Blurb:The future can be rewritten.On the eve of her twelfth birthday, Beatrice Crosse runs away from her adoptive home only to encounter the ghost of England's most famous prophetess. The witch offers her treasure, but can she be trusted? Bea must wrestle her past to discover the witch’s secret and find her way home.
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Bea’s
Witch Excerpt Chapter 10
I run.
Tesco. Phone shop.
She doesn't
remember me!
Across the high street. A car screeches to a halt. I dive into the
narrow passage that leads to the market square.
I need
another coin. I need help.
Butter Lane. Man with Zimmer frame.
I jump onto the curb to avoid him and see my reflection in the glass of
a charity shop window.
Her
reflection.
I hate how my cheeks are always flushed, how my skin is freckled and
pale. I hate my wispy hair. I look like a doll.
If I'm a
doll, I'm a china doll. Hard. Nobody's getting in here.
I run across the market square, my feet pounding the cobbles.
Everything here is so sickly quaint. I miss the city, the graffiti, the smell
under the railway arch where I used to hang out with Lizzie and Tag.
I leap over the stone steps of the market cross.
I need my
coin!
Past the Market Tavern. Lights flash inside. A black, iron cat peers down
from its roof, frozen in time, like everything here.
I scramble on, past the ice-cream shop.
My mind swerves between past and present.
We queued there when I first arrived. Denise thought it was a treat.
She doesn't know me. Nobody here knows me.
I didn't
want a new life.
My heart pounds as I sprint into the castle car park.
But there's
no going back.
Public toilets. The smell of urine. Sidestep the bins.
BEEP!
This can't
be happening.
A driver waves angrily as they try to reverse from a disabled space. I
stick two fingers up. The castle gate's ahead. I dash through it.
Dog walker. Dog. Jump the lead.
I race past the ruins.
There's the view everyone comes to see, dark and dreary now, the storm
hanging over the valley.
A gust of wind blows hair across my face as I jump down the first few
steps towards the river.
My backpack is heavy. I want to rip that weight out, burn it away.
Halfway. A viewing point. I stop for a moment, panting.
The town clings to this side of the valley, a church beyond the
viaduct, poking out of the trees like something from Frankenstein. The other
side of the river is dark, covered with forest. There are no houses there. No
sign of human settlement – just the Petrifying Well.
That's
where I need to be.
I run on. At the bottom of the steps, I begin along the river. The
cliff looms over me. Water hisses through the weir.
There's a Narnia-like lamppost and cabins that look like they've been
plucked straight out of an Enid Blyton story. I hate Enid bloody Blyton. And
Narnia. The kids in those books are from some sort of alien world. Nothing like
me. Nothing like my life.
My chest burns as I glance back. Nobody's following.
The light's fading now.
I need to get to the other side of the river. I need another coin. I
dart onto the road that leads across the bridge. On the far bank is an inn.
It's cottage-like, covered in ivy, hanging baskets flanking its windows. I hear
people laugh inside.
I duck behind it, away from the road and come to a stop.
From a whitewashed wall, a black and white painting of an old woman
stares at me, her eyes dark.
I stare back.
Her face is silhouetted, her nose long and crooked, like it's been
chiselled from the rock. A scarf hangs from her hair, flowing down like the
river. I slip down the side of the building, and I'm there.
A wooden gate stands in front of me, blocking my path. A jackdaw sits
on the post to its side, as if guarding the entrance. It stares at me.
Is that
supposed to keep people out? I jump up, using
the fence as a foothold. The jackdaw leaps into the air, disappearing into the
trees.
"Near this well I first drew breath," a sign next to the gate
reads.
I pull myself up, scrambling over, and jump down the other side,
landing on a soft path of mulched leaves. The ground crackles as insects scurry
away.
They won't
find me here. It's closed. I'll be safe until morning.
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