Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘ I know about Jonathan’s plans, yes.’ Romy refused to look anywhere but at me when she replied. She also refused to refer to her father as, well, her father. Interesting. ‘But not because he trusted me enough to tell me. He, amongst many things, is sloppy because of pride. He thinks he’s so clever, but it really didn’t take much to uncover. However, the question I have is how do you know?’
There was something cathartic about Romy’s truth. She could have easily lied, and I may have even believed her. She looked at me, dead into my soul, and told me the truth.
‘After you gave me my chance to escape. My familiar, Caym?—’
‘It has a name?’ Romy interrupted.
‘Yes, Caym has a name. But that’s beside the point. We were just about to leave when I overheard a certain conversation between your father and Tomin.’
The mere mention of the head Witch Hunter’s name caused Romy’s mouth to screw up in disgust. I wondered how similar our reasonings were. Adoptive father was how she’d referred to Jonathan—suggesting she had biological parents, but they either couldn’t care for her, had abandoned her by choice, or were no longer here.
I guessed the latter.
‘And you wonder why I didn’t want you to partake. I couldn’t possibly focus on rooting out the Witch Hunter whilst worrying about you.’
And…I actually believed her. Romy, as she had been the night I met her, was playing a role, and playing it well. I only uncovered her deception because I knew Jonathan’s truth myself—otherwise I never would have guessed.
‘Then our goal is shared,’ I said.
Romy expelled a long breath, tension ebbing from the set of her shoulders. ‘Ok, this is good. No more secrets.’
‘I’m still not past the part where you already knew of your father’s involvement with our enemies.’ Or past the part where you worry enough about me, a total stranger, that you’re distracted from your mission.
‘Please, Hector. Call him by his name. Calling him that makes me sick.’
‘Reading between the lines, I gather you don’t like him?’
‘Does a duck swim? Does a bear shit in the woods? No, I don’t like him. Can you blame me?’
I shrugged. ‘Family is family. Sometimes you don’t have to like them, they still belong to us.’
I said it as if I had the practice. I didn’t. At least Romy had someone to call a father, even if that person was a conniving, twisted, power-hungry twat who was in bed with the man who ruined my life.
‘If I had a drink, I’d raise it in toast to that.’ Romy walked to the other side of the room, retrieving the book she’d been reading. She lifted it between us, flashing the leather-bound cover with the embossed but faded gold leaf design on its face. ‘What’s odd is that since the Witch Trials have begun, I hardly know the true definition of an enemy. Is it other witches? Is it my own family? Perhaps both. Here.’ She handed the book over. ‘Behold the very reason I know of my father’s… infidelity to witch-kind.’
It wasn’t the dimensions of a normal book, like the kind I’d left back in my studio flat in Oxford. This was smaller, only slightly bigger than my hand. I imagined it would fit Arwyn’s large hand perfectly, but quickly forced thoughts of him down.
‘What is it?’ I trailed my fingers over the spine, feeling the ridges like bones within a spine. There was a weight to it, but not something I could explain with metrics. It was deeper than that, as though something peculiar lingered in the very fabric of the book.
‘A grimoire. My father’s to be specific.’
‘You stole Jonathan’s Book of Shadows?’ I couldn’t hide how impressed I was. Opening the first pages, I found another world of language and symbols. It was nothing I hadn’t seen before, mostly in history books. But here, these shapes, spells and drawings felt different. More… believable.
Old magic. Forgotten ways. The craft as it had been before Eleanor Letcombe gave her life to the Witch Hunters, protecting witch-kind.
‘Technically, it belonged to my mother, but when she left me, it was given to Jonathan, who gave it to me. Or he took it. What exactly happened is pretty murky.’ Romy came to stand beside me, peaking over my shoulder.
I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mother’
She nudged me with her shoulder. ‘No you’re not. How can you be sorry for someone you didn’t know? Anyway, she abandoned me. We don’t have nice feelings about her, okay?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ And I didn’t. My condolence came from a far more personal space. ‘I’m sorry for you . I know the feeling of navigating a world without the people sworn to protect us.’
‘As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Hector, what creates more of a bond between two friends than the mutual feeling that we never got to truly know our mothers? Look, how exciting, we have something in common.’
Romy had a way of speaking from a place of pure honesty. It was almost overwhelming. So, I focused on Jonathan’s grimoire and the issue at hand. ‘Care to explain how this book exposed Jonathan’s deceit?’
