Chapter 28 Scrying Not Crying

28

Scrying Not Crying

brEAKING THE NEWS to Artorius that she intended to end her endarkenment was, categorically, one of the worst moments of Belle's life. The look on his face was one that would never leave her.

She and Rune had debated back and forth intently on the matter for the majority of the morning. With Belle unable to sleep again, Rune had insisted that he accompany her to Quill Lane. He made coffee the non-wicche way while she showered and dressed in an attempt to reset her mind, and she was slightly alarmed to discover that the calmness of his quiet, companionable presence was, in fact, extremely comforting. He had, however, refused to take the bus as she normally did, absolutely mortified by the idea. Instead, he reached for her hand for an instant transference to the doorstep of Quill Lane, only dropping it, Belle noticed, when Artorius opened the door.

"Belle, I implore you to reconsider. So far in our time together, your magic has shone in more ways than I care to remember," the old warlock lamented. "It is with the greatest regret that I think of your magic being relinquished to Selcouth—particularly when you have been unjustly backed into a corner by fear."

It was unfair. Belle agreed on that much, as did Rune. The mood quickly soured further with the news that her sooth stone had vanished, taking away the level of protection that it had guaranteed until then.

Artorius clasped Belle's hands between his own, pressing them together. "I beseech you, do not give up on yourself." She noticed that tears were springing in his brown eyes, and the sight made her own fill almost instantly. This man, whom she had grown so fond of in their time together, had an unwavering kind of faith in her that she'd known once before, from her grandmother. The feeling tugged at her, the closest she'd come to changing her mind.

"Artorius, I…I just can't. You saw what happened to my mum. I'm putting everyone I love in danger. And now that my stone is gone, there really is nothing standing between me and whatever force is at play."

"Your affinities, your incantations, your intuitions, your readings…more so, your nature. Belle, you are destined for magic," the old man insisted.

She wasn't, though. Not anymore. She was no longer all of the brilliant things they had once viewed her as. Remarkable was not for her. "I can't do it, Arty. I'm all burnt out. The magic isn't there anymore."

Artorius was silent. He patted her hands with the gentlest of touches, his thin, papery skin around hers. "The decision is yours, my dear. But allow me this. One more lesson, just one more." He continued before Belle could protest. "I was up all night deciphering the grimoire Clairvoyancy challenge, and I suspect I may have cracked it. Allow me this one final chance to teach you one more lesson before your magic leaves you."

"I don't—"

"Trust me," Artorius urged. "I think you will find an honest kind of magic in it."

After much persuasion from the old warlock and also from Rune, who partially encouraged and partially made things worse by reminding her that she had nothing left to lose, Belle agreed to one final lesson. She insisted that it was pointless, that it would be her worst yet. Artorius reassured her that it was always worth a try and simply to trust him. Of course, by now, she did.

He guided her to a small spare room, one that she'd only poked her head into for a curious glance, holding a single bed with an iron frame, a flowery cover and a handful of crocheted cushions. The only other furniture was a small dressing table, surprisingly ornate with carved drawers and small glass handles. Atop it sat a dusty tabletop mirror, framed in tarnished gold details that twisted into small roses.

Belle took a seat in front of the mirror as instructed. Artorius lay the grimoire down next to it and reopened the heavy book to the page revealing her Clairvoyancy challenge. The paper had a ghostly feel to it, unearthly illustrations of clocks and faces that seemed to blend into one another with their own haunting accord.

That which lies behind must stay

Forgotten, buried, earth decay.

Though time be oft a fickle thing,

The past a lighthouse for to cling.

Refine thy senses for the task,

Speak words of peace in thine contact.

Sooth a babe with placid milk,

For what's to come unfurls like silk.

"Scrying. A technique of mind-bending and meditating to alter consciousness. All you have to do is speak the incantation and focus your mind just beyond the surface of the mirror. All being well, you should slip somewhere else. It is nothing to be feared," Artorius told her, leaning over with a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Kind of a scrying-not-crying mentality?" she asked with a reluctant sigh.

"Good luck, Belle," he said quietly, backing out of the room and clicking the door shut behind him.

