Chapter 13 Cauldron of Fire

13

Cauldron of Fire

"WHAT I AM about to tell you is widely known but rarely discussed."

Back in her office, Bronwyn leaned towards Belle in the armchair opposite, the mouse in her pocket hopping up to her shoulder and burying itself in her wiry hair.

"It is a story which has brought great shame to this coven for many years. It is the ink-blot on our proud history, and there are many folk around here"—Bronwyn gestured to the door—"who would not approve of me passing on this tale to you. Selcouth tries to forget it ever happened, but there's no scorning history. And I would never leave you to make any decision like this without having all of the facts presented to you, dear. The truth always outs in this coven."

"I appreciate that," Belle said. The cold of the ossuary had chilled her, and she inhaled the sweet scent of honey gratefully as she sipped her tea. "But how bad can he be?"

"Artorius Day is a villain. A warlock with blood on his hands."

Belle choked on scalding hot tea. "Bad, then."

"The blood of a respected, much-loved high warlock of this coven, no less. Selcouth can forgive many things. But it cannot forgive magic with evil at its heart."

A BOY, SMALL for his age at fifteen years old, stood between a cauldron bigger than him and an older brother even bigger again. Savaric had grown to over six feet tall, and the boy had concluded the only logical explanation was that he was secretly part giant. Maybe an unknown uncle or a grandfather somewhere up the family tree. More than a decade younger than Savaric and constantly overshadowed by his impressive magical achievements, the boy struggled to walk the tightrope between envy and admiration towards his older brother. By the minute, it changed from one to the other—hatred, then adoration. Adoration. Hatred.

"Sav, look, look. It's turning, it's turning!"

With brown eyes and ears that he still hoped to grow into, the boy leaned over and gazed in awe at a complex, rich potion that had been steeping for the last seven days straight. The brothers had checked on it fastidiously since their work began, waking up through the night with the changing patterns of the moon risings. They had monitored its progress with unwavering determination to ensure their creation was developing exactly as planned.

"Artorius, calm down. Don't get your face too close. Mother will kill me if it does any damage to you."

Savaric dashed over to his side and plunged a rusty ladle deep into the concoction. He dragged it through the sludgy mix in laborious clockwise motions.

"This stuff will be bubbling any minute now, and you don't want to see what happens if it touches any part of your skin. Scales wouldn't be a handsome look on you, lad."

Artorius scoffed, frantic and over-excited. "Is it time? Can you try it? Oh, go on, just a sip. Let's see what happens, Sav. You're being an awful bore."

Artorius's grip was so tight that it tipped the cauldron at an angle, sending a splash down to their feet. The boys yelled and leapt backwards simultaneously, narrowly avoiding it.

"Careful! Patience, little brother. Any warlock worth his salt knows that you cannot rush good magic, idiot." Savaric grinned smugly and ruffled his sibling's sandy hair.

Artorius scowled up in his patronising direction. He hated being called "idiot," "stupid," "fool"…But the worst was "little brother." He was a warlock now. The coven said it was so, officially, because his powers had finally been instated last month for his fifteenth birthday. One day, he'd be thought of as the man of the family and would fire insults back at Sav with relish.

"First light tomorrow," Savaric reassured him, not realising that his gentle tone was grating on Artorius's last nerve. Both brothers peered down with almost identical freckled faces, one with the faintest etching of worry lines, preparing himself to take on responsibilities that he wasn't sure he was ready for. In a matter of weeks, on his thirtieth orbital completion, Savaric would step into the role that his father had left waiting for him and become high sage of Selcouth. The idea terrified and thrilled him, although he'd never admit the former to anybody. Not even to his younger brother, who was his closest ally despite their constant bickering.

The liquid in the huge pot simmered and smoked as though it could come alive. The colour of a sunset melting from daytime into night, the potion was blending from a peachy shade of inviting orange into a much darker blood-like hue. As Savaric had anticipated, an enormous bubble suddenly filled out like a creature surrendering a deep breath underneath the surface. It popped with a slow, gelatinous splash.

"Oh, go on, Sav. Do we have to wait another night? How much more can it possibly steep?"

"I've told you a million times that there is no nobler branch of magic than Alchemy, it's patience and artistry combined. Real magic comes in the study, the art, the patience of waiting for it to knit together properly."

Artorius sighed as he heard the snobbish resolution in his older brother's voice. "Fine, fine."

