Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
I t was not the rope that turned the skin around my wrists red raw, but the thistlebane soaked into the material. I desperately wanted to itch my bubbling and blistering skin, but the Hunters had tied me to the table. The ropes kept both my hands useless and the thistlebane kept me powerless—severed from my unique ability, or what witches called their Gift.
There was nothing more annoying than an itch you couldn’t reach. Well, actually maybe the fact that the Coven had found me, after years of evasion. Not exactly found me, since I’d run straight into one of them.
‘That is what happens when you are blinded by the need for revenge.’
I relaxed as Caym’s voice filled my head. No thistlebane could sever my familiar from my mind. I could sense he was close, lingering somewhere far beyond the building I’d been brought into, hooded, cuffed, and powerless. The Coven didn’t want me to know where I was being taken—logistics and all. But through Caym, I knew the long car ride had taken me from Oxford’s streets, and about an hour and a half later, into the heart of London.
The Tower of London, to be more specific. The home of England’s most impressive artefacts, history, and ties to the royal— yet very mundane—family. Humans would have a fit if they found out the White Tower, the central of all towers otherwise known as the old keep, was home to the Coven. Built centuries ago, a quick Google search would have told me it was built in 1080, by someone called George, or William—since back then it wasn’t like people had much imagination when it came to names.
The once-strongest military point was now the home of the Coven. A place for England’s leading witches to gather and monitor paranormal threats on their soil and beyond. It was a place I had visited with my mother a long, long time ago. My mother, who was the last appointed Grand High. My mother, who was murdered by Hunters, for that very reason.
The Grand High was more than the heart of the Coven. They were its lungs, its vital organs. The Grand High continuously allowed the witches access to their Gifts, their power, and control. Like the wizard in The Wizard of Oz, the Grand High lingered behind a curtain, speaking with their voice of power to those who relied on them.
And there was only one reason the Coven had been searching for me—because I was the key to finding the next Grand High.
‘ Such an ego ,’ Caym added.
Alright. Not me, but my blood was the key.
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I turned and saw Romy, her face warped behind the perplex glass window set into the side wall of the room. Her arms were crossed over blood-stained clothes, her face set in a worried grimace. Every time I made eye contact, she smiled. It was a hopeful smile, one that wished for me to accept an apology she had yet to offer.
It didn’t take a genius to know why I, Hector Briar, had evaded my own people. No doubt it would be a question I would have to answer shortly.
A door opened, soundless and smooth. It was less a door, but a slab of wall which lifted away and allowed someone to enter.
My body stiffened, my lungs constricting at the sight of him.
‘Hello, Hector.’
The spirit-witch who I had run into… how many hours ago? As the door slid shut, I drank him in. Long black hair was gathered at the back of his neck, thin on his skull, showing flashes of white scalp. Equally dark, lacklustre eyes hardly left me, the skin beneath them carved out with shadows. He looked equal parts exhausted and excited, as though he was starving, staring at a plate piled high with roast beef and all the trimmings. And it seemed he shopped mainly at fancy-dress warehouses because the high collared shirt, leather jacket that brushed over the white, floor and the obnoxious maroon waistcoat made him look more like a malnourished Dracula than a witch.
‘I apologise for the lack of answers, but as you can imagine, your presence has caused a ruckus here. Chaos, but also relief. I trust the healer has seen to all your wounds in a timely manner?’
I didn’t reply with words, not giving him the satisfaction of a thanks.
His voice was as deep as furthest trench in the coldest waters off the ocean. There was nothing welcoming about it. The hairs across my newly healed arm stood, gooseflesh erupting across my shoulders as though wings had finally revealed themselves, unfurling in one breath. I did what I’d been best at, and that was keeping silent.
The spirit-witch eyed me with trepidation. Caution. And maybe, I told myself, a hint of fear.
I straightened, knowing he was scrutinising me, as were those standing with Romy beyond the glass window. The thistlebane may have diluted my natural gift, but growing up as I had made me rely less on my powers and more on my immediate surroundings.
I quickly realised that the silence between us was this man’s way of waiting for me to speak. Feigning comfort and confidence, I rolled my shoulders back, raised my chin, and pretended to be calm, even though I was far from it.
‘And you are?’ I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage.
