Chapter Eight

7.30 a.m.: saturday 30 october

Dusseldorf Airport

382 miles and 31(+1) hours and 30 minutes until the wedding

Kay wasn't sure there was anything more demoralising than watching a baggage carousel slowly empty of luggage, while all she had was her tote bag from the plane.

Except maybe watching a baggage carousel empty in an airport she wasn't meant to land in at all.

After another twenty minutes of tense compulsory seat-belt time, the plane bumping and dipping to increasingly worried noises from the passengers, the captain had announced they needed to land. It took another thirty minutes of turbulent flying before they'd touched down in Dusseldorf, wind and rain buffeting the plane. Then they'd had to wait on the tarmac for twenty minutes before they could even get off the plane. It was no wonder there had been a mishap with the luggage in all the changes.

Admittedly, she'd recognised several people from her flight who had their suitcases, but by this point she was kind of expecting a calamity with her name on it around every corner. And after almost an hour of genuinely being worried the plane wouldn't make it to safe ground, she was still too overcome with relief to worry about it. Now she needed to decide whether to try to deal with the lost-luggage situation, or the being-stranded-in-another-European-country situation, first.

Luggage initially, she determined, since there was probably a time limit on reporting it missing. She needed to deal with something. Feel like she could deal with something. Plus, the queues of confused and stressed travellers might have gone down a little by the time she was done. It was yesterday evening all over again. Except, this time, at least she wasn't going to bump into Dean. He'd be running screaming from her, because she highly doubted that Harry had managed to track the salesman down in the airport and reverse the effect of the sketch he'd done. However that worked.

Did he need to destroy it? He'd said it could fade naturally, but how long would that take? Did it depend on how susceptible the person he'd tried to influence was? How much they were willing to embrace the suggestion?

In the bar yesterday, she'd disagreed with Harry about influencer magic being like hypnosis, but she did know that suggestibility played its part. Her father mostly motivated people to do what they already wanted to do – whether that was in their best interests or not was still up for debate. Joe helped people understand things easily and it worked best with the children he taught because they wanted to learn. It always worked best with a willing audience.

She had been a willing audience. That smiley face couldn't have been that powerful. It had been tiny, dashed off quickly by an adolescent witch, it could barely have contained any magic. And yet it had impacted her like a wrecking ball through all her feelings for him. She'd been mad at him on the plane for treating her in the same way as Dean, but had she been as ready to hate Harry as Dean was to be so disgusted by her, just because she didn't want to have sex with him? Deep down, was her reaction to being rejected that petty?

If Harry hadn't gone about everything in such a thoughtless way, if he'd broken it to her gently, rather than letting her hope, would part of her still have hated him? It seemed unlikely, because she'd adored him. But she'd been angry at the time. Angry at her family, angry at the world, like a typical teenager.

And she'd been acting that way ever since Harry had shown up by the astronomical clock in Prague. Like he'd dialled back time and she was letting all her good, adult sense be blown apart by beguiling smiles, twinkly eyes, floofy hair and hurt feelings. She had a hierarchy of problems and he should be somewhere down the bottom. The top spot was currently taken by lost luggage.

Kay marched through the airport, heading for the baggage-claim information desk. Luckily, on all the blue signs around the airport, there was a handy translation into English, so she found it without too much hassle and got in line.

She considered texting her mum to update her, but until she knew what she was doing, there didn't seem much point. Were there going to be any flights at all taking off? The weather had been pretty atrocious out there. She flicked through reports on her phone as she waited and the endless warnings of red, red, amber, red, snow, high winds, fire, flood, the apocalypse, made her chest tight in a way that was very different to the pressure feeling she'd noticed at the airport in Prague – but no less concerning when it came to her magic. She was beginning to feel like a hand grenade with the pin pulled out.

Popping in her earphones, she put on some music and did her best to chill out until she got to the desk. The customer service person assisted her with filling out a form with the details of her missing bag and Kay reminded herself to be grateful she'd lost it on the way home rather than on the way out there.

Heading back into the main terminal and taking a look at the departures board made her forget the gratitude. Nothing was currently taking off from Dusseldorf. It looked like their plane had made it in by the skin of its teeth.

