Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  Once the room was clear, Harrow still tied up with what looked like black leather string, something changed in his face. It didn’t soften, exactly, but there was something deeper and more personal about the way he looked at her, now that they were alone and he couldn’t kill her.

  She took the athame she hadn’t had a chance to use earlier—could she really have stabbed him, though? This time intentionally?—out of her belt and held it clearly in her lap as she sat cross-legged on the floor. ‘You really would have killed me?’ she said it as a question, but there was almost no doubt in her mind. She kept the athame there to make Harrow think twice before doing something stupid. She didn’t want to use it.

  Harrow tilted his head so that his black hair fell into his eyes. ‘Seems fair, doesn’t it? Considering what you took from me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’ It seemed like such a hollow thing to say, but it was true. She would never have meant to do that.

  ‘Oh, well that’s fine then. I don’t have a soul, but since you didn’t mean to everything is ice cream and rainbows.’ His voice was a drooling snarl. ‘Honestly, what did you expect to happen? You can’t bring people back from the dead without consequences. You might be the promised witch, but with magic, even you have to pay a price, Hella. You think you’re above that?’

  The comment hurt. No, she didn’t think that. She held tighter to the athame, emotional support by way of familiar steel. ‘What if we can get your soul back?’

  ‘Well, that would be mighty helpful to me, since I currently don’t have one.’

  ‘I’m serious. If I’m so powerful, and with everyone we know, don’t you think we could try?’ Somewhere in the back of Hella’s mind, she had already forgiven Harrow for his attempt on her life. What she hadn’t forgiven was herself. Her mind and body were so tired. It felt like years since she had slept. A small part of her—stupidly, perhaps—wanted to lay down with Harrow and fall asleep in his embrace by the crackling fire.

  Harrow glared at her with, thankfully, blue-slit eyes instead of black. ‘What if my soul is in hell?’

  Hella stood up and used her athame to cut his bindings. He stood up too, rubbing his wrists. Surprise etched in his pale face. ‘Then I will march into hell and get it back.’ Hella returned her athame to her belt.

  Chapter Ten

  Hella

  There was a small voice in her head that warned her not to turn her back on Harrow, so she stepped aside, keeping him in her view as she opened the adjoining sliding doors.

  And everyone who had rushed to her rescue came tumbling inside. They had been waiting for her, in the main room, pressed up against the door, ready to burst in and save her if need be. Net was the only one who had the grace to look sheepish about eavesdropping. The rest looked unashamedly pleased that she was not being murdered again. Tessa reached out and squeezed her hand.

  Hella smiled. Harrow rolled his eyes dramatically, as if their concern was entirely unjustified. Piper took Hella by the shoulders. Hunter stepped forward then. ‘Hella, I think you should come back to Faerie House with us. You and Tessa both need to be checked on. Amara will have a look at you.’ She cast a distinctly protective-big-sister glare at Harrow. ‘If you ever do anything like that again, I will sacrifice you in my next ritual, warlock. Understand?’

  Harrow smirked. ‘I’m shaking in my boots, witch. Get out.’

  Tommy glared at Harrow, then took his leave, presumably off to Warlock House, as Piper led Hella outside, following Hunter, Lola and Tessa. Hella looked back. Nerretti stood in the main room of the destroyed store. ‘Net? Are you coming?’

  He put his hands in the pockets of his still-stained white angel uniform. ‘No. I’ll stay here with Harrow. I’d like to have a talk with him.’

  Hella frowned. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Net. You knew about—’ The spell, the price.

  Net waved her concern away. ‘Yes, I know. It’s fine, Hellora. Go. You must rest.’ He smiled reassuringly. Piper needed nothing further. She led Hella outside into the cool dawn morning.

  Hella looked up at her. ‘Are you really my mother?’ she asked, squinting up at her as they all spilled out onto the pavement outside the store.

