18

I yank down the colourful pictures and pull the feathers from the window of the treehouse. Kick the walls. Stamp on the cushions. Sink into a corner and bawl. I’m going to escape to the other side of the world today somehow. I was never meant to come here. It was always going to go wrong. That’s why Dad always tried to stop me coming here. That’s why Mae wouldn’t tell me anything more about Mum. The magic is too strong for me to hide it when I’m here.

One of Dorcas’s paintings has landed by my feet. I uncrumple it and then cry some more. I should have been stronger and kept my weirdness inside. It’s all over now. I’ve ruined everything.

‘Wilde.’

‘What do you want?’ I must have been crying too much to hear Dorcas arrive.

She doesn’t say anything. She stays in the doorway, then takes a step towards me, and immediately a step back.

‘Oh dear, poor Dorcas. Afraid of me again, are you?’

The agony makes my words sharp. I squeeze myself further back into the corner. If anyone is afraid here, it’s me.

Dorcas takes a tentative step inside and then another. Then she kneels down so she’s on my level. The space between us has grown into a gulf and this time I can’t fill it with kind words.

‘Wilde. I…’ She licks her lips nervously. ‘I’ve never… We’ve never seen anything like that before. How is it even possible?’

I have an idea. My only hope. ‘It was a trick. I’ve joined the magic circle. I’ve been practising and it was just a trick.’

The expression on Dorcas’s face stops me. There’s no point in pretending. I’m done with it.

‘It wasn’t a trick. I’m a witch.’

Dorcas doesn’t run.

‘I am but I don’t want to be. I want to be normal like everyone else, but I’m a witch. Always have been. Always will be.’

She doesn’t respond.

‘My mother was a witch. Her mother was a witch before her. The witch called Winter was one of my ancestors. That’s why strange things have been happening since I’ve been here. Weird stuff follows me around. Birds, yes. But there have been more here than anywhere else. I think it’s because I am close to where my family came from. I think Winter has been trying to talk to me somehow. The story about her, it’s not what happened. My mother has been trying to communicate with me, too, I think.’

I smooth out Dorcas’s painting and prop it up against the wall while I muster the energy to continue.

‘The flying is a new thing to me. I didn’t lie to you about that. I just didn’t believe it. Also seeing things in mirrors, glass, water. It’s called scrying. That’s never happened to me before either. That was my mother’s gift.’

Dorcas is dumbfounded. I’m not surprised. I would be too. I go to speak again but she holds up her hand and I wait, listening to the sounds of summer outside and the hard, low thud of my heart.

‘Firstly, that’s the most you’ve spoken in one go ever.’ Her voice is shaky.

‘I’m trying to be more like you.’ It’s a poor effort at a joke, and Dorcas stops me again.

‘Secondly, I don’t understand. Witches don’t exist, do they? Really? I mean people were accused of witchcraft, but it wasn’t real?’

‘It is real. I’ve had to hide it all my life. I lost my temper. I just couldn’t keep it in anymore.’

‘So if you lose your temper again?’

‘I’ve always managed to control it. The birds. I got them to put you all down, didn’t I?’ This is difficult. I can feel the anger starting to gather and the birds coming towards us. I will them away hard and push my feelings back down deep.

‘I don’t know, Wilde. The others are pretty scared. None of them want to come anywhere near you.’

That stings so sharply I can’t swallow.

‘What if you can’t control it? When you’re angry again.’

‘I can.’ I shift uncomfortably.

‘But what if you can’t?’

There is an endless silence while I realise how hopeless this all is.

‘Are there more of you? Witches?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never met any.’ The crack in my voice stops me for a second. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always been hiding. Perhaps, if there are others, they are doing the same.’ I swallow hard again. ‘Or perhaps I am the only one.’

Dorcas looks out of the window when I say that. She was my first real, proper friend.

‘I’m lonely, Dorcas.’ Those three words fill the world. ‘I’m all alone.’

She stands. I do the same. I search her face for clues.

‘I’m going to go now.’

I don’t want her to feel bad. It’s not her fault.

‘Don’t worry about it, Dorcas.’

She doesn’t reply. Just leaves the treehouse with her head down. My first ever true friend found out what I am and now she is gone. I smooth the rest of her pictures and lay them flat so she can collect them from Mae. Tidy the cushions so they won’t get broken. Straighten the Crow’s Nest sign by the door on my way out.

When I get to the bottom of the ladder, Dorcas is there waiting. It’s now or never. I need to do this before my chance is gone.

‘Dorcas, I need to tell you the story of what really happened to the witch called Winter.’