The young witch frowned as Harrow smirked. He’d remained perfectly still. ‘Were you aiming for me, or…?’ He looked pointedly behind him where the fire had given a wide berth.
‘Shut up. I don’t know how to do this. And I don’t want to set you on fire.’ Hella dropped her hands, remembering the last fire-related incident in this room.
Harrow’s smirk faded. ‘Well, I can’t train you in witchy magic, but I’m sure you can do it. Try again.’ His gaze was steady, slit blue eyes clear.
Hella let her eyes fall closed, just for a moment. It felt like holding onto a safety rail. She could feel her powers swimming inside her, like a wave about to break. It rose to her heart, flowing into her head, and Hella’s eyes snapped open, her hands stretched out, as an inferno of fire shot out of her fingertips. The flames were purple, streaked through with red. She felt the flicker of colour lick through her hair.
Harrow’s eyes widened, but he threw up his hands, creating a wall of blue smoke, like a shield, which caught the fire a few centimetres from his skin. He let the smoke consume the fire, smothering it before it drifted away. A cloud of freezing cold.
‘That was good.’ Harrow smiled. ‘But I think you’re supposed to be aiming for purely purple fire, right? Controlled.’
Hella nodded. ‘I know. Remy said it’ll come with practice.’
‘Okay, then.’ He set his shoulders. ‘We practice. How’s your knife throwing?’ He picked up an athame from the table. ‘Just kidding, I know you’re actually pretty good at that.’ He rubbed his shoulder where she had embedded an athame upon their meeting. There was no malice in his voice, only playfulness, but there was still a bandage on his right shoulder. Hella’s mouth quirked with guilt. She said nothing.
She picked up the largest blade on the table, as long as her forearm and made of heavy steel, designed to do major damage to whatever—or whomever—it encountered. Hella stepped in front of the target on the wall, feeling the weight of the blade, measuring her aim and strength. Then she threw.
The blade whipped through the air, end over end, and hit its target nearly five metres away, in the second circle to the middle with a definitive thud. She was immediately glad that her own athame was significantly smaller and more delicate, better for travelling with. Or else her first meeting with Harrow would have ended much bloodier. Hella suspected it would have sliced his arm clean off.
Harrow nodded approvingly. ‘So, it wasn’t just a fluke shot. You’re good at this.’
He was still in his warlock form, but this time she could see more of him, his bare back, as she stood behind him. His skin shimmered pale blue in the lights. There were scales up his back, too. Hella’s stomach roiled when her eyes landed on the back of his shoulder where an angry wound still bled. From her blade. It had gone all the way through. She felt awful.
‘Are you throwing again, or just admiring your shot?’ Harrow said, still looking at the target. After a moment, he turned.
Hella moved quickly. ‘What? Oh, yep. Yeah, I’m throwing again.’ She picked up another blade from the table, took her stance, aimed and threw. This time the blade landed in the centre, clinking slightly as it grazed the other blade, metal kissing metal. She smiled, though her chest twinged. Oh, good. I’m actually gifted at stabbing.
Harrow turned. He looked at her closely. ‘What’s wrong? You’re doing great.’ He shimmered back to human form.
Hella shook her head, braid swinging. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ she breathed.
Harrow frowned. ‘What do you mean? Are you tired?’
Still shaking her head, Hella sat on the floor upon one of the soft mats. She crossed her bare feet in front of her. ‘I mean, I don’t want to learn how to throw fire at people, or athames. Look what I did to you, you’re still bleeding! And I don’t want to fight or kill people.’ She paused. ‘I’m just a student. I just want to be a writer. I never even believed in magic before all this.’
Harrow listened patiently, then nodded. He sat down opposite her, crossing his own feet. ‘You know, Hella, Cambions don’t get a choice about what they are. We’re born this way.’ He shimmered back to warlock form.
Hella was still getting used to it. She blinked in surprise.
