Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I sat on the edge of a chair in the library, focusing on old magic rather than the thrum of pleasure still rocketing through my body. Arwyn had left our new room a while ago, promising to look for Romy back in the room we’d abandoned. Although his intentions were seemingly good, I couldn’t help but feel as though he’d rather spend time away from me, than with me. I’d spent the first part of silence pacing the room, desperate for a new distraction to take away from the initial distraction.
Arwyn’s body, his taste and touch. The impossible level of pleasure sex with him had given me.
I always thought that I was good at cutting off emotions. But compared to Arwyn, I obviously required more practice. To him, it was like the sex never happened. The moment we left the bathroom, it was as if everything that occurred was shut away behind a closed door. He barely looked at me. Conversation was lacking. Arwyn did everything he could to direct his attention to other matters. Not that I cared to talk about it. But it was as if I was being punished. Given the silent treatment.
It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. It really did.
Forcing Arwyn from my mind, I narrowed my attention on my open palm. If there was anything that could banish Arwyn to the shadows, it was the promise of magic. And exploring old magic was thrilling. Since Eleanor had introduced me to it, and my mother’s own teachings had awakened in the back of my memories, I felt connected to a part of myself I never knew was there. It had been many years since I felt brave enough to remember the before . But as I stared expectantly at my palm, flashes of a memory flooded to my mind.
I was young, so much so I couldn’t place an age. I sat cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom. Mother was before me, smiling, her curly brown hair pinned atop her head. Even now, all these years later, I could still picture the two strands that would always fall over her face. Pesky, she’d call them. I smiled at the memory, as unwanted tears of grief pricked in the corners of my eyes. I wished I could hear her voice again, if only for a moment. But in the memory, when her mouth opened and moved, no sound came out.
Unlike children born outside of the craft, my walls were not only decorated with alphabet tables. Mine had depictions of the phases of moons, a table of occult symbols and what must’ve been runes. At the time they meant nothing special to me. But now, since using the old magic, I felt myself be connected to that time. Seeing those marks through a new light.
Not only had the use of old magic strengthened my body, but it was also unlocking memories I never knew I had buried.
If old magic was not a part of my mother’s world, then why would she introduce me to it?
My only thought was she must’ve known that one day, despite her plans and hopes, I’d find myself here, partaking in the Witch Trials—and she wanted me to be prepared.
I blinked away the tears, catching them in my palm. A small puddle gathered in the centre, just as I wanted. Eleanor’s grimoire was beside me on the desk, turned to the table of symbols. The same that had once occupied my bedroom wall.
I took my finger and traced the symbol for water. A downturned triangle. I focused my intention on the symbol, whilst thinking only of the element it represented. It took practice to work. Unlike with air and fire, this element resisted me. Like a band pulling taut, threatening to break or snap back and hurt me.
My breathing evened as more tears fell down my face. It was like the only water I successfully conjured or controlled was that which pooled in my eyes.
Then I felt it. A shift. A spark. It was a sensation that rippled over my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand. In a blink, I was not only focused on the salty tears in my palm, but I was the tears. They spun, gathering into a bullet-sized ball which hovered over my outstretched hand.
I held my breath, not wanting to break my concentration.
I didn’t hear the footsteps beyond the door until the sound of a lock clicked free. Panic made my concentration spike. I broke away from the orb of water, but instead of it splashing against my palm, it shot out ahead of me. Glass cracked, followed by my gasp. Webs formed across the pane of glass the water had just cut through. Then Arwyn kicked back into the room, panicked, wide eyes searching for what made the noise.
‘Are you alright?’ Arwyn was breathless. It was the most words he’d said to me since we left the bathroom earlier that morning. Despite my annoyance at him, I couldn’t help but ignore him and look behind where he stood. The hallway beyond was empty, meaning Romy still hadn’t been found. He read my body language and said, ‘I didn’t find her. She didn’t go back to the room.’
He lifted up a plate of food. ‘But I picked up some more supplies.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I said, returning my gaze back to him.
‘You need to eat. Romy can’t hide forever.’
‘Nor can your voice apparently. Are we talking now?’
A flush spread across his face, like a band of heat. He knew exactly what I meant with my jibe. I waited for him to apologise or even to give me a good enough excuse as to why he’d fucked me then ignored me. Instead, Arwyn looked back to the smashed window.
‘Did you break that?’
I shrugged, picking up Eleanor’s grimoire and busying myself flicking through it. ‘Must’ve been a stone, or a bird.’
I could’ve told him about the old magic, but decided not to. If he was punishing me for something, then what right did he have to anything I deemed important?
