Chapter 12
L ucy woke up with a terrible crick in her neck after spending the night in the vault. She suspected she’d have ended up with a cold if Rosie hadn’t put a blanket over her. Not that she felt it – Benedict’s element kept her at a temperature she could only compare to the fires of Mordor.
A soft, deep voice caught her off guard as she put a book back on the shelf.
“Sorry to disturb you. I’m looking for Lucinda Hawthorne?”
Lucy whipped round and then rubbed her sore neck. She hadn’t expected anyone to stop by the library first thing. The book she’d been holding landed on the creaky wooden floors with an almighty thump.
“You found and nearly killed her,” she said, stepping down from the ladder and noting the new scorch marks on the wood. The fright must have triggered the fire’s desire to protect me. She slid the ladder away before the visitor could notice. With the study area littered with books, she’d decided to do a quick tidy up.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Rosie, the woman downstairs, told me you were up here,” the stranger said, clutching his satchel to his side. Lucy wasn’t sure if he was afraid of her or just awkward.
Her eyes went to the pin on his jacket: the Vatican seal.
“I called to let you know I was on my way.” He followed her gaze to the pin and awkwardly adjusted his glasses. Handsome, in a nerdy way. “Emerson Hughes,” he added, extending his hand.
Lucy picked up the dropped book instead. She didn’t want her magic to sense her discomfort and burn him.
He drew his hand back. “I’m a professor at Darworth University with your father.” With his tweed jacket, and brown shoes, he looked every bit the scholar.
Lucy cursed silently. She needed more time to study the curse-stripping potion before she handed the Hawthorne grimoire over. She still had to double-check her translations and make sure she wouldn’t rid them of their elements entirely.
“The Order of Occult Research sent me, and since I’ve heard so much about you and Foxford, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone,” Emerson concluded.
“If you’re here for the book, you’ll have to wait a few more days. The final incantations are proving tricky,” Lucy said firmly, wondering if she should warn him about referencing stones and killing while in town. His tight grip on his satchel revealed his nerves, so she let it slide.
If her dad had known Emerson was coming, she was surprised he hadn’t called to warn her. Then again, he was off on a dig for a rare artefact, so they’d missed their last few weekly calls.
“There’s no hurry! Any delay gives me more time to see the town. I’m merely here to collect and assist at your leisure. If I’m being honest, I volunteered for the job. I studied the Forgotten text you discovered and translated last year… Sorry, I’m babbling. I’ve been excited to meet you.” He cut himself off, clearly embarrassed by his own outburst.
Lucy stared at him, taken aback. “I just translated it. Rosie tracked it down; she found the text in the desert in a forgotten tomb while searching for a different relic altogether. A happy accident. If it wasn’t for her it would’ve remained Forgotten.
She guessed that Emerson was somewhere in his early thirties. There was something gentle about his eyes that put her at ease. Even if he belonged to the Order who’d once hunted her kind – and still did, in certain circumstances – it looked like he’d spent most of his days studying. He didn’t seem like the hunting type. Then again, a witch could never be too careful.
“You can relax! You look like you’re about to pass out,” she said.
Emerson looked down at his white-knuckled grip and released the strap. “Rosie. Is she a witch?” he whispered, curiosity evidently getting the better of his manners.
“You don’t have to whisper. Witch isn’t a dirty word.” His eyes widened, and Lucy grinned. “But she isn’t.”
He waited for her to continue.
“Think more… claws and teeth,” Lucy explained.
Emerson swallowed. She got the feeling he hadn’t suspected that the soft-spoken, quirky young woman one floor below them could rip his throat out in a matter of seconds.
“Claws and teeth? You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you?” Rosie appeared, and Emerson flinched. Clearly, this was his first time in a refuge town around such creatures. Lucy rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to have to babysit him to keep him from becoming someone’s snack; she had enough on her plate. To avoid embarrassing him, though, she said nothing.
“This is your first time in a town like Foxford?” Rosie, on the other hand, had never mastered the act of subtlety.
Emerson scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve always wanted to visit and learn about the different…” He hesitated. “Cultures.”
Rosie circled him like a wolf stalking a lamb. “I was the same when I left my pack in the woods for the mysterious town beyond, but it was rather disappointing the first time I met a vampire.”
Feeling a morsel of pity for Emerson, Lucy hoped her friend wouldn’t get too much enjoyment from teasing him.
“My postman,” Rosie explained. “A balding man named Ted– or Theodore, back in his day. He hadn’t drunk blood in over a hundred years. The only time he ever appeared even slightly frightening was when he chased a warlock through the town after he’d found him in a compromising position with his youngest daughter. By youngest, I mean fifty-six in vamp years.”
