treasured volumes were missing. The ones that I'd painstakingly collected from second-hand book stores, and spent hours trawling Ebay and Amazon for. To lose the chance to decide for myself if anything could be salvaged was heart-breaking.

It wasn't just the books. All my furniture had been repositioned. The ripped chair cushions were placed near the door, ready to be taken out for repair.

I'd expected to spend the morning ensconced within the shattered remnants of my life, but somebody had beaten me to it.

As I moved towards the bedroom familiar apprehension crept into my mind, banishing my short-lived optimism, and making all my previous concerns seem frivolous.

There was only one reason I could think that made my apartment a target. I didn't have expensive belongings that could be spotted from the street outside. In fact, I only possessed one thing that held anything other than sentimental value.

The silver tree.

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