Page 36 of Rewitched

“Quite. It’s not obligatory, nor as frightening as it sounds—particularly when you remember that half of this blasted city is built on top of plague pits, anyway.”

“And if you’ve got something precious that you want to keep hidden from prying eyes, like an archival register of coven members’ names and locations…” Belle started to fill in the blanks.

“Which could cause revolutionary chaos in the wrong hands,” Bronwyn nodded knowingly. “Then you keep it safely near the dead. They tend to be the best at keeping secrets. People who are alive get too spooked to go poking around.”

“Right. So, where is this ossuary?”

“The library, of course. Anything of importance is always in the library, dear.”

12

Artorius Day

THE LIBRARY OF Hecate House looked similar to the courtroom but was darker, sleepier and mustier. The smell was sort of coffee, sort of chocolate, earthy and dusty and sweet. Like the bookshop, if it had been operating underground for a few centuries. There must have been thousands upon thousands of books inside. They left little room to even shuffle oneself between the corridors of endless pages and waxy spines. Belle and Bronwyn were forced to repeat their steps more than once, bringing a whole new meaning to getting lost in a good book. Belle noticed several piles heaped so high that they swayed precariously, only holding their balance through the presence of an invisible enchantment stringing them up to the ceiling.

The single sound was the turning of pages against the soft crackle of burning fireplaces. Some of the books seemed to be reading themselves, unless their readers were invisible, which, Belle thought, was entirely possible.

Leading the way through the library’s maze, Bronwyn cast out her palms, each hand emitting an illuminating beam like a torch and leaving a trail of glittering magic dust in their wake. Belle followed the magic like breadcrumbs, attempting to find her footing. In her clumsiness, her elbow knocked a clothbound copy to the floor. She stooped to pick it up. Merlin-Worthy Millinery: Stitch a Modern Take on the Classic Sorcerer Hat.

“Plenty of time for browsing later, deary. We’re over here, in the Lore and Resources section.”

Careful to keep both elbows in, Belle stopped in her tracks. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed reading nooks nestled deeply between the towering shelves. Each nook, with desks and armchairs and lamps poised to help escape into someone else’s words, was in front of a large window. One showed the rolling countryside. Another the bustling city. The beach, the desert, the night sky, the morning sunrise. A woodland, a glen, a cottage, a poolside. The past, the present, the future.

“A neat little bit of bewitching, don’t you agree? Something Rune rustled up…For himself more than anyone else, I think. Don’t tell him I said that. Fixed to transport the reader to wherever they may wish to go. The magic adapts to reflect the pages they’re reading.”

Bronwyn carried on ahead as Belle stared in wonder at the window to her left, which showed an inviting forest cabin, and made a mental note to try it for herself if she ever returned. She hastened to catch up as the sage witch beckoned her to the main desk, which lay at the centre of the library. Behind it stood a lady who Belle could only assume had been living down there for several hundred years and not missed the fresh air enough to leave at any point.

She was bent almost double in her old age, a huge knot in her spine protruding through the form of her cloak. Although stitched with the coven’s constellations, the brilliance of the thread was fading, dimmer and fainter than those of her younger peers. She was hazardously leaning her frail frame against a gnarled walking stick while she catalogued a pile of titles in slow motion. Belle felt like she should run over and lean her back the other way to stop her from toppling straight over. Smoky grey hair reached her knees in a thick plait, with wilting flowers and thistles the colour of tea stains entwined through the braid. She herself looked translucent and brittle, like she may be fading away before their eyes.

“Bron!” the old librarian croaked, and creaked as she turned, pivoting dangerously on her stick. “I’ve put a stack of new romances to one side for you. One about a captain and a scullery maid which is right up your street, and…”

“Not today, thank you, Sybil. Although do keep that to one side, it sounds a bit of me. I need to fetch the Lore Key from you, please, my love.”

Sybil’s eyebrows shot up in surprise with a la-di-da expression. She spoke with a strong Welsh accent. “All business today, eh? Oh, is this the EquiWitch I’ve heard so much about? Bonnie’s girl? Lacquered lizards, don’t she look like Alvina? Got the nose and the nervous fidgeting and everything.”

Sybil grinned at Belle, revealing several missing teeth. Belle, instantly self-conscious, dropped her hands from picking at her cuticles and held them firmly at her sides.

“Syb is the long-time librarian here at Hecate House. She’s your woman for any book you could ever need. Potion recipes, incantation writing, Earth Sorcery theory…Or a spot of fiction. She knows I’m partial to a swashbuckling sex bomb. Spent a summer with a handsome pirate once. Never got over him, truth be told.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Belle said quickly to the librarian, who continued to look her up and down with curiosity.

“The Lore Key, Syb?” Bronwyn reminded the woman. While Bronwyn spoke to Sybil, Belle absent-mindedly picked up a copy of Thine Newborn Toad. It croaked a wet belch as she opened the cover, which, to her horror, was thickly slimy to touch.

“Ferns and figs, the Lore Key? That old thing. Now, where did I last see it?”

Belle privately marvelled that these two were the perfect example of “the ones you least expect.”

“I tell you, it’s been a long while since anyone’s dug that out, Bron. I haven’t got a clue where it is, I won’t lie to you. Let me concentrate for a moment. Pardon me for a second, Ms. Blackthorn. Much obliged.”

Belle expected Sybil to start searching through the drawers and cupboards set within the desk, which curved around her in a rich oak crescent. But instead, Sybil simply closed her eyes. Wobbling dangerously as she righted herself onto her stick, she waved one palm over her other. A small ball of silver light formed in her fist and opened to reveal a tarnished key.

“Knew it was in there somewhere,” Sybil muttered to herself. “Not as easy for me to conjure these days as it once was.”

She handed the key to Bronwyn, who wrapped both her hands around Sybil’s to shake it with gratitude. “Many thanks, Syb. That’s good of you.” There was a pause as the old witches smiled affectionately at one another.

“Oh, Bron! Wasn’t expecting you today. What can I do for you?” Sybil’s glassy eyes suddenly seemed to glaze over. She turned back to Belle. “And who’s this young thing? My, you don’t half look like…”

Bronwyn smiled sadly. “You come by my office for a cup of tea when you’ve finished for the day, Syb.”