by Cate Corvin
He helped me into the back of the van and handed me the first aid kit, his dark eyes sharp. Usually he would force me to sit while he played doctor, but he could obviously tell that I didn’t want to linger there, and what little healing power he had was tapped for now. I found the antibacterial spray and alcohol wipes while he started the van.
“I should have used what energy I had on you, not a pet,” he muttered under his breath. “Explain.” The demand was clipped and non-negotiable.
I opened the first aid kit, peeled my jeans down until my calves were exposed, and wiped away blood that was beginning to crust. The van rumbled as we fled Azalea Street.
“The walkers outside the doors were… restless,” I said, unsure of how to phrase it any better. The walkers in the mist never came near the windows. As far as witches knew, they were restless spirits for the most part, but some were probably more sinister than others. It was the foundation for one of the most basic rules of mirrorwalking: never open the outside doors.
Witches who did open the doors or windows almost always wound up dead. Nobody was sure if there were any survivors from doing so, or what they had seen out there. The world outside the house a witch entered weren’t for the living.
“When I went in, everything was as it should be,” I continued. I wouldn’t use the word normal. That word had no business describing the land of the dead. I told him about the strange presence, and the sudden appearance of the rose. “Someone was in there with me, and I didn’t see them,” I finished bitterly. It was a blow to my pride, as well as my expertise.
Eric sighed, shaking his head, but his face was still tight with worry. “It’s best if you don’t mirrorwalk for a while,” he finally said. I knew he was thinking of Father. “You can’t argue that things aren’t changing. It feels like Bellhallow all over again.”
I scoffed as I pressed gauze against the scratch in my leg, which wasn’t as deep as it had first appeared. The blood was staunched, the wound already clotting. The first aid kit had plenty of bandages. I’d be fine in a few hours. “I can’t not mirrorwalk,” I said incredulously. “That’s half the jobs we take. Can you take us to Carrie’s, please? There’s a cinnamon bun out there with my name on it.”
He pulled onto the highway with a screech, shaking his head, and I held back a smile, almost falling into the wall from the force of it. Kicking ass and taking names was hard work. I was always hungry.
“Morena, I’ve known and protected you since you were born,” he said. I glanced towards the front at him, searching the emotional climate on small slice of his face that I could see.
Eric had never been an open book, but I could read him as good as any. He was going into Rabidly Overprotective Guardian mode now, the role that he had promised my father he would take, versus his usual Slightly Less Vehement but Still Intensely Overprotective Guardian mode. “I’ve been an anchor for the Bells for thirty years, since the very first time John ever walked through a mirror. And never, in all that time, have I heard of something like this happening. Spirits don’t usually hunt witches down to leave personal tokens behind. And you not seeing it? It’s an anomaly we don’t need to get involved with on top of everything else.”
I appreciated his protectiveness, I truly did, but this was my job, even if I was alone and covenless. It was the only thing tying me to the mortal world, keeping me hidden from the absurd and pervasive politics of the other covens. If I gave up on Bell, Book & Candle for the sake of safety, I might as well go crawling to the nearest coven now, begging them to take in the last pathetic remnant of the once-great Bell family.
“I have to keep going, Eric. I need to do this myself. If… if we go back to Bellhallow, and the other covens find out I can’t solve a problem or exorcise a spirit on my own, they’ll smell my weakness and eat me alive.”
Once again, the impending threat of the abandonment statute loomed in my mind like a threatening storm. I could run as fast as possible, but the past had a way of catching up when I least expected it.
Eric’s face darkened. He’d already expressed his feelings on wanting to go home and reform our coven. “They won’t be doing anything but dividing Bellhallow among themselves if you get yourself killed,” he said. “And I’ve seen enough dead Bells for one lifetime.”
I needed a change of jeans. I twisted around, plopped on a plastic crate of sensor cameras in the back of the van, and started pushing boxes aside. It was much harder to see in the fading light of the evening. “How did we accumulate so much shit back here?” I asked, digging around in the mess. My spare clothing bag was buried under a singed backpack, a remnant from the fateful Gas Oven Spirit of Leeds Point. My eyebrows had almost gone with it.