  ‘There will be time for that later, Hellora. First we need to make sure you’re okay.’ Piper’s arm never left Hella’s shoulders as they walked tiredly back to Faerie House. As they arrived, Hella saw more sentry guards. She assumed, like at Warlock House, they were Sensus faeries, meant to deter human wanderers from getting close. Something in Piper stiffened as they approached. Hella’s eyes were heavy, wanting to sleep. ‘Come on, just a little further.’ Hella was barely aware of where she was walking. There was a foyer with shining floorboards, and they were led up a grand staircase, then down, deeper into the House where there were long white-marble walls and floors. Hella’s eyes drooped closed. A minute later, she was being carried, and then placed carefully into a soft bed, the covers pulled over her. She was extremely grateful to have her head laid on fluffy pillows. It felt amazing. Until she had found out she was a witch, she had taken sleep, showers and regular meals for granted.

  Her eyes were closed, and sleep tugged at her impatiently. Perhaps fear should have been coursing through her veins over Harrow right now, and betrayal, too. Hella also felt a buzz of curiosity—and confusion—over Piper. But all of that was pushed away as Hella finally slept.

  It was the deepest sleep Hella had ever had.

  She woke to someone’s weight on her bed, a hand on her shoulder. Hella opened her eyes to see Amara leaning over her, silver hair shining. ‘Good evening, Hella. How are you feeling?’

  Hella blinked blearily, suddenly aware that her surroundings were unfamiliar. ‘Good? I think. Where am I?’

  Amara held her wrist then, and Hella realised she was checking her pulse. Amara nodded. ‘You seem better. You’re in the Faerie House. You don’t remember being brought here?’

  Hella sat up. The few times Hella had met Amara, she seemed the softest, most gentle person Hella had ever encountered; her healing power suited her. But this time, in her silver eyes, there was something else. Maybe anger. Hella shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Did Harrow really try to hurt you?’ she asked. There it was, in her eyes. Anger.

  ‘He did more than that. He was going to kill me if Piper—’ She remembered. ‘Was—Is there a woman here named Piper? She said she was my mother.’ It felt odd to say it. A small part of her wondered if she’d dreamt it.

  Amara frowned, creasing her pale brows. ‘There is, yes. But she never mentioned her connection. I thought you had a different mother?’ Amara was wearing black leather pants and a shining silver top that matched her hair and eyes. She was always the perfect mixture of practical and badass—especially for a healer rather than a fighter. Hella wondered, then, if Amara was a pacifist.

  Hella thought for a moment. Now that she had finally had some rest, her brain was working overtime to try to work everything out. ‘The mother that raised me, Grace. She never said anything to me about this, but Piper was sure. And she found me, and saved my life.’

  Then, to her surprise, Amara leaned in and pulled Hella into a hug. ‘Hella, I’m sorry.’

  Hella didn’t pull away. In fact, she smiled. After the night she’d had, a hug from a friendly, familiar person was good medicine. ‘What for?’

  Amara shook her head, silver hair swishing. Hella noticed that they were in an open room with four single beds, all dressed in silver bed-linen. Silver was their healing colour, Hella thought. She was in some kind of hospital room, perhaps. Hella blinked in surprise when she saw little Tessa in a bed across from her. She was fast asleep. ‘I’ve known Harrow for a long time, Hella. About four years, and he was a little dark when we met, but he was going through the warlock change. I had no idea he could do something this bad. Maybe he just snapped after the angel battle. I didn’t know he was dark in his heart. I thought he was good inside.’ Amara
seemed to be remembering something, maybe something from when they had first met.

  ‘Perhaps I should’ve known,’ Amara murmured. ‘I met him moments after he’d stabbed someone, you know.’ The girls broke apart.

  ‘What? No, Amara. It’s not his fault,’ Hella said, trying to figure out how to explain all of this again. She put her head in her hands, remembering what she’d said to Harrow. I will march into hell and get it back. She’d meant it, too. She would do that for him. To make it right. To bring the real Harrow back to her.

  The faerie opened her mouth, to ask Hella what she meant, no doubt, but someone rapped quietly on the bedroom’s large wooden door. It was Piper. ‘You’re awake,’ she said. It occurred to Hella that this woman rarely smiled or showed any emotion. It made Hella think she was hiding things.

