Free The Language of Spells by Sarah Painter Page A

to bed. She pulled up all of the blankets and quilts and, within moments, fell asleep.
    Gwen snapped awake. The room was freezing, but she knew a noise had woken her up. She listened, ears straining. There was a muffled thump and her heart damn near jumped out of her mouth. She pushed down the fear and forced herself to switch on the lamp. The cat stalked out from the end of the bed and picked his way to the door. Relief flooded her system. ‘Bloody cat!’ He paused at the door but didn’t turn around. Gwen took a deep breath and willed her hammering heart to slow. She knew she wasn’t going to fall back asleep any time soon, so she swung her legs out of bed. Her Sudoku book was downstairs. A few minutes struggling with the ‘super-hard’ level puzzles was usually enough to cure any insomnia. It was cold and she pulled on her dressing-gown and slippers. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said to the impatient cat, who stood by the door. She readied herself for him to squeeze past her, but instead he wound around her legs, like he was trying to imitate clothing. ‘Not now, Cat.’
    He kept up the furry ankle-socks impression all the way down the stairs until she said, ‘You win. I’ll feed you.’ The words died in her throat as she saw a detail that was all wrong. The back door was ajar. She went cold all over and then liquid with fear as the door clicked shut. Someone had just left her house. At two o’clock in the morning.

Chapter 5
    Gwen slipped back into the hallway, heart thudding, and dialled 999. An oddly rational part of her brain observed her doing this.
You’ve never rung the emergency services before
, the calm part of her brain said.
Apart from that one time,
an unhelpful section piped up
. Down by the river. A bloated white face. Black water weeds tangled around his neck.
Gwen squashed the memory back down, ignoring the sickness that came with it as best she could.
Don’t think about that. No time. Look, now you’re giving your address. Aren’t you doing well?
    The woman on the line said that someone would be there very soon. Gwen went back upstairs and locked herself and Cat in the bathroom, her ear pressed to the door to listen and her mobile phone gripped in one hand. Six minutes later, the doorbell rang and she went back downstairs. Blue lights were strobing through the glass panel at the top of the door and she opened the door to a six-foot tall policewoman, her male partner dwarfed beside her.
    Gwen gave a swift recap, showing the now-completely-shut back door and waiting while both PCs checked the garden, the gates, and down the road. She was proud of how calm she was being until the policeman – PC Davies – suggested that she sit down and put her head between her knees for a moment and she realised that her peripheral vision had entirely disappeared.
    ‘Quiet up here,’ PC Green said, tactfully ignoring the fact that Gwen had her head at floor level and was taking deep breaths.
    Gwen sat up slowly and the kitchen tilted. She swallowed. ‘Yes.’
    ‘Nice.’ Green looked around. She had brown hair in a high ponytail and discreetly chic make-up. She looked capable and grown up and, even if she hadn’t been wearing a uniform, Gwen would’ve trusted her.
    ‘Have you lived here long?’
    Gwen explained about her aunt and the inheritance. ‘It’s all been quite strange.’
    ‘So, you’ve been a bit disorientated?’
    ‘Well…’ Gwen said.
    ‘And what are the neighbours like? This is usually a pretty friendly place.’
    ‘Oh, very nice.’ Gwen said quickly. ‘Very friendly.’
    ‘Do they pop by?’
    ‘All the time.’
    PC Green nodded. ‘You lived in a city before, right?’
    ‘Yes. Leeds.’
    ‘Different place, I bet.’
    ‘Well, obviously, but—’
    Green called to PC Davies, not even attempting to hide her impatience. ‘False alarm.’
    Gwen decided she wasn’t so trustworthy after all. What self-respecting police person wore a scrunchie, anyway?
    ‘You probably left the