Free Black Wood (A Witch Rising) by Jayde Scott Page A

sounded wispy.
“What’re you talking about?”
    “Muriel dragged you up to the
attic last night. What happened?” Emily probed.
    “Can’t remember a thing.”
    “But you yelled.” She knew she
didn’t imagine things. Why wouldn’t Sam tell her?
    “Honestly, I can’t remember.”
Sam stood, groaning at every move like his bones were sore. “Just
leave me alone.”
    As Sam walked out, Emily shook
her head and went about preparing herself for school. The people in
this house were getting weirder by the minute. She fully intended
to find out why.

Chapter 13
     
    Her father drove them to school
and picked them up. To Emily’s relief, Muriel was away for most of
the week, and so, every day after school, she stayed in her
grandmother’s room, doing her homework and going through her
grandmother’s things. The stacks on the floor grew bigger as she
opened one drawer after another, putting aside what she needed to
inspect closer. A few times, she caught Clifford’s gaze at school,
but he didn’t chat to her. In fact, Aurelie and he seemed to avoid
Ravencourt Manor.
    On the following Thursday after
school, Emily peered out the window in her grandmother’s room when
her father called her for her afternoon tea. She ran downstairs to
the smell of smoke and her father opening the windows as wide as he
could, his arms flapping about like he was learning to fly.
    She coughed, her eyes tearing.
“Are you okay? Did you burn something?”
    Her father threw the blackened
contents of a rusty pan into the sink and wiped his hands on his
apron. “No beef today.”
    She frowned at his mumble and
the dark circles under his eyes. First Sam, and then her father.
While she didn’t like this one bit, she had to find a way to get
rid of Muriel first. The magic diary hadn’t helped at all. “No
worries. I’m not hungry,” she said.
    He pointed at a plate with
full-grain toast and something yellow that smelled like cheese but
looked nothing like it. “Well, take your sandwich up and eat it
later then.”
    Emily shrugged and carried the
plate up the stairs, returning to her grandmother’s room.
     
    ***
     
    Another couple of hours later
and Emily was nowhere near finding out how to get rid of Muriel.
Her grandmother’s books were filled with the strangest recipes and
notes on various festivals, Samhain and the likes, Emily couldn’t
even pronounce. And then there were poems, loads of them, some were
in English, others in a language Emily didn’t speak.
    She had no clue what they said,
but they were beautiful nonetheless. With her orange-dyed hair and
long, flowing dresses, her grandmother had always been strange. But
maybe she was more than that. Reading through the recipe to turn a
young man into a lovesick pup, a thought popped into Emily’s head.
Who boiled frog eggs, chicken heart, cinnamon powder, peppermint
leaves, rose petals and strands of hair to a soup, if not a witch?
Maybe her grandmother had been one?
     
    ***
     
    Muriel was back for dinner.
“Edgar, don’t I look simply delicious today?”
    Munching on a vegetable stew
with burned beef, Emily spun her head to catch her father’s
reaction.
    He bobbed his head. “You do,
Muriel. And very much so.”
    Emily pulled a face. Okay, she
had to admit the wine-coloured dress accentuated the green in
Muriel’s eyes, but still. How could her father look at any other
woman than Mum? It wasn’t right.
    Her fingers gently holding an
old, silver fork, Muriel took a bite of her stew. “This tastes like
dung. I’ve seen better food in garbage bins.” She spit, and the
half-chewed carrots landed on the floor next to Sam’s foot.
    Sam continued eating, his head
hanging so low, one tiny shove and he’d be breathing down his
dinner. Emily kicked his leg under the table, but he showed no
reaction.
    Her father’s head hung almost as
low as Sam’s. “I’m sorry, Muriel. You’re right, of course. I’ll try
to improve my cooking skills.”
    Emily scowled. Now, that