She reached over me, flickering through pages. I saw diagrams that looked familiar but was as much a different language than that I had never spoke before. Pages upon pages of script, hand-written, clearly all from different hands. I was holding Romy’s family history in my hand, long forgotten, from a time when witches had magic and not Gifts. Finally, she came to a stop near the end of the book. A crisp white page had been folded up and stuffed into the pages of the book. I plucked it out, unfolding it to reveal…
‘A letter?’ I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was addressed to Jonathan and signed off clearly by one familiar name.
F. Tomin.
I fought the urge to launch the letter across the room. Another urge, a darker one, wanted to find a burning fire and throw the book into it. Seeing that name unlocked something dangerous within me. Not only did it spoil my insides and send my mind into a vortex of dark thoughts, but I reacted physically--lip curling, teeth flashing, muscles tensing.
‘Found the letter in his study. Thought the best place to hide it was in my mother’s grimoire, since Jonathan has made it explicitly clear that even the thought of her disgusts him. One, he’d never put me down to taking them, and two, if he did, he’d never think to look in the grimoire.’
‘Smart,’ I said, forcing out the word through the sickness that bubbled in my stomach.
‘You can borrow it, if you want,’ Romy said, her voice almost a whisper given that the noise in my head was so loud I almost didn’t hear her. ‘I think it will give you some answers, perhaps even spark some more questions.’
It was the sorrow in her voice that finally drew my attention from the letter, back to Romy.
‘My father,’ she spat, ‘is an evil man. As I’m sure you’ve worked out by now. But this letter… I cannot put into words how sorry I am.’
There was no stopping my heart from dropping like a stone. I felt it thud in my stomach, followed by a wave of sickness. ‘Sorry for what, Romy?’
‘Jonathan hasn’t just been working with the Witch Hunters recently. As you’ll find out, he’s been dealing with Tomin for eighteen years now.’ Romy didn’t blink once as she spoke, perhaps to nail home just what she meant with her emphasis on the timeline. She actually pointed to the top of the letter, to a date written there.
Eighteen years. Eighteen years since my parents were killed. Murdered. Put down like diseased cattle. The date was of the night before their murder.
I dared not to read the first line for fear of what I’d find.
Turned out, I really had no self-control.
The Tanners were an unfortunate mistake. The letter read. I knew that name. It was Salem’s family name. Even before I continued reading, I knew where the letter would go. Be sure that the Briar’s home is secured before our arrival. If we are to act swiftly, it must be clean and quiet…
I snatched my eyes from the letter, unable to read another word. Folding it up, I slipped it back in Romy’s hand. ‘I don’t need to read this.’
My mind was a storm. Distracted, I could hardly gather a coherent thought without thinking about Jonathan’s involvement with Tomin. How it was his mistake Salem’s parents were murdered the night prior. Then…
My throat dried like stone baked beneath summer sun. I tried to swallow but almost choked. Romy didn’t need to explain any further, nor did I need to look down at the letter and finish reading. I had no doubt Jonathan had some involvement in my parent’s murder. The admission of guilt was practically written across Romy’s face.
Her sense of responsibility to me. Her desire for me not to partake in the Witch Trials. And now this, her sorrow and guilt. The pity she looked at me with. They were all tale-tell signs of the truth.
But I was weak. I was one more truth from breaking. And if I wanted to survive the Witch Trials and see punishment duly handed out, I would need to gather the frayed threads holding me together and grasp them tight.
I closed the grimoire with a finite thud. My hands shook as I handed it back to Romy, who took it without hesitation. ‘It doesn’t matter what’s written on those pages. Not yet. Maybe soon, but for now I need to keep focused. We must, if we want to find the Witch Hunter.’
‘Understood,’ Romy replied, grasping the book with both hands. There was a sense of protection in her body language, the way she was almost shielding me from it. ‘But when you want access to it, you can have it. Anytime, you don’t even need to ask.’
‘If,’ I corrected, faking a smile that lasted barely a second.
‘No, Hector. Not if. When . We can do our best to hide from what we fear will harm us. But it’s when we finally face it that truly proves our strength. So, when you want it, you know where to find it.’
I could have refused. I could have feigned nonchalance again. But instead, I just nodded, knowing if I spoke my voice would crack and that terrible weakness in my chest would finally reveal itself.
There was an awkward silence between us. I broke it, choosing an awkward question instead of the quiet. ‘Jonathan bargained with Tomin to keep you safe.’
‘Wow.’ Romy’s eyed widened. ‘My father may have a heart yet.’
