Chapter 20 Entangled

20

Entangled

BELLE SPENT A lot of her time afraid, but she had never known true fear before. Not really. Not like this.

"Where is she?" Her voice, startlingly loud in the sudden quiet.

There was no reply. Only Wolfie, giving a low whimper as she looked back and forth between Belle and the empty spot that had previously been Bonnie. Belle realised the moment of release that sent her flying backwards had taken Artorius with it, too.

The old man lay surrounded by broken bottles, emptied jars and fallen books, his wire glasses at an unnatural angle across his baffled face. He winced as he adjusted his brittle body, trying to right himself. Belle rushed to his side, throwing aside a lampshade, a rolled-up moth-eaten rug and an empty hamster cage which had toppled in the chaos.

"Artorius, are you all right? Where's my mum? I've got to help her." He coughed deeply from his chest, recoiling at the effort on his old bones.

"Belle, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. But where's my mum? Where's Bonnie?" she asked hurriedly.

He spluttered over his words, trying and failing to make sense of what they'd witnessed. "I can't say for sure, I wish I could. It's almost as though—"

"Did my spell unravel? Where is she?"

"But it's impossible. It would be against every…" Artorius was muttering to himself, calculating possibilities only he could see.

"How do I get her back? Where is she, Arty?" Belle asked again, more desperate by the second as she wrung her hands.

Artorius turned clouded eyes to Belle. "Subfuror Incantare."

"I don't need Latin definitions, Artorius. I need to find my mother."

"Of course, of course, Belle. Help me up, will you?"

The pair staggered to their feet together. Belle took a deep breath to steady herself and encouraged Artorius to do the same. The old man looked confused, dazed. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, which seemed to help.

" Subfuror Incantare …it is a rare phenomenon, rare indeed," he began. "And for good reason. It goes against every law that exists within the magic system. With Subfuror Incantare at play, all balance is lost, all fairness gone. Power gains more power…" he rambled, tracing his own steps in circles as his thoughts tumbled out.

"Artorius, I have no idea what you're talking about." Belle rubbed her face.

"It is the art—‘art' is the wrong word for something so unconscionable—the act of overthrowing another witch's powers for one's own means, snatching a spell from them without their knowledge or consent. A manipulation of magic."

Belle blinked, desperately trying to understand. "My spell? Someone warped it?"

"I suspect that, under Subfuror Incantare , someone was manipulating your spellwork. Someone was trying to overpower it, take over the intention behind it and make it their own."

"But what would anyone want with my magic? I'm pretty sure I've proved that it's not particularly worth having."

"On the contrary, young lady. Magic in every form is envied by those who don't consider themselves to have enough. You may think you are nothing special, but everything I have witnessed so far suggests otherwise. And it would seem that somebody else is aware of that, too. Somebody wants to take your magic from you."

"They can do that? Just…take it?"

"Unfortunately, it is indeed possible. It's not until the EquiWitch trial is completed that your magic falls fully under the coven's protection. Until then, it is vulnerable."

"Even if that's true, the Subfu …whatever. What's it got to do with my mum?"

"Belle, we both know your mother is a brilliant witch. Perhaps fearing the two of you practicing together, the potential of what that could create if nurtured properly? Whatever the reason, they did not want Bonnie here with you."

"We have to find her."

Artorius looked racked with guilt. "I am dreadfully sorry to say there is nothing we can do at present. A witch entangled in Subfuror Incantare can only resist the control by summoning her own abilities, her own presence of mind to fight against it. It's down to your mother to escape this by herself."

Registering Belle's newly horrified expression, Artorius continued hurriedly. "But we both know there is no witch more capable than your mother, Belle," he said with emphasis. "She is renowned for the prowess of her powers. Her magic rivals that of the Gowden sisters. She is the very best of wicchefolk."

"But…I can't just sit here and wait to see what happens! I have to help her."

"Belle, as your mentor, I must insist that is exactly what you do. If you value your magic or, more importantly, your mother's well-being. We have no idea how your own magic could be used against you or her at this moment. I implore you, it is not safe."

Belle stood aghast.

"Your mother would prioritise your safety above all else."

She raked her fingers across her scalp. Doing nothing went against every instinct. But the logical side of her brain said that Artorius had never yet steered her wrong. She reached for the one other thing she knew might guide her.

