Page 21 of Rewitched

8

Meeting of Minds

BELLE DID A less than great job of hiding her sudden understanding, the realisation painted across her face. The Gowden sisters were legendary. Even she, with her limited knowledge of the world of witchcraft, instantly recognised the names. In her defence, they were older now than their iconic portraits in the grimoire. Although saying that, it was almost guaranteed that the sisters had taken the pledge of the cauldron, an esteemed decision presented to Selcouth’s elite, to stretch the normal passing of their human years in the name of bettering their magic for the good of wicche-kind. Age really was just a number in this realm.

It was well known that the sisters, while not the slightest bit similar in appearance, were equally matched in their unrivalled levels of magical ability. In passing chats with Belle about coven history over the years, Bonnie had told the inspiring story of how the sisters had swiftly risen from obscurity to the top of the coven, thanks to clear skill and natural prowess, following the untimely death of the previous sage. The coven had fallen into turmoil, but these two women raised it from the ashes in a united front of sisterhood. They were widely respected and admired, revered even, by any and all who encountered them. Their grasp of the magical arts was said to be exceptional, bending usual boundaries to their will. She’d heard many times from her mother that, although they often bickered over anything at all—tradition versus modernisation, spell lore, tea readings, soap operas—they always stood together for the coven. They had steered it through uncertain times of history with an unyielding stance. The Gowden sisters could always be trusted to do what was right for Selcouth. That included, it would seem, delivering final verdicts on its future via EquiWitch trials.

“We will be conducting your hearing today. You may even enjoy yourself, love. We do have a laugh here, we do get a bit silly,” Bronwyn said, as she gestured to the rows of jury members quietly observing.

“You’ve got Cas there, Caspar Strix. Balancer here at Selcouth, the one to make sure everything is conducted properly and fairly. A useful man to butter up, aren’t you, Cas?” Bronwyn gave a tinkling wave to the man at the front left of the jury.

He sent a grand and kindly nod in Belle’s direction.

“There’s Andromeda there, and Felix and Wilmott. I probably don’t have time to introduce everybody, or Morena will have me strung up. But if you stay for the lunch spread once we’ve wrapped up, then you’re sure to meet us all properly for a natter. We’re a friendly bunch, Belle. Oh, and Elspeth, she’s your girl if you’re in need of any winter recipes. Makes a smashing cheese soup, does our Elspeth.”

Elspeth, with tight dark ringlets underneath her hat, gave a quick wave to make herself known and replied, “Yoo-hoo!”

“Wow, great. Cheese soup sounds…great,” said Belle, trying to seem enthusiastic.

“And Aoife and Ike and Spottswood. And that handsome devil to the back is Rune. The coven’s rising star, that one. I believe you two are already familiar. Maybe you can give him a run for his money, Belle,” Bronwyn said proudly.

Belle startled. Bronwyn was referring to a man who’d seated himself at the back of the right-hand jury. Bronwyn wasn’t wrong about the handsome part. He leaned against the side of the pew with long limbs, all angles and presence, an air of distinct, detached boredom but passive grace. Dark hair brushed the shoulders of his long black leather coat, a single curl falling forwards, and a shadow of stubble added to the angles of his face. He played absent-mindedly with the silver ring on his thumb. He was the warlock who’d appeared at the bookshop—of course.

“You’re too good to me, Bron,” he replied, and gave Belle a nod, faintly amused. Rune removed his glasses, breathed on them to fog the lenses, and began to polish them with the untucked tail of his shirt, all while keeping his eyes firmly on her.

“Hi, birthday girl.”

What felt like several slow-motion moments later, Belle tore her gaze away from Rune and his ridiculous coat straight back to Bronwyn, listening intently and decidedly not letting her eyes wander anywhere else. Belle hoped that the burn she could feel in her cheeks wasn’t visible under the low lighting.

“It’s lovely to meet you. All of you, finally.”

“This is your coven, Belle. All except your lovely mum, of course. I’m sure you understand that family members are not permitted to sit for an EquiWitch. We’ve no time for nepotism. But I’m sure Bonnie is waiting to hear all about it. We are ready to welcome your endarkenment with open arms.”

Belle took a second to glance across the jury again. This was it. The entire gathering of witches, warlocks and wicchefolk alike in the United Kingdom. Those who had been found or sought out or had openly declared themselves, anyway. There seemed so few of them in the grand scheme of things and yet more than she’d ever considered before. Unexpectedly, she found herself longing to be a part of it. Properly. To know them. Some more than others.

“You see? We don’t bite,” Bronwyn added. “Unless you’re a biscuit, then I’m afraid you are in trouble.”

“I am so glad I’ve spent vast years of celestial existence on this planet only to wither and die while waiting for this wretched hearing to finally begin,” Morena interrupted, shuffling a stack of papers atop the podium.

Bronwyn ignored her, only smiling wider at Belle. “It’ll be more of a…lovely chat. A reintroduction after fifteen years. All right, poppet? Wonderful, wonderful. Go on, then, Mor.” Bronwyn wrapped a firm arm around the side of her sister, who instantly went rigid and leaned away at a sharp angle. “Do your thing, all of the dramatics. I know you do so enjoy making the children cry.”

Morena rolled her eyes so dramatically that it seemed to Belle she could probably see the back of her own skull in great detail. She clapped twice with long, spindly fingers to summon silence in the courtroom before casting her hands towards the sky. All sound and movement seemed to cut from the air once again as the pendulum froze mid-swing, taking out the fire with it. The lights faded to eerie dimness.

“Belladonna Blackthorn, your presence was summoned here today, as is the practice of our preternatural kind, to deliver you unto a life of true eternal magic.”

Morena read from an unfurled scroll levitating to her right, but she clearly knew the ceremonial speech by heart and was delivering it with marked enthusiasm.

“We congratulate you on your thirtieth orbital completion within the non-wicche realm. This feat brings with it myriad trials and questions upon yourself, your mind and your existence.”

Dramatic but not wrong, Belle thought. Her late twenties had indeed been constant, incessant trials and questions about herself, her mind and her existence.

“This, the greatest and most important of traditions, shall mark the conclusion to your endarkenment, and be held here today, the first day of the month, Winterfylleth. Do you agree to submit to your trial with truth, certainty and bravery in thunder, lightning and in rain?”

It seemed to Belle that Morena was enjoying her role a little too much. Belle shuffled uncomfortably on her hands, perched on the rickety wooden stool, then realised that Morena was waiting for a response. “Oh, of course. Truth, certainty and…”

“Bravery, dear,” Bronwyn said, nodding enthusiastically.

“That’s the one.” Belle clicked. “Yes. Bravery.”