Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  Cautiously, he reached out—Hella froze—and he put a hand on her knee. ‘I know you didn’t mean to do that,’ he said, and she wanted to cry in relief.

  She started shaking her head, her red curls flying. ‘I didn’t. I didn’t mean to. Maybe we should go back. I could try again.’

  His hand seemed to hold her in place. ‘No, Hella.’ His voice was firm, but not reproachful. ‘The guards will be doubled now. That kind of thing doesn’t just happen. They’ll be interrogating Harrow.’

  She put the palms of her hands over her eyes. ‘It wasn’t his fault. It was mine.’ The words were too familiar in her mouth. Everything was her fault.

  ‘I don’t think they’ll be able to blame him. Nymphas can’t do anything like that. If they had found me, however, they’d blame me,’ Tommy said.

  Hella sighed, wiping away her tears. She sat back down on the ground, leaning up against the tree. ‘I have an idea.’ Without waiting to explain, she closed her eyes and focused her chakras. She was back in the stone cell, Harrow curled up on his bed, his eyes closed. Her astral-self walked through the plastic bars.

  She could hear Tommy’s voice in her ears. Hella, are you okay? What are you doing?

  Hella looked down at Harrow. Like hers, his face was wet with tears. She gasped as she looked closer at him. Along his arms and up his throat were purple-black marks. They were burns. At her gasp, he opened his eyes and immediately flattened himself against the furthest edges of the cage, as far away from her as possible. She took a step back, to give him room.

  ‘Harrow, I’m not really here.’ She passed a hand through the bars to show him. ‘I can’t hurt you. I just wanted to tell you that I’m so sorry. I never meant to—’ Her throat closed up, choking with tears. She shook her head, trying to tell him.

  He seemed to relax, just a little, and lowered himself back onto the bed, but he was shaking. He held out his arms, to show her what she had done.

  ‘That was some hellish lightning, Hella.’ He breathed the words. Not afraid, not angry. Just… broken.

  She moved to sit down on the bed with him. He let her. ‘I didn’t know it was possible. I just wanted to get your soul back.’

  His eyes changed then, from shimmered-blue to a deep, roiling black. His hands clenched into fists. ‘Maybe you want to figure out how to use your powers, witch, so you don’t make enemies of soulless bastards like me.’

  ‘You already tried to kill me twice,’ she said quietly. ‘At least I healed Tommy.’ She could see that the burned lines traced up his neck, disappearing into his dark hair line. ‘I’m in astral-form, Harrow, but maybe I could come back to fix these. I just have to measure how much magic to use—’

  He dropped his gaze. ‘No, Hella.’ It was all he said, but it stopped her in her tracks.

  They both sat on the bed, their legs crossed underneath them, facing each other. They were silent for a minute, and Hella couldn’t tell him again—trust me, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. You hurt me too. Instead, she said, ‘Do you remember kissing me, that day in the park?’

  She saw his lip pull into half a smile. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Do you remember what I said to you, when you shimmered for me?’

  In these moments, she just wanted to remember something good. Nice memories. They were few and far between these days. She had to keep the good, precious ones alive.

  He nodded slightly. ‘I do.’ He shimmered. ‘I thought you would say, or think, that I was ugly or terrifying. I thought you would step away from me, or cringe. You said that I was “wonderful”.’ He barked out a laugh. He looked up at her, through thick black lashes, still clinging together, wet. ‘Do you still think that?’

  Hella smiled then. ‘Yes. That’s never changed.’ She was in her astral self, but she reached out and tried to put a hand on his knee. He didn’t move, perhaps because he knew she could not touch him. But he seemed okay with it.

  ‘Everything else has changed,’ he said, breaking their moment.

  ‘I’m sorry for what I did, Harrow. For bringing you back.’

  He was quiet for a moment, then looked up at her. ‘It backfired.’ He shook his dark mop of hair. ‘I don’t have a soul. Maybe I should apologise for hurting you, but—look, my morals might be off here—but it felt justified to me.’ He shook his head with a laugh. ‘I know that’s stupid, and it’s probably wrong. But Hella, my soul… I feel things differently now. I don’t know how else to explain it.’