Arwyn closed the door, exhaling loud enough for the mice in the walls to hear.
Not looking up from the grimoire, although I wasn’t focusing on anything in it, I decided to keep the conversation going. It was better than sitting in awkward silence, nor did I want to give Arwyn the impression he was bothering me with his reaction. ‘There are scrying spells in this which we could try.’
‘I’d rather not waste time on fables and myths,’ Arwyn said, audibly dismissing me. He hadn’t seen the magic Romy and I used to defend off the demons. He hadn’t even asked how I’d taken down a coven of witches by myself.
In fact, he didn’t really ask much about me.
‘Those myths and fables healed you,’ I said, ‘did you forget about that?’
‘Science, Hector.’ Arwyn paced towards the broken window and peered out. There was something heavy about his expression. From my vantage point, he looked exhausted. ‘Modern medicine relies on the combination of herbs and plants, and yet doctors don’t go round preaching magic. We were lucky.’
‘ You were lucky,’ I snapped, reminding him that it was he who survived only because of Eleanor’s salve. ‘And you’re in a foul mood.’
‘No, I’m not.’
I laughed, unable to control myself. At this point I was flipping through the book without even looking at it. ‘Yes, yes you are. You know the majority of men I sleep with at least thank me afterwards. You’ve barely looked at me.’
To prove a point, Arwyn glared over his shoulder in my direction. It actually proved the opposite, because I caught the way he winced and his lip curled. It was like he was disgusted…
‘Do you know what,’ I said, feeling my body vibrate with fury. ‘Fuck you.’
‘Hector,’ Arwyn began to plead, but I didn’t let him get in another word.
I closed the space between us, lifted the grimoire and smacked it into his broad chest. ‘Don’t treat me like a stranger, Arwyn. Don’t you dare act like this. I’m not saying you owe me anything, and trust me when I say I don’t plan to make the mistake again. But if you really think you can do what you did to me back there, act the way you did, then turn around and punish me for it…’ I smacked him a second time with the grimoire. ‘Then fuck you.’
I couldn’t tell if I was frustrated with him, or if this was an amalgamation of all my emotions finally spilling out.
Arwyn stayed still and calm, looking down his sharp nose at me. He only moved when I lifted the grimoire again. Before I could follow through with the next smack, Arwyn caught my wrist in his hand and held me at bay. ‘I thought this was what you wanted?’
‘To be punished? To be treated like I’ve done something wrong? Fuck me, Arwyn, you can barely look at me. And every time you do, you wince and pull a face like I’m the biggest regret in your?—’
‘You are my biggest regret,’ Arwyn snapped, leaning in close, teeth flashing. ‘That is exactly what you are.’
My breath hitched in my throat. A cold chill passed down my spine, splaying out across my back like wings of ice. I tried to step back, but his hold on me didn’t allow it. The back of my eyes burned, but I didn’t dare blink to allow the tears to flow free again. I was in half a mind to picture the symbol for air and conjure the element just as I had with Jaz. Then another half of me longed to turn away, walk out the door, and pretend Arwyn never existed.
Somehow, both were impossible.
‘Well, you must feel relieved to get that off your chest.’
Arwyn didn’t blink, nor move. He just held my wrist, not hard but firm. I could feel his heartbeat in his palm, the pace violent. ‘Not at all.’
I diverted my eyes. ‘You know where the door is, Arwyn. No one is making you stay with me.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Arwyn growled, a gleam of moisture growing across his eyes. ‘I’m making myself stay.’
His hold on my wrist slackened, enough for me to pull back. I put space between us, the grimoire shaking in my hand as unspent energy overwhelmed me. ‘What have I done wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
Clearly . ‘You’re not convincing.’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’ Arwyn pressed a closed fist to his forehead. His eyes screwed shut, the lines across his face deepening. ‘It’s me.’
I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant before Arwyn began slamming his knuckles into his forehead. By the third hit I was on him again, although this time I was the one to reach for his wrist and hold it. The grimoire dropped to the ground, forgotten. All that mattered was stopping Arwyn from hurting himself.
My anger at his reaction soon became guilt. I knew little of what haunted Arwyn, and I’d been so focused on my own reaction to his rejection that I didn’t contemplate that the reason could’ve been something harrowing. Heavy.
‘It’s me. It’s…’ Arwyn leaned forwards, resting his red-stained forehead on mine, ‘me. It’s me.’
The atmosphere changed as sure as a breeze. Arwyn melted into me, using my body as a way to prop himself up. I took him in, wrapping arms around him until my body was anchored to him. Then his sobs began. They were small and quiet, yet the sound spurred a deep ache in my own chest.
