Hollow Pike (39 page)

‘I wouldn’t say that. We’re not exactly normal, are we?’ Jack lamented.

‘And we never were in the first place!’ Delilah laughed, searching in the undergrowth for something.

‘And I say, thank God!’ Kitty added brightly, folding her arms across her army jacket.

Delilah fashioned a rough cross out of two long sticks, binding them with a long black ribbon, pulled from her hair. Then she wedged it into the earth: the witches of Hollow Pike finally had a
memorial.

Their work done, the friends helped each other over the wall and back into the official graveyard.

‘That only leaves one question,’ Lis murmured, staring into the distance. ‘Which is worse? Being a witch, or being Laura Rigg’s less pretty cousin?’

Jack and Kitty laughed and Lis couldn’t keep a straight face for a moment longer. Their giggles rang around the churchyard like bells.

Delilah’s green eyes twinkled. ‘Can you smell that?’

‘What?’ Lis, Kitty and Jack chorused.

‘Snow. Snow’s on its way.’

Like a winter fairy, Delilah skipped around the deserted graveyard gazing up at the gentle clouds in the milky sky.

‘How do you know?’ Jack looked up too.

‘I just do.’

As she said it, the first feathery snowflakes fell, carelessly drifting down from the clouds.

‘OMG!’ Jack said gleefully.

The first flakes were soon joined by a polar flurry, drifts first clotting on the grass and then the pathways. The graveyard soon turned radiantly white: a clean, fresh page stretching before
them, ready for new stories.

‘White Christmas!’ Delilah turned back to them.

Kitty shook her head, grinning in disbelief. ‘Dee, sometimes you scare me a little!’

Lis caught the intricate flakes of snow in her hands. They were real.
She
was real. It was impossible to think of herself as the same girl who’d come from Wales. She was something
new. Maybe a witch – or maybe she’d turned into a butterfly. It was too early to tell. A smile full of hope burst across her face. At that moment, she knew only one thing for certain:
she had
friends
.

‘Right, then. Who’s up for a snowball fight?’ Lis yelled. Her feet crunching in the snow, she darted through the headstones, as carefree and unique as the snowflakes spiralling
around her.

Acknowledgements

This is all a bit Oscar winner’s speech, but here goes.
Hollow Pike
was made possible with the help of the following people, and I owe them a lot because this book
means everything to me.

I’ll start by thanking my agent, Jo, for recognising the good in
Hollow Pike
when it was in a much sketchier state than you find it today. You’ve supported me every step of
the way
and
took me to The Ivy. Amazing. Next, to the wonderful team at Indigo/Orion, you’ve made
Hollow Pike
flesh! I’m grateful to Amber and Jenny, my editors, for
intuitively knowing exactly what I wanted to say; Nina for her PR witchcraft; Alex and the rights team; and Fiona for her sophistication and wisdom.

I’d also like to thank my own growing coven of internet followers on Twitter and Facebook. This book feels supported even before its release, and that is just lovely. I pray you like the
finished product.

Finally, and most importantly, to my family and friends for your unwavering support. We’re so not a mushy family, so I’ll simply say thank you for
everything
. Particular
thanks to Sam Hudson for the countless times she has read
Hollow Pike
, and to the talented Stuart Warwick for the music. Sarah, Lou Lou, Kat, Fi, Joe, Niall, Gavin – I love y’all
for being believers!

And to K, P and B. You were there – you know what it was like. I treasure that time and always will.

www.twitter.com/_jamesdawson

AN INDIGO EBOOK

First published in Great Britain in 2012
by Indigo.

This eBook first published in 2012
by Indigo.

Copyright © James Dawson 2012

The right of James Dawson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in
writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978 1 78062 126 5

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