The sooth stone was aglow, fiercely golden and brilliant. In all her other recent times of need and doubt, the stone had come to life. Not only reassuring her but, as she knew now, protecting her. She found that it was clearing her mind, quieting it, providing answers to decisions that she didn't fully trust herself to make. The sight of its radiance was pacifying, calm amidst the chaos.

"So we wait."

Artorius gave a single relieved nod. "We wait."

BELLE REFUSED TO leave the attic. According to Artorius, it made the most sense that when (carefully selected rather than "if") Bonnie managed to break free from the bind, she would escape to the same spot from which she had vanished. Remaining loyally by her side into the wee hours of the morning, Wolfie lay with her head on her front paws, stretched out alongside Belle, occasionally sharing her distress with a strained mournful howl at the moon in the window. Artorius ventured downstairs only once—to make a pot of tea and to collect his knitting to pass the stretch of time.

Belle sat cross-legged on the floor. Her back ached and her eyes were strained from staring at the same spot. But she wouldn't move. Instead she sat, rubbing at her face, biting at the inside of her cheeks, digging her thumbnail into the grooves of the floorboards. As another hour came and went, she picked at a loose thread on the hem of her jumper.

Pearly moonlight leaked through the round window in the attic eaves. Belle adjusted her shoulders. The weight of the day was dragging her whole body down like an iron anchor. Just as her eyes began to close, the creaking grandfather clock hidden under a dust-sheet suddenly chimed three times, stirring her.

"Witching hour," Artorius muttered under his breath, the first thing either of them had spoken aloud for hours.

A flicker against the floorboards.

A dash of light.

Another.

"Mum," Belle whispered, hardly daring to breathe.

Bonnie. Finally, she reappeared with a gasp and collapsed in a heap on the floorboards, the fabric of her dress billowing in a plume. It felt like slow motion in Belle's eyes. Wolfie hurtled towards her. Artorius rushed to rise from his armchair, dropping his knitting to the floor in a clatter of needles. Belle, swallowing a sob, scrambled to her mother's side.

Belle dragged her mother to Artorius's armchair while he provided blankets, chocolate biscuits and frilly pillows for propping. Eventually, by the time the sun came up in a rosy glow, a faint colour had returned to Bonnie's cheeks. Initially careful to avoid overwhelming her, Belle was now full of questions that wouldn't keep.

Bonnie shook her head, wincing at the movement.

"I couldn't see anything or anyone, love. Just darkness. Pitch black. Blacker than darkness. I knew that it was magic dragging me away from you, and…it's so hard to describe. As though it were tearing me from where I wanted to be. They kept ripping me away. Away from you."

She took a careful sip of tea. "I could barely breathe, like a hand was pushing me underwater and holding me there. And the sound…someone screaming with rage inside my own head. Whoever it was, they were furious that I fought against whatever they were trying to do."

Artorius was pottering around in his scuffed slippers, attempting to build the attic back together again with swift motions of magic. " Subfuror Incantare ," he muttered, before turning to the witches. "It is incontrovertible. Darkness, fear, emptiness…the theft of joy and hope. All signs point to stolen, manipulated magic."

Belle felt as though her brain were spinning on its axis. She held her head in both hands to steady herself. "This cannot be happening. Are we wrapped up with some kind of…of villain?"

Artorius gently cleared his throat to interrupt. "Belle, I must confess…"

Her stomach plummeted. It couldn't be.

"I was trying to ignore it," he went on. "I thought I was being overzealous with my concerns. The failed protection circles…"

"The what?" Bonnie interrupted with concern.

"It's just a thing, Mum." Belle waved a dismissive hand.

"The signs in the sky, I dismissed it all as coincidence. But magic doesn't lie. It seems beyond doubt…"

"Please don't say it."

"You may indeed be in danger."

Belle tried to force a laugh. "Oh, so I have my own personal baddy to fight now?"

"Ms.Blackthorn, I do not jest. And I am reluctant to add," Artorius continued, worry etched into his wrinkles, "we are evidently dallying with something or someone who wishes you and your mother not be on this path together. It is most strange indeed."

Belle chewed at the inside of her cheek, thinking. "It's someone in the coven, then?"

"Possibly." Artorius considered. "Although at this point, someone outside of Selcouth is equally as likely. Perhaps another coven, farther afield. Or independent wicchefolk, for that matter. It could be anyone."

"Brilliant. That narrows it down."

"We can only hope their spell strength is exhausted, at least for a time, from your mother putting up such a brave fight."