‘Crap, crap, crap, crap,' she muttered to herself. What should she do? Queue up to speak to someone about when the next flights might be leaving? Start researching alternative means to get home? She chewed on her thumbnail and looked around her. The prospect of hanging around for hours in the crowded airport with a bunch of highly stressed people was not appealing – and when it came to her magic misfiring, it was downright worrying. For a moment, she even kind of wished she'd bump into Harry again, just for a familiar face. Regardless of the bad blood between them, he had been helping her – often in an annoying, high-handed kind of way, but the intention was there. It wouldn't be awful to feel like she had someone on her side.

But he wasn't the only person around here that she knew. Ilina lived in Germany. Maybe she'd be able to give her some advice about travelling?

Kay headed out of the main crowd towards the eateries and found her friend's number in the recent calls list.

‘Hallo, Kay,' Ilina answered, her voice croaky with sleep. ‘I know I said keep me up to date, but it is extremely early in the morning on a Saturday, so I am sure this is vitally important.'

‘Well, I'm not back in London. I'm in Dusseldorf.'

‘Ah. What happened?'

‘Diversion because of the weather. And I have no clue if I can get any further. I was wondering if you could give me some advice? Tell me what the German news is saying? The queues here to speak to anyone are ridiculous.'

‘Say no more. I'm very happy to do favours for you which mean I can stay in my pyjamas and scroll on my phone.'

‘Thank you. That would be brilliant. Oh, just one more thing.' She caught Ilina before she hung up. ‘This might seem like a crazy question – but do you have any other gifts?'

‘Magical ones?'

‘Yes.'

‘No.' Ilina laughed like it was a silly notion, and Kay was just starting to feel reassured that Harry had been bullshitting her, when her friend carried on: ‘I'm not from a very strong witching line. I did all those designation tests that were being circulated when that research paper came out, but, alas, no. I'm just stuck with magical hair dyeing. Why? Is this something to do with your visit to Madam Hedvika? Did she say you have an affinity you weren't aware of?'

‘No. She didn't. I'll tell you more about that when I can speak privately,' she promised before saying goodbye.

How had that revelation about multiple affinities gone unmentioned between her and her family? She spoke to both her mum and her brother regularly – her dad sporadically – and she knew they all kept up to date with news from the witching community. Why didn't they say anything? Had she made magic a complete no-go zone around them?

How long ago had the news about this come out? If it was within the last year, it made more sense because most of their discussions tended to revolve around the wedding. And she'd probably been steering the conversations away from magic because of the problems she was having with it.

Stop , she instructed herself. She didn't need to be worrying about this on top of everything else. She had priorities. Getting out of Germany and back to England being the first. Keeping a firm hand on her magic being the second.

She'd barely had a moment to really think about why her magic might be blocked as Madam Hedvika had instructed her to. All she'd done was stop herself from using magic and that had mainly been trying to calm herself so she didn't have an unscheduled outburst. How many times had she actually been tempted to use her magic intentionally? Two or three?

This was getting her nowhere. She needed to find somewhere to set up and start figuring out how to get home, while she waited for Ilina to get back to her. Since the toast she'd eaten at silly-o-clock in the morning had evaporated from all the adrenaline, she headed to a coffee shop to grab something to eat, a very large latte and a seat.

She managed to find a small table near the counter and as she was getting organised, her mum started calling her. She'd probably expected to hear from her by now and Kay hesitated before answering. She liked to be calm whenever she spoke to her mother, even on the phone; though she knew her mum couldn't pick up on her emotions that way, it was an ingrained habit. And Kay was not feeling calm.

In the end, she still accepted the call, aware she'd given Joe the unspoken reassurance that she would do her best to keep a lid on their mother's anxiety. She spent ten minutes humming along while her mother worried out loud, trying not to let her own mind spiral out into hypothetical disasters, sipping her too-hot coffee and attempting to make sense of some of the web links Ilina was sending her.

The only useful thing her mother had to tell her was that the winds were still raging across Britain, with the added bonus of hail on occasion too, and Aunt Lucille said it wasn't going to be easing off anytime soon.

