35. X
X
Rumor Malefic
Nothing surprised me in Willowspire. Empath always had the same muffins for sale.
Bishop Quarry rang the bells twice a day, at noon and at midnight.
Us witches went about our chores, feigning gratitude that we were able to use our gifts at all—yet counting down the days until the solstice when we could meet under the protection of the moon.
Every day was the same.
My life was a monotonous string of yarn unraveling bit by bit, and I sank closer to death.
My only break from the mundane were moments of pain and torment.
The spider that squeezed my head and the times I’d be buried in a shallow grave.
Those events added a bit of mystery, however tortuous and dirty they were.
Even still, I’d come to expect the possibility of both horrendous happenings.
What I could not predict, however, wasn’t damn near anything that occurred in regards to the Blackthorne Boys.
Their motives were shrouded in mystery, the way they moved and the decisions they made—nonsensical.
I never knew if Riot or Spade would offer me pleasure or pain, temptation or frustration.
The power in their bones was an ancient, frightening sort of darkness that invited me in for a closer look into their forbidden abyss.
Twenty Blackthorne was just as enigmatic. I’d felt like I’d known him a lifetime. Our easy comfort with each other could be explained by the fact that he was my familiar—but why would a Blackthorne be a familiar at all? His sandpaper tongue had replayed more than a few times in my memories.
I’d built a wall of thorns around myself in thinking I could brush up against such powerful men without being affected myself.
Though, the way my heart gripped in worry as Spade and Riot disappeared into the darkness, fulfilling whatever midnight oath caused them as much pain as my spider…
I’d brushed against them and caught more than mere intel or opportunities at manipulation and hexes.
Part of me felt an unwelcome attachment to all things Blackthorne.
The castle, the skeletons, graves, mice, and all the magic concealed within the fortress of these walls and within these three men.
I feared if and when I retrieved my sister…
Willowspire may not feel like enough for me anymore.
That was a thought I’d settle at a different time.
For now, Adder Viper was convulsing on the floor, and Twenty Blackthorne crossed his arms, turning the moaning man over with his boot.
“This poor guy really pissed them off, huh?”
“He deserves it, but yes, he did.” I rested my heavy head on my knees. “Just so you know, I might pass out.”
“And what brought about such a strong bout of weakness and fatigue, little wicked witch?”
I shrugged a weary shoulder. “What do you think?”
“Sex or a hex. From that gaudy new two-toned hairdo, I think I have a pretty good idea.”
With a snort of amusement I replied, “Both, now that you mention it.”
Twenty groaned. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just admit to fucking one of my dickhead brothers.
From the white, I’m guessing the biggest dickhead of the pair.
Seriously, Rumor, have some standards.” He shook his head, as if shaking the thoughts away.
“What protection spell or charms did you use before the hex?”
“What are those?”
“Oh, dear goddess. You don’t…” Twenty ran a hand through his gray, curly hair and exhaled deeply. “Let me get muscle-bags here locked up in the basement cellar, then I’ll tend to your stupidity.”
“Gee, thanks, such a great familiar. So nice to me.”
“Nicer than you deserve,” Twenty grumbled.
“Watch this and learn something,” he said, pulling a silver pocket watch from the pocket of his vest. Rubbing the metal with his thumb, he simply spun a finger in the air over Adder, and poof—the burly man disappeared in a cloud of shimmering gray smoke.
“My protection charm,” he explained, tucking the pocket watch back in his vest. “And my exceedingly brilliant skills with dark magic. So, what happened? What did floor-guy do to anger the hefty egos of my brothers?” Tilting my head to look into his slitted eyes, Twenty knelt next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Go on, talk. It increases the potency of the revival spell I’m enduing you with now.
Oh, nice . “That was Adder. The meanest, eldest brother of the Viper brothers. He claims my crone gave me to him to wed, and he was here to collect his bride. For some reason, that got Riot and Spade into a she’s mine face-off.”
“I believe I threw my hat into that ring, too.”
Feeling a subtle increase in energy, I lifted my head. “What is wrong with you three?”
“You really don’t get it, do you? You’ve been too busy thinking only of yourself and what you want to even consider the cogs in the clocks all around you.” Twenty squeezed my shoulder. “Shall I carry you to bed or do you feel you can walk now?”
“I’ll walk.” I stood, immediately grabbing his arm for support. “On second thought, maybe you should carry me.”
