Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  Hella rubbed her eyes. The magnitude of this should have shocked her to her core, but all she could think of was Harrow. How much she now knew she loved him, and how much she knew he would be suffering right now. ‘He doesn’t deserve this,’ she said. It took her a moment, until Tommy gently put his hand on her back, that she realised she had spoken aloud.

  ‘What was that?’ Zoe said.

  ‘She’s talking about the warlock—the Nympha—who attacked her,’ Piper said. ‘It was true he had no soul, but the councils weren’t swayed.’

  Zoe pursed her lips. ‘I don’t suppose they would be. I’m sorry for your loss, Hella.’

  Hella sat bolt upright, banging her hands on the table. ‘He will not die!’

  Zoe blanched. ‘Of course, promised witch, he won’t. He won’t.’

  Tommy took her hand. ‘They won’t kill him,’ he said. There was something in his eyes that made Hella pause. He let go of her hand and looked away.

  ‘How do you know? They almost killed the last guy, you said so,’ Hella said.

  Tommy’s jaw worked. ‘I know because they would never intentionally kill a fellow Cambion.’

  Hella stepped closer to him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not it. What aren’t you saying? Tommy, if you know something about this you have to tell me.’ Her heart was beating double-time in her chest, pounding her ribs.

  The warlock swallowed and glanced first at Piper, then the other witch. He took Hella and pulled her aside to a corner of the store, unwilling to share his secret with the others, apparently. ‘Look,’ he said, immediately defensive. ‘I may have led you to believe that the council wanted me to watch that ceremony because my aunt is on the council, and it would be good for me to see our judicial system first-hand.’ His voice was low. Piper and Zoe made themselves scarce. ‘But that’s not exactly the truth,’ he continued. ‘When I was younger, like Harrow and all warlocks, I went through the change, Hella. It’s when warlocks feel that surge of demon blood we all carry and it makes us more prone to, well, uh, do bad things. But in this case…’ He searched her eyes for a moment, and Hella thought he might be looking for a sign of understanding. ‘I killed my stepfather, Hella.’ He watched her eyes grow wide. ‘But he was a bad guy, I know that’s not an excuse, but he would beat me and my mother and one day I just… snapped. I’m not proud of it.’

  Hella could see that. His posture was usually proud and proper, confident. Now he was limp, like a wilted flower.

  ‘I did what I had to do, in self-defence. I was just a kid. If I were older, they would have put me on trial, as they’ve just done to Harrow. They made me watch that ceremony before as a warning,’ Tommy said.

  Hella saw the shame all over him and even a shard of fear in his eyes at the memory. She took his hand and squeezed it gently. ‘It’s okay. You did what you had to, Tommy.’

  He met her gaze and his face broke with relief. He gave her a half smile.

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ Hella said. They rejoined the other witches, neither of which asked what they had discussed, respecting their privacy.

  ‘Did you give Harrow that potion I gave you?’ Piper asked Hella.

  Hella nodded. ‘Yeah. In Valhalla. For a while, he didn’t want his soul back when we couldn’t find it. He wanted me to just let him go, but I couldn’t. I told him he had to get it back. I gave him the potion. Said it would help him. So he drank it, then took his soul back.’

  Piper suddenly looked very relieved. ‘Oh, Hella.’

  ‘What?’ She pressed.

  ‘That, more than anything I have seen or heard of Harrow thus far, tells me he is good,’ Piper said with a sad smile.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Hella said, too strained for cryptic messages.

  ‘I wanted to see if he would take your help,’ Piper explained. ‘That potion was nothing but flavoured tea. It was a placebo. Harrow thought he was being given a morality boost, but it was in his own humanity all along.’

  ‘He’s good,’ Tommy said, his voice hard and proud.

  Hella nodded. ‘We have to go back to him.’

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Harrow

  Harrow drifted in and out of blinding pain. He could feel the holes the blades had caused, but his magic, raw, exposed and torn was a thousand-fold worse. Thankfully, his head rested on Net’s lap, who was a calming presence in the storm of agony.

