Page 89 of Rewitched

Savaric laughed. “Because, Arty, you were destined to be my little brother. And I am to lead the whole of Selcouth and continue father’s great leadership. Maybe even improve on it, truth be told. There’s a place for you, too, of course. I have plenty of ideas for the coven. How we can improve our strength, how we can build our magic even further.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Boring?” The older brother rocked on his chair, balancing on the two back legs. “And what would you do with it?”

Artorius shrugged. “I don’t know. Something wicked, something fun. Decree that our house has to be a castle with a moat and a drawbridge. Make sure that everybody could conjure the perfect treacle tart before being accepted into Selcouth. Transform all wicchefolk into dragons.”

“I’m not sure about the rest, but I rather like the dragon idea.” The older boy leaned back farther, swinging his feet onto the top of the table and crossing his arms.

THE SCENE CHANGED, and Belle was surprised to find that it was one she had visited before, in words. The story that Bronwyn had told her; the Day brothers gathered around a cauldron, brewing the potion that would soon lead to Savaric’s tragic demise. She heard a soft sob from the old man next to her and placed an arm gently around his bony shoulders to hold him.

“I cannot…I cannot watch.”

“Artorius, look. It’s okay.” Belle encouraged him to look back to the mirror as Savaric and his younger self left the bubbling cauldron, and the barn door clicked behind them.

“Mr. Day, remember, it’s a benevolent spell. It won’t show you the…the moment you lost your brother. Only comfort, or the answers you’re seeking.” Rune spoke softly as he watched from a polite distance.

Belle gave him a thankful look over her shoulder.

Artorius steadied his breath and nodded, glancing back up to the mirror just in time to see the colours swirl and change.

BELLE PREPARED HERSELF for the worst, prepared to see a young Artorius filled with rage and jealousy emptying spearmint, ash, fireflies, black salt, without care or consideration into the cauldron. She could have been wrong this whole time, been strung along yet again.

But it never came.

Instead, two girls appeared.

Belle gasped.

One was older, around twenty-five, pretty with her hair in a neat plait and scarf. The other was a little younger, awkward and slightly lanky, although with immaculate curls. The older girl was desperately attempting to comfort the younger, trying and failing to wrap her arms around her, but only soliciting greater fury in response.

“Get off me! Don’t you see? Everything is broken, everything is ruined.”

The older girl rushed forwards again. “We’re still a family. You and I can rebuild for the others, we’ll take care of them. We have to look out for each other now. Otherwise, we’ll never get through this loss.”

“You always say that, that we have to stick together and look after one another, but it never happens. Nobody ever looks after me. Father is dead. And now Sav, too. Mother is as good as gone. She will never, ever recover from this. None of us will.”

“Which is why it’s all the more important that we stick together.”

“I hate you. I hate everybody. It’s always left to you and me to sweep up the mess that everybody else has caused. This godforsaken magic, it’s the reason that everything is ruined.”

The fury stopped for a moment. The younger girl’s fingers flexed at her side. Almost imperceptibly, a small flurry of golden sparks jolted from her palms.

“What are you…? What are you doing?” The older witch faltered, noticing the magic building in a frightening electric current as though she could barely keep it under control. “Wait, no, darling. You can’t.”

“Tenebrae Obscurum.”

A scream, and the scene changed again.

“I DON’T…I’M not sure I understand. I don’t know who those girls were,” Artorius stuttered. For a moment, neither Rune nor Belle said a word.

“I think I do,” Belle whispered, her fists balled, trembling with anger. “That was my grandmother.”

Artorius blanched. “Your…”

Belle nodded, slowly. “The older girl, that was my nan. Alvina Blackthorn. We have albums and albums of photos. I’d recognise her anywhere.”

“But what does she have to do with Savaric?” Rune asked.