Page 19 of Rewitched

Belle eyed it suspiciously. “What is it?”

The large jet-black feather promptly leaked three thick, viscous drops of blackened, raven ink from its point onto the hem of her dress. She watched the syrupy liquid seep into the fabric, spreading slowly like black clouds.

“Standard EquiWitch contract. You shan’t hold Hecate House responsible for the manifests chosen at random, nor any loss of magic as a result of the outcome of your trial.”

“How about for the inflatable assault course of horror I just completed? Can I sue you for that?”

The woman simply stared. Belle sighed resignedly, reaching for the quill. As soon as she completed the “n” of “Blackthorn,” the contract tore from her hands and flew high into mid-air. It spun in a whirlwind, then burst into radiant purple flames. Within seconds, it had vanished in a flare of fire.

A loud bell clanged importantly from somewhere in the distance. The toll seemed to fill the whole space in a resounding echo.

“Saved by the bell from this arduous small talk, I’m sure we can both agree.” The woman adjusted her perfectly crisp hat and smoothed her sharply tailored trousers. “I wish you luck, Ms. Blackthorn. I suspect you may need it.” She paused for a moment, and Belle hoped she misheard her final words. “You shouldn’t have come.”

With a needle-pointed clicking of her heels against the stone floors, the woman turned and headed through an archway at the back of the room. Belle watched after her, mouth agape, until the final trail of plum-coloured cloak disappeared with a stretch of shadow.

The withdrawal of such an intimidating presence was palpable. Belle exhaled all formalities and let herself flump down onto the long wooden bench that lined the wall. The trial hadn’t even begun yet, and she was exhausted from the peaks and crashes of sheer adrenaline. She’d nearly drowned, or whatever the sand equivalent was. Touched the brink of madness, the sound of her own deepest nightmares come true. Unleashed wild, intuitive magic that she’d never seen herself show before. And that was all irrelevant anyway, because she had just been eviscerated by a simple conversation.

She gazed around the entryway she now found herself in. Like the corridor approach, the foyer was lit by flickering torches, although these flames had definitely been enchanted to a larger size than normal to cast a luxurious, balmy glow. Handsome patterned rugs in jewel colours stretched out through the room, and the bleached stone walls loomed high, huge slab stacked on huge slab. The walls were carved with patterns of archaic words, moons and stars in plinths and cornices at the ceiling. The cascading curtain which she’d accidentally transfigured hung down elegantly, and opposite was the archway through which the mystery woman had made her exit. It stood beneath an enormous serif inscription that read HECATE HOUSE.

“Ms. Belladonna Blackthorn, please proceed to the courtroom, post-haste. Thank you!” a voice rang out, then switched off abruptly, like a school hall megaphone.

She headed the only way that was available, through the shadowed archway, which held another heavy door.

Now Hecate House truly began. She stumbled back a few steps and shielded her eyes as the next room instantly flooded with golden light like a sunset, revealing something that could only be described as…wonderful.

The space was a gigantic and perfect circle, a rotunda with towering high walls that rose up into an elegant domed ceiling. Sweeping reams of deep violet velvet adorned the height all around, and each impressive curve was buttoned smartly with enormous elegant depictions of the twelve zodiac signs, all cast imposingly in bronze. A proud ram, which must have been ten feet tall, was hanging high. A Herculean bull, a regal lion, fish the size of whales triumphantly splashing. Each stood above a corresponding wooden door as though guarding it, twelve of them at intervals around the circular room like the points of a clock.

But the ceiling was what caught Belle in awe, and she nearly lost her balance as she craned her neck and held on to the brim of her hat to gaze straight upwards. Melting into the bows of velvet, the whole expanse was charged with lightning. Live electricity, a parachuting blanket of what looked like television static, crackling and popping as sparks flew in all directions, crashing and bouncing off one another, stars that were alive and flying. Rainbows of lights reflected like the most extreme disco ball, a mirrored mosaic of colour and energy. She recognised the glittering, firefly-like movements from her own finger, but this existed on a much larger hypnotising scale. The ceiling of Hecate House’s atrium was lined with pure magic, a woven tapestry of the precious power that ran through her every day. It was mesmerising to witness.