Savaric rolled his eyes, then hesitated. "I suppose a small extra sprinkling of spearmint wouldn't do too much harm. Some extra fire for this one, little brother? Let's make sure we put on a show for Selcouth."

The younger boy punched the air, thrilled that Savaric was taking a rare risk for their secret project. Sav had had no choice but to share his plan when Artorius stumbled across him brewing up a literal storm in the dilapidated barn, the smoke already choking as it leaked out under the doorway.

His plan to perform the most complex and impressive of magic to mark the beginning of his coven leadership began when Sav discovered the spell stored away in his father's grimoire, the original of the coven. Incandesco Caelestis. Wings to span across the sky, impossibly tough scales of iridescent armour, a breath of the wildest fire. Normally a man of level head and sensible shoulders, he could barely contain himself at the idea of dragon transformation for his sage ceremony. It would be the perfect majestic display of power for Selcouth and the promise of unflinching leadership—especially for those who had doubted that he would be able to fill his father's shoes. Savaric had sworn his younger brother to secrecy, allowing him to help and promising a ride on his transformed back in return for keeping the secret. Since learning of the plan, Artorius had spoken of nothing else, and not always quietly.

Savaric crossed the barn and rummaged through the ingredients cabinet. Second shelf, behind the dried dandelions. He pulled out a stoppered jar of shredded spearmint leaves, emptied a little into his palm and passed the offering to his brother. Artorius immediately took one to chew on, then threw the leaves into the potion. It swallowed the sprigs of green into its murky depths.

"Come on, muggins," said Savaric as he loomed over and squeezed his brother's shoulders. "The sooner we sleep, the sooner the spell is ready. It's going to be quite a day tomorrow. We'll both need our strength." Savaric laughed as he pretended to give a boot to the bottom of his young sibling to hurry him out.

Artorius scowled. "Don't do that, Sav! I hate you sometimes."

NIGHT FELL. PARTICULARLY dark, with so many stars overhead that Artorius wondered whether each one had arrived especially to see his brother's sacred show tomorrow. The song thrush had not yet shared its singing, but scuffed shoes appeared at the barn door all the same. Tiptoeing noiselessly across the weathered floor, creeping to the ingredients cabinet filled to burst. Grubby fingers reached inside. Second shelf, behind the dandelions. Spearmint, for extra fire.

The tin of bonfire ash, charred and filthy. The jar of fireflies, beads of flame. The bottle of black salt, earthy, sharp and jagged. A combination of ingredients for an unbridled inferno, gathered and carried with difficulty by young freckled arms to the cauldron. Lids opened and cast aside, each element was thrown into the cauldron unmeasured and unchecked. Almost instantly, the promising layer of bubbles ceased, and instead smoke breathed out from under the surface.

"Let him burn."

Jars and bottles were hurriedly discarded. The latch was closed again. Scuffed shoes scurried like mice back to bed, and then the song thrush began.

"BURNED INSIDE OUT, he was," Bronwyn said. "A potion of pure flame, pure fire, liquid ember and ash created while Savaric slept. Oblivious to the changes, he consumed it that very next day, pulling the stoppered bottle from his cloak pocket as his endarkenment and sage ceremony came to its conclusion. Unaware that Artorius had tampered with it in the night, ignorant of its guarantee of grim death. It killed him without warning in front of the whole coven."

Bronwyn rose to her feet and went to the grimoire. From it, she pulled out two loose leaves of paper, which had been placed between the back pages for safekeeping. One small cutting was torn at the edges, ripped from a newspaper.

MYSTERY FARMHOUSE MURDER

Laverlett Village woke to shock and mourning on Monday when the death of 30-year-old farmhand Savaric Day was confirmed. Day, popular and well-loved amongst locals, is said by devastated family and a sweetheart to have howled in pain and dropped dead before their eyes under most mysterious of circumstances. While Day's body appeared unafflicted to those who witnessed his death, a post-mortem later revealed severe burns throughout Day's inner and skeletal form. Sources tell the Globe that Day's younger brother, Artorius Day, has been missing since the tragic incident occurred. A formal investigation is currently under way by Laverlett police.

Belle felt sick to her core. A boy with murder on his mind, and another meeting a dreadful death. "What happened to Artorius?"

"Nothing, to begin with. He never came to his brother's endarkenment, slipped from the scene, wasn't found again for years. He couldn't be linked to Savaric's death by the police, by the non-wicche community, because how could he have had anything to do with it? A freak accident, they said. Blamed it on ‘internal combustion' in the end, would you believe?" Bronwyn said with air quotes.

