Page 20 of Rewitched

On the left was Morena, surely six feet tall, straight as a broom and just as bristling. And on the right, barely visible over the top of the podium, was maybe the kindest-looking, roundest face that Belle had ever seen. This witch looked as though she’d give a wonderful hug. Her once red, now greying hair was bluntly cut under her chin, which only added to her pleasant shape, and unlike Morena, she looked to be having a lovely time. She smiled proudly at their newest visitor with her hands on her hips. A flush of pink was spread across her cheeks and button nose, and Belle was amazed to spot a tiny brown mouse sitting perfectly calmly, watching on with its paws curled over the front pocket of her cloak. She thought back to arriving at Hecate House, when she’d spotted the mouse by the willow. She should have known.

“Come on in, there we go. Don’t be scared, lovey,” the second witch said with beckoning arms.

She tottered over, her little legs hidden underneath her long skirt, giving the impression that she was gliding. She guided Belle farther into the courtroom with a reassuring arm, towards a three-legged stool in front of their podium.

“You’re going to take that seat in the middle, there. And then we can get started, petal.” She beamed.

Belle had barely dropped her bag and touched the seat when Morena spoke again, loudly and impatiently.

“Belladonna Blackthorn, your presence was summoned here today, as is the practice of—”

The pink-cheeked witch, having tottered back towards her place behind the podium, promptly whacked her sharp-nosed colleague on the arm with a tut.

“Hold on a minute there, Mor. Let the girl gather her thoughts. Let’s have a proper introduction. It’s an overwhelming experience, being in front of us old fogies. No offence, everyone.” She chuckled to herself, gesturing to the juries to her left and right.

Several members tittered graciously like old friends.

Morena prickled, folding her arms crossly.

“Belle, would you like some tea, dear? Talk amongst yourselves for a moment, folks,” the kind witch instructed the jury.

Before Belle could answer for herself, a pretty pink teapot appeared from the air in front of her with a burst of bright sparks and poured itself neatly into a matching teacup, complete with saucer, teaspoon and chocolate biscuit on the side.

“That’s kind of you,” Belle answered. “And I really am so sorry. It was a bit of…an adventure, finding the place. I’m sure my blood pressure will return to normal one day.”

A smell of honey wafted from the spout. The teaspoon stirred and tapped itself with a clink. Grateful for the sugar, Belle quickly drank the comforting chamomile and instantly felt soothed. She suspected that a particularly well-brewed calming potion might have had something to do with it.

“Yes, we should probably do something about that entry test,” the kind witch pondered, sipping her own tea nearby. “It’s supposed to be a callback to what those who came before us were forced to endure. If there’s one thing you can count on wicchefolk for, it’s a few theatrics. One does wonder why we’re so obsessed with tradition when the past was so bloody awful for everyone involved.”

“Once we’ve finished having our picnic and discussing the forecast for next week, it would perhaps be prudent to begin business. Before the next ice age lands upon us, preferably.” Morena stared down stony-faced from the height of the podium, her fingers tented in front of her in a stiffly drawn fail of patience.

“Sorry. Yes, absolutely. I’ve taken up enough of your time already this morning.” Belle inwardly cringed. Why did she feel the need to be so constantly polite? The only reason she was late was because these people had half dragged her to the brink of death this morning, and here she was, still determined to be liked by them.

“Don’t you worry, deary,” her new favourite person said, fanning away her apology. “We have put you through rather a lot this morning, it’s understandable to be a bit flappy. But if you are feeling ready, then we shall certainly proceed. Would you like to introduce yourself?”

No, thank you. Belle stood up hesitantly. Each of her limbs felt excessively long, like they were made of noodles. How did she normally stand? She shifted from one leg to the other. Every pair of eyes in the room was focused intently on her.

She coughed. “I’m Belle. Blackthorn. Belladonna, but I mean, obviously no one calls me that because…it’s a lot. Thanks for having me. This is great. Really…great. I’m thirty today. Thanks for coming to my birthday party. I live in London. I’m a Libra. I like piña coladas, getting caught in the rain.” She scratched at her forearm. “I’m not sure what else to say.”

“You can just state your name, dear. It’s for the records.”

“Oh. Well, Belle Blackthorn, then.”

The pleasant witch clapped her hands together twice and gave a happy nose scrunch. She cast her hands towards the sky, and with a bright beam of her magic, the enormous presence of the pendulum stilled mid-swing. Within the fireplace, the flames ceased to dance. Dust particles hanging in the air began to float at only the tiniest fraction of their normal speed, as though time itself were standing still entirely for everyone and everything in the world except those present in the courtroom. Belle wondered if, perhaps, it really was.

The bright lights came down to a sulking darkness, and the rustling of murmured chatter came to an unnerving, perfect quiet. Morena cleared her throat importantly, gripping the edges of the walnut podium to glare down at Belle. She had evidently been chomping at the bit for her moment.

“Belladonna Blackthorn, your presence was summoned—”

“Oh, rubber ducks and bat whistles, Morena! Our introductions! We forgot! You’d think in all the years we’ve been doing these blasted hearings—”

Thunder flooded Morena’s gaunt face. She looked entirely affronted, as her short companion interrupted the beginnings of her speech with a cheery chuckle and a palm to the forehead. The pendulum began swinging again in its slow heartbeat of a rhythm, and the lights lifted as though someone had yelled “Cut!”

“I tell you, Belle dear, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. And a headless witch is never going to be too popular mixing amongst the non-wicche. I think they might spot something was afoot.” The short witch chortled. Her rambling received another generous rumble of jury laughter. “Belle, I believe you’ve already met my sweetness and light sister, but this is she. Morena Gowden, as we all live and breathe.”

Morena had still not quite managed to compose her indignation. She looked thunderously at her sister, shooting daggers with her eyes and quite possibly wishing she had a real one to use. Belle hoped there wasn’t any kind of spell which created looks that could kill, because if so, she was about to witness sororicide.

“And I am the better half of the Gowden sisters.” The small witch winked. “Bronwyn Gowden,” she said, tapping her chest vigorously and only just missing the mouse in her pocket.