The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set Read Online Free

her mother may have answers.
    “All right. Pass me the phone.”
    “Now? It's five o'clock in the morning.”
    “If I don't do it now, I'll lose my nerve – pass me the phone.”
     
    ~*~
     
    Elena sat, drumming her fingers on the breakfast table, her lukewarm coffee all but forgotten. The oven clock read 8:30am. Time was going too slow.
    Having since learnt that there were no survivors of the plane crash, and having heard some of the passengers' last minute phone calls to their loved ones that were starting to stream into the News, Elena had broken down sobbing. Not even Karl had been able to take away the pain of the reality she had indirectly created. When her silence took over and numbness began to sink in, Karl had sat her down at the table and made her a steaming coffee, leaving her alone to drink it, for which she was grateful. Now the numbness had started to fade away, replaced by the edginess she always felt at seeing her mum.
    She had been greeted with the usual stony silence when she'd told her over the phone about the dream … and about the pen. Every conversation she had with her mum was awkward and cold, ever since that day she'd healed the butterfly. Before that, she had vague recollections of warmth, kindness, laughter … Okay, so since then, she'd learnt that witches weren't allowed to meddle with life and death, but her mother's reaction had seemed too great for something she hadn't even known she could do at the time. Her eight year old self never really understood what she'd done wrong, her teenage self used to make up scenarios of what the issue might be, and her adult self had given up wanting to know, preferring to keep the peace than open a can of worms that would estrange her even further.
    She shuffled in her seat and glanced once more at the clock. She had said that she would be here as soon as she could.
    That was three hours ago – she only lives fifteen minutes away, for God's sake!
    “Jesus, Elena, chill out. You'll wear a hole through your seat.”
    “This was your idea, remember – I didn't want to call her.”
    “And was I wrong? What's the alternative?”
    Sitting back, she felt a sulk coming on – she couldn't think of an alternative.
    “It'll be all right. Do you want me to make you another coffee?”
    The doorbell rang. Nervously, Elena jumped up. She really was all over the place.
    A warm hand on her shoulder encouraged her back down. “I'll get it – you try and relax a bit.”
    Picking up the intercom, Karl buzzed her in and walked off through the lounge to open their front door. She heard her mother's heels echoing on the stone stairs outside, getting louder with every step. She heard Karl's warm, friendly hello greeting, and then her mother's voice, curt, crisp – a startling contrast to his – “Good morning, Karl. Still hanging around, are you?”
    Elena bit back the anger that surged up her throat. Just keep your cool. You only have to do this for maybe an hour, two at the most, and then she'll be gone.  
    Her footsteps made their way into the kitchen.
    Elena rose from the table and turned around. “Hello, Mother.”
    “Elena. So, where's the pen?”
    Straight to business then. No 'how are you?', no peck on the cheek. Typical.
    “Right here on the table.”
    All three of them stared at it, as if waiting for it to announce itself. Of course, it did nothing.
    “Goodness, it's so … unassuming.”
    “Yes. Mum, do you know anything about it?”
    “There's a fable about a 'witching pen' – it was always thought to be a fairy tale.”
    “Any chance it's not?”
    “Apparently so. But first, tell me about your demon.”
    Elena baulked at the reference to the demon being hers. “I pretty much told you everything on the phone.”
    “You didn't tell me what he looked like.”
    “Oh, um … he … his eyes were green – a brilliant green, like emeralds shining in the sun. His skin was grey and looked like it was made of stone, and it was cracked, like a dry