Chapter 7 The Gowden Sisters

7

The Gowden Sisters

"AH. GOT THERE in the end, I see. Some might say stale, uninspired, predictable…And who doesn't strive for stale when armed with infinite magical possibility."

In front of Belle stood a rather formidable-looking woman. Belle scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, her limbs screaming with exhaustion.

"Ultimately successful, I suppose," the woman's drawl continued. Her lips were pursed as though she could smell something particularly displeasing lingering on someone's shoe. "Others tend to favour something altogether more impressive, you understand. Astral projection, bending elements, mythical creatures—you know, something with a little more pomp and production. Always appreciated after a long morning; these EquiWitch trials are such tiresome work."

The woman sounded bored and lowered her disapproving stare to admire her own long fingernails, sharp and polished to a crimson reflect. "It got you here in one piece, I dare say. Although judging by the sight of you, I may take back that observation."

A shock of silver-grey hair against the woman's complexion reminded Belle of bare, bleached parchment. It was coiffured elegantly underneath the brim of her coven hat, with a single victory curl furled with immaculate, measured precision. She bore razor-sharp cheekbones that stretched up to her temples and wine-coloured lipstick made for a dramatic ghostly contrast.

Belle swallowed down the embarrassment of being chastised, a mixture of mortification and fury that left her unsure how to respond.

"Oh, right, well…Sorry about that. Sorry for keeping you waiting. I think I did just nearly die, but all right."

The woman raised one sharp angled eyebrow in scepticism. "We are not in the business of murder, Ms.Blackthorn."

"Marvellous. Glad to hear it. Just a healthy dollop of torture instead, is it?" Belle asked, shaking out the water from her sleeves.

The woman pointedly brushed a droplet from her lapel. "One only experiences the full tests of Hecate House if one isn't quick enough to produce astute magic," the woman snipped, as though it were entirely obvious.

"Tests? You call that a test?" Belle said, gesturing back at the curtain behind her. "I'm pretty sure I just went through an exorcism."

Belle's scorn was caught off guard as she glimpsed the unwelcome sight of herself in an enormously tall gilded mirror across the entryway. To say she looked feral would be a tender compliment. Her skin was red and blotchy from the hysterical tears. Wet, sticky sand clung to every inch of her soaked dress and cloak, she could even feel it between her toes. Her hair hung in damp, knotted rat-tails. Her legs weakened underneath her as she stood, pure adrenaline having flushed everything else away.

The woman glanced across to meet her eyes in the reflection and looked Belle up and down in the mirror. With a barely perceptible but distinctly disdainful flick of the wrist, along with an unguarded eye roll, the woman quickly cast a spell that left Belle immaculately clean and freshly pressed. She felt a welcome warmth flood her body again from top to bottom, more revived and awake than she'd felt for years. As though she'd woken up from the best sleep ever and eaten the most filling meal.

"Thank you," Belle muttered. "The quick trip to hell and back was a nice touch. Who doesn't love a bit of drama?" she said, straightening her shoulders.

"A bit…A bit of drama?" the woman said, enunciating purposefully. "I can only assume you are referring to the sacred Selcouth ritual of facing your most intimate fears to push your magic to its limits to commence an endarkenment ceremony?"

Belle gulped. "That's the one. It was…great. Now that I think about it, I mean. Enjoyed it, actually."

The woman's arms fell into a firm condemning fold.

"Sorry to have disappointed you thus far, Ms.Blackthorn. Did you expect passing from realm to realm to be a quick hop-skip? What were you expecting would be involved in a process so aptly named as endarkenment? A sleepover, buttered popcorn, a bouncy castle? We can arrange a face painter for your next visit, should it be to your liking."

"That won't be necessary," Belle clipped back, blushing. Reluctantly, she considered that the woman may have a point. Endarkenment was so far what it said on the tin.

"Although any thought of a further visit is perhaps presumptuous," the woman said. A painfully awkward moment of silence and eye contact passed. The woman widened her eyes expectantly.

"Oh. Right. I'm…" Belle offered out her hand.

"Belladonna Blackthorn, yes. You're also rather late."

