Chapter 25 Trusting Memory

25

Trusting Memory

BELLE AND RUNE had been sitting together in a cosy corner of Lunar Books for a while, just talking, tucked between the science fiction and the current charts, watching the sun come up through the shutters and in between the window pumpkins, lighting the pulpy carved faces.

They'd met outside her flat, the world wrapped in a scarf of October mist. He was leaning against a lamp-post when she returned home from Quill Lane bleary-eyed, reading a book she'd mentioned in passing a few mornings ago, she noted. It had felt a little too intimate to invite him upstairs after what had happened last time. Both were pretending it had never happened, and it felt a little maddening. She didn't like to consider whether the decision not to tell him the truth was the right one and equally didn't like to admit that she was growing far too fond of his company.

"There's not many people I'd sit in a beanbag for," Rune said grumpily.

"It's either these or the kids' chairs, and one of those is ice cream–shaped, so this is for your own dignity," Belle told him. She privately thought he looked adorable, his long legs bunched so that his knees were almost by his ears as he slumped against the yellow beanbag.

"I've been wanting to ask you, but I knew you wouldn't tell me the truth…How are you doing? You know, evidently being the target of dark forces and all," Rune said, concern clear behind his eyes as his brow furrowed.

"I'm doing okay, especially when you word it like that," she replied uncertainly, clutching the takeaway cup that he'd been waiting for her with. It contained good coffee laced with another batch of his reviving concoction, which had stopped her from feeling like quite such a creature from the depths and returned her to something that resembled a human being.

"Yes, it looks it," he replied with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to her fingers, which had been bitten to shreds over the past weeks, three currently wrapped in plasters and one bleeding onto her cardigan.

"Honestly, I'm fine. If we ignore the small matter of four grimoire challenges that still haven't lit, of course."

"Never mind the damn book," Rune dismissed.

"Easy for you to say. I'm not going through all of this for nothing. I've lost my best friend. I've all but lost this place." She jerked her head towards their serene surroundings. "I nearly lost my mum. I've definitely lost my mind, we can all agree on that. And I'm on track to lose my magic in a matter of days."

The admission brought out a hidden queasiness in Belle's throat, all the way down to the pit of her gut. She smiled weakly. "Did you speak to Bronwyn?"

"I did. She's furious. Mostly with me for letting you continue after the Subfuror Incantare ," Rune said. "I have to tell you, she wants to pull you out of the mentorship—"

"Surely no one can make that call apart from me," Belle interrupted.

"If you'll let me finish," he said. "But I assured her that it was out of the question, that you weren't normally one to listen to anything as insignificant as logic or reason. And that you absolutely wouldn't quit the habit now."

Belle bit down on her lip to stop a grin. "Thanks for standing up for me."

"Anytime." Rune mirrored her smile. "She blames herself, I think."

"She just wanted the best for me. She couldn't have known whatever this is was waiting in the wings."

"Well, that's just it. The coven should know. The fact that Bronwyn and Morena are just as in the dark as we are is the most concerning part to me."

Belle glanced at him, unable to keep hold of the question. "What exactly do you think I'm up against?"

He sighed. "I'm looking into the possibility that it's an unknown. When things like this have happened in the past—it's rare, but it's happened—it's been a witch who hasn't disclosed themselves, looking to make themselves known. Living alone with magic, and without the support of Selcouth, must be overwhelming and terrifying at times. Makes people do strange things."

"How do we find them?"

"It's a big task," he admitted reluctantly. "But it's my main priority, my only priority. I've been working on tracing the source. It's how we trace the emergence of new witches who don't come through a family tree. There are systems at headquarters which allow for this kind of thing, but so far, I can't seem to make the spells extend their focus farther than Hecate House."

"I hope they're paying you handsomely for all this extra research to make sure I'm not hexed into oblivion. Unless oblivion happens to be all-inclusive? I could use a holiday." She smiled. "I'm sure you have plenty more important things to do."