Twenty lifted me with ease, and I rested my head on his chest, feeling a little too much like a damsel in distress for my liking, but whatever. “Where do they go at midnight?” I mumbled, closing my eyes as we exited the throne room. “Why is this castle outfitted for royalty?”
“My brothers and I share the same torment, yet we bear our chains uniquely. I escaped, somewhat, with my feline prowess. They will never escape, nor are their shadows as soft and cuddly as mine. As for the castle… why do you think?”
Furrowing my brow, I melted more into Twenty’s comforting warmth and strong arms. “None of that makes any sense.”
“It will,” he assured. “Rest now. I’ll take care of you.”
The words of my familiar were both a comfort and a plague as my tired mind attempted to sort through their meaning. Riot and Spade had both alluded to afflictions. Could the midnight matter be part of theirs? What secrets were they hiding that I hadn’t even begun to know enough to question?
Sleep overtook me before I could ask more.
When I woke, I startled, feeling something heavy hit my lap. Light poured into the room and my bed remained perfectly made, save for the spot I was tucked into. I must not have moved at all in my sleep—and Twenty must have bundled me tight.
Rubbing my eyes and sitting up to the empty bedroom, I assessed the weight on my lap.
My pulse quickened and a chill traversed my spine as I took in the black grimoire.
In the flurry of activity of the past couple days, especially after my library visit, I hadn’t opened the grimoire in some time.
I glanced around nervously, wondering who might have dropped it in my lap, waking me up.
To my horror, I was indeed alone.
Had it flown off the desk of its own accord? I’d never heard an account of a grimoire doing such a thing… if that had indeed happened, coupled with the sudden appearing and disappearing of the spells within it, this must have been a powerful book… with an even more powerful owner.
Grimoires were traditionally a legacy of spells collected, obtained, or created by a witch who’d passed on from this realm.
I’d found it beneath my cottage in the stack with all the other Malefic grimoires, so I’d always assumed it was a bewitched Malefic relic at best, some sort of trick at worst. Thus far, however, the book hadn’t led me astray.
Its hexes had been helpful, even if they were drenched in shades of gray when it came to witch ethics.
I think we both know I was past being ethical at this point.
Every day, despite the Blackthornes’ denial to help me, I felt closer to finding and rescuing Prism. This mystery book had helped me get this far… It wouldn’t turn on me now, would it?
Perhaps a new hex awaited me—something urgent. Fighting my unease at being woken up in such a strange way, I flipped open the hard, leather cover to the first beige, blank page.
All of a sudden, cursive scrawl floated to the surface of the paper. My pulse quickened as I watched the magic unfold. A new spell or hex bled to greet me in black ink… or so I thought.
My breath caught in my throat as the top words cleared.
Hello, Rumor Malefic.
Oh, goddess. This was bad. This was beyond bad. The grimoire knew my name. Wait, no… its author did? Then that would mean its author, the person the spells belonged to… was alive? It was forbidden for witches to use a grimoire that was not of their family line.
A few heartbeats later, the next sentence rose to the surface.
I believe I’ve helped you. Soon, it will be your turn to help me.
“Like hell am I going to help you!” I scolded the book. “I still don’t have my sister back.”
Scrawl appeared again.
Don’t speak. Write. Write to me.
“This is getting creepier by the minute,” I complained, kicking off the red duvet and hauling the bossy grimoire over to the writing desk. Pulling the quill from its ink jar, I scribed in my loveliest handwriting:
Get fucked.
The mystery source replied instantly.
You’d do best to mind your manners if you are to get what you want. Though, it is your fiery spirit that drew me to you in the first place.
I glared at the page. Was the book… hitting on me? I’d truly now seen it all. “Is this some sort of prank?” I asked aloud. “Some sort of cruel joke?”
When a response didn’t come, I dipped the quill in ink again and wrote.
Tell me how to get my sister back and I’ll do whatever you want.
The page turned on its own, as if flipped by an invisible hand. On the fresh, blank paper, the words appeared.
We have a bargain. Speak to the raven. Crows and ravens, and sometimes cats, know everything, by the way. When you reach your sister, intertwine your fingers together, and repeat the following:
As the wind blows,
So far as the sea knows,
So long, so long,
Send me back where I belong
I will find you when it is time to make good on our deal.
Until next time?—