Just peachy.

Kay hung up and commenced chewing on her thumbnail again before the taste of nail polish had her grimacing.

Somehow, last night, it hadn't seemed quite so daunting to be alone in another country. Experiencing the wind and rain buffeting the plane made everything feel a bit more real this morning. The airport was hectic. The place where she was stranded entirely unknown. In Prague at least she'd had a passing knowledge of the city from staying there for the conference for a few days.

Almost like she'd been wanting to see a familiar face again and her magic had answered the call, she looked up and spotted Harry.

Be careful what you wished for, indeed.

He was on the other side of the barrier of the coffee shop tables, on the phone himself, his bag at his feet as he paced a perimeter around it, glancing up at the boards, his other hand pushing through his hair, knuckles white, and making a thorough mess of it. He looked even more stressed than her , which was saying a lot. And just to confirm it further, when he finished on the phone, he marched into the coffee shop, with his holdall hooked over his shoulder and purchased half a dozen pastries.

When he turned from the counter with his box, she found herself raising her hand to wave to him. It was a split-second decision. He might have marched straight out and never even noticed her, such seemed to be his focus on his travel issues and imminent pastry consumption.

And she should have let him go. Instead, here she was, half standing, waving her hand. It shocked him as much as it shocked her.

He blinked, before he manoeuvred his way through the tables.

‘Hey, how are you doing after that flight? Bit nerve-wracking, wasn't it?' He gave her a brief smile which didn't even crinkle the corners of his eyes, let alone light them up.

‘I'd say I'm happy to be on terra firma again, but we're a couple of countries too far to the east.'

He made a pained noise and put his holdall on the spare chair, freeing his hands so he could open up his box of pastries, staring at them intently. He was really, really stressed. Surely it wasn't that big of a deal for him to get home for Samhain? Why hadn't she noticed this yesterday?

She supposed she'd been trying her best not to notice anything about him if she could help it.

‘I have an unsettling sense of déjà vu,' she said drily. ‘Flights grounded. Stuck at the airport. You, about to comfort-eat your way to a coronary.'

‘Ha.' The smile he gave to that showed a little bit more genuine amusement and she felt a disconcerting sense of achievement about it. Then he proceeded to pick up what looked like a pecan lattice, fold it in half and insert the entire thing into his mouth.

Kay's jaw dropped open, as he chewed and swallowed, shutting his eyes and uttering groans of pleasure. It shouldn't have been attractive, but the blissful look on his face, coupled with the attention it brought to his mouth, and the following swipes of his tongue along his lips which glistened with maple syrup, were practically pornographic.

He sighed, then finally opened his eyes and fastened them on her. ‘I know, it's terrible for me, but sweet solstice, that does feel better. Here, go on, try it. Just blast your senses with something delicious and decadent.'

He gestured to her with the box, and she shook her head, but it was a gentle admonishment rather than a refusal and she still looked inside. There was an apple turnover, covered in crystallised sugar, golden and crisp, and frankly, after the kind of day – morning? – she'd already had, it did seem a lot more appealing than her granola. As she scooped it out, she caught another genuine smile on Harry's lips and couldn't keep the corners of her own mouth down.

‘I'm not going to shove it in whole, though.'

‘Of course not. Slow savouring is more your style, right?' Even as he finished asking the question, a blush touched his high cheekbones. What was he thinking about? Was it the same memory that had just popped into her mind? Them, sharing the last of an apple crumble, straight from the dish, leaning on their elbows to face each other across the island in her mother's kitchen? The way he'd shovelled in a massive scoopful to his mouth and then topped it with whipped cream straight from the can, making her laugh, while she'd taken teaspoonfuls, barely able to eat because of all the butterflies in her stomach.

Kay quickly averted her gaze, blinking the image away and sitting down to take a big bite of the pastry to avoid having to reply. There was a lot more cinnamon in it compared to the apple turnovers back home and, frankly, it was lovely. Cosy and warming her up inside.

