Visitor

1

It had been a quiet day. There had been a call about someone posting abuse online. He had taken a statement regarding a drunk driver the night before. It was just another day in a small town. He was now answering a call about someone playing loud music from their car.

He turned into a road that led to a dead-end, populated by a few dozen nondescript but expensive houses, squeezed between rows of much older sandstone houses on either side. The people who built it hadn’t wanted to give anyone who didn’t live there any reason to enter.

He heard the music before he saw the car. Rap. Why would someone be playing that kind of thing in a place like this?

It was a black Mercedes. A convertible with its top down, taunting the grey clouds hanging over the town. He never saw the point in having a convertible in Scotland.

Whoever was in the front seat seemed unperturbed by the police car parked behind them. The Mercedes was old, a “J” registration. His father had once had a “C” registration Ford, an ‘85. He counted forward as he tapped on the window, which was up despite the car having no roof.

The dark-haired woman in the driver’s seat was wearing sunglasses which, like the lack of roof, seemed optimistic or even stubborn. He smiled, as there was no point in being confrontational. She didn’t even seem to have noticed him until he tapped the window. She looked up at him, pointed to her ears, and shrugged. He continued smiling and pointed to the stereo. She rolled her eyes, reached out, and the music decreased in volume. Someone was still singing about how someone was going to be shot, but now much more quietly.

As he spoke, she raised her index finger to silence him before slowly winding down the window, her eyebrows raised.

Her finger and eyebrows lowered, and he tried again, gesturing at the car. “A ninety-two?”

She shook her head. “Ninety-one. They didn’t use the ‘I’ remember?” She had an American accent. “You’re probably miscounting.”

She was right, but something about her answer made him uneasy, as if she knew more than she should. How could she have known he was counting forward?

“You are disturbing people with that music.”

“No, I’m not. Nobody has said anything.”

“We’ve had phone calls.”

“Why would people do that? Why wouldn’t they come and speak to me?”

He had no answer. He often thought about why he had to solve everything. “The music, Ice T? It’s a bit old, isn’t it?”

She didn’t seem very interested. “Is it?”

“From the early nineties.”

She thought for a moment, as if working something out. “And you feel the nineties were a long time ago now.”

He nodded. “I need to see your driving licence.”

She waved her hand. “No, you don’t. I haven’t done anything. I’m just listening to music. That’s not a crime.”

“Well, it could be a breach of the peace.”

“Oh, so could anything.”

He pressed on. “What’s your name?”

She waved his question away again. “Never mind that. Actually, you can help me.” She opened the car door, letting it gently push him out of the way, and handed him a rolled-up newspaper. She took her sunglasses off and hooked them onto the pocket of her jeans. He knew he should be paying attention, but it was hard to concentrate for some reason. What was she wearing? What did she look like? A black t-shirt. Black hair parted at the side, so it swept across her forehead. There was a scar there.

She pointed at the house in front of them. “I’m going to rent this house. I texted the person to meet me here at three. They’re late.”

“Did they say they’d be here?”

“No, but I was quite clear. Anyway, I have to be somewhere else so you can stay here and tell me when they get here.”

It was ridiculous. She clearly had some kind of issue. He realised he should think about calling someone, but he could only think of one thing to say. “Fine. I’m not doing anything anyway. I can sit here until I get a call.”

She produced a pen. “I’ll give you my number.” She pushed his sleeve up his arm and wrote her number in blue pen, just above his tattoo of his wife’s name.

“If you use your phone to call this number, it will make my phone ring, and you can talk to me. Do you know how to use a phone? Do you have one?”

He nodded and stared at his arm.

She jumped back into the car. “If they don’t turn up by four, they’re probably not coming. Remember not to rub your arm. You’ll smudge the number.”

He nodded and jumped out of the way as the Mercedes spun round, the volume of the music rising to a deafening level again as she drove off. He stood there, alone. He realised he didn’t know her name and couldn’t remember her registration number. He looked at the number on his arm. It had been such a normal day up until then.

2

The library was an impressive sandstone building. She was the only one there, apart from two librarians. It seemed not everyone shared her interest in history. One of the librarians, an older man, brought her a small, leather-bound book. He sat it in front of her, putting it on a pillow he had already placed on the table. “This is one of the oldest items we have here. An account of the trials of 1659.”

She took a pen from her pocket, and his expression changed to one of horror. His hand came towards her, only just stopping short of grabbing it out of her hand. “No, no pens here! It has to be a pencil.”

“Oh, sorry.” She put it back in her pocket. “You can go and get me one.”

He disappeared, and she began to read.

The other librarian spoke from a table a few metres away. “The handwriting is challenging, and it will be in Scots.”

She smiled in response. “I’ll be fine.”

“James can help. He’s very good with that kind of thing.”

