Witch Fire by Laura Powell Page A

tower room was warm with sunshine and the smell of fresh coffee. Lucas kept his eyes on the sand-tray. He was building London’s rooftops, trying to fill his head with images of a pale primrose morning, as he shaped the chimneys and smoothed the slopes.
    ‘You must have spies everywhere.’
    ‘Senora Ramirez was concerned.’
    ‘Funny. I got the impression she was enjoying herself.’
    ‘ The Senora takes pride in her vocation. She spent many years working in a charity for the rehabilitation of witch-criminals. As a result, her methods can be, perhaps, a little extreme.’ Dr Caron’s brow creased regretfully. ‘It is possible she went too far on this occasion.’
    ‘Must be an occupational hazard. When dealing with witches, I mean.’ The icy pressure had returned, squeezing his lungs.
    ‘Do you object to the Inquisition and its techniques?’
    He had to wait until his breath came back to him. Damp sand clung to his fist. ‘Not when they’re conducted correctly.’
    Dr Caron’s voice was gentle. ‘ Then what was it that particularly disturbed you about the film?’
    He shrugged.
    ‘Are you afraid you might find yourself in a similar situation to the prisoner you saw?’
    ‘Well, presumably that would only happen if I did something wrong. Illegal.’
    Gideon Hale’s face flashed before his eyes. Look at you . . . Look at the dirty hag . Glancing at his hands, Lucas almost expected to see the inky witch-stain bleeding from under his fingertips.
    ‘So you’re saying it is an irrational fear?’
    ‘I don’t know. My “trouble” is irrational too.’
    ‘In what way?’
    It was an unexpected relief to say the words out loud. He was already sick of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell . ‘Nothing about it makes sense. How it works . . . why it happens . . . who it happens to.’ His hand swept over the sand rooftops, crumbling the parapets and chimneys together, turning London into a desert waste.
    Dr Caron nodded. ‘ This is why you feel constricted, yes? You are a victim of circumstances beyond your control.’
    ‘I suppose.’
    ‘Yet some might say you have more options, now. A different kind of control. A different kind of power.’
    ‘But it’s not something . . . that is . . . I don’t always feel in control. Of it. Of myself.’
    ‘And how does that make you feel?’
    The cold sweat was still on his brow. He couldn’t answer.
     
    On his way out, Lucas passed Dr Caron’s next patient, Yuri, waiting at the foot of the stairs. The hulking Russian was bouncing a tennis ball against the opposite wall with repetitive and ferocious force. Thud, thud, thud .
    ‘ The head-shrink is ready for me?’ Yuri asked.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘It is she who is the crazy one. She talks to herself – I have seen.’ He tapped his head. ‘Everyone crazy here, but most of all the teachers.’
    If Endor was in fact recruiting at this school, Lucas thought, then Yuri would be the perfect target; not a doubting, dithery witch like himself. The trouble was, he had wanted to talk. Unburden himself.
    The castle walls closed in around him. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Pausing on a landing, he became aware of music floating down the corridor. It sounded like Mozart. He went down a flight of stairs and found Mei-fen at the piano in one of the music studios. She was so small her feet barely touched the floor. Aged thirteen, she could almost pass for eight, if it wasn’t for the look of absolute concentration on her face. It gave her an air of maturity far beyond her years.
    After a while she became aware he was standing in the doorway and stopped.
    ‘Sorry. Am I bothering you?’
    ‘Not at all,’ she said.
    ‘You’re very good.’
    She smiled faintly. ‘I have had a lot of time to practise.’ Till now, Lucas had never heard her speak more than a couple of words at a time; the fluency of her English was a surprise. ‘ That is the stereotype of Chinese people, is it not?’ she continued. ‘Industrious, obedient.’ She