Lucy expected him to look frightened, but Emerson hung on to her every word. “And the…?” He pointed hesitantly to his teeth.
“The fangs? Nothing remarkable. They could be easily assumed to be magless canines, only a little sharper. Mine are far more impressive,” Rosie told him, before offering to introduce him to a vampire to show him the difference. He quickly declined.
“I’ve just arrived – I need to get settled first before I start meeting people.” Emerson looked like he was chomping at the bit to ask Rosie exactly what she was, but it was terribly impolite to ask as a magless. It made magical folk feel as though they were nothing more than their species. To put him out of his misery, Lucy winked at her friend behind his back.
Rosie took the hint and extended her painted nails. Her eyes glowed a vibrant amber, telling him she was a werewolf.
“Wow, your eyes… I’ve heard how bright they can appear, but—” He struggled to finish, transfixed by the sight. Then his eyes dropped to her claws and he backed up slightly.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Rosie said seductively, retracting her claws. Emerson smiled nervously, gripping his satchel once again.
“Let’s not frighten him off,” Lucy said. He seemed harmless, even if the people he worked for weren’t. She didn’t want him to get a bad impression of them – but at least he now knew how well-protected the library and what lay beneath it was. “What do you plan to do while I finish my work?” she asked, cutting right to the point.
“I can help you with research?” he offered, clearly eager to help.
“I’ve got the best researcher in the country,” Lucy said, gesturing to Rosie. She couldn’t have him looking over her shoulder as she studied up on curse-stripping potions.
“I could use an assistant, if you don’t want him.” Rosie batted her long eyelashes at Emerson, who stood a head taller.
If he’s not careful, he really will become her prey. But Rosie was the perfect person to keep him distracted.
“I’m not sure if we can trust him. The last email the order sent was rather threatening.” Lucy sharpened her tone to see how he would react. Maybe he’d reveal a harsher side when threatened.
“I’m only here to help; I’m sorry if our head office weren’t as understanding about the complexity of work such as yours,” he said, his tone assertive but apologetic. “I can explain to them that you require more time with the grimoire, but I will need to check that it’s still in your possession – just a formality, really.”
“The grimoire is sealed in our vault, and unfortunately magless aren’t allowed in. They’ve been warded for generations,” Lucy explained.
“Oh, I wasn’t aware. Can we try? I’ve got a suspicion I’ll be fine.” He smiled sheepishly.
Lucy frowned, wondering what he wasn’t saying, and Rosie looked suspicious.
“I should warn you, if you fail to pass the warding you’ll get what feels a bit like an electric shock. It won’t kill you, but it’s said to hurt something awful.” Lucy thought of the poor magless who’d tried to break in a few years back. She’d found the intruders passed out by the gargoyles within the secret entrance.
“I think I’ll survive.” He sounded far more confident than before.
“I love your optimism.” She wasn’t sure if he was arrogant, but least if he was knocked out for a few hours, it’d buy her some time with the grimoire uninterrupted. “Rosie, can you please grab me a blanket?”
“A blanket?” Emerson gave her a puzzled look, following her down the main staircase to the reception desk. The main entrance to the vault lay at their feet; the secret entrance on the second floor was for coven eyes only. In case of a raid, they’d be able to escape fast. The main entrance was a much longer and more winding path. Rosie pulled out a multicoloured blanket from beneath the desk and handed it to him.
“In case you pass out. I wouldn’t want you to get cold lying on the stone floor.” Lucy moved aside the chairs to expose the entrance concealed beneath the tiles.
“The tunnels are awfully draughty,” Rosie added with a smile.
“Open it up.” Lucy motioned for Emerson to stand on the tiled owl beside her.
Rosie twisted the neck of the brass owl on the desk. With a clunk and clash, they were lowered beneath the library until the stone ceiling replaced itself above them.
“Impressive,” he muttered, admiring the domed roof.
“You’ve seen nothing yet,” Lucy told him.
The platform hit the ground, and the tunnel before them lit as soon as her foot hit the stone. It was on instinct; she hadn’t even tried to summon Benedict’s fire. Maybe my blood isn’t rejecting the fire as much as I thought it would. Having his element might actually come in handy. Usually, she would’ve hit the fire symbol at the start of the first tunnel to light them.
“It looks like…” Emerson started, noting the arched holes in the walls.
“A crypt?” she finished for him. “You’d be right. When witches were persecuted, we hid the burial grounds of our loved ones here to stop the church from getting to their bones, or anything they might have been buried with.”
“And now?” he asked, stepping off the platform.
