Chapter 23 Earth Sorcery

23

Earth Sorcery

SLEEP HAD MADE things feel a little brighter, but the constant coat of worry that Belle wore across her shoulders still felt too big, uncomfortable to carry. Falling out with Ariadne made everything feel entirely wrong. It hadn't happened for years. The wine and snacks had tentatively repaired things, but an uncharacteristic awkwardness lingered between them and refused to be batted away. The feeling that yes, they'd both said they were sorry, but neither side entirely took back what they'd said. Something had changed—and stuck.

At work, Christopher wound his neck in a little more than usual but played the sickly sweet victim who insisted on buying sandwich platters to thank everyone for their kindness after his unprovoked attack. Meanwhile, she managed to cobble together excuses with Monica and Jim, explaining that the man she was sprinting after across the shop was a supplier who'd brought the wrong cover design for an upcoming launch party. Monica asked whether she had a number for him because she might ask him to after-work drinks next week.

It was her mentorship that pulled focus above all else, however, as the nineteenth moon dawned mild and milky, nestling itself snugly into a pocket of the sky for a long night of guarding everything below. Belle, tiredness now a fundamental feature of her personality, rested both hands on top of her head and took a deep, drained breath of frustration. The attic floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she rocked back onto her heels.

"It's literally impossible, there's no point. I can't do it," she whined.

"Stop that at once. You absolutely can," said Artorius, brushing off her defeatist attitude, as he did every time she expressed doubt in herself. They'd grown so used to each other's company by now that any need for politeness was long faded.

Tonight they had begun fresh work on Alchemy. It had been about as productive as a chocolate cauldron and considerably less delicious.

"We've tried. Over and over. And look." Belle gestured with indignant desperation at the individual-sized cauldron. "It's still a bowl of what is effectively soup with added crap chucked in. If this is magic, then my gutters are, too."

Belle peered back into the cauldron with a smidge of hope that it might have started doing something promising. "Minestrone." She grimaced. "Maybe we could try a different potion. How about a reviving brew, something for the tiredness?"

Artorius shook his head. "Perhaps not one for your current skill set. Revival potions are some of the most demanding brews and require immense concentration, real care and effort for prolonged periods. One has to be most dedicated to the potion to produce something successful."

Belle had no idea Rune had gone to so much effort for her. She was still furious with him but couldn't hold back a small secret smile at this revelation.

"Look at what you have managed to achieve already," Artorius reassured her, patting her arm cheerily. The warlock pointed eagerly to a piece of lined paper that he had pinned to the wall. He had carefully written out the six branches of magic and had triumphantly crossed out, in glowing ink, their first completed challenge.

With some help from Jinx, the pair had crossed off Animal Affinity from their lesson list in a matter of seconds, which almost made up for the lack of progress everywhere else. The grimoire had revealed the challenge the night before.

Soul always borne to find its pair,

Connections tied in knots of care.

Through years of life, some pillars stand,

Unyielding trust and love in hand.

Familiar of thine greatest heart,

N'er to unravel nor fall apart.

Mammal, amphibian, reptile, bird,

This magic beyond spoken word.

It was plain to see that she and Jinx were a natural witch-familiar pairing. The fact that the cat was never far away during Belle's practical magic was a sure sign. Jinx, who had been summoned to Quill Lane for the occasion, entirely refused to leave them alone to their work, and Belle had been close to several heart attacks just watching Jinx weave her way in and out of Artorius's elderly ankles—particularly alarming when he was stood near the attic stairs. Belle had managed some impressively speedy incantation work to change the wooden stairs into a bouncy castle, saving him from tumbling to his doom at the paws of her needy familiar.

While they tucked into boiled eggs with golden yolks and crisp buttery soldiers, she had shared stories of the cat headbutting her affectionately while she cried over heartbreak, how sinking her fingers into Jinx's fur always grounded her. She'd explained, aware that she sounded completely mad, that they understood one another. Not that Jinx could talk or anything—that would be ridiculous. But her familiar was part of her. If soulmates existed, they were that. She knew they'd meet again next time around, every time around. They'd always find each other. There was no doubt about it, this witch and her familiar were kindred spirits.

"The reason that endarkenment occurs on one's thirtieth birthday is tradition, of course. But it's also more than that," Artorius explained to Belle. "After three whole decades of time, one begins to discover the pillar relationships that life has delivered for the long haul. Those precious folk who remain through all weathers, through all tempers. Those to be cherished, who make us feel more ourselves with them than when we are alone. Your mother is one. Ariadne, too, from what I have heard. And Jinx here is undoubtedly such a spirit."

