Haesel: The Prophecy Witch (Conspiracy of Fates Book 1) Read online

  “Can I take your coat? It’s quite warm today.”

  Rosa always wore a heavy, brown woollen coat all year round that buttoned securely and came to her calves.

  “What? No, thank you, dear.”

  She reached to grab hold of it around her neck, pulling it tighter for security and fiddled with the blue chiffon scarf tucked there. A flash of blue light shone out as she did so, and my eyes widened as I focused on the area. Then instantly dismissed it. The scarf material was slightly glittery, and it must have caught the light.

  “I tend to feel the cold these days.”

  Being of small stature, she peered up at me with clear, bright, piercing blue eyes that captured the colour of her scarf and seemed to twinkle with a light from within.

  “Something hold you up this morning?" She enquired.

  The question caught me off guard.

  “Err, yes. Sort of.” I thought of the mornings events. There was no way I could explain all that, Rosa would think I was nuts. “I had more herbs to get ready than I thought,” I said, thinking quickly. I smiled at her, but she remained where she was, searching my face for a few seconds, then gave a small nod.

  “Mmm, it’s started.”

  “What has?” I asked. Rosa looked back at me quizzically,

  “What dear?”

  “You said, ‘It’s started,’ and I was just asking you what had started?” I prompted.

  “Oh.” She shook her head. “Yes, yes, quite so, don’t mind me. Lots of things happening. It will all come about. You carry on, dear,” she muttered in a quick ramble.

  I walked around the counter and smiled fondly. “So, what will it be today?”

  “Well, I would like some more of that Brain Food Tea, as you call it, please, Haesel. That’s worked wonders. A very good mix of herbs you have in there. Yes, good results.”

  “Oh, that’s good to hear,” I said, retrieving the packet of tea from the glass-fronted cabinet behind me and placing it on the wooden counter.

  ‘Yes, yes,” she said, “that’s it, quite so. I think the ashwagandha made all the difference. That was missing before.” She looked up and to the side, her forefinger tapping her lips.

  “Oh, well, I’m glad you liked it.” My brow knitted. “Although it’s always been an ingredient in my Brain Food Tea?”

  “Mmm,” she muttered absently.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, and rosemary oil, please. The two together really sharpen the senses.” She winked at me, eyes sparkling.

  I grinned. “I’m intrigued. What are you using these sharp senses for then?”

  “Oh, this and that, just getting ready, nothing much,” she mumbled, flicking her hand in the air to make light of my question.

  “Well, if you have any secrets on their abilities, be sure to share them with me,” I said. “It all helps my knowledge.” I collected the rosemary oil from a drawer and placed the small brown glass bottle on the counter.

  Rosa looked at me intently for a moment. “You have all the knowledge already, my dear,” she said. “You’ll see.”

  I was about to ask what she meant but then thought better of it. I would probably get another cryptic answer that didn’t make much sense.

  “That’s kind of you to say,” I said instead.

  “Mmm,” she replied again, “quite so, what do I owe you?”

  I put the money in the till and placed the bagged items in her carrier bag.

  “I’ll get the door for you, Rosa,” I said, skipping in front of her.

  The bell tinkled gently as I opened the door, and a cool breeze blew in, blowing my hair away from my face.

  “Oh, the wind’s getting up a bit,” I said, and as I turned to look at Rosa, she reached out and grabbed hold of my hand, covering it with her other. I jolted, surprised, but kept it there.

  “You can feel it on the wind,” she said, looking straight at me. Her blue eyes were now sparkling with the most amazing iridescent light as the sun broke through the clouds and streamed through the open door. “It will tell you all you need to know. Listen for the songs.” She pulled me closer, moving towards my ear, and I bent lower to oblige her. “Listen and feel it, Haesel.”

  A chill ran through me that lifted the hairs on my arms. Before I could reply, she released my hand and was out of the door, calling behind her, “Thank you, yes, it will all come about. See you soon.”

  “Have a good day,” I called after her, rubbing my arms briskly. I gave a quick shake of my head, rolled my eyes, and smiled. Rosa was a funny one, I thought fondly.

