I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. ‘Wistman’s Wood?’ I asked. ‘It’s that way, right?’
The ghost took his time answering. Eventually, he rubbed his cheek and bobbed his head with slow, ponderous movements. ‘It is, aye. They’re waiting for you. They’ll be glad you came.’ He turned and trudged up the hill away from us. I watched him as he vanished into the rolling fog that seemed to have appeared from nowhere and was rapidly descending towards us.
‘He’s gone,’ I murmured to Winter, my sense of humour all but vanished along with the old man. ‘Let’s get a move on.’
‘What did he say?’
I pursed my lips. ‘That they’re waiting for us.’
‘Who?’
‘The dead witches, I imagine,’ I said quietly.
Winter and I exchanged looks. He opened his mouth to speak but I shook my head. I knew what he was going to say. ‘No. We should keep going and see what’s really going on.’
He didn’t argue but he reached across to take my hand and squeeze it. ‘Okay.’
As if our combined determination deserved immediate retribution by some vengeful god, the rain increased until it was pelting us. Nervous about what might happen if I attempted a spell, I quickly described a rune I’d developed years ago to Winter. He listened carefully then did as I suggested, using magic to form a shield over our heads. His rune was a bit shaky, which was to be expected for a first-timer, but the end result was enough to keep us dry.
‘That’s impressive.’
I grinned. ‘It’s a magical brolly.’
‘It’s also a clever spell.’
Buoyed up by his praise, I gave a little hop, skip and jump. That was clearly a mistake, as it made me slip on a muddy section of the path. I slid forward, arms flailing and legs out of control, only managing to stop when I reached what was less like a large puddle and more like a deep lake. I narrowly avoided landing face first – but that didn’t mean that I was home and dry.
‘Aaaaargh!’ Up to my thighs in freezing cold muddy water I turned, expecting to see Winter racing towards me to help me out. Instead he was trying very, very hard not to laugh. I folded my arms and glared at him. ‘Ha. Ha. Ha.’
He pressed his lips together tightly and walked over, extending a hand to help me out. I ignored it. He’d had his chance. Sniffing loudly, I tried to heave myself out of the gigantic puddle but the mud around the edges was too squelchy and there was nowhere to gain purchase. I scrabbled with my fingers, finding only brown sticky gloop that smelled more like dung than earth. Then I remember what Winter had said about the sheep. Bloody creatures. Since my so-called adventure up in Scotland, I hated those things.
I jumped up, attempting to use momentum to get out. That didn’t work either; when I crashed back down, there was a muddy tidal wave and I succeeded in drenching my top half as well.
Winter leaned forward. ‘Now would you like me to help you?’
I muttered something under my breath and, avoiding his eye, stuck my hand upwards and waved it around. He grinned and grabbed it, pulling me out. Unfortunately, not all of me wanted to come: my left shoe stayed behind. By the time I got out and faced Winter, I was covered from head to toe in wet mud, with one shoe and one very sodden sock.
Now that he was confident I was fully recovered from my woes and ills, Winter’s blue eyes crinkled with amusement. Hmm. I’d show him.
Blinking rapidly, I let my bottom lip jut out slightly and tremble. I couldn’t actually cry on demand but I could give it a good shot. I dropped my head and half turned away, as if embarrassed to be caught weeping. Winter immediately reacted, grabbing hold of me and drawing me into a tight hug. Not only was his dry body heat a bonus, so was the fact that he held me close. Only when I was sure that I’d pressed myself fully against his length did I move away. ‘Ha!’ I stuck out my tongue. ‘That will teach you to laugh at me, sirrah!’
Winter was perplexed – until I pointed out the muddy splodges on his body from where I’d touched him. If I was going to look like the creature from the black lagoon, so was he.
‘Why you little…’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Little what?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s probably safer not to say.’
‘You betcha it probably is.’
Winter sighed, bending over as if to brush the worst of the mud off his clothes. A heartbeat later, there was a loud splat as he threw a handful of mud at me. The first one missed; the second landed smack bang on my cheek.
I gasped in mock horror. ‘You…’
‘You what?’
My jaw worked uselessly. I blew out air through my pursed lips and glared. ‘It’s probably safer not to say.’ I paused. ‘You black-hearted guttersnipe.’
Winter tilted his head to one side. ‘Guttersnipe? If I’m a guttersnipe, then surely you are a cabbage-headed fribble.’
‘I’ve never heard of a fribble before,’ I commented. ‘I’m going to assume it doesn’t mean supreme being of gorgeousness.’
‘That would be a correct assumption.’ He eyed me. ‘Not bad for a cow-handed gadabout.’
Darn it, he was much better at insults than I was. I was going to have to up my game. ‘Why you … you … blue-eyed…’ I threw up my hands. ‘You win.’
Winter smiled smugly. ‘I always win.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ His smile softened. ‘I got the girl, didn’t I?’
I was standing in the middle of nowhere, with civilisation miles away. I was cold. I was wet. I was pretty certain that the dribble running down my cheek was sheep dung. And I couldn’t have been happier. The men in white coats would be after me any second now. I actually looked around just in case they were already on their way.
The horizon might have been clear of people but it certainly wasn’t clear of rain, which took that moment to splatter down with greater intensity. Winter frowned and raised his hands to re-do the umbrella rune I’d taught him. I shook my head. ‘With any luck, it’ll wash off the worst of the mud.’ I sighed. ‘But if you could perhaps retrieve my shoe?’
Winter drew out a quick rune, his elegant fingers dancing through the air. A few seconds later, my poor trainer bobbed to the surface of the evil puddle-cum-sinkhole-cum-deathtrap. I grabbed it and squeezed it back onto my foot, grimacing at the squelch.
‘Thank you. Although this is why we need the Order’s help,’ I said. Winter stiffened. I bit my lip and looked at him. ‘I can’t rely on you alone to perform magic spells to keep us dry and conserve enough energy to deal whatever might be waiting up ahead. I can’t be afraid of using magic.’
‘For what it’s worth, I’m pretty certain you’re not about to go on a zombie-raising rampage. The spirits you’re seeing,’ he gestured, ‘they’re probably just a side-effect of the necromantic magic you absorbed. It’s not as if anyone else has ever done that before and survived. There’s no precedent here to work with.’
‘There might be more side-effects to come. We just don’t know.’ I reached up and brushed away a glop of mud from his cheek. ‘About the Order, Rafe. Maybe you should…’