RISING SHADOWS (Shadows Book 2)

Chapter 23

"I wonder where we will go now," Ingrid said, removing a few straggling tears with a flick of her finger.

The flames had all but died. Embers glowed in the grey ash and whispered plumes still trailed into the sky.

"You'd be welcomed in Valestone," I turned to look at her. "I'd make sure of it."

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. "One day perhaps, but not while Nova breathes. Going to Valestone will only draw more danger to you."

"Hexham then," I said softly, sobered by the thought that my parents and grandmother had all been alive and together in that place. "The site of our old coven, it's empty, guarded. You'd be safe there and I doubt it's somewhere Nova would bother to look."

"Hexham," she said, simply.

In that single spoken word, I knew there was a thousand left unsaid. No matter where Astrea's witches went in the world, they would be going without her, without their leader, without their heir, without the High Witch they chose.

With no more between us, I placed my hand over my heart, a symbol from one High Witch to another.

Arden and I touched down in the cottage garden in the early hours of the morning, frost-tipped grass blades snapped and crunched beneath our feet. The sun had not yet risen, though an orange-kissed horizon signalled its imminent arrival.

Stepping through the front door, I found I couldn't go much further. It was like walking into the comforting arms of my grandmother. The familiarity of the sights and sounds as soothing as gentle rain.

I didn't think I would know it again.

"What is it?" Arden said, stopping just ahead of me.

"I'm home."

"You're home," he said softly.

My legs went from under me and I crumpled in a heap on the floor. It felt like a lifetime ago that I was here, even though it had barely been a week. A week without that lavender haze, and my grandmother's worn armchair and the endless clucks of Fee, Fi, Fo and Fum outside.

Arden followed, falling to the floor with me and took my hands in his. I didn't weep, not this time. All my tears had probably been spent.

"It's done," Arden said carefully. "It's done and you're safe and we're going to kill the bitch, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are," I pointed my chin up at him and offered a smile. Just then a piercing meow broke out of the shadows at the top of the stairs and Angel sprang down one step at a time in mini bounces. He tottered over to us and started weaving in and out of our hands.

"I probably should feed him," Arden said. "I left him in the care of Mrs Swann and she was very keen on Angel hunting his own food."

I pulled a face.

"I'll feed him," Arden said, climbing onto his feet. "Come, kitty and then I can get to bed."

With Niamh having filled our bellies before we left Ravenshold, Arden was true to his word and went straight to bed after feeding Angel. Dark bruises and washed-out skin all telling evidence that the battle had drained him. I knew better than most that he'd rather be in front of a pewter pot stirring rainbow-coloured concoctions and bottling remedies.

I couldn't sleep, not that I'd given it a fair go. Changing into my pyjamas had proven a greater feat than I'd imagined. I could barely lift my arms without agony rippling across my back. Less than five minutes of tossing and turning, I moved downstairs, took a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and went and sat in the living room with dawn peeling up the windows.