Page 4 of Rewitched

“Correspondence?” Belle interrupted.

The man’s eyebrow cocked sharply. “Right. The birthday letter? On the rare occasion that the coven does deign to contact you before completion of your endarkenment, it’s up to you to confront it. You can’t run away from magical problems, even if—”

“Sorry, sorry.” She held up a hand to stop him, brushing against his coat in the small space. “If it wasn’t clear already from the way that I’m about to spontaneously combust at any moment, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“The letter,” he repeated impatiently. “Frankly, you should be a little more grateful. It was either coming here to check up on you or raining down a batch of hell-fire to catch your attention. Your record stated that you live with a non-wicche housemate, so it seemed like hell-fire might have given your game away somewhat. First you ignore me, now this.”

“I wasn’t ignoring anything,” she said exasperatedly, starting to find his demeanour particularly grating combined with the lack of answers. “What are you talking about?”

His face shifted, one eyebrow raising again in doubt. “You haven’t received it?”

Belle blinked.

“Black envelope? Gilded edges? Sentient presence spell? Ability to manoeuvre itself in front of your attention when ignored…” he reeled off.

“Not ringing any bells. Maybe your spell doesn’t work.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged. “Nothing’s manoeuvred its way to me.”

He looked incredulous, blinking. “It’s a traditional Vocare Attentio spell, specifically crafted for coven correspondence. Used since medieval times. Of course it works.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but your spell must be dodgy. I haven’t seen anything.”

The man thumbed his sharp, square jawline, now matching her exasperation. “Oh, that’s right, it must be the fault of an ancient and nigh on foolproof spell cast by the United Kingdom’s esteemed coven. There’s simply no way that a witch as neat and organised as yourself could possibly have misplaced any important magical correspondence. Looks like you’ve a well-kept hold on things around here. Running a real tight ship.”

He gestured with a sceptical nod to the heaps of books arranged across every inch of shelving in the small chaotic cupboard, all further blanketed with scattered receipts, literary magazines, trade newsletters, bookmarks and shopping bags.

“You know,” she replied, throwing her hands onto her hips, “you’re very rude for someone who’s apparently representing the ‘esteemed coven of the United Kingdom’ on a rare, honoured visit. And an uninvited one, might I add.”

“Selcouth doesn’t wait for an invitation.”

“I’m trying very, very hard not to have a meltdown here. You could be a little more understanding.”

They both stared, silently daring the other to back down.

“Apologies,” the man finally said through gritted teeth, relenting.

Belle eased off a fraction to match. “This letter, then, if there is one. What do I need to know?”

“No can do.” He shrugged. “You have to read it for yourself. That way there can be no denial of knowledge. Too many witches, warlocks and wicchefolk feigning no prior awareness to the trial over the years. I’m sure you understand,” he added formally, twiddling the silver ring on his thumb while he eyed her.

“Trial?”

His eyes widened for a just a moment, but his unbothered demeanour returned in a second. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Belle took a steadying breath, attempting to retain a single inch of reason. She crossed her arms, mirroring his pose.

“Let me check I’ve got this straight. You come here, to my place of work and my life amongst non-wicche folk, potentially putting me and my whole existence in danger of exposure, to tell me that I specifically need to find a very important letter. I tell you that I have not received it, and rather than giving me another letter or just telling me what that letter actually says, you’re going to leave and tell me, again, to read the letter.”

If Belle hadn’t known better, she could have sworn the faintest pale flush bloomed across the tops of his cheekbones. His cool faltered the tiniest fraction again, a frustrated furrow appearing between his eyebrows.

“You’re making this seem a lot more foolish than it felt on my way from Hecate House.”

“Oh, not at all, it’s been a treat. Your journey is much appreciated. Mystery, allure, lack of hell-fire noted, etcetera. Now, as thoroughly enchanting as this meeting has been, can you please leave before anyone notices that for some entirely insane reason, I am suspiciously bickering with a customer in the stock-room?”

He smirked, as though trying to stop himself from giving away a real smile. Belle noticed the fine lines crinkle at the edges of his dark eyes.