Chapter Eight
School seemed to absolutely drag by; Maths and English seemed to matter less than usual, when witchcraft and curses waited for Mark back home. It was hard being around Harry and Sarah, too; as far as they were concerned, life went on as it always had.
Mark didn't tell them anything about yesterday, how could he? If he told them about his adventure with the tractor, he'd have to tell them why he had gone out, which meant sharing at least some of what Damian had told him. But how could he do that, knowing that he was preoccupied with death and curses; it was far too sensitive to share. Plus, the fact that he'd almost kissed Damian, he wanted to lock that uncomfortable fact away, never to be seen again.
This was the first time that Mark had kept anything from Harry. The secrets hovered behind every conversation and action, screaming at Mark to be told. As the day wore on, he grew quieter and more sullen; afraid that the whole school could see how awkward he was.
Only Harry seemed to notice and shot a worried look his way. Before he could be cornered after school, Mark hurried to his bus and sat checking his phone for the umpteenth time.
*****
It was normal for Mark to go straight up to Nanna's after school, but today he made his way there with a new determination. He was surprised to hear voices when he opened the door into the warm kitchen; and even more surprised to see Damian sitting and chatting with Nanna.
"What-?"
"I've had a handsome gentleman caller today." Nanna stated with a smug smile.
Damian chuckled at the old woman's comment, but he looked anything but happy. Dark circles and pale skin told how tired he was; and there was a sharp and feverish quality to his blue eyes. "I couldn't stand being home alone this afternoon. Besides, you guys are the only ones I trust to take me seriously. I told my aunt about the curse and she brushed it off as anxiety and teenage overreaction."
"Have you found anything out?"
"I've spoken to some other witches, they have records of curses and demonic involvement, which would match the deaths and the tainted aura." Nanna replied, stating the facts as calmly as she'd discuss the weather.
"So what do we do know?" Mark asked, feeling some excitement stirring.
"Well, I was just quizzing this young man over the origin of this curse. It has to stem from somebody he knows, because nobody curses a stranger." Nanna nodded to Damian.
"But I can't think of a single person that would do this to me; or would have the ability." Damian said with a shrug.
"Which is why we're going to scry for an answer."
"Scry?" Mark wasn't sure where he'd heard that word before.
"We will try to see a vision that will help direct us to our next step." Nanna explained, getting up and rummaging through the cupboards.
Mark watched as she brought out a large bowl and filled it with water, setting it on the table between them.
"You remember what I told you?" Nanna asked Damian, her voice serious.
"Yes." He said, holding out his hand.
"Once the spell starts, there's no going back. I can't change what is shown." Nanna warned.
Mark watched, feeling very much on the side lines, as Nanna took Damian's upturned hand. The old woman picked up a sharp knife, holding it over Damian's palm.
"No!" Mark jumped up from his chair.
"Sit down, boy." Nanna snapped. "All I need is a drop of blood. It will create a much stronger link with his past."
"It's OK, Mark." Damian said calmly, although he winced when the knife finally cut him.
Mark watched the bright red blood drop into the bowl, and slowly disappear, its colour diluted by the water. His Nanna fixed her gaze on the bowl and began to chant beneath her breath; Mark tried, and failed, to hear what she was saying.
When he looked again at the bowl, his breath caught. The water was no longer clean and clear, but full of shadows moving eerily across the surface. As his eyes locked onto the bowl, Mark felt the spell reach out and ensnare him, catching him and refusing to let go. The shadows grew, becoming human in shape, and a brick background filling in behind them.
A man in his late twenties staggered down a quiet street, his blood-shot eyes betraying that he had been drinking. He pulled his once-fine coat about him, so only his dark-blond hair could be seen, and made his way towards the park. At nearly midnight, it was empty. People said that it wasn't worth the hassle from nosy cops, or the risk of a mugging; but the truth was there was something that scared them. Few people in this modern age knew that the park existed over ley lines, and even fewer cared. But they didn't know what could be accomplished if one made the necessary effort.
He knew though, he had been driven by an intense need to succeed. He'd wallowed in failure for too long; no matter what he did, nothing worked out. He was fed up with playing fair, now he wanted what the world owed him.
Finding the perfect spot, he knelt down, and shrugged off his coat to bare his arms. Intoning the words he'd memorised, he took out chalk and drew a pentagram over the short grass. With a sharp knife, he gave shallow slice to his arm, without wavering in his chant.
Once he had finished, the man sat back on his heels, staring into the darkness. He'd been warned that he might have to wait – demons came in their own time. Eventually something rose, darker then the night around it. It was insubstantial, but pulsed with power.
"What do you seek?"
"Success in all things. Riches." The man replied, his voice hoarse.
The thing hovered in front of him, it's aura touching the bare arms of the man, reading him. Satisfied, it retreated a little. "There is always a price."
"Anything."
"The life of your first son."
"Done." The man replied without hesitation. He was unmarried and had no plans for children, so it was no price at all.
The demon growled, its deal made, then started to fade.
Mark gasped for breath, he was overwhelmed by the foreign emotions that washed over him. He had expected something visual, not this.
He looked up to see his Nanna, looking as composed as ever; and poor Damian who looked very shell-shocked.
"That..." Damian finally stirred "That was my Dad."
Nanna quietly packed away the tools of the scry, and excused herself.
"How could he do that?" Damian's temper snapped. The wooden chair screeched as he shoved it back.
