Chapter Seven

6.20 a.m.: saturday 30 october

German airspace

744 miles and 32(+1) hours and 40 minutes until the wedding

Kay was debating doing a cleansing ritual when they landed. She assumed if she'd been cursed, Madam Hedvika would have picked up on it, but all this bad luck was beginning to feel very hex-like.

Somehow, she'd been seated on the plane behind Dean and his sales team buddies. She'd slunk into her seat, crouching low and being as quiet as possible so he didn't hear her voice. But she'd also scored the chattiest couple of row-mates on the entire plane.

They both wanted to talk to her. One about her hair, the other about the weather and the flight and his hotel. It wasn't until twenty minutes after take-off that she'd realised they were actually married – but they'd allowed her to be seated in the middle of them, even though she offered to move to the aisle or the window. She might have been able to cope with that but then, once the seatbelt light turned off, Dean stood up and spotted her.

‘Kay! You made it,' he said with a smirk, leaning on the headrest of the chairs in front.

‘Uh-huh.' She forced a smile back, wishing her seat-mates would interrupt now . Instead, the woman on her right was looking between them with a big smile.

‘Where's your friend?' Dean asked.

Kay blinked and it took her a moment to realise he was asking about Harry. ‘Oh. I don't know.' She shrugged, and when his grin grew, she could have kicked herself. Maybe she should have made more of her connection to Harry again, but without the prospect of being stuck in the airport with Dean, she was marginally less worried about him pestering her. Then the wife of the estranged couple piped up.

‘Why don't I swap seats with you, young man? So you two can talk more easily?'

Kay wanted to zap her with static the way Ilina had done at the auditorium yesterday but clamped straight down on that thought. Unpredictable surges of electrical power were a massive no-no when you were thousands of feet up in the air.

‘Oh, that would be great, thank you. I'm just going to use the facilities and then we can catch up properly.' He sent Kay a wink and she stifled a groan.

What had she done to this woman? Couldn't she read the desperation to escape an unwanted male on a fellow woman's face? Or maybe it was just a ploy to get even further away from her own husband, who was now examining the centrefold in his fishing magazine like it was a page-three model.

Dean disappeared down the aisle after pausing to tell his buddy what was happening, even though all he got was a grunt from the man, who seemed to be quietly dying in a haze of alcohol fumes with his earphones wedged in. The woman moved seats as soon as he was gone, making no comment to her salmon-ogling husband, but giving Kay another wink as she left her aisle seat open for Dean.

Was there enough time for Kay to pretend to fall asleep? She leaned out to spy on whether there was a queue for the bathrooms and saw Dean did have a couple of people to wait behind.

She also spotted a familiar indigo blue sleeve a couple of rows ahead of her, near where Dean was standing, and she was about to duck her head back in, when Harry got up to stand behind Dean.

What the ever-loving grimoire was going on now? Were they chatting ?

It was hard to tell as Dean wasn't as tall as Harry, so she couldn't see as much of him. But then Harry bent his head to pull something out of one of his coat pockets and both men glanced her way. She was too seized up by suspicion to even bother pretending she wasn't watching them. Was Harry telling embarrassing stories about the braces she wore as a teenager? The time she'd tried to shave her legs and ended up looking like a scene from Carrie ? The Shrek face-pack incident?

Except that would put Dean off. If Harry really wanted revenge after them parting ways so frostily, he'd be telling him that Kay had confessed she fancied Dean or something. Encouraging him with his pursuit.

It was a sketchbook and a pen. No . What was he up to? Harry leaned on his knee, sketching something quickly, and then tore it out of his book and handed it to Dean, who stared at it for a moment, before looking like he was going to be sick and tucking it in his back pocket.

The bare-faced cheek of that man, to tell her that he couldn't use his ability to influence through art to get out of the sofa bed debt, when she'd just witnessed him doing something right there . To a stranger. In the middle of a busy plane. As though it was perfectly ordinary to draw people pictures while you were waiting in the queue to use the bathroom.

She sat back, drumming her fingers on the armrest, waiting for Dean to return so she could find out what Harry had done to him. But instead of talking to Kay, or even acknowledging her at all, he went back to his row and addressed the woman who'd already swapped seats.

‘I'm sorry, but could I have my seat back? I'm actually really tired. Heavy night. Going to have a nap.'

‘Oh, well, you can nap there and chat with your young lady friend when you wake up,' the matchmaker-from-hell said.

‘No,' Dean replied firmly. ‘No.' He glanced over at Kay, and she was sure she actually saw him give a shiver of revulsion. ‘ No . That won't be necessary at all.'

‘But—'

‘Look, I don't want to have to speak to a member of the crew about this, so if you wouldn't mind.' Finally, his polite facade slipped under the obvious horror of contemplating sitting beside Kay.

