The Witches of Cambridge (28 page)

She glances up to see the concern in Santiago’s eyes. “Yes?” he prompts. “What?”

Noa speaks so softly she can hardly hear herself. “Protect you from black magic.”

Santiago nods. “Yes, she did.”

“And…” Noa stares back at her hands again. “Did she ever…?”

“What?” Santiago gently lifts Noa’s chin and fixes his soft gaze on her. “Tell me, it’s okay, I won’t be offended, don’t worry.”

Noa takes a deep breath. “Did you ever do it yourself? Black magic? Did you practice…?”

Santiago leans back, breaking their eye contact. “What are you asking, Noa? Are you suggesting I did something…untoward with you?”

Noa shrugs. “Well, it—the Sotheby’s job—was hardly obtained through the most official, moral channels, was it? You—”

“
We
,” Santiago says. “I might have set it up for you, but you went along with it every step of the way, so I’d be careful before—”

“I’m not blaming you, I’m grateful for what you did, for everything. But I’ve been thinking…”

“What?”

Noa frowns at the sudden snap in Santiago’s voice.

“Just that, maybe I stepped…maybe I shouldn’t have said yes to it all so quickly, maybe I should take a little break…it might stop the—”

“What?”

“I’m not saying I’m going to quit, or anything like that,” Noa says softly. “But at this rate I’ll have a nervous breakdown and be off sick for six m—”

“Don’t be silly,” Santiago says, his voice smooth as cachaça again. “I can help you with the nightmares, headaches, or whatever. It’ll only take a sprinkling of a spell to sort all that out.”

Noa shakes her head. “No,” she mumbles. “No. I don’t want to do any more”—she mouths the word—“magic.”

Santiago frowns. “Whyever not?”

“Because, it’s got me…it’s too unpredictable. I’m suffering hideously from the side effects of the last spell you cast and—”

Suddenly, Santiago stands. He looks down at her, his eyes narrow, his lips thin, his teeth clenched.

“You. Ungrateful. Bitch.”

Noa’s eyes widen with shock. “What? I, no, that’s not it at all, I’m not—”

“Shut up. I’ve had enough of your whining. I’ve done nothing but be good to you, more than good. I gave you the two things you wanted most of all, and this,
this
is how you react?”

“No, please, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, not at all, that’s the last thing I want.” Noa reaches up to Santiago but he shrugs her off. “I’m so, so grateful for everything you’ve done, I couldn’t be more—this isn’t about you, anyway, you don’t need me to promote your paintings, you’re far too talented for that, I’m only—”

Santiago takes a deep breath. Slowly, he squats down in front of her until they are face-to-face. His voice, when he speaks, is as cold as the fingers pressing into her knees and as dark as the eyes scratching into her soul.

“You will not take a break from Sotheby’s. You will stay and see that my paintings sell for the fortune that they deserve. You will stay until my name is on the lips of every art collector in the country. You will stay until I tell you that you may leave. Do you understand?”

Noa just stares at him, still as stone.

“I won’t ask you again.”

Noa nods, quickly.

“Say the words.”

“Yes,” Noa says. “Yes, of course, I understand.”

Santiago stands and smiles. “Good,” he says, as bright and light as if absolutely nothing had happened. “I’m glad we’ve got that clear. Now, let’s get back to business. I’ll show you the paintings I think are best for the first show. I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Noa nods again. She keeps nodding when Santiago shows the pictures he’s selected, she nods when he tells her the prices at which to sell them, she nods when he tells her what to do next. She nods for the final time when he hugs her and tells her he loves her. And then, as soon as she’s out of his house and halfway down the road, Noa starts to run and doesn’t stop until she reaches Amandine’s office.

A
MANDINE HAS CONVENED
an emergency meeting of the Cambridge University Society of Literature and Witchcraft on the rooftop of King’s College. They sit in a circle (not hovering this time, the severity of the situation having sucked the buoyancy out of them) with Noa, pale-faced and clutching her knees to her chest, in the middle. Amandine sits cross-legged between Kat and George. Cosima is next to George and Héloïse sits on a little stool between Cosima and Kat.

