Chapter 18 Extra Warmth

18

Extra Warmth

NINE LONG, ONEROUS moons already sailing away, Belle closed the door of 8 Quill Lane on the night's lesson, which had been altogether more studious than practical. It proved challenging in a different way to physical magic practice, it having been a while since her brain had been faced with any kind of academia. She was sure that her brain cell count had dwindled at rapid fire since university. The last few days of dense ancient texts on astrological patterns and their recognisable qualities all but proved it.

Days of being run off her feet to keep Lunar afloat, largely spent mopping up damage done by Christopher, were followed by nights of endless study. Writing, cross-referencing, note-taking. They pored over the many, many books in Artorius's collection, her eager teacher adamant that astrological learning was a worthwhile focus in their Earth Sorcery studies. Belle argued that, surely, Earth Sorcery should be largely based on Earth. Artorius insisted that the branch encompassed all things that could be viewed from Earth, too, which seemed a tenuous link, but who was she to argue?

The grimoire's challenge for Earth Sorcery unfortunately turned out to be equally, if not more so, un-illuminating than its Incantation offering. Belle had read the new allegory aloud so many times in an attempt to decipher its request that she had now committed it to memory.

Beneath the ground, a warmth of riches,

Hotter than the flames of witches.

A blaze that stills the breath to naught,

Drowning lest the mind is taught.

Fire to earth, earth to fire,

Create that which thy most admire.

Water to air, air to water,

Powers for the firstborn daughter.

"Word salad," Belle grumpily decided.

Her mind swam with a sea of stars. They had calculated constellation calendars and pondered planetary predictions, mulled over meteoric methods and hashed out hasty horoscopes. The golden orrery played a starring role in Belle's learning. With his palms outstretched, Artorius cast the wonderful thing in motion as he taught Belle everything he knew. With it, the old man created stars and moons from nothing, while mini constellations flew by in a palette of navy and periwinkle. They danced from one formation to the next across the darkened attic, enveloping Belle in her own night sky to learn from. Beautiful, albeit tough to commit to memory. She was getting there, though: over pie and copious amounts of velvety mashed potato that Artorius whipped up for the two of them, Belle had impressed even herself by casually pointing out through a mouthful of pie that Andromeda was in the window, foiled in gold leaf against the sky.

She'd learned more about her magic in a week than she had done in fifteen years, and her brain was aching like an overworked muscle. (Along with her back, but what else was new?) She was ready to collapse face-first into bed, dreaming of stardust.

Belle had left Artorius dozing in a chintz armchair underneath one of his hand-knitted blankets with his feet propped up on a pouffe. She wasn't the only one who was finding the mentorship exhausting. The old man was incorrigible. No matter how long and late the hours stretched, he bubbled over with enthusiasm. He brought her mind back to focus and encouraged her concentration until both she and he were confident that she'd as good as mastered the basics. They'd faltered ever so slightly in tonight's lesson when Artorius observed one particularly bright Venus hanging so closely to the moon's horned tip that they almost turned one and the same within the telescope glass. He'd seemed perturbed by the unusual view, pointing out the strangeness, a combination associated with trouble ahead. Belle herself was not convinced that the sky was dedicated to dishing out personally designed warnings.

Clicking the lock of Artorius's front door behind her, Belle headed out into the early morning, as crisp and sharp as the bite of an apple.

It was a clear sky (Alpheratz, Mirach and Almach all visible over the house, she surprised herself by noticing) but chillingly cold. She took the short cut home that she'd discovered the previous morning, a quiet alley that she'd found peaceful yesterday, but this morning held an ominous edge. The shadows of trees took on bigger shapes, throwing themselves just out of her sight-line. The corners of each turn made her a little more uneasy. It was only tiredness, she reasoned.

A rustle sent Belle's glance darting to check behind her.

Just a fox, face-first in the neighbour's bin bags, although not Artorius's faithful friend. The leaves of the trees ruffled as a strong breeze pushed itself down the alley, sending her hair trailing back. Belle wrapped her arms around herself tighter, making small clouds of breath as she trod down the path, the click of her footsteps the only sound to break through the silence.

She picked up her pace, trying to calm herself. But she was unable to shake the uneasy feeling. She knew it, could feel it. She wasn't alone. Another shuffle, barely audible this time, but she heard it. Someone. She went rigid, spun around.

