Page 88 of Rewitched

Belle nodded. “I’ve noticed before that the patterns in mine are similar to Mum’s. And now…Artorius has a third Blackthorn stone? What does that mean?”

“I can’t be certain.” Rune shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’d wager that the old man’s backfired memory hex may get in the way of us finding out.”

Belle raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You know about that?”

“We talked. Last night. While you were in the midst of the Clairvoyancy incantation. I pressed him on whether there was anything he knew, anything at all about the trouble that you’ve been facing. We started from the beginning.”

Belle was taken aback by Artorius’s honesty with Rune, then realised that he was willing to share his story whenever anyone cared to ask. Perhaps, up until recently, no one ever really had.

“He wanted me to know everything so that we can best help you together. Unfortunately, with his mind as it is now…”

Rune was right. There was no chance that Artorius, his memories in hexed heaps of ash and dust, would have any answers as to how a Blackthorn sooth stone had ended up on his desk.

“As his mind is now…Interesting…”

She sprinted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. Rune chased after her, still clutching the stone.

“Artorius!” Belle shouted as she tried to catch her breath. “Mihipte Solacium!”

The old warlock didn’t even glance up from his page. “Hmm?” he asked, pointing his chin towards Belle in the attic doorway but continuing to read.

“Mihipte Solacium! Solace for oneself! You need to make contact with your younger self. Before your curse took hold. Reaching out to young Artorius can give us the answers we need.”

He reluctantly put down his reading. “Belle, I told you when we spoke of this. I have long relinquished the need for answers to my past. They are for me to find in the next life.”

“Then what about my past?” she asked adamantly.

This caught his attention. His head turned to see Belle take the stone from Rune and hold it out towards him in the palm of her hand. With difficulty in his creaking bones, Artorius rose and scuffed his slippers towards them. “Whatever did you bring that old thing up here for?”

“Don’t you see? Don’t you see what this is? Artorius, this is a sooth stone almost identical to my own. It must have come from the same family collection as mine. Why do you have this? Where did you find it?”

Artorius gazed at it in wonder, reaching out to take it from Belle into his own hand. Instantly, it reacted to his touch, the smoke inside bending to new shapes. He gasped. “I haven’t, I didn’t, I…”

“Artorius, you have a Blackthorn family stone. Or maybe I have a Day family stone? Whatever. Whichever. We need to find out why. We need to ask your past. It’s time we all got some answers.”

WITH AN UNDERSTANDING that partaking in the Clairvoyancy enchantment would benefit Belle, Artorius swiftly obliged, but not before insisting he make them dinner first. Knowing him well by now, Belle could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice, the cooking of roast potatoes a distraction to hide the slightest dulling of his bright cheeriness. “You’re sure you don’t mind us being here for this? It felt like quite a private experience for me yesterday,” she asked, when he could no longer avoid the task at hand.

The old warlock tried to remain as enthusiastic about the situation as ever. “Belle, you know what my mind and my memory are like. If we are to discover anything under Mihipte Solacium, it’s best that there are alternate witnesses. Of course, we can’t be sure what the spell will actually show us. Scrying is an unpredictable art form. The words Mihipte, ‘to myself,’ and Solacium, ‘comfort, relief, solace,’ are not indicative of providing the same experience for every witch,” Artorius explained.

“Like we said, Mr. Day, anything that you find too upsetting, too hard to see, just say the word, and I’ll unravel the spell,” Rune added, watching from a distance.

“When you’re ready, Arty,” Belle said encouragingly. She patted the old man on the shoulder, and he rested his hand on hers in return.

“Mihipte Solacium.”

Just as it had done for Belle, the mirror rippled and roiled with an incandescence, a force like a wave emitting over Belle and Artorius, who sat side by side at the dressing table. While one single silhouette had appeared in the mirror for Belle, this time they watched as a whole scene appeared, forming from undulating glass into slowly identifiable shapes. The reflects of light swirled in billows and finally settled into a picture.

TWO BOYS SAT opposite one another at a wooden dining table made crudely from splintered planks. The room was a modest family space: seven chairs around the table, the last of the embers in the fireplace, hand-sewn curtains hung, remnants of little lives together scattered around the room.

“You’re so lucky, Sav.”

“It’s not luck, little brother. There’s a divine reason that I was firstborn. My very soul was manifested for this purpose before I even arrived onto this earthly plane. It was destined to be.”

Belle tore her gaze away to glance at the old man next to her, to check that he was okay.

Letting out a whispered “Oh!” he was enraptured by the scene inside the mirror, his eyes already pooling with tears that reflected back the rainbow light. His frail hand reached out a few inches, as if desperate to return to the scene that cradled his older brother alive and well.

“I think destiny made a mistake. Why not me? I could do it.”