  Closing the shop door, I picked up my bag and went through the door to my workroom at the back of the shop. This was where the packaging took place. I did the main work of drying herbs and making salves and oils at home, where I had more room. After making a drink, I sat down, getting out the herbs I had brought to top up supplies. The hazel leaf fell onto the bench, and I sighed.

  I felt a bit weird and on edge. Then I breathed in sharply as I thought about what Rosa had just said and remembered the wind that brought the leaf straight to me. The tinkling doorbell broke my thoughts as the next customer entered the shop.

  The day passed quickly, my mind occupied with people popping in and out enquiring after things to help one ailment or another. I loved my job, helping people and making them feel better.

  Mrs Sanders called in to thank me for the salve I had made for her daughter Emma, whose sore, itchy skin had been driving her crazy. A simple concoction of castor, olive, jojoba, and coconut oils with sea buckthorn, lavender, cinnamon, and clove had provided the skin with all the support it needed to calm and heal itself.

  “You have a natural talent, Haesel. I can hardly see a mark on her, and all the itching has gone,” she said beaming. “I’ll take some more, please.”

  “Oh, I’m really sorry, I don’t have any more. I made it just for Emma. However, now that I know it helped, I will make more and stock it as a regular product line,” I said, giving her a broad smile. Being Friday, I said I would have it ready for her in the shop to collect the following week. “I’ll call you when it’s ready,” I assured her as she left.

  Closing the door behind the last customer of the day, I tidied up quickly, grabbed my things, and locking the door behind me, headed for home. The wind had increased, and it was now feeling chilly, unusually cold for early June. I decided to go back along the road, and I set off at a good pace. As I passed the meadow field, I looked at the flowers and thought it a shame that it wasn’t looking so good this year. Although too early for it to be in full bloom, the very late spring frosts we had been having had halted the plants in their tracks and killed many of the newly sown seeds.

  As I approached the lane that led down to my house, the wind strengthened further, and I put my head down and stepped up my pace. It was the end of the village, and the trees gave way to open fields and gently rolling hills that meant the wind had free rein to run with no obstacles in its path. Windy Corner my children and I had named it, and I remembered many a morning on the way to school shouting, ‘hold your hood, put your head down, and squint your eyes,’ to my children, especially in winter when we would battle against it, tears streaming down our faces. The strongest gusts would stop us dead in our tracks for a second before we turned the corner, and the tree line broke the onslaught.

  The wind started howling, wrapping all around me, pulling and pushing like being jostled in a crowd. I turned the corner and braced myself. The strength took my breath away, and I leaned in, surprised at the sudden increase and ferocity. I glanced over the fields and saw the blackening clouds. There must be a storm brewing, I thought. I reasoned the wind would ease as soon as I reached the next tree line down the lane, but I didn’t get that far.

  The wind was angry now, and I found it impossible to walk. Something in my senses told me this wasn’t right. Bracing against it, I got nowhere. My ears started to ache as my bag was ripped from my hand. I let out a cry as my hair lashed and whipped my face as
I turned around, trying to look for it. Then, as I turned back, the mother of all gusts hit me with colossal force. I was lifted off my feet into the air. I gasped, flailing my arms. Then everything froze.

  It completely froze, like time had stopped still. There was no sound, leaves hung in the air, and the trees bent, stationary, facing the same direction. A couple of birds that had been battling the wind hung in the grey, frothy sky. Nothing moved.

  I was stuck, held by some invisible force, a yard off the ground. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my heavy breathing, which was at intense panic level. My heart thudded like I was running on a treadmill. Every sense was on high alert, and I buzzed with a strange force of energy I had never experienced before.

  I felt it coming before I saw it, and my eyes homed in. A delicate wisp of wind, almost a mist, was swirling its way in circles towards me down the lane. It came closer and grew larger, pockets of denser mist shooting out all around like something was fighting to get out. I wasn’t afraid. Instead, I felt a hot strength, as though my body was protecting me. The mist undulated and twisted like it was trying to form a shape, and then for a split second, I thought I saw a face. My eyes widened as the dense mist shot out an ethereal hand, reaching for me, before retracting quickly back into the larger mass.

