Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘He still doesn’t really understand Hella, give him time.’ Her dad emerged from the kitchen.

  Some of Hella’s writer-buzz fizzled away. She forgot about breakfast. ‘I feel like I’ve done something horrible to him.’ She reached for the amulet around her neck; the symbol of her new identity.

  ‘I think he feels that you have, too,’ her father said. ‘Watching someone you love completely change can be hard.’

  Hella frowned. ‘I was going to head back to the store. Remy and Meele seemed to think they needed to teach me magic-stuff right away, so…’ she trailed off awkwardly under her father’s solemn stare. ‘I mean, is that okay?’ She could not meet his eye.

  Her mum came around the corner with a plate of pancakes and her hair in a messy bun. She nibbled on one of the pancakes. ‘Good morning, kiddo, how did you sleep?’

  Hella nodded awkwardly, feeling as if she were in trouble, but she wasn’t sure why. ‘Yeah, okay. I was going to head to the store, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course, honey. Would you like some pancakes before you go?’

  Hella stared at her father, who remained silent, his brows pulled together. She felt as if he were looking at her differently, trying to figure out who his daughter was now. It was unnerving and uncomfortable. As she moved to descend the stairs, he stepped in front of her.

  His wife tapped his shoulder. ‘Finn, let her go. She has to do this.’

  He folded his arms over his chest but moved aside. ‘Be careful, Hella.’ Somehow it sounded more like a warning than caring, fatherly concern.

  Her mum took her by the shoulders and steered her daughter down into the kitchen. There was something protective about the gesture. ‘Come on, Hella.’

  Hella was led into the kitchen. Her mum set down the pancakes; grabbing another plate she set out a few of them and handed over the syrup, all in silence. Finally, Hella broke it. ‘Is dad okay?’ she whispered, nibbling on her breakfast.

  Her mum nodded, but Hella frowned. ‘Don’t lie to me, Mum. No more lies.’

  Her mum seemed to pause, as if reconsidering her answer. ‘Your father is still coming to terms with all this, Hella, don’t worry.’

  ‘I don’t think he likes my magic.’ She grumbled, chewing a pancake.

  To that, her mum made no comment. ‘Show me, then. Can you conjure yet?’

  Hella smiled, then closed her eyes intently. She clicked her fingers together. A flash of purple flickered up her hair as a mug appeared before her, sloshing over the sides a little as it landed on the counter, but otherwise was well done. She sat up a little straighter.

  ‘That’s only the second time I’ve done that,’ she admitted, but her mum was smiling proudly.

  ‘Oh, Hellora, that’s excellent. Well done.’ She came around and kissed her daughter on the top of her head. As Hella turned to smile up at her mother, she saw her father leering from the stairs. She offered him a tentative smile. And he frowned, lines creasing his face with something oddly like contempt.

  On her way to Remy’s, Hella really wanted to avoid the park where she had been attacked the night before. So, stubbornly, she walked right through it. The birds chirped in the trees, still early in the morning. The air was already warming, but clear and crisp. Hella wondered if her wounds had left any bloodstains in the tanbark. She grazed a hand over her leg, and her throat. She went to look.

  Hella found that she could walk just fine, with only a sting in every other step. The park was one big square block, rounding a corner into the park, she intended to find the spot where she was recently stabbed and slashed by—she was still coming to terms with even thinking it—an angel. Then she saw someone laying on one of the benches. Hella wondered if they were homeless, or drunk. As she approached cautiously, she could see a bottle of alcohol on the ground, tipped over, half-empty. She was surprised when she saw who was on the bench; a young man, not much older than herself.

  He wore a black t-shirt and jeans. The sun started to reach out, spreading its warmth onto the metal play equipment and benches. He must be warm, she thought. The light caught in the trees, shining down onto the guy’s pale face. Hella looked curiously at him, wondering if he was okay. She wasn’t sure if they went to the same school, but she didn’t recognise him. On a whim, she poked his muscled upper-arm—how else do you check to make sure a person is alive?

  He awoke with a start. ‘Hey, fuck off! It’s not illegal. Do what I want.’

  She could smell his breath from here, strong and bitter.

  Hella’s eyes widened. ‘Hey. Hi, I was just wondering if you were okay.’

