Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks

by Dionnara Dawson

  Hella nodded, then looked over to Harrow. ‘How do you take your coffee?’

  Harrow raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Well, if you’re aiming for the table and not over my head, just black, thanks.’

  Hella glared, then looked to Meele, who answered, ‘Same, please.’

  Hella refocused her chakras. She used her energy, her magic, to imagine the coffees, then imagined placing them gently on the table. Purple sparks danced over her hands as the coffees appeared, gently and safely before their recipients.

  ‘Ha!’ Hella shouted. ‘I did it!’

  Harrow smirked at her. ‘You know, well-trained baristas can do this too.’ He raised the cup to her, then took a sip.

  Hella gave him a withering look. ‘You’re welcome.’ He seemed to finally be sobering up, Hella thought. She watched as he moved gingerly, his arm still in pain. Hella pulled her athame out of her bag, still slick with Harrow’s blood. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. From behind Meele, she saw him shake his head slightly, as if forgiving her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hella

  While Harrow slept, Hella opened the store. For an hour or so customers trickled in and out while she restocked and served. It felt good to be doing something normal again, even if only for a little while.

  Hella stared at the meticulously organised store. She let the details of every small product overwhelm her. Hella noted every crystal, every herb and book filled with spells. Everything had taken on a weight that hadn’t been there the day before. They were all real. These items contained actual magical properties. She picked up a candle by the counter, closely examining it, wondering if it was magical too. Hella set the candle on the counter, frowning at it.

  Hella picked up a magical book, with the same triquetra symbol on the front as her amulet. She flicked through the pages, wondering which spells she would be able to cast. All she seemed to be able to do was set things on fire. That’s not a good gift, Hella thought. Or stabbing the wrong people. She looked over to Harrow, who was now awake. Remy had given him a bowl of soup and he was devouring it.

  Hella went into the other room, where she had set the fire the night before, still half-expecting to see the blackened scorch marks on the walls, the burnt carpet melted into the floor. All was as it should be. Remy was sitting in her favoured armchair with a cup of steaming tea. Harrow licked the soup bowl.

  ‘How am I supposed to tell warlocks and faeries apart from angels and demons?’ she asked the room suddenly.

  Remy sipped her tea. ‘Cambions can look like normal people, but as you’ve seen, angels have their bright white wings, demons have a darkness about them that I can train you to sense.’

  ‘How are you?’ Hella asked the warlock.

  Harrow nodded gravely. ‘I like this soup.’

  Before Hella could comment, the front door’s bell chimed, and James rushed in. ‘Did I miss it?’ he asked, panting. ‘Hella, did you do the magic yet?’ He was almost hyperventilating. Hella wondered if he’d run here. His place was ten minutes farther from the shop than Hella’s.

  She shook her head. ‘No, James. I was just working.’

  He looked relieved. ‘Oh, good.’ His grey eyes popped at the sight of Harrow. ‘Who’re you?’

  ‘Just an innocent stabbing victim.’ Harrow smirked.

  ‘What?’ James’s head whipped from him to Hella. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  Hella pulled the athame out of her belt. She’d cleaned it of Harrow’s blood. ‘I kind of stabbed him. He’s a warlock though, friends with Meele.’ Hella nodded into the back room where Meele had set herself up. It seemed she would be staying in the store for a while.

  James frowned, utterly lost.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, they’re good,’ Hella said. ‘Friends.’

  James crossed his arms. ‘Sorry, what? How long was I gone for?’

  Hella sighed. ‘Right, sorry.’ She filled James in while Harrow watched on with interest. He seemed to be sizing James up, as if he wanted to eat him. Do warlocks eat humans? No, surely not.

  ‘Why is there a human here?’ Harrow asked. There was no derision in his voice, just curiosity.

  ‘He’s my friend,’ Hella said, folding her arms over her chest.

  ‘She told him before I could warn her not to,’ Remy said.

  James himself looked over the room, collapsed into the other armchair, then smiled politely up at Remy, who seemed rather disinterested in the conversation. She sipped her tea quietly, then produced a book and began flipping through the pages.

