Chapter 14 The Watchman

14

The Watchman

"YOU'RE ALL SET. Let me know what you think of the ending next time you pop in, Mrs.Rollings. It's a good one, I think you'll love it."

Belle gave the till a hard shove with both hands, the cash drawer jarring awkwardly against the frame like it always did. After years of offering advice for what to read next and unfailingly ringing up books as a result, she'd mastered the tricky knack of making it shut properly. Slightly to the left, push until it feels extremely broken.

The doorbell tinkled as the last customer of the day headed out the door of Lunar Books. The humming rush of the high street flooded in and faded out. Finally. The day preceding her first night of mentorship had dragged in the sleepy shop. Even on regular days, the quieter times made it feel as though time stood still between those shelves, like the shop's own nexus pendulum hidden somewhere in the fiction department.

She seized her chance to start the familiar closing routine. Scooping up discarded copies of this week's Stellar Read strewn across the wrong tables, Belle locked the front door, giving it a secure shake for good measure. She flipped the sign from Open to Closed, and dimmed down the lights. A quick flick of sparks tidied up the chaotic children's corner. Her final job was manually inputting the sales into a calculator and jotting down the numbers into a lined notepad. Lunar Books was yet to arrive into the modern age, and Violet had no plans to make the journey anytime soon. She insisted it was part of the charm.

Belle's head swam slightly, the tips of her fingers pricking a little, dizziness washing over her. Probably a headache brewing at the thought of what was to come later in the evening. Clipping back her hair to concentrate, she hunched over the counter and scribbled down the sums under the light of the stained-glass lamps. A quick flick of her finger had the pencil-written numbers dancing across the page, arranging themselves into the correct order while she totalled the day's cash. The soft tinkle of the front doorbell rang out against the silence of the shop.

"Sorry, we're closed. Back tomorrow at ten."

Her concentration snapped like an elastic band. Didn't she just lock that? She did, she definitely locked it. Her head shot up. Someone was waiting inside. Barely lit but leaning tall and calm against the door-frame, one hand stretched up to tinkle the bell above the door and the other plunged into a coat pocket. Her hand instinctively reached for the keys on the counter to arm herself with something more quickly than debating a spell.

"I was hoping for after-hours service."

She squinted more closely at the customer. Was it? His face lit up with a smirk as he stepped out of the shadows. "Rune."

"I'm looking for something that I won't be able to put down. Something that'll keep me awake at night. A plot that'll drive me crazy."

Slamming her pencil down and clutching her chest, Belle groaned with relief and frustration. He smirked at her reaction. "With absolutely no due respect, what the hell are you doing?"

"Just browsing," Rune said innocently, thumbing titles on the front table.

"That was the single most creepy entrance that anyone has ever made. What is wrong with you?"

Rune faltered. "Oh. Well, I was going for suave and mysterious."

Belle rolled her eyes, gathering up her paperwork and placing it in the drawer for tomorrow's shift. "You skipped both of those and went straight to terrifying."

His mischievous look quickly changed to abashed. "Sorry, I didn't—"

"Fine. It's fine. I only thought you were going to kill me. And if you hadn't heard the news, I'm on high alert when it comes to murderers this evening. Next time, please just knock rather than transferring unannounced into my workplace behind a locked door when I'm alone in the darkness."

"Well, when you say it like that, I feel like an idiot."

"Good."

They stood in charged silence, staring at one another.

"Well? Now that you've revealed yourself to be a total weirdo and I'm traumatised for life, what can I do for you?"

"I told you, I'm book shopping. The plot that'll drive me crazy?"

Belle rolled her eyes again. "Take a look in that Romance section right there, and every one of those books will include a handsome man saying lines just as corny as yours."

"Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel special." Rune smiled. "I'll take the handsome thing, though."

Belle scowled at him as she felt her face flush.

"I've been waiting for you to leave," he went on. "I was starting to think you might have bottled it, decided this wasn't worth all of the hassle."

"No, I've been at work." Belle gestured around her. "You can't rush people when they're choosing books…Sorry, did I miss something? I didn't realise I was supposed to be meeting anyone tonight other than Artorius."

"And I didn't realise I'd been roped in until this morning."

"Roped in?"

He stepped a little closer to her. "Watchman duties. Looks like today is full of lovely surprises for us both," he replied coolly. He was trying and failing to keep a grin under wraps.

Belle attempted to rearrange herself in a nonchalant way to match his own posture. She was suddenly overly aware of her arms hanging at her sides and her feet standing at weird angles. She pressed both palms against the cool marble countertop, just to give them somewhere to be. "Lovely surprises," she replied doubtfully. "So, you're the muscle at Selcouth, hey? Come to meet with Artorius to make him an offer he can't refuse?"

This time, Rune laughed openly. White teeth flashed, and he shook his head. Rune approached the counter and mirrored her posture, placing his hands on the counter outside of hers and leaning forwards. She cleared her throat awkwardly, shuffling the loyalty cards as an excuse to break the eye contact.

