Witch

Eleven





Dust caused my nose to clog and my eyes to itch as I turned over the pages of an ancient newspaper. Behind me the twins were coughing and sniffling, too, as they juggled newspapers and a list that Mrs Pilkington had given them noting all the archived copies of the Summerland Star that were supposed to be contained in this room.

It was a mess. But after all our recent magical adventures we were now fully focused on the mystery of the woman of Queen’s Cross.

For about the thousandth time I wished the newspapers had been scanned and stored digitally. It wasn’t like the technology to do it didn’t exist.

‘Summerland is a small town,’ Alyssa said, reading my thoughts.

‘Well, I guess that has its advantages, too,’ I said. My voice was nasal because my nose was so blocked. I almost sounded American! ‘I doubt we’d be allowed to go through all this stuff if this were a big city newspaper like the Los Angeles Times.’

I looked around again at the piles of boxes and crates filled with old papers.

‘We’d better solve this mystery and ace the assignment to make this worth it,’ I said, sneezing again. ‘Still, it’s better than being in class on a Friday afternoon, I guess.’

‘The woman of Queen’s Cross!’ Amelia cried excitedly, waving a newspaper wildly over her head as dust motes and silverfish rained down.

‘Eek, careful!’ I reached over and flicked a little silver critter off her shoulder.

‘Check this out!’ she said. ‘This article is dated one month after her death.’

QUEEN’S CROSS DEATH STILL MYSTIFIES

The cause of this woman’s death is still undetermined. The body was found partially incinerated on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a black pot, a piece of stone confirmed to be rose quartz (not local to the area) and cooking ingredients including chillies, honey and salt. A large carving knife was lying next to the body.

No fingerprints were found at the scene other than the woman’s own. There were remnants of at least seven house candles, which detectives think could possibly have caused the fire, or at least contributed towards spreading it. Alternatively, an electrical spark could have caused the fire, as damage to the mains box had been found.

‘That sounds a lot like a magic spell gone wrong,’ I whispered.

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking,’ Amelia agreed.

There were two photos of the house below the article, one before the fire and one after.

‘I think it’s time to investigate the scene,’ I said.



The next afternoon Bryce, Dean, the twins and I took a walk down Queen’s Cross Road. The house where the woman had lived had been refurbished and extended in the years since the fire, but it was still identifiable.

As we approached, a lady with a Southern accent called out from the porch of the neighbouring home.

‘I recognise you – you’re Clark Chandler’s son,’ she said.

‘Well, hi, Mrs Greenlaw,’ Bryce said.

She was a large woman. She bustled energetically down her front path towards us and hugged Bryce.

‘His parents and I belong to the same golf club,’ she said to the rest of us with a smile. ‘What are y’all doing here? Having an afternoon stroll to take in some sun?’

She glanced up to the sky just as the perpetual sea-fog parted a little and allowed a hint of sunlight through.

‘We’re researching an unsolved mystery from fifteen years ago for a school project,’ Bryce said.

‘Oh, would that be the woman of Queen’s Cross?’

‘You know about her?’ I said excitedly.

‘Yes, of course. Her story is infamous on our street. Sad, though – the poor young thing was new to town, and no one came to bury her. I remember there was a collection to raise money for her funeral.’

My heart went out to the anonymous dead woman, and I felt even more resolved to find out who she was and why she had died.

‘Do y’all go to Summerland High?’ Mrs Greenlaw looked us up and down in a friendly way.

‘Yes,’ said Dean.

‘Well, one of your teachers lives in there! Such a nice man . . .’

At that moment the front door of the house swung open and a familiar figure walked out.

Mrs Greenlaw turned and waved with a cheery smile. ‘Good evening, Mr Barrow!’ she called.

I involuntarily took a step back. My creepy chemistry teacher lived in the woman of Queen’s Cross’s house!

Mr Barrow lifted his hand in greeting to Mrs Greenlaw, but then turned away and went back inside. No doubt he hadn’t been expecting to encounter his least favourite group of students on the street outside his house.

Mrs Greenlaw shrugged. ‘He’s a bit of a loner, but he does help me take out my bins when the trash man comes.’



We sat around one of the big tables at the Purple Raven a bit later, going over the various articles and notes we’d collected so far.

After re-reading the newspaper article Amelia had found the day before, I was convinced the woman of Queen’s Cross had been doing a magical ritual of some kind when her house had caught on fire. But I didn’t believe her death had been an accident. My gut was telling me there was more to it.

