Bloodling Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  1. The Life of a Thirteen-Year-Old Girl

  2. A Cry in the Dark

  3. Someone You’re Happy to See

  4. StarPhone

  5. Mr Malkin’s Present

  6. The Accident

  7. Those Who Walk Blindly Through Life

  8. Tridecimal Night

  9. The Puma

  10. Missing

  11. The Leech

  12. The House of the Leech Witch

  13. Thunder and Lightning

  14. The Bloodling Awakens

  15. Heart Blood

  16. Adiuvate!

  17. Zombie

  18. Daylight

  19. The Ninth Life

  Wildwitch

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Life of a Thirteen-Year-Old Girl

  She had been waiting for four hundred years. For four hundred years she had been staring through a transparent mass of solidified rock. It had trapped her body, her mind and her being for four long centuries. Her enemies considered this to be her grave, but she was still alive. Even down here there was life to be had – from time to time living creatures would scurry by, and she would snatch and devour them without mercy; mercy and compassion were qualities she had left behind long ago. Her anger had kept her alive.

  Because she could feel it. She could tell what was happening outside, her wildsense screamed and writhed with the pain it caused her.

  How dare they – these greedy little people with their roads, their houses, their… now what did they call them? Wires. Cables. Sewers. Bridges. Motorways.

  Railway lines. They carved deep, bleeding wounds through the wildworld; they ripped apart the delicate web of the wildways; they destroyed and they killed. Their roads, smeared with the entrails of dead and flattened animals, reeked of death. Forests and wetlands disappeared. Places where the wildforce had lived, breathed and reigned supreme for thousands of years turned barren and silent; all you could hear now was the banging and clanging of their unholy machines. Iron. Iron everywhere. Soon it would all be over – soon not even the strongest wildwitch would be able to mend the severed bonds.

  But now… now it might still be done, if only she could escape.

  Her anger wasn’t the only thing burning inside her. She could feel… no, impatience was too feeble a word. It couldn’t begin to describe the fire that ravaged and scorched her core with every wasted second, every hour that passed without her getting closer to her goal. The time was now. Not a day should be wasted. No more dithering, no more misplaced pity, no more caring about anyone or anything other than her one vital purpose: to break the hold of the stupid and the greedy, smash their web of death and free the wildworld.

  It would take everything. Everything she had, every last vestige of power that she might coax, threaten, harass or bargain for. Desperately, she took stock of her strengths and despaired at her weaknesses. The weight of rock, the slow green power of plants, the mildness of the air, the soft energy of water, the warmth and deep life force of the Earth… even combined and united, they were not enough. She needed blood. Nothing else could win this battle that was already almost lost. Nothing else mattered – least of all… and her anger flared up more violently inside her when she thought about it… least of all the aimless life of a silly thirteen-year-old girl.

  Blood would open her prison. Blood would ensure her victory.

  And then it happened. One drop fell. And then another. And then a third and a fourth.

  More, she screamed silently. Give me one more drop!

  It was as if she could see it quiver as it lingered in the air. As if it were fighting gravity, refusing to fall. But it did fall. And it kept on falling. And it landed.

  YEEEeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssss.........

  She cried out in mute triumph. Her lips remained frozen; she was still trapped like an insect caught in a drop of resin a thousand years ago and now imprisoned in amber. But not for very much longer. She harnessed all her strength; she summoned all the wildness she possessed. Now. Now. Now!

  The congealed mass of rock around her split. Cracks appeared and spread across its surface. In a roar of wildpower she straightened her body, hunched and bowed for four hundred years, and shattered her prison into smithereens. Solid rock boiled and turned molten once more; it burst and exploded; red-hot drops of melted glass sprayed the walls of the cave in hissing cascades.

  Those greedy little people had no idea of what was coming. They had probably never even heard of Bravita Bloodling. But they were about to…

  I sat up so quickly that I bashed my head on the bedside lamp. My heart was pounding and racing like a hurdler lagging behind the field, bang-bang-JUMP, bang-bang-JUMP; I looked around wildly as if Bravita Bloodling might be bent over my bed with outstretched claws and bloodlust in her burning eyes. She wasn’t. The room was quiet and dark, except for a beam of moonlight that fell through the small, round window. On a mattress on the floor next to my bed my best friend Oscar was sleeping so soundly I could almost see a cartoon “ZZZZZ” above his head. No nightmares for him, that was for sure.

  Easy now, I told my galloping heart, everything’s fine…

  And yet it took a long time before I was able to stop panting, and even longer before I could shrug off the feeling that my heart was trying to jump out of my body. Some of my previous dreams had already had too much in common with reality, and just because there was no four-hundred-year-old wildwitch lying in wait behind the battered bird books and old nesting boxes in need of repair, it didn’t mean – at least my heart didn’t think so – that I was out of danger.

  But even if my dream had some reality in it – and that was a very big if, as most of my dreams were the usual mix of unreal and absurd, luckily – then Bravita wasn’t trying to take my life, I reminded myself. She was after some poor thirteen-year-old girl and I was only…

  My thoughts screeched to a halt. I looked at the old-fashioned, tick-tock alarm clock on my bedside table.