“Yes, he’s lovely. Perhaps I’ll ask him out for a drink.”

The female librarian looked puzzled. “Isn’t he a bit old for you?”

The woman smiled but kept reading. “That is not at all the case.”

A pencil appeared beside her, and James hovered for a moment before speaking. “It’s fairly famous, as these things go. Many women were prosecuted for witchcraft, but the numbers, in that case, were quite high for one event. And them being burned at the river, on the Whitesands, in the centre of town...”

She didn’t look up. “Yes. So tragic. Eight innocent women.”

The librarian considered this, then gently corrected her. “Nine women were executed.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“It’s interesting, although they were burned at the stake, in Scotland—“

“They strangled them first. Then burned the bodies. I remember.”

The librarian’s eyes widened. “You remember…?”

The woman paused for a moment, stopped reading, then waved a hand. “I remember learning about it at school.”

“Oh.”

She turned a page slowly, and the librarian peered at the faint, now almost orange writing on the yellow page.

“It’s very difficult to read. We had to spend a bit of time on this. It says, ‘That upon—’”

She interrupted, speaking slowly and firmly. Her American accent was replaced by some kind of Scottish accent which was like nothing he had heard spoken aloud before. “—several malefices committit of late within and about these landis their being several persones suspect of the abominable sin of witchcraft apprehendit and searched, the marks of witches wer found on thame in the ordinarie way. Sevarllis of thame haif maid confessioun and haif acknowledged pactioun with the devill and these wemen within this brughe did tak upon heirefter to intyse, or perswad any kynd of persoune quhatsumever to leif thair awin parents to be deboschet and wikket persouns.”

The librarian found himself backing away. “How can you read that? That took us days. We had to get experts from Edinburgh to—”

The woman didn’t turn around. “I told you. I learned it at school.”

A phone began ringing, but nobody moved. The librarian pointed at the woman’s bag. “Shouldn’t you answer it?”

Elizabeth looked at her bag as if she had never seen it before. She suddenly pointed at it. “My phone is in there. I need to answer it.”

The man nodded. “Yes.”

When she answered, a police officer told her someone was on their way to the house. He had phoned the number on the advert and persuaded them to come out to see her. She said she would be there soon.

She turned and looked at the librarian. “Do you have a transcript of this?”

“No. Not the whole thing.”

She handed him the pencil. “Transcribe it for me. If there’s anything you can’t read, I want you to make me a copy. I’ll pick it all up tomorrow, first thing.”

He stepped back, hesitating. “But, that’s a lot of work. I finish soon.”

“I understand.” She stepped closer to him, “You can go home if you want, but just know that I’d prefer it if you did this for me.”

The man thought for a moment before nodding, “I can do it.”

“Good.”

With that, she was gone. And he soon found he couldn’t quite remember her name or if she had even said what it was.

3

The man was very helpful. He answered all her questions. The area had once been the site of a small chemical plant. They had to remove the topsoil, and they found a stone buried where the house now stood. He thought it might be in the local museum now. Coincidentally, she was going there the next day. She had arranged to meet someone there, a young PhD researcher who was knowledgeable about some things that had happened just over three hundred years ago.

The agent kindly agreed to go back to the office and dispose of all the other applications to rent the house, so that she would be the only applicant. She felt sure she would be living there soon.

4

The museum sat on top of a hill, looking over the town. Soon she was examining cabinets of old things removed from the ground where they had fallen or been laid. A skeleton curled up in a cabinet, imitating the burial position from which he had been disturbed. She sensed irritation, but there was nothing she could do about it, and quickly moved on. She shuddered as she saw an ancient dagger lifted out of time. She ran her finger along the scar on her forehead. Some things should be left in the past.

Soon she was called through to a back room where a young man enthusiastically talked about events from long ago.

“The executions of 1659 were part of a wider pattern. The witch hunts of the 1660s followed, but in my view, women were persecuted consistently long before that. You can see witch trials in Dumfries and Galloway in the 1630s, for example. But it wasn’t just execution. You would see people attacked by their community, banished, even mutilated.”

“Mutilated?”

“Oh, yes. For example, there’s the belief that a spell can be undone by cutting the forehead of the witch who has cast it. So if cattle, or people, become sick and a witch is suspected, you could have people being attacked and cut to try to ‘break the spell’. That kind of thing might not show up in records.”

He reached into one of the boxes. “Look at this. This is from just before the mass execution of 1659. These are just copies I had made. The library has the originals, but this shows the expense of materials used for an execution in 1657.”

Elizabeth tried to maintain a lack of expression as she read the document.

27th May, 1657. - For 38 load of peitts, two stoupes and two steaves to burn the two women, £3 12s. Given to Thomas Black.

She shook her head ruefully and whispered through her gritted teeth. “Black Tom.”

