Chapter 10 Just Visitors

10

Just Visitors

FOR WHAT FELT like the entirety of forever, no one said a word. As the shards of lightning and crystal raindrops cascaded to the floor one final time, they took with them all hope that Belle could possibly be leaving Hecate House with her powers intact. The pendulum began swinging again, slicing through the silence, and Belle's head fell into her hands.

She heard her own voice crack precariously. "Please…Please, can I say something?"

"I hardly think it's worth bothering," replied Morena.

"Mor, now is not the time for rubbing salt into the wound," Bronwyn scolded. "Have some heart, for the divil's sake. The girl deserves a chance to speak her truth." Bronwyn looked and sounded distinctly less chirpy than she had before.

"I think we've seen enough of her truth , sister. And it's not something I wish to see again. She's wasted enough of our time—the past fifteen years, for that matter. I've never seen anything quite like it," Morena said. "Bitterly disappointing. She has not used her powers, barely scraped their surface. Worse, she is ashamed of her magic."

Morena's condemnation was met with murmurings of agreement from many of the jury. But Belle's defences shot up simultaneously.

"With respect, if I'd known I was being watched by a jury of high wicchefolk, I might have done things a little differently."

It stung to acknowledge the memories that had been played out so publicly. This coven's apparent determination to flay the deepest, most vulnerable parts of a person made her feel queasy.

"But these are choices that I've made along the way, whether I like it or not. Nothing about my life looks how I thought it would when I was fifteen years old, holding fresh magic. Thinking about the space between the two, between her and me, then and now, feels like standing on the doorstep like my grandparents used to and waving off endless versions of myself. The ones you planned to be as they leave and disappear off into the distance."

She pressed a hand to the base of her neck, trying to cool her flushing skin. The brooch brushed her arm, and she blamed the intensity of her emotions when she could have sworn she felt a rush from it, what felt like a whisper, a touch to her shoulder. Keep going.

She could hear that she was already rambling, getting defensive and brittle. But she didn't care. Belle saw Morena's mouth move to respond with venom, but Bronwyn quickly clapped her around the arm before she had the chance.

"Trying to be a vaguely normal person in the non-wicche world, who can just about function enough to get the washing done and pass a performance review while also having all of this terrifying, overwhelming potential at your fingertips? Who can navigate that well? You know it's there, but you're terrified of what it could mean for you, where it might take your life, how much it would hurt to fail. So it's easier to forget it, fall back to what feels easier and what you've always done before."

She could feel herself careering with speed sharply away from the point, whatever the point was. The point was somewhere far behind in the rearview mirror. She sighed in surrender.

"Somewhere, I don't know where, the magic slipped. And for a moment, I was ready to accept that the manifests and all of the wrong turns that I've made were the sum of who I am, but that's not true. I am worthy of this power. I know my potential. Maybe I've neglected it for a long time now, but it's still there. It has to be. If you could just give it time. I'll show you."

She turned to the jury directly.

"I go through life constantly feeling like the moment right after lightning strikes but before the thunder hits, when you aren't sure if it will even come or how loud it will be when it does. It's all stored up so tightly and loudly in here, pressure and promise."

Belle took a moment to steady herself.

"But the prospect of losing my magic is infinitely more awful than trying to use it to its fullest and failing. My mum always says that perfection stops progress, and she's right."

Belle choked on something between a sob and a hiccup, and blew out a breath to stop herself.

"At least I will have tried this time. For the first time in a long time. I need to learn how to let myself do it all, do everything and not be scared of letting myself down or being too much, not be scared of failing and falling behind. I want magic to lead my way again.

"Okay. That's all I have to say." Belle bowed her head low and exhaled long and loud. She sank slowly back down into her seat but then shot back up again.

"Oh. Except also, let's be honest, the first of those manifests were good. You know they were good. They were great, actually, when I had time to dedicate to it. And that girl is still inside me. It's just that life got in my way. Being a grown-up is relentless, exhausting and is not conducive to wonderful magic, but I need to work on that and figure out how the two can live together. Okay, that ' s all."

She sat down, then stood back up a third time.

"Also, I would argue that we have a bad enough history with trials as it is, so maybe this shouldn't be the way that things work anymore. The last time you saw me, I was wearing a T-shirt with a tie printed on it, for god's sake…Just give me one more chance. Please."