Was this woman for real? Moments ago, Belle had stared death, nightmares, her own personal hell itself in the face—and, she might add, battered it into submission. Eventually. Yet here she was, this lady, concerned about a slight delay?

"I'm dreadfully sorry about that. All of the, you know, demon voices, sinking sand"—she reeled them off on her fingers—"thinking I was about to expire inside a stone broom cupboard, my loved ones declaring their undying hatred for me. Torture does dreadfully get in the way of things. Let alone how awful the trains are at the moment."

"Just the"—the woman consulted a pocket watch from the inside of her cloak—"nineteen and a half minutes of lateness, though. We thank you for that courtesy. A remarkably organised record for the Blackthorn family."

Belle let out a snort but quickly realised it was the wrong response.

"It's no wonder the house decided to deliver a lateness punishment for your arrival. You have no one to blame but yourself, Ms.Blackthorn."

"That"—Belle gestured a thumb back to the chamber—"was all for being late?"

"I would assume so, judging by the sand that was decorating your eyebrows," she replied as though Belle were entirely foolish not to know, "you faced the hourglass hex. Hecate House does not take kindly to poor timekeeping. It's a perfectly reasonable addition to the process."

"Of course. Nothing says ‘perfectly reasonable' like death by quicksand."

The woman pursed her lips. "Be glad that you remembered your coven uniform. Caught on a bad day, the house has been known to turn one's clothes to dust for incorrect attire, which has made for some rather unfortunate arrival scenes."

Belle couldn't hide the horror on her face.

"And the rest of it? The traumatising ghostly apparitions and voices? Which hex was that?"

"No hex. Delivered as standard on first visit to the house," the woman said dismissively. "A revered tradition for any wicchefolk of Selcouth thirsty for the chance to prove themselves worthy."

In a gesture of reluctant, optimistic truce, Belle sighed and reached out to shake the woman's hand again. She offered a smile to try and reset their introduction in the humour of their ridiculous meeting. A fraction of a second too slow to be considered polite, the other witch returned the gesture, offering slim, sharp fingers. Each was adorned with an ornate silver ring, all embossed with rich, dark stones and jewels. The one on her index finger, Belle noticed, bore a streak of glass swirled with misty smoke—a sooth stone.

"I am sorry for the wait," Belle said. "I think this means the only way is up."

"You haven't changed a bit since we last saw you fifteen years ago. And you look so like your mother."

It was not a comment delivered with affection or nostalgia. The woman's icy blue eyes looked Belle up and down with brazen dislike. Belle pretended to ignore the frost and smiled still but couldn't stop herself from blushing. She clutched her hands onto her bag straps to stop them hanging awkwardly at her sides.

"I don't think I caught your name?" Belle asked. "Although I feel like I remember your face. I guess that would be from my endarkenment debut all those years ago."

With a quick turn of her wrist, the woman produced a parchment which unfurled smoothly in a sprinkle of sparks, along with a plumed black quill. Both levitated importantly next to her, then sailed gracefully towards Belle to tap at her chest.

"Sign this," the woman said, ignoring Belle's request completely.

Belle eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

The large jet-black feather promptly leaked three thick, viscous drops of blackened, raven ink from its point onto the hem of her dress. She watched the syrupy liquid seep into the fabric, spreading slowly like black clouds.

"Standard EquiWitch contract. You shan't hold Hecate House responsible for the manifests chosen at random, nor any loss of magic as a result of the outcome of your trial."

"How about for the inflatable assault course of horror I just completed? Can I sue you for that?"

The woman simply stared. Belle sighed resignedly, reaching for the quill. As soon as she completed the "n" of "Blackthorn," the contract tore from her hands and flew high into mid-air. It spun in a whirlwind, then burst into radiant purple flames. Within seconds, it had vanished in a flare of fire.

A loud bell clanged importantly from somewhere in the distance. The toll seemed to fill the whole space in a resounding echo.

"Saved by the bell from this arduous small talk, I'm sure we can both agree." The woman adjusted her perfectly crisp hat and smoothed her sharply tailored trousers. "I wish you luck, Ms.Blackthorn. I suspect you may need it." She paused for a moment, and Belle hoped she misheard her final words. "You shouldn't have come."