‘Shh,’ I hushed, feeling the wet spread of Arwyn’s tears soaked through the material at my shoulder. ‘I’ve got you.’
‘It’s this place,’ Arwyn groaned after a while, breaking the taut silence that had filled the room as he cried. ‘The pressures, the expectations. All of it. Nothing makes sense anymore. Not since…’
‘Me,’ I answered for him. ‘You’ve already made that clear.’
Arwyn didn’t tell me I was wrong. Because I wasn’t. I had come into this competition with the expectation of seeing it through to the end alone. It was easier to focus on surviving when I only had myself to worry about. Now, I risked myself for Romy and Arwyn. It was a burden was both shared.
‘I wish things could be different.’ Arwyn pulled back, placed his warm palm on my cheek and stroked the skin. ‘I’m sorry, Hector. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored. This is not an issue with you…but with me.’
I offered him a smile, one that pretended that everything was alright. ‘It’s not you, it’s me. Are you breaking up with me, Arwyn?’
He shook his head, grinning too. ‘I thought I was just a distraction for you?’
‘Not a very good one,’ I replied, testing the water.
‘How so?’
I leaned down and picked up the grimoire, again finding it easier to look at it than the intensity of Arwyn’s eyes. ‘A distraction is something that takes my mind off damning thoughts. But in truth, all this has done is make you sink your claws deeper into my mind. I…I find concentrating on anything else…’
‘Impossible.’ It was Arwyn’s turn to answer for me.
I found myself leaning closer, wanting there to be minimal space between his mouth and mine. Giving into my desires I leaned up on my tiptoes, ready to give into the need for him. But before I got close, Arwyn pulled back.
It was as if he was protecting me from what I really wanted, versus what I thought I needed.
‘There is something I want to show you.’
My heels hit the floor with a thump as heavy disappoint weighed down on me. ‘What?’
‘The clue for the next trial,’ Arwyn added, reminding me of something I’d not thought about in days. ‘Clearly Romy doesn’t want to be found. And we should respect it. But the clue is important to prepare for whatever Hekate throws at us next.’
‘Yes,’ I said quickly, ‘of course we should do that.’
Why didn’t I sound so convinced?
‘Come on then,’ Arwyn said, gesturing to the door. ‘We should go whilst it’s dark.’
‘Couldn’t you’ve just found the clue whilst you were out?’ I asked as Arwyn reached the door.
He stopped, hand grasping the handle, turning his face until I caught the perfect view of his profile. His smirk warmed me from the inside out. ‘I wouldn’t have found it earlier, even if I wanted to.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
Glad that we were talking, I quickly turned to put Eleanor’s grimoire back in its new hiding place. Before I slipped it into the bookshelf, concealed amongst an array of mundane books and stories, intuition rose its ugly head.
Wind screamed in through the small hole my water bullet had created in the window, reminding of me something Arwyn had distracted me from.
Scrying. Old magic. Although he didn’t believe, I did.
‘Give me a minute,’ I called as I quickly flipped through the book. I knew I’d seen a page on scrying before, and the use of water. It had mentioned moonlight, which was perfect for tonight because the sky was clear and the silver moon on full display. I’d show Arwyn it would work, perhaps teach him what Eleanor had showed me. But as I got to the end of the book, the page wasn’t inside. I looked again, finding the issue on the second search. Beside the hand-written page about the salve used to heal Arwyn was a missing page. I ran my finger down the tear of paper, the rough edges as if it had been quickly snatched out.
‘Arwyn,’ I exhaled, my intuition screaming.
He was behind me in seconds. ‘What’s wrong?’
I let him look down at the grimoire, to the obviously missing page. Except it wasn’t lost, because it had been ripped out. ‘Look.’
A wrinkle formed between Arwyn’s brows. He worked out the same thing as I did. Someone had taken the page on scrying. ‘I told you Romy doesn’t want to be found.’
‘She didn’t take it…’ I began, although the last time I’d seen her was with the grimoire.
‘Maybe not,’ Arwyn said, planting a kiss to my cheek. It was so sudden, all thoughts of torn pages and Romy faded. ‘But we can worry about it later.’
A horrible sinking feeling took up the majority of my chest. Numb to everything but the ripped page, I popped the grimoire into the inner pocket of my jacket. If Arwyn noticed or not, he didn’t make a mention.
I was simply a passenger, watching as Arwyn took my hand. ‘It’s going to be ok.’ He said, convincing me or himself, I wasn’t sure. ‘All of this is going to work out.’