She finished chewing her mouthful and put the pastry on the napkin next to her latte and usurped granola. Harry was still standing, watching her. ‘Thank you, that is delicious.' She poked her tongue out of her mouth, checking for sugar. ‘So, what's your plan?'

His gaze darted up to her eyes from her mouth and he scratched his nose. ‘I'm afraid Dean disappeared off the plane too fast for me to catch him.'

‘Oh, I didn't mean that. I was talking about your plan now we're not going to make it to Paris?'

All the humour disappeared from his face, and he folded the lid closed on the box and placed it on the table, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Basically, whatever mode of transport will get me moving as quickly as possible towards England.'

Kay frowned – he truly did sound more desperate to get home than her. His family was all about tradition, hosting all the seasonal celebrations and spearheading the community, but surely they'd understand why he couldn't make it when there was a hurricane blocking all paths home?

Then again, she remembered the pressure his dad had always put on him. The days when he'd come over to their house, looking flattened and drained after debating his university choices once again or because they'd had a dinner with some representatives from the Witches Council. She supposed those pressures didn't vanish just because you were an adult and technically didn't have to listen anymore. Especially when you were an Ashworth.

‘What about you?' he asked.

‘I'm looking into my options.' That sounded so vague and pathetic, she found herself elaborating the last-resort offer Ilina had sent her in the latest one of her texts. ‘I have a friend who lives in Berlin who I can go to stay with until the flights are taking off again, but it's not exactly around the corner.'

‘No, it's not. And Berlin's in the opposite direction to home,' he said slowly, like he was unsure what he could and couldn't say, or why she was even entertaining this discussion with him. And, honestly, she wasn't sure herself, except that it seemed deliberately rude to ignore the fact they were both stranded, trying to get home to the same place.

As if reassured by the momentary lowering of her guard, he moved his holdall to the floor and settled on the chair beside her. A faint waft of his spicy aftershave reached her – enough to make her remember how the smell had made everything inside her go hazy when they'd been pressed together in the toilet of the aeroplane.

She cleared her throat. ‘Very true. It's four and a half hours in the opposite direction by train, to be exact. But there's no hurricane there currently, and no handy sex-pad for me to stay in around here,' she pointed out ruefully and he gave a bark of laugher.

‘So …' He paused, seemingly in the middle of something he was going to say. ‘Hang on. Where's your suitcase?'

‘Damned if I know.' She shrugged. ‘It didn't make it off the plane. Or even onto it maybe? Either way, it's lost somewhere. I've filed a report.' She could have pointed out that his lightening spell probably hadn't helped it stay where it should, but he looked so concerned, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

‘Oh crap.' Harry frowned. ‘Was there anything special in there? Other than the skulls, of course.'

Kay laughed and Harry's smile grew at the sound. She bit her lip and shook her head. What was happening? She was letting herself get drawn into their old rhythm. She might not want to keep dragging out her past hurt and stropping off like a teenager, but she shouldn't let herself forget. She could talk to him amicably from her side of the wall, but it was nowhere near time to start removing bricks.

‘I know someone,' he offered as she looked away to fiddle with a napkin. ‘When we're back in England. If your case hasn't turned up by then. She could help.'

‘She works at the airline?'

‘Er, no. But she's very good at tracking things down. You remember my cousin, Becca?'

‘Oh, right.' Kay nodded. ‘I forgot that your family has a history of that kind of gift from Biddi. Before it got lost to influencers.'

‘I wouldn't say it got lost to influencers. Many of us still have a touch of that gift too.'

Kay felt her eyebrows lift so high that her glasses shifted down her nose a little. ‘Do you?'

‘Yes, a bit.' He rubbed his hand over the short hair at the back of his head.

‘It's your secondary affinity?' When he nodded, she lowered her voice and moved forward a little in her chair, unable to help herself being a little fascinated at him not only having another gift but it being proof of his genetic link to such a legendary witch. ‘How does it manifest?'

‘Kind of like a compass. I can't use it at will. It's not for objects. It's just there. Like an itch, irritating me until I listen to it.'

‘But what is it telling you?'

‘Where I need to be.' His eyes flicked up at her for a moment and then he sat back heavily in his chair.

