The Hawkweed Prophecy Read online

  Poppy started walking again, more quickly this time. But a couple of steps and Leo was level with her, tugging on her arm to stop her.

  “You had something important to tell me, when you came to find me. I know you did.”

  His voice in the darkness was rough and urgent. All Poppy could feel were his fingers on her sleeve, nothing else. All she could see were the whites of his eyes. The rest was lost in the night.

  I am a witch, she remembered. I am a witch.

  She shut her eyes and breathed deeply until she was ready. She felt the magic stir inside of her, tingling under her skin, rising up through the pores, and caressing the hairs above.

  “I want you to be happy,” she whispered. “Remember that.”

  An owl was circling above their heads, its wide wings beating the air, slower and slower and slower. She heard the owl call to her and she answered its call.

  “She’ll make you happy,” she invoked. “She is good and kind, and she will love you and look after you. Remember that.”

  Leo was still, silent, but Poppy knew he’d heard her. Somewhere in his mind he’d heard her and the magic had touched him. She opened her eyes and time began again. The owl fluttered away to a tree and the clock in Leo’s hand gave a tick, then a tock. The tiny wheels were whirring. Tick tock. Tick tock.

  “Hey, Poppy! Look at that!” Leo stared at the clock in his hands in amazement. Then he grinned. “Wait till I tell Ember!”

  Leo, Leo, Leo, thought Ember. She wanted to say it, sing it, write it, over and over. When they said good-bye, he reminded her about fixing the clock. She ran and fetched it for him, and their hands touched as he took it from her. She watched him walk away with it, carrying it so carefully, carrying a piece of her with him. She hugged Poppy close, trying to convey through her arms how thankful she was. Then she hugged Leo too, impulsively, and he laughed and she felt his body shake.

  “Whoa, you’re strong!” he said, and then, “It was nice to meet you, Ember.”

  “It was nice to meet you too,” Ember returned, speaking each word as if she really meant it.

  Leo looked from her to Poppy and back again. “You know, it’s strange,” he said, “but even though you look like total opposites of each other, there’s something similar about you, too.”

  Ember gasped. “It’s true!” She looked at Poppy, but Poppy’s eyes were on Leo.

  “Maybe it’s because you’re both so different from everyone else,” he suggested.

  Poppy gave a scoffing noise that made Ember flinch.

  “What?” she exclaimed. “You know it’s true.” Ember quickly turned to Leo. “You’re right. We might not look it but we are the same.” She tapped her heart. “In here.”

  Poppy was staring at her now, and Ember knew she shouldn’t have protested so much. She wished Poppy would just agree with her and then the moment would be over and another gentler one would take its place. In the end, it was Leo who agreed instead.

  “Rare. That’s the word.”

  Rare. That was good, wasn’t it? He’d made it sound like it was. Like a rare bird or flower. Ember loved spotting those.

  Poppy’s voice came unexpectedly. It was small and quiet but sounded utterly sincere. “If I’m similar to you, that makes me better than I thought I could be.”

  And Ember nearly cried as she hugged Poppy close.

  After Leo and Poppy left, she returned to the woods. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t feel the ground beneath her feet, or the chill in the air, or sense her cousin’s presence by the chestnut tree.

  Sorrel stepped into the path and Ember almost skipped straight into her. It took a few moments for her to remember to shield her happiness from Sorrel. Then she noticed the harshness in Sorrel’s stare and the rigidity of her stance.

  “Where’ve you been, cousin?”

  “To the river.”

  Sorrel kept her eyes fixed on Ember’s. “The river’s that way.” Her arm moved; the rest of her was hard like granite.

  “I was just walking.”

  “That so?”

  Ember felt her head begin to itch. She tried to ignore it and focus on Sorrel, but her hand went to her scalp of its own accord. Once she started itching, she couldn’t stop.

  “No, Sorrel. Please.”

  “I think you have lice, dear cousin.”

  Ember cried out. She felt them now, each one of the thousands of them crawling through her hair. She looked at her hands. Her nails were black with them. She started to weep, a downpour of tears. “Why, Sorrel? Why?”

  “Because you think you’re so fair. The fairest of them all.”

