Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘It’s fine. I’m okay. He’s confused, and upset.’

  Their mother bent down to look into Elliot’s face. She pried him from Hella, taking him upstairs, whispering something to him. Hella hoped it was along the lines of, Don’t stab your sister.

  ‘You don’t have anything to say to that?’ Hella asked her still quiet father.

  ‘I know about the attack, that bookstore owner called just a few minutes ago to let us know that you’re okay. But you’re not okay, you’re in danger. You’re going to get yourself killed protecting those half-demon creatures, aren’t you?’ Her father paced the lounge room.

  Her mother returned. ‘Finn,’ she snapped. She came over to Hella and held her daughter at arm’s length, checking her. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked softly.

  Hella nodded. ‘I’m fine, Mum.’

  The family cat, Salem, prowled around Hella’s ankles, welcoming her home. Hella scratched behind his ears and he began to purr. To her surprise, Salem turned and hissed at her father. Hella smiled.

  ‘What happened?’ her mum asked, steering her daughter to the couch.

  Before she could answer, her father growled down at her. ‘Hella, what have you gotten yourself into?’

  Hella blinked. ‘What do you mean? I was trying to go after Remy. She and Meele were in danger. Dad, Meele’s been taken by the angels, she was abducted. And James and Alexa were taken too.’

  ‘By the angels?’ her mum asked, aghast.

  ‘No, by humans. The Force. They saw my magic. It’s my fault.’

  Her dad folded his arms over his chest. ‘I don’t know about all that. I know what your mother has told me, and first you set a fire—you could’ve killed James!—I don’t know how that poor boy forgave you. Then you go hanging out with—with part demon creatures, and now your friends are gone? How did you manage that?’

  Hella rose quickly to her feet. ‘They are called Cambions, and it’s because of centuries of prejudice against them they are fighting for their lives. They need me. They need my help. And—’ She sat back down, exhausted.

  ‘She’s a good witch,’ her mother said, sitting calmly on the couch. ‘Finn, she has to make her own choices, and she’s helping them. That’s her fate. They need their promised witch.’

  ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘She’s my daughter, and I don’t want her getting blown up, or killed, or captured by whatever kind of monster. This is as far as this goes, Grace. I’ve put up with this nonsense for long enough.’

  He took Hella by the arm, firmly, and steered her upstairs, but Hella pulled back, her new fight-reaction flaring into a shower of purple sparks. They landed on her father’s arm, who jerked away from her.

  ‘A “good” witch, huh?’ He brushed the sparks off his arm. He shook his head, frowning down at his little girl. ‘I miss the old Hella, my normal daughter, not this freak.’

  Something caught in Hella’s throat. Her mum came up and hugged her. ‘Don’t listen to him, honey. You’re doing the right thing, you’re not a freak. This is who you are.’ She stared daggers at her husband and took Hella from him gently.

  Hella saw the horror and disgust in her father’s eyes, and somewhere in her chest, a little piece of her heart shattered. ‘That’s where Elliot gets his fear from. It’s from dad.’

  Her father’s face contorted into one of disgust, and he stomped away, up the stairs.

  Her mother nodded. ‘Yes, I think so too. Our boys are afraid of us, only because they don’t understand.’ She hugged Hella closer. ‘You have me, kiddo. You’ll always have me.’ Salem jumped up on her lap, pointedly nudging her in the face, purring happily. ‘And Salem,’ her mum amended, stroking the cat fondly.

  That night, her mum tucked Hella into bed for the first time since she was ten years old. She kissed her daughter on the head and bid her good night, but Hella could not sleep.

  She tossed and turned. The images of the fight with the angels would not leave her mind. Malachai staring at her, promising to see her again. Harrow, held up by the halo, thrashing and terrified, then on the ground, bleeding. They flashed through her mind again and again, until she finally sat up in bed, her hands slick with sweat.

  Hella was breathing hard, suddenly feeling suffocated, she got up to open her window. The cool breeze ruffled her hair, still knotted up in a braid. Absently, staring outside to watch the sun rise, she untangled her hair, picked up a comb, and began to run it through the knots.