‘Our guts are saying that, too,’ the twins said.

Brenda overheard our conversation and came over to the table. ‘You should always pay attention to your gut,’ she said. ‘You can trust your hunches when you feel them there. It’s where your solar-plexus chakra is – the centre of your being. That’s why we eat after a ritual.’

‘Well, my gut is telling me this woman was murdered,’ I said.

‘Stop being so dramatic, Vania! Why on earth do you think she was murdered?’ Dean said.

‘Because one report says the mains box looked tampered with. And because if she’d just knocked over a candle she should have been able to get out. Why did she just stay there on the floor? It doesn’t make any sense. Unless someone killed her first and then tried to make it look like an accident.’

‘I’m not sure we’re expected to solve an actual murder,’ Dean said. ‘It’s just a school subject after all.’

‘No, it’s more than that now,’ I said.

‘Pandora’s box,’ murmured Brenda.

‘What’s that?’ Dean asked.

‘According to Greek mythology, Pandora was the first woman in the world, and she was given a box to take care of by the god Zeus. Zeus told her not to open it, but curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the box.’ Brenda paused dramatically.

‘And what happened?’ Dean said.

‘Terrible evil and misfortune poured out of it, but she managed to close it before everything escaped.’

‘What stayed in the box?’

‘Hope.’

‘I hope we solve this mystery,’ Alyssa said, sitting back with her arms folded.

‘I think we will,’ Bryce said, ‘and I agree with Vania – there’s something really fishy about all this.’

‘Maybe I could ask my father to help? Maybe get the case reopened?’ I suggested.

‘I think we should keep this on the down-low for now,’ said Bryce. ‘There must be some reason the newspaper never reported on the possibility of murder. Someone’s hiding something. Let’s not draw too much attention to the case again just yet.’

‘Okay, so say Vania’s hunch is correct and this woman was doing a witchcraft ritual; what does that have to do with someone killing her?’ Dean asked.

‘Think about the history of witchcraft,’ said Brenda. ‘There are tons of reports of women being killed as witches, and most of them never had any powers at all. Witches have long been the victims of hysteria and fear. And it wasn’t always women who were accused of witchcraft, it was men and children too – even animals!

‘All those unjust deaths, it’s so horrible!’ I said softly, my stomach churned uncomfortably; it was awful to think about. ‘It’s hard to imagine how it could have ever happened.’

Brenda patted my shoulder comfortingly but continued, ‘Let’s remember that the victims were mostly women, at a time when being a woman meant being a second-class citizen. Many of the people who instigated the murders – the judges, inquisitors, bishops and the like – did it for personal gain. It was very easy to point the finger at your neighbour and say, “She’s a witch!” Then when they were locked up or murdered, you could just take over their land or steal their belongings. It was criminal.’

‘What were the criteria for being accused of witchcraft?’ Dean asked.

‘There was a crazy book called Malleus Maleficarum – Latin for Hammer of the Witches. For two hundred and fifty years it was used as a guide for identifying witches and giving the church licence to kill people for supposedly cavorting with the devil by doing magic.’ Brenda shook her head.

‘Gosh, I hope that book’s not around now!’ I said.

‘No, it was revoked a long time ago. But the damage was already done, and the misconceptions are still around today. About devil-worshipping and all that rubbish.’ Brenda snorted.

‘Our magic has got nothing to do with the devil!’ I said.

‘This is a majorly depressing conversation,’ Alyssa said. ‘And given that we’re in a coven and all, it’s starting to freak me out. I definitely don’t want to draw attention to what we’re doing by putting in our report that we think the woman was a witch.’

‘There is a witches’ saying,’ Brenda said wisely. ‘“To know, to will, to dare and to be silent.” For now, why don’t you do some more research to get a clearer idea of what you’re dealing with.’



Sunday morning I spent poring over the magic books that I’d started to amass, which I hid under the loose floorboard in my bedroom. It would have been easier to do my research on the internet, but my parents still hadn’t agreed to get a connection at home and there was no way I was going to look up spells on the computers in the school library.

I liked the simplicity of having no internet anyway, I thought as I stuffed a couple of books deep into my backpack. Shouldering it, I headed to the kitchen to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. My mother was preparing lunch.

‘I’m going for a walk along the beach,’ I said.

