Seth. You know I love you, it’s not that. And I do want to, but just – just not yet. Is that OK?’
‘Of course.’ If he was disappointed he hid it well. ‘Of course, I understand completely. Anyway, you’re only seventeen. Not even legal in some places! You’d be jailbait in California.’
I laughed.
‘Well, it’s my birthday in January, don’t forget. So you’re safe after that, no matter where I choose to seduce you.’
‘So, Californian holiday in February?’ he teased. I smiled and then hugged him, burying my face in his warm neck.
‘Oh, Seth, thank you for being so lovely. I’m sorry, I just feel …’
‘Anna …’ His arms around me were firm and his lips moved against the top of my head. ‘Don’t be stupid. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. We don’t need to rush anything – God knows my first time was pretty crap; I wish I’d waited. I don’t want to be the person you regret for the next ten years.’
‘I would never regret you,’ I whispered, my lips against his shoulder. ‘I would never regret anything we did together.’
We stood, locked together in the gathering dusk, my head against his shoulder, his cheek warm against the top of my head. The wood was full of soft shiftings and patterings as the snow slipped from leaves and branches on to the forest floor. Apart from that the only sound was our breath, making clouds of white in the darkness. I was as close to completely happy as it was possible to get, and I felt light and drained of magic. The hollow space it occupied in the middle of my ribs was filled up with love and contentment.
‘I wish we could stay here for ever,’ I whispered, a catch in my throat.
‘Oh, love.’ Seth kissed the top of my head, his breath warm in my hair. ‘It’ll be OK.’ I don’t know what he meant – Bran, exams, magic, us; it could have been any of them. But it didn’t matter. Just for a moment I believed him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I awoke on the sixth of January with a feeling of foreboding. It was Twelfth Night – the end of Christmas and the first day back at school.
I hadn’t finished my coursework essays and I hadn’t revised for the January exams. But, as it turned out, they weren’t the only problems.
‘Bloody vandals,’ I heard. ‘Bloody kids. You should call the police, Tom.’
Oh no. My stomach lurched. Please tell me I hadn’t done something awful in my sleep. I stumbled out of bed and stuck my sleep-draggled head out of the window. The cold hit me like a slap and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the searing light off the snow. Dad and the farmer who owned the stableyard up the lane were standing on the snow-covered drive, looking at one of the outbuildings round the corner of the house.
‘Anna!’ Dad called up, hearing the sound of my window. ‘Know anything about this?’
‘About what?’ I croaked.
‘Come down. I’ll show you.’
I pulled a fleece on over my pyjamas and stumped downstairs, wondering what time it was. The kitchen door stood wide, letting a blast of cold like a freezer into the house, and I stuck my bare feet into my wellies, shuddering at the collection of twigs and grit in the toes, and made my way blinkingly into the snowy morning.
Dad and Miles Garroway were both looking at the outbuilding that served as our garage.
DEUT 18 10-12 MM
It was painted in crimson letters a foot high across the side of the barn, and below it was a crude drawing of something that looked like a pick, or perhaps a hammer of some kind. The red paint had dripped to the ground and stained the snow like blood.
‘Graffiti!’ I said, surprised. I don’t know what I’d expected, but not this – whatever it was. My first feeling was of relief – relief that it was nothing to do with me. My second feeling was a fear that perhaps it was.
‘What on earth does it mean?’ Dad said wonderingly. ‘It’s bloody odd graffiti. Whatever happened to Sharon 4 Trevor 4 Eva or Fred Woz Ere ? Have you seen
‘Of course.’ If he was disappointed he hid it well. ‘Of course, I understand completely. Anyway, you’re only seventeen. Not even legal in some places! You’d be jailbait in California.’
I laughed.
‘Well, it’s my birthday in January, don’t forget. So you’re safe after that, no matter where I choose to seduce you.’
‘So, Californian holiday in February?’ he teased. I smiled and then hugged him, burying my face in his warm neck.
‘Oh, Seth, thank you for being so lovely. I’m sorry, I just feel …’
‘Anna …’ His arms around me were firm and his lips moved against the top of my head. ‘Don’t be stupid. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. We don’t need to rush anything – God knows my first time was pretty crap; I wish I’d waited. I don’t want to be the person you regret for the next ten years.’
‘I would never regret you,’ I whispered, my lips against his shoulder. ‘I would never regret anything we did together.’
We stood, locked together in the gathering dusk, my head against his shoulder, his cheek warm against the top of my head. The wood was full of soft shiftings and patterings as the snow slipped from leaves and branches on to the forest floor. Apart from that the only sound was our breath, making clouds of white in the darkness. I was as close to completely happy as it was possible to get, and I felt light and drained of magic. The hollow space it occupied in the middle of my ribs was filled up with love and contentment.
‘I wish we could stay here for ever,’ I whispered, a catch in my throat.
‘Oh, love.’ Seth kissed the top of my head, his breath warm in my hair. ‘It’ll be OK.’ I don’t know what he meant – Bran, exams, magic, us; it could have been any of them. But it didn’t matter. Just for a moment I believed him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I awoke on the sixth of January with a feeling of foreboding. It was Twelfth Night – the end of Christmas and the first day back at school.
I hadn’t finished my coursework essays and I hadn’t revised for the January exams. But, as it turned out, they weren’t the only problems.
‘Bloody vandals,’ I heard. ‘Bloody kids. You should call the police, Tom.’
Oh no. My stomach lurched. Please tell me I hadn’t done something awful in my sleep. I stumbled out of bed and stuck my sleep-draggled head out of the window. The cold hit me like a slap and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the searing light off the snow. Dad and the farmer who owned the stableyard up the lane were standing on the snow-covered drive, looking at one of the outbuildings round the corner of the house.
‘Anna!’ Dad called up, hearing the sound of my window. ‘Know anything about this?’
‘About what?’ I croaked.
‘Come down. I’ll show you.’
I pulled a fleece on over my pyjamas and stumped downstairs, wondering what time it was. The kitchen door stood wide, letting a blast of cold like a freezer into the house, and I stuck my bare feet into my wellies, shuddering at the collection of twigs and grit in the toes, and made my way blinkingly into the snowy morning.
Dad and Miles Garroway were both looking at the outbuilding that served as our garage.
DEUT 18 10-12 MM
It was painted in crimson letters a foot high across the side of the barn, and below it was a crude drawing of something that looked like a pick, or perhaps a hammer of some kind. The red paint had dripped to the ground and stained the snow like blood.
‘Graffiti!’ I said, surprised. I don’t know what I’d expected, but not this – whatever it was. My first feeling was of relief – relief that it was nothing to do with me. My second feeling was a fear that perhaps it was.
‘What on earth does it mean?’ Dad said wonderingly. ‘It’s bloody odd graffiti. Whatever happened to Sharon 4 Trevor 4 Eva or Fred Woz Ere ? Have you seen
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