“The last of the coffins were moved above ground to the cemetery behind the town hall. There’s been no need to hide in Foxford for the last few hundred years.”
He didn’t respond to that. He already knew their history, of course, but Lucy understood first-hand what it was like to read about something and then actually witness the evidence.
At the entrance of the tunnel, eyeing the gargoyles on either side of the tunnel, she waited. Though she worried about showing him the entrance, it was the easiest and fastest way to test him.
“Even with the torches, it’s freezing down here,” he said, rubbing his hands together and walking past.
Lucy frowned as the gargoyles failed to act, but she followed, not wanting him to know he had passed the first test. She studied his hands and neck; he wore no anti-warding amulets that she could see.
“It’s worse in the summer – like a sauna,” she remarked. His passing the first test might be because he held no ill will or intent, since the gargoyles’ main purpose was to protect against thievery first and foremost. She was already breaking the rules by not bringing him before the High Priestess once he’d made his presence known to her. If the coven got wind that she’d brought a member of the Order beneath the library without their approval, they might not need a vote after all– she could just hand her inheritance to Benedict – but the warding was the fastest way to figure out if he was a threat.
Emerson followed her through the tunnel with no concern about where he was being led. Lucy couldn’t believe how trusting he was. Many in his position would have been as suspicious of her as she was of him.
“Where are you staying in town?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him. “You’ve no bags with you, so I take it I wasn’t your first stop?” She wondered if one of the professors from the university had put him up. Hopefully there was at least one person in town to not only vouch for him, but to guide him.
“At the Manor – I checked in first thing. I’ve never stayed in such a well-maintained manor. They must’ve spent a fortune restoring it.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. Benedict would just love being praised by a member of the Order. In fact, she wanted to make sure she was there if and when he discovered someone sent from the very Order that had sentenced his father to death was staying under his roof.
“They did, so it’ll be expensive if you’re staying indefinitely,” she warned, wanting to stay off the topic of the Mathersons. Even the brief mention made her palms sweat, as though Benedict’s element was trying to remind her of him.
“The order is covering the cost until my room is ready at the university.”
Relief cooled Lucy’s element – with any luck, he’d leave the manor sooner rather than later – as he continued. “Your work here is important, so they deem it a worthy expense, and it will only be for a short time.”
Slowing her pace as they reached the armoured knights through the next archway, she tried to stifle a smile, sure he wouldn’t pass the next phase.
“So excellently maintained,” Emerson marvelled, stopping to examine the knights that could cut him in half.
Lucy walked ahead, not looking back, and waited for the thud of his body hitting the stone. The guardians wouldn’t skewer him unless he was truly evil. She hoped.
“How will I know if I’ve passed?” He jogged up beside her.
“H-how?” Lucy stammered, mentally preparing herself for a fight. What if he wasn’t who he said he was? There were plenty of magical folk on the fringe who’d do anything to gain access to these vaults, but she couldn’t think of any mad enough to disguise themselves as an Order member.
“Technically, I’m not entirely a magless,” he admitted, putting some distance between them. Apparently her silence was read as a threat, because he hurried to explain. “My great-great-grandmother was a healer, but she was never part of any coven. She had no magic herself, but she could work with nature. Understood plants and animals as though she could speak to them.”
Lucy considered his last name. “Hughes? I don’t recall any Healer name in our old ledgers.” She could’ve overlooked it…
“She never made herself known. She worked with the sick, disguised as a nun, mostly; she wasn’t one for rules when it came to helping people,” Emerson said.
“If she worked for the church, that explains why we have no record.”
“If you can’t beat them, join them,” he agreed, admitting to a crime the Order would have burnt his ancestor for.
“Is that your philosophy? To hide amongst them?”
“Yes and no, but she was my inspiration to join the Order.”
“Do your employers know this?” She’d never heard of the Vatican letting those of magical descent into their ranks.
His smile became shaky. “Technically, there was nothing to disclose, as I’ve no magic myself.”
“Then how did you know you’d pass the warding?” Lucy asked, trying to remain calm, so she didn’t end up accidentally setting an Order member on fire. With everything going on with the coven and Benedict, it couldn’t have been a worse time for him to arrive.
“I didn’t. To be honest, I was testing myself just as you were testing me. To see if any trace of magic lingered in my blood.” He smiled.
“I can’t decide whether you’re gutsy, clever, or dangerously naive. I appreciate your honesty, but if I were to report you, the Order would imprison you. You’ve put yourself at great risk coming here!”
In spite of her words, Emerson appeared relieved to share his history with someone.
