Chapter Seventeen

Flames flicker at the feet of the human magic-users who assemble once more in their meeting place. It has been ten days since they gathered last. The coven members regard one another solemnly, until finally their leader speaks.

‘So far, our preparations have gone to plan,’ Varick begins, his voice echoing around the cold, empty space. ‘Soon our ceremony can take place, and the unknown measures of power that await us all shall finally be revealed. When the Demon Lord treads upon mortal soil, there will be no end to the time of the Shadowing.’

‘Soon may he come,’ the other coven members chant eagerly. Varick holds up his hands.

‘But first, brothers and sisters,’ he says, ‘there is one final element that we require. The most important of all.’

The others nod, but then the grey-haired woman speaks up.

‘Brother Varick, would it not be possible to seize the crone direct from inside her lair? We know the entryway. Surely we could take her by surprise?’

‘Maeve, someone of your years of experience should know that things are never as simple as they seem,’ the red-headed woman, Aradia, interjects, her beautiful emerald eyes glinting in the candlelight.

Maeve frowns at the younger woman but says nothing. She knows that speaking out against Varick’s chosen deputy could mean dismissal from the coven, and she does not wish to risk such a thing when their goal is so close at hand.

‘Aradia is right,’ Varick says. ‘We must not underestimate Black Annis’ power and cunning. She crossed over, just as we had hoped, at the start of the Shadowing, but she has lain low now for quite some time – something has thrown her into a state of caution. Her lair will almost certainly be difficult to penetrate. No, what we need is subtlety. We must lure the hag with . . . bait.’ Varick turns to Aradia.

‘I trust you are up to the task?’

‘Of course,’ Aradia purrs.

*

The boy in the supermarket is around six years old. His chestnut hair forms thick curls, offsetting large, round blue eyes from which fat tears are spilling. His father is doing his best to ignore the child’s loud cries.

‘No means no, Leonard!’ the man says to his son at last, but the boy is relentless, picking up a large, silver-wrapped chocolate bar once more.

‘I want it!’ he shouts, but his father calmly removes the bar from the boy’s hands and replaces it on the shelf.

‘What did I just say? Stop it, now.’ The man turns and begins to browse the shelves further down the aisle, leaving his son to run out of tears. He does not see the tall, beautiful woman with the long red hair watching them from a distance in the store. She makes no pretence of shopping for groceries. She observes the boy carefully, her arms folded.

She has chosen him.

The boy’s sobs continue unabated, but his round eyes soon fall on the red-headed woman. She smiles slowly and presses one long, perfectly manicured finger to her lips.

‘Shhh,’ she says. The boy instantly quietens, though tears still drip down his face. ‘That’s it,’ she says in a low voice. She knows the child can hear her, although she is at least fifteen metres away from him. She pauses for a moment as the boy’s father speaks again – but he does not look round.

‘Finally – thank you! This doesn’t mean I’m not going to tell your mum about how badly you’ve been behaving . . .’

The red-headed woman removes her finger from her lips and holds her hand out in front of her. With a flick of her wrist, something begins to move off the shelf and float towards the boy. Something shiny and silver.

The child gasps with excitement and reaches out to grab the chocolate bar as it moves through the air away from him. He takes a few steps towards the floating chocolate and then stops. He knows it is wrong. He turns to look at his father, and then back at the treat suspended in the air. He opens his mouth to speak, but the moment he does so, the woman frowns and balls her outstretched hand into a fist.

The boy’s own hand flies up to his face and clamps over his mouth, stopping his words.

‘I said, shhh,’ the woman hisses.

The child’s eyes widen with panic, but he makes no noise. His feet take him slowly, silently, steadily towards the woman – it is as if he is unable to stop himself taking the steps.

It is only when the boy has disappeared from view that his father looks around and sees that his son is gone.

‘Leonard?’ the man calls. His throat is tight. ‘LEONARD?’

It is no use.

Aradia has him now.