The boy pointed at the document. “A stoupe is—”

She interrupted. “A wooden post. I know what it is. It’s what they tied them to.”

Elizabeth took out the transcript from the library and showed it to him.

Drumfreis, the 5th of Apryle, 1659.-The Commissioners adjudges Agnes Comenes, Janet M'Gowane, Jean Tomson, Margt. Clerk, Janet M'Kendrig, Agnes Clerk, Janet Corsane, Helen Moorhead, and Joan McDonald, as found guiltie of the severall articles of witchcraft mentioned in the dittayes, to be tane upon Wednesday come eight days to the ordinar place of execution for the burghe of Drumfreis, and ther, betuing 2 and 4 hours of the afternoon, to be strangled at staikes till they be dead, and therefter their bodyes to be burned to ashes.

“Do you have anything related to this?”

“I don’t think so. It was a very long time ago. Some places hold ashes, and there’s been discussion about the appropriateness of that, but we don’t have anything like that. There is a sketch of the execution from 1909. Have you seen that?”

Elizabeth sat up straighter, trying to contain her anger. She kept trying to tell herself it wasn’t the boy’s fault. “No.”

He found a picture and set it in front of her. Women tied to stakes with people around them, Dark figures worked while smoke rose from the scene. She pushed it away. “Very interesting.”

She changed the subject. “I heard a story about a stone being dug up somewhere.”

The boy stared at her blankly. She reached out, touching his hand lightly. “You must know something about that.”

He suddenly stood up straight. “Oh, yes. You mean the Nibbit Stone?” His face fell. “It’s not here. It’s on loan in America. It was the strangest thing, there’s this stone that means nothing to anyone, but they kept asking and asking for it until we finally agreed to loan it to them.”

Elizabeth nodded as the boy leaned in and whispered, “I think a fair bit of money changed hands, but I wasn’t involved in that.”

He began searching in one of the boxes. “I’ve got pictures here. A nibbit is when you put two oatcakes together, like a sandwich. The stone is carved into this shape, so it looks like two things stuck together. There’s a line, more like a kind of valley, carved right around the middle. It’s not clear why.”

He placed a picture in front of Elizabeth. She spoke without looking at it, “As if to represent n the partial severing of a relationship.”

The boy mulled this, his head moving from side to side, weighing the idea. “Could be, but there’s no evidence of that. It has the letter ‘B’ carved on it.”

Elizabeth nodded.

The boy smiled. “You won’t believe what else they found.”

He reached into another box and brought out a perspex case with nine glass jars. Eight of them contained piles of small, dirty bones. The ninth contained red soil. “These were found beside the stone. I wanted them on display, but they won’t let me because they say it is too…”

His voice trailed off as Elizabeth reached for the case. She was suddenly animated, her mouth open. He hesitated, as if he wanted to take a step back. As her hands stroked the box, her head tilted ninety degrees, examining what was inside. A low, almost triumphant, hissing noise originated from somewhere deep within her.

He quickly set the case on the table as she ran her hands over it. He talked, perhaps in the hope it would distract her. “These are cat bones. It’s not unknown to find cats inside the walls of old houses, to ward off evil spirits, but we don’t know—”

Elizabeth looked up at him, her head still tilted. “You don’t know what these are? What your stone is?”

He felt scared. Something seemed wrong. “I…no. Do you know? How could you?”

She smiled and stroked the case. “I know. I’ll tell ye, because you won’t remember. It’s a lymytyng stane. Five there will be. Cursit and beryit in the grownd. Witchit stanes!”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t move. Was it fear or something else? “Witchit? You mean bewitched? Why?”

She smiled and sat up straight, still stroking the case with one hand, staring at the boy. “Five stones, one in the centre. Four scattered around, further away. The one whose mark is on the stone cannot enter. They cannot come near. If they are near, they will be compelled to leave. Soon they’ll forget the place entirely.” She licked her lips and grinned. “Such power, so much power. This was set by eight witches, eight cats, one from each witch. A sacrifice is needed to ensure power. You lifted the maister stane. Now it’s far away. So far away.”

“You’re saying these were placed to keep something away? To expel something or someone?”

She broke into a wide, terrifying smile. “Oh, yes. Long ago. Long, long ago.”

She gripped the case. “I need these bones. Let me take them.”

He sputtered, “I can’t let you do that! They’re an exhibit.”

She stood up and moved towards him. He hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was before. Her hair was jet black, and her eyes were so blue. And transparent, like crystal. “I’ll help you. You don’t know what all these objects were used for. I could tell you. I could show you. Would you like that? To touch things and see their history? I could do that.” She looked him up and down, then moved her face closer to his. “I could do more. Do you find me attractive?”

He stammered, backing away. Struggling to think straight, he swallowed and directed her back to her seat. “Why don’t we talk about this?”

