Chapter 29 Just Us

29

Just Us

ARTORIUS APPROACHED THEIR final branch of lessons with renewed levels of enthusiasm that even he seemed surprised by. Belle was reminded of a child who'd been left to their own devices with a bag full of trick-or-treat sweets. Three challenges remained, as did three moons, including Halloween. It was almost, but not entirely, impossible. While they were all too aware that the grimoire remained frustratingly unlit for the allegories of Earth Sorcery and Incantation, there was one branch of magic which they had yet to approach: Necromancy.

The art of communicating with the dead was the branch that Belle had, understandably, been most wary of. Rune had double-checked immediately that she wasn't confusing things with necrophilia, which would have been an entirely different issue altogether. She had made it clear that she simply couldn't shake the images that immediately sprung to mind: zombie eyeballs falling out of sockets, pirate hats crumbling on skull and crossbones, witches performing unspeakable acts in graveyards (too close to home). Artorius did his best to convince Belle that these assumptions were entirely Hollywood.

"You're being ridiculous, young lady. You know as well as I do that any form of reanimative Necromancy, resurrection, weaponising the dead, etcetera, was absolutely stricken from the code about a hundred generations ago."

"Weaponising the…I miss the bookshop," Belle said under her breath.

"No plans to raise an army of the deceased anytime soon?" Rune asked, busying himself with some form of Selcouth paperwork, which he had summoned to get on with while Belle and Artorius launched into their twenty-ninth moon of study.

"Maybe Wednesday," she replied.

"It's frustrating how popular culture tends to tar all Necromancy art with the same brush these days. It's always killer zombie this, contacting demonic presences that. Hell forbid it's ever considered astral art anymore, never sympathetic magic…" Rune said, muttering to himself.

"Go on, Grandpa, tell us more about the good old days," Belle replied.

"Pop down to the study and find my notes on death magic, will you, Belle?" Artorius asked. "They're in a small pile on my desk somewhere."

She headed downstairs to the study, knowing full well that the "small pile" he referred to was actually a chaotic spread of loose pages, jotted notes and half-filled notebooks covering the whole office, with little to no organisation system. She began rifling through the papers, looking for anything that might specifically reference chatting to summoned souls or catching up with the dead. Noticing the words "under the umbrella term of ‘spirit,'?" she lifted up a small paperweight on top of a large stack of files to reach for it.

She froze. In her hand, she held a small crystal pebble, like a shard of stained glass. The paperweight was full of inky colours, slowly moving and swirling inside, smoke behind glass like tiny storm clouds gathering.

For a moment, a feeling of dread leadened her insides. Why was her missing sooth stone in Artorius's study? She snatched it up, examining it so closely that she felt her eyes cross. No, it wasn't her sooth stone, something wasn't quite the same. It was almost identical in shape and style, but it was mirrored, the intricate carvings made in the opposite direction to her own. The colours, the nature of its movement behind the glass, was the very same but twinned.

"Did you get lost along the way?" Rune leaned around the door. "What have you got there?"

Belle spun on the spot to face him. "Is this what I think it is?"

Rune held out his hand to take the stone from her. He examined it closely, turning it over in his palm. "A sooth stone. I didn't know the old warlock had one. Funny, it looks—"

"Just like mine?"

Rune nodded, looking every bit as baffled as Belle. "It was just sitting there next to his pen pot, being used as a bloody paperweight. But there's no doubt about it, right? That's a sooth stone. Or have I crossed the bridge to full-on insanity?"

"If you're there, I am, too. And there's absolutely no question. This sooth stone is the other half of your own. There are some wicche family sooth stones that are all connected, chipped from the same larger piece of glass, for example, or carved in intertwined designs that fit when they're placed together. Often, you'd never notice the connection unless you examined them together very closely. It's a neat design choice."

Belle nodded. "I've noticed before that the patterns in mine are similar to Mum's. And now…Artorius has a third Blackthorn stone? What does that mean?"

"I can't be certain." Rune shook his head. "Unfortunately, I'd wager that the old man's backfired memory hex may get in the way of us finding out."

Belle raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You know about that?"

"We talked. Last night. While you were in the midst of the Clairvoyancy incantation. I pressed him on whether there was anything he knew, anything at all about the trouble that you've been facing. We started from the beginning."

