Chapter Fourteen

9.26 p.m.: saturday 30 october

The Hook of Holland

258 miles and 17(+1) hours and 34 minutes until the wedding

They made it to the ferry port with four minutes to go before they closed boarding. Harry had taken the wheel again. Despite Kay being worried about how worn out he was, it was still the safer option than her driving while under the influence. It was hard to tell whether her level of distraction was from the drug still in her system or the way her mind was churning over each of the mishaps with her magic over the last few months, trying to see how many of them were of an elementary nature.

If she did have a partial affinity for weather – her mother and father's sides combining to give her an ability to influence it – that might explain why it was trying to erupt from her, since she'd never given it any attention. Never tried to use it, learn about it, or control it. It wouldn't be like the secondary affinity Harry thought she had, where she made people more aware of their feelings – that was just vibes really, a natural aura she was incapable of controlling. Weather affinities could be powerful if they were ones where you could affect it rather than just read it, like her Aunt Lucille.

Harry flopped back in his seat after driving onto the ship and parking in among the rows of other vehicles, like he'd barely taken a breath the whole way. She knew he'd been walking a line between trying to hurry so they made their boarding time, but also being ultra careful because of the snow and the fear that they might spin off the road again.

‘We made it,' she told him, taking a sip from the massive water bottle Leon had insisted they take with them. She offered it to Harry. ‘You got us here. Thank you.'

‘Couldn't have done it without you.' He took the bottle and took a long drink himself. Kay tried not to ogle him too much as he swiped his tongue across his lips, screwing the cap back in place and tucking the bottle in the holder again. ‘Shall we?' He tipped his head towards the car door.

‘I guess so.' She half-laughed, half-groaned. ‘The thought of moving, though …'

‘I know, but there's food upstairs, and beds. It'll be worth the final effort.'

They climbed out of the car like a pair of octogenarians with arthritis and joined the queue to go up the narrow stairwell to the main deck. Harry left his bag in the back, even though Kay offered to carry it for him, saying he could always grab it later. He had other priorities, it seemed.

‘Great Mabon, I'm starving,' Harry announced as they trooped up the stairs with everyone else.

‘You know what – me too. I can't believe it. Leon's dinner was so good.'

They passed through the doors out into the hallway and Harry ducked his head down beside hers and whispered: ‘You know, that might be a little something called the munchies.'

She shivered at the brush of his lips against the shell of her ear and laughed. ‘What's your excuse?'

‘I'm hollow inside,' he joked, but as she glanced at him, his eyes weren't lit in their usual way. Perhaps he was just tired, but it made her wonder how much of his self-deprecating humour was based on things he truly believed. He looked around him, hands in his pockets, frowning at the signs, the artificial lights showing how pasty he still was. ‘What do you fancy?'

You. Even like this; wan and tired. It was like seeing the bones of him. The hardy pieces that kept going, kept trying, no matter how difficult it was. At some point, probably when he was literally bleeding to try to get the car back on the road, something inside her had accepted that she was lucky to have Harry in her corner. He would do everything he could to get her to Joe's wedding.

‘I don't mind. You choose. Last time I made a decision about eating, it backfired spectacularly.'

After they'd both made use of the toilets, they went to the nearest restaurant and grabbed a toastie each. In actual fact, Harry grabbed two, plus a blueberry muffin, and they attacked their food in silence.

The moment their stomachs were full, the last of Harry's energy seemed to abandon him. He sat at the table, his chin on his fist, propping his head up and his eyes making longer and longer blinks.

‘Come on, let's get you to bed,' Kay said, pushing her plate away.

Harry's eyes opened wide at that comment, and she heard it back to herself, her cheeks flushing, but she didn't exactly correct him.

When they stood up, she went to him and slipped her arm around his waist to help him stay upright. He'd done the same for her at least twice today. With his arm around her shoulders, he leaned his tired weight on her as they wandered the decks, looking for their cabin.