“Don’t change the subject,” Eric said patiently. He was far too used to my evasion by now. I didn’t even really try anymore. “We need to go back to Bellhallow, and not just because of the statute. Whatever you saw in the deadside tonight requires research and consideration before you find yourself between a rock and a hard place.”
I froze in the process of removing my boots, a cold trickle seeping down my spine. “I’m not going back there right now,” I said roughly, yanking my boots the rest of the way off. My sock was stiff with blood. I shimmied out of my ruined jeans while Eric kept his gaze resolutely forward, concentrating on the road.
“You inherited one of the most impressive libraries of any coven,” he said, his voice hard. “If there is anything on unnatural disturbances in the deadside, we’ll find it there.”
“I can’t go back!” I snapped. Hot tears stung my eyes, and I brushed them away harshly before pulling my new jeans on, moving them gingerly over the bandaging. “I can’t see it; I can’t smell it. I can’t be near that godforsaken heap, and I won’t go.”
I glared at the edge of his profile. His jaw was set, his shoulders stiff, but he raised a hand. “If something goes wrong on the deadside, I can’t walk in after you… and there’s nothing I could do to bring you back. You say you’re careful but you’re not, Morena. You jump in without looking. Being a Bell witch doesn’t make you invincible. It’s just a name.”
I laced my boots, biting my lip. He was like a dog with a bone, refusing to give in, but he was also right.
“It’s too painful,” I whispered, clambering back into the passenger’s seat and buckling my seatbelt when he eyed me. “How can you stand to go back to where it happened? After what we saw?”
Eric finally turned his head my way, his lips set, and eyes boring into me. “There is nowhere I wouldn’t go to keep you alive,” he said. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do. I wish you would see that, Mor.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I really was sorry, for being so terrible to the one person in this world I had left. “I’m just not ready to go back yet. Six years wasn’t enough time.”
It had been five and half years since I had walked out the gates of Bellhallow, locking them behind me, but did I still really have a reason to avoid it besides my own inability to accept what had happened? I had money, means, and a comfortable home if I wanted those things. I didn’t have to live out of a shitty apartment and junker van. All I had to do was return home and declare myself a covenstead.
But that would mean dealing with the other covens, and their masters and mistresses, the endless song and dance of their bullshit politics juxtaposed against the place where my loved ones had died.
Eric’s eyes were warm as he looked me over. “I know,” he said. “It wasn’t enough. But you’re my responsibility. If there’s something I can do to make sure you’re safe, then I need to do it, even if it means going back to Bellhallow.”
“There has to be another way,” I said, letting out a sigh. “Without disturbing the other covens or Bellhallow. We can do this ourselves. I don’t need a library to do my job.”
Eric raised his eyebrows, his forearm flexing as he gripped the steering wheel. “We’ve been doing everything ourselves for years, Mor. We’ve talked about every possible reason for why i
t happened, and we’re no closer to the truth than we were when we started.” He took a deep breath. “Will you stay at my house tonight?”
A few more curls popped out of my messy braid when I shook my head. It would be impossible to get a good night’s sleep knowing I was under the same roof as him. As far as servitors and witches went, our relationship was incredibly dysfunctional.
He also betrayed his genuine worry by asking at all. Eric usually respected my need for space, given our history.
“I’m going to walk home from here. I need to think about things,” I said, looking away. He knew exactly why I refused, as I always did, but he wouldn’t press me. Every time, I wished he would. “About what to do.”
“There’s only one thing we can do. I’d walk to the ends of the earth for you, and I wish I could protect you from facing the past, but I can’t handle…”
I let him trail off into silence. Another death. That’s what went unsaid between us.
I wished I could put into words that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t been responsible for whatever my parents had done.
Even put so plainly, he wouldn’t take it to heart. He had already internalized that their deaths were his fault because he hadn’t been with them the night they’d died.
