Chapter 11 Safely Near the Dead

11

Safely Near the Dead

THE MEMORY OF the trial paired with the dread of what was still to be decided had Belle a nervous wreck the following day. Even the usual peace and comfort of Lunar Books fell short, failing to measure up to the size of her worries. She couldn't focus, her attention unravelling at any given moment. Pushing the loaded brass trolley towards the Sci-Fi and Fantasy section, Belle tried to console herself with the knowledge that at least somebody inside Hecate House was on her side. Bronwyn would be doing what she could to find an answer, seemingly set on making sure that the coven saw her again, thanks to whatever it was she saw in Belle. There was Caspar, too, who had expressed a fondness for her and her mother; that surely counted for something. She wondered idly if Rune might even be lending them a hand, then, blushing, dismissed the thought as unlikely. He would probably see little point in that without her being there to mock mercilessly with that infuriating side smile of his.

She loaded herself up with a stack of particularly dense hardbacks that were flying off the shelves ahead of Halloween, something about feral werewolves and a team of ladies who knew how to tame them. She struggled under the weight, balancing them beneath her chin as she manoeuvred them one at a time onto the display, but it felt good to be doing the usual after the most unusual of birthdays. At least Lunar existed, her bubble of contentment, wrapped in a cosy blanketing quiet that separated her two worlds and the two realms definitively.

"Hello, lovey." Bronwyn appeared behind the stack of hardbacks as if from nowhere. "Appeared" being the operative word, and almost certainly from nowhere, too.

Belle was so surprised to see her—her high sage witch—in her bookshop, her distinctly non-wicche-realm-residing bookshop, that she leapt into the air, and her hands flew to her mouth, sending the remaining books in her arms to the floor with a crash. Heads spun in their direction as Belle stood motionless, all thoughts instantly draining from her brain. Bronwyn didn't seem to notice that her arrival had caused mild chaos.

"What a lovely spot you have here! And I sensed the beautiful little incantations you've set up around the place, you should have told us all about them yesterday, you silly goose!" Bronwyn wagged her finger at Belle, who was fairly sure her heart had stopped the second the witch cried the word "incantations" in close proximity to customers.

"Ha. Ha. Right, Mrs.Gowden. You're talking about that…that fantasy book I recommended last week? I knew you'd love it. Ha." Belle spoke exaggeratedly and pointedly, hoping to hook an understanding Bronwyn. No such luck.

"Fantasy? Grizzled goatweed, not likely. They never get the magic theory right, they always overcomplicate things. More of a romance girly myself, Belle, the more swoon-worthy the better."

Belle clutched at where her heart used to be, trailing behind Bronwyn, who remained entirely oblivious as she wandered through Lunar Books.

"Oh, but of course today is official coven business," the sage witch continued, as she examined the pair of cat ears and bin bag cape that Belle had draped around a cardboard cut-out in the children's section. "The fate of your magic and the like. Though remind me to share with you the neat little charm I have for permanently plumped cushions. Some of the armchairs in here do look a bit sad, and you'd really—"

With that, Belle threw an arm over Bronwyn's shoulders and guided her with speed and precision towards the front door. She hastily untied her apron and threw it down onto the desk towards a baffled Monica as she passed. "That's break for me, Mon. I'll be back. Hold the fort."

Belle ushered Bronwyn out of the shop, under the tinkle of the doorbell and around the corner onto a quiet cobbled street in an impressive matter of seconds.

"What is it, deary? You look as though you've seen a ghost, and I have it on good authority that they're largely at peace in this borough of London, at least until Halloween, and then there's no stopping—"

"Bronwyn. Hi." Belle stared at her sage witch, incredulous.

"Hello, Belle. It's wonderful to see you again," Bronwyn said gleefully, scrunching up her nose with a chuckle. "And this is all rather exciting, isn't it? I don't much consider myself a city slicker, but here I am, adventuring to the other end of London! Oh, poppet, you look dreadful. I bet you've been worrying yourself ill over all this EquiWitch business, haven't you?"

"Something like that," Belle muttered. "How about we go and find a cup of tea rather than standing out here in the cold?"

Belle guided Bronwyn the few streets down to Jitter Bug, the coffee shop below her and Ariadne's flat. The girls were such consistent regulars that Mr.Ricci came straight over to deliver coffee without so much as a glance. It took him a moment to realise that Belle had taken the crimson leather booth not with Ariadne but with an old woman in what seemed to be a witch's costume. He paused for a moment, his walrus moustache bristling in confusion.

"Thanks, Mr.Ricci. This is…This is my…"

"I'm Bronwyn, lovey. I'm Belle's coven leader."

He stayed motionless for a second. "?'Course you are," he grunted before tossing his dish-rag over his shoulder and heading back to the counter.