It was tiny and sterile but clean, with a set of bunk beds riveted to the wall on one side of a porthole and an armchair on the other side. Kay helped Harry over to the lower bunk and released him so he could collapse onto it with a groan.

She left her things on the armchair and debated climbing up onto the top bunk to sleep herself, but she didn't really want to. She wanted to sleep. But she didn't want to sleep up there, separate from him.

He'd kicked his shoes off and wrestling himself out of his coat off – or trying to – but his elbows were tangled in the arms, and he just flopped back with a sigh. She used it as an excuse to go over and help him out of it, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding onto the cuffs for him.

‘Are we going to talk about it now?' he mumbled as he pulled his arms free and shifted onto his side, plumping the pillow up beneath his head, his eyes hardly open.

‘Talk about what?'

‘Whether you regret us kissing, now you're mostly sober and not under Leon's influence?'

She pressed her lips together. She didn't regret it.

Not yet.

But now the magical influence had eased and, as Harry said, she was mostly sober, she could acknowledge that this wasn't as easy as she'd imagined it to be when she was riding her high in Leon's bathroom. She was raised by an empath at the end of the day. She knew that feelings couldn't evaporate, like the water spilled over Madam Hedvika's table, no matter whether it was illogical to hold on to them. No matter how she felt like she was seeing him again properly for the first time in years – maybe even understanding him better than she ever had – it didn't mean her hurt and resentment were going to disappear.

And then there was the fact that he was an influencer with another affinity linked to the seer designation – and she was an empath, possibly with another affinity linked to influencing – and she'd spent many, many years strongly believing that was an absolute recipe for heartache and toxic relationships. What if one day he had inconvenient feelings for her again and instead of talking to her about it, he chose to avoid her, like she suspected had happened when he stood her up? That particular gift wasn't going anywhere, no matter how much she wished it would.

So, he might not regret the kissing. She might even want more kissing … OK, she definitely wanted more kissing. But if there wasn't any potential for more between them, maybe giving in to temptation wasn't for the best?

Instead of saying any of that, though, she just murmured: ‘Sleep, Harry. You need to sleep. We've got all tomorrow morning with the drive back to talk.'

He nodded into the pillow, his eyes already closing. ‘I guessso.'

She turned to drape his coat over the armchair with hers and when she looked back, he'd pressed himself up against the wall and had his hand outstretched to her.

Her heart gave a painful kick in her chest. Actions spoke louder than words sometimes and if she chose to lie down beside him, now that she was sober, without them even discussing the kiss or anything else about it, it would be saying something. At least partly. And she'd just reminded herself that it probably wasn't a good idea.

She hated the fact that he'd been right to warn her about this before they kissed. And she hated that his fingers curled in on themselves, forming a gentle fist as he pulled his arm back in towards his body as though he'd read her hesitation and was resigning himself to her rejection.

Only one day ago, she would have been rejecting him and thinking that it served him right. But now, she chewed her lip and took off her boots, going over to the bottom bunk, and leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.

‘We'll talk later,' she repeated, and his eyes opened wide for a moment, watching as she moved away again.

‘I've missed you,' he said softly, his generous mouth barely moving around the words, but they landed like a sledgehammer blow. It was part solace and part pain because those were the words she'd sent him in the text when she'd asked him out at sixteen. What he'd said back to her when he suggested them meeting at the cave.

And it still hadn't stopped him from hurting her.

He dropped off, almost as soon as he'd spoken. Kay closed her eyes to stop herself from staring like a deranged stalker at his face. It wasn't like she couldn't picture it in her mind's eye anyway. The angle of his cheekbones and the hollow beneath, the creases at the corner of his eyes, the dip under his bottom lip …

She climbed up onto the top bunk, alone, and wrapped the blankets around herself.