  Then it dissolved slowly, blowing past my face, and as it passed, a faraway voice called out, “Haesel.” My mum’s voice.

  3

  Suddenly, I was released from my suspended state and hit the ground, landing in a crumpled heap. I was stunned and sat there on the pavement, processing what had just happened. The wind had returned to normal, and large billowing clouds in dramatic shades created intense dark and bright alternating moments as the sun was briefly hidden, then exposed again.

  I asked myself how I felt, and the answer was primarily curious excitement. My mum was trying to make contact. I was sure this time. For two years after she had died, I had visited numerous mediums and spiritualist churches, searching for any sign from her that she was somewhere and was okay. She had always said that when that day came, she would fight as hard as she could to send me a sign. After two years, I gave up, sought counselling for my loss, and made myself move on.

  Now, at last, I was sure. I had heard her voice and smelt her familiar, comforting smell, and I was positive she was trying to make contact. I looked up, tears of emotion brimming, threatening to spill and said, “I heard you, Mum, try again.” I waited. Nothing happened. I searched, but still nothing, and the loss took over. The sobs came, uncontrollably, in heaving breaths that I was powerless to stop.

  A car turned into the lane and broke my thoughts. It came to an abrupt halt in front of me, and I instantly recognised the metallic, turquoise-blue vehicle through my blurry, tear-filled eyes. There had to be only one car that colour, and it belonged to Eve.

  The door was flung open, and my lifelong friend dashed to my side. “Haesel, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?”

  I sucked in a juddering breath. “I’m okay, really,” I said, gathering myself together. “I’m so glad you’re here.” I got to my feet, my eyes searching around. “I lost my bag,” I said, and then, “I’ll explain at home,” when I glanced at her and saw her confused expression.

  The bag was in the field across the road. I collected it, along with my scattered belongings, then hopped into her car for the two hundred yards to my house. Her patchouli perfume permeated through the air, and my shoulders dropped as I breathed in the relaxing, familiar scent. Turning to her, I noticed her hair colour had changed again. Over the years, it had been almost every colour imaginable and was now a beautiful strawberry blonde that complemented her dark eyes.

  “Oh, I love your hair. It really suits you.”

  Eve reached over and squeezed my hand. “Thanks.” Then she glanced at my bag, her eyebrows rising. “Is that leather?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as though the bag was giving off a bad smell.

  “Yes.” I gave a definite nod.

  Eve’s mouth fell open, and her eyes grew wide, as she drew in a deep breath that was loaded with words of disappointment and heart wrenching facts. I held up my hands against the forthcoming verbal onslaught. No matter what tragedy had befallen me, it wouldn’t have been as bad as Eve’s wrath if I had used an animal for its skin.

  “Don’t worry Eve,” I said, laughing and rolling my eyes, “It’s vegan leather, and get ready to be very impressed with me, because this bag is eco friendly, biodegradable, and made from a prickly pear cactus.” I threw the bag onto her lap.

  “Whoa, you got one!” Eve grinned, “I’m definitely impressed Haesel, I’ve not seen one of these yet,” she said, examining the bag in detail. “I can’t believe it looks so real.”

  The simple conversation centred and calmed my thoughts. Eve was the best tonic in the world to make everything feel normal again.

  Once inside with the kettle boiling, scoffing the doughnuts Eve had brought, I told her all that had happened. Eve had been my best friend since primary school, and we shared everything. I could trust her one hundred per cent. She was a free spirit, never marrying, preferring instead to have intense short flings with guys that she felt were good for her soul or who she connected with on some cause or another. A true eco-warrior, she was involved in all sorts of charities regarding pollution and animal species survival. If anyone could save the planet, the whales, the orangutans etc., she could.

