Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

                 

I ran out of the restaurant.

Anne called after me.

I wouldn't stop. I couldn't.

What if that woman from the mirror came back? What if she took over?

I ran and ran, not aware of where I was going. No-one followed me. But then, why would they?

I'd shown my true colours now, and it hadn't been pretty.

Slowing to a walk I recognised my surroundings. I'd returned to the place most familiar to me in this still unfamiliar city.

The priory.

Where else could I go? Without this place I was completely destitute now. But at least here my name was still on the lease. I had a right to be here no matter what the other residents thought of me.

A gaping pit of nothing stretched out in my belly, the echo of my heartbeat reminding me how alone I was. How despised.

Exhaustion seeped into every fibre of my being. Muscles screamed in protest at every movement. My head ached painfully, eyes continually drooping closed. I couldn't carry on even if I wanted too.

My frazzled brain told me that I could sneak up to my old apartment, and nobody would be any the wiser. I would leave early the next morning, before I was noticed.

Miraculously, the door was unlocked, so I wearily clambered up to my apartment. I stumbled to the bedroom and fell face down into the bed, asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

"You must say the prayer," he said, "the whole thing, for the judge to hear. Speak loud and clear. They need every word."

Open, open heaven door keys,

Shut, shut hell door.

The stupid way that his fat face trembled in excitement when I spoke the words. He thought he was so clever, Roger Nowell the great man, tricking me into giving them all up.

Let christened child

Go to its mother mild.

Mother's shock, the fear in her voice as she cursed my name, kicking out, fighting the guards, desperate to save her other babes. The ones that she loved.

What is yonder that casts a light so farrandly?

Mine own dear son that's nailed to the tree.

But I was the clever one. The way his eyes dulled when I said the last word, the word of power. He was mine now, that rich, fat man. Him and all he had.

I held my mother's gaze as they took her out. She'd done one thing for me, that slut. The magic had liked my offering. It sang its thanks like silver bells in my head.

I woke, childish glee ringing in my ears. That was not Alice Gray the Pendle Witch, the spectre that usually invaded my dreams.

That was somebody else, somebody dark and cruel.

It came to me in a flood of realisation. I'd heard about witch trials before all this started. I'd read Ainsworth's novel The Lancashire Witches. There was one key actor in the events of 1612 that hadn't been mentioned in the Gray family history.

Jennet Device.

The young girl that had testified against her whole family. The only other survivor of the Pendle coven.

Device. That was Jonathan's name.

Crap.

I really did not want to be the link that connected Alice Gray and Jennet Device. But I didn't believe in coincidences, and they were the only night-visitors that ferreted their way into my dreams.

I rubbed my hands over my arms, trying to banish the cold, slimy sensation that these new suspicions left in their wake. Dread filling me at the idea that my heritage had more malevolent spirits than the unfriendly Grays who had already shown their disapproval and anger.

Cheerful chatter from the living room slowly infiltrated my brain, still caught in the horror of the past.

My mind raced right back to the here and now when I realised I wasn't wearing the blue dress anymore. The large white cotton t-shirt and cut-off sweat pants told me that somebody had undressed me, and it wasn't Anne or Emily.