"Tea for me, please, my good sir. And crumpets, if you've got any. If not, I'll conjure my own," Bronwyn called after him.

Belle's head fell into her hands. "Bronwyn, what are you doing here? I really wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon, let alone see you. Here. In the non-wicche realm. Asking for crumpets…"

"I have news. Good news. Or interesting news, at least."

Before Belle could stop her, Bronwyn directed a stream of sparks from her palm to the silver metal tabletop, and an enormous book materialised between them, sending the sugar dispenser flying. Gasping in horror at the flagrant display of magic for all to see, Belle frantically grabbed two menus from a neighbouring table and flung them up around the book like a protective wall. Luckily, only a child tucking into a stack of blueberry pancakes seemed to have noticed, mouth agape mid-bite until his mother told him to stop staring.

"Bronwyn, please," Belle reminded her desperately.

"Sorry, poppet," she said with a dismissive chuckle. "Rune did warn me that you're a non-wicche for all intents and purposes around these parts. The moment your trial came to an end, I started searching the grimoire like a madwoman. Dotty as a box of frogs, I was, hunting for something we can use to our advantage…"

With great difficulty, she eased open the thick cover of the book that took up most of the table and emitted a chalky cough of dust as the pages were turned.

"If one needs answers…Now, where the blasted heck did I…" she muttered to herself.

"But Bronwyn, I thought the EquiWitch rules were about as certain as it gets. They've been written into coven history for generations. Otherwise, what was the point in the trial at all?"

"Life is for loopholes, dear." Bronwyn gave her a wink. "This thing has never steered me wrong, in all my years leading this coven, and I knew your predicament would be no different. When you get to be this old, lovey, you know that there is always another turn to take. It's never a dead end."

"Well, Morena wants to have me burnt at the stake."

"Oh, pay her no mind." Bronwyn batted away the subject of her sister. "She was born on the wrong side of the bed and has never since managed to find the right one. I'll have her to answer to, but the divil to her. She doesn't know what's best for the future of the coven."

Belle chewed nervously at a cuticle as Bronwyn examined the book with squinted eyes, licking a finger now and then to pass through the pages at speed.

"Is this the coven's first grimoire?" Belle asked curiously.

Bronwyn nodded. "The original. High sages have added to it and contributed their wisdom to Selcouth lore since the day it was first created."

"Have you and Morena added things to it?"

"Of course. We're not just a pair of pretty faces. Morena certainly isn't."

"So you can just change the rules of magic? If it can be edited and added to over the years, I mean."

"Yes and no. Got a bit of a mind of its own, this thing, by way of complex, historical enchantments. Legend goes that the pages of the Selcouth grimoire will accept contributions written in raven black ink that are valuable and true magic lessons to benefit the coven. The grimoire itself decides what can remain within its pages as coven lore, some form of twisted, ancient sorcery that even I don't fully understand, love. Everything in here is valuable and necessary."

"And the one I have at home?" Belle asked, curious. "The copy that's presented when a coven member is given their magic, I mean. It's the same version?"

"It's an abridged almanac that everyone is given, but yes. Yours will update itself when this big old lump decides a new lesson is worthy. Doesn't happen often, mind. Plenty of our suggestions have been rejected over the years. The rest of you have the handy pocket-sized version."

Belle thought back to her own grimoire, which would require the world's largest pocket to be transportable anywhere.

"Sort of a witch's bread and butter," Bronwyn added.

Mr.Ricci reappeared with a giant mug of milky tea and two plates of crumpets glazed with burnished blackberry jam. He delivered the order unceremoniously and gave a side-eye to the giant book that Belle's menus were attempting to disguise.

"I won't ask," he grunted in his endearingly strong accent, and promptly walked away.

Belle gave him an apologetic and grateful half-smile.

The pages of the grimoire were chaotic, dirty and well thumbed, folded every which way. Not all of them were even attached to the spine anymore, and all were filled with notes, quick jottings, thoughts of witches past, all tied together through time. The edges of the binding were frayed, the golden embossing long worn away and chipped into shards on the cover. The words on the original pages were intricately inked in dark, detailed calligraphy barely decipherable to a modern reader. Belle wondered whether it was even a known language. The margins were richly coloured with jewel-shaded borders, side by side with sketched illustrations that reminded Belle of da Vinci's anatomical studies, eerie but beautiful still.

"Surely the grimoire is just going to tell us what we already know about my disaster of a trial. I might as well have come into my EquiWitch with a rabbit in a hat and done ‘Izzy whizzy, let's get busy.'?"

"Izzy who, love? Oh, cursed capers, where is it?"

Bronwyn was barely listening, lost in deciphering the mess of helter-skelter scrawls and loose leaves of papers, hunting for something in particular. Belle dropped her crumpet when her sage let out a sudden shriek.