  Hella didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were glued to the burn marks on his arms, and she found herself wondering where else the marks trailed to. ‘That has to hurt.’

  His eyes swam for a moment. He expelled a breath. ‘It does.’

  She looked around his quiet cell. ‘Did anyone come?’

  ‘Some guards rushed in just after you left, but then, they know what I am. They glanced at me, making sure I was still in here, then ran off.’

  ‘They didn’t notice the burns?’ Hella asked.

  Tommy’s voice was in her ear again. Hella, what’s happening? Is Harrow okay?

  Harrow shook his head. ‘If they did, they didn’t care.’

  ‘I’m going to find a way to fix this, Harrow. I promise.’

  Harrow shook his head. ‘I don’t believe that’s possible, little witch.’

  ‘I’m going to find something,’ Hella said, her voice earnest. ‘Do you want me to call Amara, get her over here to heal you?’

  Harrow took a shuddering breath. ‘How are you going to explain that?’

  She frowned. ‘It doesn’t matter. Amara will come and help you.’

  Harrow was silent for a moment, then raised his hand, looking at the burns more closely in the light. ‘There is no miracle without agony,’ he said quietly, then looked her dead in the eye. Hella felt that she was the embodiment of the latter. She astralled back to her body, Tommy’s green eyes peering into hers.

  She pulled out her phone and called Amara. With as little explanation as possible, the faerie agreed to go and help Harrow, assuming she could get into the cells without anyone stopping her. Hella put the phone down with a sigh. At least she had done this one tiny thing right.

  Tommy peered at her. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Actually. Everything is pretty screwed up.’ Hella looked down at her shirt then, and realised there was a small splatter of dark blue blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nerretti

  Nerretti sat with the small human Hella called Elliot, her adoptive younger brother. He wondered what the child knew of Hella’s true lineage, and thought it best to keep all that to himself. They sat together in the main room of the store, still rifling through books, trying to find anything remotely relevant to souls.

  The small human continuously stared up at him, as if expecting him to burst into flame.

  ‘What is it, little one?’ Net asked, without looking up from his book.

  ‘I’m not little,’ Elliot said.

  ‘You are next to me,’ Net pointed out. ‘It’s not meant to be condescending. Why do you stare at me?’

  ‘You’re an angel, right?’

  ‘Not anymore, no.’ Net flipped through a book, his back up against the glass face of the counter. Elliot leant up against the wall to his right, his lap full of books. He doubted the little human would be of any help, but he respected Hella’s wishes for him to be more involved in the magical elements of her life—and it was better he stay here than venture to Warlock House. He doubted they would let an ordinary human in, anyway. Not that there were many non-magical elements left of Hella’s life. Nerretti wondered what she planned to do about her school attendance. Grace had mentioned that she’d received several calls from the school, concerned—Hella had missed assessments, tests, important projects. In the grand scheme of things, perhaps her education was not of particular importance. Certainly, not her human education. Her magical one, however, was.

  The little hum
an peered at him, squinting his eyes. ‘Are you sure? You still look odd.’

  Net smiled down at him. He glanced behind him and found a small dagger, bejewelled with four round opalite crystals, white and shining. Net sliced into his hand, and Elliot’s green eyes widened as the silver blood pooled in his palm.

  ‘I knew it,’ Elliot said, setting the books aside.

  ‘But I am human. I have no wings. No halo.’ Net smiled, a little sadly now. ‘I can walk in sunlight. I am, for all intents and purposes, just a man.’ It still felt strange to say it. He wiped the shallow cut’s blood on his jeans, leaving a small silver trail. ‘Back to work, little one.’

  He picked up the book he had been reading, searching for some sign. Net wondered, in the back of his mind, if their efforts were futile. They really should be looking for a way to stop Azazel. He was not, perhaps, an imminent threat to them right now, but Net had a bad feeling about him. Without his feathers, he didn’t know how—or with what—to fight a demon. Hella may have a chance against him, but that was not enough, and she was not steady in her gifts yet.