  Hella sat down on the couch next to Harrow, the only available space left. She then closed her eyes for a moment and conjured a perfect latte. ‘I do love that.’

  ‘You seem new.’ Harrow smiled. ‘Sorry if I scared you in the park.’

  Hella opened her mouth, to say that it was okay. That she had attacked him first, but then she closed it. ‘Are all warlocks good?’ she asked instead.

  Harrow’s ocean-blue eyes darkened. ‘No. Definitely not. Even the good ones sometimes aren’t all that good. Think of humans, they’re not all good and so often most people are shades of grey. It’s not as simple as good or bad with us.’

  Hella pondered this, wishing she could openly take notes in her books. Shades of grey. ‘Are you good?’

  ‘Not very,’ Harrow admitted with surprising candour. ‘But I’m a thousand times better than any angel.’ He winked at her. ‘And I don’t consider myself an evil man.’

  ‘Evil people don’t think they’re evil,’ Meele said, surprising them. ‘They think they’re right, or justified.’

  ‘That’s true in everything I’ve read,’ Hella pointed out. ‘I came here because you wanted to train me?’ She looked from Remy to Meele.

  With a sip of her tea, the old witch nodded. ‘Indeed. Hella, there are so very many levels to witchcraft. And many witches are not as powerful as you, including myself. Your mother, for example, is a wonderful witch, but she only has a touch of the gift. You have the whole package. Unfortunately, that will make you harder to train. You have more power to control, you see.’

  Hella nodded, following along, the coffee mug warm in her hands.

  ‘For example, how you’ve gotten yourself that coffee? That’s a rather simple conjuring spell. Though, I should tell you, it’s near-impossible to create something from nothing, so when a witch conjures something, coffee, a television, what have you, it comes from someplace else. This coffee, you see, comes from our favourite café across the road.’

  Hella’s eyes popped. ‘It’s stealing?’

  Remy shook her head. ‘No, dear. I don’t steal. Don’t worry, I tip them extremely well. I make sure to pay for whatever we use.’

  Hella exhaled. ‘Oh. Well, good.’

  ‘Hella, today I can begin to teach you the basics of witchcraft, how to control your powers, and some of the rules we must live by. I trust your mother told you not to tell any’—she looked at James—‘well, any other humans, about us? That includes not using magic in public.’

  Hella thought about the copious notes she had taken. She hadn’t told anyone about it. Then she thought of how Harrow had looked around in a panic in the park, checking for witnesses. Hella shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I sort of told my brother.’

  Remy’s lined face scrunched together. ‘You did what?’

  ‘Well, he’s my family. I thought he should know,’ she said with a shrug.

  Blue sparks erupted from Remy’s fingers. ‘Hellora, you are not to break our Wiccan rules. You have been a witch for less than two days, you ignorant child!’

  Harrow and James both sat up straighter, their eyes wide.

  ‘I—I’m sorry, I just—’ Hella stuttered.

  ‘No,’ Remy barked. ‘If you tell anyone else, I will have their memories erased. Do you understand?’

  ‘Witches can do that?’ James asked from the corner, alarmed.

  Remy shot him a glare. ‘No. But there are
systems in place to ensure that the rest of the world does not know about us. They can erase memories. So, if you prove to be unworthy of our secret, if you tell anyone of Hellora’s magic, I shall have your memories erased, we have a system for that, they’re called The Force. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Won’t tell a soul.’ James seemed to shrink into the cushions of the armchair, then frowned. ‘What did she just call you?’

  Hella groaned. ‘Hellora is my full name.’

  James blinked. ‘I’ve known you for how long? And I never knew that?’

  ‘We’re getting off topic,’ Harrow interjected. ‘But I like it.’ He smiled at Hella.

  Remy rolled her eyes. Something Hella rarely saw adults do. She almost laughed. ‘Now, what I want you to do,’ Remy said, ‘is set this on fire.’ She indicated the armchair next to her. James quickly evacuated the space, backing up several paces.

  Hella frowned. ‘You want me to intentionally set things on fire now?’

  Harrow smirked. ‘I couldn’t quench her flames,’ he admitted to Meele.

  Hella frowned. ‘So?’