Now it was over. Surrendering to the inevitable, she finally burst into tears. The uncontrollable kind. She could hear her own sobs noisy against the still courtroom, a cruel echo slapping her around the face. But she didn't care now. There was nothing left to lose.

A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder. "Come, dear. Perhaps a cup of tea to calm us all down. I'm sure we can find some kind of compromise, there'll be something in the grimoire that…"

"Actually, I do not believe we can find compromise ."

The jury froze, as did Belle.

Morena stepped down from the podium with purpose and slammed her hands onto the wooden pews in front of the jury. A warlock in the front row with a twiddled moustache visibly jumped in his seat.

"Not only is it clear as solstice morning light that this jury has already reached its verdict and that you, Bronwyn, and you, Ms.Blackthorn, are actively defying Selcouth's deciding word"—Morena gestured to the rows of magic folk who were each showing varying measures of agreement, disagreement and exasperation—"but it seems to me that you are also suggesting that we allow this witch, seemingly incapable of the most base-level spells, to—"

"That seems a bit—" Belle went to interrupt the rant, but Morena lifted a firm hand to silence her. Nothing would stop her.

"—let me check my notes. Ah, yes, break all structures and traditions that this historic coven has upheld since the beginning of magic itself. The very foundations that Selcouth is built upon: the importance of upholding worthy magic and not letting it rot within people who insist on wasting their own wonder. Did I miss anything? Or am I to believe this is the legitimate direction in which you are steering this trial, sister?"

She patted at the elegant victory curl under her hat, which had begun to fall looser as her rage grew.

"Hear! Hear!" A few indignant murmurs from the jury members who were clearly on Morena's side rumbled behind the Gowden sisters.

"Mor," Bronwyn responded calmly and turned to speak to the room. "Dear sister and dear jury alike, I am only speculating that perhaps an alternative approach, a…loophole! That's the divil's onion. A loophole. I am certain that a loophole—"

"I won't stand for it! I told you, Bronwyn."

"But Mor—"

"Enough." Caspar, like most others in the room, looked like he had lost the will to live.

The coven balancer raised his palms to bring a hush to the debate and took charge of the room with ease. Belle couldn't help but watch Morena, who was glaring at Bronwyn. The sisters were locked in silent battle. Morena parted her lips but closed them when Caspar gave her a look that dared her to try.

"In all my years with this coven, I have not witnessed a debate as divisive as this—perhaps it has never been. The energy in this courtroom is frankly fraught. As balancer, I am bringing this hearing to a close to reset the energy within Hecate House as a matter of urgency. And I will hear not another word on the subject."

A moment of quiet passed, no one quite knowing how to respond. It was Morena who broke it.

"So, what happens to her magic?"

Bronwyn gathered her long skirts and remounted the podium, the mouse in her pocket emerging to her shoulder as though sensing the importance of her next words. "I will personally consult the grimoire over tonight's moon and see to it that we find a solution. Belle may return home with her magic intact until then."

Morena interjected, sharp and shrill. "But—"

"We are unprepared for this. My decision is final," Bronwyn said, uncharacteristically solemn. She spoke to Morena directly. It was as though they had forgotten anyone else was present in the room, the tension between them so palpable that it didn't seem entirely impossible that the air itself would burst into flames.

Morena shot Belle a venomous look, fists balled at her sides. "You don't know what you've done."

Before Belle could bite back, ask why exactly she'd decided to loathe her from the second they had met, before she could even straighten her hat, Morena turned on her heel and crossed the courtroom, the cascading ripple of her cloak trailing behind her.

She ascended the podium, Bronwyn cried out "Mor, wait!" and Morena banged the wooden gavel down with livid force.

BELLE BLINKED AND opened her eyes to her own front door. A wink of creamy light from the evening street lamps outside illuminated the little glass panes and brass letterbox.

Had she lost the plot? Maybe that sushi yesterday at lunchtime hadn't been right. Or was it a fever dream? Had too much caffeine finally knocked her over the edge into insanity? Knees buckling, she fell with a thud against the front door. Her coven hat was still on top of her head, her cloak still fastened at the collarbone. Then, hurrying to snatch the former and push it deep into her backpack, struggling with the clasp of the latter before one of the neighbours came out to find her in full witch attire, Belle noticed the dark ink stains on the lap of her dress.