  The luminous green hands both pointed almost straight up. The time was five minutes past midnight, and it was the last day of March.

  Today, I would be thirteen.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A Cry in the Dark

  I couldn’t get back to sleep. I just skimmed the surface of sleep and I couldn’t or didn’t dare dive into it. Every time I was about to, my heart would start jumping hurdles again, and none of my attempts to reassure it worked.

  Stop that. It was just a dream, I told myself.

  Bang-bang-JUMP. Bang-bang-JUMP.

  She’s not here. She was never here. No one has seen her for four hundred years, and it really was a bit far-fetched to imagine she’d come back just to ruin my thirteenth birthday…

  Stupid heart.

  Eventually, I got up. I didn’t turn on the light; there was no need to disturb Oscar. I carefully stepped over the duvet that almost covered his leg – three or four not very clean toes were sticking out from under the stripy duvet cover. Having nightmares tonight of all nights was ridiculous because everything was going really well – we were at my Aunt Isa’s, Oscar, me, and my mum and my dad – and that in itself was a miracle. Tomorrow Kahla and her dad would be coming as would Mrs Pommerans, my aunt’s wildwitch neighbour who had helped me a lot a few weeks ago when things were looking seriously bleak. Shanaia had sent a message with the kestrel Kitti, her new wildfriend, that she would visit, too. And The Nothing was here. Cat was currently off on one of his adventures, but had promised to be back around breakfast, and Bumble was probably sound asleep in his basket downstairs, snoring his doggy head off. I’d been allowed to have exactly the birthday I wanted, with all the people and animals I wanted. I’d been so excited about it that it really w
as ridiculous – ridiculous! – to get worked up over a silly dream.

  I put on a pair of ragged old wool socks that served as slippers whenever I visited Aunt Isa. Aunt Isa had sewn a felt sole under each sock, so the cold wouldn’t seep through when my feet touched the chilly floor. In an oversized T-shirt, bare legs and those woolly socks, I made my way quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen. By now it was quarter to four; I could tell the time from the clock above the kitchen table.

  I opened the cupboard where Aunt Isa kept her supply of herbal teas. Many of them we drank purely because of their taste, but some had other properties. One or two might even calm a racing heart. I was a long way from understanding all of Aunt Isa’s herbal remedies, but I had learned a bit. If only I could find… I studied the neat labels on tins and caddies until I spotted the two I was looking for.

  Chamomile and valerian.

  I turned on the hob and put the kettle on. Aunt Isa often used the wood burner in the living room, but I liked having a button I could press. The gas flame flickered blue and orange as it licked the bottom of the kettle and it didn’t take long before it started rumbling. I fetched a mug from the hooks by the window and it was at that moment, just as I was turning back to the cooker, that I spotted something moving.

  Outside in the darkness. A glimpse, just a glimpse of glowing eyes with vertical feline pupils.

  “Cat?” I whispered softly.

  But it wasn’t Cat; I knew it the moment I uttered his name. Outside I could hear a low, singing yowl like the noise two alley cats might make when sizing each other up, only somehow… bigger.

  I listened without moving. The water was boiling now, but the chamomile tea would just have to wait. Was there a feral cat out there in need of help?

  I tried to peer through the window into the darkness, but could only see my own reflection. The golden eyes I’d seen were gone, yet the caterwauling went on. The animal – whatever it was – was still there.

  If I opened the window, I’d be able to see and hear better. I lifted the hasps and pushed open the window, and a cool breath of night air smelling of rain wafted towards me. I leaned across the kitchen table, trying to see in the darkness.

  At that moment a silent, grey-brown shadow came swooping towards me, a yellow beak, light-brown legs and clutching grey talons. I just managed to raise my arm in time so the big owl could land on it.

  “Hoot-Hoot!”

  Aunt Isa’s wildfriend tilted his head and studied me. I wasn’t sure that he liked what he saw. He’d never approached me like that before and, except for a few occasions when Aunt Isa had asked me to hold him – and he’d allowed himself to be held – I’d never been that close to him. He was big – by now I’d learned that he wasn’t just “an owl”, but a great horned owl. It meant that he was both rare and protected – though I don’t think he was aware of it – and although I wasn’t exactly scared of him, I maintained a healthy respect for talons, beaks and flapping wings. He too smelt of rain, and of wet feathers and blood, and the powerful talons now gripping my wrist had probably just taken the life of some poor mouse. But he turned carefully, without piercing my skin, hooting softly out into the darkness from which he’d just emerged.

  The cat noise outside stopped. I heard something rustle in the bushes behind the apple trees, and then there was silence. All in all, none of this was any more peculiar than so many of the experiences I’d had when visiting Aunt Isa.

  Except for just one thing.

  I’d understood everything. I’d been able to feel the impatience of the cat screeching across my brain like a nail across a blackboard. And I’d heard Hoot-Hoot’s warning, just as clearly as if someone had shouted it over a speaker system:

  Go away, cat. You are too early. This is not the time.

  “Clara. Did you let Hoot-Hoot in?”

