Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
I hardly slept for the three days of my captivity. And yes, captivity was certainly the apt word to describe my stay with the Coven. Every night I laid awake, listening to the sounds outside of my guarded room, hearing the excited mummers which came with knowing the Witch Trials were imminent. Jonathan had stationed two witches outside of my locked door, powerful ones no doubt. I smiled at the knowledge that they were frightened of me. Or at least cautious. Although wasn’t that the same thing?
Not only had they found an unclaimed witch with no coven and a body full of revenge, but I was also the son to the last Grand high.
The key to the future of the witches.
I would be terrified of me too.
There was nothing more frightening than someone uncontrolled.
The food and drink they had offered was laced with thistlebane, but I finished it all anyway. There was no point weakening myself physically when I was about to be thrown into a battle to the death for power. There wasn’t any good to come from fighting out of this. I had failed.
Let them be scared, let them send witches to pace outside my door like I was some common criminal.
‘ You’ve left a trail of dead Hunters in your wake ,’ Caym reminded me, filtering down my conscience from his perch on some flagpole far outside the four stone walls of my prison. My familiar’s anxiety seeped into me, and I didn’t bother trying to combat it. Mine was a thrashing wave in comparison, prepared to swallow his panic whole.
‘Let’s not pretend this tower isn’t built using Hunter’s blood for mortar, Caym.’
‘ Which is exactly why I think the prison suits you, Master.”
‘I preferred when I didn’t permit you a voice to speak with.’ I cringed at the title Caym used, knowing with no doubt that Caym used it for that exact reason. ‘Do me a favour and leave me for some peace. Your company is grating.’
‘ My company is all you are used to. ’
I raised my middle finger and pointed it at the stone wall of my cell. ‘Then you don’t need reminding how lucky you are.’
Although Caym couldn’t see me, he certainly could feel my emotions. ‘It is unbecoming of a Briar to swear .’
‘It is unbecoming of my familiar to tell me what to do.’
‘Point duly noted.’
Caym hadn’t left the White Tower’s exterior in the three days I’d been kept locked up. Given the chance we could reach each other, and Caym could wrap his darkness around me, helping me escape. I’d be like a worm slipping through the Coven’s net.
‘We failed her, Caym.’ What I really meant to say was, I failed her.
‘I retract my earlier point of not telling you what to do, by reminding you that blame is the sin of pride. What is done is done. Dwelling on what has been is a waste of time. Focus on what will be instead, Master.’
‘Then tell me why my mother wanted to stop The Witch Trials. Help me understand.’
Caym’s shiver shared down our bound. ‘If I could, I would. But Heather prevented me from sharing certain information, in the hopes of protecting you.’
‘From what?’
Caym’s answer was always the same. ‘ Corruption .’
I knew it was tied to the Witch Trials—preventing it from ever happening again. My subconscious told me that I remembered conversations between my parents, heated arguments about plans my little mind couldn’t begin to understand.
All my attempts at remembering did was cause me a headache. ‘So much help you are. What good is being your Master if you don’t do as I say?’
‘I do as I do to protect you.’
I scoffed at that remark. ‘Consider starting poetry, Caym. You have a knack for it.’
My back ached from the thin mattress, which was all that topped the metal podium my captor would call a bed. I kicked up, swinging my legs over the edge, grounding myself. I was given slim black trousers and a long-sleeved top to match when I arrived. Three days later and I stank. The military boots fit my feet perfectly, but didn’t offer the comfort a good old pair of Docs would. Clearly, the Coven was following a strict budget.
There was no mirror in the room, nothing that could be used to cause harm. No windows to offer any light beside the florescent bulb hanging above me. I only knew the days passed when the light was turned off.
The few furnishings that were around me had either been glued or nailed to the concrete ground. Regardless of its monotone aesthetic, it was nicer than what I had been made to leave back in Oxford. The basement studio flat with mould- ridden walls, shit water pressure, and not to mention paper-thin walls made this cell look like pure luxury. Shame I didn’t plan on staying here.
In a matter of hours, when dawn rose over London, I’ll be shipped off to partake in the Witch Trials—where you either died trying to claw for the mantle of Grand High, left having gone mad, or won.
No wonder my mother wanted me to keep away from the Coven. Correction, keep my blood away. She was never one for senseless killings. If she had been, she would’ve stopped the Hunters that killed her.
Why didn’t she stop it? It was a question that had haunted me for years. She had all the power of Grand High, and she did nothing to save herself.
Why? Thud . Why? Thud. Why? Thud .
Before I succumbed to madness before the Witch Trials even began, three gentle raps sounded against the door. They were so quiet I didn’t hear them at first. It wasn’t until they came again that I heard, but that time I chose to ignore them on purpose.