He laughed under his breath, a look of sincerity falling across his face. "Belle, I don't know how many times I have to tell you. There is nothing more important to me than you."

She felt her cheeks flush and saw his do the same.

"For the remaining moons, I mean. While I'm on duty for you."

Her heart started beating again. "Right."

"It's my top priority to get you safely through this mentorship," he went on, nudging her foot softly with his own. "But there's still something we need to discuss in more detail. Artorius. You need to ask him about his past. Confront him."

Belle instantly prickled. "Confront him about what, exactly?"

"About all of this. Yes, as far as I can tell, there's no dark magic being created at his home, so I have to give him that. But evidently, it's drawn there. That can't be a coincidence."

"Even if it does turn out to be him, which it won't"—she interjected with a pointed finger—"what are you expecting from a conversation like that? ‘Oh, silly me. You're right! I was trying to kill you! Caught in the act.'?"

"I'm not expecting a confession, but it might make him stumble. It's arduous, knotty magic. We should be doing whatever we can to impede his… their efforts."

Belle sighed. "If I lose out on his apple crumble as a result, you owe me."

ARTORIUS SPUN ON the spot and began rummaging through a packed set of drawers, lively contents bursting out the moment he opened them. "Now, where the cursed cat whiskers did I…" A silk scarf flew in one direction, a broken badminton racket went careering in the other. "Bingo!"

With a quick gesture of his palm, the old man tossed a pinch of deep purple powder into the sooty grate to prepare their Clairvoyancy lesson: the basics of flickering magic, pyromancy and candle reading.

Belle felt her stomach knot with dread. It had to be done. She steeled herself for her next words, grasping her own fists with white knuckles. "I need to ask you something, Arty."

It felt surreal, knowing she was about to confront it all. Artorius took a seat in the usual tattered armchair and cast out his palm, bringing forth an old wooden crate for her, which was stacked up in the cobwebbed corner. With another small flourish, he produced a cushion to place on top. The old man looked at her with expectant eyebrows, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"By all means, Belle. Questions lead to the most fascinating lessons."

Now that she'd started, she didn't even know what she wanted to ask. What was the next part of this conversation? "Firstly, I am so grateful that you have given me this opportunity. That you've opened your home up to me this way. But I have some questions about, well…about your past. The things that I was told by Selcouth about you."

Instantly, Artorius's face dropped. "Oh. Yes. Of course you do." He sighed deeply, removing his pink hat for the moment. Between his gnarled fingers, he began twisting the fabric, pulling at a loose thread. "And I shall explain everything, answer every question you may have. I regret bitterly that you have probably been fretting for so long now. We should have addressed this immediately, but I have shied away from it, too. I apologise for not being bold enough to confront the subject myself. Sleep has evaded me often this past month for regret that I had invited someone into my home without explaining myself."

Artorius looked even frailer and smaller than usual. His shoulders curled over like the edges of worn paper. He folded in on himself before finding Belle's gaze with a determined expression. "I am sure the coven spoke to you of why I have been banished from their world for so very long now."

"Yes, they did. Bronwyn insisted that I know the full history behind your banishment."

Artorius nodded. "She was right to do so. Without question. Knowledge is protection."

He turned his head with haste but wasn't quick enough to hide the tears that were gathering in his eyes. With laboured difficulty, he rose from the armchair and shuffled towards the round window, clearing the condensation with his jacket sleeve.

"My deepest shame. How you must fear me."

"I don't fear you, Arty."

It was true. She didn't fear the man in front of her, she never had done. But she did fear the things that Bronwyn had told her. She feared the magic that he'd once made, and the revenge, the jealousy that had fuelled his impulsive decision. Belle considered which truth it was that she wanted or needed to know.

"I'd like to hear your story straight from you. If you'd like to tell it to me."

Artorius nodded while staring at his slippers. He chuckled softly. "How I wish I could, my dear. I would love nothing more than to be an open book. But I'm afraid my version of events is a hazy one, to say the very least."