She read the allegory again, the cogs in her tired brain starting to whir. It wasn't until she reached the end of the page, flipped over to the next and back again, that she noticed a small pair of words which had been scribbled in haste by the old man's almost illegible scrawl.

Mihipte Solacium. My own solace.

He had left the incantation and translation for her. She spoke the words aloud.

Nothing happened. She leaned towards the scrying mirror, glimpsing herself through the thick dust that covered it. She wiped it quickly with the end of her sleeve, dust lacing together and falling onto the table like snow. Now she could see her face properly, blotched red with tears from the night before, shadowed with tiredness that hadn't lifted since her birthday. But past all of that, she just saw herself.

"Mihipte Solacium." A little louder and bolder this time, trying the pronunciation as best she could while her line of sight drifted to something farther, something deeper.

The mirror rippled, casting iridescent rainbows so bright that Belle had to shield her eyes against the glass. The moment she removed her hand, the picture changed. She still recognised the reflection, but it was a person who she hadn't seen for a very long time.

Belle locked eyes with her younger self. Not a day over sixteen, judging by the questionable haircut, the black eyeliner, the full freshness of her face. In fact, she recognised the moment to an exact pinpoint, because it was one that she'd seen only recently. One of the earliest of her manifests, from her trial at Hecate House all those weeks ago, when she'd first practiced light levitation with Jinx. A mirror had been opposite her as she sat cross-legged on the floor, and now here she was, watching from the other side of that glass. She thought back to the moment now and had hazy recollections of a short conversation breaking up her practice. The memory felt like shattered glass fragments; she couldn't remember who she had spoken to. But it had bolstered her at the time, she knew that much.

Her shy younger self shifted her gaze awkwardly, not one to start a conversation willingly. Belle knew she had to take the lead but could barely bring herself to say a word.

Speak words of peace in thine contact.

"Hi."

"Hello," her younger self replied shyly, untucking her hair from behind her ear to let it fall around her face, an extra layer of protection between her and the world. Belle's heart leapt. They could communicate.

"Wow, this is…This is very weird. Do you…know who I am?"

"You're me in, like, thirty years," the teenager replied matter-of-factly, shrugging as though it was the world's most obvious scenario.

Belle tried not to be offended. "More like fifteen years. But yeah, I am. And you're me."

"Right." Her reflection fiddled with the stack of bracelets on her arm.

"I…" Belle swallowed. "How are you?"

Her younger self frowned. "All right. Surely you know how I am?"

"I suppose I do. Although it feels like a long time ago. I remember, though." They glanced at each other nervously through the glass. Older Belle added, "I think I'm supposed to tell you what things are like for us now. You won't remember this later. Knowledge gained from time-bending spells doesn't stick to the past, but…"

"I don't think I want to know if it's bad. Is it bad?"

Belle shook her head. "It's not bad," she said gently.

Seeing her younger self look right at her, full of apprehension for the future, was overwhelming. She felt an all-consuming protectiveness towards the girl in front of her, a longing to make her believe that she really was okay. She wanted to tell her that she was everything, every single thing that she needed to be. Belle felt her voice break.

"You're so ready for the world," she whispered.

Her younger self frowned again. "You're not doing a very good job at reassuring me that everything is going to work out, if that's what you're here to do. I thought scrying would be all fun and mystical."

"Sorry, sorry. This isn't about me. This is about you," Belle said. "What do you want to know? You can ask me anything, I'll be honest."

"Um, what is it we do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we ended up doing something cool for a living, right? That's all anyone ever talks to me about. What I want to do, what I'm going to be. So I'm hoping the plan worked out?"

Belle tried to remember what the plan was but couldn't remember ever having one. There must have been one, at some point. "We own a bookshop. Almost. I hope. It's small but cosy, and covered in wisteria in the summer, and the leaves turn fiery orange in the autumn. And it's in London."

"We live in London?" Her younger self gasped, the first clear, pure excitement breaking through the fa?ade of downplayed reactions.

"Right, I should have led with that." Belle laughed to herself. "Yes, maybe not quite as glamorous as it sounds to you right now, but yes. We did that part, with Ariadne."