‘I think maybe we’re the same in that,’ he continued. ‘We don’t have a choice. This is who we are. Look, just because you can throw fire, or a blade, or whatever, doesn’t mean you’re going to hurt people. This’—he held his injured shoulder—‘wasn’t your fault. I frightened you, and I’m sorry for that. But that’s not what your magic is about, Hella. It’s about helping people, helping Remy, helping Cambions. The more in control of your powers you are, the better. The more you practice, the less likely you are to accidently hurt someone.’ He smiled, his blue eyes soft. ‘You can throw fire at the target instead of me if you’d like.’
Hella’s eyes had begun to fill with tears, but she blinked them away. She took a deep, shaky breath, then nodded. ‘Okay.’
Harrow jumped up, then held out his hand for her to take. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. ‘Okay, then. Keep your eyes open. If you’re in a fight, the last thing you want to do is have ‘em closed. Aim for the centre.’ He positioned her in a spot in front of the target, his hands gently turning her hips into a better stance.
A smile tugged at her mouth. She forced her eyes open, feeling the waves of her magic inside. Her chakras burned. She held out her right hand, imagining a small ball of purple fire. The purple flames erupted into her hand in a ball the size of an apple. She threw it at the target, concentrating hard. It hit dead-centre, leaving behind a small black scorch mark.
‘That was brilliant,’ Harrow said from close behind her.
She could smell him. He didn’t smell sweaty. He smelled of fresh water, like from a running river. ‘Thanks,’ she said hoarsely, turning to look at him.
Still in warlock form, Harrow took a step closer. ‘Did you mean what you said before?’ he asked quietly. Hella raised her eyebrows, confused. ‘That,’ Harrow started, ‘that me, like this… is wonderful, to you? Did you mean that?’ He seemed to be breathing a little fast.
Hella smiled. She looked him up and down again. There were so many beautiful details to his skin. ‘Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I?’
Harrow’s blue eyes changed, she noticed. They were still the same blue, but they seemed deeper in his warlock form, slit vertically, the colours refracted beautifully, like light on broken glass.
‘No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.’ He looked down at himself with the slightest frown, his usual snarky bravado gone.
‘Hey,’ Hella said, putting a hand on his arm. ‘You are wonderful. Look at you. I’ve never seen anything like you. It’s extraordinary.’ She stared up into his face. He was about eight centimetres taller than her. She wanted to touch the scales on his cheek. Instead, she asked a question. Only Harrow seemed to answer her questions. ‘When you shift, into this form,’ she said hesitantly, ‘does it hurt?’
Harrow blinked, then gave a little smile. ‘No, not at all. Feels natural to be like this. Like wearing a comfortable pair of jeans.’
‘Does it feel unnatural, to look human?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Which do you prefer?’ she asked.
Harrow shrugged, simultaneously shimmering back to human. ‘I seem to get less hate looking like this,’ he said, his head bent. His black hair fell across his eyes. It felt as if someone took one of Hella’s heartstrings and gave a great tug.
‘Why would someone hate you, for looking like this?’
For a moment, Harrow’s face was open, honest. Vulnerable. In one swift blink, and a quick shake, that was gone. ‘Because we look like demons,’ he growled down at her.
So, it wasn’t just the alcohol that brought on the bitterness, Hella thought, it was a lifetime’s worth of hate and mistreatment. ‘You don’t look like a demon to me,’ Hella said seriously.
&nb
sp; Harrow swallowed, then nodded, as if a professional courtesy was all the acknowledgment he could muster.
Hella changed the subject. ‘What exactly is The Force? Remy mentioned they wipe memories.’
Harrow took a breath, seeming relieved at the topic change. He pulled his shirt back over his head, then took a seat in Remy’s favourite armchair. ‘They’re actually mostly humans. Their job is to clean up any magical messes we might make. Including yours—witches. Keep the big secret and all: Magic? What magic? Also, Remy was serious before. If you tell anyone else about any of this, she will have their memories wiped. It’s part of the system.’
Hella took the opposite armchair, bringing her knees up to her chest, encircling them with her arms. ‘That sounds harsh. My friends—’
‘Are better off not knowing, trust me.’ He leaned forward, sincere.
‘James knows, and he’s fine with it.’
‘I doubt that.’ Harrow folded his arms across his chest.
