Covens and Coffins

by Lily Webb

  “They are?”

  “Yeah. One of their attack ads grabbed me over the weekend. It accused me of being an outsider who’s coming for everyone’s wands and who can’t fly a broom,” I said.

  “That’s awful. There’s really no low that ‘group’ won’t sink to, is there?”

  “Well, they were right on one of their charges, at least,” I sighed.

  “Then let’s fix that. Come on, we’ve only got about an hour.”

  Nodding, I kicked a leg over my broom and held it the way she’d shown me. Helena smiled and nodded.

  “Good, you remember,” she said. “Let’s pick up where we left off. I want you to hover, but keep your eyes open this time. You can’t fly with your eyes shut, so let’s nip that habit in the bud.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to remember the taste of the Vote of Confidence — and its confidence-boosting effects. As if it read my mind, my broom’s handle hummed under my fingers, pointed upward, and lifted me onto the tips of my toes.

  “There you go, nice and easy,” Helena said. Since she’d ordered me not to close my eyes, I stared straight ahead at nothing in particular and fought off the images of me falling off the broom that attacked my mind like a storm.

  I let out a long, slow breath when my feet fully left the ground and resisted the urge to wipe my drenched palms on my robes — the last thing I needed was to let go of the broom and reintroduce my face to the ground.

  “Okay, that’s high enough for now,” Helena said. I didn’t know how to make the broom stop climbing, so I imagined it and the broom lurched to a halt less than a foot away from the grass.

  “Good,” Helena said. She mounted her broom and flew up next to me like it was the most effortless thing in the world. She’d probably also been flying from the time she was old enough to walk, so we weren’t exactly on a level playing field.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my pulse hammering in my ears as she offered me a hand.

  “We’re going on a little trip,” she said. “Give me your left hand.”

  Teetering, I lifted my hand from the handle and slapped it into hers.

  “Your palm is a swamp! Are you really that nervous?” she asked.

  “Yes. I didn’t think this would be so hard for me, but it is,” I laughed.

  “Take a few deep breaths. We won’t do anything crazy. I just want you to get a feel for being on the broom as it moves. For most people, this is the hardest part, but once you learn how to keep your balance, you’ll never forget,” Helena said.

  “Oh, I’ll never forget this, that’s for sure,” I laughed.

  “Make sure your grip is firm but not too tight. The broom will respond to your anxiousness with its own,” Helena said. “Like I told you last time, brooms bond with their witches, it’s part of the reason they won’t work for anyone but their owner.”

  “As much as I’d like to, I can’t just will my anxiety away. It doesn’t work like that,” I said.

  “I know. You need to get used to flying for that to happen, and the only way to get used to it is to do it. So here we go,” she said and with my hand still in hers, she leaned slightly forward on her broom and pulled me along with her.

  We drifted maybe five feet across the stadium and jerked to a stop. My broom handle crashed into the bristles of Helena’s, but she didn’t seem to care.

  “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked.

  “No. It was kind of exciting,” I admitted. Though flying scared me, there was still a part of me that wanted to do it. Flying on the back of Mallory’s broom through the towers of Veilside Academy convinced me.

  “Then why don’t we go a little faster this time?” Helena asked.

  “Sure, if you say so,” I said, though my heart rate quickened.

  “Here we go,” Helena said and leaned forward again. She took off so quickly that my arm snapped when I flew after her, but the scream that formed in my mouth came out as a round of booming laughter instead.

  The grass whipped at my toes, and the advertisements lining the stadium walls turned into a joyful blur of neon color as we tore across the field. It was impossible to say how fast we were moving, but it was faster than I’d gone in recent memory.

  As we approached the first sharp left turn, Helena leaned into it and I followed her lead. We zipped through the turn, kicking up dust behind us, and Helena angled further forward on her broom, increasing our speed on the straight stretch toward the next turn. Wind and my robes flapped in my ears, drowning out all other sound and as we rocketed through the next turn, I shouted my enjoyment.

