Witch - By Fiona Horne Page 0,20

said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m used to it, to be honest, and I prefer being here in Summerland to being in Los Angeles – people are so fake down there. Dad is definitely better up here. We’re both just trying to get on with our lives. And I like being back on the land of my ancestors. Sometimes I think I can feel it, a – I don’t know – a sense of coming home.’

He stopped and turned to look at me. ‘I’m really glad we met, Vania. I appreciate how you came up to me that first day – and you’re really easy to talk to. I’ve never had such cool friends before.’

‘Well, you do know we’re officially not cool, right?’ I said.

‘We’re our own kind of cool,’ he said, and we both laughed.

‘I actually think it’s really interesting you’re part Indian,’ I said. ‘Do you know much about your origins?’

‘To be honest, not a lot. I know the Chumash lived off the land around here and were completely self-sufficient, though.’

‘That’s pretty awesome. Hey, maybe that’s something you could focus on as a part of our coven.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I don’t know, finding out about how the Chumash Indians lived off the land and their legends and myths. I’m sure the Chumash were pretty clued in to things. Like the Indigenous Australians. I think many of the original tribes of the world had ideas about magical knowledge.’

‘You know, I like that idea. I’m going to check it out.’ Dean was smiling and looked confident. It was good to see.

By now we had reached the Summerland Star offices. The building was really old and leaned precariously over to one side where the street sloped down the hill.

‘I hope the whole thing doesn’t fall over while we’re in there,’ I said, walking slowly up the front steps.

Inside, it was like we had stepped back in time. The walls were wood-panelled and the furniture looked like it was out of the thirties. The golden afternoon sun shone rays of light through the slatted windows, illuminating flecks of dust floating on the air. An older woman with her hair in a tight bun and wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her pointy nose sat behind a large desk with an ink fountain and an ancient typewriter on it. It was obviously only for show, though, because she was typing on a computer.

The lady glanced up but didn’t speak.

Dean cleared his throat. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am. My friend and I are wondering if you keep archived copies of the newspaper here.’

‘We do, but they are very precious. What do you children want with them?’ she said in a cold, disapproving tone.

‘We’re researching a school project about the death of a local woman that occurred about fifteen years ago.’ I smiled brightly. This woman was the gatekeeper, so we needed her on our side.

She looked me up and down. ‘You’re not from here, are you? Where is your accent from?’ I seemed to have captured her attention.

‘Australia.’ I kept the smile fixed on my face, and to my relief I saw one break out on hers.

‘You sound like Olivia Newton John! Have you seen Grease?’ Incredibly, she actually giggled, making the glasses on the end of her nose wobble.

‘Yes, ma’am, it’s one of my mum’s favourite movies.’ I said in relief. Things were starting to go our way.

The woman came out from behind her desk, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Mrs Pilkington, the custodian. The new offices of the Summerland Star are up the street, but we keep the archives here. I’d be happy to show you what we have.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Pilkington. My name is Vania, and this is Dean. We promise to be really careful.’

She beckoned us to follow her down the corridor that stretched out behind her desk. We picked our way around some boxes on the floor before catching up with her. At the end of the corridor there was a door with a small metal grate set at eye level – it reminded me of a prison door. Mrs Pilkington took a large skeleton key from her pocket.

‘I warn you, it’s a little disorganised in here,’ she said. ‘More recent copies are filed digitally, but it wasn’t so long ago that everything was just paper. You may have to do a little hunting to find what you’re looking for.’

She opened the door and flicked on the light switch. I immediately sneezed. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust.

‘Gesundheit,’