No one. The lack of sleep was getting to her. She rubbed at bleary eyes, chastised herself for letting the sense of unease become silly paranoia.

"Should I be afraid of those powers yet?"

Belle jumped twenty feet out of her own skin, feeling her soul leave her body.

Lit by a small beam of torchlight emitting from his palm, Rune stepped out from the shadow of an oak tree, barely visible in his long black coat. Belle clutched at the spot where her heart used to be as she shot him a look of pure daggers.

"What is wrong with you? You're lucky I didn't kick you in the throat."

Rune looked taken aback. "My apologies."

"Throat kick, knee to the crotch, elbow to the face. Maybe all three. You are the worst watchman in the world. Why do you insist on being creepy every single time?"

"I was just waiting for—"

"Did we not learn from the last time you pulled this ‘mysterious in the shadows' move?"

"I don't have moves," he said sulkily.

"Wait, why are you here?" Belle asked, still annoyed.

He stepped towards her, judging it safe now that her anger was subsiding. "It seemed a little too ‘love interest in a teen rom-com' to come knocking on the door to ask if I could walk you home."

"So you thought you'd just lurk around the empty streets until I happened upon you, prowling underneath a tree?"

Rune looked at his hands, twiddling the ring on his thumb. "Looks that way."

"For future reference, I'd rather the teen rom-com moment than the homicidal ‘slasher in the darkness' moment."

"Noted. I was just trying not to intrude, you made it clear you want your space," he replied, glancing up. "But the offer for a walk home still stands. If you want." He shrugged.

Belle looked at him sceptically.

"C'mon, don't turn me down," he said, one side of his mouth twitching upwards in a smile. "I'll conjure you some chips on the way."

Her stomach rumbled at the mention.

She nodded. "For chips."

Belle gestured to the right with her shoulder, and he gave her a quick nod as they set off side by side. With a click, Rune conjured a hot carton of chips to share. Ignoring the billows of steam, Belle impatiently popped a couple into her mouth, immediately burning her tongue. She winced.

"Hot…" she said, embarrassed as he watched her.

"This is already the best date I've ever been on," he said dryly.

"Needs more vinegar, though," she quipped.

He rolled his eyes and cast his fingers again. "I'm so glad that the centuries of magic under my belt can be put to expert use."

"Ketchup too." With a furtive side glance, Belle noted that he bit down on his lip to stop himself from laughing. "And this is absolutely not a date."

"A romantic moonlit walk, side by side, with dinner included? Sounds like a date to me."

They walked in pleasant silence, enjoying the hot food and the extra warmth of each other's company.

"If you're going to walk me home in the dark, then I should probably know a little more about you, Rune Dunstan. Aside from the fact you're a man who can't pull off a dramatic entrance to save his life."

"What exactly would you like to know?"

"Maybe we could start with the ‘centuries of magic' part." He was quiet for a fraction too long.

"Slip of the tongue."

She blew on a chip, smiling smugly. "Really."

"Don't you know it's rude to ask a warlock how old he is?"

"I think those airs and graces go out the window as soon as you take the cauldron pledge."

Rune sniffed. "No need to say it with such disapproval."

"I don't mean to judge." Her feet scuffed satisfyingly on crunching leaves. "Each to their own when it comes to unnaturally enchanting a lifetime to span several centuries."

"Not something that's on your horizon, I take it?" Rune took a chip for himself. "Assuming the opportunity remains, post EquiWitch."

Belle shook her head, scoffing. "Hard no. There's a lot about Selcouth that I don't understand, but the pledge is maybe top of the list. I can't believe anyone takes it."

"Maybe that's because you haven't yet delved into the true potential of your magic," Rune said.

"Even if I discover that, by some miracle, my magic is in fact a force to be reckoned with, the world does not need several hundred years of Belle Blackthorn." She laughed. "What made you take it?"

"Hard to explain. As soon as I came of age for my powers, they were the most intoxicating, inspiring drive for me. Everything else sort of paled in comparison. When the time came to decide, I knew I would always want more time with them to see what I could achieve."

Belle nodded in silence, contemplating the weight of the choice this man had made. "And what's the best thing you've done with it so far?"

"I'm sure you wouldn't be impressed."

"Try me."

