Page 80 of Rewitched

The fire crackled and spat out a rain of angry violet ashes, scorching the floorboards before they extinguished themselves.

“Grief made my own decisions, too, it is a powerful guide. If it meant that my brother could rest peacefully, I was willing to accept the blame. And besides, I could not confidently say that I hadn’t killed him, either. Truth potions and revelation spells to reveal my mind’s eye…I can see the memory itself, so they all showed the fateful moment during questioning.”

Artorius’s voice trailed off as he got lost in thought, remembering and remembering.

“Arty, we have to tell the coven,” she urged. “We should tell Bronwyn, she’ll listen.” Belle stood up, ready to travel straight to Hecate House with him in that moment.

Artorius extended a grateful smile but shook his head. “Too much time has passed and, I would wager, only fed the growing legend of my actions over the years. Besides, my memory curse still hangs over me, even now. It was a dark, messy curse. I still can’t tell the truth of it.”

“We could reverse the curse?” Belle said hesitantly, not having a clue what she was suggesting. “If we used both of our magics together, and I could bring in my mum, too, for—”

Artorius held up his hands to stop her, grateful but decided. “I am afraid to lift it, if the truth be told. Afraid of what I might uncover, and now afraid of what it would do to my body in my old age. My dance moves may suggest otherwise, but I am in fact a rather old man,” he said with a smile. “Besides, I am content with my quiet life. I’ve long let go of the need for answers. I keep to myself, I note the birdsong in the mornings, and I wait for a quiet death with the open arms of a friend. When the time comes, I’ll see Savaric again, and the truth will be known to both of us.”

A silence fell across the attic, billowing between them like soft fabric. Artorius’s gaze remained on the flames in the fireplace, dancing as a gentle night breeze carried in between the roof tiles.

“I must make another confession to you, Belle.”

She stiffened, steeling herself for what else he could possibly have to share.

“My magic never left me.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“My banishment from the coven didn’t entirely work as they planned. In my research since, I have uncovered that it may have been a result of incomplete endarkenment. As my powers weren’t fully instated in the first place, the coven’s attempts to strip me of them didn’t work. It’s why I have been so eager to remind you that your magic is yours and yours alone, no matter what the judgement of others may declare, even if you did neglect it somewhat prior to our adventures together. I have retained my magic this whole time and have quietly practiced my craft ever since.”

She’d known it deep down, really. That such skill and knowledge couldn’t be from tomes and scrolls alone. He’d shown her so much first-hand experience of real magic, and now it made sense. It plagued her with sadness to think how he had kept it to himself for such a long time.

“Not entirely a surprise, honestly, Arty. I saw the spatters on your Alchemy pages and knew they weren’t Bolognese.” She laughed weakly. “I do believe you. Just so you know.”

“You may be the first, Belle.”

“But please hear me out. I still think we should speak to Bronwyn. She was so patient and understanding with me. I can’t believe she wouldn’t be willing to at least listen to you after all of these years.”

“Nonsense. The sage witch of the United Kingdom’s esteemed coven? She has better things to worry about than a disgraced old man who doesn’t deserve the chance. I wouldn’t trouble her for it. I appreciate your kindness more than words can say, but my day has long passed, Belle. Now, we must turn our focus to you, for this is your time to shine.”

He hesitated a moment, then spoke again.

“Admittedly, when I received the letter from Selcouth informing me of my selection for mentorship, a part of me did dare to think that perhaps…Perhaps if we were to succeed in your endarkenment, they may take a new moment to consider my fate.”

This was not just about her own future, her own second chance. It was his, too.

26

The Flourish of Fate

HAVING A SECOND completed challenge in her grimoire had proved a temporary joy for Belle. Rather than victory, it now felt as though it only served to highlight the fact that four remained unlit, and only a handful of moons remained. There was still so much to do, to resolve. And she still felt a constant tickle of uncertainty that something else was distinctly and absolutely not right. While she tried to rationalise her situation—Rune was on guard at all hours, Bonnie and Artorius were both highly vigilant to her welfare—it felt as though she were subconsciously picking at a cut that would heal over during the day while she was preoccupied with other stresses but then split open again as she peeled away the worries each night. The most pressing of these being the very real possibility that she was in great, far-reaching danger and therefore bringing everyone close to her into harm’s way, too.

Ariadne remained her chief concern. Although standing outside her office with a boom box wasn’t entirely out of the question, it should probably be a last resort. While they were technically friends again, the smiles were too polite, the conversation stiff and entirely unlike them. They’d barely said a comfortable word to one another since their fight, their usual secret language swapped for perfunctory comments about heating bills and a leaking tap. Belle had knitted a quick Exsarcio Lavatio fix for the latter to try to do something nice for Ari, even if it was only grout-related. Her determination to try again with another apology was brought to a halt when Ari left a curt note on the fridge (no smiley faces or kisses, which said it all) to inform her that she had headed up north to see her sister. Belle hadn’t called, considering that it was perhaps for the best that Ariadne was away for now, kept far from the danger that Belle seemed to be inextricably linked with.

Ariadne being absent, although gut-wrenching, did make things a little smoother for Belle. She could let her magic wander freely, sweet starry flickers of it wafting through the flat at any given moment. Non-wicchefolk barely ever noticed the visible traces of magic, almost always too distracted. Ari had only ever spotted it once or twice over the years, blaming it on standing up too quickly, sunlight reflecting or having something in her eye. But it certainly made life easier for Belle to not have to second-guess her instincts. Alone, it bounced from the lamps, circled the doorways, gathered in the corners. It clung to her in wisps and radiated from each nerve, and it felt freeing to allow it that liberty, a state she had never existed in before. After three weeks of mentorship, dedicated to herself and her potential alone, Belle noticed that, although faint, she had begun to develop the same glimmer of warm gold around herself that she always admired around Bonnie. Rune wore it, too, so had Bronwyn and Morena and every member of Selcouth. Belle’s magic was beginning to come alive again.

On her way out the door, the windows aglow with a hazy orange, Belle was wrapping a thick striped scarf around her shoulders when she stopped short. Her flourish potion. She’d forgotten all about it, but the small flask of iridescent treacly mix seemed to wink at her in the light: a brew specifically to bring temporary extra sparkle to one’s life, the kind that makes everyone around you simply have to comment on how there’s a glow about you. To drag boldness and braveness to the forefront, for confidence and contentment to shine through. A luxurious, indulgent spell for shining and star quality, if only for a little while. Artorius had encouraged her to take it as a celebration when the Alchemy page declared her success, ignoring Belle’s suggestion that he keep it instead.

“Absolutely not, my dear. I have been feeling enough of a flourish to my life of late. Two new friends to my name, three if you count the lad, although I’m not sure he’d admit to being my pal,” Artorius had told her. “Your sparkling company to look forward to each day, the pleasure of watching your magic blossom so confidently. My luck is already redeemed thrice over.”

Not waiting to second-guess herself, Belle unstoppered the bottle, savouring the zingy, sunny flavours of citrus fruits, rhubarb and custard, a fine dusting of aventurine. It fizzed ferociously as she drank. She hoped that it would kick in full throttle before she headed back to Quill Lane and boost her chances of a third glowing grimoire allegory that evening, but maybe it would come in useful before then, too.

LATER, BELLE BEGAN to question whether the ingredients for this one had also been a couple of decades past their best when her shift at Lunar took a turn for the worse. Christopher, ignoring the fact that she was mid-recommendation with a customer, had summoned her to his office.