His heart beat faster as he turned into the familiar driveway. The house was aglow with lights, and had never looked better.
Mark cut the engine and opened the cab door as his parents came sprinting out of the house.
"Mark! You stupid, stupid boy!" His father grabbed his shoulders and gave him a fierce shake, followed by an equally fierce hug. "Don't you ever do that again."
"I had to." Mark said, turning back to the tractor. "He needs help. Can you help me get him inside?"
His Mum gasped at the sight of the half-conscious lad curled in the back of the tractor cab. "But how?"
"Not now, Mum." Mark argued.
Between Mark and his Dad, they managed to help Damian walk to the house through the deepening snow. The warmth washed over them all, as they moved inside. Once in the living room, Damian was helped onto the sofa, his limbs shaking in an uncontrollable shiver.
"Shivering, that's good." Mark's Mum stated, quickly switching into nurse mode. "Honey, get him some dry clothes and a blanket. I'll get Nanna, if ever there was a time for her miracle teas, it's now."
Mark watched as his parents went opposite ways out of the room. He stoked up the fire, then returned to Damian. He looked over him carefully, the colour had returned to his skin and lips, but there was still a haunted look in his eyes.
"So are you going to tell me why you were out there tonight?" Mark asked, sitting next to him on the sofa.
Damian refused to meet his eye and looked down at the carpet. "Have you ever... thought the world would be better off without you?"
Mark stared at him, wishing he could unhear that. Before Damian could give an explanation, Mark's Dad walked back in, his arms full with some of Mark's spare clothes, and the guest duvet.
Mark followed his Dad into the kitchen, to give Damian some privacy. He'd never seen his Dad wound so tight, the old man looked like he was getting the kettle on, but he couldn't concentrate on the task.
Finally his Dad rounded on him.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You could have died?" His Dad snapped, keeping his voice low. His normally soft brown eyes were dark shards as he looked at his son. "I have never been more terrified in all my life. You are never to do anything like this again."
"I'm sor-"
Before Mark could even get the apology out, his Dad grabbed him and pulled him into another hug. "You probably saved that boy's life. I don't know how you did it, but I'm so proud of you."
Mark wrapped his arms around his Dad, feeling his tension ease.
"But you're grounded, for a month." His Dad said, releasing him and giving him a pat on the shoulder.
"I've still got to buy Christmas presents this weekend." Mark argued.
"Well, you can go do that. On the one condition that you get me something much better than that awful scarf from last year."
Feeling somewhat dazed, Mark moved back into the living room, to find Damian curled on the sofa, the duvet tucked tight about him.
"How you feeling?"
Damian looked up at him with a weak smile, "Like I'll never be warm again."
"If there's anything I can do, let me know." Mark replied.
"Well they do say body heat is the fastest way to..." A female voice interrupted.
"Nanna!" Mark and his Mum shouted at the same time.
Nanna looked down at Damian, smiling. "You must be the new guy."
"You must be the witch." Damian returned, humour in his bright blue eyes.
Nanna nodded. "I like this one."
Mark's Mum gave her a warning look, and pushed past her into the room. She held a thermal flask in her hands, which she gave to Damian. "This is Nanna's miracle tea, sip it slowly."
Damian sniffed at the open flask, "What does it do?"
"It basically warms your blood. It's all herbal." Nanna answered.
"And it won't turn me into a toad?" Damian asked, taking a cautious sip.
"No, but I might."
Mark's Mum butted in before Nanna got warmed up to the banter. "Damian, I don't think you need the hospital, but I would recommend seeing a doctor tomorrow. Now, shall I call your aunt and see about getting you home?"
"No!" Damian's outburst caught everyone by surprise. "Sorry, I..."
Mark frowned, the lad's reluctance plus his previous comment was worrying. He felt a need to keep him under this roof to find out why. Mark turned to his Mum. "It might be safer if he stayed, rather than taking the roads tonight."