  Then Helena let go of my hand and reared her broomstick backward to stop while I continued zooming forward. Rattled, I gripped the handle with both hands and held on for dear life as I hurtled toward the next sharp left — but I wasn’t afraid, not anymore. The wind roaring in my ears was like my personal cheering squad clapping their encouragement as I raced toward the finish line.

  I leaned into the turn and though I came dangerously close to the edge of the track; I managed to both stay on my broom and within the bounds. I moved too quickly to track where Helena was in relation to me, but I knew she wasn’t far away, so as I approached the next turn, I pulled my broom upward to slow down. I glided through the turn like it was nothing and came to a smooth stop right next to Helena.

  “That was amazing,” I breathed, and Helena beamed at me.

  “Agreed,” she said and threw her arms around me. “You made it look so effortless. It was like watching Lydia all over again. I can’t believe it!”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but yeah, it felt good,” I laughed.

  “It should! That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be,” Helena said. “I worried when you went through the turns, but you handled them like you’d been racing for years. Where did that come from?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe there’s racer’s blood somewhere in my family history? My family tree is an enigma to me, so it’s not unlikely,” I said.

  Since moving into the house my parents had once owned and lived in, I hadn’t unearthed any secrets, which forced me to accept how little I knew about my family. My mother was a witch — and a powerful one — and my father was a human. They had both died protecting an immortality-granting necklace on behalf of Head Warlock Heath Highmore, so anything was possible.

  “Interesting. I think we should end on this high note. What do you say?” Helena asked. As much as I wanted to fly more, she was right. There would be plenty of time for that later, and I didn’t want to risk overdoing it — I still had a certain warlock to introduce myself to afterward.

  “Good idea,” I agreed as I climbed off my broom. Together, we walked back to the entrance to the track as the racers poured out of the changing rooms to practice for their next race. Now I’d gotten a taste of flying myself, I wanted to attend — though given the state of my campaign, maybe it wasn’t the best idea.

  “Have you given your broom a name yet?” Helena asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I shot her a puzzled look.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, everyone names their brooms. It helps you bond with them.”

  “What’s yours named?”

  “Splinter, because it’s always pricked me,” Helena said, and I laughed.

  “Clever. Hm, I dunno what to call mine. I hadn’t given it any thought,” I said.

  “What about Hope?” Helena suggested.

  “That has a nice ring to it, but there’s probably something better. Oh, I know! How about Destiny?”

  “That’s perfect,” Helena said. The broom’s handle vibrated in my hand as if it agreed.

  “Then Destiny it is,” I said and hiked the broom over my shoulder.

  “Good. Listen, I know you’ll probably be very busy over the next few days as we get closer to election day, but I’d like to squeeze in at least one more lesson with you before then. Today was encouraging,” Helena said.

  “Yeah, that’s probably not a bad idea. This might’v
e been a fluke,” I said and Helena smirked.

  “Oh, I doubt that. You’re only going up from here, and I mean that literally and figuratively,” Helena said, planting a smile on my face. “How does Wednesday night sound?”

  “I think I’m free then, yeah.”

  “Perfect. Then I’ll see you and Destiny then. Great work tonight, Zoe. By the end of our next session, you’ll be flying right on out of the stadium and into the hearts of everyone in Moon Grove,” Helena said.

  “Hey, don’t jinx me,” I said, and she laughed and waved as we parted. I made my way to the changing rooms and slipped out of the sporting robes in favor of my more casual ones. I checked to make sure the NWA coin was still inside, where I always kept it, and breathed a sigh of relief when its cool edges brushed against my fingertips.

  Outside, in a rush of bravery or recklessness — or both — I mounted my broom and patted its handle.

  “Okay, Destiny. Let’s give this a shot,” I said, and the broom twitched to life in my hands. According to the NWA’s record that Rowley had shown me, Brendon Norwood lived close enough to the Veilside Stadium I could’ve walked there, but I needed the practice flying and I assumed it was safe enough.