"That's cool. And what about the rest?"

Belle opened her mouth to answer but realised she wasn't entirely sure what to share. Perhaps the majority of it was best left unsaid. Seeing the girl in front of her now, there was only one thing that she really wanted to make sure that she did say.

"I don't think I'm supposed to tell you everything that happens, it doesn't feel right. But what I will say, what I feel I need to say to you, is that I'm so sorry."

The girl looked back at her. "For what?"

"I let you down, I think. I'm so sorry I haven't done any of the things you wanted to do."

Her younger self looked taken aback. "Like what?"

"Well…I'm not married. I don't even have a boyfriend. I don't have any children. I'm not particularly successful, whatever that even means. I'm definitely not rich or famous."

Her reflection was quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek, picking at a cuticle. "But…are we happy? I don't mean, like, now. Obviously you're not very happy right now. You're ugly-crying," she said, awkward again. "But are we…? Are we happy? And are…Are we loved?"

Belle felt a heat inside her chest, swelling against her ribs. And she didn't even hesitate with the honest answer. She nodded. "We're so loved."

"We have people around us who we love, too?"

Belle nodded again.

"And Ariadne?"

"Still here. Still our best person," Belle said.

"Then everything will be okay?" her reflection asked.

Belle took a moment, blowing out a steadying breath. "Everything will be okay. I promise."

Her reflection gave a sheepish smile. "And how's the magic? What have we done with it?"

"Funny you should ask. It's a long story, but today is my last day as a witch."

"What? How could you? My magic is the only good thing about me."

"Are you…Are you kidding? Belle—wow this is weird—but Belle, listen to me. There are so many good things about you. You're trying your best literally all the time. You're always thinking about other people and trying to make everybody happy. That's so kind of you, do you know that? You're putting insurmountable pressure on yourself to constantly be perfect, to be impressive and amazing, and you're taking it all on the chin. You're such a good person."

"I'm not," her reflection replied quietly, back to picking at the skin on her fingers. "Nothing I do is good enough. Everyone is ahead of me, everyone is doing better things."

Belle sighed, her heart breaking as she realised that her younger voice was still so loud. She still felt the same things, even now. She wanted desperately to reach out and hug the girl, make her feel enough for anybody who really mattered.

"Listen to me. You've done so well, love," she went on. "You're doing so well. There will be things we can't do. There will be things we hope for that don't happen. We can't do all of the things, every time, all at once. But it always works out, and you're not a disappointment. Happiness is waiting for you, I promise."

Her younger self looked back at her doubtfully but nodded after a moment. "Can I ask you for one more thing?"

"Of course."

"Please try and keep hold of our magic?"

Belle swallowed hard, shoving down what felt like a rock in the middle of her throat.

"It's so beautiful." Her younger self laughed as kitten Jinx reached up from her lap to headbutt her chin. "I don't want to lose it."

She was right. How could she let this go, forever? "I'll try, for you. For me."

Her younger self nodded, satisfied with the answer.

Belle nodded back the very same way, and before she could say another word, the reflection turned back to dust-covered glass. Back to herself as she was now.

She hadn't left that version of herself behind. Her fears ran deep. But so did her magic.

She started. A sudden light from underneath her left wrist, leaning on the open grimoire page, beamed like a golden aura. The words of the allegory glowed underneath her arm, sunshine itself come to guide her the right way forwards. The grimoire declared her Clairvoyancy challenge to be her third success. She had gained what she needed from the spell—more than she could possibly have imagined that she'd need.

She opened the bedroom door to find Artorius and Rune both waiting on opposite ends of the landing, Artorius jolting backwards from very obviously having his ear pressed against the wood, a water glass still in his hand like an old-timey sleuth.

She eyed him suspiciously. "You knew that was going to happen, didn't you? That my younger self would persuade me."

Artorius shrugged, scuffing the toes of his slippers together. "Might have had an inkling."

She rolled her eyes and turned to Rune. "He told you all about his cunning plan?"

Rune smirked. "We both had a feeling that it was only ever yourself who would be stubborn enough to persuade you."