His Mum looked between them, then sighed. "Fine, I'll call your aunt to let her know that you're safe and staying over. Dad, can you start dinner? We have an extra guest."
Mark watched as his parents both moved towards the kitchen – he had no doubt that they were looking for an excuse for a private conversation.
"Mark, a word." Nanna said, gesturing towards the hall.
"I'll be back in a min." Mark gave an awkward smile towards Damian, before he followed his Nanna out of the room. "What's up?"
"You were right."
"Really? That's great!" Mark said, grinning. "But... what am I right about?"
"The boy's aura, there's something tainting it."
"What does it mean?"
A look of worry crossed Nanna's face, but she quickly hid it. "I don't know, it's not something I've seen before. I'll do some reading and talk to some other witches... In the meantime, I want you to keep an eye on him."
"That shouldn't be a problem."
Nanna softened a little. "It seems you were meant to get that spell wrong. Right, go on, back to your new friend."
Chapter Seven
That evening, Damian was looking much healthier and he seemed to be recovering swiftly, although his limbs were stiff and very sore.
Mark's Dad made sure there was enough stew and potatoes for two sittings, and more to spare. After dinner, Damian's eyes were already drooping.
"Come on, I'll show you the guest room."
Mark led the way up the narrow stairs and into the guest room. There was a single bed, with fresh sheets. The old drawers and wardrobe were in the room, making it seem a lot smaller than it was.
"The bathroom's down the hall. Is there anything else you need?" Mark asked.
Damian sat down on the small bed, the frame creaking as he did so. "No, I'm good."
"Well, good night."
"Mark..." Damian called out, as he reached the door. "I wanted to thank you, for today. I have no idea how you found me, but I'm under no illusion as to what would have happened if you hadn't."
Mark held onto the door as Damian spoke, did he sound disappointed that he'd been rescued? Mark sighed and closed the door in case his parents came upstairs; then turned back to Damian. "Why were you out there?"
Damian shrugged, crawling under the duvet, as though that would put an end to the conversation.
"Come on, Damian. You owe me an answer, I risked everything going out there today."
Damian propped himself up on an elbow, his blue eyes meeting Mark's. "You'll think I'm over-reacting, or crazy, but I'm cursed."
Mark moved around the bedposts and perched on the foot of the bed, making it creak anew. "I've told you that I'm a witch, and you think you're the crazy one? Why do you think you're cursed?"
"I don't think, I know. In the last few months, I've lost everyone I've been close to."
"That isn't proof-"
"My parents died in a car crash. My best friend was mugged and beaten, and left in a coma. I moved in with my grandma and she died of a heart attack two weeks later. Don't tell me that isn't proof, and don't you dare say that it's coincidence."
Mark stared at Damian, as he saw the perfect façade crack. He saw pain, immense pain. "I'm sorry, I knew about your parents, but I didn't have any idea..."
"This afternoon, my aunt was in the kitchen cooking and the pan caught on fire. She shouted at me to get out. She got it under control, but I couldn't go back
in. It was a warning to me, I know it. If I stayed much longer, she would die." Damian took a shaky breath. "I just started walking, and when the snow started, I wanted it to smother me and clear away all the problems."
"You shouldn't say that. Even if there is a curse, as long as you're alive, we can find a solution." Mark replied.
"We." Damian smiled at the word.
Mark scooted closer, making the bed creak again. "So why only the last few months? What has changed?"
Damian thought for a while, then shook his head. "Nothing, I did nothing. I turned sixteen and life suddenly became hell."
Mark sighed, it wasn't much to go on. "We'll do everything we can, I promise."
"I'm finally having some good luck in my life." Damian said quietly. "I must have been meant to meet you."
Mark suddenly became aware of how close they were, in the privacy of the bedroom. Mark nervously licked his dry lips. Was it his imagination, or was Damian leaning closer?
Mark leant in, sliding his hand closer until the tips of his fingers brushed the skin of Damian's arm, he was sure he was on fire.