He shrugged, giving Belle the impression he was absolutely playing down the work he did. "Made some discoveries along the way, a lot of focus on the brink between what can be considered good and bad magic. Key factors and ingredients that differentiate the two. It's a fine line that I like to look at more closely, trying to find the snap point from one to the other."

"Well, that sounds…very noble."

"I don't know about that."

"So it really is magic above all else for you? You've outlived friends, loved ones, watched the world change for longer than a human ever should. All for magic?"

"You make it sound like a hollow choice."

"Isn't it?"

"The opposite," he said, defensive. "Someone has to take the pledge, be willing to take one for the coven. After a while, you simply learn to live a more solitary life. It's easier that way."

There was only one question she really wanted to ask. "How long is a while?"

He didn't answer for a moment, thumbing his brow as he thought. "Lost count, to be honest. Somewhere near a couple of centuries at this point. I think."

Belle choked on a chip. "Two hundred?"

"I don't look a day over it, right?" He laughed grimly.

Silence passed between them for a moment. "And has it been worth it?"

He breathed a laugh, as though she were painfully naive. "It's not the great sacrifice you're making it out to be. You're only used to the primitive pattern of time that non-wicchefolk operate in."

"Did you really just call me primitive?" she asked, getting a laugh in return.

"I just mean that you forget that things are different in the magic realm. I spend my life surrounded by wicchefolk, many people around me have also taken the pledge at one time or another. It's what we do." He shrugged. "You're the strange one, in their eyes, for not seizing the chance to unfurl your years properly."

"I can't say I know my whole family tree, there's probably someone back there who took the pledge. But my mum hasn't, neither did my grandmother. They both fell in love with non-wicche folk, had children, loved non-wicche friends dearly."

He glanced sideways at her. "And that's the case for you?"

"Minus the true love and the kids. So far. Still, call me crazy, but when there's other lives and loves to match yours up against, you don't want to imagine your own unfurling for longer than theirs would last."

Rune shifted. "Like I said, I knew from the moment my powers came in. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"Have you ever thought about relinquishing?" she asked, knowing it was possible but not common for witches to go back on their decision.

Rune was quiet for a moment. "Once."

She was surprised. "For someone else?"

He nodded, clearly not willing to expand on the point.

"What changed your mind?"

Another silence. "I just reminded myself what needs to matter most."

Belle was struck by his quiet reply. "And what's that?"

"The coven. Making sure magic is going where it needs to and not being mistreated. Keeping hold of the balance of magic and non-wicche worlds for the good of everyone in both. That's something bigger than me, or any of the people I might be fond of."

Belle pulled a face. "Whatever that means."

"It means that magic in the wrong hands would spell disaster for every single aspect of this earthly plane, Belle. If it wasn't for those who dedicate themselves to witchery, who knows what the world would look like."

"All right." She rolled her eyes. "I just think if everyone collectively agreed to relinquish the cauldron pledge, then—"

He shook his head. "You're dreaming."

She faltered. "Don't talk to me like that."

"Sorry," Rune said, sounding like he genuinely meant it. "I didn't mean to offend you."

Belle's mind returned to the pews in the courtroom, witches and warlocks seated side by side. How many of them were several centuries old?

"Morena and Bronwyn are with you, I assume?" she asked. "There's no way Morena looks that good without a little help."

Rune nodded, pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes. "Plus a handful of coven elders. I'm the youngest by a fair shot to have made the pledge. They tried to encourage your mum to take it a few years back, and Caspar, too. They would be good assets to the future of Selcouth."

"Good assets." Belle mocked his formality. "Maybe the good assets are the ones who aren't willing to take on supernatural lifespans to keep hold of their powers. Maybe relinquishing them, letting old age and death come naturally, letting powers pass down a family tree sooner, would actually be the more beneficial option for the coven. Maybe things wouldn't be quite so archaic and outdated that way."

"You sure have a lot to say for someone who doesn't really know what they're talking about." He stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

Belle bristled. "I know that it's a weird power trip to choose to live for hundreds of years and keep your mitts on your magic rather than, heaven forbid, let it go back into the ether for the next warlock. There's no need to be quite so frightened of what comes next," she said with mock gentleness and a hand on his arm.

"Says the witch who's been too frightened to change anything about her own future," he said with the same mocking, overly bright tone.