Belle sunk back into her chair, reeling. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping every now and again at their cups for unconscious comfort.

"To die like that. And at the hands of a family member, too…" Belle said. "But he was a child, Artorius? Only fifteen, only new to his powers. It had to be an accident. There's no way he could have known it would turn out the way it did."

"No accident, Belle." Bronwyn shook her head regretfully. "When Artorius was eventually found three years after Savaric died, Morena and I had only just found Selcouth ourselves, only just learned the history. He was barely alive, hiding in an abandoned outhouse through a bitter winter. He'd used complex magic to keep the coven from finding him for all that time, remarkably skilled for his age—dangerously so. He confessed immediately to killing his brother. He was brought to Hecate House, and he told the coven outright that he'd committed the murder. Guilty as sin itself."

"But why would he do it? Sure, Savaric wound him up, but to kill him…"

"Who can say? He researched it in their late father's coven grimoire, gathered all of the ingredients that he knew would turn their potion into darkest magic and threw them into the cauldron with one thought: to kill Savaric."

"A boy that young, murder their sibling? It makes no sense."

Bronwyn sniffed, stirred what remained of her tea and clinked the silver spoon against the saucer in deep thought. "For revenge? For jealousy? For power?" she said. "Perhaps it was the only way he'd ever feel powerful, taking something for himself."

"Surely not. For coven rule?"

"Coven rule is a funny thing, Belle. It may seem as though it's neither here nor there as to who takes the sage role. But coven rule in the wrong hands could mean disaster for us, for wicche and non-wicche folk alike. Access to the grimoire, for one. It's powerful stuff."

Belle was silent, her lips a thin line.

"Maybe it was merely to prove something, to others or to himself," Bronwyn continued. "Maybe even for no reason at all, but simply a want to hurt. To be noticed, to be heard."

Belle and Bronwyn locked eyes, the atmosphere tense and thick.

The tiny brown mouse emerged for a moment, eyed up its surroundings and then promptly scurried again into the mass of hair underneath Bronwyn's hat. She stroked its bottom absent-mindedly. "You and I could never understand a mind like that, Belle."

Belle slumped backwards against the swell of the armchair and allowed her shoulders, which had been so tense against her ears throughout the story, to fall with heavy relief.

"I'm sorry to have to share such a story," Bronwyn tutted. "Not in my character, stuff like that. If it were up to me, I'd have lent you the romance that Sybil's got saved for me downstairs." She chuckled and reached out to pat Belle on the knee. "But now you know the truth. And I'm confident that you can make the informed decision that's best for you and you alone. I don't wish to influence you. I understand that you're between a rock and a hard place."

Belle gave her a weak smile in return, remembering only then that Artorius Day was a decision that she had to make and not just a story. She tried to pluck one of the hundreds of questions that were flapping through the front of her mind like birds.

"Where is he now, then? Artorius, I mean. What did the coven do with him when he was found?"

"Non-wicche police couldn't prove a thing, but his confession to the coven was enough. He was kept here at first, in the dungeons beneath Hecate House. Oh, they're not around anymore, my love," Bronwyn added hurriedly, seeing the horror on Belle's face. "Out of action these days, health and safety. We use them to store the hoover and the toilet paper."

She cleared her throat and continued. "After the loss of Savaric, Selcouth was left largely unprotected for a handful of years, and chaos reigned. Various attempts to seize it, stolen magic, coups and breakaway covens. That's when Morena and I stepped in to take the reins as shared sage. It seemed the fairest option, to start all over again. The vote was unanimous. And our decision for Artorius, right or wrong, was that he should be kept close, at least for a time."

She handed Belle the second scrap of paper she'd slipped from between the pages of the grimoire. This one was a photograph. "Taken on the day of his expellation, for coven records."

Belle could barely believe it. Whether it was the act of killing or his time spent in the dungeons, the years since the first photo of Artorius had deeply altered him. Deep shadows pocketed a pale face underneath angled cheekbones, skin stretched taught. A beard clung to his jaw, which had changed shape from boy to broken man. He looked out at Belle through the paper with sunken eyes, lifeless and hopeless, and dark like the bottom of a well.

"Oh…"

"A long stint in Hecate dungeons probably doesn't help matters, but what were we to do? Nothing like this had ever been put upon the coven before. We had to be sure that he wouldn't act again."

