“I’m sorry, Helena,” she says earnestly. “If you’re not comfortable with this… I mean, do you think I should come clean? Try to reason with them?”
“I can’t answer that for you. Only you have the lived experience of your relationship with your sisters to guide your answer. I can only encourage you to believe in yourself, Lizzy. In your magic. In your purpose. Act from that place inside you, and you’ll never go wrong.”
The witch turns to me with a look that can only be described as hopeful, her face utterly open. Vulnerable. There beyond the hazy influence of the marijuana, beyond the frivolousness and pettiness I’m beginning to suspect is more a protective barrierthan a character flaw, lies a deeply wounded and deeply serious woman. A woman who truly does want to find her purpose. To make a difference in this world.
Mastering her witchcraftisher soul’s purpose—one I’m meant to guide her through. One she’strustingme to guide her through. That I’m also meant to betray that trust is a cruelty I am only just beginning to fathom. One I won’t allow myself to dwell upon, lest it inspire doubt.
I picture Matthias behind his obsidian desk. The smug satisfaction of knowing he has all the power. That he can pull the puppet strings—or cut them, make my existence an eternity of abject misery, should I disappoint him again.
No. There is no room for distraction here. No room for error. The ruseisthe mission, and I will not fail.
“It’s excellent counsel,” I confirm, raising my teacup toward Helena. “One we could all benefit from following.”
Helena’s gaze turns piercing and shrewd, so intently fixed upon me I’m certain she can read my ill intent. But I reach innocently for another biscuit, and she merely sighs and says, “As much as I’m a proponent of self-reflection and inner growth, the more pressing issue is the degradation of the portal and the mounting demonic threat. We can’t afford to sit idly by, waiting for the other two Bonnivarde witches to step into reality and seize the sword.”
“Helena, what more can you tell me about the demonic threat?” I ask. “All I’m sensing is a bit of weakness, some energetic seepage that might allow an imp or two to slip through undetected. Concerning, of course, but that’s nothing we can’t remedy. Especially once Miss Bonnivarde comes more fully into her magic.”
“She can’t, though,” Helena says. “Not without the grimoire.”
“That’s why we’re here, actually,” Miss Bonnivarde says. “I need it for my studies. Do you really believe it’s missing? There’sso much junk in the house—maybe it’s just stuffed in a box somewhere.”
The woman gives her gray head a firm shake. “You won’t find it in a box. The grimoire was stolen, Lizzy. By the same monsters who murdered your mother. They’d been after it—and her—for decades.”
My stomach sinks. A lost grimoire is one thing. Lost objects can be found. Tracking spells, recovery rituals. Difficult, but not impossible.
A stolen grimoire, on the other hand… by malicious actors, to boot... I close my eyes, try to steady my breathing. Matthias will need to be told. It won’t go well.
Damn it.
“I thought my mother had a heart attack?”
“She did,” Helena confirms. “From the poison she was given by her killers. Carefully crafted and administered to avoid detection.”
“Who are these men?” I ask, though I suspect—and fear—I already know the answer.
“The filthy spawn of the same men who killed Calista,” she replies, her jaw tight. “The men who’ve been hunting their family—and other witches’ families—for generations.”
“The hunters?” Miss Bonnivarde sets down her teacup, her face blanching. “But I thought… Dr. Sutherland, you told me they died out.”
“The original perpetratorshave, I assure you. We’d assumed the brotherhood itself had gone dormant soon after Davina came into power, if not vanished entirely.” I clench my jaw. More bad news Matthias will need to be told. Demons rely on witches as consensual participants in summonings. Hunters disrupt the entire ecosystem.
“They never really disbanded,” Helena says. “Just went underground, biding their time. Their mission lives on, passeddown through the generations, just like the Bonnivarde mission.”
Miss Bonnivarde looks positively stricken. “You’re telling me there’s some crazy, witch-murdering cult somewhere out there—present tense, right now—plotting to obliterate my family?”
“Notsomewhere, Lizzy,” Helena says. “Everywhere. Their network stretches far and wide, across every state and country, across every generation. Dr. Sutherland is partly right—theyweredormant. For decades. But recently, your mother and I started to suspect she was being targeted. Threatened. The police were useless—told her to come back when she had more than a ‘hunch’ to go on. Fat lot of good that did her when the bastards finally cornered her in the woods. If only I’d been there. Done something. I…” She trails off, shaking her head. Tears glaze her eyes. “Sorry. Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
Miss Bonnivarde leans over to touch the woman’s arm. “It’s not your fault, Helena. I’m sure my mother knows that.”
Helena pats her hand. “In any case, I think it’s safe to assume the Wielders of the Righteous Flame won’t rest until they’ve eradicated witchkind from existence. Your mother was their most recent target, but they’re not done. You can bet they’ll be after you and your sisters next. Especially once you start harnessing your magic—that’s when you’re the most useful to them.”
“But if demons are on the same side as witches about this,” says Miss Bonnivarde, “how come no one’s teamed up to stop them? The hunters are just humans, right? No supernatural powers or anything? No magic of their own?”
“Power is its own kind of magic,” I say. “Often stronger than spells and curses, especially in a world that values it above humanity. Individual perpetrators can be stopped, can even be killed. But stopping the machine behind them, the system that thrives on the suffering and subjugation of others…” I shakemy head. “That’s always been a complicated proposition. At this point, we must focus on?—”
“No, I’m not buying that,” she snaps. “Nuclear physics is complicated. Making pizza that’s thin enough to fold in one hand, crisp enough to be satisfying, and sturdy enough to hold multiple toppings? Also complicated. Bringing despicable monsters to justice is simple, once you strip away all the bullshit excuses. Whenever it’snotsimple, it’s for a simple reason: bad men doing bad things.”
“That’s the entire history of the world, Miss Bonnivarde, and if you don’t believe me, I’ve got an entire archive of books to prove otherwise. I’m sure Helena’s shelves hold the same tale, told by many different authors across many genres and generations. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s true, and it’s something we’ll need to contend with, especially while you’re still learning to master your magic.”