Belle stopped in her tracks. He turned to face her.

"Don't give me that look. You said it yourself at your trial."

Okay, maybe she did say that. "At least I'm doing something about it now, though, aren't I? And I've got a guy who dresses like a retro vampire hiding in the dark and following me around for the pleasure of it."

The pair walked on in silence, both angrily picking chips off the top of the pile as they went.

"Not that you'll care, seeing as I'm too afraid and a waste of time and magic—"

"I did not say that." He rolled his eyes.

"But I should probably let you know about a weird thing that happened with protection circles. Seeing as you're supposed to be keeping an eye on things."

"Any more specific information than that?" he asked with a gesture for her to continue.

She felt reluctant to tell him something that probably just revealed her lack of talent yet again. "Artorius had me practicing protection circles in our Incantation lesson, and they wouldn't stick. Probably nothing, but—"

"What do you mean ‘they wouldn't stick'?" Rune had stopped walking now, tugging Belle's sleeve to bring her to a standstill.

She raised her gaze to meet his, which had turned intent and concerned. "They wouldn't stick. The protection circles. I could conjure them for a moment, but they kept cutting out. Like something was preventing me from being protected."

"And you're only telling me this now? Belle, I'm your bloody watchman. Why didn't you tell me this the moment we started talking?"

"Because I was busy returning my heart rate to a normal level after you emerged from the shadows like a sewer rat. And then you conjured chips, and we've been arguing ever since."

"We're not arguing."

"Well, I certainly am. That means you are, too."

He growled with exasperation. "You are impossible. Just for future reference, any signs of mortal danger—even mild PG-certified peril, come to think of it—should be discussed first in our conversations."

"Mortal danger? That seems a bit much. It's just a spell glitch, probably my lack of ability more than anything," she said uncertainly.

"Maybe but maybe not. And I'm not risking your safety. Belle, normally I would have sensed something like that in a heartbeat. Broken protection spells? Rudimentary stuff, I can sense threats like that in my sleep. But I didn't feel a thing…Something isn't right here." He was rambling crossly, almost to himself. "Let me check the reports more thoroughly, ask around at Hecate House, see if anyone has any prior experience of failed protection."

"Don't go shouting it from the rooftops, okay? I don't want everyone thinking I'm failing. I'm doing fine."

"Will you give me some credit, Belle, please? I'm only in this for you."

She frowned.

He coughed, noting his wording. "Only here to help you, I mean."

Belle nodded reluctantly, shooting him a sly glance and finding that his eyes were still firmly fixed on her. They returned to walking quietly side by side, the early light leaking over them in silver and pink. She contemplated reassuring him with the news of the Praesentia Pretego enchantment from her grandmother, but it felt too private, too intimate for now.

"Nothing like the mention of mortal peril to make the conversation die," Belle said instead.

"Mortal peril aside, it's less than three weeks till Halloween," Rune noted, nodding his chin up towards the waxing moon that hung alongside the rising sun. "Do you feel as though you're seeing progress?"

"Sure. I mean, I think so. I've surprised myself so far."

"You shouldn't be surprised. You're gifted," Rune said matter-of-factly.

Belle's eyebrows shot up, taken aback. "Thanks, although I think that's pushing it."

"You don't need to thank me. It's not so much a compliment as a fact. I liked your manifests, most of them…Some questionable decisions, but the base magic was strong. You're capable of anything you want to do."

Their shadows stretched out long and thin under the burning of the golden streetlights, scattered leaves dappling the picture. They both wrapped their coats tighter in unison.

"Also," he eventually spoke again, as though daring himself to continue, "not that you care about my opinion, as you've made crystal clear, but…you're not a disappointment. Or unworthy of anything," he said, his usual confidence cracking to something altogether more interesting. His eyes stayed firmly locked straight ahead.

Something alarmingly close to chemistry flickered like a bolt between them. It had been a while, but she couldn't mistake that feeling.

"How did you find the astrological work?" Rune asked, jumping at the chance to restart the conversation.

She smiled at him. "Why do I get the feeling this question is a little redundant when you've obviously been keeping a close eye anyway, watchman?"

"Kind of true, but I'm only alerted if anything goes particularly wrong or danger presents itself to you," he said. "The grimoire is already detailing significant improvement, according to Bronwyn. I just wanted to hear it from you. Part of my job is to make sure you're feeling okay."