It did happen, as disconnected as it felt, like a dream she was scrabbling to recall. The furious bang of the gavel had transferred her back home in less than an instant. She'd barely felt her feet lift from the floor of Hecate House.

"Coming, two seconds, sorry, hang on! Don't take any packages!"

Belle's clumsy crash against the door must have sounded like a knock. She heard Ariadne shouting and footsteps as she dashed to answer the front door.

"Oh jeez. Stop, Jinx…" Ari peeled back the door to their home, using a carefully placed ankle to keep the cat from sprinting out. They had skipped the small detail of Jinx from their landlord's contract several years ago and were skilled in the art of hiding their illegal flatmate.

"Belle! Thank god! Where the hell have you been?" Ari hissed through the crack in the door. "I've been trying to reach you literally all day. I thought you'd—Jinx, will you please hold on a second?"

While Ari was temporarily distracted by four nimble paws, Belle seized the opportunity to stuff the point of her hat as far down into her bag as possible before stumbling across the threshold and into their flat.

"Ari, I'm sorry, so sorry. It's been…a day."

"Oh, I'm gonna need more than that," she said crossly. "Monica and Jim said you hadn't been at the shop, pretty sure they now think I'm crazy, so I know you were lying about that. And your mum chatted my ear off for half an hour about her trip to Isle of Skye, so that was helpful."

"To be fair, that one is not my fault. That's what you get for ringing my mum." Belle sighed. She slumped down immediately, falling face-first into the familiar hug of the sofa.

As she nestled into the lumpy cushions, she already felt a little better. Ari always had the heating on. The candles were lit across the hearth. The fireplace was stuffed with bundles of fairy lights. A repeat of their favourite sitcom played quietly on the television. It felt familiar and right, after the longest day of everything being distinctly, extremely wrong.

"I thought you'd been abducted and shipped off and trafficked and brutally murdered and held prisoner and thrown into a canal, or something. I was ready to fight. I thought I was gonna have to be one of those people on the news holding up some bloody photo of you on the telly, which would make you die of shame anyway, even if you hadn't already been murdered."

Belle stretched her arms out wide as Ari stood over her with a maddened look. She rolled her eyes dramatically and reluctantly dove into the hug, flopping on top of her friend with merciless brute force. When Belle surrendered, insisting that she couldn't breathe, they sat side by side under a blanket instead.

"Thank you for worrying that I was dead, and thank you for preparing to avenge my demise. I had to go and…see someone about…something. I'm fine."

"Ahh, someone about something." Ari nodded, giving a sarcastic thumbs-up.

"Honestly, it's nothing. Well, it is something; otherwise, I wouldn't have disappeared for the day and missed my birthday plans, but…Ari, I wish I could tell you. You know that I would if I possibly could. And I will, at some point. It's just that right now, I can't."

Belle cringed at her own lack of explanation. Ari was even less impressed, her right eyebrow sitting at such a dramatic, stabbing angle that it could have been used as a weapon.

"Are you embroiled in a deadly drug war?"

"No drugs."

"Living a double life with a millionaire businessman?"

"No such luck."

"So, what, then?"

Belle grabbed at easy solutions, like she always did. "It's…an NDA thing. At work. Contracts and agreements and secret publisher meetings, you know. And I won't go back to prison again, Ari, they can't make me!"

She grabbed Ari by her shirt and pretended to shake her. In honesty, the part about contracts and agreements and secret meetings wasn't not the truth. And the joke worked. Ari snorted a laugh and seemed to have already lost interest in the questioning.

"Fine. Want some birthday toast?"

"My love language. Two pieces, please." Belle raised her hands in grateful prayer, suddenly realising that her stomach felt like it was eating itself. "When I tell you I am beyond starving…Is there any picnic food left?"

"Over there. Help yourself, but all the booze is gone. The pavlova met a terrible fate in the park involving someone's Jack Russell. At least he enjoyed your birthday."

Belle padded over to the kitchen. She began rummaging in the Tupperware from the birthday picnic that had happened without her. A pair of sausage rolls were practically inhaled.