What the hell had Harry done?

‘Well I never,' the woman muttered and heaved herself back up.

Kay jumped to her feet too and Dean leapt out of her way like she was brandishing a freshly filled nappy. Had Harry convinced him she had the plague or something?

She barely noticed the woman shuffling her way back into her seat as her eyes narrowed on Harry, who was just emerging from the toilet. Hurrying down the aisle, she caught him by the lapel of his coat and pushed him back inside the tiny cubicle, locking the door behind them.

‘ What did you do to him?' she hissed. She'd wanted privacy, but she hadn't thought about it being quite such close quarters, as she squeezed into the slender gap between the toilet and the door, blocking his exit.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You know what I'm talking about.' She crossed her arms momentarily, before she caught hold of the edge of the sink as the plane dipped in a pocket of turbulence.

Harry swayed towards her, then regained his balance, his lips twisting to the side before he sighed. ‘Look, I was just trying to make sure he wouldn't bother you again.'

‘I knew you'd done something. How dare you? What if I need him to bother me? For work.'

‘Then … I have severely misunderstood what your job is.'

‘Ha ha. I just mean if I need to collaborate with his company or something.'

‘Oh, well.' He licked his lip and his eyes darted around the tiny room. ‘I'm sure you'll all be able to be professional about it. He'll be able to rise above the … feelings. Hopefully. And it'll wear off eventually anyway.'

‘Rise. Above. What?' Her words came out like a shower of hail.

‘A sort of feeling of, erm …'

‘ Of … ? ' Her nails dug into her palms as she glared at him.

He swallowed. ‘Repulsion?'

‘Repulsion. Towards me?'

He nodded.

‘Oh my God, Harry.' She shook her head.

‘I was trying to do you a favour.'

‘That's not a favour . I don't need you swooping in, pretending to rescue me and coercing people. I'm not a damsel in distress, and even if I was, I wouldn't ask for you of all people to help me like that . Do you understand me?'

Another big dip of turbulence sent him across the cubicle towards her. He caught himself with a hand on the wall and one on the door, over her shoulders. He stayed there for a moment, staring down at her. She took a deep breath, his body so close, the smell of his spicy aftershave curling out towards her, fogging up her mind. His mouth virtually at eye level. Her heart rate accelerating.

‘Loud and clear,' he said stonily.

She watched the shape of his mouth from mere inches away. Replayed it a couple of times in her mind before she realised what he'd actually said.

‘Wh-what?' For a moment, she thought he was referring to her heart rate kicking up – loud and clear – because of his proximity.

‘I understand you. Loud and clear. Last person on earth you'd ask for help. Me and my dirty, immoral magic, persuading someone to stop pestering a woman. Got it.'

‘There are other ways, Harry.' She grit her teeth. ‘It's high-handed and arrogant and unnecessary.'

‘Well, that obviously comes naturally to me.' He pushed himself away and she missed it. It was like leaving the warmth of the house to step outside into a snowstorm and she hated herself for the yearning to have it back.

Hated him for making her feel that way.

‘Of course it does. You're an influencer.'

‘Ugh.' He drove a hand back into his hair and gripped it hard. ‘I know I made a mistake before and I'm sorry about that, I am. But you're so prejudiced now. And such a hypocrite. You influence people constantly.'

Kay's mouth worked as she tried to think past the possibility he was referencing when he'd influenced her with the smiley face and that he was apologising for it. In an offhand, middle-of-a-different-conversation kind of way.

He'd followed it with a ‘but' though. Even if it was an apology for the smiley face, it was a poor one. And what was he going on about; her influencing people?

‘I beg your pardon. You know that's not my gift. You're talking rubbish.'

‘It's not your main gift, but the influencer and empath magic has blended in you. Just your presence makes people more aware of their feelings for others.' He untangled his hand from his hair, leaving it standing up on end, and gestured as wildly as he could manage between them in the small space.

‘What? No. No, it doesn't.'

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You're kidding, right? Are you trying to tell me you never knew that?'

Instead of her cheeks flushing, for a nice change she could feel the blood draining from her face. ‘Witches don't have more than one gift, you're talking rot.'

‘That's what they used to tell us. They've done research on it now. Magical affinities are often multiple, across different designations. There's usually one dominant one but … You seriously haven't heard about that?'

No. She wouldn't have heard about it because she rarely talked about magic with her family. Rarely spent time with other witches apart from family visits and never consulted the witching news these days.

And as for her having an effect on everyone around her, making their feelings more obvious to them …

‘How would you even know that?' she challenged. ‘About me having another gift to make people more aware of their feelings?'

