Chapter Twenty

5.30 p.m.: sunday 31 october

The West Wing, Ashworth Hall

Becca didn't seem to want to risk Kay changing her mind. As soon as she'd agreed, she was bustled out of the study and up the nearest staircase.

‘There's not long until the reception starts,' Kay objected, despite still hurrying after Becca, her shoes in one hand and her skirt lifted in the other.

‘I know. This won't take long will it. In and out. Uncle Adrian won't be up to a visitor any longer than that.'

A fuzzy edge of panic surrounded her like a migraine halo by the time they reached the second floor. Becca whispered that her uncle's room was at the end and Kay stopped in her tracks. Was she really doing this?

Becca knocked on the door, beckoning sharply for Kay to join her. Before she could lift a foot to move in either direction, Harry opened the door. He rested his shoulder on the frame like it was easier to prop himself up than use his own strength to stand up straight.

Why? Why had he pushed himself so hard to make Joe's wedding happen, when he'd already been exhausted from their troublesome journey home? Was he that kind, or desperate to show he was the right person to safeguard Biddicote's witching community?

She suspected it was a bit of both, but even if it was just the latter, it was even more important that Kay helped him see he didn't have anything to prove. Kay wanted to do this for him. And that meant she had to be brave.

She dropped her shoes and slipped her feet back into them, giving herself an excuse for having lingered down the end of the hallway.

‘Everything OK, Becs?' He'd taken his jacket and tie off, his top button undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

‘Yeah, I brought Kay up because she wanted to say a quick thank you to your mum and dad. Would you take her in?'

‘Kay?' He pushed himself off the door frame, digging one hand into his hair, as his eyes, their true, bright blue, found her. He glanced back over his shoulder to his dad's room.

If he said no, this was going to be a short-lived plan.

‘It might give him a boost, eh? Remind him that this place is still the heart of the witching community.' Becca turned towards her and raised her eyebrows, so only Kay could see.

Kay pressed her sweaty palms together and gave in to the urge to move closer, which she always felt when Harry was near. ‘I'll be really quick,' she said, her voice coming out like a bad Marilyn Monroe impression; her lungs appeared to have been steamrollered flat.

His soft mouth compressed for a second, paling under the pressure and showing up those freckles that crept onto the edges of his lips. Then he spoke again. ‘Erm … sure, I think that should be OK, but I'll check.'

Becca nudged Kay closer to the gap in the doorway as he went back inside. It was dim in there, but Kay could just about make out the bed, and Harry's mum sitting on a chair beside it. With trembling fingers, she reached up to pull her glasses down, but Harry was already turning back before she even got them unhooked from her ears. She fumbled them back into place and tried to step back, but Becca was right there.

Goddess, what was she doing? Using her gift on him without his permission. How to become a massive hypocrite in three short days? All her doubts came rushing back in.

She turned her eyes to Becca, shaking her head. ‘This was a stupid idea,' she whispered.

Becca's eyebrows pulled up in the middle, her brown eyes rounding plaintively. She touched Kay's elbow as though she thought to prevent an escape attempt.

‘Mum thinks it should be fine as long as it's only for a couple of minutes,' Harry said in a hushed voice as he picked up another chair and moved it closer to the bed. ‘Come in.'

Well, she couldn't run now, could she?

‘I'll see you downstairs,' Becca said.

‘What?' How was she supposed to get a sneaky peek without Harry noticing she wasn't wearing her glasses, if Becca wasn't even coming into the room with her? She thought she'd at least be coming in to help distract him.

Becca reached up with her two index fingers, whispered a spell and tapped the lenses in Kay's glasses. They promptly fell out into Becca's hands as Kay gasped.

‘I'll catch you downstairs,' Becca said and then she was making a swift exit with half of Kay's glasses in her hands.

‘Kay?'

Fuck. She blinked and stepped into the room, as shimmering ropes of colour unfurled before her. What kind of idiot was she to forget that she'd see her own emotional bonds too. She only had one stretching out before her, leading to where Harry waited for her. The golden glow she'd seen a touch of when she'd removed her glasses in the bathroom of the apartment in Prague.

Her hands clenched as she resisted the impulse to press her hands over the point on her stomach it emanated from, as though she could tuck it back inside, like a soldier who'd been disembowelled on the battlefield. It wouldn't work, she knew that. It would just shine straight through her fingers anyway.

Love.

She'd fallen in love with Harry Ashworth over a decade ago and despite the other feelings that were there, it still glimmered like long-lost treasure.

It wasn't the only thread of colour, though. There was a lot of red there – desire – no big surprise about that, and a vivid dark purple like a bruise, which also, sadly, made a lot of sense. Hurt. Pain. Some grey of guilt winding through. She remembered that from her dad's bond with her mother, and the memory snagged like a hangnail on a jumper. She'd always interpreted that as her dad feeling bad for using her mum, because that was how her mother had felt. Used. But the emotions didn't tell you their origins. Maybe her dad felt bad for hurting her mother. Or for not being able to love her back.

Maybe Kay should have stopped to ask him at some point.