  Elliot peered down at his book and frowned. ‘Is Harrow’s soul really gone?’

  Net nodded. ‘I believe so, yes. That’s what Remy’s spellbook warned, and I don’t think Harrow would have hurt Hella under any other circumstances. It seems to add up.’

  Elliot frowned, his small face creasing. Net studied his features. No wonder Hella had believed she was Grace’s. Some tiny things did not match, though. Elliot and Grace both had freckles. Grace’s posture was more elegant than Hella’s, and Elliot had a suspicious nature that she did not share. However, the colouring at least appeared to match. She wouldn’t have looked any further.

  ‘If Harrow doesn’t have his soul,’ Elliot said, ‘then where is it?’

  Net blinked at him. ‘Where?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean, if it’s not in him, where is it?’ the boy asked simply.

  ‘Where, indeed? Let’s see.’ Net set the book down and began rifling through others. ‘Okay, well angels and warriors descend to Valhalla when they fall in battle.’

  ‘It wouldn’t go to Heaven, or Hell?’ Elliot asked, his bright eyes curious.

  Net shook his head slightly. ‘No. Angels work in Heaven, no souls. And Hell is filled with demons, not souls.’

  ‘Harrow died—technically—in a battle though, right?’ Elliot asked, frowning down at his pile of books. ‘Wouldn’t that make him a warrior?’

  Net paused, his hands hovering over a book. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. ‘You know, that would make sense,’ he said, a little surprised. ‘Good point. Though, not all who fall in battle are worthy of Odin’s choosing. Odin and his Queen pick the warriors who stay.’

  Elliot smiled, he seemed proud to be helpful. ‘But maybe his soul went there, and he—without his soul—came back. Maybe Odin didn’t want him. Maybe Harrow went there and might have been chosen, but then Hella healed him and he came back.’

  ‘Without his soul. That seems entirely possible,’ Net admitted.

  ‘So, if Harrow’s soul is in Valhalla, can we go and get it?’

  Net laughed dryly. ‘I don’t know. It’s where fallen soldiers, including angels, go to train, to do better in their next life. I don’t imagine there’s a way to visit there.’ He paused. ‘I suppose Malachai is there now.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘He was an angel that I knew.’ Net didn’t feel particularly proud that he had once been so close to Mal. If only Net had voiced his concerns earlier. Maybe he could’ve swayed Mal. Even other angels.

  ‘He died?’ Elliot asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Net said, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. ‘He died.’ He shuffled in his spot on the ground, his legs beginning to cramp. ‘But, you have a point about Valhalla. It’s a place to start.’ Net picked up another book, wondering how Hella and Tommy were getting on with Harrow. He highly doubted she could simply heal his soul back to him, though the promised witch had exceeded his expectations before.

  ‘Do you think she loves him?’ Elliot said.

  ‘Do I think who loves whom?’ Net inquired.

  ‘Hella. Do you think she loves that warlock, Harrow? Even though he has no soul.’ Elliot’s eyes were dark, and Net hoped he would not be prejudiced against those with magic like his father was.

  Net considered. It wasn’t his business, but if he had to guess, he might say ‘yes’. The boy had jumped in front of an angel attack for her during the battle, had died for her. Net had watched the horror wash over Hella as she realised he was dead, and the sheer relief when she had brought him back. Now, though, after their near-murder experience, he couldn’t imagine the complications. But it still boiled down to the same answer. ‘Yes, I think she does. And I think he loves her, too.’

  ‘I don’t think my dad really loved my mum,’ Elliot said. ‘At least, not properly. Hella, too. He hated that they were witches.’

  Net looked him over. ‘Do you hate that?’

  Elliot shook his head. ‘No. I don’t know about other magic-people.’

  ‘You mean Cambions?’

  He nodded. ‘Still strange,’ he murmured.

  ‘I imagine it would take some getting used to. But Cambions are just people, Elliot. People with magic, and different blood.’ Net flipped through a book, now scanning for any mention of Valhalla. The old witch, Remy, had a lot of material to flip through. Not that there was any guarantee she even had anything on the subject.

