Wilted
(A Witching Pen Novellas Prequel)
Smashwords Edition
Wilted (A Witching Pen Novellas Prequel)
text copyright © 2012, Dianna Hardy
Published by Bitten Fruit Books, via Smashwords, February, 2012
All rights reserved.
In this work of fiction, the characters, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination, or they are used entirely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means or in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles or reviews.
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Cover images © Shutterstock.com and © Dreamstime.com
Cover design by Dianna Hardy
Bitten Fruit Books
Surrey, UK
http://www.bittenfruitbooks.com
Blurb
Fifteen-year-old
Elena hides her magical abilities from everyone, except her best
friend, Karl. Inseparable since they were very young, they've always
shared everything together, including the darkest parts of their
lives.
Elena's beginning to realise that her feelings
for Karl are growing into something more. But her mother's about to
drop a bombshell on her – one that will change the course of her
life, and heart, forever.
~*~
This short story prequel to The Witching Pen Novellas, takes place ten years before the events of The Witching Pen Novellas.
This UK-based story is suitable for YA readers, but it should be noted that The Witching Pen Novellas series is aimed at adult readers.
More information can be found at http://www.thewitchingpen.co.uk
Elena stared at the daffodils in her window box. They were starting to wilt, as if the weight of the grey sky was pushing down on them. She hated it when flowers wilted – they looked so sad that way, as if they were crying and no one could tell.
The energy in her body hummed and coursed towards her palms, lighting them with the subtle green glow she was so familiar with. Instinctively, she walked towards her window.
Surely this isn't the same as bringing an animal back to life, right? This is a plant – plants are different.
Who was she trying to convince? She damn well knew that if her mother found out, she'd be in for it big time. Still...
She leaned across her sill, and hovered over the window box, her hands coming up of their own accord, or so it seemed. Bollocks to it, she just couldn't help it – this is what she did best: heal things. Bringing one, tiny plant back to life could hardly unbalance the world, could it?
Her hands glowed more brightly.
A car sped by in the road below, reflecting its colour in the window as it did so. She ignored it, but was startled out of both her thoughts and her healing trance, when across the street and five doors down, Karl came – half-running and half-limping – out of his house. A tirade of verbal abuse followed him, tingeing the air with its malice.
One glance at her best friend's stricken face was enough to have her hurtling out of her room and down the stairs, already opening the front door with her magic.
Another thing mum would kill me for, she winced. Mustn't use magic frivolously.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Karl never looked distressed – not even at the worst of times. She was the panicky one – he was the rock.
She reached the front door, just before he reached the steps leading up to her porch.
“Elena…” he panted.
“God, Karl, what is it?”
“Dad…”
And that was all he needed to say.
Elena ushered him in, closing the door behind him. His legs didn't seem to be holding him up too well, and when he stumbled over his own feet, Elena caught him under the arm, and offered him her shoulder. She might be two years younger than him, but at fifteen, she was tall – almost as tall as Karl – and her wiry body, which she so often hated when looking at her friends' blooming breasts and hips, always surprised her with a physical strength it didn't look like it should be capable of.
Karl's dad had beaten him; she was sure of it, despite her not being able to see any bruises.
“We need to go to my room,” she told him.
He groaned as he glanced at the stairs. “I don't know if I can climb…”
“Mum'll be back soon, and you know how she gets when you're around. We'll have more privacy up there. Come on – lean on me.”
Although he clearly hated the idea of putting his weight on her, he did it anyway, and allowed her to support him as he dragged his feet up the steps. When they finally made it to her room, he tumbled inside and aimed straight for the bed, where he lay on his back, hands covering his eyes. They were shaking slightly. Elena wondered if he was trying not to cry.
She closed her bedroom door, and stuck her dressing table chair under the handle for good measure – her mum could be a little unpredictable when Karl was around, and without a doubt, she'd be able to sense he was in the house as soon as she got home.
She perched on the edge of her bed, with her hands on her lap, and waited.
Eventually, Karl's trembling ceased. When he looked at her, his blue eyes burned hot, making him look like he had a fever. He was holding back tears.
Her own eyes welled up in response. “I'm so sorry.”
He took her right hand in his. His touch was gentle, but when he spoke, his voice broke with anger. “Don't you ever apologise for him. Fucking bastard.”
She flinched. Karl didn't get angry often. He avoided anger like the plague, because anger was everything his father was, and everything he swore he'd never be.
She squeezed his hand in comfort. “What happened?”
He bit his lip, shook his head, and then took in a deep breath. “Mum knocked over his whisky glass. It broke. He went mental – he hit her, then pushed her onto the shards of glass on the floor.” His voice went up a notch as he forced the words out. “I lost it … I lost it, Elena.”
“It's not your fault.”
“I grabbed his shirt, pulled him off her, and barrelled him into the kitchen away from her. I got a good punch in, but … well, look at me…”
Karl wasn't exactly a buff seventeen-year-old, despite all the time he spent on the athletics track – he was only just starting to fill out. Maybe in a few years he'd have a chest as wide as his outstretched arm – his ex-army father certainly did – but not yet.
“He pounded me. When he'd brought me to my knees, he started kicking me in the stomach, then … Christ…” He ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “He started jumping on me – he jumped on my legs.”
Elena grimaced at his story, and then realised she was squeezing his hand too tightly – or maybe he was the one squeezing.
“He just kept jumping. He didn't stop until the phone rang. I can't believe I walked out of there.”
“Actually, you sort of stumbled,” she said, in a vague attempt to lighten his mood. Anyone else would probably have thought the remark callous, but Karl knew her like the back of his hand.
His lips tilted upwards in a small smile. “I did stumble, didn't I?”
She nodded. “Like your legs were made of dental floss.”
He laughed. “What a sight for all our neighbours.”
“I don't think anyone else saw.”
“I'm sure they heard.”
She placed a hand on his thigh.
He winced.
“Can I see your legs? I can heal them.”
“I was sort of hoping you'd offer … but I hate asking you…”
“Don't be daft. Always ask, okay?”
He shot her a grateful look, and then undid his trousers. With a cry of agony, he lifted his hips up and slid them down over his backside.
Elena pulled them the rest of the way down to his ankles, ignoring the building heat in her cheeks. It had not escaped her notice that in the past few weeks, she would occasionally become flustered around her best friend, and she had a sneaky suspicion she knew what that meant. But it was also a little startling, and more than a little frightening, because they'd known each other since she was five and he was seven. They'd shared paddling pools and baths; they'd shared popcorn at the cinema, and pizzas over homework … it was a friendship she couldn't bear to lose.