I got my chance an hour later. I was the last to join the queue for the book signing, because I’d rushed back to my room to get Jenny’s journal. Hands shaking, I nearly handed it to Kate to be signed, instead of her own book. Fumbling my words, I told her how much I’d enjoyed hearing her talk about her writing process, and the reading. And then I tried to undo what I’d just said, by explaining that it wasn’t so much that I’d enjoyed the reading, it wasn’t exactly light entertainment, but rather that I’d been very moved by it.

Kate thanked me, and I replied that she must have found it a difficult book to write.

She thought for a moment, then said, “Yes and no. I couldn’t bear to read back what I’d written sometimes, until I properly prepared myself for it. But because I’d been immersed in the women’s lives, the words flowed freely, most of the time.”

I nodded, struggling to find any words to ask her about the contentious issue of magic. Noticing the journal, Kate asked, “Are you a writer too?”

“Me? No – this is my great-great-great-great grandmother Jenny’s journal. She was a healer, here in the village, a long time ago.”

“Really? How fascinating. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but guard that journal like it’s treasure.”

The way Kate was eyeing Jenny’s journal, I knew she wanted to look at it. But I wondered what she would see if I showed it to her – would Jenny speak to her, too, or did the journal only reveal its secrets to me? I risked looking like a fool – or worse – if I showed it to Kate and she saw nothing. But, if the journal opened itself to her, I had the chance of finding a kindred spirit. In the end, my need to find someone to share it with was too great.

“Would you like to see it?”

“I’d love to,” Kate said with enthusiasm, reaching her hand out. I passed the journal to her, and she ran the palm of her hand over the cover gently, almost lovingly. She opened the cover and looked at the first page, then quickly turned it over to the next two interfacing pages. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she asked, “Am I supposed to be seeing something?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would,” I said quietly.

“Do you see something?” I nodded. “Tell me what you see.” And I did. I told Kate about the primroses and the poppies, the meadowsweet and the gorse, their colours and their smells, which mingled with the salty spice of the sea air.

“You can see and smell all of that?” Kate asked, her eyes huge. I nodded again. “Who else have you shown it to?”

“No one.”

“So, you don’t know if anyone else can see anything in this book?” I shook my head. “Wow, this is really amazing.” Kate looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “So why show it to me?”

I took a deep breath, wondering how to answer. “I thought you might see something too.”

She gave a half-nod, looking at me intently. “Because of what was said at the book event, about me speaking to the dead?” I nodded again. “I need to ask you something. You see the plants, and smell them – does anything else happen when you look inside the book?”

I hesitated briefly before saying, “Sometimes, I hear Jenny’s voice”

Kate’s eyes grew wide. “What kind of things does she say?”

“The first time, she told me the book had been entrusted to me. Since then, she mainly shows me what she drew on the pages, about each of the plants. How she used them, what they’re good for. And I hear her humming, almost like we’re out on the coastal path together.”

“Does she ever tell you anything else about her life?”

“The first time she told me I’d find her in the meadow, but she didn’t say where.”

“Is Jenny the only person to speak to you from the other side?”

I nodded. “And does it feel a bit thrilling, but also like a heavy burden to carry?” The tears that started rolling down my cheeks were my answer.

“When you heard the allegations made about how I wrote my book, you wondered if I have the same ability you have.” I nodded again, staring down, not trusting myself to speak.

With a gentle voice, Kate said, “I’m so sorry. I wish I could say that I know what you’re going through because it’s happened to me, too. But I have no magical powers – just the ability to tune out the rest of the world so that I more or less inhabit the world I’m creating in my mind, through reading, and my imagination.”

I sniffled once, and wiped my eyes, my cheeks, grateful that there was no audience to my crying.

“I’m going to tell you something that’s for your ears only. The rumours that are circulating about me, some of the people talking to the papers, knew me a long time ago. I was in a bad place in secondary school, angry at the world, angry that my mum was taken from me by cancer, angry at the people that treated me like an outcast, something to be abused. I bought some books about magic, and I really believed if I practised with intent I’d be capable of doing it. I did call myself a witch back then, because I wanted to be one. And because I hoped they would be scared enough of me to leave me alone.”

“Did it work?” I asked, meeting her eye.

“Just about every single spell I cast with malice backfired, and ended up happening to me instead. I did a banishing spell on the girl that was cruellest, and I was the one that ended up getting kicked out of school and leaving home. Things like that.”

The force of what I suddenly realized Kate was saying to me hit me like a thump to the chest. “You’re telling me that Jenny was a witch?”

Eyes shining, Kate said, “Witchcraft is a loaded term. Some embrace it, the power of it, its potential. But I’ve come to see it as a way to marginalize mainly women, call attention to their difference in a way that sets out to disenfranchise them. Punish them, ostracize them. I wouldn’t call myself a witch now, even if I was capable of magic.” She held Jenny’s journal out to me between the palms of her hands, like it was indeed precious treasure. “I’m saying that Jenny obviously had the power to transcend time and space. She imbued this book with her power, so that only someone very special could learn her secrets.”

As I grabbed the journal, a jolt of energy warmed my hands. “It scares me,” I said, my voice no louder than a whisper.

“Reverance and respect is no bad thing. But Jenny chose you for a reason, remember. I don’t think you need to be afraid of that.”

I turned away from Kate without saying another word. I didn’t thank her, or say goodbye. I just wanted to get out of the shop, away from Kate and her words, and Pearl and Elena and anyone else who might see how I upset I was.

When I was outside in the cool night air, under a canopy of stars, I took a deep breath, relieved to be away from the crowd. I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone, until I heard Elena’s voice.

“I’ll bet you could use a cup of tea.”

Alarmed, I searched her face for signs of what she knew about what had just happened with Kate. “Were you waiting for me out here?”

“I came to find you, and saw that you were talking to Kate.”

“Did you – did you hear us?”

“I heard some of what was said. I honestly didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“That was a private conversation!” I said angrily.

“I promise you I wasn’t trying to listen in. But I hope you know you can trust me. What’s more, I knew you were special from the moment we met.”

“Special!” I scoffed. “That just another word for freak. Ask anyone at my school – they’ll tell you how special I am. Ask my parents!”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Elena said kindly. “I mean special in terms of your abilities. I knew it because you can see Hallowtide. And I can see that you have a special connection with that book you’re carrying.”

I looked down at Jenny’s journal like it was a rat in my arms. I knew with complete conviction that I did not want to have the ability to communicate with my long-dead ancestor across time. “Stop using that word!” I ranted like the angry teenager I was.

“Why don’t you come for that cup of tea. I’ll take you to the archive – that’s where I work. It might help you put things into perspective.”

I was angry, but I went with Elena to the archive, where she became the second person I showed the journal to. But, when Elena looked inside the book, she didn’t just see blank pages, as Kate had done. Whenever we were together, Jenny shared her secrets with Elena, too.