  After a few minutes, she felt calmer. The sky looked beautiful; painted in soft hues of pink and purple as the sun began to wake. She set the comb down and picked up a book. She tried to read but had never found it so difficult. Her mind was restless, anxious. Instead she dug her notebook out of her bag and began to write. She wrote about everything that had happened, how she felt, and why. If she were to read it back, she imagined it would sound like fiction, but it felt like a weight off her chest to get it all out somewhere.

  Hella went and showered, then dressed quickly in a fresh pair of dark jeans, a black shirt, and pulled on her boots, adding her athame to her belt. It already felt like a familiar thing to do. She dried out her hair, then braided only the top half, letting the rest of her bright red curls hang loose. Hella was about to leave, when she glanced at her door.

  Only last night, her brother had tried to hurt her. Her father hated her—Elliot was right about that, apparently. Hella grabbed a backpack from her closet and began packing. Some clothes, her favourite book, a toothbrush. She tucked her phone into her pocket. Glancing down at the amulet around her neck, she knew she could conjure other things if she needed them. She hid the notebook filled with supernatural secrets in a deep pocket of the bag.

  Hella gathered up a piece of paper, writing a note to her mother, then left the house quietly, pulling on a jacket. This was not a place she wanted to return to anymore. She glanced back at the house as she trod down the path, and was not sorry to leave it behind.

  ‘Sorry, mum,’ she whispered into the dawn light.

  As she moved farther and farther away from the house, she felt some of her anxiety lift off her chest. Then, to her surprise, a familiar dark shape joined her. Salem rubbed up against her ankles with a meow that sounded awfully like I’m coming with you.

  Hella smiled, petting him behind the ears. ‘Okay, but keep up.’ She could have sworn that the loyal cat nodded.

  Hella stopped by the park, wondering if Cambions faced the same kind of fear and mistrust as she was experiencing now. They must. That’s why their existence is a secret. Hella stopped by the park, unsure of where to go. Where do you go once you’ve left home? Somewhere familiar? Safe?

  She took a deep breath, trying to find some inner calm. Hella looked over at a tree nearby and found a bird’s nest, the mother bird bending to feed her children, a worm wriggling in her mouth. The mother bird gobbled up the worm and, with her beak, nudged one of her eggs out of the nest. It fell to the pavement with a sickening crunch. A horrible parent, she thought, closing her eyes, trying not to gag.

  She got up, lugging her backpack onto her shoulder, and headed for the east end of the park. She wondered if she could conjure a coffee from a café which was not yet open.

  On the other side of the park she saw a familiar figure and groaned.

  Chapter Forty

  Harrow

  Harrow Nympha snuck out of the witch’s shop away from Tommy asleep on the opposite couch. Harrow had wanted to flick his ears, or maybe jab him with his tail, but that might have woken him. Instead, Harrow had crept out the front of the store, after ripping down that infernal bell swinging on the front door, and walked to the nearest Bottle-O.

  Now, he sat on a sidewalk curb, somewhere near the park, with the bottle of whiskey he’d stolen, his knuckles bloody and grazed from where he’d punched through the glass door. The sky lightened as dawn marked the start of a new day. Already a quarter of the way through the bottle, he stumbled over to a bench and lay down on it, gazing
up at the brightening sky filled with swaths of bloody pink and red.

  Seventeen, he thought, considering his new age. He figured it wouldn’t be any less shit than being sixteen. He had had a home once, maybe twice before; his Warlock House, and then the Cambion Den. But not now.

  He remembered birthdays with his parents. His mother would recover from an alcoholic stupor long enough to figure out how to cook him a cake, forget the candles, and tell him to make a wish. His father was long passed out, and everyone had forgotten about dinner. Harrow tried to eat the cake, instead he bit into an eggshell. His wishes were always the same. Anything but here.

  Flashback

  Amara had taken him to the Cambion Den, where, for a time, he’d felt at home; but he soon felt out of place, and moved on and found Meele’s hotel. The hotel was safe. Or so he was told. Harrow didn’t believe in such childish things.

  Now in Meele’s large hotel, filled with other Cambions—mostly his age or a bit older—who seemed to frown at him, distrusting, Harrow couldn’t help but glare, scowling at them all in turn.