"Damian..." Mark stood up, trying to bring him back to somewhere calm.
"It's his bloody fault. He sold me and everybody else to satisfy his sodding greed!" Damian shouted.
"We'll still..."
Damian looked wildly for an escape. "I need to get out."
"No, Damian," Mark barred his path, "You can't run away again."
"Watch me." Damian snapped. "You don't know anything."
Mark grabbed his arms as he tried to barge past, and yanked him back. "There's a reason you're here, Damian. You chose to come here to find out the truth. I'm sorry it hurts, but this is it."
Damian glared at him, but some level of reason had returned. He gripped Mark's arm, keeping him near. "Truth... I was expecting an enemy, not my father."
Mark was suddenly aware that this was the second time in two days that they had been this close. He wanted him this close always, which was one hell of a distraction right now. The fire in his blue eyes might be fuelled by anger, but they were entrancing.
"Do you guys need a minute, or can we crack on?" Nanna asked from the doorway, making them both jump.
"Sorry, Nanna. What do we do now?" Mark asked, letting go of Damian before he did something stupid.
"It's obvious that a demon has a claim on Damian; we have to break that claim. It won't be easy, but luckily for you," Nanna looked to Damian, "we have some of the best witches in the county, and they will all be gathering here, tomorrow night. There's no time better than the Winter Solstice, it is when we are at our strongest."
"Winter Solstice?" Damian repeated the unfamiliar phrase.
"It's the shortest day of the year." Mark explained, fully aware of what was going on after years of Nanna's parties. "It traditionally celebrates the birth of the new year, and longer days ahead. It's also important for witches, as the Solstice is when the fabric between the worlds is at its thinnest, and spells take more effect."
"You've actually been paying attention, I was beginning to wonder." Nanna teased.
"So what do we do?" Damian asked. "Will it be dangerous?"
"We wait until tomorrow. I'll call the rest of the coven to warn them of our plans." Nanna sighed. "There could be some danger, I doubt the demon will back down willingly, but we can contain it as long as you stay strong, Damian."
Damian hesitated, completely out of his depth, then nodded. He was determined to get control of his life again.
"Why don't you two go and relax, forget about it for the rest of the evening. I think Elf is about to start on BBC." Nanna shooed them towards the door.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mark smiled. It was his favourite Christmas film. "Come on, I'll make popcorn."
"Sure, planning to battle demons always calls for popcorn." Damian replied drily, but grabbed his coat and followed Mark.
*****
Mark chuckled at a scene between Will Ferrell and James Caan, he'd seen the movie countless times, but it still made him laugh. He glanced towards Damian, and was relieved to see that he was being distracted from the horrors in his life with a bit of Christmas nonsense. Sensing Mark's gaze, Damian glanced his way and smiled.
"So... aside from the crazy stuff, are you missing London?" Mark asked. He couldn't imagine being uprooted from all he'd ever known, being forced to go somewhere totally different.
Damian shrugged. "I guess I haven't had chance to really think about it. I miss being able to jump on a bus or the tube, and going anywhere I like. I was never bored, there was always somewhere to go."
"And up here?"
Damian smirked at an onscreen joke, then turned his attention back to Mark. "I dunno, what do you actually do for fun around here?"
"It's definitely not London. Even if you travel into Tealford, there's not much that impresses." Mark said, trying to rack his brains over what they actually did. It was strange that he always felt busy, and rarely bored. "Me and Harry do a bit of Motocross, have you ridden a dirt bike?"
"Er, no." Damian replied, looking slightly in awe.
"Do you ride horses? Nanna keeps a couple down at the local yard – I'm sure we can lend you a cob." Mark offered. "Horseback's one of the best ways to see the countryside."
"Now you're just having a laugh, can you imagine me on a horse?" Damian said, elbowing him.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both watching the film. Eventually Damian spoke up again.
"So what's Tealford High School really like? I felt like everyone was putting on their best manners."
Mark shrugged, he hadn't been to any other schools, nor had there been any new students to share their opinions, so he could only guess. "It's just a school. Same issues as everywhere else, I suppose."
Damian glanced at Mark, a little more nervously. "And, you know... did you get bullied much?"
Mark thought about it for a moment, it was something he hadn't considered for a long time. "Bullied over the witch stuff? Not really, it's a small community and everybody has grown up knowing that my family are witches."
"No, I meant were you bullied for being gay?"
"That obvious, is it?" Mark asked, not sure how he felt about that, he didn't want his sexuality to define him.
"No, one of the chattier girls mentioned it when she was giving me a rundown of the whole school." Damian said, grimacing slightly at the mere memory of the experience.
"Ah." That made Mark feel better, sort of. "To be honest, nobody is that bothered. There was this one guy, a couple of years ago; he tried to make my life hell. Anyway, once my Nanna found out, he had nightmares for a month until he finally apologised and backed off. Maybe everyone's too scared of her."
"I can believe that."
"What was it like at your old school?" Mark asked.
"Bullies are everywhere." Damian said dismissively. "They saw that I was different, which they immediately see as a weakness. I found whenever I played football, I forgot about it for a while and was happy. The more I played, the better I got. Eventually, I got good enough that they started to back off. There were enough important people on my side, that didn't want their striker upsetting..."
Damian's voice tailed off, and he stared vaguely towards the television screen, lost in his own memories.