Woodlington

Chapter 13 - Reporters

An hour later, Alex was in bed.

She was lying on her back, covers thrown aside, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Jessie had insisted she return to the house, told her to try and get some sleep.

But it was impossible.

She'd done magic, real magic (how could anyone sleep after that?) She fingered the flower lying against her throat. As a souvenir Jessie had performed a spell on it, crystallising the daisy so it'd last and threading it with string.

Alex was never going to take it off. Ever!

But of course, magic had only been the start.

That Jessie was really Rebecca was still too incredible to take in. She believed it (how could she not?), but that didn't make it easier. She was just glad her friend still wanted to be called Jessie.

Groaning in frustration, Alex rolled over, willing herself tired.

Since coming to Woodlington, her whole world had turned upside down. She'd got her house, her best friend, and now, her witch.

She thought back to the potion she'd made - the Besti-Brew. Why had that worked when none of the others had? Or perhaps they'd all been working, and it was only now she was seeing results.

For years she'd wanted adventure and excitement, and suddenly she was up to her neck in both. Harold had returned, they'd almost interrupted his resurrection spell, and last night another family had been killed.

According to Jessie, this might only be the start.

The witches on Peddlers Hill were beside themselves. The murdered family, the Whiply's, had been one of their own.

A thorough investigation of the mausoleum had ensued, and there was now no doubt as to the perpetrator's identity: Harold.

The whereabouts of Richard's body, was, for the time being, a mystery.

Though Jessie had kept a lid on her feelings, she'd finally broken down. Alex had held her again for a good twenty minutes as she'd sobbed uncontrollably.

Her father, the best man she'd ever known, was under the power of the monster who'd killed him.

Alex could think of nothing worse.

On Peddlers Hill, normal witch-life was on hold - everyone was waiting to see what Harold would do next.

Though Jessie had told them about Whiskey, for some reason the witches hadn't taken her seriously, even (to her great dismay) Abby and Beth.

'Idiots' Alex'd thought angrily. Why did adults never believe kids?

A grim smile crossed her face as she imagined them proving it.

That'd show them.

She'd have to talk about it with Jessie tomorrow, see if they could come up with a plan.

Reaching behind her, Alex rearranged the pillows, trying to make herself more comfortable, but sleep seemed a million miles away.

Unbidden, Jessie's answer to her last question came back to her: why did the police think they'd found Rebecca's body?,

She'd been reluctant to talk about it, but Alex had pestered until she'd given in.

Now, she wished she hadn't.

Apparently Abby and Beth had managed to find a replacement - a girl, the same age and build as Jessie, who'd died a week before the murders. In the dead of night, they'd dug her up, taken her home, and set about making sure she couldn't be identified.