Blood Of The Witch

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoThe ritual was complete. The room stood in silence and watched as the blood trickled along the rock. The atmosphere in the dimly lit room was heavy with trepidation. A few people shifted nervously from foot to foot.

Stephen was standing at the front facing everyone. He, like the others in the room, wore a long, black robe with the hood raised so that only part of his dark features was visible to his audience. His black skin and robes gave the effect that he was at one with the darkness around him.

He held up his arms and spoke solemnly to them, “It is done.” He paused and seemed to be looking each of them in the eye before he continued, “We all wish this could have turned out differently. I, like you, had high hopes for the return of witchcraft and the good it could do. Bersaba has changed that and now we have no choice. We are left with one resort.”

His voice was confident and authoritative. He was a born leader. That was why the Council members elected him time and again. Just as they had done his father before him.

Council members lived between two worlds. One that was governed by logic, and the other was a world of secrets and magic. They were the guardians of a history others knew nothing about. Now, however, the time for simply waiting and watching was over, and action was required. It was not just their magical world that needed protecting; both worlds and countless lives were depending on them. History was repeating itself, and the witches had put them in an impossible position, but with Stephen guiding them, they could protect both.

Stephen gave a nod and everyone quietly dispersed; all except Lady Hammett, or Harriet to her friends, a more senior Council member. She came from one of the oldest families on the Council; generations of her family had had Council positions right from its inception. She owned one of the grandest houses in all of Cornwall, a building which contained a large portion of their treasured possessions and books, and a building which they now stood beneath. The basement had the same floor plan as the house above, which meant it was an immense space.

It had been agreed that they alone would wait. Stephen took a seat next to one of the stone sarcophagi and Harriet took a seat by the other. The witch’s blood had run its course along the rivulets in the top and had now begun to drip through a small gap, bringing life to the remains inside.

Stephen and Harriet sat and watched in silence. Neither had witnessed such a process in real life before so couldn’t be quite sure what would happen when the contents of the sarcophagi were awoken. However, they had both spent their lives studying, reading and preparing for the return of witchcraft, and for events such as this. They were ready. They sat back and waited patiently. Soon, the brothers would be awake.

Jack reached behind his seat and picked up his staff. Then he subconsciously brushed his hand over his knife, which sat in a leather sheath on his belt. He opened the car door and signalled to Kiera to wait in the car. He wasn’t surprised when she ignored him and opened her door, too.

“Perhaps we left the front door open?” Kiera suggested uncertainly as they moved closer towards the house.

Jack answered her with a frown as his eyes scanned all around, examining every shadow, every reflection, every glint off a window. There was no way they had left the door open.

Jack stepped silently into the house and listened. It creaked and groaned around him, but he wasn’t familiar enough with the house yet to recognise if a sound was out of place. In their old home, the one they had shared with Kitto, the house talked to him. He recognised every creak and rattle. But this one spoke in a foreign language he didn’t understand yet.

He walked slowly down the hallway, making sure Kiera stayed behind him and keeping both hands on his staff, daring something to jump out at him. The hallway was long, with three doors branching off it before it reached the stairs. The first door led into the living room, then just opposite was a room that currently stood empty with only a few dusty old boxes and crates from previous occupants. Beyond that was a door to the kitchen. Jack made his way along the exposed wooden boards to the living room door and stopped. It was open and he instinctively knew someone was inside. He could feel their presence further in the room and, if he listened intently, he could hear quiet, calm breaths.

As he entered the room, he was surprised to see a digestive biscuit on a saucer with a cup of tea, wisps of steam drifting lightly from the cup towards the ceiling. Someone had broken into his house, made themselves a cup of tea and raided his biscuits? He wasn’t sure whether he was puzzled, annoyed or a combination of the two. The cheeky little beggar! What was even more baffling was that Jack and Kiera didn’t even own any saucers. They weren’t exactly a necessity when they were going on the run. So, who breaks into a house and brings their own saucer for their stolen tea?

