When she awoke again, daylight was coming in between the curtains and her dad was sitting next to her in a chair.
‘Bea, darling,’ he said. He leaned over and gathered her into his arms. ‘My darling Bea,’ he kept saying, squeezing her carefully as if he might break her. But Bea grabbed hold and pulled him hard to her, and he hugged her hard back, rocking her from side to side. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he murmured. ‘I thought I was the only one left . . .’
‘Dad, I’ve been bad. I’m scared . . .’
‘Shush, sshhhh, darling. Sssssh. It’s OK. It’s OK . . .’
‘I’m so scared!’
For a long while they stayed like that, until at last Bea let him go. He sat back down in his chair, weeping openly in a way she’d never seen in him before. He’d always been so much in control.
‘I thought I’d never see you again . . .’ he murmured, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
Bea got a good look at him for the first time. He’d never been entirely neat – her mum liked to describe him as a dapper man who hadn’t quite got round to sorting himself out properly. So who was this scruff? There were food stains on his jumper and the lapels of his suit, the same three-piece he’d worn to hospital with her all that time ago. It had been close-fitting then; now it hung off him in folds. His grubby bald head poked out of a bush of greying hair, his beard had sprouted into a scratty clump. Bea found herself feeling suspicious of this new dad.
‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked.
‘Still at home, but it’s not her, Bea, it’s not her. They got her. The Hunt. Isolated her. It’s her golem. She has some other spirit in her now. A rat, they think. A rat, Bea! She hated rats. Michael’s there too, we think he’s OK, but he’s so young, Bea, so young no one can tell.’
Michael was still himself! So it was just her mum . . .
‘We can get her back then, Dad. I can call her spirit. We can put her back together. Lars said . . .’
She paused. Lars had said a lot of things. How many were true?
Her dad nodded eagerly. ‘We need to find out where her spirit is. If they’ve trapped it here and we can find it – yes, yes! But if she’s gone down to the Underworld, that’s different. The witches won’t let you put the spirit of a dead person back in the body.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s dangerous. The spirit changes. It might not be her any more. And it attaches to other things. There’s demons down there too. They won’t let you, Bea. It’s forbidden.’
‘I suppose,’ said Bea. She shook her head. So much going on! Lars’s lies. The witches still free. Her dad alive, Michael captive, her mum Isolated. In a rush, all the things she had done with Lars came flooding into her mind. The scale of her wickedness left her breathless.
Her dad was still talking away but she was hardly listening. He was leaking tears again, which irritated her beyond reason. What about her? What about her tears? When was it her turn to be pitied?
He was being very odd. His gaze had changed. He always used to look her in the eye when he spoke to her, but now he was looking to one side, or up or down, anywhere but straight at her. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to her.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she demanded.
He stopped abruptly and glanced at her with a nervous look. ‘You might as well know, I can’t hide it,’ he said. He paused. ‘It’s all been a bit much, to be honest,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘This. The Second World. Being a witch. Spirits, Bea. I, I got a bit lost.’ He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he looked straight at her for the first time. He winced. ‘Bit of a breakdown,’ he said, nodding. His eyes welled up again; he was trying very hard not to cry. ‘Sorry,’ he managed to say. ‘I guess you could have done with a dad just now . . .’
So that was it. And he was right. She really could have done with a dad just now.
‘It’s all right,’ she said automatically.
‘Sorry, Bea.’ His eyes went to her throat, where the necklace he gave her nestled. He smiled. ‘You still have it,’ he said.
‘Someone stole it from me in the hospital. I found it again at the house a few days ago. How did it get there, Dad?’
She’d assumed he had something to do with it, but he shook his head. ‘I don’t know. You can’t lose them; they won’t let you lose them. They must have found you, somehow. You see?’
Bea nodded, although she didn’t. It occurred to her that Lars had left his bedroom door open the same day she had found the necklace. Good luck? Odi had said they might bring good luck. She could do with some.
‘So you’re a witch after all,’ she said. And suddenly, on top of all the other feelings, there was anger. Real anger. But she had no idea where it was coming from, or why.
Her dad let out an embarrassed laugh. ‘Apparently.’
‘And what . . . what’s your relationship with the spirit world?’ she asked. It came out all sarcastic.
He looked at her warily. ‘Not like yours,’ he said. ‘It’s something to do with stones. I guess I was a jeweller for a reason.’ He laughed again, awkwardly. Inside her, Bea felt the rage rise. Because . . . because . . . And suddenly she knew what it was. She turned her gaze full on him. ‘You can see the spirits,’ she said. ‘You always have, haven’t you?’
Her dad quailed. ‘Not always, Bea,’ he said. ‘I was hiding from it. People do, Odi says. I was scared, you see. I was . . .’ His voice trailed away. He looked at her helplessly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘The mice in the garden,’ she said. ‘You saw them, didn’t you?’
Yet again he began to weep like a child. ‘I couldn’t say – I couldn’t say, Bea. Not in front of your mum. I thought it was mad. I thought I was mad. I was scared you were mad too. I couldn’t—’
He lunged forward to seize her in his arms again. Bea sat in her bed, not stopping him, not responding. She beat at the bedclothes weakly with her hands.
‘You’re my dad,’ she said. She began to cry. ‘You were supposed to look after me. And you didn’t. You took me to that fucking hospital and all this, all this happened because of you. You had one fucking job . . .’
Suddenly she was shouting. He jerked back.
‘I thought I was helping you—’
‘None of this would have happened—’
‘Bea—’
‘You let me go. You lied! You liar! Liar!’
He reached out for her again, but Bea was filled with such fury she swung her hands clawing at his face. He caught them in his, and for a moment the two of them struggled on the bed.
‘Please, Bea, please, please,’ he cried.
And then to her horror, deep inside her she felt the voice building up . . . ‘I SUMMON . . . I SUMMON AND COMMAND . . .’ She clapped her mouth shut. It mustn’t come out! It must never come out again! But the desire in her to hurt her dad was so strong.
‘I SUMMON AND COMMAND . . .’ she cried.
The door burst open and Frey and Tyra ran in. Tyra seized hold of her.
‘Stop it,’ she roared; and – ‘Get out!’ to her dad, who scurried for the door.
‘Don’t let me!’ she begged.
‘It’s all right, Bea, it’s OK,’ said Frey. He had a hypodermic in his hand.
‘Don’t let me, don’t let me!’ she screamed. ‘I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Don’t let me—’ But it was coming; it was coming so fast. ‘I can’t stop it!’ she screamed.
Tyra had her in the Grip, flat on the bed. ‘Control yourself,’ she hissed.
But the voice was in her throat and she was doing everything she could to hold it inside her, because once the words were out, that was it. Then the needle was in her arm.
‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped. And in the space of one single breath, everything went black.