PROBLEM - Anthony Lockwood

CHAPTER FOURTY ONE

~

xli

it's not my fault everyone here is blind

~

"THEY LEFT YOU?" Alice scoffed, hands on her hips as she surveyed Kipps, "Some team."

"I told them to run," Kipps shrugged.

"And they ran where?" Alice asked.

"Towards the motorway," George declared.

Alice sighed, "Your team might have just become roadkill, you know."

Kipps looked up at her, "Foget about them. You crashed a car! Where did you get the car?"

Lockwood, George, and Alice exchanged a look.

"You stole the car?!" Kipps gasped.

"Kipps," Lockwood seethed, "Shut up and keep walking." He clenched his jaw as they walked, anger flooding his eyes. It had to be around two, maybe three am. at this point, and the four of them were stuck in the woods with nothing but some flashlights, rapiers, and a couple of flares.

Alice could tell that Lockwood was furious, and it both worried and turned her on. She currently couldn't decide which. Being within a two mile radius of Kipps for longer than 5 minutes usually made the dark-haired boy dangerously close to murder. By this point, he was ready to torture a small farm animal.

Around thirty minutes had passed.

"Guys, can we stop," George inquired, "Please. Just for a little bit."

Alice sighed, "George is right. We'll make better progress when the sun rises anyway."

"How do you know that?" Kipps inquired.

Alice didn't have the heart to tell him that sometimes she'd walked for days straight. Once, she and Tom had to travel all the way to a Scotland coven on foot.

Welcome to witch life.

"I walk a lot," Alice declared. She spied the look on Lockwoods face and pointed to a small clearing. "Let's all sit there for a bit, and Kipps and I will gather firewood."

"I'll go with you instead," Lockwood offered.

Alice grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at her, "Lockwood," she whispered, "Just calm down for a bit. We'll be five minutes."

He grit his teeth, running a hand through his hair angrily, but sat in the clearing anyway.

Alice turned, "Come on, you prick."

They grabbed as much fallen wood as they could find, silent at first.

"Where's -uh- where's Lucy?" Kipps questioned.

"She's resting," Alice replied.

"Is she ill?!" he inquired, voice filled with urgency. Then, realising his own tone, he cleared his throat and in a faux show of nonchalance, "I mean, is she okay?"

Alice smirked to herself as she picked up another piece of wood. "Oh, she's fine; just passed out yesterday," Alice replied.

"What?" Kipps furrowed his brows, "Why? Is she okay?"

Alice turned to him and nodded, "Yeah, she's fine, Kipps." She smiled, "By the way, she likes vanilla lattes with three spoons of sugar or regular tea as well but with three spoons, and also she adores biscuits - especially the chocolote digestives

Kipps blinked, his face going red, "Why are you telling me this?"

Alice rose her eyebrows, "You know why." She turned, beginning to make her way back towards the others.

"Alice," Kipps called after her, "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

"Of course not," she replied, smiling lightly, "Just make your move, she'll take it well, I promise."

Kipps caught up to her and smiled, looking down at her in slight bewilderment, before chuckling and bumping his shoulder against hers affectionately, "Thanks."

Once they got the fire going, everyone sat in timid silence.

Alice had Lockwood's hand in hers, and she was tracing patterns in his palm with her finger.

"What happened to your hand?" He inquired, voice low as his gaze found the cut across her palm.

Alice shifted uncomfortably, "Nothing, I just opened the flare wrong and stabbed myself with the pin."

Lies, lies, lies.

George sighed as he looked through his bag, "Anyone pack any snacks?"

Lockwood chuckled, "You're gonna have to deal with it, mate."

"How long until the nearest SOS phone?" Kipps inquired.

"Some way south," Alice declared, "If we can find the motorway again, we'll be good."

They fell silent after that, all staring into the warmth of the fire.

Lockwood stared at Alice instead, watching as the flames illuminated her olive skin and danced in her dark eyes. There was a sudden rustling, and he snapped his head around, "What was that?"

Alice leaned back, turning, "Oh, it's probably just..." she trailed off before grinning.

"Why do you have that face?" George inquired, studying the look on her face.

Alice grabbed her knife and stood up, "Nothing, nothing. You guys stay here. I'll be back with a snack."

"Ally-" Lockwood started.

"Trust me, love," Alice assured. "I grew up in the hills." And then she disappeared in the direction of the noises, leaving the three of them in the clearing.

20 minutes later, Alice returned with a dead rabbit. It had already been skinned and cut up, leaving her hands and knife stained with red.

"I don't know if I should be impressed or feel sick," George gasped, "What the fuck?!"

"What is that?" Kipps demanded.

Lockwood just stared.

"I'm suddenly not hungry anymore," George commented.

Alice rolled her eyes, "Very funny, we're going to be walking another two hours at least, you know."

"How did you do that?" Lockwood inquired, watching as she began to cook the rabbit over the fire.

Alice shrugged, "My brother and I used to catch rabbits a lot when I was little. He taught me to hunt. It was quite useful since trading used to be cut off to our village a lot."

She said this all like it was normal, as if it were an everyday occurance do go rabbit hunting with your siblings because of trading sanctions.

To Lockwood, a city boy, it was most definitely not normal.

Lockwood and George exchanged a look. Lockwood's eyes found Alice again as she cooked the rabbit nonchalantly, not paying any heed to them. He could imagine for a moment what her childhood might have been like. Pendle Hill - the largest witch community in the country - was isolated from society as a whole. He could imagine trade being shut off from them entirely, the government essentially erasing them from the map. A little Alice, hunting in the woods at the base of the hill, so that her family could eat.

Tom, the boy who was in his drawing room that day, was apparently her brother. But Lockwood couldn't imagine him ever being young.

"Ally," he inquired, breaking her out of her musings, "How much older is your brother?"

Alice shifted, "Around 5 years."

She hesitated.

He could feel the lie on her without having to look in her eyes.

But why lie about her own brother's age?

Dimly, Lockwood remembered that witches could live for much, much longer than regular people.