He gingerly returned to the chair opposite Belle and balanced his hands on the knees of his trousers. "Where to even begin?" His gaze was fixed on the purple fire as though it were showing him things, flames reflecting patterns of kaleidoscope amethyst in his eyes.

"As I'm sure you know, after my brother's death, I was held for questioning at Hecate House for some time. The days became weeks, the weeks turned to months, soon it was years…"

"Years?" Belle balked. She hadn't known he had been held at Hecate House for so long.

"A bleak time. The coven didn't know what to do with me. I was just a boy, really. I had lost the most important person in my life to terrible circumstances, and it seemed I was responsible for his death." His voice was soft and hoarse, catching in his throat. The old man's cautious choice of words struck her.

"?‘It seemed'? Do you mean you disagree that you killed your brother?"

"They told me I had murdered Savaric. And when I think back to that fateful night, I do indeed see myself creating the potion that killed him. Every night, even now, I see in my memory my own young hands reaching out and adding the cursed ingredients that would lead to his demise."

Artorius's voice was barely above a whisper. "But, it's strange…" His hands stopped fidgeting with the pink hat. He looked directly at Belle. "I have no recollection of performing the action itself, Belle. Never have done. That is to say"—he closed his eyes in confusion—"I could see the action taking place in my mind's eye, I still can see it happening. But I could never, and still do not, remember it happening. There is a dissonance between the two."

"A dissonance?" Belle leaned forwards. "As though the memory isn't right?"

"But they all told me that it was me who had killed my brother." The old man hesitated, confused. "So I believed them. I must have killed him. I could see the very moment that I did it playing out in my mind."

"I don't understand," Belle admitted.

Even Artorius was stumbling over his own explanation. He shook his head, trying to clear cobwebs of age. "I'm not explaining this too well, am I? It's as though…How do I…? Ahh!" The old man snapped his fingers. "Those newfangled video cameras. I imagine your mother may have one, and so perhaps you've watched on film moments of your own childhood play out on-screen. You don't remember them happening yourself, but you see them on a television. You see them played out, and later it feels as though you can remember living them. They imprint on your memory. But really, you just see the image that was captured on your behalf. What you actually remember is the last time you remembered it. It is a trick."

Belle, with hesitant surprise, found she understood. "There's footage from my childhood that I've seen so many times, it feels like I remember it happening. But I've just watched the recording. I don't actually remember it."

Artorius nodded. "The truth of your past and constructed memories become blurred. What did you truly experience, and what do you merely recall seeing occur?"

She pressed on. "Do you think that maybe the memory is just confused after so long? Or are you telling me that you think Savaric's death was caused by…something else?"

Artorius sighed, staring deep into the fire. Belle knew that he was remembering his brother.

"I cannot say for certain. And I certainly didn't help myself back then."

"What do you mean?"

"Those dungeons were my home for years. I couldn't stand to be alone with my own thoughts anymore. One night, I broke out of the dungeons. And I…I cursed myself."

Belle's stomach shot up to her throat, then dropped to a plummet.

"I simply couldn't bear it anymore. Any wicchefolk who finds themselves in true despair can summon a different type of power from within their soul. They probably won't even know they're capable of such a caliginous force until it happens. It's known as Tenebrae Obscurum . And on my escape, I hexed myself. I wiped all recollection of losing Savaric from my own mind, too painful to keep reliving over and over."

Belle was frozen with horror, hanging on his every word.

"At least, that's what I tried to do. The hex went wrong, of course." His usual chuckle was laced with melancholy.

"I was young. Much younger than you, Belle. So unskilled with magic, it was entirely unrefined. My curse merely blurred the memories rather than removing them entirely. So now, I remember the feelings and the pain as if it were just yesterday. I remember the loss and the grief and the sorrow. But not the true recollection of the action in the moment."

