Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

21

          
"Alice, wake up."

The crack of Anne's hand on my cheek told me she was losing patience. The pain that should have accompanied it was dwarfed by the burning sensation in the centre of my forehead. Rubbing my hand across the spot didn't ease the throbbing hurt. I massaged my eyes instead, and then tried to focus on the agitated woman before me.

"What the hell, Anne? Who was that woman?"

My voice came out muted and distant, my brain full of cotton wool. Anne's eyes narrowed, her pale face pinched and worn looking.

"What woman?"

"That pregnant girl, you know, tall, brown hair. Looking exactly like me."

"Exactly like you? Alice, for Christ's sake, what happened back there? Your eyes, they shone silver!"

"What? Look, you need to tell me what you know. Why the hell is this house showing me visions of my doppelgänger? This is not the freaking Vampire Diaries."

"Visions?" Anne looked confused. "That's never happened before. I knew there was something different about you. More intense. What else can you do?"

We were getting off track. I wasn't the one who should be answering questions here. I needed to know if I could trust Anne, and what she was capable of. Then, we'd talk about the visions.

"You're going to have to go back a few steps. First, I need to know how you subdued Stephen and Thomas."

"Oh that. It runs in our family. I'll bet you can do it too, with a little practice." Anne waved the subject away with her hand, dismissing her power, as though it were a common attribute, like a gift for baking or the piano.

"Back up Anne. Do what exactly?" I asked, feeling as though I was missing something obvious.

Anne's features smoothed out, a dimple puckering her round cheek. She rolled her eyes and blew out an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh, come on Alice. You can't tell me that you've never swayed somebody to your way of thinking, and then wondered why it had been so easy. You can't be so naive as to think that your killer looks and sparkling wit have paved the way in your life so far. Look at the men who are following you around. Is it an accident that two guys with model looks are interested in you?"

"I don't think that I've ever convinced anybody to act in my favour. My life has not been full of people saying yes," I said, stiffly.

"Oh, chill out, I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought it was strange that you hadn't questioned all this delicious male attention that you're getting."

"Take it from me, it's not something that I'm used to," I replied, my anger fizzling out before it really had time to take hold. "And you can hardly consider Stephen's attention to be genuine."

"Do you not see the way that guy looks at you?" Anne said, with raised eyebrows. "I know you don't want to hear this, but he's desperate to claim you in some way."

"Yeah right."

I thought back to the pain that consumed me when Stephen left me after four years with no explanation. That was nothing compared to the anguish that descended when Emily informed me that the entire relationship had been a ruse. The only reason that Stephen wanted me was so that he could cash his paycheque.

I waited for the humiliation to hit. Nothing happened. Digging a little deeper, I tried to grasp hold of the pain and anger. My emotions wouldn't rise to the bait. A suspicion began to bubble in my gut, but even that seemed mild and distant.

The house. And that woman. They'd taken something from me.

I couldn't make myself care. I mean, were those debilitating emotions really such a loss? Not getting stuck in that cycle of self-loathing was liberating. It meant that I could focus on what really mattered: what the hell kind of hocus pocus was going on here.

A little wriggling worm of worry dug around somewhere in the back of my mind telling me that something wasn't right about this, but it seemed so insignificant in light of the evening's events that I squashed it under my metaphorical boot.

"Ok, lay it on me. What is this wonderful power that I have supposedly been unconsciously using my entire life?"

"You've got to take this seriously, Alice," Anne's sober tone was contradicted by the quirk of her mouth, which threatened a breakout of those rebellious dimples.

Ill-equipped to impart such life-changing information, Anne floundered, eyes drifting round the room, searching for inspiration. She was about as out of her element with being a mentor as I was as her student. God only knew how the two of us were going to muddle through.

"Did your mother talk to you about where her family originated?" Anne began, a smile erupting now that she'd found a way in.

"Yeah, she said that we came from Lancashire, a place called Pendle. But that was generations ago."

"And have you ever heard anything of the history of Pendle?" Anne asked, avoiding looking me in the eye.

"Well, I've read the novel by Ainsworth, The Lancashire Witches...Oh!"

Looks like Alice is finally about to get some answers. ⭐️ if you want to hear them too!