Thistle Witch, page 18
part #1 of Anaïs Blue Series
‘I believe in you,’ he said. ‘And I always will.’
The pressure on his heart abruptly stopped. He had control over his body again. The force running through it ebbed and subsided. It was replaced with a different pull. Something more physical yanked down heavily on his arm.
The librarian was there. He hadn’t even noticed her. His focus had been solely on his daughter. Immaculate Phlox had separated Anaïs from his daughter. She had broken the link, pulling them apart. The new tug on his arm was the physical weight of the little witch. She hung on in exhaustion.
FAREWELL
‘No!’
‘Dad?’
It was over, the connection broken. Anaïs was spent. She was pale as death. Prince’s daughter stared down at the child. ‘What happened?’
Anaïs’s knees had gone on her and she sank to the ground. She panted, ‘He’s gone.’
‘No I’m not,’ said Prince.
Anaïs ignored him. It took all her energy to remain upright. She still held onto his arm for support. His daughter looked down at her.
‘You don’t look well. Are you ok?’
‘No, not really,’ said Anaïs timidly.
Immaculate Phlox intervened. ‘She’ll be ok.’
Prince’s daughter was confused. She furrowed her brow and looked quizzically at the librarian. ‘Do I know you?’
Anaïs reached into her pocket and pressed the star button on the cover of her promptuary. She did her best to keep a straight face. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘But, I thought I was just talking to my father.’
‘Oh really?’ said Anaïs. She looked up at Prince. ‘Is this your father?’
The shade’s camouflage had returned to cloak him. Behind it Prince was yelling and gesticulating. His daughter couldn’t see any of it; neither could she hear him. From the moment the link had been broken, so had all forms of communication. His disguise was rock-solid. She only saw a middle-aged man staring at a fixed point somewhere in the distance. He didn’t even appear to notice her standing right next to him.
His daughter knotted her brow and studied him carefully but he was totally unfamiliar. She was confused.
‘No, I must have been mistaken,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately my father passed away many years ago.’ She studied Prince again. ‘Who is he?’
‘Just a friend,’ said Anaïs. ‘We go out for a walk every now and then. It’s good for him. It’s a pity, but he can’t speak and his eyesight is almost completely gone.’
The daughter looked at the old man with concern. ‘Oh, that’s sad.’
‘Yes.’
Anaïs fumbled in her pocket and pressed the star again.
The woman’s eyes glazed over. Her body stiffened.
‘I have to get going,’ she said.
‘Yes, you do,’ agreed Anaïs.
The woman cocked her head at Prince. ‘Good luck with your friend.’
‘Thank you,’ said Anaïs. ‘You have a nice evening.’
The woman’s face lit up. ‘You know what, I think I will.’
‘Your car is over there,’ said Anaïs and pointed towards it.
The woman looked around the street and scratched her forehead. ‘Did we have an accident?’
Anaïs shook her head. ‘No, just a close call. No damage done. Everyone’s ok.’
‘Oh good.’ She smiled pleasantly at them. ‘I’ll be going. Nice to meet you.’
Anaïs nodded. ‘Nice to meet you too, goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’ She walked down the street towards her car.
Prince went to follow but Anaïs held him firmly with what little strength she still had. She gripped his arm with both hands and looked up at him.
‘Let her go,’ she said.
Prince let Anaïs hold him. She was right. He had to let his daughter go. There was nothing more he could do. Even more importantly, he realised there was nothing more he needed to do. A calm come over him. He dropped his shoulders and let his arms hang loosely at his side. He allowed the feeling to sweep through him. He basked in this new-found knowledge.
He was finished. He had done what was required. He had achieved what he was supposed to do. He had delivered his message. And he was certain it had been received. For that he was eternally grateful to the little witch.
His daughter walked the last few paces across the road to her car. She turned and gave Anaïs a friendly wave before getting into the vehicle and closing the door behind her. She fumbled with her keys, inserted them into the ignition and started the car. The vehicle pulled out from the kerb and drove past them down the street. Prince watched its tail lights recede in the distance. Tears blurred his vision. The car’s orange lights floated through them. The pinpoints of light swirled and morphed into an image: his daughter’s face.
Now he finally had this clear snapshot of her, he held it firmly and silently vowed never to forget it. He rubbed his eyes and wiped away the tears. He looked around him and appraised the street. The librarian had left them and was walking back to the Morris Minor. The cracked radiator from the four-wheel-drive had stopped hissing. Even the wind had subsided and the rain had stopped. Anaïs lead him across the street and back onto the footpath.
As they walked, he thought about what the little witch had done. She had given him a truly wonderful gift. He felt compelled to return the favour. He had to repay her and give her something. He owed her. But what could that be? Was there anything he could do? He had nothing. He was dead. Even if he had something to give her, it couldn’t be physical. Or could it?
Maybe there was some other way to help Anaïs. He would have to start by working out what she really needed. There had to be something which was supremely important to her. Something special. Something which could convey the same sense of joy and fulfilment he was now experiencing.