The allegory had lit up as soon as Belle lifted Jinx to place a padded paw upon the page, and the sheer relief was a happy respite. It was when Artorius suggested they dip their toes back into Alchemy, with the second of the benevolent potions, that things had taken a turn for the worse.

"Maybe it makes more sense to cover more Earth Sorcery theory first and understand what I'm actually chucking in the pot before I start trying to combine all of this lot," Belle said in compromise while turning back to stir the soupy sludge.

"Very well. I'm sure your mother will be delighted that we are venturing into her specialist subject while she's here with us. I dare say it's time we checked on her, anyway," Artorius added, glancing at the face of the dusty grandfather clock.

Bonnie had slept in the guest room almost continuously since her vanishing a week ago, Wolfie guarding her bedside loyally and Jinx joining them when it suited her. The animals were surprisingly amicable with one another, Wolfie only occasionally accepting a perfunctory swipe to the snout if she acted in any way that Jinx did not approve of.

Bonnie promised Belle that she was now well enough to emerge, joining them as they convened in the living room. Under her arm, the elder witch gripped her own grimoire, the threadbare spine clinging on for dear life. Pages stuck out at every possible angle like a beloved family scrapbook, decades of learning gathered and celebrated, along with several ringed tea stains on the front cover.

"I haven't been this well rested in…well, probably thirty years, actually," Bonnie said.

Artorius slid himself from the plump armchair, patting Belle fondly on the shoulder. "I'll get the kettle on." He shuffled out of the living room, leaning on Wolfie as he went, who followed alongside for a guaranteed biscuit. As soon as he was out of earshot, Bonnie grabbed Belle by both arms and forced her to sit down on the sofa.

"I'm sure there's a million things you've been keeping from me." She spoke quickly and a little fretfully, scanning her daughter's face for any signs that something might not be quite right. "How are you getting on? Are you okay?"

"Still no luck with Alchemy. I feel like my magic is…holding back on me?"

"If part of you is unsure of what could lie ahead with this, then it's bound to affect your craft," Bonnie said thoughtfully.

"But it's almost the other way around. My instinct truly believes that I'm safe. You probably think I'm mad for it, but I know I'm not at risk from Artorius and his magic."

Bonnie hesitated, then gave a small smile. "I happen to agree."

"You do?" Belle glanced up from picking at her fingers.

"Funnily enough, yes. I worry about you incessantly. It's my job and has been for three decades. But it only took a moment of being in this house to feel that you're…meant to be here. The care, the loyalty…it is palpable. That man is not the monster that Selcouth has believed him to be, which is confusing…but reassuring."

Belle felt instantly soothed. "I mean, how could anyone be scared of that?" She jerked her head towards the kitchen, which was currently echoing with the dulcet tones of a warbling old man singing a power ballad and harmonising with Wolfie's howl.

"This whole situation continues to grow stranger by the day, darling. But we know that Selcouth is overseeing. I know Cas wouldn't let anything that didn't follow the rules go ignored, for one. And there's that watchman of yours."

Belle instantly felt her face flush and tried to play off her embarrassment. "It's reassuring, I guess, to know that he's around."

"Rune Dunstan. Nice lad, handsome." Bonnie pursed her lips tightly, attempting to keep a straight face. There was that frustrating, knowing glint in her eye which appeared whenever Belle so much as mentioned someone of the opposite sex.

"Stop. If you utter one more word, I fear I may die right here on this couch."

"I won't say a thing!" her mother replied indignantly, hands to her chest in surrender. A rattling tea tray emerged from behind the door.

"Ladies, I apologise profusely for the interruption." Artorius, pink bobble hat first, poked his head into the room. "I will adjourn to the attic and meet you there. I've also whipped up some rather good eclairs, if that bribes you at all…"

"I have never known someone to have such a constant supply of cakes in my entire life. It's impressive, Arty."

"We'll be right there," Bonnie told him kindly as he began ascending the stairs with a full orchestral soundtrack of groaning floorboards, rattling teacups and his own vocals.

"Allow your magic to lead the way, Belle," Bonnie said, turning back to her daughter with eyes radiating her signature soft kindness. "I know that may feel like an unnatural, confusing challenge when you're so used to letting your logical non-wicche side take over all the time. But just this once, try surrendering to it."

"EARTH SORCERY: TO be at one with nature itself."

Belle and Artorius were seated in what had become their designated chairs while Bonnie took centre stage in the attic. Rune, much to Belle's mortification, had joined the lesson as planned. She'd assumed that their argument would have left him sulking, but he'd transferred just as he said he would. They said a curt hello, Belle immediately busying herself elsewhere, and he parked himself in the bay window after a formal introduction with Artorius, both men equally wary of the other. Belle was surprised that Artorius perhaps seemed the more antagonistic of the two, eyeing up his new acquaintance with the look of an untrusting, overprotective father. Even if he was almost a foot shorter.