  Harrow pried his eyes open. Tahlia’s worried green gaze locked his. She put a hand to his arm, and he knew how much she regretted her part in this. Harrow wanted to tell her that he didn’t blame her, that it wasn’t her fault, but he couldn’t get the words out. As the other council members moved around him, gathering up their blades, Harrow found three things clear in his mind that stuck out more sharply than the pain.

  One, he was glad that Nerretti was there. Even if he couldn’t interfere, his emotional support—even just at asking to stay with Harrow—made him feel protected.

  Two, he was grateful that Tahlia was there. She had been a semi-constant presence when he was younger and still lived in Warlock House. She was always kind to him, and now that he and Tommy were closer, she seemed more protective of him still. That was comforting, at least.

  Thirdly, and—though it hurt to think about—he was glad Hella was not here. Much as he would have loved his head in her lap, her gentle hands stroking his head as she had outside the collapsed House, he knew she wouldn’t do that. Hella would sooner burn the store to the ground with all the council members inside than see them do this to him. And he didn’t want her to do that. There had been enough pain and suffering. They had to do better now. But he knew—with a strike to his heart—that she would have done it out of love for him.

  He knew plain as day, because he would do the same for her. Because he loved her with all his heart. Now, his only thought was surviving this so that he could tell her that.

  Harrow let his eyes fall closed as Julie Ventus ordered a Faerie to take up the blade of their House and mete out justice for their Family. Sickeningly, Harrow realised he’d only suffered three blades so far. There were still five to go.

  Harrow thought that it didn’t seem fair to make those who had voted ‘not guilty’ take up the blade. Biased as this opinion was, the faeries themselves did not object. Now, Harrow gave himself permission to close his eyes. He didn’t know the faeries, other than Daylia Sana, so it made no difference to him. His eyes closed, he felt Net’s hand on the crown of his head. Steady and unwavering. It was something else to focus on, at least. A cowardly part of Harrow wished he could just pass out already and drift through the next five—fucking owww—okay, four blades. One of the faeries had decided to pin his other hand to the ground too, just to make things even. Rude. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter against the pain and started to wonder how long it might take him to go mad. The faerie tore at his magic and he couldn’t help it—again, he screamed.

  The blades they used were spelled using some old warlock magic, he thought, feeling his blood flow out of him. Horrible things. The ceremony was far from humane. Julie had promised that he wouldn’t die, but he wondered if they had accidently killed anyone during the ceremony before. If he would be one of those accidents.

  He had closed his eyes to the sight of people driving blades into him, but Harrow could still hear clearly when Julie ordered the next blade be taken up and he tensed every time. For good reason, really. Net’s hand on his head tensed with him. Harrow was grateful he was there and would have to remember to thank him later.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Maddie

  ‘Call me stupid,’ Maddie said slowly, ‘but I just don’t think it’s a good idea to work with demons.’

  Luca frowned at her over his shoulder as they both surreptitiously dressed on either side of a tree, after changing back to human-form. ‘I know what you mean,’ Luca said, ‘and I would never call you stupid,’ he joked. He had. Many times. ‘But, come on, what’s th
e alternative? Get eaten?’

  Maddie huffed as she clasped on her bra, then tugged on a t-shirt. Summer was over, and autumn kissed Mill Valley’s auburn trees, but it was still warm. ‘I’d rather not get eaten,’ Maddie admitted. ‘But if Abby hadn’t made that deal, who knows, the demons might’ve left us alone.’

  They both emerged from around the tree. Maddie remembered, just over a year ago, when she had been Turned, Luca had been the first wolf—other than the one who had bitten her—she had met. He had helped her adjust to being a werewolf, and she used to come out from behind the tree shyly, worried that he might look. Now she knew he wouldn’t.

  Luca’s dark hair was ruffled from pulling a shirt over his head, and his deeply tanned skin was bronze in the Autumn light that filtered through the trees. His jeans were scrunched up and stained with dirt. He was just Luca. Looking at him was like looking at someone she had known her whole life. In his easy way, he rubbed uncomfortably at his arms. ‘I don’t think the demons would have left us alone, Mads, you know that. You know what they’re planning. If Abby hadn’t made that deal, we would be as dead as everyone else when the time comes.’