He thought back over their conversations and everything that had happened. Then it occurred to him. There was something. It was complicated but he had to find a solution. Anaïs desired it above all else.
A WORD
‘Purple,’ said Prince.
Anaïs couldn’t believe her ears. He talked and she heard him. Not a voice in her head but a real, physical one.
It sparked some motherly instinct in her. It also brought back a flood of personal memories. As a child she had great difficulty learning to speak. She still didn’t know what had prevented her from doing it. It was as if an invisible barrier, or lock, was thrown around her vocal cords. Nan had thought at first she was under a spell. After a while Nan had discounted the idea and proceeded to try a few earthly potions of her own. Nothing worked. Nan didn’t have a witch’s talents. Anaïs remained silent.
Then one day her lips formed a word. She was as surprised as Nan. Their shock quickly transformed into joy.
When Prince spoke it was as if she were standing in Nan’s shoes. Had she also turned a corner? A fine memory of Nan was something she could cherish. She was overjoyed. She was also relieved. It had been a trial dealing with a voice in her head that could come and go at will. Finally being able to talk on such a human level was marvellous. She stood there and grinned up at him. He smiled back.
‘What did you say?’
‘Purple,’ said Prince. ‘You like purple.’
‘Yes I do, but don’t worry about that. It doesn’t matter. I can hear your voice.’ She pointed at her mouth. ‘From here.’ She tapped the side of her skull. ‘And not here.’
His eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And not only that, I can see you, the real you.’
‘No camouflage?’
‘No camouflage,’ she said.
‘Wow!’
Tears welled in his eyes. He held them back but one managed to escape and a single teardrop ran down his cheek. It made its way along his jawbone until it reached his chin. It then dropped off and slapped the ground between her feet. He ran the back of his sleeve under his nose and brushed the wetness on his chin away with the palm of his hand. He sniffed and puffed out his chest.
‘Does that mean I’m back in the real world?’
‘I don’t think so. As far as I know we witches can’t raise the dead.’
He was disappointed. ‘Oh.’
‘But something has definitely changed,’ said Anaïs. ‘I just don’t know what it is, or what it means for you.’
He sighed and considered her for a moment. He straightened his jacket, smoothing it down carefully.
‘No matter. I think it’s about time we made this official.’ He extended his right hand to her. ‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Anaïs, or should that be Miss Purple,’ he said and winked at her.
She beamed up at him. ‘No, Anaïs is fine. But if you’re set on formalities, I would prefer Miss Thistle.’ She took his hand, lifted the edge of an imaginary skirt and feigned a curtsey. ‘The pleasure is all mine.’
‘Oh no, I think the pleasure is all mine. I may have found a solution to your problem,’ he said.
‘Really?’
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a pair of sunglasses. They had a heavy metal frame. The lenses were teardrop-shaped and oversized. They looked very familiar. The style was special. She was sure she had seen them before. He folded the arms out and held the glasses in the light of the Morris Minor’s headlights. He squinted through the coloured lenses to check if they were clean. He meticulously polished one lens with his shirt-tail and then carefully set the glasses on her face. He stepped back to admire her new look.
They slid down her nose and didn’t hook well over ears. He took them off and bent the metal at the bridge. He then placed them back on her head. They still swam on her skull but now wrapped more snuggly around it.
‘They’re a little big but I’m sure you’ll grow into them,’ said Prince.
Anaïs was astounded. Everything had changed colour. Her entire world had become purple.
‘I’ve been carrying them around forever and no longer have any use for them.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I would really like you to have them.’
‘Thank you, Prince.’
He squared himself up. ‘One more thing. If we’re being formal about names, do you mind not calling me Prince anymore?’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s not my name. I now know what it is and a prince is not strictly what I am. When I was alive people called me the king. But even that title is not entirely correct.’
Anaïs was curious. ‘Oh? And who are you, then?’
‘My real name is Elvis,’ said Elvis.
She studied his face for a moment.
‘You mean the Elvis?’
He screwed up his top lip and swung his hips to one side. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. The one and only.’
Anaïs couldn’t contain herself and jumped on the spot. ‘That’s so cool!’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you. You look so different in the flesh, in real life.’
‘I know. I let myself go a bit.’
‘That’s an understatement.’
Anaïs beamed at him. Then her excitement waned. Something had changed about him. There seemed to be less of him. He was fading.
His hand on her shoulder lost its weight.
A sadness descended on his face. ‘I think I have to go.’
‘No,’ she squeaked.
‘Yes. I wish I could stay but I don’t think I have a choice. As with most things, there’s usually a price to pay.’ His voice wavered and he cleared his throat. ‘But before I go, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have made me complete.’
He raised his free hand to his breast. The one on her shoulder dropped down through her body and came to rest at his side. He was now virtually transparent and barely visible.
A woman pushing a pram came around the corner further down the street and walked along the footpath towards them. The pram was antique, dating from the 1950s. It was huge, with big wheels, carriage springs and a large, navy-blue canopy. She slowed as she approached Anaïs, acknowledging the little witch with a nod. She then turned her attention back to the baby in the pram. Anaïs heard it let out a small, sharp cry. She stepped back to allow the woman and pram to pass.