“My only hope in sharing my past with you is that you don’t have to be on guard. I read in one of your translations that warding might also fail if a person, magless or not, harbours no ill intent. I hope this will further confirm that my presence isn’t a threat, and that I only wish to help,” he said, his eyes wide with hope.
Lucy took a moment to consider. If he stepped out of line even an inch, she could report him. His own would do far worse to him than her kind would, and she could use her knowledge to keep the grimoire longer, should she need to. She didn’t want to use blackmail, but – her palms burned – desperate times called for desperate measures.
“You’re right about the warding. Some magless who wish no ill intent or self-gain from our magic will be allowed to pass unharmed,” she told him, “though it’s very rare.” Together, they passed through the tunnels lined with ancient relics and cursed objects. “Please don’t touch anything; not all magic down here has good intentions,” she warned.
He nodded, his broad smile like that of a child in a sweet shop as he slowed to look over book spines and rare items. When Lucy stopped at the intersection of all the tunnels, he nearly walked into her, transfixed by the sight of the vault.
“Can we go in?” He walked around the glass room filled with dozens of shelves with books and artefacts that were far more sacred than those he’d already observed. Lucy let him look, waiting to see if his intent would switch now that he’d got this far. “It’s a far larger collection than I anticipated. This is exceptional,” he breathed, not daring to get too close or linger too long in one spot. Still, she wasn’t going to let just anyone touch the ancestral texts; she had already taken him far enough.
“Not today. I’m sorry, but I need permission from the High Priestess. As you can see, the grimoire is safely within the vault; that should be enough to prove my co-operation,” she said, guiding him back the way they’d come. His gaze lingered on the text only a few feet away, before backing up.
“Forgive me for assuming, but if I’ve made it this far… I wonder if I’ve passed your tests?” Emerson asked, clearly pleased with himself.
“I still need permission to bring you into the actual vault.”
He sighed. “I won’t press. I just wanted you to know you can trust me.”
“I think this is enough for today. Let’s not run before we can walk.” Lucy was far more worried about touching the grimoire with her untrustworthy hands. If she burned, singed or even marked the book in front of him, the Order might believe she’d done it on purpose to stop them from getting their hands on it again. Or, worse, Emerson could report back that she couldn’t control her element. Such a revelation would have consequences of epic proportions, even if she did have something on him as well.
On their return, the armoured knights remained frozen. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that their warding might’ve failed. She ignored his repeated success, not wanting to let him know where the tests were in case he reported back on the inner workings of their vault.
“Can I give you some advice?” she asked as the platform came down for them, wanting to reward him for his honesty. Many wouldn’t put themselves in harm’s way to prove their story.
“I’ll take any help I can get,” he said, clearly on a high from making it this far. His joy radiated off him in waves.
She eyed the pin on his tweed blazer. “Don’t wear that in public. I’m surprised you were able to check in to the Manor with it on. Though we work together, there are still some in town who would prefer if we didn’t.” The same few that would love to use his arrival as a great excuse to take my position from me. The wounds of the past may have healed, but the scars remained.
“I was wearing a coat when I checked in,” he admitted, touching his fingers to the pin as if to conceal it.
“I’d hate for you to run into anyone who’d take issue without knowing the full story. There’s no way a Matherson would allow anyone from the Order to stay within their establishment unless the coven ordered it. Old vendettas die hard.” And the matter between the Mathersons and the Order wasn’t all that old.
“I suppose I’m so used to it opening doors. I never thought it’d be the reason some closed.” Emerson removed the pin without hesitation.
“Maybe in the magless world. Just be glad you weren’t meeting with the wolves in the woods.”
He frowned as the torches dimmed around them. “Why?”
“I believe the Order still has hunters…” She trailed off.
“Different department,” he said quickly. She was surprised he didn’t deny it. “I don’t agree with all their practices. My role is to bridge the gap between us. There are many, especially as new generations move up in the ranks, who wish for us to move forward together.”
The gargoyles confirmed his words. If he believed in harming magical folk, they wouldn’t have let him get this far.
Curiosity won over subtlety. “If you feel this way, why join the Order in the first place? Where there are those who would wish we didn’t exist at all?”
He hesitated. “Are there not some in your own communities who believe that magless are second to your kind?”
He had a point, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “Touché.” If he was going to be honest, so would she. “There are some of magical descent who believe magless are inferior, but I suspect such ideas come from the pain of the past. A desire to punish those in the present for crimes committed against their ancestors,” she said, stepping up onto the platform. “Like you said, the more we work together, the more time can change things.”
An air of understanding settled between them as the ceiling opened above them. “There’s a safe in my room. I’ll leave the pin there for the duration of my stay,” Emerson said, putting it in his pocket.