She mulled the idea over in her head, letting her gaze rest on his long fingers curled, almost but not quite, into a fist on the edge of the table. It sounded like it leaned into foresight. If that were the case though …

She gave a little laugh. ‘How did you get stuck on all these wrong flights, then?'

‘Believe me, I've been asking myself the same question.' He shook his head and then he sighed. ‘It's like anything with a seer designation, I think. No real explanation. You tend to piece it together after the fact. But …'

‘But?'

‘But, while I was looking at the departure boards and updates online, I was getting the feeling that maybe we should head to Amsterdam.'

Her spine tingled as she heard the word ‘we' – although maybe he was just using the royal ‘we'.

Him and his abundance of useful gifts.

‘The reports say the weather isn't as bad there at the moment,' he continued. ‘And it doesn't take long to reach. A couple of hours. Maybe by the time we get there, it would have passed from the south-east of England and France – we might be able to catch a flight from Amsterdam. Or a ferry? It just feels like there are more options open that way.'

‘So, you want to try dog-legging it around the weather?' She drummed her fingers on the table and then paused, realising she'd unwittingly turned towards him, their knees almost touching.

‘It's worth a go. If we're just going to wait out the storm, we might as well wait it out even closer to our destination, right?'

Kay crossed her legs, over and away from his. There was that ‘we' again. ‘Are you inviting me along with you?' she asked slowly, like she was easing out over the thinly frozen surface of a lake.

He shifted on his chair, pulling the tails of his bright blue coat free from beneath him. ‘Well, yes. We're trying to get back to the same place, aren't we? Biddicote. And Joe's wedding.'

‘ You've been invited to the wedding?' she blurted out.

‘Yeah,' he said, as though it was a given.

But how could it be when he and Harry weren't even friends? When he'd used her brother, just to help him study for his A levels? As soon as they'd taken them, he'd dropped Joe like a hexed porcelain doll. Did Joe not realise? Or was it just one of those things where he had to be seen to invite the Ashworths? That had to be it. When she was growing up the Ashworths were always at weddings. She'd not thought anything of it, but it probably harked back to some "Lord of the Manor" custom and Harry was going to be the Ashworth representative at the Hendrix wedding, so his parents could host Samhain as usual.

She picked at a crystal of sugar on top of her pastry, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. The idea of him being there on her brother's special day had her foot twitching with the desire to stomp it, while telling him he had no right, but it wouldn't be wise to put his nose out of joint by picking another argument. He was offering to be her travelling companion, and while she knew it would be smart to keep an emotional distance from him, physically , if he had a magical leg-up pointing him in the right direction to get home, she'd be a fool to turn his offer down, wouldn't she? She needed to get back for Joe's wedding and if that meant throwing her lot in with Harry, so be it.

‘So, you'll come with me?'

When she nodded, the relief on his face sent a tingle of confusion through her. He really was acting like he cared. Which didn't make any sense.

‘It's still a gamble, though,' he caveated.

‘I know.' There was always the possibility his gift was trying to take him somewhere other than Biddicote … ‘But I have the wedding rehearsal dinner this evening. If this could help me make it – I can't say no. Luck hasn't exactly been on my side recently.' She gestured around her to indicate the absence of her luggage.

Harry nodded and then his eyes lit up. ‘Oh, that gives me an idea.' He opened up his coat and pulled out a black fine-art pen, then beckoned with his right hand for hers. ‘Give me your hand. Doesn't matter which.'

‘What? Why?' She moved her hands into her lap. It wasn't that she had a particular objection to being drawn on, but a) she wanted to know why, and b) Harry's drawings were not ordinary drawings.

He leaned in even closer. Seriously, they may as well be sitting on the same chair, and the worst thing was, she didn't hate it. ‘Have you heard of the community sign?' he asked in a low voice.

‘The what?' she replied, mouth dry, trying not to throw herself off the chair like she had the bed that morning, in an act of self-preservation.

‘I guess that's a no. In northern European countries, there's a tattoo a lot of people like us choose to get – to show they're part of the community and make it easier to help each other out with things, sensitive situations, et cetera.'