  Hella nodded. Suddenly, she didn’t want Amara to leave her alone with this stranger. As Amara got up to give them the room, Hella caught her wrist and shook her head. So, loyally, Amara re-perched herself on the end of the bed. ‘Would you like to speak with Hella?’ she asked coolly, making it clear she would not leave.

  ‘I would, yes. Alone, though.’ Piper entered the room. She was clad in full black clothes, her weapons still strung across her hips. She seemed like the type of woman people wouldn’t say ‘no’ to.

  Amara’s eyes grew cold as snow. ‘We don’t know who you really are, and, given the circumstances, I won’t be leaving you alone with her.’ Amara smiled, as if politely. Hella admired this side of Amara, almost as much as her healing, caring nature. It would seem Amara had quite a spine.

  Piper pursed her lips, considering her options. ‘At least my daughter has loyal friends.’ She approached the foot of Hella’s bed.

  ‘How can you call her “daughter”? She’s never met you. She has a mother. Grace.’ Amara spoke for Hella, and she was grateful. Hella was aware that she was still in the clothes she had fought the battle of the angels in and, while she’d apparently slept all day, she felt eugh.

  Piper looked from Amara to Hella and back. ‘I know that. That was not my choice. It wasn’t up to me, Hellora.’ Her green eyes, it seemed, mirrored Hella’s.

  ‘Why do you think I’m yours?’ Hella pressed. ‘You’ve just shown up. I never even knew I was adopted and bam you’re here.’

  Piper smiled. It was rare for her. It completely changed her face. The smile would have been nice, were it not a bitter one. ‘Because I had you. I gave you your name.’ She held up a hand, conjuring her purple and white fire. ‘It was purple, like yours, no doubt, until I had you. Once you were taken from me, the white appeared. Something changed forever. I don’t want you in this House, Hellora. You can’t trust these people.’

  Hella wanted to conjure her own fire, to compare it to Piper’s, but didn’t have the strength yet. Amara stiffened.

  ‘Why would you say that?’ Hella asked.

  ‘Because it was a faerie who made me give you up, Hellora. She said that if I ever came looking for you, or ever tried to contact you, she would kill me.’ Piper’s upper lip curled at the memory.

  Amara scoffed loudly. ‘What nonsense. Why would one of my kind do such a thing?’

  ‘Because it was known that my baby, my Hellora, would be the promised witch. So powerful and destined to save the world.’ At that, Hella thought she saw Piper stand up just a little straighter. Proud. Important.

  ‘So?’ Amara asked.

  ‘So, the faerie was a Scire. She said if Hellora were left to be raised by me, my baby’s powers would be activated too young. She would grow up dark, too dark with her powers.’

  Hella let this all sink in. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know whether to believe you or not, or what you may get from lying to me, but I am not dark.’ Hella wished she’d had something to eat. She was starving. She wondered what Harrow was doing right now, or if Net had had to tie him up again to keep him out of trouble.

  ‘No, Hellora, you’re not. Of course you aren’t. I never thought you would be.’ Piper stepped around from the end of the bed, just a little closer, as if wanting to reach out to Hella.

  ‘Which Scire told you this?’ Amara said.

  ‘Meele Scire,’ Piper said, fire in her green eyes.

  Hella shook her head. ‘How old is Meele? She couldn’t—’

  ‘Faeries age much slower than anyone else—apart from angels—it’s our angel blood,’ Amara told her.

  ‘You know Meele?’ Piper demanded. She folded her arms over her chest.

  Hella nodded. ‘Yes. She was friends with Remy. My Wiccan guardian.’

  Piper scoffed. ‘Right, what a guardian she was. I can feel your powers, Hellora, and I know the late witch’s reputation. She cared more for power than your training.

  Hella tilted her head in acknowledgement. That certainly sounded like Remy. The things she did to her: letting The Force lock her up, cutting up Harrow for a spell. Still lying in bed, Hella ripped off the covers. ‘I think I need a shower. And food. Besides, I need time to think about all this.’ She waved at Piper vaguely.

