Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘Ah, these are my personal notes on my experiences in the magical world. But you’ll have to wait until I write the public version,’ Hella said. ‘What’s your name?’ This reporter seemed much sharper than the others, as if she had already been ready to believe in magic.

  ‘My name is Danielle Serrow. You can call me Dany. You’re writing a book?’ Dany asked, blonde brows raised.

  Hella smiled. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m a not just a witch. I’m a writer.’

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Immego

  Immego wasn’t above admitting that it was a stroke of pure luck that both he and Jacqueline had made it out of that witch’s store alive; with that many demons, it wouldn’t have mattered if they were armed to the teeth with their Deme blades, and as it was they’d only had two each.

  It was a sign from the stars, when that luck extended to—of all things—angels appearing amongst the battle. When the demons were destroyed—thankfully most of them were distracted by Hella’s spectacle with the pentagram—Jackie looked at him with white in her eyes: the brilliance of one angel’s wings bright in their faces. It was as if the stars had smiled upon them. They took the angel as soon as the battle was won. Those in the pentagram had fallen to their knees, understandably exhausted, and Jackie had knocked the distracted angel over the head. The blond guy had been annoyed by this, but a swift kick to his ribs and a whack on the head dropped him. The world was eerily silent as they dragged the angel home.

  Now on their couch, he was tied up and still unconscious. As Jackie had hit him, his brilliant wings had folded up, like a turtle snapped back into its shell. ‘I reckon we could make a lot of Deme blades with all those feathers, Imm,’ Jacqueline said, staring down at the angel hungrily.

  Immego peered at him. He had never seen an angel up close before. An old but ever constant pain burrowed into him. ‘Why only use the feathers?’ Immego asked.

  Jackie tilted her head. Somehow, even after a battle, her black hair was still neat in its ponytail. ‘What do you mean? His halo? I’m sure we can use that too.’

  Immego shook his head. ‘No, not just that,’ he said slowly. ‘We’ve struck gold by finding him, Jac, we’re supposed to use all of him. I know it.’

  Jackie came and sat near him on the edge of the coffee table. ‘Do you mean his blood? I hadn’t really thought of that, but it makes sense. He’s a freaking angel, if anything can make our blades, it’s him. The more we have, the better.’

  They had both watched the live news featuring Hella as she outed the magical world to the humans. It was either a very stupid or a very brave thing to do. But one thing was for sure. ‘The humans won’t accept this,’ Immego had said to his sister, watching Hella and the reporters. ‘They’ll be afraid. We can provide them with the weapons they’ll need. To keep them safe. She didn’t kill all the demons in the world tonight. There will always be more.’

  Jacqueline brought him into a hug. ‘You’re so clever, little brother. I’m so proud of you.’ She peered over at the angel. Immego didn’t remember his name. The blond one had called it out, but he’d immediately forgotten. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was what he was, and what they could make him into.

  ‘We’ll have to wake him to get his wings out,’ Immego said. ‘You hold him down while I wake him.’ Immego stepped forward as Jackie manoeuvred to the side and held him. Immego sat in front of the angel for a moment, hate pouring out of him. ‘This is for the greater good of the world,’ he told the unconscious angel. He slapped him across the face with a crack. ‘And Austen.’

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  There are a lot of stories in the world, Oric mused. Some of them have never seen the light of day, at least not seen by the humans, whereas others are well-told myths and legends that have been passed down to earth from Heaven, or up from Hell. If he had to guess, Oric would say there were millions of tales, spun upon themselves to create millions more. If there was one thing humans were good at, he thought, it was twisting stories.

  Of course, a portion of those tales were true, their origins based on fact. Some of them had really happened. And, of course, the humans’ Achilles Heel was their absolute steadfast refusal—after spinning so many fantastic tales—to believe in the fantasy of them, even when provided with proof or evidence. There were some exceptions, perhaps, such as those Grimm Brothers. Oric had preferred Wilhelm over his brother Jacob: the younger Grimm collected the stories, to be sure, but it was Will who believed in them.

