Chapter Two
As school ended, the snow had turned to sleet; wet and very cold on the biting wind.
Mark wrapped up and hovered in the relative shelter of the school wall. Harry and Sarah had already disappeared on their bus that circled the villages to the south, leaving Mark to wait for the bus to travel the west route.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mark spotted a very fashionable trench coat, with a very blue face above it.
“Y’look bloody frozen.” Mark ejected.
Damian gave him a withering look, his jaw clamped shut to stop his teeth chattering.
“Don’t you have a warm coat?”
“This is…” Damian stuttered. “It did the job down south.”
“Well, it won’t do for a Yorkshire winter.” Mark gestured at the sleet. “This is nowt yet. It gets worse.”
Damian swore beneath his breath. He looked up as a car’s headlights swung round in their direction.
“That’s my aunt. See you tomorrow, Mark.” For a moment his blue eyes met Mark’s, then Damian hurried off to the waiting jeep, head tucked down.
Mark watched him leave for the second time that day. Well, the good news was he hadn’t mentioned nudity, and he’d managed to address Damian in full sentences that even made sense. The bad news, he must have sounded like an old woman, wittering on about the weather.
The school bus finally crawled up, beeping its horn to announce its late arrival. Mark filed on with the rest of the impatient students.
The bumpy ride was a bit of a blur, and in no time Mark was clambering down from the bus, before starting the half-mile trek to his house. His parents wouldn’t be home from work for another hour and a half. His Mum worked as a nurse in the local GP surgery, and his Dad... well his Dad did some sort of office job that Mark didn't entirely understand. At least Nanna was likely to be in her half of the house.
The big old farmhouse had originally been a single home, but before Mark had been born, his grandad had decided he was getting too old to maintain the big house. It was logical to split the place into two, giving the larger half to the young, newly-married couple that were Mark’s Mum and Dad.
Since his grandad had passed away a couple of years ago, it seemed only right that Nanna got both her independence and privacy, plus her family close by.
Mark marched up the driveway, the melted snow sloshing underfoot. He caught some movement to his far right, and looked up to see Nanna walking slowly through the garden, a broom held above her head.
Mark sighed and headed towards her. “Nanna, you’re not helping overcome the stereotypes when you do this stuff.”
“Stay there.” She warned, not taking her eyes off the old coal house. “That evil bloody tabby cat from Mr Hick’s place has been harassing poor Tigger again.”
The old woman stalked forward, fixated on her target. Suddenly she swing her brush down and started shouting like a banshee. There was a brown and orange streak across the grey ground.
“And stay out, you-“
Mark laughed as his Nanna broke into a swearing tirade after the disappearing cat.
“Hmph, I don’t know what you’re laughing at, young man. You’d do the same if you’d seen that mangy thing having a go at Tigger.” She huffed again and turned back to the house, walking straight to the kitchen.
Despite the cold, the old woman was wearing nothing more than her old house cardigan. She always claimed that the cold didn’t bother her, and that everyone else was just being nesh. Mark wondered if the immunity to cold was a witch thing.
He followed her into the warm kitchen, and drifted over to the Aga. Tigger was sprawled in front of it, his tail lazily flicking. Nanna had gotten him as a kitten, to help keep the mice away. Inspired by his orange coat and white paws, the young Mark had insisted calling him Tigger.
He never did chase mice much; Tigger had wrapped the family around his paw, and became a pampered house cat.
“Can’t you do something witchy to keep the tabby away?” Mark asked.
Nanna snorted as she put hot water in the teapot, before putting the tea tray on the kitchen table. “No, for such a small thing, it wouldn’t be worth the potential consequences.”
Mark leant over and stole a biscuit to go with his cuppa.
“Have you asked Harry and his girlfriend to come to the Winter Solstice?” Nanna asked, as she had for the past fortnight.
“Ha, I actually have. They said yes.” Mark replied.
Nanna raised a brow in surprise at her grandson’s confidence.
“Why are you so keen for them to come this year?”
Nanna sipped her tea, taking her time. “You’re sixteen now.”
“Yeah, I’d noticed.” Mark remarked, sneaking a second biscuit. Mark hadn't made a huge deal when he turned sixteen at the end of November, he'd just gone ice-skating with a group of friends. But his parents had been uncharacteristically serious, giving him a lecture on how to be a grown-up. Oh, and they didn't hesitate in hinting that he could get a job now.
Nanna frowned at his sarcasm. “The truth is, Mark, you come from a long line of witches.”
“I know,” Mark shrugged, “you’ve always been very open about the family history.”
“What do you think about learning actual witchcraft?”
Mark looked up at her with surprise. “Me?”
“No, Harry.” Nanna retorted. “Yes, you, you silly boy.”
“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.” Mark answered truthfully. He’d grown up knowing about witches, and witnessing the parties and proceedings throughout the year. It all seemed a normal part of his life and he’d never questioned it.
“Well, I promised to wait until you were sixteen, before I brought it up. Your parents wanted you to concentrate on school and have a relatively normal childhood. Now you’re old enough to make your own decisions, whether that is to learn witchcraft; or going on as you were before.” Nanna cradled her cup.
"I turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago, why the delay?"
"I've been waiting for you to finally work up the nerve and ask your friends to the winter festivities." Nanna replied, threatening him with a teaspoon. “I think it’s important that Harry is involved. You two have been best friends forever – I want you to feel that you can talk to him about it.”
Mark frowned. “Nanna, it’s a decision about whether or not I want to take up witchcraft – I’m not moving to a monastery, lighten up!”
Nanna pursed her thin lips.
“Why did Dad decide not to do it?” Mark asked.
“It was his choice, you’ll have to ask him.” Nanna replied. She had never tried to force her son to join her way of life, but she had to admit that she was looking forward to potentially teaching somebody.
She got up and moved over to the doorway – on a shelf above it were a collection of small hardback books. Nanna ran her hand over the spines before finally selecting one. “Here, a taster for you. There shouldn’t be any consequences to practising this.”
Mark took the offered book gingerly. He was half-expecting fireworks, shivers up his spine, or something witchy. Nothing.
The little book had a faded dark-red cover, and when he flicked it open, he saw a fine-printed page, its margins covered in annotations.
“Auras?” He asked, glancing at the title.
“Aye, you can take it as extra homework. That book’s taught a lot of people and, whether or not you take up witchcraft, it is invaluable to recognise the auras of those around you.”
Mark sighed and put the book into his rucksack. “Speaking of homework, I’ve a massive essay to write. Thanks for the cuppa, Nanna.”