  Piper opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Hella held up a hand. ‘Don’t. I have no idea if I can trust you until I am cleaner and have eaten.’

  ‘I saved your life last night,’ Piper reminded her.

  ‘I’m grateful,’ Hella said. ‘But, again, I don’t know why you did that.’ Hella paused, halfway through storming out. She looked to Amara. ‘Is Tessa going to be okay?’

  Amara nodded with her usual soft smile, all traces of snowy coolness gone.

  ‘She’s connected to me, somehow? She told me something about it, but I don’t understand,’ Hella said.

  ‘Tessa is an Anima Mea, their powers are of the soul. The most common power for a Mea is empathy. They connect with someone, or even multiple people, and can feel their emotions. But, what is different is that Tessa was effected by your pain. That’s never happened before,’ Amara said. ‘The promised witch breaks all the rules.’ She winked at Hella.

  Hella went to Tessa’s bedside. The girl was so small. She put a hand on her head. ‘Thank you for coming for me, Tessa,’ she whispered.

  Amara led her to a bathroom and provided her with a change of clothes. ‘I’ll bring you up some food.’

  Hella held her arm again. ‘Thank you. For staying with me.’

  Amara nodded dutifully and departed. Piper had left the room to give her some space.

  Hella still wondered what was going on with Harrow and Net at the Witches’ Wares store–and if Harrow had tried to kill him yet. She hoped not. What could Nerretti be talking to him about? Would Harrow hold a grudge against Net the way he held it against her?

  Hella thought about Harrow again, not the killing, murdery part—Hella remembered his soft lips on hers. His strong arms around her. The way he moved, to protect her. She thought of what Amara said, about when she’d first met Harrow. He had just stabbed someone. What did it say about her, then, that when she met Harrow, she had stabbed him, too? It was instinct, she told herself. Survival. Now, she thought, would things have been different if she had never offered to help Remy carry those books into the store? Would she never have known she was a witch? Hella climbed into the shower gratefully. She doubted she never would have found out. She was the promised witch. She would have found out sooner or later.

  If Grace really was not her mother, and that woman with those stunningly familiar eyes was, would she never have known if her life were not in danger? And why had she come this time? Hella’s life had been in danger several times lately. Why did she only come now? Did she want something from her?

  Hella picked up a bottle of strawberry shampoo and lathered her hair with it, letting the pleasant scent fill her nostrils. The smell of fear and blood had taken over her senses too frequently lately. Strawberries were a delightful change. Finally, a thought struck her in the shower. Her father, Finn Corvime, had tried to kill her, for the evilness of just being a witch. But, if Grace wasn�
��t her real mother, Finn had not been her real father. So there was a man out there who was her blood, who might accept her for who she was. Then, a more terrible thought, Elliot is not my little brother.

  Hella washed her hair, scrubbing her body of the battles. Tears mingled with the water of the shower as she tried to piece her life together. Nothing was as she had ever been told. She’d been lied to about literally everything her entire life. She wondered what had ever happened to her boring old familiar town of Mill Valley, where the days were long but she had her friends. Where she never thought she was crazy, and was never in constant mortal peril. She hadn’t been hunted, or locked up, or fought in battles. She missed those days. And her friends. Her heart scrunched up into a knot.

  Chapter Eleven

  Azazel

  This country is wide and sparse, Azazel thought, peering into the sunset. He remembered the first time he had stepped ashore on this land, onto the sandy beaches as he watched the country’s soldiers depart. That left the rest of the island defenseless. Ripe for the taking. And so he had taken it.

  That event—that glorious feast—had angered those righteous angels. Azazel’s demons had been hunted viciously that day, thousands killed by the white-wings he hated so much. But now, could it be that they were really plucked from this earth? Could he really be free of them?

  There was one way Azazel could think of to be sure. Angels could sense evil—it was how they originally ended up hunting Cambions as well as pure demons. Azazel wandered the open countryside. He saw sheep and kangaroos milling about freely in paddocks, entirely oblivious to his presence. He’d wandered onto a farm, where a—what do you call them—dog, barked as he walked up to the gate of the property. Noisy little thing, he thought.