‘He was adamant. Panicked almost. Clearly he cares about you’
‘No, no he doesn’t.’ Romy turned her back on me. I waited, refusing to say another word, as she gathered her breath and steeled herself. By the time she turned back around, it was to face me with a look of defiance I had seen on my own face before.
‘Now that is the look of someone with a plan, if ever I’ve seen one,’ I said, offering a grin that I managed to keep up for longer this time.
‘I do. And a solid one.’
I crossed my arms, leaning all my weight on one hip. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘We both agree that one of us needs to win. But regardless of who does, it’s best we come out of the Witch Trials, not only alive, but holding the answers to what Tomin and Jonathan’s plans are. Only then can we face the true fight that will be waiting for us on the other side of this.’
Romy began to pace, working grooves into the panelled floor. ‘To do so is simple. Beside surviving, we need to find this Witch Hunter and flay his mind open. If we can get one step ahead of Tomin and Jonathan, we have a better chance of putting a stop to whatever it is they’re trying to achieve.’
‘It’s a solid plan,’ I said, fingers brushing across my jawline as I did whenever I focused on a thought. ‘And yet, how exactly do you suggest we do that?’
Again, Romy lifted the grimoire up. She shook it as though it held all the answers. Which, I gathered, it did.
‘The Witch Trials are built upon the grounds of old magic. If this Book of Shadows is going to come in handy, it would be here.’
I narrowed my eyes, feeling a swell of emotion within my chest. It was hope born from the belief we actually had a chance. ‘I like where this is going.’
‘Not to expose myself, but I consider myself a super-fan of the Witch Trials. I’ve studied every one. Jonathan thought I did it to increase my chance of survival, which is only in part the truth. Really, I did it to stay one step ahead of him. I know every trial that has been, I know how the previous victors won it.’
‘I consider myself lucky to be a part of your coven,’ I added.
‘That’s because you’re smart, Hector.’ Romy flicked through the pages, wildly searching for something. ‘There are hexes. Spells for almost anything. If this works, we could achieve anything from astral projection, to making potions that would put everyone in this fucking castle into a dreamless slumber.’
‘ If it works.’
‘Yes, if. But I strongly believe it will.’
The idea of utilising old magic forgotten by generations of ancestors was thrilling. ‘But you forgot that access to this magic has long since faded.’
It was Romy’s turn to lean on her hip. ‘Come on, Hector. You are literally walking around with a familiar. How can you believe the old ways have truly disappeared?’
‘Familiars are outlawed,’ I said, repeating the same warning Caym had practically brought me up on. It was why he was kept such a secret. It was drummed into me to hide him.
‘In part, they are. But a familiar is also old magic. What they can achieve, what your Caym can offer you, that has nothing to do with gifts. If we can speak with Caym, then we may be able to access the spells on this page.’
I chewed my lip, using that moment of quiet to reach out for my familiar. Again, I was met with a solid wall of nothing. No voice, no presence. Just empty space where Caym once dwelled.
‘Then this should be the moment that I tell you, Caym is missing.’
‘Missing?’ Romy stopped dead, mulling that word over as though it didn’t make sense.
‘Since the Witch Trials began, I haven’t been able to communicate with him. I thought it was due to space between us, but if Caym could have found me by now, he always has before. Something is… blocking us.’
I expected her to worry at the thought, but instead her eyes sparkled as though I had just exposed the secrets of the universe.
‘Old magic,’ Romy practically shouted, clapping a hand against the cover of the grimoire. ‘It has to be. Until the new Grand High is picked, and the source is handed over to them, it has to be here .’
Romy snatched my arm in hers, guiding me towards the door of the room.
‘Are you always this happy, even in the face of problems?’ I asked.
‘It’s called searching for a silver-lining, Hector. You should try it sometime and stop being such a cynical old soul.’
‘What do you suggest?’ I asked.
‘Well, first we make sure we’re seen by the surviving witches. No good speculating that you are weak and bed-bound after last night’s fun. Then we can try contacting Caym.’
I nodded, enjoying the feeling of having a path to follow. But there was the mention of Jordan again, and my mind twinged with a phantom ache. ‘You said something about seeing into the mind of the Witch Hunter, getting out information we need.’
‘One spell at a time, Hector.’
‘No, not with old magic,’ I said as Romy turned back to our door and locked it, pocketing the key. ‘I think we both know of a witch who would be a rather helpful ally when it comes to our plan.’
Romy smiled knowingly at me, as if she was piecing together the puzzle I laid out for her. ‘Then let’s go hunt Jordan down.’