  But there was one boy, shimmered, another warlock, who did not mirror the others. He had orange hair and green eyes. Maybe a year or two older. He approached Harrow.

  ‘What happened to you?’ he asked, not unkindly.

  A fellow warlock from the House he had occasionally sparred with. A council member’s nephew, he thought. Harrow wondered what he was doing there.

  ‘I expect something like all the rest of us here,’ Harrow said, wishing he was taller, so that he could stand above this other warlock.

  ‘Well, I’m glad Meele brought you in. Astra inclinant,’ he said, shortening the words. He clapped a hand on Harrow’s shoulder. ‘Welcome. I’m Tommy.’

  Harrow took another great swig of the warming drink, he found another bench and decided to lay down while the rest of the world climbed lazily out of bed. He fell asleep.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Hella

  Hella looked down at Harrow with something between exasperation and sympathy. He seemed to be unconscious again, a replica of the first time they had met. She found it hard to believe that it was only about a week ago. Passed out on another park bench, Hella bent down and patted his shoulder.

  ‘Harrow? What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be at the shop, resting, with Tommy.’ Hella fired off a quick text to Remy saying that she and Harrow were on their way back but might stop for food. On her way out, Hella hadn’t stopped to think about breakfast. Salem walked in patient circles around Harrow’s bench.

  Harrow groaned and mumbled, then a bottle of alcohol rolled at his feet and Hella sighed. ‘You know you’re quite an alcoholic for someone so young. Come on.’ She tapped him until he sat up, still groaning.

  ‘I had two very good role models to induce such a talent,’ he slurred.

  Hella thought that bitterness in his eyes was such a shame. Always there, even in the light of a new dawn. She helped him sit up, then sat down on the bench beside him, dropping her backpack onto the ground at her feet. ‘Why aren’t you at the store, with Tommy? Harrow, what were you thinking staying out here by yourself? You know this park is where Malachai attacked me.’

  He seemed to sober for a moment. ‘I think I don’t like that self-important jerk, and I didn’t want to be near him.’ Then, for a moment, he brightened. ‘I’d much rather be near you.’ There was no slur to his words now, he sounded sincere.

  Hella gave him a small smile, but murmured, ‘He didn’t seem so self-important to me. He was there to help you.’ She adjusted the pack at her feet. ‘Come on, I’m taking you back to the store.’

  ‘No,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Is there somewhere else you’d like to go?’

  He seemed to think for a moment, then scowled.

  ‘I didn’t think so. Come on, now. Let’s get you something to eat, and some coffee sounds good to me.’ Salem rubbed up against Harrow, who bristled with a flash of a shimmer, then smirked and bent down to pet him.

  Then Harrow seemed to notice her pack for the first time. He looked her up and down. ‘You’re running away from home today, aren’t you?’ he said it with such certainty that she looked right into his eyes, blue, shining, and slit vertically in a small wave of emotion.

  ‘You would know, I take it?’

  Harrow got unsteadily to his feet. He gave the whiskey bottle a swift kick, and it shattered into a thousand pieces on the pavement by the bench. ‘I didn’t run. I was forced to leave. Or,’ he amended, ‘it was the best option for me.’

  Hella felt glum and tired. She took Harrow’s arm, linking it with hers and pulled him to his feet, collecting her pack. ‘Come on,’ she said, trying to cheer him up. ‘If you come to the store with me, I’ll buy you breakfast.’ She smiled. He looked at her sideways a little, as if surprised that she was helping him, then put a hand on hers and tried his best to walk steadily.

  ‘How could I say no to that?’ He smiled, and this time, the bitterness had faded behind his charm. He may not feel happy, she thought, but, like her, he was trying.

  ‘Isn’t it more like stealing, with your grubby witchy powers, Miss Sticky Fingers?’ Harrow poked fun.

  ‘Do you want breakfast, or not? Besides, it’s time to get to work.’ Hella touched the amulet at her neck. Salem pounced along behind them, stopping here and there to chase early-morning birds.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Harrow asked.

  ‘If my family is going to hate me while I’m a witch, then I had better make that count for something. We have work to do. Get Meele back. Get rid of the angels. I should meet Remy’s—my—coven.’ Without realising, she had balled her hands into fists, red flames gloving her hands.