Dreaming came faster than she would have expected. Maybe because she was sure it was a memory. She was out in the garden, lying on a blanket, reading a book about a handmaiden of death; a mix of magic, myth, and history and romance that had her ignoring her coursework. The sun was hot on her back, the blanket cool and a little damp, the smell of freshly cut grass in the air. Her stomach flipped as Harry appeared, because Joe wanted to finish watching a football match before they started working.

The memory began to twist into dream then. Food laid out on colourful plastic plates between them that wasn't there a moment ago. Cookies, pastries, a Bakewell tart, a slice of wedding cake. She levitated the Bakewell tart away from him because they were her favourite and a game began. She could tell they were teasing each other and she knew Harry's husky voice was in her head, but she couldn't hear the words either of them were saying. It was more laughter than words anyway.

The plates were empty now and they were all up in the air, spinning like the art deco lampshade at Leon and Alex's. A bright yellow one lifted up and floated away. But she wasn't using the lightening spell. Or pushing it with a simple force of energy. She was using the spell Auntie L had taught her for harnessing the breeze, and it came so easily now.

‘You see, I told you, you're powerful,' Harry said, standing up to watch the plate rise higher and higher.

A cool rush of wind whipped around her, billowing her summer dress up, so she laughed and pushed down with her hands.

But then she was lifting up too. And so was Harry. The tree at the end of the garden was swaying back and forth and Harry was floating away from her, higher now, up above the roofline of the house.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She needed to get back down to the ground, the buffeting wind was tipping her forwards and backwards, dropping suddenly so her stomach launched up into her mouth. And Harry, he was disappearing away from her. The more she tried to control it, the more it didn't work, and then she panicked and the wind grew stronger.

‘Help,' she cried out. ‘Harry. Help.' She reached her hands out to him, but he was vanishing from her sight and the ground was so far below her now. She had to get a grip on this or they were both going to die. All the air in her lungs was being stolen as she went higher and higher, the village tiny like something from a toy train set. ‘Help,' she sobbed. ‘Help—'

And then the force dropped and she was falling, falling, falling.

She woke up screaming, sitting up but narrowly missing hitting her head on the ceiling as she nearly tumbled out of the bed.

‘Kay? What's wrong?' Harry was already halfway up the ladder and when she stared at him, gulping in air, trying to convince her panicked body that it had been a dream, he came the rest of the way, kneeling beside her. ‘You were having a nightmare?'

She nodded, pushing her glasses back up her nose, feeling them mould back into their normal shape. Her fingers were shaking and she gasped as he suddenly wrapped his arm around her waist to stop her from falling against the wall … Because the ferry was rocking. Not the gentle, almost invisible swell of its buoyancy as it moved through the water. This was lurching and falling, her stomach going light, then plummeting down with it each time. The wind dashing rain and waves against the side of the boat.

‘It's the storm, Harry,' she said in a strangled voice, grabbing onto his arms as he held her in the bed, trying to steady herself as their small cabin shifted on its axis, threatening to throw them out of the bunk.

‘The water is rougher than earlier,' he commented, tightening his grip as he stretched out on his side, pulling her in closer.

‘Bit of an understatement,' she yelped as her stomach rose up her throat again.

‘We've caught up with the bad weather again.'

‘Or I brought it to us.' She flinched when the window lit up with lightning. That wasn't good. Could lightning hit a ferry? What would happen to it? Her chest was tight, she couldn't get enough air in.

‘What do you mean?'

It took Kay a moment to remember what she'd said. She looked up at Harry's face. He appeared better, thankfully – the pinched look and pallor having receded. She didn't know how long they'd been asleep, but it had done him good. She appreciated the way he was all but caging her in, like he was her own personal seat belt.

‘What if it's me? With my faulty magic. What if I've got an elemental affinity to weather too and it's all gone crazy,' she babbled. ‘I was angry at you on the plane and there was all that turbulence. With the car, I think I melted the ice and I've never done that before. And, just now, I was having a dream. Like the other night, when the sofa bed malfunctioned on you. Only it was all about the wind and we were floating away.' She broke off, trying to get air into her lungs. ‘What if it's me? My dream made this happen.' Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘I don't want to lose my magic, but what if it should be taken away from me? What if I've called the hurricane over here and … and the ferry capsizes and we die? What if everyone on here dies? Harry, I'm going to kill everyone.'

