Page 69 of Rewitched

Belle looked at him blankly. “I think he’s outside smoking. Why?”

Rune held her gaze for a moment longer. His expression stayed a picture of composure, but Belle noticed his jaw muscle tighten the tiniest amount. His fingers flexed, and a dusting of sparks fell from the tip of his thumb before he turned and exited.

“Rune?”

He didn’t respond, simply carried on walking at a fast pace through the back of the shop and out onto the floor, the tail of his coat flying out behind him as he swept past the cookery section and down the spiral staircase at breakneck speed.

“Rune. What are you doing? Wait, hang on a second.” Belle tried to keep up, grabbing her jacket frantically from underneath the till on the way through. This could not be good. Monica and Jim watched their boss sprint, with no explanation, hectically after an extraordinarily handsome, furious-looking man in a long leather coat.

Rune smacked the front door open with the palm of his hand before he took a moment to find what he was looking for. It didn’t take long. Christopher was on the phone roaring with laughter, plainly and loudly discussing a woman standing only a foot away on her own break, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. He momentarily paused laughing, bemused as Rune approached.

“Nice coat, mate. You on your way to a séance? Bit of grave-digging, is it?”

Rune offered him a dry smile. “Christopher?”

Belle, catching up, reeled backwards from the scene and darted into the second-hand clothes shop to hide behind a display of fluffy Afghan coats and watched through the window, not daring to follow in case Christopher spotted her and connected her to Rune.

Christopher sneered. “Maybe. Who are you, mate?”

A second passed in what felt like slow motion. Before Belle could take a single step to stop him, Rune threw a clean, solid punch effusively into Christopher’s left cheek, smacking the cigarette from his mouth and colliding directly with the bridge of his nose. There was a crunching sound as it connected. Bystanders gasped, pointing at the scene while keeping a safe distance. Christopher whimpered, cradling his broken nose, hunched over in two to cower away. Rune, shaking out the hand that had thrown the punch, shook back the hair that had fallen in his face to regather his composure.

“If you ever make her cry again,” he said simply and slowly, “if you dare to even darken her day in any way…” He swallowed the end of his sentence.

Christopher nodded frantically, clearly clueless as to who Rune was talking about. Holding his bloodied knuckles, Rune calmly walked away.

“Haven’t got a clue, have I?” Belle heard Christopher roar down the phone to his friend. “Some madman. Could be anyone.” He gulped, dabbing at his mouth and leaving a bloody smear across his expensive shirtsleeve. “Could be a few birds. That one from last night, maybe.”

Belle waited for Christopher to turn away before she made a swift exit, crossing the road into the lunchtime crowds and sprinting after Rune. She finally caught up with him, grabbing the back of his coat to spin him around.

“What is wrong with you? Are you completely and categorically insane? You just punched my boss.”

“He made you cry,” Rune replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Lots of people make me cry. I cry all the time! I cried at a donkey sanctuary advert this morning, are you going to punch everyone who mistreats donkeys?”

Rune raised a confused eyebrow. “I’d love to. And he deserved it.”

“That’s not…” Belle shook her head. “That’s not the point.”

“I could have done a lot worse.”

It was true. It was a lucky turn of events that Rune hadn’t decided to unleash any kind of vicious hex or nefarious curse instead of a swift punch.

“And am I supposed to thank you for that?” she shouted, disbelieving. “You can’t just go around punching people who make me cry. Why do you care so much?”

“I’m supposed to be protecting you.”

“From dark magic! Not from my boss when he embarrasses me in front of my colleagues. That one is for me to deal with and me only.” She flared. “My non-wicche life absolutely does not need a watchman.”

Rune looked taken aback for just a fraction of a second. “I see. Of course it doesn’t.” He was about to say something more, then thought better of it. His expression darkened. “Won’t happen again.”

“Right. It won’t.” She nodded. “Now I have to go in there, get back to work, act like everything is normal. Oh god…” Realisation dawned on Belle’s face. “I bet Monica and Jim saw me legging it after you.”

Rune didn’t reply, busy examining her face with his gaze.

“You look exhausted. I’ll make you something again to help.”

“Why does everyone feel the need to keep telling me I look like garbage? I don’t think I need any more of your help, especially if this is what it looks like.” She gestured to Christopher, now on the inside of the shop window with two pieces of tissue stuffed up his nostrils.