There were only two other visitors in the museum that day, a mother and her three-year-old son. The museum was free, and he was happy as long as he got something from the gift shop on the way out. He liked the skeleton and always asked her to read what the sign said.

He held his mother’s hand as they passed an open door that was usually closed. One of the staff was sitting across from a young woman with dark hair, their knees almost touching. She seemed to be pointing at something behind him and explaining something. The young woman looked up, smiled, and waved at both of them. The mother looked at her son and urged him to wave back.

He clung to her. “Mum, why is that old woman sitting on that man?”

She looked again. The young woman smiled and went back to explaining something to the man. “What do you mean, Craig? There’s no old woman.”

The boy pushed his head into his mother’s side and looked sideways at the doorway. “Yes, there is. She’s really old, older than Gran. And she’s sitting on that man like a big crab, standing on his lap.”

The young woman continued talking to the man. “Craig, don’t make things up.”

“She’s got her hands in his face like claws. And she’s got her mouth open like she’s going to eat him or something.”

“Craig, why would you say something like that?”

He pushed his face into his mother’s jacket so he couldn’t see anymore. “Mum, can we just go home?”

“Don’t you want to see the skeleton?”

He shook his head. As they left, she looked into the room again. The woman looked over and smiled at the boy. Then she winked at him.

5

Sitting on the bare floorboards in the living room, she unfolded a map of the town.

She picked up the small jar next to her. The creatures within it crawled over each other, bewildered by their new world. She had collected them from the garden.

She unscrewed the lid and shook out one of the woodlice. It struggled to right itself before gingerly heading off to explore the map.

She did the same with seven more jars. She ate an apple and watched as the creatures bumped into each other and arranged themselves. When they stopped moving, she picked up a pencil and carefully drew around each of them. Eight locations. She would have work to do the next day.

6

Once she had found the eight women, it had not been difficult to bring them together. A prize in a competition brought them to her. It had taken several weeks to arrange. She sat in the beauty salon and put her head back. She found people touching her feet to be fairly unpleasant, but she had to do the same as the others.

She knew all their names now, and she knew the women all knew each other.

Jean spoke, “I said to Billy, ‘I never win anything,’ and he said, ‘Well, you never go in for anything.’ I just ignored him. What would he know?”

Margaret replied, “Well, you won him, didn’t you?”

Agnes joined in. “Aye, Jean, some prize that. Shows you what your luck’s like.”

Margaret said, “Well, I think it’s silly. I didn’t even want to come. What do I need done to my toenails? It’s only Tony that’s seeing them, isn’t it?”

“Why did you come then, Margaret? You could have stayed home instead of coming here and moaning,” Jean responded.

“I came because you went on at me. See this, not being able to go to anything yourself, you should see someone about that. Here, Isla, are you still seeing that young doctor?”

Isla nodded. “I’m seeing him tonight.”

“Tonight? Were you not out with him last night?”

“Aye, well, he wanted to see me again tonight, and I’m not wanting to waste all this just watching television, am I?”

Margaret tutted. “Maybe he should see a doctor himself. That’s his glands, that is. He wants to have a word with himself. You’d think he’d have better things to be doing. You’re probably costing people their lives there, Isla.”

Elizabeth could sense the younger girl’s discomfort. Kirsty looked at her and asked, “So, did you go in for the competition?”

“Me? No, it came out of the blue.”

There was murmuring from the other women. Margaret asked, “You’re American? What did you do over there?”

“I helped people.”

“What, like a doctor, like Isla’s man?”

“No. A bit like a life coach. Yoga, counselling, relaxation, you know the type of thing.”

“Jean, have you still got that thing where you can’t use the phone?”

“I can use the phone, as you well know, Agnes. I just don’t like using the phone.”

Margaret pointed at Jean while addressing Elizabeth. “Here, could you fix that?”

Elizabeth opened her eyes again. “If she thinks it’s something that needs fixing. But if she’s happy—”

“How can she be happy? She can’t use the phone. You know she’s not even got a doorbell? Have you ever heard the like?”

“I do have a doorbell. It just needs a new battery.”

“Jean McCartney, that doorbell hasn’t had a battery for ten years, and your man’s an electrician.”

“Och, leave me alone.”

Elizabeth said, “I can work with phobias, anxiety, chronic pain, general lack of fulfilment.”

“Hear that, Anne? Lack of fulfilment. You and Archie should go.”

“Hey, Margaret, cut that out. Wait, Mary, have you still got that thing with your legs?”

“Heavy legs? Aye, I have.”

Anne said to Elizabeth, “Hear that, hen? Do you do legs at all?”

“I…suppose.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Heavy legs. What is that, anyway? That’s not a real thing.”

“It is so a real thing. French people get it all the time. That doctor in Glasgow said so.”

Margaret turned to Isla. “Here, Isla, does your doctor find your legs too heavy?”

