Helen Speaks

Introduction to Olive: https://helenspeaks.wordpress.com/2025/04/07/olive-framleys-magical-year/

Olive meets Lucy: https://helenspeaks.com/2025/04/10/olive-framley-entry-1-10th-april/

Dear Talia,

Last night I couldn’t sleep and I got up and wandered about. Firenze stirred for a moment, looked at me curiously, stared at me with an almost impertinent pointedness, and then pulled a leaf of sage off the plant and disappeared.

I took this to mean that he must have understood our conversation. I wondered about going to Shannon’s to find him but I supposed I should trust him. Besides, I didn’t feel like getting dressed.

I got up to make a cup of tea, dropped the bag in – I’ve found a good supplier, don’t worry – and then cursed when I realised it must have split, when tea leaves floated to the surface as I poured the water in.

Oh well. I still wanted the tea and money is a little tighter than I’d like to admit. People’s interest in the fortune telling has waned a bit, probably because I’m not a novelty anymore and probably because my heart isn’t really in it. Sometimes I get a true future flash when I hold their hand, but often they aren’t impressed when I tell them, or they suddenly get spooked and leave – or I get spooked, and have to cover for myself, when I see something that’s a bit disturbing. So I’ve found mostly they want generic trite rubbish, and I’m not enjoying being paid handsomely for that as much as you might think.

At the bottom of the cup, I looked – and I saw something in the leaves. Shannon must be getting to me. There was an old fashioned witch hat shape, and a flower. And a circle – a circle could mean anything though. Family? The idea of things coming full circle?

Or was it just nonsense? Probably, I thought, realising that I felt even more awake now and with no Firenze, the silence felt incredibly loud.

Well, I wasn’t going to go running after him again, I thought resentfully, but I put on my coat anyway, walking in the opposite direction to the lighthouse.

It was a cool, clear night and a full moon was shining. Perfect werewolf weather, if they actually exist. Do you know if they do, Talia?

I walked along the cliff paths, hearing nothing but the wind in the grass, the distant crashing of waves and the occasional owl, and then something else… At first, I assumed it was a strange bird, but after a while I realised it was chanting.

It sounded like Latin, Talia, although not very good Latin. My Latin tutor would have been horrified. I think it was meant to be translated as:

Oh Moon, give me clarity

Oh Stars, give me light

Oh Wind, give me direction

Oh Night, give me the way

Just one voice, but the repeated chanting… I think this was meant to be magic.

I moved as quietly as I could, because bad Latin doesn’t mean bad magic so perhaps this person could see through my silver coat – and I found Lucy Skylark, sitting cross-legged on the ground facing the moon, a candle in front of her, intent on chanting even as she started to choke on her own words.

Because she was crying. The moon glimmered off her tears.

The full moon – the circle? And maybe the witch hat meant her.

It seemed incredibly distasteful to just watch, but of course I could leave without her knowing.

It’s strange, Talia. I’ve felt nothing but contempt for Lucy since we met. She seems like such a little scrappy wannabe try hard. An amateur, playing at magic because it suits her earthy green aesthetic.

But all these thoughts felt rather hollow and callous in the moonlight. I couldn’t remember why I’d assumed I was so much better. I couldn’t remember why I’d disliked her. So… I circled around. Went back the way I’d come… and took my coat off. I walked in with normal, rather audible steps – and she hurriedly got up and dashed her eyes.

“Oh, good evening,” she said to me. “Olive, isn’t it?”

“Yes – and you’re Lucy. The two witches of Barkmouth. We should have three really…”

“I know one, but he’s too young,” she said, then shook her head. “Well – good night…”

“Wait…”

She turned, surprised. I was surprised too. Aunty E had been a bit annoyed with her last time we’d spoken. And of course I didn’t want to be friends…

But maybe I did now.

“I heard you crying,” I said. “When you were chanting at the moon.”

“Oh,” she said, “you know how emotional magic can get…”

“No,” I said. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not trying to be mean. I know I’ve not been friendly but… I want to help. I should help. That’s what being a witch is for.”

“But I’m a witch…”

“And that’s why we should have more witches,” I said. “So we can help each other.”

She looked at me with a slightly insulting level of incredulity.

“I… appreciate it, really. I know you’re so experienced and everyone’s impressed by you and you’ve got so much power, and honestly that would make me just feel worse right now, so please just…”

“I’m a total fraud,” I said. Oh dear, had I cast the truth spell on myself? “I don’t want to do fortunes anymore… people never want the truth so I have to make things up, and Mummy and Daddy don’t send me very much. They spend more on the maid than they do on me… You don’t have to think I’m pitying you…”

She stared at me, and suddenly giggled. “They spend more on the maid?” She tried to stifle it. “Sorry. You’re just – you and I are so different.”

I’m glad my blushing didn’t show in the dark.

“I know. But we are both witches. I think… I mean, maybe it’s nothing. But I think my tea leaves told me to find you. There was a witch’s hat, and a moon, and a flower – and you like flowers, don’t you?”

“Oh,” she said, and sniffed, trying to stifle the sobs as they came. “Yes. But I made such a mess of Mrs Webfoot’s garden. And I wanted to put it right, but she won’t let me touch it. And she’s been so frosty with me since… And I ruined things with my friend. I know I have power, but maybe I shouldn’t use it… I came out to try and figure out what I should do next… maybe it’s better for everyone if I go home.”

I found a handkerchief in the pocket of the coat. A very nice handkerchief. I’m not entirely sure where it came from. But she took it and cried into it. “Thanks.”

I didn’t really know what else to say. I mean, you’re probably meant to say something. I suppose the hat and the moon and the flower meant I was meant to help her through this, but I don’t know how to help crying witches. I don’t know if there’s a spell to cheer someone up, perhaps? Or if I could have given her better Latin… but I think the moment had passed.

She looked up at me shyly. “Thanks again. Did you say you read the tea leaves?”

I shrugged, trying to mask my slight embarrassment. “I thought that was probably nonsense too, but, well, maybe witches can do it.”

“Trees tell me things sometimes,” she said, smiling and not looking embarrassed at all at this hippyish admission. “I think that makes sense to me because they’re alive… but then, it turns out you don’t need to be alive to make magic.”

This was strange, and there was clearly a bit more to her than I’d realised.

We paused, awkwardly – she offered back the hanky. I waved off the snotrag – she said, “oh, of course, I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I live at Crag Cottage.”

She nodded. “Thanks again – I think you’re right. I needed another witch to talk to.”

“Well good night,” I said. “Give my love to Ermingarde.”

“Ermingarde?”

“Mrs Webfoot. She’s my aunt.”

“Oh,” Lucy said. She smiled a moment. “I didn’t know. She’s lovely – when I haven’t ruined her garden, anyway.”

“You’ve known her longer than me,” I said. “But I’m sure she’ll come around.”

Afterwards, I went home, and I felt… better, Talia. I thought maybe I should feel ashamed at having judged Lucy so harshly but… I somehow felt that I didn’t need to. That maybe the time had already passed and we might even be friends. Witches have got to help people, and who helps us? Other witches!

I’m wondering about giving up the fortune telling session, Talia. I need the money, but maybe there’s a better way. Even if I don’t want to work behind the counter, like Lucy! I think that everyday, girl-next-door stuff works for her kind of witching, but I think I need to maintain some mystery.

Yours sincerely,

Olive.

Question: What do you do when you can’t sleep?

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Next entry (Lucy’s next letter): https://helenspeaks.com/2025/05/15/lucy-skylark-entry-14-15th-may/

Olive’s next letter: https://helenspeaks.com/2025/05/16/olive-framley-entry-9-16th-may/