‘Kay, no. No. That's not what's happening.' He leaned down on his elbows, sliding his fingers into her hair and holding her head gently so she'd look at him. ‘I know I said you were powerful, but hurricanes can't be caused by one witch alone. Whether you've got issues with your magic or not. It would take a whole coven with a handful of dragon eye stones.'

‘But … but it is happening—'

‘It's more likely that you're exhausted from all the stress, and you felt the change in weather in your sleep and incorporated it into your dream. That happens all the time.'

She shook her head against his hands, her panic rising along with the ferry, and as it fell down into a trough again, a shriek climbed up her throat. ‘No. It's me. I'm making it worse. I'm making it worse. When I get worked up, the magic escapes and gets more violent.'

‘Kay, no—'

‘Harry, I'm so sorry. I'm going to sink the ferry.' Her fingers grabbed at his shirt.

He shook his head but didn't say anything, this time, simply gathering her into his chest and holding her tightly as the ferry rocked. She started crying into his shoulder, her brain, her body, her magic, all crackling with fear.

‘Shh … shh … it's OK. We're going to be OK,' he murmured, but when her sobs didn't ease, he pulled back a little, wiping at her cheeks. ‘Listen. Say it's true. Say this is your magic and it's going crazy. The only thing that will help will be calming down, won't it? Let's concentrate on that. Breathe with me.' He took one of her hands and put it over his heart. ‘Breathe in slowly.' He filled his chest with air, a steady count of four, then he held it and expelled it just as slowly. ‘Now out,' he breathed.

She tried. She really did. Feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm, his solid sternum, the movement of his chest, it did help. But every time the ferry rolled, her heart galloped off again. She kept trying and more tears leaked out because she was failing. Failing this. Failing everyone. Always.

‘Help me,' she whispered.

‘I'm here, Kay. We can do it together. Just like the car. Teamwork.'

‘Yes, like the car,' she panted. ‘Magic. Do your magic on me, to get me to calm down. Influence me. You've got your … your energy back, haven't you? You can do it.'

He stilled over her. ‘I have but … Kay, you hate my magic. You'd never want to be influenced by me.'

‘This is different. I'm asking,' she said, because that was all she had the breath for. She didn't have enough time or brain capacity at that moment to explain that she didn't feel that way anymore. That she thought the way he wielded his magic was beautiful and that she trusted him to only use it in ways that were good – the best of intentions. And this was that.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes. I am. Please.'

He nodded and sat up further. When she grabbed at him, he squeezed her hands gently and detached them. ‘I have to get my pen out of my coat.'

She nodded tightly and watched him go, wedging herself deeper into the corner by the wall. Having his presence gone from around her and seeing him swaying across the short space of the cabin to grab his coat made her chest tighten even more. Was she going to have a heart attack?

She squeezed her eyes shut until she felt him back beside her. He'd thrown his coat down the end of the bed, pen retrieved, and settled beside her again, moving in close, so his left hand was free to draw, and now when the ship rolled, she moved up against him.

‘I don't have any more paper,' he explained as he took her hand and rolled up her sleeve to bare her forearm. ‘I'll have to draw on your skin.'

‘OK,' she squeezed out between breaths.

‘It might take a little while too. Your body is full of adrenaline, and my magic can't make that disappear. But just watch me doing the drawing, try not to think about anything else.' He was using a soothing voice, like he was trying to lull her to sleep. ‘Is there anything you ever wanted to get tattooed on yourself?'

‘How do you know I haven't …' She swallowed and tried again to push out the teasing words. ‘I haven't got tattoos already.'

His beautiful mouth curved up at the side and then he uncapped the nib with his teeth and, putting his pen to her arm, started to draw.