  “I can’t believe it, Haesel,” she said once I had finished explaining. Her eyes stared, unfocused, at the dining table where we now sat. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know, nothing, I suppose. I don’t really know what to do.” I dabbed my finger around my plate, collecting dropped sugar grains. “I’m sure she will try and make contact again, though,” I said, nodding intensely at her to confirm the thought while sucking the sugar from my finger.

  We chatted about all the what-ifs while we drank our tea, and then I remembered that I hadn’t been expecting her.

  “So…anyway,” I said, frowning, “why are you here? You didn’t say you were coming.”

  “Ooh, yes,” she said excitedly. “I’ve got to show you this.” She scrambled in her bag, bringing out a handful of crumpled papers.

  “So,” she paused, holding up a hand. “You know all these goings-on in the news about this killer virus?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly, dragging out the word, my suspicions raised.

  “Well, something’s going on that’s not right,” she said earnestly.

  “Really?” I replied, with more than a hint of sarcasm in my voice. She sighed and tilted her head to the side, fixing me with a stare.

  “I know, I know, but just hear me out.” Her eyes flicked quickly to the side. “Actually,” she continued, “come on, put the news on, then you’ll see.” She grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me through into the living room.

  With a very grave expression on his face, the BBC newsreader warned that the following images were upsetting. The screen flashed with still scenes of people dying everywhere. They were lying in the streets, hospitals, or even in someone’s house, where all the family members were strewn across the floor, laying in unnatural angles. The images were flashed up on the screen for a split second only. Large, bold writing on a yellow background scrolled across the bottom of the screen and read: LATEST UPDATE: KILLER SACL VIRUS SPREADS TO HUMANS. WORLDWIDE EMERGENCY DECLARED.

  Eve grabbed the remote and paused the TV on an image of several men and women lying in the street. A woman in a blue blouse cradled the head of a man in her lap, her face frozen in an anguished scream. I stood with my hand covering my mouth and turned to Eve.

  “Oh my god, I was only listening to the news this morning, and this wasn’t mentioned. I didn’t realise it had suddenly gotten this bad.”

  Eve laid the papers she was still holding on the coffee table and began shuffling through them.

  “It hasn’t,” she said. “Look.” She handed me a printout of pe
ople lying dead on a street.

  “What’s this?” I asked, my furrowed brow showing my confusion.

  “Look at the building,” she said, pointing to an area on the page. “This one here is the same building as this one here.” And she walked over to the TV and pointed to the building on the screen. “It’s from a different angle, see? Look at the sign here and here.” She pointed them out. ”And, this lady over here is the same one holding the man in her lap. It's just taken from further up the street on the other side.”

  “Oh yes,” I said, “but I’m sure there must have been other photographers there?”

  Eve took the paper from my hand. “There were…but this,” she said, holding the page up to me at eye level and jabbing at it with her finger, “is from the disaster that happened five years ago when the earthquake hit northern Japan. It’s fake, Haesel, and so are all these.” She gestured with her hand at the papers on the table.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, looking back and forth at the images. “But like I said before, something’s not right. We are being lied to for a reason, and it doesn’t feel like a good reason,” she said, biting her bottom lip.

  Eve showed me the rest of the fake photos and told me her friend Richard had found them. He had remembered the earthquake as his relatives were there at the time. It had rung a bell and made him look it up. Now curious and geeky with computers, he was currently running further searches.

  I reached for the remote and pressed play. The screen returned to the newsreader who announced: “We are now heading live to London and the CEO of VialCorp, Dr Julius Malicen, for an update on the Severe Acute Clotting Virus or SACL as its now known.”

  A thin, tall man with light brown hair that had mostly turned to silver-grey, and small, sharp, mean eyes that peered over rimless glasses, was standing outside on the steps of the enormous glass-fronted pharmaceutical building. The mainstream media jostled for the best spot, cameras running and microphones thrust forwards in outstretched arms. Silence descended as Dr Malicen, dressed in an immaculate bespoke suit, approached the podium and prepared to speak. Leaning close to the microphone, he tapped it a couple of times and cleared his throat.