Elvis stood forlornly in the centre of the footpath and reached out a hand to Anaïs. The woman continued walking past Anaïs and collided with Elvis. ‘Collided’ is not entirely correct; she walked straight through what was left of the shade. The baby in the pram bleated. In an instant Elvis disappeared.
Anaïs was stunned. She stared blankly at the spot where he had stood. Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. Was that it? It was so sudden. No goodbyes; no fare-thee-wells; no until-we-meet-agains. She had wanted to thank him for the sunglasses. Thank him for saving her. Thank him for just being there when there had been no one else. She felt empty inside and somehow betrayed. All that effort and then nothing. He was gone.
She looked up from the footpath, wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to go after the woman with the pram. The street was empty. She too had disappeared.
A GOOD SPELL
Anaïs stood despondently on the footpath and surveyed the street around her. Now that the rain had stopped, there was only the sporadic sound of individual droplets falling from the leaves of overhanging trees. Drip. Drip. The street was barren except for the wreck of the four-wheel-drive and the little Morris Minor. The librarian stood next to the car and waved her to come over. Anaïs signalled to her that she should wait. She needed a moment to herself. The librarian let out an exasperated sigh, pulled the driver’s door open and slid into the car.
Anaïs took off the sunglasses and examined them. She had completely forgotten about her struggle with purple. Before Elvis had come along she had been obsessed with it. She had turned the world upside down trying to solve her problem. She realised now the problem couldn’t be solved on the outside. All along it sat inside her. She had to change.
The world wouldn’t completely alter itself for her. She could influence her immediate surroundings. That influence was incredibly powerful and could have far reaching effects. She had seen how disastrous that could be. The repercussions of her actions had been huge. The knock-on effects were something she couldn’t control. She had to be more careful and swore that she would learn how.
She was distraught with the knowledge she had only been successful at doing bad. In the past she had only focussed on what she wanted. It was wrong. It had caused pain and suffering and not brought her closer to her goal. She had been so fixated on doing it her way that she hadn’t seen the correct path. It had been right in front of her the entire time. Elvis had shown her this.
She needed to do good in the world. She hadn’t been aware of it before, but now saw it had to be her primary drive. She had to focus on doing good. Why had it been so difficult to discover this? She wasn’t stupid; maybe a little too self-absorbed, but definitely not an idiot.
She still wanted the change. The colour purple would always remain an obsession. Elvis’s gift was wonderful but she would need the help of outside forces to achieve a complete transformation. The forces did not necessarily need to be bad. She just needed someone else with the power to cast the right incantation. Or someone who could teach her how to do it. She needed a good spell.
‘Anaïs?’
The voice pulled her from her thoughts. A woman stood next to her. Without even looking closely, Anaïs immediately knew she was a shade. Only she was different. This shade was special. She sensed this shade had come for her and knew her intimately. It had a familiar scent, the strong, sweet smell of a field of wildflowers in full bloom. Anaïs looked up into the shade’s face and her eyes widened. She was stunned.
For a moment, their pupils met. Deep orbs, which Anaïs knew all too well, exuded incredible warmth even in death. The shade sank to her knees and pulled the little witch snuggly to her breast. She practically squeezed the life out of her.
As the shade’s arms closed around her, Anaïs let her mind go. All the concern and worry, the unanswered questions, were immaterial. They melted away. It didn’t matter that the shade felt as cold as an iceberg, that no blood coursed through her veins, that no beat was heard from her heart. Only one thing mattered.
Anaïs was no longer alone. Nan was back.
SUNRISE
The librarian's impatience reached breaking point. She called from the car, ‘Are you coming or not?’
Anaïs yelled back, ‘Give me a minute, will you?’
She looked around the street. Where had the night gone? The faint glow of the sun rising was turning the sky from black to blue.
Anaïs trudged across the street, wrenched on the door of the Morris Minor and slid inside. She slumped in her seat and stared blankly in front of her. She was exhausted.
The librarian turned the ignition but there was no response from the Morris Minor. On the surface everything seemed to be back in its place, but Anaïs noted a subtle difference. The interior of the car was immaculate, as if it had just come off the production line. There was a fresh sheen to the dashboard. The linen lining the roof no longer had frayed edges, and the tear that had previously been above the driver’s seat had disappeared. The seats themselves shone with their original buffed red leather. The tip of the gear stick was decorated with a brightly polished billiard ball, emblazoned with the number eight.
The librarian tried starting the car again. Nothing happened, not even the click of a spark failing to ignite a piston.
‘Dead?’ asked Anaïs.
‘Maybe,’ replied Immi. ‘I'll have a look under the bonnet. There could be a loose connection somewhere. Perhaps whatever it did to the car was only superficial.’
‘Perhaps, but I think it was a she,’ said Anaïs.
‘I'm sure you're right.’ The librarian cracked open her door and turned in her seat. Extending her leg she placed one foot on the pavement. She spoke over her shoulder. ‘But after everything that's happened I'm hesitant to take things at face value.’