She only broke away her gaze when she caught sight of the floor, equally beautiful at her feet. Below her boots, vividly painted tiles of navy, cerulean and slate slotted together as an intricate puzzle to form a floor that depicted the night sky, wild and stirring with the smallest of details, just like the coven cloaks. An astrological sun and whimsical moon were woven together and surrounded by all of the stars imaginable, constellations and planets gilded with gold and set against the rich blue. She hardly dared walk across it.

Belle’s trance snapped as the loudspeaker sounded again with the same click. “Ms. Belladonna Blackthorn, courtroom, post-haste.”

She had entered from the twelfth doorway, the poised bow and arrow of Sagittarius above the doorway behind her. The tenth doorway had a looming set of swinging bronze Libra scales poised above it. Balance, harmony, decision, fairness…Her instinct decided that it made a certain amount of sense for it to be the courtroom. Taking soft steps over the beautiful floor, spinning as she crossed to catch every detail in the art that she could, Belle crossed to the tenth doorway.

A wall of excited chatter exuded the moment the door opened, but the thrum of noise shrunk back when her arrival was noticed. A sudden silence fell, cut through only by one or two throat clears. The courtroom of Hecate House stood proudly in front of her.

“Hi. Hellooo, hi.” She waved, then cringed. “I’m here for my EquiWitch hearing…trial…assessment…interview?” Belle made a conscious effort to straighten her spine and raise her gaze.

“We were beginning to think you must have expired along the way.”

The acerbic voice came from the same lady who had met her with winter’s frost earlier. She sounded distinctly disappointed that her suspicions had not proven correct.

The courtroom was almost entirely lined with hundreds, if not thousands, of richly coloured old books, shelved tightly together from floor to high concave ceiling, a mixture of jewel-shaded spines turning the background into a quilt of muted colours. A carefully placed brickwork of history and knowledge and magic. The heady scent of aged pages, the same smell as Lunar Books, was an unexpected comfort.

Nevertheless, her attention was drawn straight ahead of her to the centre of the far wall, where a magnificent golden pendulum spanned the entire height of the room. It swung heavily and grandly from the ceiling side to side, second by second, with an audibly deep whoosh, like a crash of distant waves. Beneath and behind it, a grand fireplace tiled in rich purple roared with dancing flames.

To the left and right of the pendulum were rows of dark wooden pews. Each seated a selection of wicchefolk who appeared to make up what would be the jury. Her coven. There could be a hundred of them, Belle thought, maybe more. They sat packed in so closely that they jostled shoulders, all wearing cloaks and hats that mirrored Belle’s own coven uniform, the glints of their personal constellation detail reflecting in the firelight, hat points dancing at all angles. Some were clutching papers, glancing at watches, reading books, while levitating pens and notebooks hovered patiently next to their wrists, poised for action. One man even had a grey typewriter floating over his lap, which clicked while diligently making notes on his behalf. All had simultaneously stopped their gossiping and turned their heads to peer at the flustered witch who’d burst through the door.

Belle could feel her cheeks burning.

“Oh, Morena, you are too harsh on these younger ones. Be nice, for once in your life.”

Belle was so relieved to finally hear a kind voice, that it wasn’t out of the question that she might burst into tears. Again. Instead, she gave a desperately grateful smile to the face it belonged to, which was suitably kind-looking to match.

“Hello there, love. Belle Blackthorn, is it? Of course it is. You don’t half look like your nan, and your mum for that matter.”

Directly in front of the pendulum were two women who couldn’t have been more chalk and cheese. Behind a grand wooden podium, intricately carved with the coven star at the centre, they looked comically opposite.