The bed creaked again, and Mark pulled back. What was he doing? Damian had nearly died today, he wasn't thinking straight, and he was in no fit state for any sort of romantic intentions. He jumped off the bed, suddenly awkward, running a hand through his dark hair. "Sorry. G'night."
Mark hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.
"Mark?"
Mark jumped at the sound of his Dad's voice behind him and spun round guiltily. "Night, Dad."
"Uh huh." He stood at the top of the stairs, watching until his son was in his own bedroom, with the door firmly shut.
*****
The following morning, Mark went downstairs to find his Mum and Dad already serving out breakfast to Damian, who sat at the small kitchen table.
"You can borrow more of Mark's clothes for today, Damian." Dad said as he dished out some fried eggs.
Mark's Mum was relegated to getting the hot drinks ready again, which Mark was relieved to see. The last thing he wanted was for Damian to experience his Mum's attempt at cooking.
"I've told work I'll be in late," Mark's Mum said, smiling at Damian, "I can take you to the doctors and drop you off home. I don't think you should go to school today."
Mark looked up from his breakfast, "Do I get the day off, too?"
"Not a chance." His Mum replied quickly.
"But-"
"You stole a tractor yesterday; you're going to school, and then straight home."
"I didn't steal it, I just commandeered it for a couple of hours."
Mark saw the warning signs that his parents' patience was running thin, and sat tight-lipped for the rest of breakfast.
Afterwards, he pulled on his generic school uniform, while Damian got some jeans and one of his nice jumpers. It worried Mark that Damian hadn't said two words to him this morning, and whenever he caught his eye, there was a new wariness in his gaze.
Before Mark left to walk for the bus, he cornered Damian in the living room. "Look, what I said last night about helping you – I meant it. And if you meant what you said about being willing to die, I want you to call me anytime you feel like that again."
Chapter Eight
School seemed to absolutely drag by; Maths and English seemed to matter less than usual, when witchcraft and curses waited for Mark back home. It was hard being around Harry and Sarah, too; as far as they were concerned, life went on as it always had.
Mark didn't tell them anything about yesterday, how could he? If he told them about his adventure with the tractor, he'd have to tell them why he had gone out, which meant sharing at least some of what Damian had told him. But how could he do that, knowing that he was preoccupied with death and curses; it was far too sensitive to share. Plus, the fact that he'd almost kissed Damian, he wanted to lock that uncomfortable fact away, never to be seen again.
This was the first time that Mark had kept anything from Harry. The secrets hovered behind every conversation and action, screaming at Mark to be told. As the day wore on, he grew quieter and more sullen; afraid that the whole school could see how awkward he was.
Only Harry seemed to notice and shot a worried look his way. Before he could be cornered after school, Mark hurried to his bus and sat checking his phone for the umpteenth time.
*****
It was normal for Mark to go straight up to Nanna's after school, but today he made his way there with a new determination. He was surprised to hear voices when he opened the door into the warm kitchen; and even more surprised to see Damian sitting and chatting with Nanna.
"What-?"
"I've had a handsome gentleman caller today." Nanna stated with a smug smile.
Damian chuckled at the old woman's comment, but he looked anything but happy. Dark circles and pale skin told how tired he was; and there was a sharp and feverish quality to his blue eyes. "I couldn't stand being home alone this afternoon. Besides, you guys are the only ones I trust to take me seriously. I told my aunt about the curse and she brushed it off as anxiety and teenage overreaction."
"Have you found anything out?"
"I've spoken to some other witches, they have records of curses and demonic involvement, which would match the deaths and the tainted aura." Nanna replied, stating the facts as calmly as she'd discuss the weather.
"So what do we do know?" Mark asked, feeling some excitement stirring.
"Well, I was just quizzing this young man over the origin of this curse. It has to stem from somebody he knows, because nobody curses a stranger." Nanna nodded to Damian.
"But I can't think of a single person that would do this to me; or would have the ability." Damian said with a shrug.
"Which is why we're going to scry for an answer."