"Good gladioli and graveyards! The divil dance on it. I knew I hadn't imagined it. I told you! I knew I'd seen something…Look, Belle, look. Ha ha, ho ho, hee hee!" The high witch sprang to her feet and did a little jig from one foot to the other.

Belle lunged over the table for the scratchy lace of ink that Bronwyn was, for some reason, so thrilled to have discovered. In tiny writing, barely legible and scrawled into the margins like a footnote, was a passage that must have been somebody's afterthought. A rushed addition, but written down in raven black ink and evidently accepted by the omnipotent book.

In the extraordinary circumstance that a jury stands divided on the outcome of an EquiWitch trial, the wicchefolk in favour of preserving the membership may put forth a suitable and unbiased mentor from the venerable archives guarded within Hecate House, if said trial should fall in the hallowed month of Winterfylleth (October).

For the duration of the month until Halloween falls, this figure may ready their student to complete six challenges, created by the esteemed coven grimoire for recompense. All six challenges, reflecting the fundamental branches of magic, must be completed to the grimoire's satisfaction. Adequate success in each branch shall be indicated to student and mentor when the paired allegory within the grimoire lights to an amber glow. A second hearing shall be held and a final verdict given on the night of All Hallows' Eve to decide whether the subject shall retain their neglected or maltreated magical abilities.

Refer to Hecate House Ossuary for the available guardian archive.

The two witches looked at each other, one in confusion and one in unmistakable triumph.

"There's always an answer to every problem," Bronwyn murmured quietly, a glint in her eye.

"A mentor for October? Until Halloween?" Belle turned, wide-eyed. "That's…Well, that's actually perfect. Can it be you? I would love if it could be you. Or at least, please can it not be Morena?"

Bronwyn chuckled as she closed the book, leaning on it with her elbows and lacing her fingers together. "As much as I would love to be your teacher, I cannot. As coven sage, my position holds too much influence to be considered unbiased. Fortunately, the same does also go for Morena."

She reached out to Belle and gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

"In fact, we may find this tricky," she added thoughtfully. "Any coven member present at your trial has to be ruled out. They saw your manifests and will have already formed opinions. Your mother, of course, also cannot be rightfully unbiased. That leaves us with anyone who may have been absent, ill or otherwise engaged."

Belle chewed at the inside of her cheek as Bronwyn rattled through her thoughts out loud.

"But we'll have a little look-see at the register. The courtroom was rather full yesterday. But maybe someone's got the runs or at least the sniffles. There's bound to be some wonderful wicche name who we can call upon. Let's see, with this loophole in mind, we have twenty-nine moons remaining for a mentorship…Of course, this will require you to return with me to Hecate House."

Belle frowned, then jumped up from her seat. "Give me five minutes to check that Monica can cover for me. Stay here, have some more tea. Please, do not do any more magic. And please , do not drink the Jitter Bug espresso, it's enough to wire a normal person for a week, so I'm unsure what it would do to…well, to a woman like yourself."

TEN MINUTES LATER, the floor disappeared from under Belle's boots, dropping out from beneath her like a trapdoor, and a forceful feeling encased her whole body, like being whipped up inside a vacuum cleaner.

Bronwyn had transferred them both in an instant to what seemed to be her own space within Hecate House. While Caspar's office had the opulent feeling of classic luxury and professional academia, the sage witch's looked remarkably like a living room: terracotta textured wallpaper with stencilled grapes along the border, chintz floral armchairs in bold apricot-and-green patterns, and chunky wooden shelving adorned with magic memorabilia, including several plastic pumpkins, even more plush ones with happy little faces and small ceramic ghosts.

Bronwyn's office also played host to an extensive collection of Clairvoyancy tools, the array of equipment and paraphernalia revealing her specialism. Scrying mirrors in various gilded frames on every surface, crystal balls of all sizes, corked bottles stuffed with shards of pastel-coloured crystals and dustings of herbs. The room felt chaotic but cosy in its clutter. A patterned rug was placed underneath a table bearing a brightly filled fruit bowl. The mouse that had perched happily in Bronwyn's pocket hopped down from its home in her cloak and began nibbling contentedly on the side of a peach.

"There, now. Turns out you're a good companion for a swift transference spell, too. Staying calm under magical transference isn't easy. Although you do look a bit green."

"Calm? I've been about as calm as a cat getting in the bath. I feel insane." Belle wiped her nose in a slightly feral fashion, eyes streaming from the force of the spell.

"Yes, a visit to Hecate House can have that effect on you on a good day."

"Could someone not have collected me like this yesterday?" Belle asked, dusting down her jeans. With Belle remembering Morena's threats of house hexes for incorrect attire, Bronwyn had just about granted her the time to summon her cloak and hat. "Just to avoid the little trip to hell and back?"

"We're not a taxi service, Belle. And anyway, it's—"

"Tradition. Right."

