Page 45 of Rewitched

Artorius moved down the long hallway with an unsteady shuffle, his scuffed tartan slippers brushing across the patterned carpet of his hallway as he hummed a little tune.

The walls were lined with floral wallpaper, which seemed to have largely given up on sticking where it was supposed to. A scattering of old portraits and photographs were hung so clumsily that it seemed they’d given up, too. But despite its shabbiness, the house felt undeniably welcoming. Small trinkets and ornaments were across every surface, each room bathed in warm light and the sweet, musty smell of age, mingled with what seemed to be freshly baked bread. It was, despite appearances, evidently a well-loved home.

“Have you eaten this evening, Belle? I’m afraid I’ve already had my supper. The bread’s not quite ready yet, but there’s definitely a few fairy cakes in one of these cupboards that you’re welcome to tuck into,” Artorius called back to her. “Might be a little old now, mind. But what could go so wrong with a little flour and icing, I wonder?”

Inside the kitchen, lined with dark wooden cabinets and tiles that featured tiny coloured fruits, the old man pulled out a folding stool. He climbed it precariously to reach a high shelf above the cooker, straining for a tin, and Belle rushed to his side to help.

“Let me grab that for you.”

Artorius chuckled to himself. “Thank you. It will be handy to have some long limbs around the house. You can do the dusting for me while you’re here.”

Belle smiled kindly. “Of course. I’m grateful that you were willing to take on a student, especially so out of the blue like this.”

Another chuckle. “Well, yes, I was rather busy this week, had to move a lot of plans around. Three cancelled parties, a romantic tryst or two, several important business meetings all down the drain,” Artorius lamented. “Joking, of course. About the dusting, too. I dare say it’d take a little more than a feather duster to spruce this place up. Not quite as spritely as I once was, you see, and it’s a rather big house to look after on my own. But I promise you’ll find the place clean enough and warm at least.”

Belle offered him a smile again, faltering at the instant connection she felt with this man. “Why don’t you have a seat while I make the tea?” she insisted.

“Move the books out of your way. There’s a lot of them in this house. The pages provide the most golden company when one feels the pestering tap of loneliness. Two sugars for me, please,” Artorius chimed in a sing-songy voice.

This could not be the evil man Bronwyn had described. It couldn’t be.

“It is nice to have a visitor,” he carried on, chatting happily. “I can’t remember the last time I had reason to take more than one mug out of the dresser at a time. I was rather surprised to hear from Selcouth yesterday, I must say. Delighted but surprised, and the news that I would get to undertake a mentorship role? I’ve been hoping for so long…I never dreamed…It was quite a day, I’ll tell you.”

Artorius gave a contented sigh as he sat himself down creakily. “What a treat to have a new friend.”

Belle crossed the kitchen with two cups of tea, placing one in front of the old man. She clasped her own mug, a chunky freebie from a sports store, and soaked up its welcome heat.

“I thought I’d gone doolally, seeing that letter appear on the armchair as I did the crossword. It’s been a very long time since I was called upon by Selcouth for anything at all, let alone trusted to pass on knowledge or magical capability. I never thought I’d see the day…” Artorius trailed off as he sipped at his own cup, with the words Good Morning, Handsome printed in swirly letters.

“I’m not sure how much they told you about what happened,” Belle said warily. “But, in a nutshell, I failed my EquiWitch assessment. Pretty spectacularly.”

“And I am sorry to hear that. These blasted traditions…” Artorius said with what seemed to be genuine sympathy.

“Thanks. The manifests did not work in my favour,” she continued, shuddering at the memory. “And that would have been the end of it, but it turns out that for October and Halloween, a witch can be mentored through the branches of magic to strengthen their craft. That’s where you come in.” She gestured to the old man in front of her, who beamed.

“There weren’t many options for mentoring. Most of them had met a rather unfortunate end, sadly,” Belle added. “But there you were. And here we are. Drinking tea.”

Artorius simply nodded. The combination of Belle’s nerves and his apparent lack of socialising meant that the pair sat in silence for a time. But it was already a strangely comfortable silence. A charitable silence, allowing the other to think and adjust. Light rain was now falling outside, drops tapping at the thin windowpanes like glass marbles.

Belle wondered whether it was best to get the rest of the difficult conversation out of the way first. But it didn’t feel quite right to launch into questions about murder and vengeance and banishment. She was here for herself, after all. Maybe it was in her own interest to keep the peace and complete the list, tick off all the boxes as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Maybe she didn’t necessarily need the answers yet. She was safe, Rune had made that clear. She was grateful when Artorius took the lead again.

“First of all, I imagine you may be feeling great disappointment in how your trial concluded. But I for one am glad that Selcouth has reached out the hand of second chances to you. Sometimes a second chance is all one needs.” He looked at her thoughtfully.

“Even a witch as useless as me?” She gave a breathy, awkward laugh.

“There is much, much more to a witch than simply her technical abilities. Magic is in your spirit, Belle. It makes up your body and soul, like blood and sinew and muscle. It is not a matter of separation, if you ask me, not something that can be weighed or measured for judgement.”

Belle was taken aback by his spirit.

“Before we begin our studies, and earn you the result that you rightfully deserve, I must insist that you allow no doubt to hinder our efforts.” He rattled a determined finger at her. “Or, if you do feel it, as is inevitable in this life, you must not let it win,” Artorius said firmly.

She nodded, touched by his considerate words.

“Good. And so, to the kettle of weasels at hand,” the old man continued, drumming on the table. “I think this calls for treats. After all, we are celebrating the start of a wonderful adventure. For both of us, I’m sure.”

He raised a frail arm and cast his palm out. In a moment, the tin wriggled itself away from the counter and flew to the table with a couple of uneasy rattles to match his unsteady hand.

“Must feel pretty good to have that back in your system,” Belle said.