Belle was taken aback by Artorius's honesty with Rune, then realised that he was willing to share his story whenever anyone cared to ask. Perhaps, up until recently, no one ever really had.

"He wanted me to know everything so that we can best help you together. Unfortunately, with his mind as it is now…"

Rune was right. There was no chance that Artorius, his memories in hexed heaps of ash and dust, would have any answers as to how a Blackthorn sooth stone had ended up on his desk.

"As his mind is now…Interesting…"

She sprinted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. Rune chased after her, still clutching the stone.

"Artorius!" Belle shouted as she tried to catch her breath. "Mihipte Solacium!"

The old warlock didn't even glance up from his page. "Hmm?" he asked, pointing his chin towards Belle in the attic doorway but continuing to read.

" Mihipte Solacium! Solace for oneself! You need to make contact with your younger self. Before your curse took hold. Reaching out to young Artorius can give us the answers we need."

He reluctantly put down his reading. "Belle, I told you when we spoke of this. I have long relinquished the need for answers to my past. They are for me to find in the next life."

"Then what about my past?" she asked adamantly.

This caught his attention. His head turned to see Belle take the stone from Rune and hold it out towards him in the palm of her hand. With difficulty in his creaking bones, Artorius rose and scuffed his slippers towards them. "Whatever did you bring that old thing up here for?"

"Don't you see? Don't you see what this is? Artorius, this is a sooth stone almost identical to my own. It must have come from the same family collection as mine. Why do you have this? Where did you find it?"

Artorius gazed at it in wonder, reaching out to take it from Belle into his own hand. Instantly, it reacted to his touch, the smoke inside bending to new shapes. He gasped. "I haven't, I didn't, I…"

"Artorius, you have a Blackthorn family stone. Or maybe I have a Day family stone? Whatever. Whichever. We need to find out why. We need to ask your past. It's time we all got some answers."

WITH AN UNDERSTANDING that partaking in the Clairvoyancy enchantment would benefit Belle, Artorius swiftly obliged, but not before insisting he make them dinner first. Knowing him well by now, Belle could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice, the cooking of roast potatoes a distraction to hide the slightest dulling of his bright cheeriness. "You're sure you don't mind us being here for this? It felt like quite a private experience for me yesterday," she asked, when he could no longer avoid the task at hand.

The old warlock tried to remain as enthusiastic about the situation as ever. "Belle, you know what my mind and my memory are like. If we are to discover anything under Mihipte Solacium , it's best that there are alternate witnesses. Of course, we can't be sure what the spell will actually show us. Scrying is an unpredictable art form. The words Mihipte , ‘to myself,' and Solacium , ‘comfort, relief, solace,' are not indicative of providing the same experience for every witch," Artorius explained.

"Like we said, Mr.Day, anything that you find too upsetting, too hard to see, just say the word, and I'll unravel the spell," Rune added, watching from a distance.

"When you're ready, Arty," Belle said encouragingly. She patted the old man on the shoulder, and he rested his hand on hers in return.

"Mihipte Solacium."

Just as it had done for Belle, the mirror rippled and roiled with an incandescence, a force like a wave emitting over Belle and Artorius, who sat side by side at the dressing table. While one single silhouette had appeared in the mirror for Belle, this time they watched as a whole scene appeared, forming from undulating glass into slowly identifiable shapes. The reflects of light swirled in billows and finally settled into a picture.

TWO BOYS SAT opposite one another at a wooden dining table made crudely from splintered planks. The room was a modest family space: seven chairs around the table, the last of the embers in the fireplace, hand-sewn curtains hung, remnants of little lives together scattered around the room.

"You're so lucky, Sav."

"It's not luck, little brother. There's a divine reason that I was firstborn. My very soul was manifested for this purpose before I even arrived onto this earthly plane. It was destined to be."

Belle tore her gaze away to glance at the old man next to her, to check that he was okay.

Letting out a whispered "Oh!" he was enraptured by the scene inside the mirror, his eyes already pooling with tears that reflected back the rainbow light. His frail hand reached out a few inches, as if desperate to return to the scene that cradled his older brother alive and well.

"I think destiny made a mistake. Why not me? I could do it."

Savaric laughed. "Because, Arty, you were destined to be my little brother. And I am to lead the whole of Selcouth and continue father's great leadership. Maybe even improve on it, truth be told. There's a place for you, too, of course. I have plenty of ideas for the coven. How we can improve our strength, how we can build our magic even further."