There was nothing that she could say. Belle found that she believed him entirely. "Artorius, I'm so…But if you even suspected that it wasn't you who killed Savaric, why didn't you stand up for yourself? There must have been another explanation. You were so young, and they just accepted it, closed the book on you. Where were your parents?"

"My father was already gone; my mother quickly followed Savaric, unable to cope. No one at the coven wanted alternative possibilities. Savaric was the answer to everybody's prayers for Selcouth. He was the future of the coven, the warlock with the talent and charm everybody was seeking after years of turmoil. Bitter grief makes rash decisions. It also sealed my fate."

The fire crackled and spat out a rain of angry violet ashes, scorching the floorboards before they extinguished themselves.

"Grief made my own decisions, too, it is a powerful guide. If it meant that my brother could rest peacefully, I was willing to accept the blame. And besides, I could not confidently say that I hadn't killed him, either. Truth potions and revelation spells to reveal my mind's eye…I can see the memory itself, so they all showed the fateful moment during questioning."

Artorius's voice trailed off as he got lost in thought, remembering and remembering.

"Arty, we have to tell the coven," she urged. "We should tell Bronwyn, she'll listen." Belle stood up, ready to travel straight to Hecate House with him in that moment.

Artorius extended a grateful smile but shook his head. "Too much time has passed and, I would wager, only fed the growing legend of my actions over the years. Besides, my memory curse still hangs over me, even now. It was a dark, messy curse. I still can't tell the truth of it."

"We could reverse the curse?" Belle said hesitantly, not having a clue what she was suggesting. "If we used both of our magics together, and I could bring in my mum, too, for—"

Artorius held up his hands to stop her, grateful but decided. "I am afraid to lift it, if the truth be told. Afraid of what I might uncover, and now afraid of what it would do to my body in my old age. My dance moves may suggest otherwise, but I am in fact a rather old man," he said with a smile. "Besides, I am content with my quiet life. I've long let go of the need for answers. I keep to myself, I note the birdsong in the mornings, and I wait for a quiet death with the open arms of a friend. When the time comes, I'll see Savaric again, and the truth will be known to both of us."

A silence fell across the attic, billowing between them like soft fabric. Artorius's gaze remained on the flames in the fireplace, dancing as a gentle night breeze carried in between the roof tiles.

"I must make another confession to you, Belle."

She stiffened, steeling herself for what else he could possibly have to share.

"My magic never left me."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"My banishment from the coven didn't entirely work as they planned. In my research since, I have uncovered that it may have been a result of incomplete endarkenment. As my powers weren't fully instated in the first place, the coven's attempts to strip me of them didn't work. It's why I have been so eager to remind you that your magic is yours and yours alone, no matter what the judgement of others may declare, even if you did neglect it somewhat prior to our adventures together. I have retained my magic this whole time and have quietly practiced my craft ever since."

She'd known it deep down, really. That such skill and knowledge couldn't be from tomes and scrolls alone. He'd shown her so much first-hand experience of real magic, and now it made sense. It plagued her with sadness to think how he had kept it to himself for such a long time.

"Not entirely a surprise, honestly, Arty. I saw the spatters on your Alchemy pages and knew they weren't Bolognese." She laughed weakly. "I do believe you. Just so you know."

"You may be the first, Belle."

"But please hear me out. I still think we should speak to Bronwyn. She was so patient and understanding with me. I can't believe she wouldn't be willing to at least listen to you after all of these years."

"Nonsense. The sage witch of the United Kingdom's esteemed coven? She has better things to worry about than a disgraced old man who doesn't deserve the chance. I wouldn't trouble her for it. I appreciate your kindness more than words can say, but my day has long passed, Belle. Now, we must turn our focus to you, for this is your time to shine."

He hesitated a moment, then spoke again.

"Admittedly, when I received the letter from Selcouth informing me of my selection for mentorship, a part of me did dare to think that perhaps…Perhaps if we were to succeed in your endarkenment, they may take a new moment to consider my fate."

This was not just about her own future, her own second chance. It was his, too.