Isla shook her head in annoyance. “Stop that, Margaret.”

Now was the time. “If you want, I’ll take you all as a group. Free trial. But I do groups of eight, always eight. How many of you are there?”

She made a show of lifting her head and counting the women. She could hear Margaret interrupt. “There’s eight of us. Perfect.”

Elizabeth paused longer than was really necessary. “Eight. Yes, I suppose I could. We could do some breathing, positive self-talk, that kind of thing. I don’t have anywhere yet, so you’d have to come to my house.”

Elspeth seemed unconvinced. “It’s not really my kind of thing.”

Margaret snapped at her. “Don’t be silly. It’s free. Catch a grip of yourself.”

“Remember when Sadie went to a thing that time, and it turned out it was all about how you shouldn’t drink and praising the Lord. And they wanted money!”

Elizabeth replied before Margaret got the chance. “It’s nothing like that. We always have wine at the start to relax everyone.”

From the other side of the room Anne said, “I’ll go.”

Agnes turned to her. “Oh, it speaks. I thought you weren’t supposed to drink these days?”

“Aye, well, I’m also not supposed to have a husband who sneaks off to see that wee nurse from the riverside flats.”

“Is that still going on?”

“He says not, but I reckon he’s back with her. First chance I get to have a hold of his phone, I’ll know for sure. It’ll be more than a check-up he’s getting.”

“Why do you put up with that, Anne?”

“I don’t know. Maybe this thing will get to the bottom of it. Then again, maybe I’m just a mug. When are we going?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I could do tomorrow.”

Mary shook her head. “Not tomorrow. I’ve Robbie’s tea to make.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Mary, he’s a twenty-three-year-old married man. He can make his own dinner.”

“He always comes round on a Monday.”

“Because you make him. What does Diane make of this?”

Mary shrugged. “She’s pleased to have him out of the house.”

“Aye, you’re probably right. Right, you’ll have to put him off. It needs all of us, and this woman’s doing it for free. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth Forbes.”

Jean said, “Forbes? That’s a Scottish name. Could be you’re from here, you know, way back.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Could be…”

7

She gave each of them a glass of wine as soon as they arrived. It was sure to make them more agreeable.

It was clear that they all listened to Margaret. She was determined to have them all attend but also seemed wary, as if it was beneath her. The wine would help with that.

Soon they sat in a circle with Elizabeth at the centre, eyes closed, hands on their laps, slowly breathing in and out at her command. As soon as the rhythm was established, she left them to do it themselves, watching as their shoulders rose and fell in perfect unison.

“I have something for you all. It should help you concentrate.”

She took eight necklaces from the box. They were made of black cord with a red stone. She went to each of the women in turn, putting them around their necks.

“This is red jasper. It will help you maintain focus.”

Elspeth protested half-heartedly. “I don’t like all that stuff. I don’t believe in it.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Well, it can hardly do you any harm then, can it?”

Elspeth still seemed unsure. “I suppose not.”

Mary examined the stone around her neck. “Do we get to keep these? I quite like red.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t need them back.”

She took her place in the centre of the room. The eight women surrounded her, staring at her from their chairs.

“Now, I want to show you all something very special. But I need you to fasten yourselves in.”

The women looked bemused, but started examining their chairs. Soon some of them laughed and held up leather belts that were tethered to the base of the chairs.

Margaret held up the ends of her belt in front of her, waving the large buckle with a sceptical look on her face. “Really?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Really. I’m going to put you all into a trance, and I don’t want anyone falling and hurting themselves. It’s not unknown for people to convulse when we do this.”

Agnes laughed. “Convulsions? You’re really selling this, aren’t you?”

“It’s perfectly safe. They are only buckles. There are no locks. You can take them off whenever you want.”

Isla, Jean, and Elspeth began to buckle their belts. Elizabeth motioned to Kirsty and Anne, and they slowly did the same. It took a withering look towards Mary to have her start to secure herself.

“Well, Agnes, is there something you’re afraid of?”

Agnes smiled. “No, I’m fine.” She fastened her belt and pulled it tight.

Only Margaret was left. Elizabeth looked at her. “Are you going to join us, Margaret?”

Margaret shook her head. “This is a bit weird for me.”

“Well, everyone else is doing it. I’d like you to do it as well. It’s fine. I promise.”

Margaret slowly buckled the belt.

“Right, let’s get started. First, I want you all to relax and close your eyes. We’re going to practise our breathing, like before.”

Seven women closed their eyes. Margaret regarded Elizabeth sceptically before sighing and copying the others. She sat up straight with her eyes closed, an unhappy look still on her face. Elizabeth counted slowly, guiding their breathing.