He laughed—not a pleasing laugh but a sickly one. ‘Oh, of course, how awfully rude of me Hector. You see, it has just been so many years since I even believed the possibility of you was even something to consider. I know it has been many years since we last saw one another. I’m not surprised you do not recognise me.’
‘That’s a lot of words for what you’d think would be such a simple answer.’
His smile faltered for a beat, which made mine widen.
‘Then allow me to remind you. My name is Jonathan Bailey. I was your mother’s closest advisor and have since become acting-Grand High since her… untimely death.’
I would give it to him, he looked genuinely pained to say those last words aloud. His gaze dropped to the floor, his long fingers picking at the loose hem of his waistcoat.
‘Jonathan Bailey,’ I repeated, ‘I have heard about you.’
Of course I had. Caym had warned me about him, making sure I kept far out of his line of sight, just as my mother had requested.
His head snapped back up, eyes meeting mine once again. ‘I suppose Heather mentioned me?—’
‘No, my mother never spoke of you. In fact, she never discussed much about the Coven besides her wish for me to stay as far away from you as possible. Which, as fate has decided, has clearly not gone very well.’
Her last words rang out in my mind. Protect him. Keep my son from them. Allies and foes…
And yet here I was, stuck in their web despite my best efforts, my thumb throbbing from the blood that was taken from me upon arrival, before the same witch saw to healing my wounds.
Clearly, my answer was not what Jonathan was hoping to hear. Before he spoke again, he paced to the other side of the table and took a seat. I cringed as the metal chair was dragged over stone, and more so from the stale scent that oozed from him.
‘I am sure you understand the need for precautions.’ Jonathan’s endless eyes lingered on the rope around my wrists. ‘Hopefully, once we have re-acquainted ourselves with one another, we will be able to remove those.’
‘Oh,’ I said with a pout, ‘and here I was thinking you’d worked out my kink. How disappointing.’
Jonathan’s eyes widened, the lines around his mouth deepening. I was confident I heard a giggle beyond the watching window. It was clear he didn’t know how to handle me, which was exactly what I was going for.
‘Or do you offer all the witches you snatch illegally from the street the same jewellery?’
‘That is not what this is.’
‘No?’ I leaned forwards, feeling the tug of newly healed skin against the ropes. ‘What about a warrant for my blood? Isn’t that required, unless the Coven believe rules are beneath them?’ It was my turn to tilt my head, cocking it to the side like a confused pup.
‘I think you know exactly why we took your blood, Hector Briar. Likely the very reason you have kept yourself off our radar for all these years, is it not? Speaking of which, perhaps we skip the small talk and get to the meat of this conversation.’
‘I’m veggie. Plus, small talk is my favourite,’ I bit back, knowing full well I didn’t want to get onto the topic of how I had stayed under their radar for all these years.
‘Your blood proves you are, in fact, a Briar.’
‘So that’s the only reason?’
Jonathan winced, knowing where this was leading.
‘And, as you clearly are aware, it is the key. Without the Grand High’s blood to open up The Witch Trials, there is no key to continuing the passing of control, thus the strengthening of a witch’s connection to our gifts. And since your mother was murdered, her body burned down to bone, our kind have needed your blood to begin the process for a long time. No witch born after your mother’s untimely passing has accessed a gift since. We are a…’
The very reason why Caym had concealed me for all these years. ‘Dying breed.’ I answered for him.
Jonathan winced at me, playing with a thin strand of hair like a little girl, twirling it around his finger. ‘That we are. But with you, that changes.’
‘So now that you have my blood, I’m free to leave?’ I asked.
It was Jonathan’s turn to smile like he’d won. It was for me and me alone, his back perfectly aimed to the window behind him. ‘Not exactly, Hector. Unless you wish to tell me where exactly you will be going to. Or should I say, to whom?’
This fucking man used my name more than a lover did.
‘I don’t see how that’s important.’
‘Oh,’ Jonathan leaned close, the stench of coffee rolling off his dirty tongue. ‘I think we both know exactly why I’m asking, Hector.’
‘Then please, explain exactly what my crime is here, and if not, I trust you will let me leave immediately.’
The little softness to his gaze completely faded within a beat. Jonathan splayed his hands out on the table, inching towards me in a territorial warning. He might as well have pulled out his cock and pissed on me, it would have been more threatening. ‘Unfortunately, your crimes are yet to be determined. Wasting the Coven’s time and resources, we could start there. Chaos, the string of deaths you have left behind in your wake. You must have been six at most when the Hunters?—’
‘Watch your tongue.’ Ire erupted from me, sharpening each word.
