Chapter 17
“ I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” Benedict said, climbing out of his car. “I didn’t miss a meeting about the Autumn Festival to get lost in the woods with you.”
“Relax. The crone can smell fear, and we aren’t lost,” Peter said, leading him down a narrow path between abandoned cottages. “You should be thanking me for making enquiries, since you and Lucy failed to fix your elements.”
Benedict locked the car, even though it was pointless. There was no one around for miles. If they wanted to get into his car, something as simple as a lock wouldn’t stop them.
He guessed they were about an hour or so from Willow Valley, the closest magical village to Foxford. They didn’t abide by the same rules Foxford did. Magic, of all practices, was allowed, and the woods between were lawless and filled with all sorts of creatures. They didn’t fear Hunters or the Order, and preferred to run the risk of bloodshed. Benedict didn’t know how anyone could live in such fear.
The siblings lingered outside the crone’s hovel. She was famous for her lack of morals and the strength of her magic. She had been in the woods longer than anyone could or wanted to remember; not even the Order tried to come after her. It was the last place Benedict wanted to be, but the cool wind brushing the back of his neck reminded him of Lucinda’s element stirring in his veins, and he knew he had to do something.
“I always knew Lucinda would be the death of me.” He noted the totems made of small animal bones hanging from the overgrown porch: a warning to those who wished harm upon the dweller.
They didn’t even need to knock before the door creaked open.
“I never thought I’d see the day when not one, but two Mathersons would darken my decrepit door,” said the crone. She had a bent back and a long chin.
“I was told you know about elemental magic,” Peter said, standing in front of Benedict. Peter couldn’t be killed twice, and magic didn’t affect Grim Reapers. If the crone decided to add his brother to her collection of bones in the clay pots by her door, she’d have to go through death first.
The crone sniffed the air around them, but settled closer to Benedict with a slick grin. “You’ve got yourself in quite the pickle. Come inside. I believe I can be of some assistance.”
Peter followed her in; Benedict hesitated. He didn’t want to go behind Lucinda’s back like this, but seeing how much hope she’d had for last night’s potion weighed on his heart. The guilt she obviously felt for a mistake she’d had no part in reminded him of the guilt he felt for those he’d lost. If the crone could help, Lucinda never needed to know their attempt to fix the potion hadn’t worked. He could merely tell her it had taken some time to kick in.
“I can remove her element from your body and yours from her; however, such harsh magic comes at a price,” the crone said suddenly, lighting some black candles in preparation for performing a spell.
Benedict didn’t remember walking inside, but he found himself in a sitting room with the crone by his side, her yellowing eyes staring up at him.
“Financial, spiritual or magical?” he asked, eyeing the grandeur within her cottage. The decrepit exterior must be a facade. Inside, it was nothing short of a palace.
“All of the above.” She sipped her lilac-coloured tea. Benedict noted the scents of ginseng and liquorice. An aging spell. The crone might appear to be old, but it was a lie, like the house.
He glanced around the room to find no mirrors anywhere in sight. Mirrors weren’t just a reflection of people’s exterior, but that of their soul, and it was obvious the witch wasn’t fond of what could be revealed.
“Cost isn’t an issue if you can exchange our elements,” he said quickly, caring far more about escaping this place than money.
“You underestimate me. If has no place in my hovel.” The crone beamed, putting down her chipped tea-cup. “Removing your elements from one another is nothing. However, I said nothing about returning the elements to their rightful place.”
“Stripping them of their elements is not what we agreed,” Peter snarled. He’d never been particularly patient.
The crone tutted, her smile turning sinister. “You asked if I could remove their elements; you said nothing about returning them.”
“Mere wording,” Peter growled. Benedict gripped his forearm, trying to ease his temper. He always was quick to react. Death hadn’t changed that, nor had it quenched his desire to protect those around him.
“It was mere wording that got your brother and Ms Hawthorne in this position.” She shuddered, licking her red lips. “Thinking of those goody-goodies messing on our side of the fence is positively tantalising.” Peter had told Benedict that the crone had lost her own name long ago. Magic had swallowed her identity, replacing it with only a desire to grow stronger.
The cup clinked against the saucer. “Let me take her water from you. I can smell the goodness radiating from your bones – positively gag-inducing. I can see how much she occupies your mind, how you are at war with your feelings for her. Love and hate are horns on the same beast.” She sat on the edge of the couch cushions, prying deeper into Benedict’s mind than he cared for.
“If you’ve no intention of helping, we’re leaving.” Benedict folded his arms across his chest, refusing to be intimidated, though his heart hammered at the thought of their elemental connection giving the crone insight into Lucinda. He’d come here to help her, not put her in danger.
“I never said I’d help. I said I’d remove the element from you!” she repeated. “Collecting elements has long been a hobby of mine, and with the connection you’ve made I can get two for the price of one.”
The smell of rot and decay distracted the siblings from her words. Benedict felt something move on his hands. Looking down, he was horrified to see that his lap was crawling with maggots.
“Benedict, move!” Peter snapped, flipping the coffee table over as the crone pulled a glass dagger from behind her back.