My father had sent Eric away on an errand. I had been in Rosethorne with Joss Thorne, my best friend, playing our stupid teenage games and getting into trouble.
My servitor had never forgotten that he hadn’t been with his best friend, my father, when he’d needed Eric the most… and I had yet to forgive myself for not being at home, where I could have done something to prevent a tragedy.
But still, I’d made a life for myself upon leaving Bellhallow by starting my own exorcism business, and I’d make my own mark on the world without my parents’ fame to back me.
I’d be damned if I let that go without a fight.
3
Carrie’s Diner was one of my favorite places in Ashville. She was the Fairy Godmother of coffee and cinnamon buns, two of my favorite things on this planet.
When we arrived, I patted Eric’s arm with a grateful smile before I slid from the junkmobile but pulled my hand away quickly. His skin was warm and smooth… and not mine to touch.
Our once-white van was gray with dust, and the left rear door had been replaced with a lime green one, but the company logo was still emblazoned proudly on the side: Bell, Book, & Candle Paranormal Investigation. I loved the van despite its faults.
Eyes that used to spear us with laser-like focus upon arrival now slid right by as we walked into the diner. We were old hat in Carrie’s at this point, and I’d done enough exorcisms in the area for the locals to realize I was the real deal, despite my lack of a covenstead. The humans might never be fully comfortable around a witch, but at least we’d become a background fixture instead of a spectacle.
I dropped into a booth as Eric sat across from me with lithe grace. Carrie, as always, would bring me coffee blacker than the abyss and a cinnamon bun drenched with icing. I blessed and purified the diner once a month, and it didn’t hurt that Carrie was sweet on Eric, which meant the coffee was free.
The Godmother herself, a plump, grandmotherly woman, arrived with a fresh pot of coffee, giving Eric a shy smile with vivid scarlet lips. “Usual’s comin’ right up, moon pie.” Sometimes I liked to purr moon pie at Eric the way Carrie did, just to see him flush.
This time, though, Eric gazed out the window pensively, his eyes settled on our junker. “Are you going to brood for the rest of the day?” I asked. He could be pensive, but he usually wasn’t gloomy. He was my rock, my literal anchor to this world. I couldn’t have lasted this long in the human world, nor would I have left Bellhallow as anything less than a screaming wreck, without him.
I steered my thoughts away firmly. There was no point ruminating on the past. There was only now, and Eric was still with me despite the gulf between us. It was only because of a promise to my father, but even after Father’s death, Eric hadn’t broken his word.
I couldn’t help but wonder sometimes if his loyalty was more to my father, or to me.
Eric looked back at me, his lips parting like he was about to speak, but we both felt a warlock enter our vicinity at the same exact moment and he tensed. My mental wards buzzed in the back of my skull, reaching out to touch the stranger.
They grasped at me, a signature that felt like a breath of cool wind and the glint of the moon on water. A stranger- I’d never felt them before.
The bell over the diner door tinkled, and a Warden walked in. I felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped down my back. He filled the doorway like a dark monolith, wearing enchanted armor, an ouroboros medallion gleaming on his chest.
Every human in Carrie’s had gone dead silent. One man even slipped out the back, but the Warden didn’t seem to care. He narrowed in on me like a homing beacon… a gorgeous homing beacon, tall and broad-shouldered. Chocolate brown eyes framed in thick lashes took me in from head to toe, but a faint sneer touching his full lips marred his otherwise-beautiful features. Hair as dark as an ink spill was a little untidy, and several scars traced the edge of his sharp jaw.
He strolled through the diner without a care, like he had me trapped and he knew it.
Problem was, I hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, and he was interrupting my precious coffee time. I didn’t bother to get up to greet him, electing to rip open a packet of sugar and dump it in my mug as the Warden stopped in front of our table.
“What can we do for you, Warden?” Eric asked smoothly, cutting across my much-ruder words before I could speak. Was this particular Warden unaware of the sanctity of coffee hour?