‘You don’t want to stay and have lunch with us, honey?’

‘Thanks anyway, but I need some fresh air.’

‘All right, well don’t be too late. I want to have a chat with you later about the plans for your sixteenth.’

My sixteenth birthday – how could I have forgotten? It was only a week away, but with all the magic and mystery I’d been swept up in recently I’d pretty much forgotten about it. I hadn’t even told my coven.

‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll be back in a couple of hours; we can talk about it then. Later, Dad,’ I called, before taking a huge bite of apple.

‘Bye,’ he called back, without looking up from the paper he was reading. He spent every Sunday sprawled out on the lounge chair.

As I wandered down the hill I again considered asking my father about the woman of Queen’s Cross, but decided against it. My relationship with Dad was sketchy at best. Even though we’d been getting on okay since my positive-thinking kick, I knew that if I pushed any buttons he would still ground me in an instant.

I sometimes wondered if my parents missed the old, argumentative me. Our placid mealtimes were mainly punctuated by sounds of chewing now, rather than spirited arguments. I couldn’t tell them what was going on in my life – about the spells and the coven and the mystery.

The wind caught my hair as I wound my way down the steep path towards the beach. I reached the sand and inhaled deeply. I loved the salty smell, and the kelp that grew in giant forests just offshore. One day I wanted to scuba dive out there. When I moved out of home. My parents had told me I would not be allowed to do something so dangerous as long as I lived under their roof. I didn’t think it was that dangerous. True, Matt had told me that when he was surfing he often saw sharks, but he said they stayed out of his way. He saw a lot of dolphins, too. I could see some surfers up the far end of the beach, where the waves were breaking. It was another grey, misty afternoon and I pulled my jacket closer around my waist, folding my arms to keep it there as I gazed out to sea.

Thinking about Matt made me think about Bryce, of course. I still didn’t believe Dean’s theory that Bryce had joined our group because he liked me. He had magic in him, that was certain, and I thought our group’s combined love of magic was the glue that held us all together. I wondered if there were any other groups of kids in the world who had magic in common.

I sat on a large piece of driftwood near the shore and kicked off my Converses, nestling my feet in the sand and watching the water’s edge ebb and flow, tendrils of foam lazily reaching out towards my toes but not touching them.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out one of the books. Rather than reading my magic books from start to finish, lately I’d been letting chance play a hand by opening them at random places. I flicked through the pages, looking out to sea, and then let the book fall open in my lap. A chapter called ‘Divination: Finding Out What You Need to Know’ presented itself.

Too appropriate, I thought, and began to read.

The elements of nature can be used as divinatory tools.

Ask your question and look to the air. If it blows west,

your answer is yes. If it blows east, your answer is no.

I raised my head, but the wind was whipping around so much I decided that the element of air wouldn’t be a reliable tool. I read on.

The element of earth will reveal its knowledge in stones.

Cast your eye around – a round stone means yes and a

jagged stone, no.

I cast my eye around and all I could see was sand – I’d need to walk further up the beach, and I couldn’t be bothered doing that right now.

The element of water is mutable and can be dictated

as you desire.

I looked at the edge of the tide lapping away in front of me – this could work.

‘If the water touches my toes the next time, it will mean I have met the person who knows the secret of the woman of Queen’s Cross,’ I said aloud.

Immediately an extra thrust of water surged up and completely covered my feet.

I jumped – and not just because the water was freezing.

I decided to ask another question. ‘Is it a woman?’

I waited as the next wave surged forwards . . . but the water stopped short of my toes.

My next question was obvious, but I asked it anyway. ‘Is it a man?’

A wave raced up with enough force to soak my rolled-up jeans to my calves.

I stood up. My feet were freezing and my head was spinning. I knew the man. A dark presence around you, I could hear Mrs Torre whisper in my ear. Prickles ran up my spine and I shivered. I jumped to my feet – I’d had enough of sitting out here all alone. I grabbed my stuff and hurried along the sand back towards town and safety.



‘Call me crazy, but I know the murderer . . . But I don’t know who he is.’

‘Huh? What does that mean?’ Bryce asked.

We were standing in his front yard. I’d headed straight to his house from the beach and blurted it out.

‘I did a divination and the ocean revealed to me that I know the murderer – and that it’s a man. But not who.’ I’d cast wet socks and shoes aside. I spread my toes out in a ray of sunshine that had managed to break through the mist waiting for Bryce’s reaction.