  Maddie ran her hands through her short pixie-cut brown hair. ‘You want to kill a bunch of people?’

  Luca’s hazel eyes dropped. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But we won’t be killing them, we’ll just…’

  ‘Trap them for the demons to kill.’

  Luca sighed. ‘Rock and a hard place, much?’ He picked up his bag. ‘You want to crash with me tonight? The packs keep moving around these days, worried about the demons, the Cambions, even wondering if the angels are still lurking.’

  Maddie picked up her own bag and gave Luca a one-armed hug. ‘Yeah.’ She nudged him fondly with her nose—a werewolf thing—and he nudged her back. ‘I don’t think I can do this though, Lu, I just… I mean, don’t get me wrong, humans and Cambions can really suck, but this is something else.’

  Luca put an arm over her shoulder. ‘I know what you mean. But I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Do you think the others feel the same way?’ Maddie asked, looking up at him. Luca was a good head taller than her.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said hesitantly. ‘But I wouldn’t want to be the one Abby shreds for disagreeing with her. I don’t know that we should ask them.’

  Maddie sighed. ‘How did we get into this mess?’

  Luca tussled her hair. ‘Personally, I blame the angels.’

  ‘As much as anyone else, sure, but what about the witch who sent them away?’

  ‘Well, she was trying to do the right thing, I guess,’ Luca said. ‘Who knew it would lead to this?’

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Hella

  The portal dumped them onto the ground, which this time was softly packed dirt. Tommy and Piper got up, brushing themselves off, but Hella remained seated. They were on the outskirts of what used to be the Warlock House building, roughly ten metres from what was once the entrance.

  Hella sat in the dirt, staring up at the ruin. Darkness fell over the sky like a blanket, and with it, dozens of diamond-like stars. But the world didn’t shine quite like before. She didn’t have Tessa’s empathy-connection with Harrow but she knew they were hurting him. Everything seemed darker.

  ‘Come on,’ Piper dragged her to her feet. ‘We have to look for Amara and restore this place.’

  Hella folded her arms petulantly over her chest. ‘Why?’

  Tommy put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Because you care about Amara,’ he reminded her. ‘And because it’s the right thing to do. And, perhaps they’ll forgive us later for restoring Harrow’s power.’

  ‘We can’t let them find out about that,’ Piper warned.

  ‘And we won’t,’ Tommy said. ‘But they might find out anyway.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure that we can do it,’ Piper said, as if to dull Hella’s expectations.

  Hella sighed, got up, and flared her magic, letting the purple flames illuminate their surroundings. ‘I’m sorry about your home,’ Hella said to Tommy.

  He looked at her, surprised. ‘That was not your fault. You saved Harrow’s soul. I think that’s worth more than a building.’ He squeezed her hand and followed Piper into the ruins.

  She could only see so well in the dark, no matter how strong her purple flames lit up her hands. Stepping carefully through rubble and debris, her flames cast dancing, distorted shadows along the broken walls, hiding the real shapes of things so that Hella kept walking into stacks of sharp debris. If she weren’t wearing long jeans, they would have scratched up her legs. ‘Amara?’ Hella called. Hella doubted the faerie was here. It had been nearly two days since the collapse, and there had been people here cleaning up and clearing it out, looking for survivors. If she was here somewhere, too buried to be found, her chances of being alive were slim.

  Hella didn’t ever learn Amara’s mother’s name, she now realised, as she found herself thinking of the older woman. Hella made her way through the building, Piper and Tommy a little ways away, first searching the open-aired foyer, with no luck, then searching down in the basement that held the labyrinth of corridors and hallways. Since they’d pulled Hella and Harrow out, there was a giant hole where Hella could step through. A chill went through her at the thought of being trapped in this place again, but the creaking had stopped. She did not plan on moving anything to disturb the building unless she had to. Focusing on Amara, on the precarious building, was all that was keeping her sane and upright. Hella’s chest had felt as if it wanted to explode since Julie’s sentencing.