  This was to come again today: the beginning of a new and epic tale—the day that magic was revealed. Whether or not humans believed it was one thing, and then, as they so often bloody do, how badly or violently they may react to this revelation was another matter entirely.

  Oric smoothed out the fabric on the large glass table before him. There are certain genealogies throughout history that are destined to have more significance than others, creating special people to achieve certain special destinies. Oric picked up a small, round purple crystal and held it fondly for a moment. It reminded him of someone. A flood of images washed through his mind: of battle and blood, of fiery magic, a pentagram as strong as the world had ever seen. For just a moment, he smiled proudly before dropping the small crystal into the pewter cauldron. He gathered up a fist-full of sage as his brothers entered the room, all six of them scowling.

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, is there no privacy?’ Oric growled. Then realised his mistake at flippancy.

  His brother, Holsen, looked at him with his customary glare of superiority. ‘Have you any idea what’s just happened?’

  Oric tried not to smile at his eldest brother. The other five spread out through the room, their eyes wide. ‘I do,’ Oric admitted. ‘You didn’t see it coming?’ It was not meant to be mocking, but Holsen took it that way.

  He slammed his fist down on the glass table and there was an audible crack. ‘You’re damned right I didn’t see it coming, and I’ll have your head if you tell me you did! This is your responsibility, Oric! We cannot have the fabric of the magical world torn open for the humans to see. They are not capable—they’re not able to comprehend it.’

  Lorren, the brother above Oric in age, stepped forward, his trademark hesitancy clear on his pale face. ‘It’s hard to believe this has happened, but she is the promised witch, Holsen, perhaps it’s time. She’s committed to teaching them about the ways, the safety of—’

  Holsen rounded on Lorren, who cowed. ‘I don’t need your opinion.’ He turned back on Oric, fury in his pale eyes. ‘I need you to fix this, and fix it now.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do, brother? It is done. She saved many lives,’ Oric said, trying to remain objective.

  Holsen sent the cauldron flying to the wall with a single angry swipe of his fist, and the pewter was dented as it clattered to the ground. ‘I will keep you locked up here until the end of eternity,’ Holsen said. ‘You may be the seventh son of a seventh son, like father, but you can’t escape this place—this time I have made sure of that. But if you comply with my command, if you stop the witch from doing any more damage, then I will allow you to see her.’

  Oric blinked in surprise. He looked at each of his brothers in turn. Their gazes were all downcast. When Holsen was in a mood, it was best not to provoke him. Instead, Oric looked up into his eldest brother’s eyes. He had never before been granted such an opportunity. ‘Are you serious?’

  Holsen was many things, but a liar was not one of them. He nodded. ‘I am. I would let you out of this place for one week—that’s seven human days if you’ve forgotten. You may go and meet the promised witch. You can steer her plans. Stop this madness. We are responsible for the keeping of magic, brother, don’t ever forget that. And this, in particular, I think you would agree, is your mess to clean up.’

  ‘How could I stop her?’ Oric asked carefully.

  ‘Spell her,’ Holsen suggested tiredly, leaning his looming bulk over the cracked table. ‘Abdu
ct her, bring her back here with you, if you want. Kill her. If you must.’

  Oric blanched. ‘That I could not do, brother.’

  ‘Then find something you can do, and do it quick. The humans will revolt against her news and the carnage that would break out against the magical community over time would be equal to genocide.’ Oric was a little startled to see the true fear in his big brother’s eyes. ‘Humans will always hunt and destroy that which they do not understand, brother, do you want to be responsible for that? Do you want her to be responsible for that?’

  Oric glared past him, out the small window in the high tower. A lifetime up here had made him afraid of heights, but now he wished to stick his head out the window for a desperate breath of fresh air, and to call her name, to warn her.

  ‘And if I don’t comply?’ Oric pressed. He knew it was unwise, but he had to know.

