Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘When someone takes the time to teach you?’ She nodded. ‘I had thought Remy was good,’ she said, her tone bitter. ‘Until last night. I can’t believe she did that to Harrow.’

  Tommy’s expression was solemn, and in his warlock form, it somehow made him look like a brooding statue, all perfect angles and neat cheekbones. ‘I always thought witches were nicer than my kind. No demon blood.’

  ‘I guess not all witches are,’ she said spitefully.

  ‘That says nothing of you, Hella. You are good. You mother seems like she’s good to you.’

  Hella nodded. ‘She is. And it does kind of make me feel better that you had a penchant for accidently losing control, too. Even if you were younger.’

  A smirk twisted the side of his mouth. ‘My magic was cast upon me earlier than you, that’s all. You’re still learning, little witch. Those who are learning magic are bound to make mistakes. It’s nothing to beat yourself over the head with.’

  Hella laughed tiredly. ‘Thanks.’ She reached out and laid a hand on his leg. ‘Thank you for telling me that story. I know that mustn’t have been easy for you. Do you still speak with your parents?’

  He smiled, showing oddly ordinary teeth. ‘I still speak with my mother. My father—’ He cleared his throat. ‘He left a short while after that incident. I later had a stepfather.’

  ‘Oh?’ Hella asked.

  ‘Now, let’s end the story here. My point is to remain that there are good things in this world.’ He put his hand atop hers. ‘My stepfather was not one of those things.’ He smiled sadly. ‘And, to answer your previous question, Hella, the reason I am here is to help you.’ At that, Hella sighed with relief.

  These people, these warlocks, were both practically strangers. But she felt as if she could count on them. Salem jumped up onto her lap with a meow and rubbed his own head on her shoulder.

  ‘And Salem is here to help you, too,’ Tommy said, petting him. Salem seemed oddly comfortable with the warlock.

  Tommy and Hella sat in silence for a time, staring peacefully out the window to witness the rain battering down. Hella had conjured fresh coffees, and the mugs warmed their hands as steam blurred the lower half of the window. Once Tommy had gratefully drained his mug, he set it down.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ he said, ‘but when I find myself in times of anger, or sadness, I reach for a good book.’ He looked around the various shelves in the store, then plucked one from its home and brought it back with him.

  ‘So do I.’ Hella sat up a little straighter. ‘That’s why I wanted to work here to begin with. Before all this.’

  Tommy smiled. ‘It seems like I’ve picked up a book on witchcraft. Has Remy taught you much yet?’ He sat down with her again, in the small alcove seat.

  Hella pondered. ‘Well, she had me train with Harrow a little, throwing fire and blades, but otherwise, no.’

  Tommy frowned, his posture straightening with impropriety. ‘Well that’s appalling. She’s supposed to be your guardian. How can you learn what your powers might be with no one to guide you? Hella, you’re a prodigy. You’re our promised witch. I know this—no other witch has been able to heal. And yet, you have. Why don’t we see what other tricks you may have up your sleeve?’

  Hella frowned. She took the book and flipped through the pages. ‘I don’t know about any of this.’ Salem was pawing at the window, as if trying to catch the raindrops.

  ‘No? Well, we know that you can heal. That was really impressive. How about… telekinesis?’ Tommy seemed to pick a magical power at random.

  Hella shook her head. ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Well have you tried? Don’t look at me like that,’ he said when she rolled her eyes. ‘You didn’t know you could heal until you wanted to. Just give it a go.’ He flipped the page. ‘Or, astral projection. That seems rare. But, if anyone has it, it could be you.’

  Frustration began to boil in her chest, anxiety and pressure tugging at her veins and muscles. Hella took her athame from her belt and began to twirl it absently.

  At that moment, Remy had the poor timing to walk in. And the anger that Hella felt upon seeing her ‘guardian’, the woman who was supposed to help and protect her, surged forward. Hella couldn’t get up fast enough and suddenly everything happened all at once. For a moment, time seemed to freeze.