Hella frowned, unsure what to make of him sometimes. ‘You seem very sure of yourself.’
‘I am.’ He smiled wickedly.
‘So, what can warlocks do, exactly?’ She looked him up and down, scrutinizing.
‘Depends on our Families. Each warlock—or faerie—house has four Families. Each Family has a different power. I’m Nympha, that’s my last name. I can control or manipulate water and ice. So, I can do many things.’ He glanced at the low-burning flames in the hearth. He shimmered, then held a hand out to the warmth. Blue smoke curled from his hands and found the flames then froze them instantly, with a jerk of his wrist, they shattered into a thousand pieces, and tumbled down out of the fireplace. He grinned at her. ‘Magnificent, aren’t I? The ice to your fire.’
At that, Hella smiled. He was her opposite. For the first time, Hella felt she had found someone who understood what she was going through. The jarring change of her worldview was making her feel so separated to everyone she knew. But, looking at Harrow, she saw someone who knew what it was like to be different—even among people who appeared to understand. Hella wondered if what people said about opposites was true, that they attract. ‘You’re so cocky,’ she said, falsely exasperated. ‘You’re supposed to be helping me, not showing off.’
‘I can do both.’ Another curl of blue smoke danced over where the flames used to be, and the blue shattered ice seemed to absorb back into his skin, leaving the flames crackling and burning once again.
‘That was neat,’ she admitted.
‘You do something. Try anything. Just practice.’
‘We don’t work the same way, do we?’ Hella asked, trying to focus her chakras, the pool of magic inside her.
‘No, of course not. Warlocks are part demon, little witch. You’re human.’
He made it sound like an insult. ‘So?’ Red-purple sparks glowed at the tips of her fingers.
‘So,’ Harrow said, ‘our magic comes from our demon blood. Yours comes from…’ He shrugged. ‘Nature, or something? I don’t know. But you’re weaker than us.’
Hella scoffed. ‘Hey,’ she snapped.
‘It’s true though.’ Harrow smirked. ‘Okay, it’s usually true. But you’re the promised witch, so who knows. You are powerful,’ he admitted.
Hella sat up a little straighter. ‘Yeah, I am.’ She gathered her magic inside her, then set the flames in the hearth brewing to overflow with purple fire, so much so that Harrow squirmed back a little, too warm for comfort. He looked comically surprised at her strength, so she stuck her tongue out at him to prove a point and he chuckled.
As the light of the purple fire spread to the rest of the room, Hella suddenly looked out the window to see the sun vanishing below the horizon. ‘Wait, where are Remy and Meele?’
‘Oh. Um, I don’t know.’ Harrow shrugged. He gazed into the purple fire. ‘I think Remy said something about getting supplies for the store?’
‘After hours on a Sunday?’ Hella’s red brows pulled together. She doused her fire. ‘I doubt it. Where would she be going, and why would Meele go too?’
Harrow rolled his eyes. ‘How would I know?’
‘You’re no help.’ Hella went to have a look by the register, to see if Remy or Meele had left any clue as to what they might have needed, or where they had gone. At a glance around the store’s stock she was beginning to think of as familiar, she didn’t see anything that immediately needed replenishing. Harrow followed her like an annoyingly cute shadow. When Hella found nothing, she wandered into the back room and did a double take.
‘What is that?’ Harrow asked, screwing up his nose at the splashed counter, wall and floor, covered in some dark liquid, still drying.
‘I’m not sure.’ Hella bent down. ‘It’s not blood, is it?’
‘No,’ Harrow said. ‘Meele bleeds the colour of her hair—gold—and I assume Remy bleeds red. And it’s not mine.’
Hella stuck her finger into a pile of the dark liquid, then frowned. ‘I think it’s ink.’ She smeared it along her palm.
‘How do you know that?’ Harrow was bent down with her in the small entry of the room. His black hair fell down over his eyes like a shard of darkness. She could feel the warmth of his skin so close to her own.
‘My dad. He’s a writer. He’s always playing with typewriter ribbons and ink. One exploded once. It looked just like this.’ She wiped a small smear of it onto Harrow’s pale hand. ‘See how it spreads?’