  ‘Then father will do it for you,’ Holsen promised darkly.

  ‘He would not kill her,’ Oric said, but it felt more like a question.

  ‘Perhaps not, but he would hand her over to The Force who, by the way, are quite furious with her,’ Holsen said. It took Oric a moment to realise it, but there was something in his brother’s eyes that he recognised from his own heart. He did not want to be delivering these orders.

  Oric sighed. ‘Fine,’ he said sharply. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll stop her. I’ll get to the witch.’

  Holsen sighed, relieved. ‘Good,’ he said. The hardness in his voice faded a little. ‘Hey, look on the bright side, brother. You’ll finally get to meet your daughter.’

  Something inside Oric twisted painfully. ‘Hella,’ he said. ‘I’ll get to meet my little girl.’

  Epilogue, Part One

  Hella

  The day after the world had changed, the news of magic had spread like wildfire, was Hella’s seventeenth birthday. There was a lot to celebrate.

  It had been a day since the world nearly ended. The last time, the big one, with Azazel. Hella had lost count of the times before that. The battles she had fought and miraculously won seemed to fade away now, into the distant past. She sat hunched over her desk in Grace Corvime’s house, in her old bedroom. She had given up counting the death threats she’d gotten since revealing the magical world behind the curtains of the once-normal world. The letters were from all kinds: humans, members of The Force, angry werewolves, vampires, even a faerie who strongly disagreed with her.

  The public, the world, had needed to know the truth. Her autobiography, as some people called it (the public already clamoured for her notes, the details on her unprecedented experiences), was a true account and accurate telling of her adventures since she had found out she was the promised witch: the witch prophesied to be the most powerful witch on earth. The prophecy hadn’t said anything about the harm she would do to the people she had loved, even if those people had betrayed her. Finn Corvime had paid that price, as well as Harrow Nympha (more than once). There was, she thought, much to celebrate: the world was safe from demons—for now—but her chest was tight thinking of the future.

  Hella didn’t really want to spend her birthday hiding, but she felt safer away from view. At least now she could hide away in her room, away from the public’s eye while she wrote. She didn’t want to think of the people it might hurt. Hella had taken time since the end of the battle to start her story, jotting down the main points. Hella had tried to keep her opinions neutral, but that was impossible. Azazel had received a scathing angle, and the angels, until the end, didn’t come off too well either. Hella had wanted to run it by Net, but he’d genially raised his hands and shook his head.

  ‘This is your story, Hella,’ he had said. ‘Not mine. You write the truth, what feels right to you.’

  She laid her head in her hands. Once, after the battle of the angels in her guardian’s store, she had thought her destiny—that damned prophecy—had been fulfilled. She was wrong. Meele Scire had been right: she had just been getting started. Though she was weary, at least now the fighting was done. Those who had survived could heal and move on. She laughed out loud. Yeah, right. It was never going to be that easy, but they were still here, for whatever that was worth.

  At that moment, a soft knock came at her door. ‘Hey, it’s me.’

  ‘Come in,’ Hella said. She sat up a little straighter, hoping her hair didn’t look as wild and untamed as she suspected.

  Harrow Nympha walked into her old bedroom. ‘Hey, beautiful. Happy birthday! My present for you is at the store. It’s time to go. Are you ready?’ He came over to her and put a hand on her head, smoothing out her hair. ‘You look tired.’

  Hella nestled her cheek into his hand and he smiled down at her. ‘I guess I’m ready. I’m still not sure I know how to do this,’ she admitted, packing up her notes.

  Harrow knelt in front of her. It still surprised her sometimes, looking at him, how different this Harrow was to the one she had met—and stabbed—earlier that year. She had worked it out: since she had found out she was a witch and met Harrow and everyone else, it had been less than two months. Harrow was calm, relaxed, focused. There was no defensiveness to the set of his jaw, or any bitterness clouding his blue eyes. He still wasn’t a warlock anymore. They had to fix that, but saving the world generally seemed to take priority.

