A Witch Alone by Ruth Warburton

Author:Ruth Warburton [Warburton, Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781444904741
Google: PuIf42tXT-UC
Amazon: B00AJP2GJ4
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2013-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘I can’t believe it.’

I looked again over my shoulder. The street was empty.

‘Go on then – read it!’ Em urged. I shook my head.

‘Not now. I can’t. Not here.’

‘OK, well then, give the paper here,’ Em said. I frowned and she clicked her fingers impatiently. ‘Come on. This is the last known copy of the poem and possibly the answer to all our questions – aren’t you even just slightly afraid it might go west?’

‘Yes, of course. But are you sure—’

‘Psh.’ She made a snorting sound that was halfway between irritation and dismissal and twitched the paper out of my fingers. It fluttered in the wind and she began to prise off her boot.

‘What are you … ?’ I started, but then began to laugh shakily as Em folded the thin printout and slid it inside her shoe. ‘Have you been watching too many spy movies?’

‘Shut it, Winterson.’ Em eased her boot back on and frowned. ‘Ow, this is bloody uncomfortable actually. If I get a blister, I’m calling on you for a foot massage.’

We began to walk again, towards the grey expanse of river. In spite of the promises about near-twenty-four hour sun, we’d seen precious little sunlight since this morning. Black clouds had been pouring in from the sea, chased inland by the ceaseless wind. Now they were stacked across the skyline in towering mountainous ranges – like a thick, lead-grey duvet spread across the sky. A few more drops of rain spattered down as we stepped out on to the main road that ran alongside the Neva River. Em shivered and wrapped her coat more closely round herself.

‘Well this is super miserable,’ she said with faux-cheery bitterness. ‘Bang goes coffee in the square.’

‘I don’t want to hang around anyway,’ I said. ‘I’d rather get the you-know-what back to the hotel.’

‘Subtle, Anna, very subtle,’ Emmaline drawled. ‘Perhaps we could think of a code word. The Underpants, maybe. I’ve got to get the Underpants back to the hotel.’

‘The Scotch Egg,’ I said with a slightly hysterical nervous laugh.

‘That’s not embarrassing enough. How about, the Hot Stranger. I won’t feel happy until I’ve got the Hot Stranger back to my room.’

‘No wait,’ I giggled, pulled in in spite of myself. ‘I’ve got a better one—’

But before I could finish, a biting wind gusted down the road, bringing with it a cloud of dust and grit – crushed twigs and leaves and bits of debris. It swirled around our heads and we stopped, hunching our backs to the blast, hands over our faces, trying to shield our eyes.

‘Damn,’ Emmaline had her glasses off, rubbing at her face. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

But I could – just. As my swimming vision cleared, I saw that the swirl of rubbish wasn’t dispersing, but getting thicker and closer, and more defined. It seemed to have a shape, almost. The shape of a person, a woman – crouched as if to spring.

‘Em!’ I shouted. ‘Run!’

But it was too late.

The woman stood in front of us – barring our way, her arms spread.

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