  The young man opened his eyes, an intensely bright blue, and stared at Hella. ‘You’re not a cop?’ he slurred, his posture leaning and awkward.

  Hella blinked. ‘No? I’m sixteen—and a student.’

  He shook his head. ‘Then what’d you wake me up for? I don’t come to your house and wake you up Miss Red Hair.’ He gestured vaguely at her.

  Hella glanced down at her long braid. ‘My name is Hella, and this isn’t your house. It’s the park.’ She gestured to the trees and playground, as if to say, duh.

  The young man blinked, looking around. Hella saw that his blue eyes were bright, but unfocused. He shook his long black hair out of his face. ‘Wherrre ma whissskey?’

  Hella tried not to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, what was that? Are you drunk?’ She looked down at the bottle. He sat up slowly, holding onto the bench for support.

  ‘I said,’ he emphasised, ‘where’s my whiskey?’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘And of course I’m drunk. Did you take it? I worked really hard to rob that place last night.’

  Her leg beginning to ache, she sat on the warm bench beside him. ‘I did not touch your whiskey. It’s on the ground under there. Wait, you robbed a place? What’s your name?’

  He smacked his lips together, seemingly ignoring her. He looked under the bench, then gave a little ‘woo-hoo’ when he discovered his liquid gold. ‘Ma name is Harrow,’ he said, taking a swig. He did not elaborate on his illegal adventure.

  She made a face. ‘It’s not even 9 am. How can you drink that?’

  Harrow frowned, then leaned forward. ‘It’s my birthday,’ he said, as if that made sense.

  Hella cleared her throat. ‘I see. Well, at least you’re alive. Happy birthday.’ She stood up to leave. She didn’t want to sit here talking to a drunk, no matter how cute he was. Besides, she thought, stranger danger.

  ‘Alive?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, you didn’t look alive. You’re so pale. Besides, you could’ve drunk yourself to death.’

  Harrow bobbed his head. ‘You sound like you think highly of me.’ His words were slurred.

  Hella gave a sad smile. ‘I don’t think anything of you. I don’t know you. I have to be going.’

  Harrow frowned into his bottle. ‘Think anything of you,’ he mimicked. ‘Very nice, stupid human. Damn pretty girl, but not nice,’ he muttered.

  The young witch paused. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say? What did you call me?’

  Harrow blinked up at her, squinting in the sunlight. ‘Pretty?’

  Hella turned, fully facing him now. ‘No, you said “human”. Like I could be anything else.’ The events of the last twenty-four hours made Hella wonder if this could be a ruse. A trap. Slowly, she reached into her bag and grasped her athame.

  Harrow barked a laugh. ‘Oh. Ha. Sorry. Drunk!’ He held up the bottle as evidence.

  The young witch backed away. ‘Are you an angel?’ she hissed. She produced the athame, pointing it at Harrow. Harrow’s blue eyes widened, and he raised his hands, still holding the bottle.

  ‘Oh, am I being mugged?’ he asked mildly. ‘Wait, did you say angel? Are you flirting with me?’ He winked, then set the bottle down, blinking several times. ‘Hey, I’m no angel, believe me. What are you?’

  Hella took a step closer, taking the amulet out from under her shirt. ‘I’m a witch. What are you?�
� Hella wondered if she stood a chance against an angel now, armed with her amulet and the blade. She didn’t know how to defend herself, but her magic was definitely working.

  Harrow smiled. ‘Oh, honey. I’m a warlock.’ He changed. His skin turned pale-blue, a rush of scales erupted along his neck. His once-ordinary hands now had pointed claws, and Hella thought she saw a tail flick behind him.

  She screamed, throwing the dagger at Harrow. Harrow shouted, knocking over the bottle with a smash. He lay down on the bench, Hella’s dagger firmly imbedded in his shoulder. Something like blood poured out of the wound, but it was a dark blue. He lay gasping on the bench.

  ‘Well shit, girl, what did you do that for?’

  Hella stood frozen. ‘You’re a demon, aren’t you!?’ she screamed. Hella started pacing. ‘First demons with yellow eyes, and angels trying to kill me, and now you! You just looked like this cute passed out guy, who seems to be an alcoholic—you shouldn’t be drinking like that, by the way—and now you’re a demon! Am I supposed to kill demons?’