  Meele straightened. ‘Really? Well, you were a little… you know, drunk. And stabbed.’

  Harrow shook his head. ‘It wasn’t me, it’s her. She’s too powerful, even for a Nympha.’

  ‘Nympha?’ Hella asked.

  Harrow bowed a fraction. ‘I am Harrow, of House Nympha. Water,’ he said, ‘is my element. I have been able to douse fires for years. But not yours.’

  Hella blinked at him. ‘Oh.’ Was all she could think to say. She set her mug of coffee down on the table. She closed her eyes, trying to focus. She used her head and her heart chakras. Hella thought she could feel what Remy was talking about. Ever since she put the amulet on, a wave of something had been crashing around inside her, making her feel strange and oddly warm. Hella thought about the waves inside her, in her head and her heart. Then she thought about the flames. Without realising it, she held out her hands, palms up. Hella opened her eyes to see small red-purple flames licking her hands, a purple light dancing around the ends of her hair.

  ‘Hella,’ Remy said warningly. ‘Concentrate.’

  Hella focused hard on the flames. A part of her mind panicked. Fire! She was on fire! The rest of her ignored that. She could feel no pain, though she tried to keep it off her clothes this time. Slowly, the flames danced over her skin, then abruptly changed to a deep purple.

  Remy sighed happily. ‘Good. Now, the chair.’ Everyone looked at the chair expectantly.

  Harrow looked at her hair with fond surprise. ‘It almost looks like she’s shimmering. Look at her hair.’ The others did look, but Hella remained focused.

  She directly faced the faded blue armchair. She wasn’t sure how to move the flames. She willed it. She imagined the fire leaping from her hands, over to the chair. To her surprise, the purple fire obeyed, leaping over the coffee table to land in the lap of the armchair. Slowly, they grew and grew as Hella built the fire up. She realised she could feel her chakras burning.

  The sensation was pleasant, powerful. Her mind, a spot on her forehead, felt warm. Her chest, somewhere close to her heart, was swimming in calm fire. The armchair was slowly engulfed in licking, purple flames. The wooden back of the chair snapped fiercely.

  Remy looked on, unmoving. She seemed unconcerned about the possibility of the fire raging out of control, though the flames were barely a metre from her own armchair. Harrow smiled, impressed, as James’s eyes grew ever wider. Meele watched on in silence, though her golden eyes shone with excitement.

  Finally, when the blue fabric was gone, Remy nodded. ‘Great job, Hella. You can stop now. Cool yourself down. Let it go.’

  Hella imagined the flames dying away. They simmered down to a smouldering dull purple, the armchair destroyed. She looked up at Remy, who smiled broadly.

  ‘I’m very impressed, Hella. That was great,’ her guardian said.

  James clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Dude!’ he said proudly.

  Hella smiled for just a moment, before Remy started forward. As Hella had begun to relax, she hadn’t quite extinguished the flames. Without her concentration, a small red fire burned the carpet by her feet.

  ‘Hella,’ Remy snapped. ‘Douse it.’

  Hella extinguished the flames entirely, then squirmed. ‘Almost good?’

  Remy laughed. ‘No, that was really good. Just remember to completely douse your powers. You have to calm yourself entirely.’

  Hella nodded. ‘Got it.’

  Harrow reached over to whisper in her ear. ‘That was hot.’ He winked at her.

  Meele leaned over and patted her shoulder. ‘That was great, Hellora.’

  Hella couldn’t help but grimace at the use of her full name—and how everyone stared at her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hella

  Hella walked over to the store the next morning, a cool breeze danced over her shoulders. She liked the cooler weather. It made her want to sit down and try to write or read a book.

  Dressed in flats, jeans, and a green shirt, Hella ducked into the store, unlocking it with the keys Remy had trusted to her. The bell chimed above her head. She flipped the sign to Open, wondering how many early-bird customers she could expect. Hella took the time to check if anything needed restocking or tidying up. She adjusted the crystals on the shelves, straightened up the vials of herbs. Hella paused at the books. Ran her fingers over their spines, feeling the leather.