  Harrow disentangled his arm from hers and took a measured step back. ‘And you need some training, little witch. Or you won’t be able to help anyone.’ He brushed at his sleeve, making sure he wasn’t burning.

  Hella extinguished the flames. ‘Sorry.’

  Harrow smiled forgivingly and took her arm again. ‘That’s quite okay. When I was younger, I would accidently freeze all kinds of things.’ Harrow looked down at the cat, then nodded solemnly. ‘Yeah. I froze my mum’s cat. She was not happy about that.’

  Hella’s eyebrows quirked, and she looked up at him, quickly realising he was serious. ‘Don’t freeze my cat,’ she said sternly.

  ‘I would never,’ he assured her. ‘Unless he gave me reason to.’ Harrow glared down at Salem warningly. The cat purred and rubbed the warlock’s leg. ‘Yeah, you better be afraid.’ Harrow teased.

  His arm was entwined with Hella’s, and she thought she felt him relax. His usual defences seemed to slip a little. Hella couldn’t stop thinking about her family as they walked to the store. She was walking out on them. Leaving. For how long, she didn’t know. Elliot’s angry green eyes pierced her heart; the hate, that ignorance that had led to the prejudice, the malice. He had tried to stab her. To kill her? As if sensing her thoughts, Salem trotted dutifully by her side, making his familiar presence known.

  Hella thought of her mother, calm and sweet Grace Corvime. She hadn’t wanted to leave her mother, but she had no other choice. Her father was the biggest problem, despite her brother’s attempt. Finn Corvime had continually called her a freak. What had happened to her loving and supportive father, whose footsteps she wanted to follow in as a writer?

  ‘Everything okay?’ Harrow asked softly. ‘You went quiet.’

  ‘Just a lot on my mind,’ she muttered, wanting to crawl into a ball.

  Harrow took her hand and gave a light squeeze. ‘I know you don’t know me from a ventus, but you can talk about it if you’d like.’

  ‘A ventus?’

  Harrow smiled. ‘A wind-controller.’

  ‘Of course. I just… my father and my brother hate me for being a witch. They really hate me. My brother tried to stab me last night, with my own athame, mind you. My father thinks I’m a freak.’r />
  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t think that.’

  ‘He told me to my face.’

  ‘Oh.’ Harrow paused, and they stopped walking. He took a breath, obviously choosing his next words carefully. ‘You are not a freak. None of us are. Well, maybe vampires. But not you. You’re beautiful and powerful. Is this why you left?’ Harrow reached up and touched Hella’s loose curls absently. It was a small gesture, but an affectionate one.

  Hella nodded, feeling a prickle at the back of her throat, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Harrow tentatively put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Family can be useless sometimes, Hella, but you can make it on your own. And you have a whole new family now, don’t you? The coven.’

  ‘I haven’t met them yet. Only Sian,’ Hella said.

  ‘But you’re part of their coven, right?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘There you go. And you have me.’ His blue eyes shone in the rising sunlight.

  Hella smiled up at him. ‘Do I now?’ Her mouth quirked. The walk seemed to have sobered him up, and now there was a sparkle in his eyes that had nothing to do with whiskey. They stood there together in the middle of a sidewalk, frozen in time and space, staring at each other with Harrow’s hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

  Hella was suddenly very aware of him; his warm fingers on her, his hands, the muscles of his arms, how close he was. She was also very aware of how quickly she was breathing, and by the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the warlock felt the same. Slowly, Harrow stepped just a little closer to her, tentatively. He cast a quick glance around and saw no one else in sight. He shimmered, and Hella let out a surprised little gasp, then smiled. He moved closer still, bringing a hand up to her cheek as she surveyed his glistening pale-blue skin. His hands turned to claws, and she worried he would scratch her, but he seemed very careful.

  There was a striking difference in his shy approach now and how she’d met him; shimmered and defensive, ready to attack, but afraid. Now, he was gentle and cautious. Slowly, he leaned his head forward a little until his lips brushed hers gently. She kissed him back, her hands finding his shoulders, his bare arms. Then she felt something bumpy. ‘Oh,’ she said, breaking their kiss. There were more scales along his arm. For just a second, something wavered in Harrow’s eyes; he was afraid.