  Ember started to run, away from Sorrel, to the safety of her mother.

  “Thank your stars it wasn’t leeches,” Sorrel shouted after her. Then, in a lower voice that Ember couldn’t hear, “See if he’ll think you’re so pretty now.”

  Sorrel gathered her long skirts and ran to tell her mother that she’d been right about the boy. With the utmost caution, she answered Raven’s questions about him. One hint at her own befuddlement would be a catastrophe. Any of her coven would feel great shame at being interested in a male, but for her, the future queen, it was unthinkable. So Sorrel stuck coldly to the facts, watching and waiting for her mother’s reaction. She was expecting Raven to be pleased. Sorrel even hoped she might receive some praise for her work. But none came. Instead, her mother’s lips pursed with dissatisfaction and lines of irritation crossed her forehead.

  “A boy,” Raven repeated. “This was all for the sake of a boy?” She shook her head, then scratched at the back of it in puzzlement.

  “She may run off with him,” Sorrel added, but it was like trying to light a fire with wet kindling.

  “Let her go,” Raven spat. “You think I would mourn her departure? You think any of us would?”

  “She could tell our secrets,” Sorrel sparked. “It is forbidden for any of our clan.”

  “Pffhh!” Raven huffed dismissively. “Omens predicting misfortune and disaster. The great yew fallen. For this?! For such a one as she, and for a boy?! It cannot be.”

  Sorrel let a moment pass, then spoke quietly. “Perhaps the boy’s companion will do her harm. She seemed aggrieved about the boy’s interest in our Ember.”

  Raven spun round. Crouching low to where Sorrel was sitting, she grabbed Sorrel’s chin within her bony fingers. “She? Who is this ‘she’?” she snapped.

  “A girl. Nobody,” gulped Sorrel. Her mother’s eyes blackened until the pupils were lost inside the darkness. Despite the pressure of the eyes, the fingers, the breath on her face, the body coiled and ready to spring, Sorrel continued bravely on with her testimony. “She was just someone the boy brought with him. She didn’t do or say much. She only waited there and watched them.”

  Raven pulled herself up to standing, and as she did so her body elongated, her limbs stretched and spiked, all branches and twigs, until she towered over Sorrel. A bonfire, she was, all ablaze, her features fiery, a ferocious energy crackling within her.

  “And you mention her but now?” Raven’s voice burned, and Sorrel flinched and shrank from the roasting.

  “It’s the boy Ember’s involved with. I tell you, she couldn’t shift her eyes from him.”

  “And your eyes, you fool? It was the girl you should have been watching.”

  Charlock felt the heat of Sorrel’s humiliation from all the way over in her caravan and guessed she must be facing Raven’s wrath. She felt a pang of sympathy for her niece despite the distress she had caused her daughter. She understood what it meant to be related to Raven. How, if you let it, it could make you lose sight of yourself and act in ways you were not proud of.

  Charlock was washing Ember’s hair, combing the lice from her scalp. Their miniature black corpses lay bobbing in the water, like the charred remains of a shipwreck.

  “There you are. All gone now,” Charlock said gently.

  Ember looked up at her with grateful, reddened eyes. “Thank you, Mothe
r. I love you so!”

  Charlock wrapped the golden ponytail around her hand and squeezed the last of the water from it. Ember had a habit of wringing her heart this way. When Charlock thought she’d given as much as she was able, somehow Ember would squeeze a few more drops of feeling from her.

  “Whatever you did to annoy her, stop it!” Charlock had a last pull on the ponytail before releasing it.

  “I don’t know what I did wrong, though!”

  Ember’s voice was high and plaintive, and it irked Charlock. “Think on it, then stop it. Or more mess will come your way, you hear.”

  Charlock took the bowl of dirty water and threw it with a slosh onto the grass outside. For a moment she stood and watched the water seep into the ground, back from where it came, the nits sinking to their muddy graves. Then she turned back to her child.

  “And I won’t always be able to clean it up for you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Minx screeched when she saw it, her cry so sharp with shock that it slashed the air. The ungodly creature had emerged through a cloud, as if born of the night, its bluish-black feathers and ebony eyes melding it with the dark sky. It flew past Minx and settled on the highest branch of the tree. Minx crept along the roof, padding closer for a better look. The bird was a huge, hideous brute, all out of proportion, with a beak too long for its head and oversized skeletal wings that hunched and hung at its sides, making it look much older than its years.