  She stopped pacing. She thought back to the flames she had used—accidently almost hurting James and Remy—and brought them to the front of her mind. There was a flash of purple in her peripheral vision, her hair was alight with her magic—Harrow’s eyes widened—and both her hands became gloves of purple-red fire. Mostly purple. Yes! She thought triumphantly. The flames licked her fingers. She was quietly impressed that she forged it so quickly.

  He scrambled off the bench. ‘Oh, hell no. Girl, listen to me. I’m not a demon, as such. Okay? Damn. Be cool. Turn that off, would you?’ He nodded at the flames. He glanced around quickly at the park, but no one was around. Then he moved his hands, his face screwing up at the pain in his shoulder, and seemed to conjure a blue mist. The mist turned into a pool of water. It puddled around Hella and began to creep up her legs toward her flaming hands.

  She stepped back, but the water clung to her and climbed up to her fire. It sputtered, but did not extinguish. Hella frowned. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

  ‘Defending myself,’ he said, though he seemed weak from his injury. He slumped onto the bench, holding his shoulder, small pools of blood dripped onto the grass. ‘Do you know what a Cambion is?’ he asked, breathless now.

  Hella thought of Meele, and the resulting notes she had taken this morning. Demon children, she knew. But not demons. Magic. ‘Yes, I do. You’re a warlock?’

  Hella let the fire extinguish, dropping her hand. Harrow nodded. Hella could see a blue-tipped tail.

  ‘Yeah, I’m a warlock. Not a demon. Big difference. Could you not kill me?’

  Suddenly exhausted, Hella sat down again with a sigh. ‘Sure,’ she said. She tucked the athame away.

  Harrow’s arm was now coated in blue blood. ‘Cheers for this, by the way. Awesome birthday surprise.’ He nodded at the dagger, trying painfully to pull it free of his arm. ‘Also, why can’t I take it out?’

  Hella blinked. ‘Oh. It’s enchanted. I forgot.’

  Harrow shrugged with his good arm. ‘Oh, cool.’ After a moment, he added. ‘Yeah, so could you get it out then, maybe?’

  Hella blinked again. ‘Right! Sorry.’ She leaned over to Harrow, who sat up straight, his blue eyes now bright, perhaps with tears, she thought. ‘Stay still.’ She grasped the athame, slick and wet, and gave a great pull.

  Harrow yelled, but quickly stifled himself. He put a hand over the wound, the blood pouring more freely. ‘Awesome. Thanks,’ he said through gritted teeth, holding up his hand, giving her a bloodied thumbs-up.

  Hella squirmed, unsure what to do. ‘Witches can’t heal,’ she parroted what she had been told. Harrow nodded. ‘Of course they can’t. I’ll have to go the Faerie House, hopefully there’s a Sana there.’

  ‘Healers, right?’ She restrained herself from asking about the House—she could ask later.

  Harrow nodded. ‘Yes. Hopefully I don’t bleed to death between here and there.’

  ‘Wait.’ Hella put a hand on her leg. ‘Maybe you don’t need to go that far. I know someone who can help you.’

  He was bent over now, trying to stem the flow of blood. Harrow’s arms were slicked and wet with blue. He nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘why not. I do love my birthdays.’

  Hella tried very hard to control the emotions boiling in her chest. She was overwhelmed. The last two days had been mind-blowing, and now she had gone and stabbed someone. With Harrow leaning on her, his arm over her shoulder, she had to half-carry him to the Witches’ Wares bookstore.

  Blood poured from Harrow’s right shoulder, where she’d thrown her athame into his arm. Hella dragged him along, feeling horrible that she’d stabbed this very cute guy. For a moment, she thought of James. For a long time, she had kind of had a crush on him, but then again, he was one of her best friends. But Harrow was cute in a whole other way. She thought of the boys like night and day; James’s golden hair and grey eyes, Harrow’s darkness and seemingly bitter, if not drunk, demeanour.

  ‘Where you taking me, little witch?’ Harrow slurred. His feet stumbled as he walked, his weight shifting heavily onto Hella’s slim shoulders.

  ‘You could at least try to walk on your own, you know.’ Hella growled. ‘I know you’re wounded and everything, but I can’t carry you.’

  Harrow made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, but managed to pick his feet up a little more as they walked. ‘You know, I think being stabbed by a stranger on your birthday has to be bad luck, don’t you think? Do you have a habit of stabbing people?’