  Elliot nodded slowly. ‘I guess they are. What about werewolves and vampires?’

  Net’s mouth quirked. ‘They are a little different. I believe they are outcasts in the magical community because of, well, a werewolf’s ferociousness. They’re feral, not people-people.’

  ‘And vampires?’ Elliot pressed.

  Net’s mouth twisted with disgust. ‘They feed on humans. Appalling.’

  ‘That is gross,’ Elliot agreed. ‘I’m glad Hella isn’t a vampire.’

  ‘The promised vampire just doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?’ Net smiled. His eyes fell back to the page. ‘Oh, here. I think I’ve actually found something—oh, no.’

  ‘What is it?’ Elliot said, setting his own book down.

  ‘Well, there is something here. It says that, “Souls brave and true lost in battle are reborn as humans, whatever their previous nature, in Valhalla. They are hand-picked by Odin on the field, and are trained every day by the Queen of Valkyries until they are proved newly worthy. A death on the Unending Field of Blood will be reborn, and those cast back to Earth will be stronger than before”,’ Net read aloud. ‘But it doesn’t say anything about how to get to Valhalla, or, in fact, where it is.’

  Elliot frowned. ‘Well, isn’t it in Asgard?’

  Net smiled. It would seem that Elliot is as much of a booklover as Hella. Net thought, and me.

  ‘Sure,’ Net said. ‘But that’s not exactly on earth. We’re talking different planes of existence here.’

  ‘Well, how many planes of existence are there?’ Elliot asked.

  Net sighed. ‘There are different myths about that. Some say there are 365, one for each day of the normal calendar year. Some say there are seven, one for each chakra. Others say there are infinite planes. I’m afraid I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Right, well, at least we know it’s probably in Valhalla. So, if Harrow isn’t there, you know, with his soul, is it just floating about on the—what was it?—the Unending Field of Blood?’ Elliot said.

  Net bit his lip, trying to untangle the problem in his mind. He wished he had some of his Father’s reading material, or even a lecture from Father himself might be helpful right now. He wished he hadn’t ignored him in his youth. He was too busy trying to be the best fighter. Net rubbed at his eyes. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know if there’s a precedent for this, little one.’

  ‘Precedent?’

  ‘Something that has happened before,’ N
et said absently. Suddenly, he sat up straight. ‘Wait. Happened before. Maybe that could help.’ Net got up and picked up the phone by the counter, then frowned at it. He handed it to Elliot. ‘Could you please call the Faerie House, I need to speak with Meele Scire.’

  Elliot held up the phone. ‘Sure, what’s the number?’

  Net’s brow creased. ‘What do you mean a number? Just call them.’

  Elliot frowned. ‘You need a specific number to call someone.’

  ‘Damn.’ Net folded his arms over his chest. ‘That’s just ridiculous!’

  After a ring-around of Elliot calling Grace, and Grace giving them the right number and Elliot dialling, Net finally got to speak with Meele. He’d had an idea: Meele had the ability to see into the future and the past. If anything like this had ever happened before—or she had some idea of what was going to happen—maybe she could help them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nerretti, I’ve never heard of this,’ she said through the phone. His hopes were quickly dashed. ‘And I haven’t seen anything to do with the warlock boy’s soul. I’m sorry, I wish I could help you,’ Meele said, sounding like she truly meant it.

  ‘It’s okay, just thought I should ask. But, now that I have you, I want to ask you about Piper. Hella’s biological mother. How did it happen that, according to the witch, you made her give Hellora up when she was born?’ Net said. He had made sure to distance himself from Elliot before speaking. The boy had headphone things in his ears, his nose deep in a book on the other side of the store.

  Silence met him, until she finally spoke. ‘I don’t see how that’s your concern, angel.’ Meele’s tone was sharp.

  ‘Well, I’ve come to care for the girl,’ Net admitted. ‘And she doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Besides, Piper is still floating around town somewhere. I think she truly wants to help her daughter. I think you should at least speak with Hella about this, if not me.’

  ‘It’s of no concern to her,’ Meele said, her voice made of ice. ‘She had Grace. Now she has Piper too. What’s to explain?’