  As Minx approached, the creature took off again. It flapped through the air, over the house and garden, back and forth, patrolling the area, its beady eyes surveying the surroundings. Minx watched it go and called to the others, alerting them to the danger. The other cats appeared, their eyes flashing in the darkness.

  The bird landed on Poppy’s window ledge. Minx screeched again, this time for Poppy, trying to tell her to wake up, to be careful, to know something evil was lurking. The winged monster peered inside the room, its hooked beak tapping on the glass. All the cats started to meow now, their voices a warning siren. Minx leapt forward, landing on the gutter just above the window. She swiped a paw at the creature, who looked up at her and cawed an ugly, hellish sound. Minx hissed, baring her teeth, and the bird took flight again, soaring high. Minx trembled with relief. Poppy was safe.

  Then suddenly, without warning, the bird plummeted. Talons outstretched, it plucked Minx from the roof as though she were a mere mouse and carried her squirming body off into the night.

  Poppy sat up in her bed, her eyes snapping open. Her heart was beating fast, and her breath was coming quick and shallow. She looked around her room. All was silent and still. Swinging her legs out of bed, she went to the window, pushing her curtain aside. Outside she saw nothing unexpected. But something was wrong. She could feel it. She forced herself to get back under the covers and calm down. Shutting her eyes, she tried to fall back asleep, but rest would not come. She was on high alert, and no matter how much she told herself there was nothing to be scared of, she still felt fearful.

  The next morning she was exhausted. The adrenalin had sapped away, leaving her feeling low and depleted. Her eyes were bleary, the skin beneath them tinged with shadow.

  “Morning,” her father said, more chirpily than usual.

  From her bedroom, in her sleepless state, Poppy had heard her father’s radio alarm, his feet on the landing, the water from the shower hitting his body, the whine of his electric toothbrush, and the sound of his spit in the sink. But now she was up, she was so tired she hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen. She turned and murmured a good morning. He looked annoyed.

  “For God’s sake, Poppy. Miserable already?”

  Poppy rolled her eyes and turned back to her toast.

  “Eye rolling?” Her dad looked at his watch. “And not even eight o’clock.”

  Poppy opened the fridge and searched for milk.

  “If it’s milk you’re looking for, we’ve run out,” her dad advised. Then he laid a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Pick some up after school, will you? And some bread too.”

  “Why do I have to do it?” Poppy muttered.

  “Because I’m working, Poppy. To pay for the milk and everything else in this house.”

  Even though Poppy now remembered giving the last of the milk to the cats, she felt like taking the ten dollars and running away. Leo had done it. Leo. Why did she still think of him when he wasn’t hers to think about? She took the ten and grabbed her coat and school bag.

  “Good-bye, then!” her dad called after her in an exasperated voice.

  “Bye,” she replied quickly as she opened the door.

  Poppy’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her scream. Minx was on the step in front of her but she’d been ripped apart, her stomach and chest exposed so that Poppy could see right inside of her. The little cat’s teeth were bared in a grimace.

  Poppy dropped to her knees. “Minx . . . oh, Minx!” she gasped.

  Minx’s head twitched and her eyes turned to Poppy. She couldn’t move her head but she was still alive. Poppy reached out a hand to touch her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Poppy’s heart was burning in her chest. The guilt and pain seared through her. Minx had waited all these hours for Poppy to come, lying there in agony while Poppy had sat in bed, wishing she could sleep.

  Why hadn’t she walked downstairs and looked outside? Why? She had known something was wrong. All those hours she had known and she had done nothing about it. She scooped Minx into her arms and opened the door.

  “Dad! Dad!” she shouted.

  His mouth dropped when he saw her. “Poppy. What on earth?!”

  “You’ve got to take us to the vet. Please!” Poppy pleaded.

  “Where did you find it? Put it down—it’s bleeding everywhere.”

  “We’ve got to go. Hurry!” Poppy was crying in earnest now.