‘I'm a person, in your vicinity, Kay. It's pretty obvious.' A touch of pink highlighted his sharp cheekbones and he shook his head vigorously like he could shake away whatever emotion it was she was making him more aware of. Probably how irritated he was with her, since he'd definitely been snappier today. That smarted. She was literally bringing out the worst in him. ‘Why do you think people are always reacting so extremely towards you? Like Dean—'

‘Oh, I see.' She poked him in the chest, pushing him over to the other side of the tiny toilet, so his back was bowed on the curved wall, inadvertently bringing his head down close to hers. ‘This is just some way of blaming me for him pestering me, right? I've influenced him to not take a hint, is that it? I encouraged him subconsciously with my magic. The witches' equivalent of "what was she wearing?"'

‘No! Of course not.' His exclamation made her glasses fog up for a second and she felt his weight against her finger press, then lighten as he shifted on his feet. ‘How he behaves is still his choice. Why do you think I stepped in? He was out of order.'

‘So your solution was to make him find me repellent? Is that your only solution to deal with someone's unwanted interest, make them hate the object of their affection?'

Harry swallowed, his gaze flickering down to look at her poking finger, but she didn't even pause. Just the idea that he thought it was fair to treat a teenage girl with a crush on a boy who'd acted like her friend for the best part of a year, in the same way as a grown man who wouldn't leave a very obviously reluctant woman alone was making her heartbeat pound in her ears.

‘If I wanted a man I wasn't interested in to act like a dick towards me, I could have just told him to leave me alone. I was trying to be tactful. What you did was unnecessary and reckless. He looked like he was ready to run screaming from me. That's dangerous. What if he gets completely paranoid and accuses me of something? Or panics and thinks he needs to defend himself from me—'

‘All right. Yes. You're right. It was messy, clumsy magic. The best I could come up with in the moment but he'd …' he shook his head.

‘He'd what?' She dropped her hand but didn't bother to move any further back.

‘He asked me about us when I spoke to him. And said things. About you.'

‘What things?'

‘I don't want to repeat them.'

‘Well, that's convenient.'

He finally looked at her again. ‘Do you really think I'd lie about that?'

She didn't. That was the annoying thing. The thing that made her want to slap herself. Why couldn't her hormones get the message? She couldn't even accuse him of influencing her – at least not now – unless she counted the way the consuming blue of his eyes could still seem to reach down inside her and stir everything up into a flurry. She felt utterly empty and full of unbearable pressure at the same time.

The plane jolted up again and she fell forward, erasing the last tiny gap between them. The heat of him soaked through his shirt, the firmness of his chest sending waves of weakness through her body. Her stomach was careening all over the place and it was only partly to do with the turbulence.

She scrabbled back, trying to stand upright again, and he put a hand on her waist to steady her. She wanted him to tighten his grip. To pull her closer again. So she tried to take another step back, bashing her hip onto the sink.

Focus. She needed to focus. ‘Whatever your excuses, you need to undo it.'

He tucked the hand he'd put on her waist into his pocket so violently, she swore she could hear the stitches tearing. ‘I'll try.'

‘Try really hard.'

‘I will .'

She nodded. There. That was the end of the conversation. She turned towards the door to unlock it and jumped back as someone started banging on it from the other side.

‘Sir? Madam? The seat-belt light is about to come on. You need to return to your seats.'

Kay's face immediately erupted into flame as she realised the flight attendant had seen them coming in there together. And was probably drawing their own conclusions. ‘Oh my God,' she choked out.

Harry actually laughed behind her. ‘Saying things like that won't help if you're worried about what they're assuming.'

‘If you come out of there now, I won't report you, OK?' the voice offered.

Kay ripped the door open and flew out to see the flight attendant watching with an unamused expression. ‘It's not what you think—'

‘Honey, I've been doing this job for ten years, OK? The truth is, I'm really not bothered, but I do need you to return to your seats for safety reasons.'

Kay nodded and did a brisk walk of shame back to her seat, clutching the headrests as the plane dropped more frequently into pockets of turbulence. Far more than she'd ever experienced on other flights.

She ignored the disgusted look on Dean's face as she moved past his row. The wife had actually taken the seat in the middle now and was holding her husband's hand as he flinched every time the plane juddered. So maybe they weren't so estranged after all. Just in need of a little breather.

Or maybe when she'd been there sitting with them, she'd exacerbated all their niggling irritations with each other?

No. What Harry said couldn't be true. Witches didn't have more than one affinity. Did they? She supposed he could hardly make it up if it was widely known about in the witching community.

Kay buckled up, contemplating the fact that they were starting to hit the bad weather and they hadn't even been up in the air forty-five minutes. How much worse was it going to get? Infuriating as Harry Ashworth was, there were bigger things to worry about.

Like whether they would make it to Paris at all.