Jonathan recoiled, the cogs behind his bright eyes turning as he picked his next words carefully. ‘Where have you been all this time, Hector?’
Ah, so finally we get to it.
‘Answer carefully,’ Caym warned, his caw a distant cry in the back of my mind.
I calmed my breathing, sensing Caym trying to help me down our bond. He was right though. I had to be careful. Answering the question with the truth would really make me a criminal, and not in the sense that Jonathan likely imagined.
‘I didn’t ask for the Coven to search for me. That was your choice and responsibility. And you’re clearly shit at your job, since you couldn’t find me in eighteen years.’ I leaned forwards, being the one to close the space between us. ‘As acting-Grand High, I would say you need to re-evaluate those who work beneath you. Sounds like they could do with some training. And in regards to the deaths you’ve accused me of, it sounds like I’ve only saved you time and resources. All those Hunters dealt with, saving you energy. If anything, I expected some thanks.’ I lifted my bound hands as much as the rope allowed. ‘Not this.’
Jonathan took a moment to allow my words to sink in. The silence stretched on, his expression slowly morphing into a mask of pure displeasure. His eyes flared wide, his composure failing him. With a sudden crack, his palms slapped against the table, but I was prepared for it. I’d had practice in breaking people down. Jonathan was no different.
‘Where have you been?’ Jonathan repeated, clearly unfazed by my snarky response.
‘Around.’
‘ That does not answer my question.’
My lip curled, flashing teeth. ‘I know.’
‘Hector, I strongly suggest you cooperate with me.’ Danger flashed in Jonathan’s eyes. He made sure his next threat was so quiet that those watching outside the room couldn’t hear it. ‘You must know I have the means to enter that mind of yours and get the information out myself.’
Caym responded, cawing far in the distance, heard only by me. I sense my familiar’s desire to tear this man’s face off with his talons, to peck at his eyes and feast on his entrails.
‘I owe you nothing, just as you also owe me nothing,’ I remind him. ‘You have no grounds to keep me here.’
That sickly, thin-lipped smile lifted on his face, flashing two rows of rotting teeth. The enamel was brown and stained, a dramatic gap flashing between his two front teeth. ‘There is a suspicion, within the Coven, that the reason you have evaded us for so long is because you are working with our enemies. That they have been the ones to protect you, to keep you concealed. Of course, the deaths of the Hunters suggest otherwise, but unless you cooperate, I am confident I can find a reason to explain those to strengthen the argument that you are not only with the Hunters, but helping them…’
‘Bull-fucking-shit.’ I saw red. It overwhelmed me, thrashing through my body in a wave of heat and fire. The beast within rose to the surface, only to be stifled by the thistlebane. My skin blistered and burned the more I call upon it, but the pain was only motivation.
Jonathan looked like a man who’d won. ‘You must admit, there is merit to the suspicions. You wished to keep the key to our salvation away from us. The very thing that would ensure our kind strengthened their ties to magic again. And yet it is the Hunters who would do anything to keep us powerless. Weaken us. Your actions aid them, no matter how many of them you leave dead behind you.’
I didn’t look away from him, not for a second. ‘How dare you.’
Jonathan pressed a hand to his chest. ‘How dare I? All I have done is lead the search for you. The lost child of Heather Briar, our greatest Grand High. I have exhausted all avenues, all attempts to locate you for close to two decades. And the only reason as to why I have not been successful, the only thing that makes sense, is you have been cloaked. So, unless you can tell me another reason as to your disappearance, then unfortunately, you will be treated in the same manner as the Hunters would be.’
Jonathan had not only hit a nerve, he’d fucking snatched it, torn it out of me and played skip-rope with it.
Those watching on from the window could only see his balding head, not the winning smile he flashed at me now. Caym shifted uncomfortably in the back of my mind, longing to spear through the glass window and tear this man to shreds.
He was the reason I had evaded the Coven for all those years. To prevent the very thing my blood was the key to starting. And it had begun that night as mother spoke to the shadows and conjured my familiar out from them. All to protect me. Caym had wrapped his wings around me, gathering me up in shadows, and had not released me since.
That alone kept me silent. For her. Because this was her final wish.