  “For God’s sake, Poppy. Look at it—it’s not going to make it.” Her dad came closer and stared at Minx with an expression of deep distaste. “It doesn’t even have a collar. It’s just a stray. Poppy, come on now!”

  Poppy looked around her wildly. “Give me your keys? I’ll drive her myself.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “What are you going to do? Have me locked up like Mom?” Her dad looked wounded. “I’m sorry. Please, Dad. I’m begging you.”

  “It’s dying, Poppy. It’ll never make it. Let the thing die in peace.” Her dad walked back into the kitchen. Minx gave a whimper.

  “I hate you!” Poppy yelled after her dad, the pain and fury of the words raking her throat. “I hate you!”

  She stumbled down the road sobbing, her tears splashing onto Minx’s fur. Every time Minx shut her eyes, Poppy would call her name and the cat would try so hard to open them until the effort proved too much and her lids sank back down. Her breathing was long and hoarse, rattling in her wounded chest.

  “Don’t die. Please don’t die!” Poppy begged.

  Minx looked into her eyes and Poppy stopped.

  “I have to try to save you,” she insisted.

  Minx stared back at her meaningfully, and Poppy shook her head as if in answer: I can’t lose you too. But then she looked at her friend, savaged and bleeding, and she moved to the wall and sat down on the pavement. Cradling Minx in the crook of her arm, she stroked her head ever so lightly, not wanting to cause her more pain.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  As soon as she said that, Minx’s breathing slowed even further. Then her eyes shut for the last time and the expression on her small face turned from pain to calm serenity.

  Poppy went weak, not just with heartache but something more. The spell she had cast for Leo and Ember stopped. Just like that. It was as though the power lines were down and she could no longer reach the witch part of herself. Not that she cared. She simply continued to stroke Minx, knowing her friend was gone but needing to pretend for just a little while longer.

  “Wh
o did this to you?” Poppy asked, and then she understood. It was because of her. Someone had killed Minx to hurt her. And with that realization, Poppy’s sorrow sharpened to a hard spike and formed a weapon.

  To Leo’s surprise, the clock broke again that morning. One second it was keeping perfect time, the next it stopped dead. As Leo examined the clock, his head felt clearer, his vision sharper than it had been since last night. He had slept heavily, despite the noise and the cold, and dreamt deeply, so deeply that when the sun rose, he found it hard to wake. He floated in and out of sleep for some time until a garbage truck stopped close by, and first the clatter and then the smell forced him to get to his feet and move on.

  Still the dream lingered in his consciousness like a mist, and Leo was aware he was thinking and moving more slowly than usual. Try as he might to focus, his mind kept returning to Ember, the girl who had entered his dreams uninvited and unexpectedly. She was a hazy figure, the stuff of fantasy, not flesh and blood like Poppy. Leo tried to picture Poppy, her dark, boyish hair and girlish figure, her wild, clashing eyes. So often he had seen her in his mind’s eye, but this time her features wouldn’t stick. As soon as he captured them, they’d fade away and in her place Ember would appear, hair spun like gold, smiles and dimples and curves, inviting him closer and closer in. Then the clock stopped, and suddenly she was Poppy’s friend again, pretty and sweet, but nothing more to him than that.

  Relieved that he was now thinking straight, Leo put his mind to the clock. Its workings looked no different from before, and Leo could see no reason for its hands to freeze like that. He hoped Mr. Bryce, the antiques guy, might be able to fix it, so he set off to see him, passing the church on his way. As Leo glanced over the graveyard toward the hidden garden, thoughts of Poppy came rushing back to him. He felt so relieved to have her back in the forefront of his mind that he decided to stop and visit there. The clock could wait a while.

  For the first time Leo found the old, secret door in the wall hanging open. He hesitated but then stepped through, his eyes scouring the garden to find the person who trespassed there. He wasn’t sure who it was at first. He couldn’t make out the face, just a figure near the stream crouched on all fours, burrowing into the ground with their hands. Leo moved closer and then stopped when he realized it was Poppy. There was something so violent and desperate about the way she was attacking the ground that he wondered whether he should disturb her. Just as he decided to back away, Poppy turned and looked at him. Her eyes were wild through her matted hair. Tear tracks streaked her muddy face.