  Her mind wandering, she tripped on a pile of broken cement. She landed on her hands and knees in a pile of broken glass. She gasped as she sat up, small shards embedded in her hands. That seemed to be the theme of the day, she thought bitterly, using her nails to try to pry them out. Piper and Tommy found her then. Tommy’s mouth quirked in sympathy and he tore off a strip of his t-shirt and wrapped it around her hand.

  ‘Find anything?’ Piper asked.

  Hella shook her head.

  ‘Well, let’s get this done then.’ Piper looked at Hella. ‘Just try the same kind of Restoration Spell you did on the store.’

  The witches clasped hands—Piper holding her slightly cut, wrapped, palm gently—their magic immediately flaring. Hella watched as both of their fires spread down their bodies, all the way to their shoes. From there, as soon as the magic touched the ground, it spread as though the floor were soaked with gasoline. The fires mingled, now all tinged with white, and flared blindingly upward, reaching upstairs and into the damaged rooms and chambers of the House. Hella thought it was a good thing no one else was here, their magical fire might’ve damaged any bystanders. Hella watched in awe as the flames reached out their fingers to sooth what had been broken: sewing up the cracks in the walls, regrowing the missing pieces like time was being reversed to before the damage had been done. The flames explored the rest of the building, and Hella imagined it was like a gentle touch, a soft hand that was welcome and reassuring, protective and healing.

  After what could have been ten seconds or an hour, it was impossible to tell, the fires abated, absorbed into the new building. Looking up, Hella could no longer see the sparkling stars, nor feel the cool breeze. The building looked exactly as it had before she and Harrow had visited Valhalla. Except for the lack of occupants, everything was back to normal. At that moment, Hella frowned, then swivelled on her feet and marched down into the basement where the cells were.

  Piper followed her. ‘Hella, what are you doing?’

  Her jaw set, Hella strode down to the basement. Corridors branched off in different directions, each with at least one cell destined to hold a prisoner. For a moment, she gave it some thought. Even police stations had jail cells, so did court houses. But no. There would not be any more prisoners down here, their hands clasped together, bleeding through plastic cuffs.

  ‘They made these cells so that even Mettalums coul
d not escape.’ Hella thought of the cells at the angel’s Captor’s Point where she’d astralled to find Meele, Amara and Tessa all locked up, like the cell she had been held in at The Force. Hella’s eyes blazed, her heart aching, thinking of Harrow trapped in here. ‘No more cells,’ she said. Her arms reached out, and a torrent of wild purple fire roared out of her, this time melting and destructive rather than restorative. She watched as her flames licked the walls like acid and they melted. She was careful not to destroy anything load-bearing, lest the building come down on her again. She closed her eyes, feeling her fire climb up the plastic cells that melted like warm candle wax.

  When she finished, she felt only a small amount of satisfaction. It wasn’t enough to fix everything else that was wrong, but it had helped. A bit. She turned to tread up the stairs and leave, but found Piper on the step above her, staring.

  ‘What did you do that for?’

  Hella tilted her head at her mother. ‘Because I always try to do the right thing, and this’—she gestured to the graveyard of melted cells—‘was the right thing to do. Now, we have to find Amara.’

  Hella had no idea where Amara could be. Together, the three of them spent a while searching the woods by the side of the House in case she had stumbled into them, but found no trace of her. Mill Valley was not a large town, but to look for one person who might be injured, passed out, or had been wandering around lost or concussed for two days would be a challenge.

  ‘What about the old Cambion Den?’ Hella suggested.

  ‘It’s gone,’ Tommy said.

  ‘No, I know, but what if she’s not thinking clearly and went to find help? Do you have a better idea?’ Hella said.

  Both Piper and Tommy shook their heads, so they walked to the Cambion Den.

  The face of the Cambion Den was burned and cracked, paint bubbled and most of the ceiling was missing. People had died here that day, at the angel’s hands. Hella’s eyes found her boots, unable to look at the site too long. The Force had come and removed the bodies, of course—and in the local news it had been reported as an accident with no casualties—but she couldn’t bring herself to go inside, where they had once been, huddled and afraid.