The Lighthouse Witches(43)

It was Amy, shouting at the people around her.

The crowd moved back, wary of the cacophony and the flames, which were being driven by the wind toward them. The sky darkened and the waves lashed at the rocks. In a moment, I watched as a guard grabbed Amy by the hair and started to drag her toward the stake, apparently with the intention of burning her with the others. My mouth was wide in horror, and I was still rooted to the spot, nailed down by fear and the strange, weightless sensation that this wasn’t real, that it wasn’t happening.

A judge shook his head at the guard, who gruffly shoved Amy to the ground. I would learn later that the only reason her life had been spared was because the Royal Inquiry had a strict judicial process in place for witches—a barbarous process, yes, but one that had order.

In a moment, the rest of the women’s cries died out, their voices quenched by the flames. The crowd began to tire of the scene; children grew restless, babies cried for milk. I stayed until Amy rose up from her spot on the ground and huddled close to me, both of us watching our mothers and Amy’s sister consumed by the fire, black smoke rising into the darkening sky.





LUNA, 2021



I

It’s morning; Luna wakes with a drumming headache and a strange euphoria at having survived the night. The sun is shining, the loch a bright lens and the hills proud and purple with heather. Last night’s torrential downpour is a distant memory, save the pans full of water on the kitchen floor and the wet patch on the ceiling. She stares up at it and sighs. She’ll have to message the owner. There will be money owed for repairs. But first, she needs to deal with Clover.

Luckily, Clover seems a little less hell-bent on destruction this morning. She asks for Pop-Tarts—which Luna bought on request—and they eat those together at the dining table, both in their pajamas. For a moment, Luna considers not mentioning the overflowing bath episode. But she knows, from her training, that Clover needs to talk about this. Silence never works.

“How are you feeling?” she says.

Clover shrugs. She’s focused on her Pop-Tarts, and the skin beneath her eyes is mauve and sunken. She’s slept in her day clothes, and strands of brown hair have loosened from her ponytail, hanging around her face.

“Can you tell me why you left the taps running in the bathroom?” Luna says gently. “Did you want to take a bath and simply forgot?”

Clover keeps her eyes on the plate, her lips tight.

“And what about Gianni?” she presses, careful not to speak too fast, to keep her tone gentle. “I saw you cut him up. Did you decide you didn’t like him anymore?”

“He needed to die,” Clover says, raising her eyes to Luna.

“Why did he need to die?”

Clover shrugs.

“You know, if you wanted to have a bath, you could just tell me . . .”

“I didn’t,” Clover snaps.

“I see. So why did you run the taps to flood the bathroom?”

“To flood the house, dummy,” Clover says crossly.

Luna takes a breath. She can feel her nerves ringing, her heart pounding. She has met many, many children with behavioral problems. She was one of them, once upon time. But she never expected a reunion with her either of her sisters to turn out like this. How na?ve she was to think things might ever return to how they were over twenty years ago.

“I was thinking we could go somewhere fun today,” she says brightly, changing tack. “Just the two of us.”

Clover looks puzzled. “Why?”

“Well, to get to know one another again. To . . . spend time together.”

“Why?” Clover demands again.

Luna stares at her plate of half-eaten Pop-Tarts. How did she ever find these remotely edible? She needs to find a Starbucks or Pret for breakfast. “Would you like to go to a park?” she says.

Clover looks restless. She looks around, taking in the room. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“We can leave anytime,” Luna says. “We can go to my flat today if you like.”

“Where’s your flat?”

“I live in Coventry. Do you know where that is?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s quite a drive from here. We can take it in stages. Spend a night in Edinburgh, maybe? And then drive down the next day?”

“I want to go back to the Longing,” Clover says.

Luna stares, a sudden wave of panic washing across her. The Longing. The name conjures such terror, such complex memories. They’re so close to it now, just a short drive and a ferry away. She can almost feel it calling to her.

She tells Clover to brush her teeth and get ready. She has no plan, but right now she needs to be alone. She needs a moment to think about what to do next.

Ethan calls, and she’s relieved to hear his voice.

“Everything OK?” he asks. She tells him about the events of the night before. It’s a relief to confide in someone.

“Fucking hell,” he says. “I knew I should have stayed.”

“What could you have done?”

“I don’t like the sound of this. You had labor pains in the hospital. What if the stress of this kicks that off again?”

“I’m fine.”

“Please come home today. Please.” A pause. “Though can you imagine Margaret’s reaction if Clover flooded our flat.”