"Watchman, eh?" He peered over his glasses. "A fine job you seem to have been doing, young man, looking after our girl."

"With respect, we have no idea what we're up against. There's only so much protection I can…"

Belle rolled her eyes. "Ignore him," she told Rune.

Artorius shot her a mischievous wink and hissed a laugh.

"To understand the power that it holds in a curled-up fist." Bonnie spoke loudly, reclaiming their attention. "And more importantly, remaining grounded in ‘what will be, will be' and trusting that said ground carries us forwards. Remembering what really matters."

She picked at invisible lint on the sleeves of her top and cleared her throat nervously.

"Did you make a presentation for this?" Belle asked, amused by her mother adopting such uncharacteristic formality.

Bonnie shot her daughter a look. "As you know, because you are…well, my daughter"—she coughed nervously—"I specialise and always have specialised in herbalist magic. If you ask me, there is no greater power than that of the earth beneath us. The changing of seasons, volcanos, tsunamis, vast oak trees, the way the sky holds the weather in the palm of its hand…Nothing compares."

It was reassuring to be in the hands of someone so passionate as well as familiar. And now she had two of these figures in her life, the other one sitting next to her, listening in rapture like a proud grandfather. Gratitude sung loudly inside Belle.

"It's been a while, love, since we practiced the craft together. These days I'm more solitary than ever, got used to my own company when it comes to casting. So I'm sorry in advance if I'm a bit set in my ways," Bonnie rambled nervously.

Belle nodded over to the dregs within her cauldron reluctantly, and her mum edged over towards it. "Don't worry. Have you seen what I attempted earlier?"

"Heck." Bonnie glanced inside with a look of concern. "What on earth is that?"

"Not sure anymore. I think drinking from the Thames would be more appealing than this," Belle admitted glumly.

With a quick flourish of her hand, Bonnie vanished the remaining dregs. "Sweetheart, we can't all be good at everything the first time. Potion making is all about practice, practice, practice, which will probably make it your least favourite branch. But Earth Sorcery is the keystone to it, understanding your ingredients first and foremost. You wouldn't make lemonade without checking your lemons were all right. And this is your standard-issue individual cauldron, as you know. Tell me what you notice about the shape of it," Bonnie asked her daughter.

Belle looked at her blankly. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?"

"What about the shape of it? It's cauldron-shaped, isn't it?"

Both witches turned to shoot daggers as Rune snorted from across the room. He was listening in while investigating a selection of the jars in Artorius's collection. "Sorry," he muttered.

"If you're going to be like this, Belle…"

"I'm not being like anything! You're asking me stupid questions, Mum. It's the shape of a cauldron."

"It's round, Belle! Round, feminine, womb-like…"

"Womb-like? What are you on about?"

"Will you listen, please? Its curves and roundness are astutely feminine. It's symbolic of the vessel where life itself begins," Bonnie enthused.

"That is…actually very cool," Belle admitted, picking up a smaller cauldron in her hands from a cardboard box on the floor. The nicks and scrapes, the imperfections in the metal, the marks of the past, telling a story. She tried not to think about her own neglected cauldron back at the flat, currently holding the fittings for her juicer. "Message received. Respect the cauldron. But if I'm ever caught short, if I want to whip up a quick potion, and I haven't got access to an actual cauldron, can I use anything? A saucepan, a colander…"

"A colander? Really? A cauldron full of holes is just what you need," Rune scoffed.

Belle shrugged indignantly.

"Belle, will you please be serious?"

"I am! That was a serious question. Living with Ari makes it tricky to have bloody cauldrons lying around the flat. I'm not sure I can convince her again that they're candle holders."

"Actually, saucepans are fine," Bonnie relented. "A lot of witches favour them, in all honesty, for kitchen magic at least. No washing-up bowls, though. There's been some melting-based disasters that have not been pretty."

Bonnie emptied the contents of her handbag onto a nearby table. Mary Poppins sprang to mind as everything toppled out of the lining in a jumble. Among the chaotic debris, Belle saw a bunch of basil tied up with brown twine. A small jar of what looked like elderflower beside brittle stems of dried lavender, a scattering of squashed juniper berries, and a slightly droopy selection of rosemary, hellebore and gardenias. All of these, of course, were alongside endless receipts, two glasses cases without any glasses in them, some mints mixed in with a handful of loose dog treats and a couple of emergency poo bags.

"If they cart you off to an asylum one day after seeing what you carry around inside your handbag, I can't say I'll blame them," Belle said.

"This is just what I like to keep on me. You never know when the time might strike to put something together while you're on the move, so keep a stash of your favourites close to hand for emergencies. I've been known to brew up a potion in a department shop loo when needed," Bonnie said proudly.