"Sounds boring."

"Boring?" The older brother rocked on his chair, balancing on the two back legs. "And what would you do with it?"

Artorius shrugged. "I don't know. Something wicked, something fun. Decree that our house has to be a castle with a moat and a drawbridge. Make sure that everybody could conjure the perfect treacle tart before being accepted into Selcouth. Transform all wicchefolk into dragons."

"I'm not sure about the rest, but I rather like the dragon idea." The older boy leaned back farther, swinging his feet onto the top of the table and crossing his arms.

THE SCENE CHANGED, and Belle was surprised to find that it was one she had visited before, in words. The story that Bronwyn had told her; the Day brothers gathered around a cauldron, brewing the potion that would soon lead to Savaric's tragic demise. She heard a soft sob from the old man next to her and placed an arm gently around his bony shoulders to hold him.

"I cannot…I cannot watch."

"Artorius, look. It's okay." Belle encouraged him to look back to the mirror as Savaric and his younger self left the bubbling cauldron, and the barn door clicked behind them.

"Mr.Day, remember, it's a benevolent spell. It won't show you the…the moment you lost your brother. Only comfort, or the answers you're seeking." Rune spoke softly as he watched from a polite distance.

Belle gave him a thankful look over her shoulder.

Artorius steadied his breath and nodded, glancing back up to the mirror just in time to see the colours swirl and change.

BELLE PREPARED HERSELF for the worst, prepared to see a young Artorius filled with rage and jealousy emptying spearmint, ash, fireflies, black salt, without care or consideration into the cauldron. She could have been wrong this whole time, been strung along yet again.

But it never came.

Instead, two girls appeared.

Belle gasped.

One was older, around twenty-five, pretty with her hair in a neat plait and scarf. The other was a little younger, awkward and slightly lanky, although with immaculate curls. The older girl was desperately attempting to comfort the younger, trying and failing to wrap her arms around her, but only soliciting greater fury in response.

"Get off me! Don't you see? Everything is broken, everything is ruined."

The older girl rushed forwards again. "We're still a family. You and I can rebuild for the others, we'll take care of them. We have to look out for each other now. Otherwise, we'll never get through this loss."

"You always say that, that we have to stick together and look after one another, but it never happens. Nobody ever looks after me. Father is dead. And now Sav, too. Mother is as good as gone. She will never, ever recover from this. None of us will."

"Which is why it's all the more important that we stick together."

"I hate you. I hate everybody. It's always left to you and me to sweep up the mess that everybody else has caused. This godforsaken magic, it's the reason that everything is ruined."

The fury stopped for a moment. The younger girl's fingers flexed at her side. Almost imperceptibly, a small flurry of golden sparks jolted from her palms.

"What are you…? What are you doing?" The older witch faltered, noticing the magic building in a frightening electric current as though she could barely keep it under control. "Wait, no, darling. You can't."

"Tenebrae Obscurum."

A scream, and the scene changed again.

"I DON'T…I'M not sure I understand. I don't know who those girls were," Artorius stuttered. For a moment, neither Rune nor Belle said a word.

"I think I do," Belle whispered, her fists balled, trembling with anger. "That was my grandmother."

Artorius blanched. "Your…"

Belle nodded, slowly. "The older girl, that was my nan. Alvina Blackthorn. We have albums and albums of photos. I'd recognise her anywhere."

"But what does she have to do with Savaric?" Rune asked.

"Or with me, for that matter?" Artorius added.

Before she could speak any further, the mirror's picture came into focus. The younger girl from before returned in rippling rainbows. This time, she towered over a boy. Young Artorius again, shuffling backwards on his bottom into a corner as she prowled towards him, a cat relentlessly stalking her prey with hands outstretched, those threatening sparks of magic gathering at her palms.

"It was your idea! This is all your fault!"

"It wasn't, it wasn't my idea. It can't have been. Sav was—"

"You told him to try the spell! You encouraged him to do it!"

"I did, I did! But I didn't tell him to add more ingredients to the potion, I didn't tell him to make more fire. We were doing it right, we followed the book by the letter. It can't be my fault. It can't be." He was choking on sobs, spluttering on childlike fear.

"It's all your fault." The girl spat fury through tears. "If you'd never suggested the spell in the first place, then she never would have…She wouldn't be…"

"Please, Morena."