Kat leans close to Amandine, whispering, “Why did you ask Cosi to come? She should be taking it easy, not sitting up on rooftops about to do goodness knows what.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Amandine says, “but tonight we need all the help we can get.”

“I’m fine, sis,” Cosima pipes up. “Stop worrying.”

Kat sighs. “Okay, okay. Anyway, what’s going on?” Kat says, this time loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Why are we here? Why is the kid here?”

“Black magic,” Amandine says, “from what I can tell. We need to lift a spell that took her gift away. He’s been able to seep into her mind and corrupt her heart. We’ve got to get her strength back.”

“Who did it?” Cosima asks.

“Never mind that,” Amandine says. “Let’s focus on what we need to do now.”

“And what are we supposed to do?” George sits forward, looking ever so slightly terrified. “We don’t do black magic. I can hardly even do regular magic. So, I don’t think—”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Cosima says.

“Exactly,” Amandine says. “We can’t afford any self-doubt and low self-esteem, not right now.”

“Do you have a plan?” Héloïse asks.

“I have an idea. We’ll try it out and hope it works. After that, I don’t have a clue.”

“Shit,” Cosima says, looking at Noa, who’s turning grayer every second, has a cold sweat, and is shivering so hard her teeth chatter. “I hope it works too, ’cause that girl is in trouble.”

“She’s trying to fight it off,” Amandine says, “but it’s too strong, she’s got no strength left.” She stands. “We’d better get started.”

The other witches stand too, Kat jumping up, George tentative, Héloïse and Cosima easing themselves up slowly.

“I’ve prepared an incantation,” Amandine says. “We’ll all speak together and hopefully our combined strength will be enough to support Noa in dispelling the hold he has over her.” She glances down at the girl—for now Noa looks just like a scared little girl, almost a baby, as if she’s regressing to infancy and incapacity with every second—and feels the sickening wrench of Noa’s fear in her heart.

“Now,” Amandine says. “Follow me.”

The four witches nod, waiting, ears open and ready to pounce.

“
Dī, tē perdant
,” Amandine begins softly. “
Tē malēdicō
.” She repeats it three times, then nods to the others to join in. As the witches chant, the breeze gathers, circling around them until it’s a wind so strong that Cosima clutches George’s hand to steady herself. Their hair whips across their faces; their clothes twist around their bodies, flapping like untethered flags. Noa presses her head into her knees and moans, long and loud. And then it starts to rain. Not the usual light drizzle of a Cambridgeshire night but a hard sleet that hammers down and stings their eyes. Still, the witches don’t stop chanting. Noa’s moan becomes a high-pitched wail, so they shout above her, above the rain and the wind, until the five of them are screaming into the sky.

“Dī, tē perdant
.
Tē malēdicō.”

“Dī, tē perdant
.
Tē malēdicō.”

“Dī, tē perdant
.
Tē malēdicō.”

For nearly half an hour they scream, heads tipped back, soaking-wet faces turned to the bright, butter yellow moon, throats throbbing and scratched by the force of their cries. When the golden clock on the highest turret of King’s College begins to chime the twelve strokes of midnight, so low and loud that it reverberates through all their chests, the rain and wind stop so suddenly that the witches’ screams are stopped by shock.

“It’s not working,” Héloïse calls out.

“I know.” Amandine sighs. “I know.”

“I knew it wouldn’t,” George says. “We’re not strong enough to combat black—”

“So,” Kat interrupts him, “what are we going to do now?”

Noa starts to sob. She shakes so hard and her teeth chatter so loudly that everyone standing in the circle around her can hear. The sound is like fingernails on chalkboard.

“I don’t know,” Amandine admits. She breaks the circle, crouching down next to Noa and hugging her tight. “I don’t know.”

Without the wind and the rain, without their words, the air is so still and quiet that, when a thick cloud floats over the moon, the darkness suddenly becomes something menacing, as if the black sky were actually a hundred thousand black crows waiting to swoop down and tear out their eyes.