"That's handy, therapy is expensive."

Rune stifled a laugh. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to go that far, but I'm serious about this potential threat, bearing in mind the warlock who's involved in proceedings."

"Ah, that." She clasped her hands behind her back and kicked a few leaves.

"We have to assume he has some role to play in what happened to your protection circles…" Rune said, thoughtful concern audible in his voice.

"That wasn't him."

"You don't know that, Belle."

"I do."

She couldn't shake it. In their first week together, she'd almost entirely forgotten the clanging alarm bells and red flags that were originally attached to Artorius. When the reminder did occasionally appear at the front of her mind, it felt impossible to associate the man that she'd met with those nightmarish past actions.

Belle tried to explain. "This whole time, everyone's been banging on about the importance of instincts, and something's not adding up. The way Bronwyn spoke of him, I was expecting a monster. I thought he'd be awful and cruel and reluctant to share any knowledge at all. I thought he would be—"

"Belle, you cannot be naive about this man," Rune interrupted firmly, stopping in his tracks again.

"I am aware," Belle snapped, turning directly to Rune to stand her ground. "Obviously. And I'm not ignoring it, I'm not an idiot. But he has treated me with kindness and generosity and nothing else. I have to take him as I find him for now."

"You can't seriously like him, with the knowledge that you have, with everything that he did," Rune scoffed.

"I'm not saying I do or don't like him. I'm telling you that I am fully aware of the situation I have willingly put myself into."

Rune held his tongue, but she could have sworn she heard the word "impossible" muttered under his breath. They continued their walk in frosty silence.

"Is it much farther?" Rune asked curtly.

"Thankfully, no," Belle retorted.

After what felt like forever in the stilted silence, they reached the row of shops below Belle and Ariadne's maisonette. Commuters were filling the streets now, scuttling by with heads down and headphones on. The café below was dimly lit, with Mr.Ricci setting out the trays of freshly made pastries. The familiar smell of coffee and warm baked goods plumed outwards.

"I have something for you," Rune said shortly, avoiding eye contact. He held out his palm, and with a quick click, a small green bottle materialised with a flurry of sparks. "Thought you might be tired, so I've been working on it for a couple of nights." He offered it to Belle, who took it suspiciously. "A revitalising potion. Should help with the lack of sleep, and it'll mean you can lay off the caffeine a bit. Although I now see that you literally live inside a coffee shop, which makes a lot of sense."

"Above one. But…That's very thoughtful. Thank you."

"I'll see what I can find out about the protection circles."

"Look, I…"

"Belle! Hey! God, something in here stinks, I bet it's that cat food," Ariadne called. She was tossing a heavy black bag into the communal bins. Squinting closer, she froze. "Oh, sorry…I didn't realise you had company."

Belle willed herself to think on the spot. This was the first time that Ariadne had ever seen her with someone magical, apart from Bonnie and Alvina, who were both well versed in keeping the secret.

"It's…This is…"

"I'm Rune," he introduced himself smoothly over Belle's stammering, extending his hand out warmly to Ari. Knowing her friend like the back of her hand, Belle could tell that Ari was trying to remain collected but was in fact bursting with delight on the inside.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you." She grinned, overly cheery. "I'm Ariadne, I live with Belle. Are you guys coming in? I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee."

"Rune was just leaving," Belle immediately responded. There was no way that this could end well. She shot Rune what she hoped was a loaded look.

Luckily, he seemed to get the message. "That's very kind." He smiled. "But unfortunately I have to get going, business calls. I'll see you, Belle. Thanks for sharing my chips."

"Great. Brilliant. Cheerio."

Cheerio? Giving her a final, unfathomable smile, Rune turned on his heel and headed back the way they'd walked and into the commuter crowds. Only Belle's eyes were tuned to notice the transference, a faint glimmer of gold trailing on the pavement, wisps of magic left in his wake as he headed to…wherever it was that he went. Strange, really, that he'd chosen to spend time walking her home when he could have transferred them in a fraction of a moment.

Belle turned back to Ariadne with her eyes screwed shut in anticipating dread.

Ari wore an expression of complete and utter glee. She turned towards the flat and called back to her friend. "I shall prepare the torture devices to extract the details."