"No!"

"We have to look after each other now. We have to look after Mother and Alvina and…"

" We do not have to do anything," she said determinedly. "I'm sorry, Artorius. This is the only way."

"Please, please, no. Morena, stop!"

"Tenebrae Obscurum."

Young Morena flipped out a hand, swirling a vortex of magic around the young boy. The spell encircled him completely, rushing his skinny body from every angle with such a force that he was knocked out cold as his head banged against the dirt floor of the barn.

"Artorius is to blame. So it shall be." Still sobbing, Morena spoke the words into the spell, and the glimmers of magic settled on the ground, sinking into the earth itself.

BELLE SHOT UP from the seat beneath her, backing away slowly from the mirror.

"This cannot be happening." She couldn't breathe, pulling at the neck of her dress, cloying and tight.

Artorius looked back at her, bewildered.

"Morena. She's your sister," Rune said, his voice awed.

"But that was my nan. Morena hurt her. She did something to her."

" Tenebrae Obscurum ," Artorius whispered. "The very same memory curse that I tried to inflict upon myself in the depths of Hecate House. No wonder the dark magic didn't work as I intended. It had already been used upon me years before by Morena. And she used it on your grandmother, too…"

"My grandmother…Your sister?" Belle's voice was barely audible.

"My brain is running at a faster rate than I can keep up with. But surely this also means that I had, in fact I have…"

"Three sisters," Rune finished.

"Bronwyn," Belle breathed.

As though reacting to the name, the mirror morphed again.

BEYOND A SHADOW of a doubt, now that Belle knew it, the teenager was so clearly Morena. The same pinched, pained expression was instantly recognisable. The same sliced, high cheekbones.

And another girl. Small, no older than eleven. A freckled nose. Straw-coloured red hair. Bright green eyes.

As plain as day, the Gowden sisters.

"He deserved it. You said it yourself, Mor. He was far too big for his boots," young Bronwyn giggled.

"Yes, Bron! I did say that! But how could you possibly think that that was enough to kill him?"

"Well…" Bronwyn hesitated for the first time. "Let's say I didn't actually mean to…Maybe I got carried away. Perhaps I do regret it, at least a little. But what's done is done." She waved off her sister's reaction.

"He was our brother! He was a good man!" Morena wiped her nose with the end of her sleeve, coughing away a sob. She was throwing clothes into a bag, haphazardly scooping items out of wooden drawers, stuffing them inside.

Little Bronwyn rolled her eyes, swinging her legs off the end of the bed. "Everyone is always on about good and bad. Nobody is either. Everybody is a mix of both."

"He deserved to be—"

"He didn't deserve anything!" Bronwyn interrupted, shouting now. "He was a useless, arrogant warlock. He didn't deserve to be important or powerful. My magic could run rings around his, and I'm half his age. It's not fair. Just because—"

"You're insane!"

"Just because he was the oldest boy. It's nonsense. When I'm in charge, I'll—"

"You will never be in charge! Not now! Don't you see? We have to leave. We have to run away and never, ever come back. If we stay, they'll separate us and we'll never see each other again."

The little girl faltered. "What do you mean?"

"Bron, what realm are you in? You're not even supposed to have your magic for another four years. And now this? You're an anomaly, and Selcouth does not like anomalies. They'll have us all thrown into the dungeon for not telling them that your magic came in early."

"So where are we going?" For the first time, the little girl's confidence faltered.

"Away. I don't know, but away," Morena said matter-of-factly. She composed herself as she closed up the bag.

"Arty? And Vina? They can come with us."

"You are living in a dream world, sister. I've already fractured Vina's and Art's memories, and I spoke a forced truth into the earth. They'll blame him for Sav, but he's a boy and he already has his powers, so he'll be taken in by the coven and he'll be fine. They'll probably call it an accident. He'll probably take over leadership once he comes of age." Her voice wavered as though she were trying to convince herself of this.

"But that's not fair!" Bronwyn cried. "He's half the wicche that I am! Mother and Father always said I'm exceptional. He's an idiot. He won't even be able to hide properly while they're looking for him."

Morena furiously grabbed her sister by the collar. "Do you want us to stay together or not?"

Bronwyn blinked in surprise but nodded hesitantly.

"Then forget the coven. Forget Selcouth. Forget Mother and Vina and Arty. It's just us now. We have to start again."