“I know what to do,” George says softly.

Amandine, still holding Noa tight, looks up. “You do?” She can’t keep the surprise out of her voice, since she’d been underestimating him too.

“I think so,” he says. “At least, I have another idea we could try.”

“What is it?” Cosima asks.

“Well…I think,” George begins, “I think we need to—sort of—let Noa give us strength, so we can give it back to her. Then she can reclaim her gift and reclaim herself.”

Héloïse frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Okay. Do you remember the first time we met her? When she joined the book group and told the truth and shook everything up a little?”

“Yes.” Kat, Héloïse, and Amandine speak in unison, some with slightly more bitterness than others.

Cosima looks blank.

“Well, what if we did that again?”

“But we can’t,” Amandine says. “Noa’s not able—”

“I know,” George says. “Not her. Us.”

“Us?” Héloïse asks.

“Yes. After all, black magic sucks its power from lies and deception, doesn’t it? And Noa loves art because it tells the truth,” George says. “So I think, if we can start speaking the truth, telling each other what we really think and how we really feel, then we might become powerful enough to—”

“Seriously?” Kat asks. “You really think that’s wise? With the secrets yo—”

Amandine gives Kat a sharp look. “Let’s try it,” she says. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

Noa begins to moan again, scratching hard at the skin of her scalp. Amandine tries to stop her, tries to grasp her hands, but Noa fights back, clawing at both their faces.

“Let’s try it now,” Amandine shouts. “We’ve not got long until she’s just a shadow of herself, until we’ve lost her forever.”

The witches glance around at one another, waiting for someone to speak first.

“Come on!” Amandine calls out. “Don’t be such a bunch of cowards!”

“You go first then,” Kat snaps, “if you’re so bloody brave.”

Amandine takes a deep breath. “All right. Okay. So, I hate my stepdaughter. She’s awful to me. And I know she’s suffering, I know her life is horrible, but I…I hate her and I pretend to Eliot that everything’s okay, but it’s not, I dread every time she visits and now Eliot wants to get full custody and I don’t know what to do.”

The other witches stare at Amandine.

“Wow,” Kat says. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

Amandine takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “Bloody hell. Wow. Gosh, I sound awful, don’t I?” But she’s surprised by how relieved she feels to have said aloud the thing she’s been most scared to. “Now you go.”

Kat shakes her head. “Someone else. I’ll go last.”

“
Maman
, help, please!” Amandine shouts. “We can’t waste time, go!”

“I’m falling in love,” Héloïse says softly.

All the witches stare at her in shock. Amandine is openmouthed.

“What?”

“He’s called Theo.” Héloïse smiles. “He used to own the bookstall in the market square. We’ve not kissed yet, but I’m nearly ready and…”

“
Maman
,” Amandine regains her composure. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Héloïse gives a little shrug. “You had all your own worries to think about, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel. Your father…He’s taking it rather well, I believe.”

Kat, Cosima, and George all look confused.

“You’re still talking to him?” Amandine asks.

Héloïse shakes her head. “Not lately. He hasn’t spoken to me in a while. I think it’s his way of giving his silent blessing. At least, that’s what I’m choosing to believe.”

“Well, in that case,
Maman
, I’m very happy for you.”

Héloïse steps over to her daughter and hugs her tight. “
Merci beaucoup, ma petite chérie,”
she whispers into her shoulder. Then she looks up again at the other witches. “Okay, next!”

“My turn,” Cosima says. She turns to George. “I’m sorry I…I tricked you, into all this.” She nods down at her belly. “I didn’t mean to, really, I didn’t. The spell went a little wrong, but, but I know I shouldn’t have gone along with it.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “I’m really sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

The witches all stare at her. George reaches for her hand.

“I know what you did,” he says, “and, yes, of course I forgive you. It doesn’t matter. I love our baby. I can’t wait to be a dad. And that’s all that matters, okay?”