"Why are you here, Rune?" It came out more abruptly than she'd intended. "Not that I don't appreciate you coming down to…Be my cheerleader? My bodyguard? Whatever this is," she said, leaning under the counter to pick up her backpack and hoist it onto her shoulder. "But I need to get a move on. I have a mysterious, hopefully reformed, warlock to go and hang out with."

That smirk again. "Don't worry, I'm not sticking around. But thank you for such a warm reception as always. I'm only here to reassure you that the coven is…aware of your whereabouts."

Belle's brows knotted together sceptically. "Are you always this ominous?"

"I try to be." He grinned again. "For reasons unbeknownst to both of us, the Gowden sisters—mostly Bronwyn," he corrected himself, "decided that I should be the one to make sure you showed up for your mentorship. To be honest," Rune said, taking a sweet from the bowl by the till and popping it into his mouth, pulling her attention to exactly where she didn't want it to be, "I think she was a little concerned that you might have done a runner."

Belle instantly bristled. If Selcouth had already decided she couldn't even be trusted to successfully meet with Artorius, what was the likelihood of them giving her a fair assessment on her return?

"That's thoughtful of you. Them. Her," she stuttered. "But as you can see"—she came around the counter, tugging her backpack farther onto her shoulder—"I'm fine. I'm getting this show on the road."

"And I for one look forward to seeing how the show turns out. Quite the drama already. Plot twists, ancient lore loopholes, a hung jury, banished murderers…" Rune said teasingly as he followed her through the shop, reeling the points off on his fingers.

She gestured to the door to encourage him out as she unlocked it.

"All right, I can take a hint." He laughed softly. "This wasn't what I had planned for the next few weeks, either, but whether we like it or not, Bronwyn's decreed that I'm yours. For twenty-eight moons."

Belle gave him a blank You have to be kidding look.

"And I can see why they chose to match us together," he added. "The chemistry here is…truly palpable."

Big on eye contact, this guy , Belle thought to herself. She ushered him through the open door. "I don't love the idea of having a ‘watchman.' It sounds horrendously outdated, like I should be living in a turret and playing the lute while you charge around with a sword. Can't we call it something else?"

"Sure." He nodded agreeably. "How about protector? Keeper? Handler?"

"On second thought, let's stick with ‘watchman.'?" Belle grimaced. "What does the job really involve?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Traditionally, it tends to involve bringing down some great evil, an endeavour on behalf of Selcouth. Spending the weekend trying to prevent the inevitable end of mortal existence itself. That sort of thing."

Rune cleared his throat as a woman walking a terrier turned the corner and shuffled past them apologetically.

"So you've got off pretty lightly with this one, then," Belle said. "Watchman for little old me, meeting and greeting a man who's going to bring my homework up to scratch. Probably not the most immediate threat to mortal existence…" She was struggling to remember what one normally did with their hands when speaking normally in a normal conversation.

"I wouldn't speak too soon."

"True. Maybe my great villain origin story is just around the corner. Alas, I knew it was inevitable."

This earned a side smirk.

She switched off the lights, leaving the spotlights on the suitably spooky display that she'd purposely neglected to take down. The windows gave out a glow against the chilly evening.

"Look, as much as I appreciate you swinging by unannounced, once again, despite me literally begging you to never come here again…I don't need a ‘watchman,'?" Belle told him, with added emphatic air quotes. "In fact, I actively hate the idea."

"I'm not huge on it, either, trust me. There's a million and one things I could be doing with my time instead."

"Like what? Brooding in the shadows of some underground vampire den? Or wherever it is you pass the nights?"

"I do not live in a den." He sulked. "If anything, it's more of a lair."

"Right."

"You won't see me much. Most of the watchman duties are done from Hecate House. I'm only here to point you in the right direction," Rune assured her, his voice a fraction softer and more sincere. "I just wanted to make sure you know that you can reach me. All you have to do is ask."

"I think your hero complex is showing," Belle scoffed.

Yes, maybe she was feeling a little defensive, still licking her wounds after the EquiWitch trial, but she'd never relied on anybody for anything—particularly not a man. Now she had inadvertently found herself relying on two of them to help her keep hold of magic that was rightfully hers, anyway. Her pride prickled like heat rash.

But as frustrating as it was, if the coven considered her to need an extra, extra helping hand, the reasonable part of her brain debated that it wouldn't hurt for it to be someone like Rune. One of their most promising warlocks, rising up the ranks, specialising in forms of protective magic. The idea of him keeping an eye on her was unsettling, awkward. But maybe practical. She'd be stupid not to take all of the help she could get.

"I can tell you're not convinced, and I'm trying not to take offence," Rune said, as though reading her mind. "But trust me. They're your lessons to learn. I'll just be around if you need anything. Extra protection, guidance, advice…"

Belle gave him an overly dramatic side-eye. This guy. "Only if I ask for it?"

That smirk again. This guy . "I've cleared my schedule, just for you."

"I'm honoured to hear it."

"Trust me. I want to help." He looked surprisingly sincere. It was maybe the first truly genuine thing he'd said to her so far, delivered without any attempt at mystery or bravado.