With a needle-pointed clicking of her heels against the stone floors, the woman turned and headed through an archway at the back of the room. Belle watched after her, mouth agape, until the final trail of plum-coloured cloak disappeared with a stretch of shadow.

The withdrawal of such an intimidating presence was palpable. Belle exhaled all formalities and let herself flump down onto the long wooden bench that lined the wall. The trial hadn't even begun yet, and she was exhausted from the peaks and crashes of sheer adrenaline. She'd nearly drowned, or whatever the sand equivalent was. Touched the brink of madness, the sound of her own deepest nightmares come true. Unleashed wild, intuitive magic that she'd never seen herself show before. And that was all irrelevant anyway, because she had just been eviscerated by a simple conversation.

She gazed around the entryway she now found herself in. Like the corridor approach, the foyer was lit by flickering torches, although these flames had definitely been enchanted to a larger size than normal to cast a luxurious, balmy glow. Handsome patterned rugs in jewel colours stretched out through the room, and the bleached stone walls loomed high, huge slab stacked on huge slab. The walls were carved with patterns of archaic words, moons and stars in plinths and cornices at the ceiling. The cascading curtain which she'd accidentally transfigured hung down elegantly, and opposite was the archway through which the mystery woman had made her exit. It stood beneath an enormous serif inscription that read HECATE HOUSE .

"Ms.Belladonna Blackthorn, please proceed to the courtroom, post-haste. Thank you!" a voice rang out, then switched off abruptly, like a school hall megaphone.

She headed the only way that was available, through the shadowed archway, which held another heavy door.

Now Hecate House truly began. She stumbled back a few steps and shielded her eyes as the next room instantly flooded with golden light like a sunset, revealing something that could only be described as…wonderful.

The space was a gigantic and perfect circle, a rotunda with towering high walls that rose up into an elegant domed ceiling. Sweeping reams of deep violet velvet adorned the height all around, and each impressive curve was buttoned smartly with enormous elegant depictions of the twelve zodiac signs, all cast imposingly in bronze. A proud ram, which must have been ten feet tall, was hanging high. A Herculean bull, a regal lion, fish the size of whales triumphantly splashing. Each stood above a corresponding wooden door as though guarding it, twelve of them at intervals around the circular room like the points of a clock.

But the ceiling was what caught Belle in awe, and she nearly lost her balance as she craned her neck and held on to the brim of her hat to gaze straight upwards. Melting into the bows of velvet, the whole expanse was charged with lightning. Live electricity, a parachuting blanket of what looked like television static, crackling and popping as sparks flew in all directions, crashing and bouncing off one another, stars that were alive and flying. Rainbows of lights reflected like the most extreme disco ball, a mirrored mosaic of colour and energy. She recognised the glittering, firefly-like movements from her own finger, but this existed on a much larger hypnotising scale. The ceiling of Hecate House's atrium was lined with pure magic, a woven tapestry of the precious power that ran through her every day. It was mesmerising to witness.

She only broke away her gaze when she caught sight of the floor, equally beautiful at her feet. Below her boots, vividly painted tiles of navy, cerulean and slate slotted together as an intricate puzzle to form a floor that depicted the night sky, wild and stirring with the smallest of details, just like the coven cloaks. An astrological sun and whimsical moon were woven together and surrounded by all of the stars imaginable, constellations and planets gilded with gold and set against the rich blue. She hardly dared walk across it.

Belle's trance snapped as the loudspeaker sounded again with the same click. "Ms.Belladonna Blackthorn, courtroom, post-haste."

She had entered from the twelfth doorway, the poised bow and arrow of Sagittarius above the doorway behind her. The tenth doorway had a looming set of swinging bronze Libra scales poised above it. Balance, harmony, decision, fairness…Her instinct decided that it made a certain amount of sense for it to be the courtroom. Taking soft steps over the beautiful floor, spinning as she crossed to catch every detail in the art that she could, Belle crossed to the tenth doorway.

A wall of excited chatter exuded the moment the door opened, but the thrum of noise shrunk back when her arrival was noticed. A sudden silence fell, cut through only by one or two throat clears. The courtroom of Hecate House stood proudly in front of her.