There were a few moments of silence before he said, ‘Maybe the twins can use their psychic prowess to help work out who this guy is.’ He nudged my toe with his foot. ‘You have pretty feet,’ he said.

Ummm, what?!, How was I supposed to respond? An awkward silence between us grew. My mind raced. I was not going to be defensive and say something stupid! He was paying me a compliment – all I had to do was say . . .

‘Thanks, Bryce.’

Still, sometimes he said the weirdest things.

I noticed the sun was getting low in the sky. ‘Bryce, I have to go. I promised my mother I wouldn’t be home late.’ I gathered my things. ‘See you at school tomorrow – and you’re right, it would be good to talk to the twins.’

I left him sitting there on the grass and made my way home, feeling rather proud of myself. I hadn’t bitten off his head when he’d paid me a compliment. We were friends, and now we were both behaving like it.



That night at dinner my mother and I discussed what I wanted to do for my sweet sixteenth.

‘Mum, I don’t want to do anything full-on,’ I said.

‘But wouldn’t you like to have a party with your friends, Vania? It’s a special day.’

‘I’m happy not to have a houseful of teenagers,’ my father snorted.

‘Oh, Keith,’ my mother said, patting him on the shoulder.

‘Thanks, Mum, but I really don’t want to do anything big – it’s just another birthday.’

‘What about a family brunch at the Big Yellow House? Would you like that at least, honey? We could go on Saturday morning. I know the big day is Friday, but it doesn’t hurt to celebrate your sixteenth all weekend,’ my mother said.

In that moment I realised just how much I really did love her. Just the three of us at my favourite local restaurant sounded really appealing, actually. The best thing about the Big Yellow House was the huge patio with sweeping views of the sea. In good weather it offered the best view in town. And its three-egg omelette with goat’s cheese and basil was pretty great, too. To top it off, there were rumours that the place was haunted.

‘That sounds great, Mum.’

I thought about what could make my birthday possibly even better. ‘Maybe I can invite a couple of friends? Bryce and—’

‘Absolutely!’ my mother jumped in.

I was about to add and Amelia, Alyssa and Dean, but my dad stopped me in my tracks.

‘Is he your boyfriend?’ he asked, looking at me sternly.

‘No! We’re just good friends.’

My father gave me another penetrating stare and then shrugged, going back to his steak. ‘You could do worse than him – his parents own half of Summerland,’ he said. I didn’t reply; instead I smiled at my mother, who nodded and smiled back. I supposed it wasn’t surprising to hear that Bryce’s family owned half the town – he’d told me that time in school that he was descended from one of the original families who’d come here back in the eighteen hundreds, after all. But I’d never thought about this, and he obviously didn’t make a big deal about it. We’d only ever talked about his ghostly Spiritualist heritage, which I was sure my father wouldn’t enjoy hearing about.

I decided to drop the whole idea of inviting Bryce or any of my friends to brunch – I would see my coven on my actual birthday at school anyway. I didn’t want my dad saying anything embarrassing as we all sat around a table together.



On Monday morning I was at the drinking fountain when Cassidy Walters skipped up to me.

‘Hey, Vania, is it your birthday this Friday?’ she said.

I blinked hard and nearly choked on my mouthful of water. I was still getting used to being considered cool by people like Cassidy, who suddenly wanted to be friends with me. But I was keeping my distance – just like enchanted love, I didn’t quite trust enchanted friendship.

‘Are you having a party?’ Cassidy asked.

‘I’m not sure. I don’t want to make a big deal about it,’ I said.

‘We could have a fire down on the beach for you.’

Was she suggesting that she would organise a party for me? This was truly more surreal than any magic spell. And actually it sounded like a fun idea.

‘Okay, that sounds cool.’ Magical friendship or not, a chance to go to a real party? This was not something I wanted to turn down.

‘Leave it to me.’ She smiled and squeezed my arm, hard, before turning away, her short skirt swishing over her perfect legs. In that moment envy crept up in me, but I shrugged it off – envying her was pointless, and I wasn’t going to let myself do it.

I felt a surge of confidence as Amelia and Alyssa came over to me. ‘What did she say?’

‘She’s putting on a party for me for my birthday.’

‘Well, we’re putting on a séance for you.’ Alyssa squeezed my arm right where Cassidy had, but this time it didn’t hurt.