Page 70 of The Snow Witch

The force seemed to shake the valley, and the world splintered about her. The thing somehow put itself back together and tore around them like a molten black lava; then to her horror, it turned and made straight for her.

Instinctively, she raised the dagger again, hoping the black mass would throw itself onto the blade, and not daring to think about what would happen when it did.

And as she held it out, her heart pounding, it did just that. It swept straight towards the dagger, and the words that had evaded Violet before flooded into her mind, and she knew Meggie was putting them there.

She spoke the ancient words out loud – some sounded Gaelic, some sounded Anglo Saxon, some Celtic, some Latin. The black mist thickened and swirled, writhing as if it was fighting something, then it hung for a second as another terrible shriek rang out, as a face appeared within it, the eyes glowing red…

Violet genuinely wanted to throw up. The thing opened its mouth and howled again, then the face tilted heavenwards and its eyes widened.

But before it could reach her, there was another flash of colour in the sky and the water in the Well began to swirl, then, like an iron filing being pulled towards a magnet, the black mass turned sharply away from Violet, and headed towards the Well. A silvery blue energy burst out of the Well and coiled around it, dragging it away into the depths.

Violet held the dagger with both hands as it vibrated wildly, the words Meggie had spoken to her echoing in her ears. She wondered, wildly, if the dagger had its own hotline to Hell and that was where Charles Milburn’s soul was being taken right now.

‘Oh God, oh God,’ she muttered, throwing the dagger down. She was shaking and trembling, not knowing what on earth she’d done. Ollie had fallen to the ground when the thing rushed away from him, and he was currently crawling away from them, and she didn’t blame him one bit.

One last piece of light, one last piece of energy burst out of the Well and fountained up towards the sky. Violet looked up, following the silver arc, and knew that Charles Milburn would never be free to come back. Not after this.

Violet’s ears tuned into the world around her and she could hear Jake coughing and choking, his hands falling away from his neck, his eyes wide and terrified.

‘He’s gone,’ said Violet. ‘Whatever it was, whatever shape Milburn took, he’s gone.’

And then everything went black as she felt herself collapsing, overcome with everything that had just happened, her energy completely and utterly drained. And she heard a voice calling her name, and his arms come around her, and she sank into them, grateful for his presence.

He had come for her.

52

THEN

A few days after the fight, Ellen went to the Well to throw some dried flowers in, to remember Meg and to try to apologise to her in the only way she could.

As she approached the Well, she saw what was left of Charles Milburn, his bloated body floating in the seven feet of water in Coventina’s Well, turning and rolling in an invisible current, his skin white, wrinkled and macerated, beginning to peel off his body. Ellen screamed then vomited, then ran back to Newbrough, the flowers forgotten. Some men came to haul the body out – and it was then they saw the stab wound in his neck.

Nobody could explain how it had happened, or how he had ended up in the water. Most people put it down to murder, but there was never a manhunt. Perhaps a vagabond or a traveller had done it, they said. Some even said he had inflicted the wound himself, out of guilt.

When they went to Milburn Hall to tell Emory, he opened the door to them himself.

‘One of the women found Mr Milburn. At the Well. We have been to get him out. It looks like murder,’ said Robert, relishing the job and responsibility he had been given.

Emory just looked at the men who were there to deliver the message, the words not seeming to register with him. He looked dishevelled and exhausted, a broken man stretched beyond his limit.

‘Some of the villagers think it was yon Meg Noble – that unholy Snow Witch attacking him from beyond the grave,’ continued Robert, buoyed up by what he had taken on as his duty.

But Robert had clearly given no thought to who he was speaking to.

Because Emory simply punched him in the face, and shut the door on him.

53

NOW

The voice seemed to come from very far away. Violet could feel herself drifting, wandering around the snowy landscape, standing at the edge of the Well, feeling the inexorable pull towards it.

One more step, one more moment and she would be part of it… but then she forced herself to turn and walk away, to come back into herself. To feel the cold, the snow, the solid arms that held her.

‘Come on.’ his voice was commanding. ‘You have to get up. You can’t stay on the ground.’

‘I don’t want to stay on the ground.’ She thought she sounded a little indignant, a little grumpy. And it was hard to form the words as her lips were so damn cold.