Burn Mark by Laura Powell Page A

it waterproof. As long as he didn’t raise or stretch his arms they were hidden by his shirtsleeves. He tried, and failed, to picture himself casually strolling around in a T-shirt, cuffs glinting in the sun. There was a photograph of a male witch doing just that on the cover of a booklet called Living With Fae . It was one of several brochures in the information pack Dr Smith had given him. The witch in this particular picture, a catalogue-model type with a fake tan and even faker grin, was holding hands with a pretty (and non-bridled) blonde. Section One of the booklet was entitled Friends , Family and Relationships . Lucas didn’t read any further. He knew that if he starting thinking about Tom and Bea and the rest, the paralysing panic would return.
    ‘. . . ideally, he or she will be appointed in the next couple of days, and the two of you will meet soon after. It’s not just about monitoring your activities, but providing support in a range of . . .’
    Dr Smith must be talking about his warden. Through his daze, Lucas remembered the dimples and twinkles of the Recruitment Officer who’d given the talk at school. If I get someone like her, he thought, I’ll die . I’ll hex us both into oblivion. I know I will. He only realised the session was over when the inquisitor got to his feet and reached out to shake his hand.
    ‘Thank you,’ Lucas said, rousing himself. He must remember he was obligated to this person. ‘I appreciate your help, and I know my father does too.’
    Dr Smith nodded. For an embarrassed moment Lucas thought he was going to extend his sympathies, or commiserate. But all the man said was, ‘It’s for your own good, you know.’ His gaze moved to Lucas’s sleeves, pulled down over the iron. ‘For everyone’s good. Remember that.’
     
    Lucas managed to summon a taxi without revealing his bridled wrists, but it was an anxious ride. Every movement he made had the potential to expose him. He was exhausted; his mind felt beaten and raw. It would be no hardship to stay hidden at home until the end of his father’s trial, he decided. There was no one he wanted to see and nowhere for him to go.
    At least the session at the Inquisition had finished earlier than expected. With luck, he would have the house to himself, and some time to organise his thoughts before his father returned. But as he stepped into the front hall, a nerve-shredding shriek came from the drawing room.
    ‘Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. He hexed me. I’ve been bewitched . Ohmygodohmy god .’
    No need for witchworked eavesdropping here. The door wasn’t even shut.
    ‘Pull yourself together.’ Lucas had never heard Marisa sound so brusque. ‘You’re perfectly fine.’
    ‘I’m in mortal danger ! We all are. We’re not safe .’
    Philomena began to wail; on and on, louder and louder. There was the smack of hand on flesh, and a shocked silence.
    Marisa’s voice snapped through it. ‘Hysterics won’t help. No, the real threat we face is to our position. And after the time and work I’ve invested in this family, not to mention Ashton’s career, I’m not giving it up without a fight.’
    ‘But Daddy –’
    ‘Your father has a new life and a new family now. He’s made that perfectly clear. And if you breathe one word of this to him or anyone else, witchwork will be the least of your troubles. Understand?’
    ‘But –’
    ‘ Do you understand? ’
    ‘Yeah-sure-fine-whatever.’
    Philomena flung herself out of the room. She did a double-take at the sight of Lucas, and at once put her hands protectively around her throat. Her lip quivered.
    ‘Witch,’ she whispered in a trembling voice, eyes stretched wide.
    ‘Drama queen,’ Lucas retorted. At that she gave her trademark head toss, and flounced up the stairs.
    Marisa emerged soon after. If she was embarrassed to find her stepson there, she didn’t show it.
    ‘Well,’ she said to him calmly, ‘this is quite a pickle, isn’t it?’
    He gave an awkward nod. ‘I’m