Page 39 of Spirit Witch
I swallowed. ‘Mrs Rees.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Do I know you?’
I shook my head. ‘No, but I know your daughter, Clare.’ Or should that beknewyour daughter Clare? I’d not said more than two sentences and this was already one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
‘Clare? Where is she? How is she doing?’ She pursed her lips. ‘Honestly that girl is terrible at keeping in touch! She could be dead for all we know!’ She laughed at her weak joke. When I did nothing more than wince slightly, her hand rose to her mouth. ‘Wait. What’s happened?’
The doorstep was not the place for this conversation. ‘Perhaps we should go inside.’
Clare’s mum’s face went even whiter. ‘Tell me. Tell me where she is.’
From behind her mum, Clare pushed herself back up to her feet. She wiped her eyes and looked at me. ‘Do it, Ivy.’
I pulled my shoulders back. Woman up, Ivy. This was not the time to hide under the bed and be a wimp. Tell the truth and stop prolonging this woman’s misery. ‘I’m sorry to tell you,’ I said, in a voice that I was relieved to hear was both clear and audible, ‘that Clare has been the victim of a terrible crime.’
Her mother gasped. I ploughed on; I had to say this now, before I lost what little gumption I had left. ‘She was killed, along with the rest of her coven, by a man we believe to be a serial killer with a grudge against witches.’
Mrs Rees’s eyes were wide open. I had to give her credit – she was holding herself together better than I was. Clare stared at her, taking in every nuance of her expression. ‘In Iceland?’
What? ‘No. On Dartmoor.’
A door opened across the street and a group of laughing children piled out, the occasional delighted scream punctuating the air. Clare’s mum didn’t even look at them. ‘You’d better come in,’ she murmured. She led me into the living room and gestured. ‘Please. Have a seat.’
I moved to the nearest chair. Clare let out a small shriek. ‘Not there!’ I sprang up again. ‘That’s my dad’s chair,’ she said. ‘No one sits in that chair apart from him.’
I edged round to the sofa and did my best to look casual.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ Mrs Rees asked. ‘Tea or coffee or something?’
It should probably be me asking her that. ‘No. But I can put the kettle on if you…’
‘No.’
Footsteps sounded outside and a man appeared, wiping his hands on an oily rag. He glanced at me, then at Clare’s mum. ‘What’s going on?’
‘This is…’ Mrs Rees faltered. I hadn’t even introduced myself yet.
‘Ivy Wilde,’ I said. ‘I’m…’ I’m what? A taxi driver? A medium?
‘She’s here about Clare,’ Mrs Rees said. The note in her voice said it all.
The man, presumably Clare’s father, stiffened. He sat down in the chair, his shoulders slumping. ‘Fuck.’
That’s pretty much what I was thinking too.
***
It took some time to explain everything. A lot of the conversation had a strange roundabout fashion.
‘So you’re with the Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment?’
‘No, but sometimes I work with them.’
‘You’re not a witch then?’
‘I’m a witch.’
‘You’re in a coven like Clare was?’