Bronwyn scurried to her shelves, struggling under the weight of the grimoire, and reached on her tiny legs to wedge it back in between a set of glow-in-the-dark plastic fangs still in their packaging and a pop-up vampire which gave an electronic laugh as she approached.

A pointed cough came from the entryway. "Pardon me for breaking up the party." Morena had transferred. She brushed down her tailored trousers after announcing herself, then stormed farther into the room with a flourish of her cloak and hands on her hips. "I trust you have a suitable explanation for your sudden disappearing act this morning, Bronwyn." A vicious look was fired in Belle's direction.

"Don't you know that nothing keeps an audience on their toes quite like a disappearing act, sister? For my next trick, I shall be sawing Ms.Blackthorn in half within a wooden box."

"I would take great pleasure in completing that task myself, sister."

The Gowden sisters glared at each other, frozen in an unspoken staring contest. Reluctantly breaking eye contact, Bronwyn turned back to Belle.

"Please excuse us for one moment, dear. Step out, take a breather. I'd better fill Morena in on our lucky findings. I'm sure she'll be as thrilled as we are that there's a perfectly legitimate loophole for us to take a chance on."

With a nod and an awkward smile at Morena, who, unsurprisingly, did not return the favour, Belle excused herself from the office, grateful to not have to play witness.

The door led back to the main atrium of Hecate House, with its twelve possible entries and the astounding ceiling that flickered with its canopy of magic. Bronwyn's office lay behind the Gemini door. Two silhouetted witches wearing pointed hats were cast in bronze above—fitting, both for the star sign and for the two Gowden sisters. Belle leaned back against the door with her eyes closed. She could still see the bright flecks of the ceiling crackling behind her eyelids.

A mentor. This was exactly what she needed. She couldn't believe her luck and sent her best vibes of thanks to whichever imaginative, ancient mystic had taken the time to jot down that offhand idea in the margins. Her magic might flourish now, with help from someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who knew better, who could show her the way that she was meant to go.

She almost toppled backwards as the door swung open without warning. Morena, radiating palpable fury, shoved past her without a backward glance. She crossed over the tiled moon and stars, cloak cascading behind her like a bird in flight, before disappearing through the eleventh door underneath a giant brass scorpion. Also rather fitting—sharp pincers, a sting in the tail.

Belle peered her head back around and saw Bronwyn staring straight into her fireplace. Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides, a fury of magic crackling across her knuckles. Belle cleared her throat, and the elder witch immediately released the angry tension, dropping her shoulders and smoothing her expression.

"Wonderful, wonderful! It's all settled, Belle."

Belle suspected that, in fact, nothing had been all settled or wonderful and that Bronwyn had merely refused to lose the argument.

"My sister has gone to share the developments and make necessary arrangements with those who need to know. So without further ado, we shall get to choosing you a suitable…well, a suitable suitor."

Belle hesitated. "I really am sorry to have upset Morena so much. I don't seem to have started out on a good note with her at all, and I'm not entirely sure why she—"

"Don't take it personally, lovey," Bronwyn interrupted. "There is no good note with my sister. Only flat ones, caterwauls and hideous violin noises."

Belle dared to let the tiniest ounce of hope take seed in her mind, that maybe this could and would be resolved soon. All was not lost.

Bronwyn was refastening her cloak and adjusting her hat as though preparing to leave. Belle took it as an invitation to follow suit.

"The grimoire said we should refer to the Hecate House glossary for the archive. How do we find that?"

"Not ‘glossary,' dear. Ossuary."

"Pardon?"

"It's where we keep the bones," Bronwyn replied.

Belle choked. "Bones?"

"Yes, love. Bones. Of the coven members who've passed on," she said airily, as though explaining where the bread was kept in the kitchen. Sensing Belle's horror, she added, "Oh, don't look so aghast, you ninny. Renting space in London doesn't come cheap, as I'm sure you know all too well. The above-ground cemetery is well out of our budget, even as supernatural beings. Having the coven ossuary means we can give our wicche family a final resting place together within Hecate House, if they so choose. It's not unusual for members to be cast out of their families, for friends to turn their backs when truths are revealed, for lovers to decide it's all too much. This place becomes both their home and comfort when nothing else remains."

"Home sweet Hecate House."

"Quite. It's not obligatory, nor as frightening as it sounds—particularly when you remember that half of this blasted city is built on top of plague pits, anyway."

"And if you've got something precious that you want to keep hidden from prying eyes, like an archival register of coven members' names and locations…" Belle started to fill in the blanks.

"Which could cause revolutionary chaos in the wrong hands," Bronwyn nodded knowingly. "Then you keep it safely near the dead. They tend to be the best at keeping secrets. People who are alive get too spooked to go poking around."

"Right. So, where is this ossuary?"

"The library, of course. Anything of importance is always in the library, dear."