She blinked and lifted her gaze up, trying to evade her bond and the storm of painful associations it brought with it. It wasn't what she was there for and her feelings for Harry were only what she'd already known, even if she hadn't been able to admit it to herself. It would get easier not to look at it when she was closer to Harry.

She hurried over to him and he indicated to the chair for her to sit in.

As she took a seat, Harry's mum, Elenor, smiled at her. She was a tall, thin woman, her white hair pulled over one shoulder, somehow looking elegant despite the obvious strain and the simple lounge wear she had on. ‘It's lovely to see you again, Kay. It's been a very long time.'

‘It has.' Kay's throat was trying to close up and suffocate her, she was sure. Maybe it was her magic, finally fully turning against her. She immediately caught that idea in its fledgling state – her magic was doing what it was supposed to. And she was scared. That was what was happening. ‘My family is so grateful to you for opening your home to us and saving the wedding.'

Elenor nodded at her but her attention was drawn to Harry as he moved around to the other side of his dad. Adrian Ashworth was propped up by pillows, a plastic mask attached to his face as oxygen rattled in and out of his labouring chest. It hurt Kay to look at. She had no particular feelings for him – and the innate respect she'd been raised with had certainly been dented by the way he'd heaped pressure onto Harry – but seeing anyone struggling that hard just to draw breath was harrowing. How Harry and his mother felt with it being a man they loved, she couldn't fathom.

And they did love him. She could see it. Bonds that were strong, golden vines rooted deep between their bodies. There was more there. Other feelings interwove, and she had a woozy moment, surrounded by so many bonds, all intersecting. It was a criss-crossing pattern, like the back of one of those elaborate rugs in the hallways leading up here, the hidden tangle which created the intentional picture on the other side.

‘Dad, did you hear that? Joe's sister Kay is here.'

Dark eyes, rimmed in red, blinked and looked up. Adrian Ashworth tilted his head to the side.

Kay leaned forward. ‘I wanted to come and say thank you on behalf of my family. I think them being able to have the wedding here was even better than what they'd had planned. Ashworth Hall is such a haven for us.'

His fingers moved, a slight lift and drum, before he dropped them back down, like even that was too much effort, but his eyes crinkled at the edges, similar to the way his son's did when he started to smile. He turned his head on the pillow to look at Harry.

Kay took the moment to examine how he truly felt for his son. She blinked, but the colours were swimming in front of her eyes. She couldn't do it. It was too much, all the overlapping twists, she didn't have the ability to separate it all out. So many bonds, it was a blur—

No.

No, she wasn't going to fail at this. She wasn't going to fail Harry.

She focused on his dad's chest and instructed her magic to listen, rather than project. Her stomach fluttered as her own bond faded away, until she could just see the ones between Harry and his parents. That was a start. It was more than she'd ever managed before.

The ties between the Ashworth family were equally thick and strong, just as much love from his dad as there was from his mum, and the relief made Kay's throat tight. But there was more to unpick – she pushed the bond with his mother into the background to concentrate on his dad and make sense of the hurt and regret, a feeling of … difference in some way, like they'd always been on different wavelengths – but still love, so much love. And trust, a pure light blue, unwavering and quietly radiant.

She found she was able to separate them out, the longer she looked, find more colours inside, like opening up the black casing of a cable to find the different wires within. There was even a translucent one, joining the three Ashworths, coming into a knot that had been cut off at the other side. It made Kay think of loss. Maybe that was what happened when someone you loved died. But who had they lost? And why would it connect the three of them that way?

Her head ached and she forced herself to stop trying to figure it out. The point was, Becca had been right. Adrian Ashworth loved and trusted his son.

Thank the Goddess.

Harry's mum moved to take her husband's hand, and then looked up at Harry in a way that he seemed to translate as a dismissal.

He came around to Kay's chair and held out his hand to her. She wrapped her fingers around his. Those long, magical, creative fingers that had changed since they were teenagers. They still had the same tapering length, the agile way of moving, but his knuckles were bigger now, his nails kept square, neat and clean instead of bitten down. The leap in her heart when he touched her was just the same, though.

She thanked them again and allowed Harry to lead her out of the room. She'd controlled her gift. She hadn't thought that was possible. Just that small amount of concentration had wiped her out, though. She pulled away from him to lean back against the wall between two doors.

‘Are you feeling OK?' he asked, even though the tightness in his face, the lines at the corner of his mouth and pallor of his skin made him look like the one who was ill.

The hallway was uncomfortably bright after the sick room, and the colours of the bonds between them sparkled at the edges of her vision. But she wouldn't look. Would try not to, anyway. This wasn't about them, and with him this close to her, maybe she could avoid seeing what was between them altogether. She told herself it was because it was one thing to pry into his relationship with his father in the hopes of helping him, and another to take advantage of that moment to see how he truly felt about her.

That was what she told herself.

‘I'm fine.' She put her hand on his chest, above the point where his feelings were visible, covering most of it with her arm. Best to just focus on his face. Even if he looked worn out, he was still the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. She wished she could send something soothing into his skin, the way he'd done for her, but she did the next best thing: ‘He loves you, Harry. There's no anger towards you. No disappointment. He has regrets, but he's proud of you. He trusts you.'