“Now that the awkwardness is out of the way, you can relax. I’ll discuss your vault access with the High Priestess this evening.”
He let out an exaggerated breath. “Thank you.”
“You mentioned that you worked with my father?” Lucy asked.
“In passing. I’ve been to a few of Mr Hawthorne’s lectures on lost relics. Due to my position with the Order, I bounce around a lot, but I hope to settle soon.”
Lucy wondered what else he did for the Order. He’d done everything she asked and more, so there was no need to be hostile. It’d also be easier to learn more about him if she introduced him to her family, and a welcoming dinner was the perfect excuse.
“Dad would want me to invite you to dinner. You don’t know anyone in town, and they don’t know you. If you come to Hawthorne House, it’ll let everyone know that you’re here with good intentions, especially if you’re going to work at the university. The town can be awfully suspicious of newcomers, particularly magless with Order connections.” She reminded herself to ask later how he’d managed to get a position at the university. Perhaps her dad had given him a good if not great reference, and that was why he hadn’t gone into more detail.
“I’d be delighted. The drive here was rather endless, and service station food leaves much to be desired,” he said, clearly excited to meet the High Priestess of Foxford.
“We eat at seven – bring your appetite. Once I tell Grams we’ve company, she’ll put on a feast. Are you okay to get around in the meantime? I’ve got some translations to finish.” It didn’t look great that she’d been organising old texts when he arrived. She didn’t want him to report that she wasn’t working on the grimoire.
“Don’t let me keep you. I can get to know the town, and meet you back here when the library closes?”
They returned to the library floor. Rosie was in her usual spot, trying to fix the outdated computers. Lucy wasn’t sure about letting Emerson wander freely before she had a chance to talk with her mum about his arrival.
“If you’ve got time to kill, you could help Rosie with her research? She’s working on a cold case for the next village over.” Rosie would get plenty of information out of him.
Emerson looked unsure as he gazed at the petite werewolf.
“You don’t need to worry. She might’ve claws, but she also has one of the biggest hearts in town,” Lucy whispered.
He swallowed at her mention of claws. God, this town will eat him alive if he’s allowed to wander at will.
“I’ll ask her,” he decided, colour returning to his cheeks. “After all, I did come here to be of service.”
“She can also fill you in on the town.” Lucy didn’t want him heading too far into the woods by accident. “Show you some of the no-go areas.”
“I’d be happy to help,” Rosie said, returning to the desk with a computer under her arm as though it weighed nothing.
“Eavesdropping again?” Lucy nudged her friend.
“I can’t help it – that tea really messed with my senses.” Rosie pouted, putting down the computer with a clunk.
“Tea?” Emerson looked between them, brows pulled together behind his glasses.
“Long story.” Lucy grabbed her lunch and melted iced tea from the desk. “I’ll meet you out front at closing.”
“What about lunch?” he offered, pushing his glasses higher on his perfectly straight nose. “You could update me on your progress, or if you’ve notes you’d like me to transcribe—”
She waved the sandwiches in her hand. “I’ve got to work through, and no materials relating to ancestorial magic, not even notes, are allowed to leave the vault,” she informed him, heading back down. She didn’t always follow that rule, but she didn’t want him knowing that.
Before the ceiling sealed itself over her head, she heard Rosie eagerly accepting his help. Lucy swallowed her nerves as she lit the torches again, this time intentionally. She rolled her fingers over her palms. Fire might not be so hard to control after all. I just need to make sure I don’t use it in front of Emerson.
Within the vault, she settled into her seat and pulled the grimoire from its secure case. She clenched her fists, afraid of touching its delicate pages, but she needed to conquer her fears if she was going to find the potion.
“Hopefully I’ll still be able to read it. If it senses Benedict’s element, it may refuse to open,” she muttered to herself.
She ran her hand gently over the spine, testing the latch. The knots in her stomach unravelled when it popped open.
Turning the first page, she let out a sigh when she was able to read the first line. Okay. This confirms that Benedict’s element hasn’t affected my ancestral connection. That should help us both get through the rest of the month. Flipping through the pages, she found the curse-stripping potion, but she still had to translate the ingredients perfectly or risk doing more harm than good. She hoped they wouldn’t have to use it.
She didn’t want to keep Emerson waiting, so when the clock struck six, she latched the grimoire and tucked it away. Her phone showed several texts and two missed calls from an impatient Benedict, but she didn’t want to reply until she had a back-up plan. That way, if correcting the original spell Grams used didn’t work, they’d have an alternative potion ready to go. She dropped her phone in her bag with a huff. She understood his frustration, but she was working as fast as she could.