  ‘You know what you’re doing,’ he said, his voice was strong and even. He believed in her completely. ‘You did all of this. Hella, you saved the world.’ He swooped her up out of her chair and a giggle escaped her lips. ‘You, my love, are the most incredible person on the planet.’ He kissed her lips, softly and with passion.

  She smiled up at him. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  He hugged her tight. ‘Okay, missy. No more distracting me with your dazzling beauty, it’s time we were off.’

  Hella and Harrow had decided to move into their own place: Grace’s was getting crowded with all the Cambion kids she had taken in, and they could certainly use the extra space. Besides, getting away from some of the chaos was going to be good for her. For both of them.

  Hella glanced around her room as he set her gently back on her feet. Apart from the furniture, it was empty of all her belongings. It hadn’t taken her long to pack. ‘At least the kids will have an extra room now.’

  Harrow looked her up at down. His index finger twirled around the end of a curl. It was something he had come to do, fondly. It had replaced her nervous habit of twisting it herself.

  ‘Okay, then.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

  Harrow put his hands on her shoulders. ‘My bag is downstairs.’

  She nodded and snuggled into his arms, her head on his chest. Hand in hand, they descended the stairs. For now, while they looked for a place, they had decided to stay at the Witches’ Wares store. There was a backroom in which Net lived, but Hella had had a little help from Hunter and Lola and they’d created another back room big enough for the couple. Net had promised he didn’t mind the company.

  Harrow poked her playfully as they walked their suitcases through the park. It was early morning and Hella had said her goodbyes already. Grace was elbow-deep in making breakfast for a dozen or so hungry little warlocks and faeries as they left.

  ‘Are you excited?’ Harrow asked, smiling.

  ‘I am,’ she said.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, noting the hesitancy in her voice.

  Hella loved how well he seemed to know her already. ‘I just… I keep getting messages from people.’

  ‘More hate mail, are you serious?’ His blue eyes became stormy. She noticed it was something he could do without his powers, and loved him all the more for it. That icy protectiveness was all his own.

  ‘Yeah, it’s nothing. I’ve also been contacted by someone who wants to help us set up some sort of training program for me to teach at,’ Hella said.

  ‘Oh, yeah? Who was that from?’

  ‘Honestly, I’m not sure. He
said he would be in touch. But, for now, I say we enjoy a little time off. And Net needs some help with the store—it’s gotten a lot of business since I did that interview—and Net thinks I should definitely write that book,’ Hella said. ‘I’ve sort of started.’

  ‘I think you should, too. The world needs to know. From now until the rest of time, the entire world will know about magic,’ Harrow said, puffing his chest out a little as if he were proud. ‘They’ll learn about it and be taught how to defend themselves from evil. If all those people in London had known, and been armed, those fourteen thousand people wouldn’t have died.’ He leaned on her. ‘We’re changing the world, Hella.’

  ‘Again?’ she asked with a chuckle.

  ‘Yes, again. This time, everything will be different, for the better. In a new way, this will save the world all over again. Forever,’ Harrow promised her.

  ‘No pressure,’ she said nervously.

  ‘Did you report those threats?’ he asked, eyeing her.

  ‘To who? The police or The Force?’ Hella rolled her eyes.

  ‘Either,’ Harrow said, his jaw set hard. He was angry on her behalf.

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I have a feeling The Force don’t want anything to do with me, and the police are overwhelmed right now. There have been a lot of panic-induced riots. People are freaking out. I think they’re actually looking for witches and Cambions.’

  ‘All the more reason to stay together.’ He held her hand as they walked.

  ‘I’ll fix it, you know. Your powers. I promise.’ Hella squeezed his hand.

  He smiled at her. ‘I know you will. It might be a dangerous time to be a warlock now, though.’

  Hella shook her head, stubborn. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’ll be okay. We’ll teach them.’

  Harrow started humming softly. ‘Fire and ice,’ he said again. ‘You know, that reminds me of a poem.’