Suddenly, there was a scream. The women sat stunned, eyes open, staring at Jean and the blood on her forehead. Elizabeth stood in front of her with a knife. She turned around, almost spinning, her eyes darting from one woman to another, as if she was checking for something.

Jean was crying. “She cut me! Elizabeth! You cut me!”

Elizabeth ignored her, watching the other women as six of them tried to undo their belts, with no success. The seventh, Agnes, was not trying to free herself. Instead, she sat bolt upright, staring at Elizabeth as if in shock. Elizabeth tilted her head and their eyes locked.

Agnes’s mouth opened. “Bessie?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Aye, it’s me, Agnes MacKillop! And who are you? Dae ye hae mind wha ye really are? It was ye that wis bound by Jean then!”

“Bessie…I…widnae hav believed it.”

Elizabeth strode towards her and flicked the knife across her forehead, drawing blood. As Agnes screamed, Elizabeth scanned the other women. “Ye neednae bother wi the belts. Ye’ll no can free yerselves until I say so.”

Mary suddenly sat upright, furious. “Bessie! I never thocht I wid see ye again! Whit manier of spell is this that binds me!”

“It’s strong enough for you. I wis aye the strongest, was that no the truth o’ it, Mary! Until ye expelt me?”

Jean was crying, touching her forehead and staring in horror at the blood on her fingers. “Why can’t I move?”

Elizabeth pointed at the necklace around her neck. “Red jasper. The stone of endurance. It helps keep you where you should be.”

She lifted her chair to reveal a large red stone beneath it. “I used a master stone. Just like you all did. Each of you has a jar under your seat, one you left long ago.”

Elizabeth went to each of the women, ignoring their cries and cutting their foreheads, releasing the spells that they had cast on each other.

Eight women sat bloodied and angry, glaring at her.

Elizabeth breathed out slowly and pointed at them with her knife. “I know what you all did.”

Margaret sneered. “And whit dae ye know, Bessie?”

Elizabeth bent over and put her face in front of Margaret’s, almost touching her. “I know what you did to Joan.”

“We didnae dae onythin! It was Tom! It was your man!”

“Aye, I know what he did, helping to find witches, finding nine young women to burn on the Sands. And you never asked yourselves why? Did I teach you nothing?”

“It was a’ we could dae to save ourselves! We hid tae—”

Elizabeth silenced her with a wave of her hand. “Aye, I know. Transference. Cheap wee tricks. Cheating. Moving a problem from one place to another. Child’s magic! Did I not tell you it always caused problems?”

“It fooled Tom! He saw those eight as witches and burned them instead o’ us! Your man wasn’t so clever then, was he?”

“He was smart enough. Nine women burned at once! Who would be stupid enough to do such a thing? Did you never ask yourself that? And Joan in the middle with them round her! Did you not have the sense you were born with?”

Elspeth said, “Bessie, Joan was dead. She was dead before they burned her. They strangled her. It was dead bodies they burned.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You were all there? You all watched, and you didn’t lift a finger to help?”

Jean snorted, “And whit wid you have had us dae, Bessie? He found Joan first. How could we trick them after that? It was all we could dae to pass the guilt tae ithers before they caught up tae us.”

Elizabeth nodded. “And Joan didn’t tell them. She burned there without betraying you, as you betrayed her!”

Margaret rocked in her chair, pulling at her belt in frustration. “She didn’t burn alive! She was deid! They strangled her!”

“Who did, Margaret? Who strangled her?”

“It was Tom.” Margaret’s expression changed as a thought dawned on her. “It was…Tom. Black Tom.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Aye. So it was. He never strangled any of them. They all burned alive.”

“But they never cried out?” Isla asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. “None of you ever learned deadening spells, did you? Maybe I could have taught you if you hadn’t banished me.”

Margaret stamped her feet in anger. “You banished yourself! Consorting with who-knows-who! First Black Tom, and then who? The devill himself? Who were you mixing with, Bessie? You were putting us all in danger! Showing off what you were doing! Curing cattle is one thing, helping crops is anither, but treating children who aren’t long for this world? What happens when it goes wrong? What happens when it doesn’t work? Will you no tell us again how you got that scar?”

“I did my best!”

“So you did. You can succeed a hundred times, but the one time you don’t, then they come for you. You know that, Bessie! You always knew that! And where was Black Tom when they started asking about you?”

“We could have survived it.”

“Until the next time! Four hunner’ years we’ve lived now. Because we don’t make a show of ourselves like you! Because we cast a spell on each other, once every thirteen years, because we choose not to remember who we are! Would you have done that?”

“Joan wouldn’t, would she?”

Margaret stopped talking and bristled, fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, maybe she was too close to you. The same behaviour, always drawing attention. She brought it on herself.”

As Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with anger, and she gripped the knife tighter, Isla said, “You said Joan was still alive. Why would Tom burn her alive?”