"Scry?" Mark wasn't sure where he'd heard that word before.
"We will try to see a vision that will help direct us to our next step." Nanna explained, getting up and rummaging through the cupboards.
Mark watched as she brought out a large bowl and filled it with water, setting it on the table between them.
"You remember what I told you?" Nanna asked Damian, her voice serious.
"Yes." He said, holding out his hand.
"Once the spell starts, there's no going back. I can't change what is shown." Nanna warned.
Mark watched, feeling very much on the side lines, as Nanna took Damian's upturned hand. The old woman picked up a sharp knife, holding it over Damian's palm.
"No!" Mark jumped up from his chair.
"Sit down, boy." Nanna snapped. "All I need is a drop of blood. It will create a much stronger link with his past."
"It's OK, Mark." Damian said calmly, although he winced when the knife finally cut him.
Mark watched the bright red blood drop into the bowl, and slowly disappear, its colour diluted by the water. His Nanna fixed her gaze on the bowl and began to chant beneath her breath; Mark tried, and failed, to hear what she was saying.
When he looked again at the bowl, his breath caught. The water was no longer clean and clear, but full of shadows moving eerily across the surface. As his eyes locked onto the bowl, Mark felt the spell reach out and ensnare him, catching him and refusing to let go. The shadows grew, becoming human in shape, and a brick background filling in behind them.
A man in his late twenties staggered down a quiet street, his blood-shot eyes betraying that he had been drinking. He pulled his once-fine coat about him, so only his dark-blond hair could be seen, and made his way towards the park. At nearly midnight, it was empty. People said that it wasn't worth the hassle from nosy cops, or the risk of a mugging; but the truth was there was something that scared them. Few people in this modern age knew that the park existed over ley lines, and even fewer cared. But they didn't know what could be accomplished if one made the necessary effort.
He knew though, he had been driven by an intense need to
succeed. He'd wallowed in failure for too long; no matter what he did, nothing worked out. He was fed up with playing fair, now he wanted what the world owed him.
Finding the perfect spot, he knelt down, and shrugged off his coat to bare his arms. Intoning the words he'd memorised, he took out chalk and drew a pentagram over the short grass. With a sharp knife, he gave shallow slice to his arm, without wavering in his chant.
Once he had finished, the man sat back on his heels, staring into the darkness. He'd been warned that he might have to wait – demons came in their own time. Eventually something rose, darker then the night around it. It was insubstantial, but pulsed with power.
"What do you seek?"
"Success in all things. Riches." The man replied, his voice hoarse.
The thing hovered in front of him, it's aura touching the bare arms of the man, reading him. Satisfied, it retreated a little. "There is always a price."
"Anything."
"The life of your first son."
"Done." The man replied without hesitation. He was unmarried and had no plans for children, so it was no price at all.
The demon growled, its deal made, then started to fade.
Mark gasped for breath, he was overwhelmed by the foreign emotions that washed over him. He had expected something visual, not this.
He looked up to see his Nanna, looking as composed as ever; and poor Damian who looked very shell-shocked.
"That..." Damian finally stirred "That was my Dad."
Nanna quietly packed away the tools of the scry, and excused herself.
"How could he do that?" Damian's temper snapped. The wooden chair screeched as he shoved it back.
"Damian..." Mark stood up, trying to bring him back to somewhere calm.
"It's his bloody fault. He sold me and everybody else to satisfy his sodding greed!" Damian shouted.
"We'll still..."
Damian looked wildly for an escape. "I need to get out."
"No, Damian," Mark barred his path, "You can't run away again."
"Watch me." Damian snapped. "You don't know anything."
Mark grabbed his arms as he tried to barge past, and yanked him back. "There's a reason you're here, Damian. You chose to come here to find out the truth. I'm sorry it hurts, but this is it."
Damian glared at him, but some level of reason had returned. He gripped Mark's arm, keeping him near. "Truth... I was expecting an enemy, not my father."