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ChapterEight
ALIENOR
As we descend towards Grandma’s huge garden, I cling onto the broomstick’s shaft with both hands and glance over my shoulder.
The Boogie Man hovers several feet above us, with the sun shining through his membranous wings. He looks like an overgrown bat suspended there in mid-air, and the thought of him coming after me with those claws makes me shiver.
It’s hard to believe he was once the King of England. Stranger things have happened, and he seemed passionate when Grandma told the story of Elena of Aquitaine. Maybe he really is Henry Curtmantle, but that doesn’t mean I’m his wife.
I can’t be some old queen since I wasn’t alive for centuries. The coven remembers when I was born, and there’s no such thing as reincarnation.
A little voice in the back of my head whispers that everyone believes there’s no such thing as the Boogie Man, yet there he is, the malevolent, winged creature who tore Aggie apart with his claws.
My hands tighten on the broomstick, which trembles under my touch.
I’m about to turn around to see if it’s malfunctioning, when the Boogie Man roars, “Damn you, Alienor!”
It looks like I was right about the wards of Grandma’s property. Even he can’t penetrate the protective barrier.
I would say something taunting, but I can’t afford to let Grandma hear me yelling at someone she thinks doesn’t exist.
The broomstick’s shaft pulses, and then warm liquid spatters on the side of my face.
“What is that?” I shriek.
“Tree sap,” Grandma says a little too quickly for my liking. “I’m having problems breaking in this broom.”
We land on the path that stretches from the three-story house to the little stone cottage at the edge of the orchard. Grandma presses her palm in the small of my back like she used to do when I was little and she wanted me to jump down.
As she disembarks, I take the hint and step off the broom, leaving it hovering at our side.
“Doesn’t that broomstick belong to Aggie?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Agnes has her own broom.” Grandma makes a high-pitched laugh. “Let yourself into the guesthouse, dear. Grandma needs to make a few potions.”
She hurries toward her house without a backward glance. The broomstick flies beside her like an obedient dog.
“Grandma?”
Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t turn to meet my eyes. “Yes, Alienor?”
“What’s going to happen next for me?”
“I’ll keep you here under observation. If your magic continues to become a danger to yourself or others, we’ll discuss binding it at next week’s coven meeting.”
“And then what?” I ask, even though what happens next is clear.
“If the majority of members agree, then we will lock away your magic for a determined amount of years until we deem you fit enough to wield it.”
My jaw clenches so tightly that I feel an ache in my neck muscles. This is bullshit. Without even a scrap of magic, I’ll never be able to train what little I can wield. I’ll have a vicious stalker but no magic to power the protective locket. It will be worse than being a human because the Boogie Man will still want me dead.
“Can’t you give me some training?” I ask, my voice breaking.
“Alienor,” she says with the same weary sigh when I ask her this question. “I can only guide you to use the magic you can express at will. You know that.”
A heavy weight settles on my chest and pushes down on my heart. I tilt my head to the sky, where the Boogie Man continues to float above the boundary like a harbinger of death.
“Fine,” I say with a sniff. “I’ll do it myself.”