"What? In the actual loo? Like the—"

"No, in the sink, you daft…Look, tell me what you recognise. Group them together by their qualities, we can begin to identify some purposes."

Artorius and Rune both wandered over in unison, quietly observing the two witches at work. Belle turned her attention back to the table for a proper look at everything that had cascaded unceremoniously from her mother's bag. Her rummaging noises made Jinx's ears scoot backwards horizontally in alarm.

"Mum, I mean this in the nicest possible way. I know it's important and special to you, but…you can't seriously tell me that these things all lead to healing or…well, anything at all. Other than compost."

"Of course they bloody do. What could possibly be more powerful than nature? Say you're out walking, and you're wearing those silly cropped jeans of yours. Why you're paying more for less denim, I'll never know. But a stinging nettle catches your ankles. It's itchy, it's sore, it feels like it's burning. What do you do?"

"Look for a dock leaf."

Bonnie gave her daughter a smug, satisfied look. "Exactly. Nature heals."

To her surprise, Belle found that she recognised most of the chaos covering the table, with knowledge that had been long dormant and neglected. She began separating it into a selection of different small piles.

"Basil, gardenia, lavender…easy enough, they all pull towards love." Belle racked her brain for the dregs of past schooling in Bonnie's greenhouse. "Cedar and elderflower, healing. Juniper…cleansing, right?" She shot a look at her mum, who gave her a quick nod of encouragement.

A few moments later, everything had been arranged neatly.

"Not bad, darling. You're almost spot on with everything. There tends to be a lot of overlap with certain ingredients, anyway, different types of spells for different souls."

Belle beamed at the praise and noticed how good it felt to have these three encouraging presences around her.

"Now, how about we get the next of those blasted challenges lit up like bloody Blackpool, shall we, love?"

THREE MORE MOONS had passed with Bonnie nearby and still no satisfactory glow from the book. "Remind me what the grimoire says again?" she asked her daughter patiently.

Belle let out an exasperated sound like some kind of flattened frog. She knew the Earth Sorcery ballad entirely by heart:

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.

Sitting on an old crate in the attic, she bent over to touch her toes, letting her head flop between her knees. Bonnie was walking continuous laps around the room, driving Belle slowly insane with the repetitive movement. Artorius was poring over a purple-bound book entitled The Nature of Nature . Rune was downstairs on the sofa watching late-night television after Belle stropped that his observation was off-putting and temporarily banished him from the attic.

"We are still no closer to figuring this one out. And will you please stop pacing before I rugby tackle you to the floor?"

"Sorry, sorry. It's the nerves, I'm a dither," Bonnie said, flapping. "We've addressed about every single possible plant, weed, tree, shrub, potted plant, cactus…Flora and fauna has provided nothing. I'm at a dead end."

"We have concluded that we must think bigger than the average spell jar," Artorius spoke up. "For one reason or another—likely the heritage of Earth Sorcery talent—the grimoire has decided that this particular challenge must be more…challenging."

"If I have to conjure one more ray of sunlight or emit one more rainstorm from my fingertips, I think I will probably surrender to madness," Belle whined. They had been attempting small-scale spellwork with sunshine, wind and water to grow plants more quickly, and she struggled with them all. It was soggy, muddy, grubby work.

Artorius suddenly exclaimed, looking up at the Blackthorns with an expression that indicated he had made an important discovery. "Look." He pointed to a particular page in his research, beckoning the mother and daughter to his side.

Calling for the elements relies on a steadfast belief that a witch is worthy of such potent magic. The dynamics of the elements being brought to hand, a power bestowed only upon a firstborn daughter, is almost entirely reliant on a potent confidence in her own deserving.

"That's it. That's what the grimoire is asking for. Earth, wind, water, fire, firstborn daughter…all there in the allegory," Bonnie said, referring back to the words of the challenge.

No one said anything for a moment.

"Well, how the bloody hell am I meant to do that, then? That's nuts."

"Now, Belle…"

"No, I'm sorry, Arty. But hanging out with the cat, fine. Done. Transference, I'll get there. Three benevolent potions, challenging but manageable. And now, suddenly I'm supposed to be harnessing all the elements at once? This bloody book is off its rocker."

"I don't know why your first instinct is always to assume that you can't do something," Artorius said, distinctly unimpressed.

Belle frowned back.

"I just…I just don't think I'm ready for that."

Bonnie and Artorius glanced at each other across the table and sighed in unison. "We'll return to Alchemy on a later occasion," Artorius said, sounding forlorn.

The morning's orange October light was splitting the sky like golden repairs for broken pottery. Another moon shrank back shyly, leaving Belle with only eight remaining before her return to Hecate House.