“I’m looking for Covenmistress Morena Bell.” Hecate help me, he even had a sexy voice, deep and confident. Now, that was patently unfair.
I took a sip of scalding hot coffee, burning the roof of my mouth. “That would be me, but something tells me you already know that.”
“Obviously.” He jerked his chin towards the window, at the Junkmobile with the company name painted on the side. “How many mirrorwalkers named Bell can one city hold?”
The coffee needed more cream, but Carrie had vanished. Everyone else was watching us with wide eyes. “Okay, you found me. Congratulations. What do you want?”
I knew that later I’d feel bad for being rude, but my heart was thumping. A Warden had found me. If he could do it, anyone could.
It might be time to pack up and go.
“I’m here to serve you with a Notice of Covenstead Abandonment. In five months, the six-year limitation on abandonment will pass. If you don’t reclaim your property within that time, all assets belonging to Bellhallow will be divided equitably among-”
“Whoa, excuse me,” I said, standing up. The thump of my heart had become a painful drumming. The past had finally caught up… but how? I’d gone out of my way to avoid contact with all witchkind since I’d chosen exile. “First off, how did you find me? Second, I haven’t abandoned it. It’s been more like… an extended vacation. Oh, and what’s your name? You know my name, only seems fair that I know yours, too.”
The Warden gave me a slow, cruel smirk, and held up a scroll: the Covenstead Abandonment notice. “Warden Luka Stone. Regardless of what you consider an ‘extended vacation’, the fact remains that you’ve allowed your covenstead to fall into neglect. Nobody is exempt from the Statute of Covenstead Abandonment. Not even those who ride on the coattails of their parents’ fame.”
That explained the baseless dislike. I wanted to tell this prick that I’d never wanted my parents’ fame anyways, but a dick like him, no matter how handsome, wasn’t worth wasting my breath on. “You didn’t answer my first question, you ass-hat. Do you have a fetch? Did you break into my manor and find some old hair? That’s a violation of personal autonomy-”
Eric gripped my shoulder, silencing me when he squeezed firmly. I shut my mouth with a snap. “What do we need to do about the statute?” Thank Hecate for Eric and his much c
ooler head.
Warden Stone was of a height with my servitor, which was saying something. He looked down at me with a mixture of amusement and blatant derision. “You need to conduct the official Grand Rite of Initiation to claim your covenstead, and actually live in it. That’s what they’re meant for, Bell. They’re sentient magical constructs, not vacation homes.” For a second, he gritted his teeth like he was biting back an insult. “If you can’t handle your own covenstead, we can bypass the Statute and distribute it to a witch family who will take care of it.”
Sickening guilt rose under my irritation. He was right, the smug fucker. Bellhallow wasn’t just a mansion; it was more like a family member, a construct that had witnessed generations of Bell witches be born, live, and die in its walls.
And for almost six years, it’d been sitting alone in the mountains, crumbling away from my neglect.
“Fine.” Eric took the scroll from his outstretched hand, and Warden Stone’s smile grew a little wider. “We’ll take care of it before the limitations are up.”
“Oh, we’re not done here, servitor. Covenstead abandonment’s not the only black mark against Bell.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, pushing back the prickling anger of my wards. This asshole was just begging for a curse. “No? What else do you want?”
“You owe Grimmcliff reparations for stealing one of their petitions.” Warden Stone mimicked my gesture, but he was looking down at me from almost a foot overhead, which was more than a little annoying. “Let’s see. June 17th, you exorcised a spirit from a gas oven in Leeds Point. That’s Grimmcliff territory.”
He couldn’t be serious. The woman in Leeds Point had called me after months of trying in vain to petition a coven for help. “They weren’t handling it, now were they?”
“Doesn’t matter. Them’s the rules. Their territory, their petition, their money.” Warden Stone’s dark eyes sparkled, like he was actually enjoying this. “Funny, I got the assignment to take care of a petition-thief, and who drops into my lap but Morena Bell, the missing prodigal? Guess you weren’t as smart about hiding as you thought you were.”