  By the counter, another book lay open. She noticed that it was the book that had been open the day before, scrawled with Remy’s handwritten notes. The front cover was inlaid with curls of silver and ornate patterns, one of which Hella recognised; the same as her amulet, a triquetra.

  Hella flicked through the pages. They were old and worn. The notes were on half a dozen pages, the handwriting small and cramped, difficult to read. Hella could only make out bits and pieces of the squished notes.

  Spell: instructions clear, but potion will have to brew. Last ingredient most essential. Warning: if not created correctly, may cause deadly bodily harm within one-metre radius.

  Hella’s mouth fell open. What kind of magic was her new guardian into? What kind of spell was she making? And why?

  The bell chimed. Thinking it was a customer, Hella closed the book with a thud and shoved it behind her. As she looked up, she found it was a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, in a sharp suit. Then he looked at her with piercing yellow eyes, and Hella screamed.

  The man hushed her, then turned the sign on the door. ‘Quiet, quiet now, girl,’ The demon hissed. ‘I just want to talk with you.’

  Hella backed up, but she was boxed in by the wrap-around counter. She felt for the spelled athame she kept at her belt and threw it at the demon. It sunk into his upper arm and he growled.

  The demon tried to pull it out, but it stuck fast in his skin, as it had with Harrow. He rolled his eyes—all the way back, then forward again, flashing black—and Hella gasped. She turned, trying to find another weapon. They were all upstairs, on the other side of the counter. She couldn’t get past him.

  ‘Little witch, just stop. Do you know who I am?’

  Hella tried to remember the name Remy had called the demon. ‘Aza—?’

  ‘Azazel, yes.’ His eyes glowed hungrily. ‘By now I’m sure you’ve had a pleasant encounter from those heavenly beasts?’

  Hella swallowed hard. She nodded. Unconsciously, her hand moved over the wound on her leg, still healing. Azazel’s eyes followed, then he found the shadow of a line still healing along her neck.

  ‘I bet you met Malachai, ferocious little jerk, that one.’

  Hella frowned. ‘He didn’t introduce himself. He just—stabbed me.’

  Azazel nodded. ‘Typical angels, you know. Stab first, ask questions never.’

  Hella watched on in horror as the demon shifted forms. From man to mist, and back, then half-way in between. Th
e athame thunked to the ground as his body changed. ‘I do not naturally look like you humans.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want you to know that you could come with me. You don’t have to worry about those pesky angels if you come and join my kind.’ He licked his lips with a black forked tongue.

  ‘Why the hell would I do that? Why would you want me to?’

  ‘Oh, little witch. They haven’t told you, have they? That old woman whose shop this is, and the faerie woman? There’s a prophecy about you, little one.’

  ‘I know about the prophecy, that I’m the promised witch,’ she snapped, trying to calm herself. Red sparks danced along her fingernails, a speck of purple in her hair.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you know everything.’ The black mist climbed up on top of the counter, making the wood sing as it creaked. He peered down into her face. ‘They’ve told you, I’m sure, that you’re supposed to help the witches, help the lost little Cambions, defeat the angels?’

  Staring into the human-face surrounded by black mist, she nodded.

  ‘They haven’t even told you how to beat them, I bet, have they?’ He seemed to be teasing her, taunting her.

  ‘What’s your point?’ she breathed, her lower back bumping the bookshelf at the far side of the counter.

  ‘Oh, so much, little one. It’s so sad that they don’t trust you. I mean, yes, you’re untrained, but astra inclinant, little witch. What you don’t know’—he looked at the book Hella had been reading when he came in—‘could fill a book. They haven’t told you what you have to do. And they haven’t told you what your real destiny could be. You are supposed to be so powerful, pretty witch, but you don’t have to be a good witch like your mother, no. You could be a dark witch.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a dark witch,’ she said, though she didn’t really understand the difference.

  ‘Don’t you? Did they even let you choose? I thought humans had free will.’ Azazel changed into a human again, the mist disappearing into him. ‘You don’t sound very free to me.’ He handed her a business card. ‘If you’d like to talk, come see me. You are always welcome, little witch. I won’t tell you how to live. That’s supposed to be your decision.’