My familiar had protected me until this moment. And now, I sensed his panic thunder through me as though it was my own, alongside our shared sense of failure.
But I was on my own. Familiars were outlawed by the Coven hundreds of years ago. I had no doubt that Jonathan would delight it tearing mine from me if I told him that Caym was the reason I had been cloaked, not the Hunters. And Caym knew I wouldn’t say it. All because my familiar was my last tie to my mother, the last thread that made her memory and power feel like a physical thing. Tangible. Giving up Caym would be giving up that last part of me that felt my mother’s resounding love.
My silence was only proof that I was not willing to respond.
Jonathan’s eyes glowed with the circlet of white as he conjured up his gift. I knew what he could do—infect the minds of other witches, seeing thoughts and memories. No one could punish the acting-Grand High for doing what he believed was just. And I was powerless to stop him rooting out my darkest secrets. ‘It truly saddens me, to have to do this?—’
The door didn’t slide open, but crashed open with the force of ten bulls. A small gasp broke out of Jonathan as he choked on his attempt, his eyes returning to their mundane colouring.
We both looked towards the gaping doorway, sensing a shift in the atmosphere that no thistlebane could dampen.
‘Romy. And what is the meaning of this?’ Jonathan shouted, knocking the table between us as he stood to face the open door.
She stepped through the door, eyes flickering downwards. It was not fear but awe that creased across her face. I quickly realised she was not looking at the floor, but the parchment that she held. It looked as though it had been sun-stained, like the pages of old books. Smoke slithered from the edges of the parchment, curling around Romy’s fingers.
‘Your suspicions where right,’ Romy said, barely glancing up. ‘The key was in his blood. He is the lost Briar.’
There was a knowing that passed between Romy and Jonathan. A beat of unspoken words, as she lifts the parchment which Jonathan promptly snatched.
He read the report to himself, eyes frantically scanning the page. I could almost see the dark ink through the back of the parchment, as though it had seeped through. Although I couldn’t make out the words, it looked to be more like a list than anything else. But it was the symbol at the top of the parchment that I recognised, the same one Jonathan wore around his neck, the very same symbol I had once seen my mother wear with pride.
It was the symbol of the Grand High. The triangle with the circle imprisoned within. A symbol all witches knew.
‘It would seem that your fate is no longer in the Coven’s hands,’ Jonathan said to me, whilst refusing to look up from the parchment. There was no denying the slight shake of his hands, nor the way Romy hadn’t stopped looking at me.
I was continuously drawn to the parchment, as though I sensed the paper beating like a heart. If my hands weren’t tied to the table, I would have reached out and snatched it from him. Like a moth to the flame, I was desperate to know what was written upon it.
‘Has the gateway opened?’ Jonathan asked Romy.
She nodded, one swift tip of her head. ‘Word has reached us from the cellar. The rune-marks have awoken.’
‘This is perfect,’ Jonathan purred quietly, before repeating it like a man overcome with joy. ‘This is absolutely perfect, Romy. Cause for celebration.’
Amongst all the sudden chaos, I had not noticed my familiar’s quietness. Perhaps I would wonder why later, but for now I waited to hear exactly who now held my fate.
Both Romy and Jonathan looked at me, as though they suddenly remembered I was in the room. Their silence spoke volumes, but it made my skin itch.
‘Care to explain what your ominous words mean, or are you going to just stand there gawping?’ I asked, heart thundering in my chest. I felt violently sick, as though my body knew what was coming even if my mind refused to admit it.
Nothing good came from that symbol. It caused my mother’s death, and it was the very thing I had hidden from. Now, the symbol hung from Jonathan’s neck, as though he was my judge and jury.
‘The chance we have been waiting for.’ Jonathan lifted his eyes from the parchment, his spare hand clutching the symbol on his neck as though it was the most important thing to him.
‘Congratulations, Hector Briar. You have been entered into the Witch Trials. ’
Something harsh and unkind bubbled in my stomach. I barely had a chance to seal my lips shut before it erupted upwards, scalding my throat and spilling vomit out across the table. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t quell the ache behind my eyes as another bout of sick burst outs of me.
Whatever Jonathan said next, I didn’t hear it. It seemed like I was shut off from the world, my mind punishing me. All I could hear as the room floods with people, the rope unbound, before I was guided from the sick-covered table, was those three fucking words.
The Witch Trials.
The Witch Trials.
The Witch Trials.