‘What?'

‘Becca told me about the tattoo. The reason you think you've not become an anchor. And you're wrong. Whatever the problem is, it isn't about your dad not trusting you.'

‘What? How do you know that?' His husky voice broke for a moment.

‘Becca told me,' she repeated, curling her fingers on his chest, not wanting to drop her arm but also not as comfortable with the way his expression had sharpened.

‘No, about how my dad feels.'

She reached up and pushed her fingers through the holes in her glasses where her lenses should be.

He stumbled back, and Kay's heart gave a hard kick of fear. Here was the anger. Here was the censure for using her gift on him without asking.

‘Have you … Have there never been any lenses in those?' he asked.

She threw her arm up to cover her eyes, letting the frames bend under the weight. ‘No, it was Becca just now. She magicked them out before I went in.'

And she'd better be able to magic them back in or she'd be getting the bill for a new pair.

‘So, you're using your gift right now? I mean, if your arm wasn't over your face.'

‘I'm sorry. I just wanted to help.'

‘You don't have to be sorry.' His fingers touched her wrist, the heat of his body giving away that he'd moved closer again. ‘I'm just trying to process what's going on. Will you come out? You're going to have a hard job navigating the reception with your arm over your face,' he teased her, softly.

‘You don't mind if I see …?'

‘It's part of you, Kay, you never have to stifle that against your will.'

Her chest hitched and she took a second to just stay in the dark with that feeling of acceptance. More acceptance than she'd ever given herself.

When she finally lowered her arm, he was close enough she could see the stubble dotting the underside of his jaw.

‘So, you used your gift and you saw …' he licked his lips, ‘you saw the bond between me and my dad.'

She nodded, keeping her eyes fastened tightly on his. ‘He loves you. He trusts you, Harry.'

He took a ragged breath and tipped his head back, letting out a sound that was half laugh and half sob. She could almost taste his relief on her tongue. Either that or she was having a stroke.

‘Holy grimoire. You're sure? You wouldn't lie to me?' He looked back down at her.

‘I promise you. I swear it.'

His chest rose and fell and then he gathered her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly. ‘Thank you. Thank you, so much.'

She squeezed him back, his body in her arms, warm and right, sinking into her. A little too much actually. His weight was suddenly too heavy for her to hold up. And she was holding him up. ‘Harry?'

‘I feel a bit weird,' he slurred and put his hands to the wall either side of her shoulders to prop himself up. All the blood had leached from his skin.

‘Harry?'

He pressed his hand to his chest, wincing, and she looked down automatically. Her eyes filling with the tangle of colours between them. They were too close to decipher and it wasn't anywhere near her priority.

‘Harry?' She touched his cheek, the hand he was pressing over his heart. This time when she said it, she thought she heard an echo of it coming from his dad's room. ‘What is it?'

‘I think …' he panted and started to unbutton his shirt further. Beneath the bright colours of the bonds, the ink of the magical tattoo was so stark, it was like liquid, his skin raising like an old scar around the edges.

Elenor came to the bedroom door. It said something for how preoccupied she was that she didn't even react to seeing him virtually pinning Kay to the wall and baring his chest to her. ‘Harry, your dad just called for you.'

Harry pushed himself upright, swaying a second later, like he had a head rush. Kay grabbed his arm to steady him. His eyes were wide as he looked between her and his mum. ‘He hasn't been able to speak in months.'

‘I know.' His mum's voice was thick. ‘Come now.'

‘I will. Just. A second.' He tried to straighten again. Kay was reluctant to let go of his arm in case he face-planted, but he lifted his hand to wipe it down his face.

‘Are you OK? What is it?' Elenor's voice rose.

‘I think it's the anchor, Mum, I think it's finally happened. It's finally working.'

She gasped. ‘Oh my love, that must be why.' She hurried out to him, putting her arm around his waist and staring at the exposed tattoo. ‘You'll need to sit down and rest for a little while. It's normal to feel weak.'

‘Kay?' Despite his mum being right there, ready to drag him to a chair it seemed, Harry's hand caught at hers.

She squeezed it and forced herself to let go. ‘It's OK. You need to go. Go speak to your dad and rest. I've got to get back to the wedding, too.'

‘I'll find you later,' he promised as his mother started walking him away.

‘Only if you're feeling up to it.'

As the distance between them widened, it became impossible to ignore the bond stretching out across that space between them. The gold of her feelings looked like it continued all the way to his, but then she realised at around halfway the proportions changed. They became his. There was more grey, red, blue … and purple, too.

She'd hurt him? At first, her mind automatically jumped on the defensive, wondering how she'd hurt him . But she knew how. Because she was holding back. Had she ever actually said that she'd forgiven him after he apologised? And she had judged him and his magic so harshly when they first met back up. Whether he had instigated that bad feeling between them or not, she'd pushed him away, said harsh words to him. There was guilt in her bond for a reason.

But … that was all entwined with the gold. Travelling from him to her. Reciprocal. Gold.

Harry loved her back.

It was … utterly overwhelming. Everything she'd once dreamed of and yet nowhere near the simple joy she'd thought it would be.