“Oh, Ellis, thank you. That head witchness really comes in handy sometimes, doesn’t it!”
I nod, and she busies herself with Fletcher’s leg. He cries out when she touches his leg, and I take his hand. I don’t look at his leg or his mother stitching him up, while muttering some magical chanting, but I look at his face, his skin, his eyes bunched tight in pain.
Poor thing.
He’s squeezing my hand to bits, though, so I think he’ll live!
“Nearly done,” his mum says, sounding much more cheerful. “I think we should see Ember then; Ellis will pinpoint where she is. I’ve left a message telling what happened when we went back in time, how Ellis figured everything out with Sadie, and how we can undo the original magic without everybody dying...”
I tune out, she’s waffling a bit, bless her. Plus, I don’t enjoy hearing how impressed she is with what I did, when it isn’t actually what I did. I feel bad, but in fairness what sort of choice is that to give anybody? Sadie really was a witch. Do you want to be responsible for everybody dying except a bunch of true-hearted – nasty, crazy, evil and as batty as she is – witches or would you rather die yourself? Um, maybe secret answer three – neither!
Stupid woman. But then how stupid was I agreeing to it? I must have had a bump on the head when we landed, or something.
I am not a good, kind, selfless person, I’ve been down this road before.
When my best friend got ill, I felt sick that I had wished it on her or cursed her somehow, because I had sometimes wondered if I’d be the centre of attention without her, the popular one, the pretty one, the one everybody wanted to talk to. I know I didn’t curse her, but do I weirdly need to atone, by choosing to sacrifice myself for the rest of the world?
Maybe, but I’m still hoping my super handsome, clever witchy boyfriend can figure something out that gets me to secret option three.
Really hoping.
If he ever stops moaning and groaning with this pain in his leg. His mum is wiping her hands on the front of her apron, looking pleased with herself. His leg looks better, neatly stitched, and clean, but Fletcher is white.
“I’m gonn-”
Whoa – I step out of the way, just in time, of the wave of sick that comes my way.
His mum – brave – steps closer to him. “He’s not right.”
You can say that again. Definitely not the most romantic thing I’ve ever faced.
“Ellis, pass me the cloth.”
I pass her the flannel I was pressing to his forehead to cool him down and watch her mop his brow. He’s clammy and so pale he almost looks translucent. I panic and his mum can see it on my face.
“He’ll be fine – I think he just lost a little more blood than I first thought.”
“Does he need to go to hospital?”
“Oh, lovely, how would I explain a wolf bite to them?”
I shrug. I have no idea, but if he needs a blood transfusion, she can hardly do that on the kitchen table.
Then I realise I never want to eat off this table again, and my stomach turns a little.
“I’ll be right back.”
She bustles off and I talk to him. “Wake up, Fletcher. I need you. I need you to be okay.”
He ignores me – I’m not sure he’s even conscious, but I keep talking, babbling, droning on, and then his mum comes back. She’s holding a tub full of something that looks really gross. Some sort of lumpy, greyish paste. It does not look like it will help. At all.
She laughs at my face. “This will help, believe me, I know it looks gross, but it’s pure magic paste. Once a month on a full moon, I sit, most mother witches, sit and pour all of their magic, their healing, their hope into a jar of magic balm. Every month it gets more and more potent, and it can cure almost any ill. Except death. Oh, and demons”
That explains why nobody thought to drag this gross stuff out after the demon attack, then.
“It looks...” What can I say?
“Horrible. I know. I didn’t think he was bad enough to need it, but it will work.”
Thank goodness for that.
She smears the grey globs all over his freshly stitched wound and I can’t help but make a face; it looks like it will kill him, not cure him. It looks disgusting and like it will infect him and kill him. In about twenty minutes. I shrug. She knows better than I do.
And, okay, she knows better, because in less than a minute, the sheen of sweat on his face dries, the colour comes back to his cheeks, and he sits up. He isn’t woozy. He looks exactly like he did before he got bitten. He stands, pressing his weight down on his bad leg and grins.
“Careful.” I can’t help but warn him, even though I can see there is no need.
He laughs. “Thanks mum!”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Just doing my job.”
Ah, she’s so cute. She tidies up while I just hold hands with Fletcher and marvel that he’s healed so quickly.
He leans in to kiss me. “I’m glad they bit me, not you. And I’m glad you escaped from the evil fairy twins.”
“I think all fairies might be evil,” I say, kissing him back. I’m full of relief that he’s okay and that I’m okay, but I’m full of dread for what I have to tell him, and as his mother hurries back into the room, ready to find her sister, I have no idea when I’ll get the chance to tell him.
12
“Are you going to be okay to do this?” Ellis asks Fletcher who nods at her, and stands up, hopping from foot to foot, to show how