  Hella was standing up, by the window with Tommy, athame in hand. The next, she was standing by Remy across the room. And she could see herself by Tommy. The Hella by Tommy seemed to deflate and sit back down, Tommy half-catching her. He shimmered, surprised and alert, his warlock eyes wide. At that moment, Harrow walked in, and froze, his mouth falling open. Salem meowed, surprised.

  Hella stood next to Remy, and her guardian peered up at her, mouth open. ‘Well, my,’ she said, almost amused. Then everything returned to normal, and Hella was sitting in the alcove again, the rain at her back, her athame in her hand. Her head swam dizzyingly, and Tommy pressed a gentle hand to her back, helping her sit.

  ‘I think you just astral projected. Are you okay?’

  His hand was all that was keeping her upright. Hella thought she may throw up. Several steadying breaths later, she managed to hold herself up and look at the others. ‘I think I am. Thanks,’ she said softly to Tommy. Begrudgingly, she looked to Remy. ‘Is that what just happened? Astral projection?’

  Remy nodded. ‘Indeed, it is. That could be very useful indeed. I suggest you practice that, my dear.’

  ‘And why should I take your advice?’ Hella asked icily.

  Remy only chuckled. ‘Ah, the young. The passionate and all-knowing. A true-North moral compass, you think you’ve got, eh? Ah, we’ll see.’ Remy conjured herself a pot of tea and a small tray of biscuits. She sat in her spot, next to the hearth, a roaring fire at her side. She munched on a biscuit as she poured the tea. The old witch set the pot down.

  ‘If you have any sense, you’ll put away your petty concerns, and think of a way you—and all the powers you have been blessed with—can help the cause. Forgive your ridiculous family—or don’t, I don’t care—but find somewhere to stay for now. Rest and recharge, then train. I know you don’t trust me now, little girl, but you can believe me when I say this: It is not only our friend Meele who is in trouble, nor the Cambions, but it is all of us. The Force has taken your friends, to be sure, and I can’t tell you what they might have done with them. That’s not my business. But they keep track of things, you see, and angels have been attacking the earth with more force and fatalities than ever before. It would not surprise me if another haloed beast paid you a visit. If we don’t stop them, they will burn this world down in holy fire.’

  Hella and Tommy sat quietly for a minute. Harrow folded his arms over his chest, annoyed. The only sound in the room was Remy chewing her biscuits and sipping on her tea.

  ‘She’s right,’ Tommy whispered. Then he stood up and reached out for Hella’s hand.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, taking it.

  ‘You can come and stay with me. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, I’ll help train you. Bring that book. It will help,’ Tommy said.

  Harrow opened his mouth to protest, but since he didn’t have a place to offer, he seemed to reconsider, and closed it. He looked decidedly put out, though, that Hella was going with Tommy.

  In a most formal fashion, Tommy nodded politely to Remy. ‘Witch,’ he said, then took his leave with Hella in tow.

  She grabbed her backpack from the entry, and together they walked out into the rain, still holding hands, Salem following behind. ‘Don’t you live at your Warlock House?’

  ‘I do, yes. But since my aunt is on the council, I have my own rooms. There’ll be plenty of space for you. And the fluff ball.’ He looked admirably down at Salem.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Meele

  Being chained up in a cell was something Meele had never experienced before. She did not care for it. The faerie rattled the metal
manacles clasped around her wrists—chained to a link embedded in the wall—loudly and with annoyance until her new bunkmate frowned at her.

  ‘Would you stop that?’ Amara hissed. ‘Do you want them to come back and tear our wings off?’

  ‘I do, actually. Well, just the first part. The coming back part. I want to hear their thoughts, and right now, they’re all too far away.’ Meele sat on the floor. The room was empty of furnishings.

  Tessa was silent. The angels hadn’t come for her yet, and Meele and Amara had worked out she had been here for almost three days. The angels must be busy. That’s good.

  Well, awful for others, but good for them.

  Amara had taken to standing up, shackled in her chains, by the singular window of their prison. The small hole in the wall looked out to some stretch of water, the tang of salt sharp in the air. Meele stopped clanging her chains long enough to listen.

