Page 32 of Rewitched

“You’re seeing someone. A man.”

That wasn’t entirely wrong. She had seen many men today. Warlocks, but still. It wasn’t quite lying to say that this whole mess at least involved a man. Because it did. Technically.

“Yes.” Belle threw up her hands in defeat. “A man. It is a man. I am seeing a man.” She gratefully clung to the lie like a life raft, a compromise solution to the questioning. From past experience, she knew that Ariadne wouldn’t rest until she got an answer that made sense, and this would have to do.

“And I couldn’t come to the picnic today because I was…sorting some things out with him. Making arrangements with him. The man. It’s complicated. With the man,” she added quickly.

“That goes without saying, when is it ever not complicated with you?” Ari scoffed, generously buttering yet another round of toast. “Is he treating you badly? I’ll fight him.”

“We just needed to talk today, to…make sure we’re on the same page.” Belle carefully navigated the hairline cracks she’d visited so often, wobbling between truth-telling and lie-avoiding. She scuffed her socks against the kickboards.

“Is he not a good communicator? Don’t go down that road again, no more emotionally unavailable losers for your collection. Or is this about your birthday? Don’t let thirty stress you. I keep telling you, it’s not a big deal. Don’t rush into anything.”

“I know what I’m doing…I think.”

“All I’m saying is, if it’s this complicated this early on, then it’s not going to end well. It sounds like he’s taking you for granted, whoever he is. I hate him already.” Ariadne shrugged and finished off her last bite, brushing crumby fingers across the butt of her jeans. “What’s he like, then, this mystery man?”

Belle cringed. “Different. Magical?”

Ariadne cackled at high volume. “Excuse me while I vomit.”

Belle couldn’t help but laugh, too. Looking at her friend, familiarity and security personified, filled her heart. But it also brought back the nipping memory of the voice she’d heard in the Hecate House tunnels.

How could you lie to me? Do you hate me that much? Do you not trust me? We’re supposed to be friends. Best friends.

Belle swallowed hard. “Ari?”

“Yup?”

“Sorry for lying. I should have told you. I would always choose you.”

Ari gave her a half-smile. “Get some sleep, you look knackered. See you in the morning.”

Heading into her room with a piece of toast in hand, Belle called goodnight back to the kitchen. Bed would solve all of her problems. Pushing the door closed with her hip, Belle vanished her contact lenses with a flourish and pointed towards her glasses resting on the side table. They glided through the air and came to rest on her nose, a trail of delicate sparks in a kite tail. She gave a sigh of instant relief, dead on her feet. She summoned her last ounce of energy to kick off her boots, circling her finger to unlace them magically—lazy but necessary. Finally, today called for her cosiest pyjamas, the soft tartan slipping itself over her arms and neatly buttoning up with a whirl of sparks.

She pressed her forehead against her bedroom window and exhaled, feeling the cold touch of wet condensation cool on her skin. Her breath fogged the glass as she looked down at the road below. The path was covered with a carpet of soggy scarlet leaves, turning soft like stewed apples in the drizzle. The autumn sun had long retreated into slumber for another evening, but the streetlights wavered like birthday candles behind the beaded raindrops on the glass, their pockets of gold breathing a lullaby over the street. Home.

That was it. Her thirtieth birthday over, certainly not one to be forgotten.

And now she had to wait for fate to find her.

11

Safely Near the Dead

THE MEMORY OF the trial paired with the dread of what was still to be decided had Belle a nervous wreck the following day. Even the usual peace and comfort of Lunar Books fell short, failing to measure up to the size of her worries. She couldn’t focus, her attention unravelling at any given moment. Pushing the loaded brass trolley towards the Sci-Fi and Fantasy section, Belle tried to console herself with the knowledge that at least somebody inside Hecate House was on her side. Bronwyn would be doing what she could to find an answer, seemingly set on making sure that the coven saw her again, thanks to whatever it was she saw in Belle. There was Caspar, too, who had expressed a fondness for her and her mother; that surely counted for something. She wondered idly if Rune might even be lending them a hand, then, blushing, dismissed the thought as unlikely. He would probably see little point in that without her being there to mock mercilessly with that infuriating side smile of his.

She loaded herself up with a stack of particularly dense hardbacks that were flying off the shelves ahead of Halloween, something about feral werewolves and a team of ladies who knew how to tame them. She struggled under the weight, balancing them beneath her chin as she manoeuvred them one at a time onto the display, but it felt good to be doing the usual after the most unusual of birthdays. At least Lunar existed, her bubble of contentment, wrapped in a cosy blanketing quiet that separated her two worlds and the two realms definitively.

“Hello, lovey.” Bronwyn appeared behind the stack of hardbacks as if from nowhere. “Appeared” being the operative word, and almost certainly from nowhere, too.

Belle was so surprised to see her—her high sage witch—in her bookshop, her distinctly non-wicche-realm-residing bookshop, that she leapt into the air, and her hands flew to her mouth, sending the remaining books in her arms to the floor with a crash. Heads spun in their direction as Belle stood motionless, all thoughts instantly draining from her brain. Bronwyn didn’t seem to notice that her arrival had caused mild chaos.

“What a lovely spot you have here! And I sensed the beautiful little incantations you’ve set up around the place, you should have told us all about them yesterday, you silly goose!” Bronwyn wagged her finger at Belle, who was fairly sure her heart had stopped the second the witch cried the word “incantations” in close proximity to customers.

“Ha. Ha. Right, Mrs. Gowden. You’re talking about that…that fantasy book I recommended last week? I knew you’d love it. Ha.” Belle spoke exaggeratedly and pointedly, hoping to hook an understanding Bronwyn. No such luck.

“Fantasy? Grizzled goatweed, not likely. They never get the magic theory right, they always overcomplicate things. More of a romance girly myself, Belle, the more swoon-worthy the better.”