‘Oh. Like the runes my friend Ilina has on her wrist.'

‘If that's your friend who lives in Berlin, then yes, but that's just for Germans. This one is more general and inclusive.'

‘That's a good idea.'

‘Yes. It might be helpful for us to wear it for the rest of this journey in case we run into trouble. Worth a shot, isn't it?'

‘I suppose so. Won't they be mad that we're not actual members of their community, though? The UK's separated itself from Europe and aren't the best at building bridges, are they?' She didn't need to keep up with witching news to know that.

Harry quirked his eyebrow, acknowledging the grim truth – non-magical and magical alike, the powers that be in the UK tended towards arrogance and twisting the rules, rather than joining the larger communities. ‘I would hope they wouldn't hold it against us. And I can …' He paused and bit his lip.

‘You can what?' She narrowed her eyes at him.

‘Well, I could just infuse the image with a little push towards compassion.'

‘Convenient.'

‘It is. That's why it's called a "gift", Kay.' He pressed his lips together. ‘Look, I know you don't like the principle of it. Especially from me. But it's such a small image, all it will really do is prompt a tiny amount of positivity, if that person is already inclined towards it. Is that such a bad thing?'

‘If it's such a small amount, why bother?'

‘Because … because I can, I guess. It's not going to hurt anyone.'

‘That's what influencers always say, but it's trickier than that, isn't it? It removes people's own choice …' Kay broke off before they started down that path again.

Harry lowered his eyes to his pen and was quiet for a moment. She figured he was going to tell her to find her own way home, without him and his Biddicote magic compass. Why would he want her with him, constantly cramping his style by objecting to him influencing people to get a little extra luck and special treatment sent their way?

But then he just nodded. ‘Fine. I'll do it without.'

She lifted her hand, and he took it in his, twisting it, so the side along her pinkie finger was turned to him. Her heart rate pattered fast at the feel of his cool fingers sneaking inside her palm, his thumb pressing gently against her knuckles.

But then he just held still.

‘What are you waiting for?' she asked, sounding breathy and hoping it came across as impatience.

His fingers twitched, seemingly involuntarily, around hers, the sensation of his hold tightening making a sudden wash of heat drop into her belly. He swallowed and took an exaggeratedly slow breath in, letting it out again with controlled steadiness, and his grip eased again. ‘I just need to clear my thoughts and feelings. Have an empty mind if I'm to avoid putting anything into the picture.'

‘Oh.' She nodded and tried to wait without fidgeting, while he took his time, looking like he was centring himself. She'd never really considered how difficult it would be for him not to use his gift. She'd assumed he just switched it on and off like a tap, but it wasn't like she could do that with hers, and there was no barrier he could put in between like she had with her glasses. It was either draw or not draw, she supposed. Or try to have an empty mind. Possibly not the easiest thing to do when he was feeling stressed.

That brought to mind her own current magical issues. She had always blocked being able to see her gift with her glasses, but surely that couldn't be the blockage Madam Hedvika was talking about? She'd told her about the glasses and plenty of witches used similar things to stop them from being distracted by their gifts constantly. No one had ever said that it would cause a problem.

And if Harry was right, there was nothing blocking the way she affected people's emotional awareness. Madam Hedvika couldn't have meant that kind of a block. It was too obvious.

Finally, after another minute, he put the pen to her skin and, with sure strokes, began to draw an intricate design, like a Celtic rune pattern, along the edge of her hand. The nib of the pen tickled, and he tightened his hold again when she flinched a little.

‘No giggling, you'll jog me,' he murmured in a distracted tone of voice, his breath caressing the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. Goosebumps rose along her arm. She couldn't help it. The feel of his hand, firmly wrapped around hers, the vision of his head bowed over, copper and bronze hair falling forward in a messy kink on his forehead and his eyelashes lowered, was like stepping into a teenage dream again. ‘There, you're all done.'

Kay took a deep breath and turned her hand towards her, studying the pattern, all the while her heart skittered in her chest, fluttering like a trapped bird, because that wall she knew she needed to have between them was looking decidedly shaky.