The door opened anyway, a familiar head of brown curls popping into view.
‘Uh, hi. I hope you don’t mind a visitor.’
I looked up to find Romy. All curly hair, her chestnut eyes no longer flashing the band of flaming gold. Her smile was soft and welcoming, one of those smiles that reached the eyes until they practically beamed.
Although her smile faltered at my reply.
‘Actually, I do mind.’ I lay myself back down, staring at the ceiling in silent protest.
Not to my surprise, that didn’t deter her.
‘But I come with gifts.’ I rolled my head to the side. Before Romy’s body entered the door, she threaded her hands through the opening and flashed two green glass bottles. They clinked pleasingly together, causing a spout of white foam to explode over the bottlenecks.
‘Beer?’ I set up, scrutinising her offer. We both knew why alcohol was an odd gift, given the thistlebane racing through my veins…
‘Or what is left of it,’ she hissed, noticing the stream of foam now running across her fingers. ‘Shit.’
‘Is it common for you to give presents to your captives?’ I asked, sensing Caym’s intrigue pique in the back of my mind. My familiar shared in my disbelief.
Alcohol and thistlebane did not mix. It wasn’t like a spirit and a chaser. Alcohol neutralised thistlebane’s gift-dampening abilities. Which meant Romy had just entered my cell, offering the one thing that would give me the chance to fight my way out of here.
‘Just you,’ Romy replied, kicking the door closed behind her. ‘Special treatment after all. Consider it a thank you for your help with the Hunters. Or a peace offering, considering I feel a sense of responsibility getting you stuck in this mess.’
I didn’t miss the way she winced as she tilted her head towards the now-closed door.
‘So you’re not going to bother attempting to combat my accusation that I’m your captive?’ I asked, eyes fixed on the bottles of beer.
‘No.’ She shook her head, curls falling before sorrowful eyes. ‘What would be the point? You are what you are. But you’re not our enemy, hence the beer and the unguarded company.’
I got the impression that out of all the witches in the White Tower, Romy was capable of looking after herself.
‘ She is far too happy ,’ Caym chirped into my mind.
I couldn’t fight a grin of my own, although I didn’t risk responding to my familiar aloud. ‘Go away, you’re distracting.’
Romy offered the bottle out, and I found myself shying away. She noticed, pulling a face and recoiling as though she was embarrassed at herself. ‘Sorry, I forgot the whole ‘melting peoples skin off’ part. Promise, I’m in control.’
‘My reluctance isn’t born from knowing what your hands can do,’ I added, forcing myself to reach out and take the bottle. I show good faith by brushing my finger against her knuckles, proving I wasn’t scared of her. From her widening eyes, it was clear she wasn’t expecting it. ‘My reluctance actually has everything to do with knowing every drink and meal I’ve been given, has been spiked with thistlebane.’
It was a test. I waited, patiently, to see if Romy was going to step into it, or manoeuvre herself around the obvious. Romy didn’t step into the trap or walk around it. She recognised it for what it was and dove straight into it.
‘We both know that isn’t the case.’ A flash of a grin passed over her face. Romy quickly sat beside me, the bed barely shifting. ‘Between me and you,’ she whispered out the corner of her mouth, ‘alcohol dilutes the weed. If anything, I’m offering you a reprieve from the drug my father has had pumped into you. The beer looks like a perfect ‘I’m sorry’, but my real apology is what it will offer you.’
‘Jonathan is your father?’ I asked, stuck on the revelation.
‘Adoptive, now drink up.’
‘I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t confused.’ My blood chilled, a single bead of sweat rolling down my temple. ‘Isn’t this considered as conspiring with my escape? And isn’t conspiring with the enemy a punishable offence in the eyes of the Coven?’
I held the mouth of the bottle before my lips, obscuring anyone from reading them. There was no doubt the six cameras I’d counted in the room were studying my every move.
Romy noticed my wary glance and put my worries at ease. ‘They don’t work.’ She took a deep swig, downing half the bottle. When she was finished, partially breathless and rosy cheeked, she added. ‘It isn’t just skin my power melts, but wires too. That, and I’ve just left the technician watching you fast asleep across the control board.’
Caym was flying in seconds, his anticipation etched into my very bones. I could barely steady my breathing, nor take the first sip of beer. ‘Why?’
‘Consider it a debt paid. Now we don’t have long. Bottoms up, Hector. Your window is short if you’re hoping to get out.’
An inferno sparked in my belly, and it had nothing to do with the fire-witch beside me.
Escape. Run.