"Belle. I am serious, you know." Ariadne spun on the spot to face her friend, chewing on a piece of toast. "What is going on with you? You haven't been yourself for days, but now you're a no-show at your own birthday plans. You lie to me about needing to work. Whatever it is, it's only the ‘not telling me' part which makes you an arse by default. I can read you like a book. Something's up, I know it. And we do not keep secrets. That's always been the rule."

She brandished the toast in Belle's direction threateningly.

"Besides, you always explode with stress eventually, so we might as well get that out of the way and arrive more quickly to the part where we fix everything together."

Belle picked at the pastry on a third sausage roll, avoiding eye contact, feeling the temptation to spill everything once and for all.

Ari rolled her eyes and gesticulated with toast dramatically at Belle's lack of response. A moment later, she spun back around on the spot as an epiphany crossed her mind. "This is about a man, isn't it?"

"What?" Belle laughed, looking at her friend like she was mad.

"You're seeing someone. A man."

That wasn't entirely wrong. She had seen many men today. Warlocks, but still. It wasn't quite lying to say that this whole mess at least involved a man. Because it did. Technically.

"Yes." Belle threw up her hands in defeat. "A man. It is a man. I am seeing a man." She gratefully clung to the lie like a life raft, a compromise solution to the questioning. From past experience, she knew that Ariadne wouldn't rest until she got an answer that made sense, and this would have to do.

"And I couldn't come to the picnic today because I was…sorting some things out with him. Making arrangements with him. The man. It's complicated. With the man," she added quickly.

"That goes without saying, when is it ever not complicated with you?" Ari scoffed, generously buttering yet another round of toast. "Is he treating you badly? I'll fight him."

"We just needed to talk today, to…make sure we're on the same page." Belle carefully navigated the hairline cracks she'd visited so often, wobbling between truth-telling and lie-avoiding. She scuffed her socks against the kickboards.

"Is he not a good communicator? Don't go down that road again, no more emotionally unavailable losers for your collection. Or is this about your birthday? Don't let thirty stress you. I keep telling you, it's not a big deal. Don't rush into anything."

"I know what I'm doing…I think."

"All I'm saying is, if it's this complicated this early on, then it's not going to end well. It sounds like he's taking you for granted, whoever he is. I hate him already." Ariadne shrugged and finished off her last bite, brushing crumby fingers across the butt of her jeans. "What's he like, then, this mystery man?"

Belle cringed. "Different. Magical?"

Ariadne cackled at high volume. "Excuse me while I vomit."

Belle couldn't help but laugh, too. Looking at her friend, familiarity and security personified, filled her heart. But it also brought back the nipping memory of the voice she'd heard in the Hecate House tunnels.

How could you lie to me? Do you hate me that much? Do you not trust me? We're supposed to be friends. Best friends.

Belle swallowed hard. "Ari?"

"Yup?"

"Sorry for lying. I should have told you. I would always choose you."

Ari gave her a half-smile. "Get some sleep, you look knackered. See you in the morning."

Heading into her room with a piece of toast in hand, Belle called goodnight back to the kitchen. Bed would solve all of her problems. Pushing the door closed with her hip, Belle vanished her contact lenses with a flourish and pointed towards her glasses resting on the side table. They glided through the air and came to rest on her nose, a trail of delicate sparks in a kite tail. She gave a sigh of instant relief, dead on her feet. She summoned her last ounce of energy to kick off her boots, circling her finger to unlace them magically—lazy but necessary. Finally, today called for her cosiest pyjamas, the soft tartan slipping itself over her arms and neatly buttoning up with a whirl of sparks.

She pressed her forehead against her bedroom window and exhaled, feeling the cold touch of wet condensation cool on her skin. Her breath fogged the glass as she looked down at the road below. The path was covered with a carpet of soggy scarlet leaves, turning soft like stewed apples in the drizzle. The autumn sun had long retreated into slumber for another evening, but the streetlights wavered like birthday candles behind the beaded raindrops on the glass, their pockets of gold breathing a lullaby over the street. Home.

That was it. Her thirtieth birthday over, certainly not one to be forgotten.

And now she had to wait for fate to find her.