Elizabeth looked at Margaret. “Do you want to explain, Maggie?”

Margaret looked to the side and shook her head. “Well, Bessie, you were always the expert in everything. Why don’t you tell them?”

Elizabeth turned to Isla. “He wasn’t trying to kill witches. He was trying to steal Joan.”

“How? I don’t understand.”

“Eight women burning, her at the centre, lit last. Did you never think why they didn’t execute so many at once? He was opening a door to somewhere.”

“He sent her to...where he was from?”

“Aye. And I bet he wasn’t here long after that, was he?”

Elizabeth looked around the room. The women avoided her gaze. Anne finally spoke. “We never saw him again. Our powers faded a little. Then we decided to remain hidden. We didn’t think you’d be back. We never thought.”

“Of course you didn’t. You thought I could never come within a thousand miles of here. The distance a man could walk in a month. That’s what you all cursed me with, wasn’t it? Well, one of those fools dug up one of the anchor stones when they built those new houses. Not that they knew what it was, just an old stone with writing carved into it. They kept it in that museum. I could feel something had changed. I started to remember. When I found out, it took me thirty years to get that stone loaned to another museum, far away. The work I had to do! The arrangements I had to put in place! All because of your betrayal.”

Isla cast her eyes downwards. “I’m sorry, Bessie.”

Margaret glared at her. “You’re sorry? You’re apologising to her?” After everything she did? I’m not sorry. I’m sorry we didn’t bury it deeper! Out of the reach of men and their infernal machines!”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Well, I’m back now. And look at you all.”

Margaret tutted. “And whit is it you want us to do, Bessie? Back to the old ways? You want us to cure some cattle for some bread? The world’s moved on.”

“You’ve no idea what our powers can give us, what they can help us achieve.”

“Oh, I’ve a very good idea of that. Trouble. And more trouble. We’re happy here. We have our place. We grow old, everyone around us passes away, then we start again. We’ve done it before. We can live forever, Bessie. No need for chaos and plotting and consorting with dangerous spirits. We have enough.”

“I don’t have Joan. You burned her.”

“Your teacher burned her, Bessie! That’s the truth. He burned her because she was like you. But less trouble. He liked her better. We survived. No harm done.”

“Eight innocent women?”

“Och, would you listen to yourself? What have you done when needs must? They’re temporary creatures, anyway. You need to be less sentimental. A bit more practicality and pragmatism is what you need.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly. “Is that right enough?”

Margaret shrugged. “That’s right enough.”

Elizabeth left the room and came back dragging a large hessian bag, almost as big as she was. She opened it to reveal it was stuffed with tree branches.

Margaret’s face hardened. “What’s that Bessie?”

“You know what it is, Margaret, it’s kindling.”

“Oh, it’s revenge, is it? You came all this way for revenge?”

Elizabeth didn’t speak. She began to take branches from the bag and place them under the chairs of the women as all except Margaret begged and howled.

Isla tried to lean over, bending her neck as Elizabeth piled up branches beneath her chair. “Please, Bessie, it wasn’t me! It was Margaret! She said to leave her! Please, Bessie, please don’t burn me! Please! Please let me go!”

Elizabeth ignored her. Soon the room was filled with wailing and cursing. Only Margaret sat in silence as Elizabeth spun around slowly, looking at the eight women, each with a pile of wood beneath them.

Margaret laughed. “You do know how much attention this will draw? You haven’t changed, have you? And for what? Petty revenge? You’re pathetic.”

The room was suddenly silent as they heard a car draw up outside.

Margaret laughed. “I told you. Attention. People know we’re here. They know you live here.”

Elizabeth’s face betrayed no emotion. There was the sound of a car door slamming, and a few seconds later, they heard a loud knock at the door.

As Margaret cackled, the others began screaming, begging the person at the door to help them.

When Elizabeth returned, it was with a policeman. He stood puzzled, taking in the scene as seven women screamed and pleaded for him to save them. Margaret sat smiling.

“What’s...what’s going on?”

Elizabeth took his hand. “It’s all fine. Everything is fine. Come and stand here.”

She led him to the centre of the circle, the women’s screams now focussed on him. He stood stunned as Elizabeth took both his hands. “I need you to do me one last favour. Just stand here, no matter what, alright?”

“Yes, that’s fine, I suppose.”

She lifted the large red stone from the floor and handed it to him. “Hold this.”

Then she shook the last branches out of the bag and arranged them until the pile of kindling covered his black boots up to his ankles.

She had seen him a few times since that first encounter outside the house. She took his face in her hands. “I promised you anything, didn’t I? Anything you desired if you did whatever I wanted? Do you remember?”

He nodded. “I remember. You said I could have anything. Live forever. Be rich. Be with you. Anything.”