As though she couldn't bear to look at it anymore, Bronwyn snatched the photo quickly from Belle's hand and tottered back to the grimoire to put it back within the binding.

"We settled on expellation. Previously unheard of without an EquiWitch trial, but he hadn't yet reached thirty."

Belle's gaze shot up. An unwelcome puzzle piece slotted into place. "Artorius Day was the last to fail his endarkenment before me."

"Yes and no. Technically, he was stripped of his powers before his endarkenment could even arrive."

Belle's brows knitted together. "Would it even be safe for me to work with him?"

"The coven has kept a close eye on him since banishment," Bronwyn explained. "He's in the very same house that he was sent to when his expellation was decided. And, in the man's rather limited defence, he has shown no sign of danger since his confession. We would reinstate him with only the basics to ensure he can provide mentoring to your magic, allow him to knit simple spellwork together without reaching significant heights."

Belle groaned. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You won't accept the mentorship?" Bronwyn asked with raised eyebrows.

"Well, surely I can't? Not after everything you've told me. I can't expect this guy to help me in good faith with anything, let alone provide lessons in magic. All he notably used his powers for before they were expelled completely was murdering the good guy who everyone loved."

Bronwyn nodded. "I must say, I'm somewhat relieved. But…that's not the decision I was expecting from you, Belle, to be frank."

Belle felt defensive. "Can you blame me? I thought Artorius was going to be a bit of an eccentric. A few too many whiskies with breakfast in his old age or something. I wasn't expecting you to say he was a brother-killing murderer. Plus, my mum will kill me even if he doesn't."

"I must in good faith remind you to consider again what you're giving up. What you're letting go of, Belle. On reflection last night while pondering the grimoire, I noted that almost all of your manifests slipped up thanks to a lack of faith, a lack of self-belief, a worry of what others would think. You've turned down chances, allowed yourself to remain unhappy, simply because you were afraid of the changes and even the successes they might bring."

The two witches held each other's gaze for a long, unspoken moment.

"I want this to be entirely your decision, Belle, let it be known. But I know what you are capable of being and capable of becoming." Bronwyn continued earnestly, "Your magic is meant for you, if only you'd claim it."

Belle buried her head in her hands, elbows on her thighs as she tried to pull focus. Bronwyn chuckled sympathetically.

"Decisions, decisions. I was vehemently against the idea at first, Belle, I was. But I confess, after our talk, that I do wonder…Artorius is powerless now. He holds no magic that can be used to hurt or harm you, without the coven being aware of it before it even happens."

Belle looked at her, taken aback by the change in stance.

"And still, as a descendent of Day, one of the oldest magic families in library record, he and his brother were known by the coven to be naturally gifted warlocks, even as teenagers pre-endarkenment. He would be an adept mentor, with the restricted powers that we would return to him for the occasion."

Belle sighed. "I should have stayed at home, where literally nothing ever happens."

Bronwyn chuckled again. "I'll give you a moment to gather your thoughts." She stepped out of her office, leaving Belle alone in front of the fire.

Belle closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. What else could be done to save her magic? This was her last chance.

Her hair was suddenly unbearable, falling in her face. She hastily pulled it back with the bobble on her wrist so she could think straight.

"Ouch!"

She started. As she gathered a ponytail, her forearm had brushed against the brooch that she'd been wearing as a kind of talisman since the trial. She snatched her hand back, recoiling in surprise. The sooth stone had turned blisteringly hot, and the pale smoke inside the glassy pebble was moving. She seized the fabric of her blouse for a closer look. The misty smoke twisted like a drop of dark ink in water, a languid swirl. It was brightening, awakening. Careful to touch only the shell casing, she hastily removed the pin, held it cautiously in her palm. Watching the blooms of smoke serpentine together behind the glass, Belle felt a hypnotising, all-consuming feeling.

Ignoring all logic, following the instinct of something else entirely, she clutched her fist firmly and fearlessly around the whole brooch. This time, rather than scalding her skin, the warmth travelled instantly through her, filling her whole body from head to toe. It was the most powerful, emboldening feeling. The same sensation as performing a spell but on an even greater, visceral scale. The essence of magic itself seemed to travel through her from the stone.

I ' m here. It seemed to speak. No noise, no voice, but she heard it again, just as she had yesterday. I'm here. Keep going. Make the right choice for yourself.

There was no question in Belle's mind that it was a sign. The same as the moment during her EquiWitch trial when she had been at her lowest. A nudge, a nod, a glow. Just when she needed it most.