  I turned carefully so the owl wouldn’t lose his balance.

  “It looks that way…” I said.

  Aunt Isa was standing in the doorway in her old dressing gown, which might once have been red, but was now a sort of faded pink.

  “He’s probably a bit confused,” my aunt said. “I normally leave my bedroom window open, but…”

  But that wouldn’t be a good idea tonight. My mum and dad were using her bedroom, and Aunt Isa was sleeping on the sofa in the living room.

  “… your mum probably wouldn’t appreciate being woken up by a wet owl…”

  Hoot-Hoot shook his wings, spraying us with pearls of rain. I couldn’t help giggling.

  “No, I don’t suppose she would.”

  “But what’s up with you, Clara? Couldn’t you sleep?”

  I shook my head.

  “I had a strange dream. A nightmare, I guess you’d say.”

  Aunt Isa raised her eyebrows.

  “About an animal?”

  “No. No, I don’t think it was about animals. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’ll be thirteen tomorrow,” she said. “Or rather… later today. It’s a special birthday for a wildwitch and sometimes…” She hesitated as if she couldn’t find the right words. “… Sometimes it brings with it special experiences or dreams about animals. But you said there were no animals in your dream?”

  “No. It was… I think it was about… Oh, I don’t know.”

  While we’d been chatting, the dream had quietly faded away. The details were gone. Someone had been very angry… someone had been trapped… someone had talked about blood. I wasn’t keeping anything back on purpose; I genuinely couldn’t remember anything very clearly now. My heart had calmed down and was beating normally again; I smothered a yawn.

  “Looks like you won’t be needing that after all,” Aunt Isa said, pointing to the chamomile and valerian caddies.

  “No,” I said. “I think I might just go back to bed.”

  I raised my arm a little; Hoot-Hoot took off carefully and flew to his usual spot on Aunt Isa’s shoulder.

  “Well, good night again,” Aunt Isa said with a faint smile. She checked the clock. “It’s technically your birthday now, but I think I’ll wait to wish you a happy birthday until the next time you wake up.”

  Birthday. Now why did that word make me more worried than happy? Hoot-Hoot looked at me with his orange-golden eyes, then polished his beak on his chest feathers.

  This is not the time.

  What did it mean? Had Hoot-Hoot even “said” that just as loud and clear as when Cat “spoke” to me? Or had I made up the whole thing because I was tired and hadn’t had enough sleep?

  I put the tea caddies back in the cupboard and returned to my room. I carefully stepped across Oscar, who was still lost to the world, crept into bed and slipped under my still-warm duvet. A few minutes later I was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Someone You’re Happy to See

  “You really have a way with animals, Isa. You must be something of a horse whisperer,” my dad said. “Or rather, an owl whisperer… because if I’m not mistaken, then that’s a great horned owl, isn’t it?”

  “Eh, yes,” Aunt Isa mumbled with a rather guilty glance at my mum. “I’m… I’m just going to take him to the stable, so he can get some sleep.”

  Mum’s lips tightened slightly, but she said nothing. And Aunt Isa did her very best to look like a completely normal woman who just happened to have “a way with animals”. I could see she’d completely forgotten that Hoot-Hoot was perched on her shoulder; she was so used to it. Cat stretched and rubbed his head against my leg, and I got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at us.

  Dad didn’t know that Aunt Isa was a wildwitch. Or that I was one, well, trying to become one. And it was part of the big birthday agreement that we wouldn’t talk about it.

  I’d been pretty sneaky, you see.

  I desperately wanted to spend my birthday with Aunt Isa so all my wildworld friends could be there. But I knew that Mum’s reaction would be a flat no, if I just came right out and asked her.

  Instead I started b
ringing up Aunt Isa whenever I visited my dad. I talked about her little stone cottage deep in the woods, about the meadow and the brook, and the animals, about Star the horse and Bumble the dog and so on. About Kahla, whom I’d got to know out there – without adding that she was Aunt Isa’s wildwitch apprentice; about nice Mrs Pommerans who lived nearby – without mentioning that she was a wildwitch just as skilled as Aunt Isa.

  Mum and Dad had been divorced for years and years, but they were still good friends and sometimes we would do things together like have dinner or go to the cinema. Especially now that Dad had a new job and was only a fifteen-minute bus ride away. It was nice that they got on so well. And because they actually saw each other quite often now, I knew it was only a matter of time before Dad would start talking to Mum about Aunt Isa.

  “Clara seems really fond of her,” he said one Sunday evening when he’d brought me back and stayed for dinner. “Why don’t we invite her round for a meal?”

  “Oh, she lives so far away,” Mum said. “And it’s difficult for her to leave all those animals.”

  I guess it’s what you’d call a white lie. It was true that it took hours to drive to Aunt Isa’s – but Aunt Isa could travel to our flat on the wildways in no time at all. But Aunt Isa only ever went on the wildways if she thought it was necessary, and it wasn’t entirely safe, even for an experienced wildwitch like her.

  “Well, then why don’t we go to her?” Dad said. “I’d love to meet her, seeing as she’s so important to Clara.”