“Yes, well, you could have all those things. You just have to choose. But I want you to know that what would please me is for you to choose something else instead. I want you to choose to sacrifice everything for me in exchange for a single kiss. What do you think of that? It’s up to you.”

He thought for a moment. Her eyes burned into his. He could kiss her? But surely if he chose immortality, riches, a life with her, he could have that many times? And more. It made no sense. But it was what she wanted. She said so. As the women screamed and pleaded, he made his decision. “Yes. I would like a kiss.”

She smiled. “That’s so sweet.”

He leaned in to kiss her and found her index finger was suddenly placed on his lips, stopping him. “On the cheek. You can kiss me on the cheek. Just once.”

He nodded as she turned her face away from him and closed her eyes. The screaming was deafening, but he didn’t mind. Elizabeth felt his lips gently brush her cheek, and she pulled away. “There. That’s it. Let’s get started.”

He watched as she brought out a container of oil and poured it over each pile of wood. He smiled at her as she emptied it over him and the stack at his feet. She was so beautiful as she smiled back at him. He felt so lucky.

She left the room, and he found he was suddenly sad. He missed her. When she came back, she had a long piece of wood with a cloth wrapped around the end. It was wet. Of course, it had been dipped in oil. That was what it was. He congratulated himself on working it out. She lit the cloth, and it burst into flames. She then went to each of the women in turn, lighting the oil-soaked wood underneath their chairs. He was surprised when the fire was so subdued. It made no sense. In each pile, a small flame glowed and struggled. It should have been raging. It was puzzling.

The same thing happened when she lit the pile around him, though he did notice that his feet felt warm.

She came close. She was so intoxicating. He wondered whether he should ask to kiss her again.

She touched his face. “It’s almost time. I have to go now. I know that will make you sad, but you have to stay here, you understand? This is what I want. You are making me happy.”

He nodded. He did feel sad. But he was making her happy, so it was all worth it. She leaned in so he could kiss her again, on the lips this time. He was so lucky. At that moment, just as he shut his eyes, she stopped and winked at him before pulling back again. She turned on her heel, and he noticed her picking up an apple from the fruit bowl. Then she clicked her fingers, and the fires all roared into life, engulfing the entire room in flames. The heat was terrible. And as it began to hurt, he joined the women in screaming.

8

The windows of the house blew out first, then the roof collapsed inwards, revealing bright yellow flames from the furnace inside.

She had stuffed the attic and the upstairs rooms with kindling. It was a shame it didn’t have a basement. She saw others come out of the neighbouring houses to watch, but they stood further away than her. The searing heat seemed to bother them.

When the fire engines arrived, they tried to put water onto the fire, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. She stood eating her apple, muttering something under her breath over and over as they accepted that the house was a lost cause. Instead, they directed water onto the peeling, blistering paint of nearby cars. She had parked hers a street away, just to be on the safe side.

The firefighters were so nice, as were the police. Nobody asked her questions. She told them it wasn’t necessary. After the walls of the house collapsed, she became bored. It was almost midnight. She noted the full moon above was not required for illumination. Its weak light was nothing compared to the bright yellow and orange light coming from what used to be a house.

As she turned to leave, she tapped a police officer on the shoulder and pointed to the apple core she had dropped. He picked it up to dispose of it for her.

She went to get something from her car before walking around the side of the house, pausing only briefly while they removed some of their yellow tape so she could pass. Nobody stopped her or even seemed to notice her. She didn’t have to open the gate to the back garden as the wooden fence had burned down some time ago.

She sat down on a metal bench at the back of the garden, beside the naked woman.

They both stared at the glowing mound of rubble.

The woman said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. I did it for you.”

“Thank you.”

She handed the woman a bundle. “I brought you some clothes.”

“Thank you.”

Elizabeth put her arm around her. “Let’s not be apart again, Joan.”

The woman’s brow furrowed. “No, let’s not. I don’t like it.”

“I missed you. I’m sorry this took me so long.”

“I missed you too. It didn’t seem like very long, though.”

“Well, we can talk about that.”

“What shall we do now?”

Elizabeth considered the question as she listened to the shouts of the firefighters. A mist of water drifted over them, then passed. “We’ll do whatever we want. Whenever we want.”

“That sounds nice. Are things how they were? Can you still get food from people if you help them?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Oh, Joan. You have no idea what there is out there. I can’t wait to show you.”

“I’d like that.”

Elizabeth took her hand. “You know I love you.”

Joan shook her head. “You mustn’t say that. You know what could happen.”

“Well, don’t worry about that. Some things have changed quite a bit.”

“What about Tom? What will he say about this?”

Elizabeth patted her hand. “Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about him. We’ll start dealing with him tomorrow.” She stood up. “Shall we?”

Joan nodded, dressed herself, and walked with Elizabeth to the car. Nobody noticed them and the next day nobody remembered them.

But the next day is another story entirely.