Bonnie gave him a weak but proud smile. It didn't linger. "Here I am, causing more problems for you when you've already got enough on your plate."

"It's fine, Mum. Stop flapping," Belle said as she adjusted the cushion behind Bonnie's head.

"Don't make a fuss, love. I just need to get home, get back to my stores so I can start thinking about the best way to look after you." Bonnie attempted to raise herself out of the chair.

Belle gave her mum an incredulous look. "Are you mad, woman? You're not going anywhere, you must be joking. You can barely hold yourself up."

"I'll be all right."

"Will you sit down? Transference is out of the question. There is no way."

Artorius interrupted their gentle bickering. "I should be delighted to play host to you until you are satisfactorily recovered, Ms.Blackthorn. And dear Wolfie, of course."

Bonnie nodded in reluctant acceptance.

"There are plenty of rooms," he went on. "You are welcome to stay as long as is required. There is safety in numbers, after all."

"Thank you, Mr.Day."

"Nonsense, it will be the honour of my life."

Monica was perfectly understanding when Belle called Lunar to let them know that her mother had taken ill and that she would be absent for a few days.

Christopher was less patient. "Is there no one else who can step in, though? She'd be best in hospital, then you can come to the shop. You drive me bloody mad, Blackthorn, but things will go to pot without you here."

It felt good to say no to him.

THE SMALL POSITIVE of the whole "Mum nearly drowning in a dark abyss of Subfuror Incantare " incident was that Belle and Artorius found themselves diving into a whole new branch of magic earlier than anticipated. With her main goal now to see Bonnie restored to health, a healing potion was first on Belle's list to conquer.

The Alchemy title page of the grimoire was illustrated with plump cauldrons in silver and oyster grey, laced with ivy and a million different bottles shaped like jewels on the page. Belle noted that Artorius's own ancient Alchemy books were all covered in smatterings of potions in every shade, like a particularly messy chef and their favourite recipe books. He explained that the measuring and accuracy of potion making had been something he had practiced in the name of science over the years, even without his magic.

Boil and blend, stoke flame and cinder,

A timid choice would merely hinder.

Grab for new and grasp it tightly,

Consider what leaves trace brightly.

It shall not do to shrink nor settle,

Thistle, milkweed, purslane, nettle.

Chase with valour that which calls,

Thrice brew, benevolence in all.

"Three benevolent potions, that seems plain enough," Artorius read, as though it were blindingly obvious. "We shall of course begin with a draught to encourage your mother's healing, aid in speeding up the process as best we can. Of course, magic cannot work miracles or fully heal any ailment. Such magic only displaces misfortune to another. But perhaps some ginger root powder, a sugar cube or two…"

He wandered off to peruse his shelves of endlessly packed ingredients, reaching for a vial whenever it caught his eye, while simultaneously referring to a copy of Brewing and Stewing with an extremely glamorous witch brandishing a ladle on the cover.

"The practice of potion brewing is one of finesse and concentration. Although a flair for creativity is also welcome to the science," Artorius said, pacing busily back and forth. "Healing, healing…" he muttered, adjusting his repaired glasses.

Belle shot him an unimpressed side-eye and grabbed a toffee from the bowl of sweets that Artorius had provided for class. He'd learned early on that her brain seemed to function better when it was given a little treat every once in a while. The ruby red wrapper rustled with static between her fingers.

"Is there not just an exact recipe we can follow? To make it as efficient as possible?" Belle surged forwards to catch a glass mason jar that was teetering on the edge of a shelf while Artorius haphazardly handed her container after container, each packed with something more unappealing-looking than the last.

"This isn't a ratatouille we're whipping up," he scolded.

"So I can chuck anything in as long as I mean well?"

He gave her a look. "Not exactly. We require ingredients, but their specifics are down to the witch at the cauldron. If your mother usually turns to the world of nature for healing, we'll start there. The familiar and the comforting will lead to healing."

"We'll need Earl Grey, then. Tea leaves."

"What else?" he encouraged. "Anything your mother always gave you when you were poorly as a child, maybe?"

Belle thought back to mornings against stacks of pillows, towels over the duvet, a washing-up bowl at the side of the bed. "Black currants? She'd always give me glasses of warm squash. Malt for the warm milk. Bread and butter, if that counts as nature."

"Throw in a little honey to soothe. Willow bark for the pain. This is certainly starting to sound like a potion to me."