Jack rounded the door aggressively with his staff raised; after all, someone had stolen his biscuits and that was a step too far. If he found they’d discovered his custard creams, then they were really going to be in trouble.

He stopped in his tracks. The staff fell to the floor with a clatter, but Jack didn’t even notice. He stood in the doorway in disbelief, not daring to move or even breathe in case he disturbed the image in front of him.

Kiera was startled by Jack’s reaction and afraid of what she would find as she followed him into the room. She squealed with a mixture of shock, disbelief and delight, and gripped Jack’s arm. She, too, found herself frozen to the spot as she processed what she was seeing in front of her.

Kitto glanced up at them from the newspaper he was reading and smiled amicably. Then he leant forward, picked up his biscuit and dunked it in his tea.

Jack retrieved his staff from the floor, his eyes fixed on Kitto. This had to be a trick. Kitto was dead. He raised the staff again and eyed the man on the settee suspiciously.

“You’re not Kitto,” he said quietly, “you can’t be.”

The man frowned and looked Jack straight in the eye. They were silent for a moment before Kitto asked pleasantly, “So, where have you stashed your custard creams?”

Jack blinked and his breath caught in his throat. Then he lowered his staff again and headed for the kitchen to retrieve the biscuits.

He would know him anywhere. It was Kitto.

Jack returned feeling numb, as though he was part of a dream. Kiera was just pulling away from Kitto’s embrace. She was wiping her eyes and beaming from ear to ear. Seeing her smile so broadly made him realise how little they’d smiled recently and how much it suited her. It lit her face up, giving her dark eyes a lost sparkle and bringing a flush to her smooth, soft cheeks.

Kitto was returning her smile. He almost looked the same. His grey hair was just as unruly. It found its own course from the top of his head down to his shoulders, sometimes curling, sometimes straight and sometimes sticking out randomly. It matched his grey-streaked, wispy beard. He was wearing a baggy jumper and dark trousers that were smeared with mud, and made Jack wonder where on earth he’d been. There was definitely something different about him although Jack couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Jack stood in the doorway watching them. He tried to process the fact that the two people he loved most in the world—actually the only people he loved in the world—were both together, standing in front of him. Seeing Kitto alive was something he’d thought of and dreamt of for the past month, but he’d never considered it could actually happen. None of it seemed real.

They both looked up at Jack in the doorway, and Kitto rose to his feet and opened his arms. At first they hugged awkwardly. In all the years they’d known each other, it was the first time they’d ever hugged, and Jack was sure he caught Kiera giving them an exasperated eye roll. But then Jack was hit with the enormity of what was happening. The man he loved like a father was alive. He had been struggling with the thought that he would never see him again, and now here he was. Kitto was alive. Jack found himself gripping the old man tighter, as though if he did let him go, he might disappear and Jack would find out it was all a dream after all. He realised that Kitto was gripping him just as tightly.

They eventually broke away and Jack returned to feeling awkward again. He patted Kitto’s back and cleared his throat. Then he held out the biscuit packet he was still holding in his hand. “Custard cream?”

“Ooooh!” Kitto took a biscuit in each hand and sat back down. He dipped one into his tea, but before he bit into it he asked, “What’s been happening?”

“What’s been happening?” Jack asked incredulously. “Shouldn’t we be asking you that?”

Kitto conceded the point and settled back into the cushion with his cup. They had picked up the settees free from a local pub that was closing down. They were a deep red colour, and were probably very smart when they were new, but now they were worn and smelt of alcohol no matter how much Kiera washed the covers. Nonetheless, Kitto looked content and comfortable as he snuggled down into them, like a man who was unfamiliar with such luxuries, and Jack wondered once more where his mentor had been all this time.

Kitto sipped his tea, smacked his lips and patted Kiera’s knee before finally beginning his story.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said, staring at the bare, wooden floor, “but I’ll tell you.”