"Hi. Hellooo, hi." She waved, then cringed. "I'm here for my EquiWitch hearing…trial…assessment…interview?" Belle made a conscious effort to straighten her spine and raise her gaze.

"We were beginning to think you must have expired along the way."

The acerbic voice came from the same lady who had met her with winter's frost earlier. She sounded distinctly disappointed that her suspicions had not proven correct.

The courtroom was almost entirely lined with hundreds, if not thousands, of richly coloured old books, shelved tightly together from floor to high concave ceiling, a mixture of jewel-shaded spines turning the background into a quilt of muted colours. A carefully placed brickwork of history and knowledge and magic. The heady scent of aged pages, the same smell as Lunar Books, was an unexpected comfort.

Nevertheless, her attention was drawn straight ahead of her to the centre of the far wall, where a magnificent golden pendulum spanned the entire height of the room. It swung heavily and grandly from the ceiling side to side, second by second, with an audibly deep whoosh, like a crash of distant waves. Beneath and behind it, a grand fireplace tiled in rich purple roared with dancing flames.

To the left and right of the pendulum were rows of dark wooden pews. Each seated a selection of wicchefolk who appeared to make up what would be the jury. Her coven. There could be a hundred of them , Belle thought, maybe more . They sat packed in so closely that they jostled shoulders, all wearing cloaks and hats that mirrored Belle's own coven uniform, the glints of their personal constellation detail reflecting in the firelight, hat points dancing at all angles. Some were clutching papers, glancing at watches, reading books, while levitating pens and notebooks hovered patiently next to their wrists, poised for action. One man even had a grey typewriter floating over his lap, which clicked while diligently making notes on his behalf. All had simultaneously stopped their gossiping and turned their heads to peer at the flustered witch who'd burst through the door.

Belle could feel her cheeks burning.

"Oh, Morena, you are too harsh on these younger ones. Be nice, for once in your life."

Belle was so relieved to finally hear a kind voice, that it wasn't out of the question that she might burst into tears. Again. Instead, she gave a desperately grateful smile to the face it belonged to, which was suitably kind-looking to match.

"Hello there, love. Belle Blackthorn, is it? Of course it is. You don't half look like your nan, and your mum for that matter."

Directly in front of the pendulum were two women who couldn't have been more chalk and cheese. Behind a grand wooden podium, intricately carved with the coven star at the centre, they looked comically opposite.

On the left was Morena, surely six feet tall, straight as a broom and just as bristling. And on the right, barely visible over the top of the podium, was maybe the kindest-looking, roundest face that Belle had ever seen. This witch looked as though she'd give a wonderful hug. Her once red, now greying hair was bluntly cut under her chin, which only added to her pleasant shape, and unlike Morena, she looked to be having a lovely time. She smiled proudly at their newest visitor with her hands on her hips. A flush of pink was spread across her cheeks and button nose, and Belle was amazed to spot a tiny brown mouse sitting perfectly calmly, watching on with its paws curled over the front pocket of her cloak. She thought back to arriving at Hecate House, when she'd spotted the mouse by the willow. She should have known.

"Come on in, there we go. Don't be scared, lovey," the second witch said with beckoning arms.

She tottered over, her little legs hidden underneath her long skirt, giving the impression that she was gliding. She guided Belle farther into the courtroom with a reassuring arm, towards a three-legged stool in front of their podium.

"You're going to take that seat in the middle, there. And then we can get started, petal." She beamed.

Belle had barely dropped her bag and touched the seat when Morena spoke again, loudly and impatiently.

"Belladonna Blackthorn, your presence was summoned here today, as is the practice of—"

The pink-cheeked witch, having tottered back towards her place behind the podium, promptly whacked her sharp-nosed colleague on the arm with a tut.

"Hold on a minute there, Mor. Let the girl gather her thoughts. Let's have a proper introduction. It's an overwhelming experience, being in front of us old fogies. No offence, everyone." She chuckled to herself, gesturing to the juries to her left and right.

Several members tittered graciously like old friends.

Morena prickled, folding her arms crossly.

"Belle, would you like some tea, dear? Talk amongst yourselves for a moment, folks," the kind witch instructed the jury.