  I leaned forward and my toes dragged along the cobblestone street, bouncing as the broom slowly increased its speed.

  “Nice and easy, Destiny, just like Helena said,” I whispered, patting the handle with a thumb. The broom lifted slightly higher, and the wind lifted my curls from my shoulders, a streak of fire in the night behind me as I zig-zagged through the streets of Moon Grove toward Brendan’s house on Pendulum Street.

  Less than a minute later, I skidded to a stop outside an unimpressive, shabby old cottage that looked like it was barely managing to standing. The roof sagged over its front porch like a gut over the band of a pair of jeans, and the four pillars that held it up looked as stable as a dog on ice.

  Worried I’d gotten the wrong address — or that Brendan had moved and didn’t notify the NWA — I dismounted my broom and rested it against the nearest street lamp. Though the windows were frosted over with grime, it was obvious there weren’t any lights on inside. Maybe Brendan wasn’t home?

  I stepped closer, my hand on the grip of my wand as I approached. The rain-rotted wooden steps groaned under my feet as if they were warning me not to go any further, but when I glanced up I realized the front door hung open far enough I could see inside. A draft blew out the door, hitting me full in the face.

  “Brendan?” I called. “Brendan, are you home? My name’s Zoe Clarke. I’m running for Head Witch and I was wondering if I could chat with you about the campaign.”

  Nothing answered but the echo of my voice. A chill radiated from the back of my neck across my shoulders and down my spine as if I’d sunk into an arctic ocean. I doubted Brendan was home, but how long ago had he left, and where did he go?

  Despite the voice in my head screaming at me to leave, I stepped closer to the door and pushed it open with the tip of my shoe, my wand drawn and ready to fire at whatever might be on the other side. Thankfully, nothing jumped out to attack me — other than a stench the likes of which I’d never smelled, a foul mixture of stale sweat and rotten food.

  Random objects and papers piled ankle deep covered every visible inch of the floor. Against the far wall, a desk sat broken, its drawers pulled out and strewn around the room. Someone had smashed the computer monitor on top into pieces, and glass shards littered the desk’s surface.

  It had all the earmarks of a ransack, but who’d done it and why — and where was Brendan?

  “Brendan?” I called again, my throat tightening with each step I took further into the ravaged house. I wrapped left around the wall into the kitchen and gasped. Everything that could be overturned or destroyed had been, even the dishes and the table.

  Afraid, and convinced I’d seen all I needed to see, I walked back to the living room and waded through the debris and junk on the floor to get to Brendan’s computer. Whoever had rifled through and destroyed all his possessions must’ve been after information, and I hoped they’d left something behind to point me in their direction.

  I turned over books and torn papers scattered over the desk, examining each for signs as I did so, but nothing stood out — except for a small magazine branded by the NWA logo — an owl whose wing tips touched either side of the magazine’s cover. In its claws, two wands dangled, crossed over each other.

  Beneath it, in large, fire-engine red letters, the title read: Magical Freedom in Peril. I already knew Brendan was previously a member of the NWA, so finding a piece of their material in his house shouldn’t have been a surprise, but something about it caught my interest. I picked up the magazine and thumbed through its pages. It fell open at the center, and a scrap piece of paper fluttered down onto the desk facedown.

  After stealing a glance over each of my shoulders to make sure I was alone in the house, I lifted the piece of paper up and read it as quickly and shamefully as if I’d read Brendan’s journal, but it took several re-reads for the words to make sense. In a hurried, barely legible hand, the paper said:

  She’s digging. Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you and destroy all copies of the photos ASAP.

  The “she” the letter referred to could only be me. But who’d issued this threat to Brendan, and why? Which photos did they want destroyed? Was Brendan responsible for killing Lydia and had he skipped town because of it?