‘Why would there be ink all over the place?’ He wiped the ink on his jeans.
Hella remembered the card Azazel had given her, and how the ink had vanished once she’d read the address. She put her hand in her pocket to retrieve it but found that it was gone. ‘I think they were lying about getting supplies,’ Hella said. ‘And I think I know exactly where they’ve gone. Without us.’
Harrow frowned, confused. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m coming with you.’
‘Why? I don’t need an escort.’
‘Because I need to get out of here. It’s boring. And yes, you do.’ He smiled down at her.
‘Suit yourself.’ Hella slipped into the training room, changed back into her normal clothes, and grabbed her jacket from under the counter.
‘Great. Where are we going?’ Harrow asked, picking up his own jacket.
‘To visit a demon. The one who talked to me, and gave me his business card, whose ink disappeared when I read out the address on it.’
Harrow looked down at the ink on his hand. ‘Right. I don’t know any demons, but that seems odd. Why do we need to go visit him?’
‘Are you afraid of demons?’ Hella asked, adjusting her braid.
‘I don’t think you realise how dangerous demons are, Hella. I might have demon blood in me, but real demons are not as charming as I am. And you shouldn’t go alone.’
Hella paused, considering. ‘Well, you’re coming with me. I’m not alone.’ She headed for the door, then paused again. ‘Do you really think you’re charming?’
‘I know I am.’ He smiled at her again, and this time it lit up his eyes.
‘You were passed out drunk when we met.’ She pointed out distractedly, grabbing the keys.
‘And you stabbed me, and I think you’re sweet,’ he said earnestly.
Hella narrowed her eyes. ‘You really want to get out of here, don’t you?’
‘If you’re determined to go out, yes. But I think this is a bad idea. We don’t know for sure that they went looking for the demon.’
Hella twisted the handle of the doorknob and ran out into the darkness. ‘I do.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Hella
Darkness washed over the warm streets, stars blinking through the night. Only two streetlamps flickered to life, barely illuminating the pavement as Hella ran, leaving the rest of the block a dark void.
Harrow ran behind her, trying to catch up. ‘Hey, where are we going?’
Hella stopped at the
corner to squint around, looking for a street sign. ‘On the card he gave me was an address. It’s just down here.’ She pointed, but Harrow grabbed her arm. ‘Stop it. Slow down.’
She pulled away from him. ‘It’s not my fault if you can’t keep up. Come on.’
Harrow took her by the shoulders. ‘That’s not what I mean, Hella. Stop. We are literally walking into a demon’s lair here. Could you be a little more careful in how we approach this?’
Hella blinked up at him in the darkness. ‘You don’t have to come with me.’
Harrow let out something like a growl of frustration. ‘You’re going to get us killed, Hella. Demons aren’t to be trifled with. You don’t just walk up to their home, ring the doorbell and they invite you in for supper. You will be the supper.’
They walked along together, slower now. ‘Don’t be so grim,’ Hella said. ‘Besides, weren’t you guys trying to tell me that angels are the real problem? From what I’ve seen, demons are nicer than angels.’ Her hand lingered by her throat, the line now healed. But in the right light, there would always be a faint white line where the angel had slashed her. Her leg was healed too, but she still felt the ghost of the bladed feather thrust into her skin. It had felt like a sword rather than something that looked so soft.
Harrow pulled her gently to the side, by the bricked storefront of a closed building. ‘Hella, listen to me. There are a lot of supernatural creatures in this world, and no matter what they’re called, they can be evil. I’m telling you that now. Yes, that includes us. We’—he pointed at himself, then out into the darkness where Remy and Meele were somewhere—‘are the good guys. Demons are bad. This one wants you for your power. Angels are bad too. They don’t want you to help us. Both would kill you, given the chance, do you hear me?’ Hella remained still as she watched Harrow shimmer. His blue eyes were slit vertically, but the fiery passion burning in them was clear. ‘We shouldn’t be out here,’ he said, firmly.
Hella took out her athame. ‘You’re a little intense, you know.’
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