Before Belle could answer for herself, a pretty pink teapot appeared from the air in front of her with a burst of bright sparks and poured itself neatly into a matching teacup, complete with saucer, teaspoon and chocolate biscuit on the side.

"That's kind of you," Belle answered. "And I really am so sorry. It was a bit of…an adventure, finding the place. I'm sure my blood pressure will return to normal one day."

A smell of honey wafted from the spout. The teaspoon stirred and tapped itself with a clink. Grateful for the sugar, Belle quickly drank the comforting chamomile and instantly felt soothed. She suspected that a particularly well-brewed calming potion might have had something to do with it.

"Yes, we should probably do something about that entry test," the kind witch pondered, sipping her own tea nearby. "It's supposed to be a callback to what those who came before us were forced to endure. If there's one thing you can count on wicchefolk for, it's a few theatrics. One does wonder why we're so obsessed with tradition when the past was so bloody awful for everyone involved."

"Once we've finished having our picnic and discussing the forecast for next week, it would perhaps be prudent to begin business. Before the next ice age lands upon us, preferably." Morena stared down stony-faced from the height of the podium, her fingers tented in front of her in a stiffly drawn fail of patience.

"Sorry. Yes, absolutely. I've taken up enough of your time already this morning." Belle inwardly cringed. Why did she feel the need to be so constantly polite? The only reason she was late was because these people had half dragged her to the brink of death this morning, and here she was, still determined to be liked by them.

"Don't you worry, deary," her new favourite person said, fanning away her apology. "We have put you through rather a lot this morning, it's understandable to be a bit flappy. But if you are feeling ready, then we shall certainly proceed. Would you like to introduce yourself?"

No, thank you. Belle stood up hesitantly. Each of her limbs felt excessively long, like they were made of noodles. How did she normally stand? She shifted from one leg to the other. Every pair of eyes in the room was focused intently on her.

She coughed. "I'm Belle. Blackthorn. Belladonna, but I mean, obviously no one calls me that because…it's a lot. Thanks for having me. This is great. Really…great. I'm thirty today. Thanks for coming to my birthday party. I live in London. I'm a Libra. I like pi?a coladas, getting caught in the rain." She scratched at her forearm. "I'm not sure what else to say."

"You can just state your name, dear. It's for the records."

"Oh. Well, Belle Blackthorn, then."

The pleasant witch clapped her hands together twice and gave a happy nose scrunch. She cast her hands towards the sky, and with a bright beam of her magic, the enormous presence of the pendulum stilled mid-swing. Within the fireplace, the flames ceased to dance. Dust particles hanging in the air began to float at only the tiniest fraction of their normal speed, as though time itself were standing still entirely for everyone and everything in the world except those present in the courtroom. Belle wondered if, perhaps, it really was.

The bright lights came down to a sulking darkness, and the rustling of murmured chatter came to an unnerving, perfect quiet. Morena cleared her throat importantly, gripping the edges of the walnut podium to glare down at Belle. She had evidently been chomping at the bit for her moment.

"Belladonna Blackthorn, your presence was summoned—"

"Oh, rubber ducks and bat whistles, Morena! Our introductions! We forgot! You'd think in all the years we've been doing these blasted hearings—"

Thunder flooded Morena's gaunt face. She looked entirely affronted, as her short companion interrupted the beginnings of her speech with a cheery chuckle and a palm to the forehead. The pendulum began swinging again in its slow heartbeat of a rhythm, and the lights lifted as though someone had yelled "Cut!"

"I tell you, Belle dear, I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on. And a headless witch is never going to be too popular mixing amongst the non-wicche. I think they might spot something was afoot." The short witch chortled. Her rambling received another generous rumble of jury laughter. "Belle, I believe you've already met my sweetness and light sister, but this is she. Morena Gowden, as we all live and breathe."

Morena had still not quite managed to compose her indignation. She looked thunderously at her sister, shooting daggers with her eyes and quite possibly wishing she had a real one to use. Belle hoped there wasn't any kind of spell which created looks that could kill, because if so, she was about to witness sororicide.

"And I am the better half of the Gowden sisters." The small witch winked. "Bronwyn Gowden," she said, tapping her chest vigorously and only just missing the mouse in her pocket.