  The corridor outside their cell appeared to have more cells; Meele assumed they were identical to their own. She wondered who the angels bet on more, vampires or werewolves. She would bet on a werewolf, herself. The savages. Without her ruckus, there was only quiet. Meele sighed and watched as Amara looked solemnly out the window.

  ‘You’re too young to be here. Both of you,’ Meele said sadly.

  ‘I have wings. Marks. That’s all these devils care about.’ Amara fluttered her wings in the sunlight, sending rays of silver sparkling across the walls. It was an old saying, a crude one perhaps, but true.

  Meele stood up then, rattling her chains with renewed fervour. If she was going to be locked up, she would at least get some information out of it. And then find a way to pass it on to someone who could do something with it.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Hella

  It was the first time Hella had ever stayed over at a boy’s place. Excluding James; he didn’t count. They had always been friends, nothing more. Tommy held her hand in the rain, leading her through the poorly lit streets of Mill Valley down to the Warlock House. All he said was that it was east. It was only by the warm grasp of his hand that she had any direction at all. She could hardly see anything in the summer downpour.

  It grew dark. Silhouetted against the blue sky was a grand building, modern and sleek. Hella blinked into the rain, she guessed it was about ten stories high, and about four times the size of her house. Tommy and Hella approached, and thankfully they reached a covered area before the door.

  Two guards stood by the door. They looked like ordinary humans, a man and a woman, each with their hands clasped behind the backs of their neat suits. Then they shimmered, and pink sparkling wings reflected the last of the sunlight. The female stepped forward. ‘Identify yourselves,’ she said sternly. Her hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail.

  Tommy shimmered too. ‘Thomas Terra.’ He straightened his back, puffing out his chest.

  Both faeries blinked in surprise, then quickly bowed and stepped away, letting him pass. ‘Of course, Mr Terra. As you like.’

  They glanced at Hella but said nothing.

  She thought she felt something strange, as if someone were trying to tell her something, but inside her head. She turned to the faeries. ‘Is that you? Stop that.’

  ‘They’re Sensus, Hella, it’s their job to make sure you’re an ally. If you weren’t, you’d have already forgotten about them,’ Tommy said, leading the way inside.

  ‘Is that another House I don’t know about? And what do you mean, they take memories?’ she asked, following Tommy through a marble-floored hallway.

  ‘No, not take. If, say, a human wandered too close, the sensus would get rid of them. It’s an illusion, if you like,’ Tommy answered shortly. ‘They’re here for our protection.’

  ‘But they’re faeries? They have wings. Isn’t this the Warlock House?’

  Tommy stopped walking and turned to her. ‘It is. But we’re allies. We work with each other. They’re here to protect us; from unwelcome visitors of any kind. They can see your intentions. Now, come this way. My aunt will want to meet you.’

  ‘When you say get rid of…?’ Hella let the question fall between them.

  ‘They make sure they forget this place and send them on their merry way. That’s all.’

  Salem meowed at her feet, rubbing up her leg. ‘You must be hungry,’ Hella said to him.

  ‘Let me show you where you’ll be staying and you can freshen up before the meeting,’ Tommy said. Hella thought he was quite suited to an emissary role—though she had never met an emissary before. But she thought cool, calm Thomas Terra was a good fit. He was graceful, polite and always patient.

  Harrow would be terrible at that, she thought with a smirk. Hella looked around the impressive building. The floors were made of smooth marble, veined with blue, green, white and black. She frowned, following the lines.

  ‘It’s our colours.’ Tommy said, watching her. ‘House Terra, green. House Nympha, blue. House Ventus, white. House Mettalum, black.’

  ‘Ventus?’

  ‘Wind,’ Tommy said.

  ‘And Mettalum?’

  ‘Metal.’

  The walls, in contrast, were painted in swirls of green and blue, sparkling in the bright lights of the hallways. Nothing adorned the walls; they were gorgeous enough on their own. As Hella’s gaze drifted over the Warlock House, there was something that made her feel happy to be here. ‘This is your home?’

  Tommy nodded. ‘Yes, for all warlocks.’

  ‘Not Harrow,’ she corrected.

