I’m not allowed to attempt fire by myself, not ever.
I focus on the empty space in the wall, where the wood is waiting for a flame.
I do what Aunt Opal always says. I focus on the doing and not the trying. She always says we don’t try to do the things that are most important, we just do them. Magic is no different.
But this still feels more like trying than doing.
Gran must sense my growing frustration, because she briskly moves to the window and says, “Were you looking at that oak tree?”
I glare down at my empty palms but take the olive branch. “Yes. It looks like it’s getting closer to the house.”
“It’s probably just growing taller,” she counters, but she doesn’t sound completely convinced.
It’s winter; in Scotland that means the dark creeps in during the afternoon. It’s dusk and we are so remote, far from any urban life at all.
That does not include Hidden Folk. They are scattered all around, and they like to visit Gran’s
giant house.
Loch Ness is so different to anywhere I’ve ever been. While other lochs in Scotland are little blotches on the map, Loch Ness is a long and straight splinter. I expected it to look like a traditional lake, a wide body of water that lets you see the other side. Like the Forth in Edinburgh or Loch Morlich near Aviemore.
But Loch Ness is long and endless. Slender, but as deep as fresh water can be.
I haven’t asked any of the Hidden Folk about the rumours Loch Ness is famous for. I’m a little afraid of what they might say.
I see some coming towards us, carrying a basket.
“What are they?” Gran asks carefully.
She can’t see through their Glamour, their human disguises, like I can.
“Troll,” I say nonchalantly. “One Blue Man. And
a Hulder.”
They reach the door and knock. This seems to be a regular occurrence at Gran’s house, and it made me nervous at first. However, Opal says the house is protected by Old Magic. An ancient spell from an ancestor, making the house untraceable to anyone who wishes its occupants harm.
That’s the kind of spell I want to learn to cast.
I fling the door open and welcome the Hidden Folk into the foyer. They are friendly and warm and they drop their Glamour for Gran, but we’re not who they are here to see.
“Is she about?” asks the Troll. “We’ve brought gifts for the Winter Solstice.”
Gran directs them to the large table in the middle of the hall. It’s more of a foyer than a hall – I like that her and Grandpa’s house is like the one from Cluedo. Two doors on the right, leading to the kitchen and dining room. Two on the left for the living room and Grandpa’s study.
It’s dusty because Gran never lets anyone inside it.
There is a fireplace in the hall, and I try to start a small fire. I concentrate with ten times the might it takes me to bring water.
I don’t understand why fire is so much harder
for me.
“Opal is indisposed,” Gran says curtly, inspecting the basket of goods these Hidden Folk have brought for the hearth. “Is there a problem?”
Her voice is flinty. She is someone who insists on the house always being warm, and the meals that she prepares always piping hot, but there’s a coolness about her at all times. She seems as cold as the water of the loch. Her white hair and pale eyes make me think of a snow queen.
“No problem,” the Blue Man says cheerfully. He looks directly at me and his brow furrows. “Are you a little witch?”
I open my mouth to proudly claim so when Gran cuts across me. “No, she just has Sight. Only one witch in this house at present.”
I glower at her, but say nothing. That was the condition of coming here to learn. My powers were to be kept a family secret.
As if we needed another.
“Well, it’s not a problem,” the Hulder says, and her voice is nervous. Nervous enough to make Gran look over at her with a sharpness; a look that demands the facts and none of the dressing. “Not a problem, per se.”
“Speak.”
Gran has no time for tiptoeing around a topic. She enjoys conversational sledgehammers.
“There’s Fae in the area,” the Troll says quietly.
The words are enough to freeze the entire house. The Blue Man and Hulder both wince at the blunt words. I can no longer feel the warmth coming in
from the kitchen.
Gran is as still as the water in the loch outside our front door. It’s strange to see her so motionless. She’s always busying herself with something. There’s always something to check, something to test, something to manage. Now, she stands too still. Waiting.
