Spellweaver by CJ Bridgeman

Hollie
explained. “I’m so sorry, Fliss! If I hadn’t been with Oliver...”
Her voice was filled with regret.
    “Look, Fliss,” Jamie
said, placing a hand on Felicity’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to
anything Callum Johnson said to you. He’s a nasty piece of
work.”
    “He’s a pig!” Hollie
declared venomously. “He’s a total predator. He probably saw you as
an easy target and it’s all my fault. Did Oliver come to see if you
were okay? He could’ve said something. And why did he run off like
that?” She took a few steps further into the alley. “Oliver!” she
called.
    “No!” Felicity
exclaimed so suddenly and loudly that it surprised Hollie and
Jamie. “No,” she repeated, more quiet and calm this time, and then
she covered her face with her hands.
    After a pause, Hollie
approached her. “Fliss,” she said gently. “What happened? Tell
me.”
    Felicity shook her
head. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing...”
    Hollie and Jamie
exchanged worried glances. Though it was obvious that something had
happened, they knew better than to try and coax the information
from Felicity.
    “Come on,” Jamie said.
“Let’s get you home.”
    It was quite late by
the time that Felicity reached the block of flats that represented
home, and in spite of Hollie and Jamie’s protests, she insisted on
going in alone. They reluctantly let her go, making her promise
that she would see them at school the next day so that they could
all speak to Oliver about what had happened. Just what had happened
Felicity did not reveal, for she was unsure whether or not she had
imagined it. She spoke not a single word for the entire walk, but
this seemed to make the twins even more anxious and curious;
Felicity could tell that they would not let the whole thing go
easily.
    When she reached the
door to the flat and went inside, she was surprised to find the
light on and her father standing expectantly in the middle of the
room. He had his hands in the pockets of his boiler suit and he was
looking at her with a very unimpressed expression.
    “Where have you been?”
he asked her.
    Felicity was not in a
talking mood. “Out,” she said simply, and headed to her
room.
    He blocked her path.
“You were at that club, weren’t you?”
    Felicity frowned, and
then she suddenly remembered her father’s objection to her visiting
the Talk. She opened her mouth to respond but took far too long to
decide whether to admit that she had gone against her father or lie
to him, and it was this hesitation that revealed the
truth.
    “I told you not to go
there,” he said, pointing at her aggressively. “Why did you go when
I told you not to?”
    “I’m sorry, I
-”
    “You’re sorry?” he
interrupted her, raising his voice. “You deliberately break the
rules and you’re sorry? That isn’t good enough, Felicity. You need
to do as you’re told. You need to show me some respect. I’m your
father!”
    His hostility was on
the increase, and it was beginning to frighten her.
    “You can’t behave this
way,” he continued, his voice almost amounting to a shout. “You
can’t come waltzing in here at any time you please. This isn’t a
hotel - it’s my home!”
    Although he instantly
realised the mistake he had made, the damage was done. Felicity’s
fear vanished, replaced by a sudden burst of anger. She pushed past
him and stormed to her room, slamming the door behind
her.
    Her father let her go.
He could have easily stopped her, for he was a man and she was only
a young woman, but his guilt rooted him to the spot. Once the door
slammed he turned to face it, considering whether or not he should
go and say something, apologise maybe. But then his shoulders
slumped and he trudged unhappily to the fridge for a can of
beer.
    Within the privacy of
her room, Felicity sat on her broken bed, hugging her knees close
to her chest. She had always suspected that she was not welcome in
her father’s flat, and now she was certain. She had invaded