  Then again, the letter was inside an NWA magazine, so did that mean it involved them too? Or was this just a surefire way for whoever had written it to make sure the message got delivered to Brendan? Had he fled his own home to avoid what he must’ve known was coming for him, or had he been dragged out kicking and screaming?

  The letter put Brendan’s ransacked house into an entirely new light. Whoever destroyed the place might not have wanted to steal information; they might’ve wanted to destroy it instead.

  A chill raked down the discs of my spine one at a time like the point of Death’s scythe as I realized just how exposed I was in the house alone. I shoved the letter back into the magazine’s spine, slid both into the inner pocket of my robes, and ran as fast as my feet would carry me back to my broom.

  I had to find Brendan, dead or alive — and I knew exactly who to ask. As I power walked away with my broom tucked under one arm, I pulled my phone from my robes and opened up my p-mail app. The message Damon Fade sent me containing the photos he’d taken during Lydia’s murder still sat at the top of my inbox.

  I tapped reply and hammered out a message as fast as my thumbs could type.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Damon Fade arrived at my makeshift campaign office — AKA the smallest room at the back of my house — looking just as well-dressed and irritated as I remembered. At least this time the gargoyles didn’t have to drag him inside.

  “Welcome to my humble home,” I said, gesturing around the office. We’d been so busy since I started my run for office that Grandma and I hadn’t had time to unpack our things, much less decorate.

  “I had a bad feeling I’d see you again,” Damon said, straightening his jacket as he sat down in the rickety wooden chair across from me. He hadn’t brought his camera with him, which was more than a little disappointing.

  “You make it sound like a bad thing,” I said.

  “Maybe it isn’t, but it definitely isn’t good either,” he said and slouched in his chair, unimpressed. Coming to my office wasn’t so much an invitation as it was an order. Damon could hardly refuse the request of a candidate for Head Witch.

  Though Raina wasn’t happy about bringing Damon back into the fold, she came around. I didn’t know who else to ask about Brendan. It seemed extreme to go directly to the president of the organization, and though Damon wasn’t the most friendly or cooperative person, he seemed to know enough of the inner machinations of the NWA to point me in the right direction.

  “I’m sure it’s rare that a phot
ographer for the NWA finds themselves in an office like this,” I said, and he smirked.

  “You call this an office?” he asked. “It looks more like a barn.” I couldn’t argue with that, so I smiled and shrugged. The old wooden panel walls made the entire house look more like a cottage than a home.

  “Cozy, isn’t it?”

  “Sure. Look, I’ve got things to do, so let’s get this show on the road. What do you want?”

  Nothing like getting right to the point. “I want to ask you a couple questions about a peer of yours,” I said, and Damon’s shoulders snapped up to his ears as if drawn by magnets.

  “Who?”

  “Brendan Norwood,” I said, and watched his face for any sign of a problem. Luckily for him, he had a fantastic poker face that betrayed nothing. Though I could have jumped right to reading his thoughts, I refrained from courtesy.

  “Judging from your reaction, I assume you know who I’m talking about?”

  “Sure, I’ve heard the name a few times. What about him?”

  “You haven’t heard?” I asked, skeptical.

  “Heard what?”

  “Someone ransacked Brendan’s house, and he’s missing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” I asked, and Damon shuffled in his seat like he sat on a bed of nails. Bingo.

  “No, nothing. Until you told me, I didn’t know there was anything going on with him at all,” Damon said. For the first time, I believed him. “Well, no more than usual, anyway.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him and leaned across the desk.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Brendan was an odd duck,” Damon said.

  “You aren’t the first person to tell me that,” I said. “Rowley said he had a reputation for being, well, extreme.” Damon raised his brows at me.

  “You spoke to Rowley about him?”

  “Sure did,” I said, and Damon gulped. “Why?”

  “I’m surprised. I’d heard you were tenacious, but I didn’t think you’d be brave enough to speak to the president.”