‘I came to bring you some tea but you were gone,’ she said once she was satisfied I was still in one piece. ‘Where were you?’
‘Not burning the city to the ground if that’s what you’re worried about,’ I replied. I carefully prised her hands away from my face and tried not to stiffen when she drew me into her arms instead.
‘That wasn’t my concern at all.’ She brushed back my hair as she let me go. ‘I only wanted to know where you’d run off to without getting a good breakfast.’
Holding my hand tightly, she led me out of the foyer and into the dining room, just in case I made another run for it.
‘I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk.’
‘In your pyjamas?’
‘In my pyjamas,’ I confirmed as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do. ‘It’s cooler out today.’
‘Yes, we are due for a break in all that heat,’ she replied, nonchalant and discussing the weather like we hadn’t both seen me at the beginning of the end of the world only a few hours earlier. ‘Ashley’s been in the kitchen for hours cooking up a feast. What’ll it be? Biscuits and gravy, grits, pancakes, eggs? Your aunt makes the most wonderful French toast. She coats the brioche in dark cocoa powder before she cooks it, cuts through the sweetness of the custard. It really is perfection.’
Through the open kitchen door, I saw a glowering Ashley, wielding her spatula like a hunting knife.
‘No need to go to any trouble,’ I gulped. ‘I’m really not hungry.’
Catherine sat and waited for me to do the same and I pulled out the wooden chair carefully, trying not to scrape the floorboards. The dining table and its six matching chairs were impossibly heavy and, according to my grandmother, some of the oldest things in the house. I was almost as afraid of doing damage to them as I was of accidentally causing the apocalypse. Right now, only one of those things was likely to get me grounded.
‘Honey, I really hope you aren’t overthinking what happened last night,’ she said, spreading a thick layer of honey butter on a freshly baked biscuit. ‘Your Wilcuma was a resounding success. And please close your mouth, we have all this marvellous food, you don’t need to catch flies for breakfast.’
‘I really hope you’re not underthinking it.’ I helped myself to a big mug full of black coffee, astounded by her casual attitude. ‘You saw the same thing I did. Fire, brimstone, end of the world.’
‘What I saw was my granddaughter defending our city against an enemy.’ She took a bite of her biscuit and rolled her eyesin ecstasy. ‘You really shouldn’t drink coffee on an empty stomach. In fact, you really shouldn’t drink coffee at all, you’re too young. It’ll stunt your growth.’
‘Buying jeans is difficult enough as it is. I don’t need to be any taller.’
Still, I plucked a biscuit from the platter at the centre of the table and stared at it. The taste of ashes was still in my mouth, the heat from the flames still on my skin. How my grandmother could happily dig in to her breakfast was beyond me.
‘You’re looking at this all wrong,’ she said, waving her butter knife around in the air. Much shorter and considerably less sharp than the one she’d been tossing around the night before. ‘The vision confirmed everything we thought we knew. You are the witch who will bring the blessing back to life. You are going to reawaken your sisters. Tell me how that isn’t cause for celebration.’
The bitter black coffee scalded the back of my throat as it went down.
‘Because that’s not what I saw.’ The biscuit disintegrated in my clenched fist. ‘I wasn’t saving the city, I was destroying it. You said terrible things could happen if I didn’t learn to control my magic. I’ve already killed a werewolf without meaning to, I’ve caused storms and earthquakes. I’m a walking natural disaster. How can you be so sure you’re right?’
She looked back at me, blazing with fervent belief.
‘Because I believe it. Because I have always known. The prophecy says—’
‘The prophecy says the chosen witch will either end the world or save it,’ I cut in. ‘The prophecy that is so important no one ever thought to write it down?’
‘Some things are too important to put in writing,’ Catherine replied. ‘Once words are written, they can be read.’
‘Yes, that’s literally the point of writing!’ I exclaimed. ‘It saves a whole bunch of confusion, you should try it.’
‘Words can be read by the wrong people, interpreted in the wrong way,’ she returned. ‘Knowledge is power, Emily, and we never willingly give anyone power over us, so writing about the prophecy is forbidden. You’re giving in to your doubts again. If you’d been here, if I’d raised you—’
‘Please don’t say it again,’ I begged, suddenly exhausted. ‘I already know.’
She exhaled through her nose and took a bite of her biscuit, chewing slowly, thoughtfully, making me wait until she had swallowed before speaking.
‘The world is changing too quickly and I can’t cope on my own anymore. Taking care of this city was never meant to be a one-woman job. My only desire in this life is for you to embrace your legacy and become the woman I have been waiting to meet ever since the day your daddy told me you were on the way.’
There was no point arguing with her. My birthday, my Becoming, was in two weeks. Either Catherine was correct and I was about to turn into some kind of super witch or my interpretation of the vision would be confirmed and nothing much would matter anymore. Fighting with the only other witch I knew was not going to help me any. I picked the biscuit crumbs from off the table and reassembled them on my plate.
‘What should I do?’ I asked, relenting. ‘I’m a quick learner but I do better with a book.’