"Either a potion or the world's worst hangover cure."

A few hours later, there were flames licking at the bottom of the large cauldron in the centre of the attic, and the contents were turning a rich shade of brown roux, simmering gently with a nutty scent that seemed both medicinal and soothing. Strangely, it carried the smell of Bonnie's house by the time it came to a boil, which felt to Belle like a sign that it must be a half-decent spell.

She was vindicated when the grimoire glowed with a balmy amber light, indicating their success at the first benevolent potion, Salutaris Medella . Sagging with relief at the sight, Belle spooned a portion into a little china bowl.

She gave a small knock on the bedroom door, found her mum sleeping and crept in, trying not to upset the floorboards beneath her feet. Just as she reached the bedside table to tenderly lay down the potion, a jutting nail sunk against her small toe, and she let out a violent expletive.

Bonnie stirred and Belle apologised. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, didn't mean to wake you. My toe…Sorry."

"It's okay, love. What have you got there?"

"It's a healing potion. Don't worry, the grimoire approved it, so I don't think it'll poison you."

Bonnie wriggled under the duvet with an uncomfortable grimace, manoeuvring sore limbs to sit up against the striped headboard. She took the bowl from Belle and gratefully took a miniature sip.

"Down the hatch, Mum. I'm sure the combination of actual tree bark and curdled malted milk is a taste sensation."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you were the one sitting at the bedside looking after me," Bonnie said, offering a weak smile.

"It's the perfect Alchemy lesson. Actually very considerate of you to go and get attacked by some kind of dark forces."

Draining the bowl, Bonnie put it back on the bedside table and reached for Belle's hands, placing both between her own.

"I was so worried," Belle said quietly. "I didn't know where you'd…" She tried to say it boldly but couldn't make the words any louder than a whisper. Belle had only recently begun to notice a certain feeling that bloomed when it came to her mother's well-being. One unremarkable day, her mother had somehow stopped being something untouchable. Her mother was something that could break. Belle inwardly smarted at the realisation.

"I know, darling." Bonnie wrapped her arms around her daughter, stroking her hair from the crown of her head to the ends.

"I thought I'd lost you." Belle had her eyes closed now but felt her mother's hands on both her shoulders. She bit down on her bottom lip to steady the waver in her voice.

"Look at me, Belle. You listen to this, please. It'll take more than whatever that was to separate me and you. I would fight with every fibre of my being for you." She held her daughter's face. "Oh, darling, I'm not sure this is all worth it. I'm not sure it's safe. I was trying to give Artorius the benefit of the doubt, but—"

"Mum, don't start."

"I'm serious, sweetheart. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Bronwyn is occasionally wrong, and Morena is occasionally right. This can't be a coincidence. Under his roof."

Belle faltered for a fraction of a second, but her mind instantly returned to the moment of Bonnie's disappearance. Of the look on Artorius's face. The panic, the dismay, the distress that was only matched by her own.

"I know how it looks," she said slowly. "But this isn't down to him. He's a good man."

Bonnie stared at her with pinched eyes, then gave a sigh. "I do trust your judgement of character, love. But I trust my own, too, and I know that there's something not right in all of this."

"That could be the willow bark."

"I'm serious, Belle. I would give up every drop of magic in my bones if it meant that I could keep you safe."

"Mum, stop. Things have been knocked off-kilter since I set foot in Hecate House, so maybe the magic system is just a little unbalanced for me right now. It might not be anyone behind it."

Bonnie nodded hesitantly. "Perhaps…Why hasn't that watchman of yours been in touch? He's an impressive warlock. I'd feel better knowing that he was on the case, at least."

Belle shifted on the edge of the mattress, kicking one foot against the other.

"I haven't exactly told him what's been going on yet. In fact, I told him to back off."

"Oh, Belle. You need to—"

"I don't need him to protect or watch anything. I can look after myself." Belle shrugged. "Whatever it is, I can deal with it."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Belle Blackthorn, you are the most stubborn girl I have ever…"

"Fine, fine. I'll tell him. Not that he'll do anything. He'll just run a hand through his hair and thumb his jawline and brood."

Bonnie lay back against the cushions with her eyes closed, her energy levels depleted again.

"Get some sleep, Mum. I'm not saying that I'm the untapped genius of my witching generation or some kind of potions master, but I think there might be some colour coming back to your cheeks already."