If I could reach Caym, he would conceal me in shadows. The Coven would never have the chance to find me again. I would get as far away from London as I could fuck, I would hop on a few flights just to make sure I wasn’t discovered again.
I side-eyed Romy who was staring at the wall, continuing to drink the beer like her life depended on it. It was clear she was lost in thought, from the furrowing lines across her forehead to the tension around her eyes.
‘Seems like a steep risk for a stranger.’ Trusting someone wasn’t a skill I had learned yet. I didn’t think I ever would. But I could already tell it would be so easy to fall into the comfort of such a feeling with this woman beside me.
‘Everyone has a reason,’ Romy studied me, leaning forwards on her knees with the bottle dangling between her fingers. ‘You didn’t want to be found, and it is none of my business as to why. But the Coven has the blood to start the Witch Trials, so there’s no good reason you need to be forced to join in. Choice is important.’
I opened my mouth to tell her why, exactly, I’d be forced to join, but stopped myself. There was something easy about slipping into vulnerability around her. ‘Is that all?’
She shook her head, brown curls falling before bright eyes. ‘I’ve read your family’s files, Hector. Back-to-back. The night at club Energy , I mean… I understand what drives a person to chase danger. But a coven is a place of family, or at least it should be. Not somewhere we lock up our kin.’
She was speaking of my parents’ murder. Having someone acknowledge it with such a genuine softness in their eyes made my skin itch. A strange twinge passed through my chest. It started in my broken and chipped heart, spreading out across my ribs until the feeling opened up like wings over my back. My lips sealed shut, my eyes refusing to blink for fear a tear would escape, uncontrolled.
Finally, I took a long drink, delighting in the frothy, warm liquid as it begun to weed out the thistlebane from my blood. How long would it take until my power was back? Long enough to ask Romy more questions. ‘I still don’t think you are telling me the real reason as to why you want me gone.’
‘Ah so you’ve got me.’
I almost choked on the beer, shocked at her sudden honesty. ‘As you said, everyone has their reasons. Actions need them too.’
‘True. Well, I saw how you fought back in that alley. I don’t particularly want to face you during the Witch Trials. Consider this a selfless act for a selfish reason.’
‘Then thank you for being selfish.’ I finished the bottle in two more gulps.
‘No bother,’ Romy knocked my shoulder with hers.
I felt my mind shift back to my surroundings, checking the few details to see how best I would get out of a heavily guarded tower full of the world’s most powerful witches. ‘Got any tips for me as to how to get as far away from here as possible?’
‘Oh come on, Hector. Someone doesn’t survive for years, alone —’ she looked at me for a beat, with the glare of someone who knows that ‘alone’ isn’t exactly the term to use. That was when I remembered that Romy had seen Caym in the alleyway. Of course she did. But from the lack of mention of familiars, I gather she’d kept that nugget of knowledge to herself. ‘—without being aware of those around them. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding the shadows again.’
Yes, she definitely saw Caym. Speaking of shadows, my familiar’s emotions were building into a chamber of boiling magma. If I didn’t act, there would be a high chance Caym would literally combust.
‘Seems risky, helping me.’ I swiped the remnants of foam from my mouth, delighting in the rush to my head.
‘You seem like a risk worth taking,’ Romy replied, winking. ‘Plus, ensuring you don’t partake in the Witch Trials increases my odds of winning, like I said. It’s a win-win for me if you do escape.’
Dumfounded, I watched Romy stand from the bed, take my empty bottle from my hand, and walk towards the door. She knocked on it, waiting for the movement beyond to signal the guards to open it up.
‘Good luck, Hector,’ Romy called over her shoulder as the door swung wide from the outside. A sliver of brilliant light pierced into the room, making me raise a hand to shield my eyes.
‘ I change my mind ,’ Caym’s chirp echoed across my skull. ‘ I like that one .’
‘So do I,’ I replied, not bothering to whisper as Romy began flirting with guards, her voice brilliant with authority that seemed almost familiar.
‘Father has requested everyone to the central hub to prepare for the Witch Trials briefing. Followed by one last celebratory drink.’
‘But what about him?’
‘Let me stop you there. What you should be concerned with is following my Father’s command.’ Romy’s relation to Jonathan certainly explained her natural affinity with authority. ‘You remember the last time you refused him, don’t you Thomas?’
I didn’t hear Thomas’s reply over the rush of stomping feet. Romy’s soft chuckle was the last noise I caught before the door closed slowly, purposefully. I took the chance Romy offered me, throwing up a hand, casting out my tired magic. As expected, the beer worked wonders. My power rose to the surface, grasping a hold of the door with an invisible hand, stopping it from closing completely.
I was running within seconds.