  ‘I should say “most” warlocks, it’s true. We have Dens to help those who’—he paused—‘don’t live here. And Meele Scire has some hotels set up which welcome both fae and warlocks. But we like to keep together. Angels have never attacked our Houses. We feel safer here.’

  Tommy led them to a residential wing where Hella had her own room, sprawled out with a large king-sized bed, dresser, bathroom, and a fine desk that made her think of her father. As a writer, her father always appreciated a fine desk. Salem hopped up on an armchair and went to sleep.

  ‘All yours. Wash up. I’ll send some food up and return shortly.’ Tommy smiled warmly, and she noticed he hadn’t shimmered back to his human form.

  ‘Do you stay like that here?’ Hella put her bag down and was glad she had packed a change of clothes. She was dripping onto the rich cream carpet. She imagined she looked like a drowned rat.

  Tommy flexed his clawed hands. ‘Why wouldn’t we? This is our home.’

  Hella smiled back, blinking through wet eyelashes. Hella couldn’t help but stare. In the light of her room, Tommy’s shirt clung to him, showing the outline of hardened muscles. Tommy laid a clawed hand on her shoulder, damp with rain. ‘I don’t want you to feel like you must return to your home if you don’t want to. I know what that’s like. You’re welcome here as long as you like.’ He smiled warmly, seeming pleased with himself.

  Hella had never lived out of home before. She had never even been on vacation without her family. But the thought of returning home, to seeing the hate and fear in the eyes of her brother and father sent a chilling shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with her dripping clothes. Slowly, she nodded. ‘Thank you. Harrow won’t come here, will he?’

  Tommy shook his head, sending wet droplets from his now-darkened orange hair across the walls. ‘No. He left some time ago. He’s welcome to visit, but I don’t think he will.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘His parents still live here. He left to get away from them.’ He seemed uncomfortable discussing Harrow’s past, as if these were his secrets to share, not Tommy’s.

  ‘Are your parents here?’ Hella changed the subject.

  ‘My mother is. And, as I mentioned, my aunt. We should be getting ready.’ His tone was always patient, but there was something in there which made Hella want to hurry. She could tell he did not want to keep his aunt waiting. She nodded, and watched him pad off down the corridor, then she shut the
door.

  Hella picked out a fresh shirt and jeans and poked into the bathroom, which was clean, modern and neat. She was almost surprised to find it stocked like a hotel bathroom, with shampoos, conditioners, moisturiser and an abundance of fluffy towels. She climbed gratefully into the shower and let the hot water and steam wash over her. It had been a long while since she had felt entirely comfortable, but somehow now, here with Tommy, she felt completely at home.

  Twenty minutes later, Tommy returned to her new rooms. She let him in with a smile. There was something about him now that looked softer; his cotton shirt, his hair, curling. He looked fresh and relaxed. He was carrying a silver tray. She let him in, still retying her hair, now in her own fresh clothes and, as she turned her back on him to look into the mirror, she watched him set it down on the bed. Tommy removed the lid. Hella was overwhelmed by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm soup.

  ‘Here you go. And I brought this for Fluff Ball.’ He set aside a bowl of cat food, and Salem came sniffing.

  ‘His name is Salem,’ Hella corrected, finishing her hair. She took the coffee and food gratefully. Tommy sat on the bed with her and ate too. For a few minutes, they sat in silence. He seemed to be looking her up and down.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked around a spoonful of pumpkin soup.

  ‘So much better. Thank you.’ Hella smiled around her mug of coffee. ‘So, your aunt is in this council thing? What’s that about?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated, but basically, she’s important. Her name is Tahlia, she’s my mum’s sister. Finish up, we have to go meet her.’

  Hella took a final sip of her coffee. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘Not at all. She’s quite eager to meet you, actually.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Hella asked, frowning.

  Tommy blinked. ‘I forget sometimes. Meele’s prophecy about you is widely known, Hella, that you’re the most powerful witch on earth. You’re our promised witch. That’s impressive. And we need you as an ally. Tahlia will be really keen to make sure of that.’