I want to kick it. Scream and pound it with my fists until my knuckles split. After all this time, anger still simmers—at him, at myself.
If I had just been strong enough. If I had been less naïve. Less egotistical. Less stupid.
“I am so sorry,” I whisper, my voice cracking on the edge of a sob.
The pain in my chest is almost too much, sharp as a blade and just as unkind.
I rise. Lingering is unwise, yet this is why I cherish the chapel. I worshipped here with my family every Sunday for forty-three years. It is where I married William. Weddings, funerals—the whole of my life’s big moments happened here. The old and the new converge beneath the chapel’s roof, and I stand in the middle of it like a stitch holding two eras together.
The manor house where I grew up lies only two and a half miles away, now in the Magic Sector. It was converted into a block of flats about ten years ago. The street where I lived as House is barely four miles distant, in the Human Sector.
I have come home.
I turn to William, close my eyes, and let the words fall like ash from my tongue.
“I forgive you.I forgive you.” I repeat it and mean it.
I can still be angry, can still hate him, yet I can also grant forgiveness. Not for his sake, but for mine. He is gone. I am the one who has to live with what remains.
He was frightened and chose wrongly; we both did that day. We failed each other. If I refuse to forgive, the bitterness will gnaw at my soul, and I have carried enough gnawing things for one lifetime.
With the words spoken, I feel lighter—almost at peace, if peace is possible for someone like me.
A softcawbreaks the silence.
A raven perches overhead, glossy feathers catching the sun through the yew branches. It ruffles itself, then stills, watching me with bright, knowing eyes.
The bird from the woods? Surely not.
“Hello,” I say, my voice gentler than I expect. “Are you the same bird?”
It caws again—softer, curious.
Are you a familiar? Mine, perhaps?I wonder, but I do not voice the thought. Familiars are rare; in fact, the last mention I recall dates back to my childhood. Magic users guard their secrets, and a familiar offers a considerable boost in power, so I see why the subject is seldomdiscussed. I frown, realising it is scarcely written about either.
The raven hops onto my grave, tilts its head at the inscription, and croaks, almost sympathetically.
“Oh, yes, that’s m—” I stop. Better not admit it, even to a bird.
I brush myself down and return to the chapel for a simple breakfast. The raven follows me, wingbeats whispering overhead before it drops into view again as if it has every right. I think about what in the pantry might suit as a raven snack. I am not opposed to bribing a potential familiar.
When I return with a plateful, the bird appears out of nowhere; its wings beat so closely they almost brush my face, stirring my hair. It swoops down, scoops up a beakful of the fruity, nutty mixture, and darts away.
“Hey, snack thief!” I shout at its retreating feathers. “Those were for you. You did not have to snatch them.”
For a moment, I consider carrying the plate back into the kitchen, but I do not. I set it on the bench and walk away, my face feeling odd as I smile. I really do like cheeky creatures.
A bark cuts through the quiet.
A scruffy terrier hurtles towards me, all wiry hair and enthusiasm. It skids to a halt at my feet, rolls straight onto its back, and presents its belly—tail wagging so hard it shakes its whole body.
“Hello, you,” I say, obliging with a gentle tummy rub. “Where did you come from?” He squirms with joy, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.
“Frank!” a man shouts. “Frank! Blasted ward—where did this come from? How did you get through?”
Frank springs to his feet and dashes towards the voice. Intrigued, I follow.
A man stands by the boundary, scowling up at my ward as if it has personally insulted him. When he notices me, he clears his throat.