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘We’re nearly there.’ Hella managed to get to the door, dragging Harrow.

  ‘Witches’ Wares, oh, I see. Very clever, ‘cause you’re witches who sell stuff. I like it.’

  ‘Shush,’ Hella hissed at him. She banged on the door. ‘Hey! Open up, it’s me, Hella! I need your help!’

  ‘More specifically, the guy who has been unjustly stabbed needs your help.’ Harrow put in helpfully, as the door opened.

  Remy stood on the threshold, wide-eyed. ‘Dear, what’s going on?’ She looked at Hella, then to the young man.

  ‘Well, you see. I thought he was attacking me,’ Hella explained, ‘he looked all demon-y, and—’

  ‘Well, come in, come in.’ Remy moved to let them pass. Harrow tried to smile in thanks, but his lips twitched into a grimace.

  Hella shifted his weight as they manoeuvred into the store. Through the entry, Hella steered the warlock onto the couch and dumped him there. Luckily, he landed on his good shoulder. She smiled sheepishly. ‘You’re fine.’

  Remy shut the front door as Meele came through to see what all the fuss was about.

  ‘Hella?’ Meele came through and surveyed the room. ‘Harrow,’ she said, surprised. ‘I thought you were at the Den. I was headed that way, but then I heard Hella had been activated.’

  ‘I was kind of on my way back there, too. But I ended up on the wrong side of town and took a nap in the park. That’s when this one stabbed me.’ He smiled crookedly up at Hella.

  ‘Ah,’ Meele said, understanding. ‘I see. Well, you know. She’s new.’ Meele shrugged, as if an accidental stabbing here or there was not a big deal. ‘Let me make you something.’

  ‘You guys know each other?’ Hella asked, looking from Meele to Harrow and back.

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Warlocks and faeries are allies, and there aren’t a whole lot of us here. We mostly all know each other.’

  Remy folded herself into an armchair. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m Remy. I’m the owner of this store, and a long-time friend of Meele’s myself.’

  ‘I’m Harrow, nice to meet you, too. Oh, and sorry if I happen to be bleeding all over your fine store. How do you know Hella then?’

  ‘I… work here,’ Hella said, though that hardly seemed sufficiently accurate.

  Meele returned with a bowl of salve similar to the one she had used on Hella. Meele sat on the edge of
the couch. ‘So, what were you doing passed out in a park, Harrow?’

  ‘I was not passed out,’ Harrow said. ‘I was sleeping. Then Little Miss Red here decided to throw a dagger at me. By the way, you should probably let your newbie here know that angels are the bastards, we’re the good ones.’ He dropped Hella a sultry wink. ‘I, of course, am the best my species has to offer.’ Harrow tried to sit up, but his face twisted in pain.

  Meele pushed him back. ‘Lie down.’

  As Meele tended to Harrow, Remy came over to Hella.

  ‘You were on your way here?’ she asked quietly.

  Hella nodded. ‘Seemed like you guys wanted me to train, or practice or whatever, pretty soon. Besides, I don’t want to accidently set fire to something again. I conjured a coffee this morning though, and, um, used my fire.’

  ‘Very good, dear. Do you think you could do that again? How about for everyone? The coffee, I mean, not the fire.’ Remy looked at Meele and Harrow. ‘I’m sure the lad could use a pick-me up. You have what we call chakras all throughout your body; energy sources. Your mind and your heart are the strongest. When using your magic, focus those chakras, and you’ll have a more targeted result of what you’re trying to do. Try that now.’

  With a deep breath, Hella concentrated. It was the beginning of what Hella expected to be a very long day. Hella closed her eyes, finding the points of energy in her body. Then clicked her fingers together. Red and purple sparks flew out of her hands, a purple lick of flame danced through her hair. Hella conjured her own perfect latte, but Remy’s landed on the coffee table with a shattering crash.

  Harrow laughed, then winced. ‘Smooth.’

  The coffee swam over the table as Remy’s smile quirked the edge of her mouth.

  ‘One out of two?’ Hella said. She got up to get a cloth, but Remy waved her down.

  With a click, the old witch cleaned the table, then nodded at Hella. ‘Again. Remember, red sparks or flame mean it’s out of control. You want purple, that’s your colour now.’