Belle defrosted a fraction. Perhaps sensing her thawing, Rune held out a hand to shake hers, which she accepted. A crackle of magic snapped between their palms as they connected, his grip warm and strong. Belle wasn't sure, but she felt as though he held on a moment too long.

"Well, thanks for stopping by and scaring the good grace out of my soul."

"Anytime. I'll leave you to meet the infamous Mr.Day. And I'll check in with you in a couple of days. Hey, Gowdens' orders. Don't hex the messenger." Rune held up both of his hands in mock surrender.

With a swift glance over his shoulder and around the corner, he shot Belle a quick wink, snapped his forefinger and thumb together languidly and vanished. Where he'd stood, a few rogue sparks of magic tumbled between the cracks of the pavement.

"Bye, then." Belle spoke to thin air.

Batting all lingering thoughts of Rune and his annoying dimples away, Belle pulled a small card with Artorius's address from her pocket. Caspar had provided the necessary information, a second letter from Selcouth arriving on her pillow that morning in a flurry of sparks, much to Jinx's distaste. Heaving her stuffed backpack farther up onto her shoulder again, she stumbled on the cobbles under its weight. She hadn't been entirely sure what to bring to meet her new mentor, so had packed everything possible as a sensible compromise, including her own hefty grimoire, which accounted for the weight of a small boulder.

She turned down a street lined with tall trees. The fiery leaves were a painting of autumn. A confetti of buttery biscuit browns, almond and amber, chestnut and chocolate. The colours canopied, hanging overhead against an evening sky of blended purples and blues.

This was how the coming nights were going to be. She already felt drained after being on her feet for hours at Lunar, but evenings of carbs and falling asleep on the sofa were off the cards for a while. For twenty-eight moons, specifically.

The leaves crunching underfoot reminded Belle of walking in the woods with her mum when she was little. A deep dip between two particular trees would fill with fallen leaves every year, and they'd called it the cornflake bowl. They'd meticulously choose the most perfect shades of orange and brown in every variety to take home for Bonnie's flora collection and would later toss them into the swirling potions of luck and guidance that were constantly brewing atop the stove.

Shaking off the memory, Belle was grateful to spot a black-and-white weathered sign for Quill Lane in block letters. Artorius lived at Number 8.

Behind the trees were regal Georgian houses stacked tall in orange brick and bay windows. Immaculate gardens sat outside every one, the last of the summer roses still clinging on. Carefully carved pumpkins of all shapes and sizes, done by perfectionist parents after their children got bored of scooping the guts out, sat plumply on porches.

She stopped. Ten Quill Lane was now on her left. It wasn't even a house; it was a mansion. Six Quill Lane was a little farther along in her eyeline, another beauty with spotlessly plush hedging—so pristine that Belle reckoned it must have been cut with a spirit level balanced on top.

Number 8 Quill Lane stood alone.

It felt like the other houses had taken a swift step away from it, sensing something strange. The grubby penny at the bottom of the street's shiny piggy bank, the house almost seemed to be lurching back from the road, desperate to retreat into the shadows. It must have been beautiful once but had been long neglected and left to its own devices. The place looked like a faded, forgotten memory, a shadow of its former self. Although still a tall house like the rest, Day's home stood rickety and unsure, with a dingy round window in the pointed eaves hinting at an attic room perched precariously on top. Yellowed lace curtains hung across the panes inside, moss sprouting in every crevice of the frames.

"Of course. It's the one that's filled with the spirits of the damned," Belle muttered to herself.

She took a few cautious steps towards the house. Amber tree sap was dashed across the pathway, and matching rust coated the gate in dark orange icing. Parched brittle brown stems had grown up from the ground and snaked their way towards the door, a carpet of weeds between the cracks of the broken driveway slabs.

Apprehensive, doubting her decision to go ahead with the mentorship, she thought of her mum again. Belle had called Bonnie to fill her in on what had unfolded, recounting the entire day's events (minus the voice in the tunnels), and had wanted to turn inside out with guilt. Not that Bonnie had tried to make Belle feel bad. She had done everything she could to reassure her daughter that she wasn't upset about her obvious lack of magic prowess and that everything would still be okay in the end (otherwise it wasn't the end), but Belle had felt too miserable to take much cheer from the pep talk.

"Come on. Get a grip."

Steeling herself, Belle gingerly reached for the gate. The metal gave a shrill wail, impossibly loud against the peaceful evening street, and Belle cringed, scraping rust against rust as it clanged shut behind her. The photo that Bronwyn had showed her of Day before his trial was imprinted in her mind. The haunted expression on his face, the soulless look behind his eyes. Now she was about to meet the man. A wriggle of fear hooked her under the ribs, anchoring her to the spot.

She forced herself down the driveway. Faced with a navy blue door, paint peeling in shards like a shedding skin, Belle reached for the heavy brass knocker and banged thrice. She hoped that nobody was home.

A second dim light came on through the door panes of frosted glass. A scuffling of chain and handle. A heaving creak of old hinges. And then…

"Oh, my dear. Welcome!"