It hit the table with a thud, and the glamour disintegrated around them. Benedict jumped to his feet, only to hit his head on a rusted cage overcrowded with bats. The crone drew another glass dagger, which barely missed him. He had a feeling she was aiming to maim, not kill him, to siphon Lucinda’s element from his body – which would probably be far more painful than being stabbed.
“Kill her!” Benedict growled as he was flung against the far wall, the force taking the wind from his lungs. He took a curtain and its rail down with him. The crone lunged for him, but Peter grabbed her.
“I can’t,” he panted, trying to hold back the snarling crone. “I’d be stripped of my robes.”
The struggle continued as Benedict got to his feet. When his eyes fell on the filthy window behind him, he had an idea. He didn’t want to end a witch’s life, but they didn’t have much choice.
Quickly, he muttered a spell, and the window beneath his hand transformed into a mirror, reflecting his brother struggling behind him. Before he could be relieved the magic had worked, he saw the crone holding a glass dagger centimetres away from his brother’s throat. She might not be able to kill Peter, but she could trap his soul in such a blade.
Benedict lunged over the couch, tackling the crone to the ground. She scrambled to her feet, kicking him away as he threw the dagger to the other side of the room. Baring her blackened teeth, she began to chant in a language he didn’t recognise. The hovel began to shake, and the floorboards cracked beneath him, sending shards of wood flying.
“We need to get her to the mirror!” Peter shielded his brother, helping him get to his feet.
The brothers took the chance to grab the crone, who was lost in her chant. The movement broke her spell, and the hovel settled. It took all their combined strength to force her before the window-turned-mirror, cursing and screeching.
Her last desperate scream broke all the remaining windows as her reflection warped and twisted until she disappeared from their grasp. Benedict’s fist connected with the mirror, shattering the crone’s trapped image with a shrill shriek. They both stood panting, trying to catch their breath.
“Fuck,” Benedict croaked. “Do you’ve any idea how lucky we are? If you hadn’t spotted the dagger and flipped the table, I’d most likely be dead right now and you’d be trapped as her death-dealing servant.”
“Okay, I’ll admit this was my bad.” Peter picked up a shard of the shattered mirror. As they caught their breath, Benedict eyed all the possessed and cursed objects lining the walls and knew they couldn’t leave such items to be discovered. He picked up one of the black candles and tossed it against the potion-lined wall. The wall caught fire in a second, projecting a blue flame towards them.
Peter grinned. “You can take the fire out of the man, but you can’t keep the man away from fire.”
Benedict kicked open the front door. As soon as they stepped outside, the hovel collapsed in on itself without the crone’s magic to keep it standing.
“We could’ve been killed!” Benedict ran his hand through his hair as dust and earth settled around them.
“Technically, I’m already dead,” Peter reminded him, and Benedict shoved him.
The horrifying smell of the burning, rotting hovel made them grimace. Benedict guessed that by nightfall, all trace of the crone and her sordid deeds would be gone.
“Are you going to tell Lucy about this?” Peter asked, watching the flames.
“Are you kidding? She’d kill me for doing this behind her back.”
“Best not, then. Not great to have two women try to kill you in twenty-four hours,” Peter advised.
Back at the car, Benedict reached for the door handle when a fierce crack alerted them both to a falling tree. They leapt out of the way just in time. The car windows shattered. Peter winced, his head popping up on the other side of the crushed vehicle.
“I love you, but in the future, help me less,” Benedict groaned, lying amongst the leaves. He stared wide eyes at the decaying trunk of the fallen tree.
“I can do that.” Peter chuckled, helping him to his feet.
Together, they watched as the other trees, rotten with blackened bark, fell in a perfect circle.
“The crone must have enchanted the trees around the perimeter of her hovel to collapse in case she died,” Peter said sheepishly.
Benedict shook his head. “It’s going to take us hours to walk back to Foxford. Can’t you teleport us home?”
“No can do. My movements are tracked. If I used my magic too close to the hovel, I’d get an earful from the higher-ups,” Peter said, slipping his hands into his black coat. “Can’t you try?”
“No – I used too much magic in there. I don’t have the energy to make the journey safely.” Resigned, Benedict began the long walk to the main road.
To their relief, when they got there, headlights appeared in the distance.
“Looks like fate is on our side!” Peter beamed, waving, and thankfully the truck began to slow. The sun was already starting to set, and Benedict didn’t fancy being out here all night.
Much to his surprise, Faye Parker rolled down the window. He clenched his jaw, wondering what else could go wrong today. Of all the people to show up, of course it had to be one of Lucy’s friends from school.
“Benedict?” she asked, looking like she’d seen a ghost. Then again, he was standing on the side of the road covered in mud and blood, hitchhiking with his dead brother.
“Long story. What are you doing out here?”
“I was picking up some ingredients for the bakery from Willow Valley,” she said, pointing to the back of the truck. It was loaded with bags of flour and a large box with an industrial mixer.
“Any chance we can get a ride?” Peter asked, already opening the back door.
“Aren’t you…?” Faye swallowed, looking at his long black coat.
“Dead? Yes, I thought that was old news by now.” Peter enjoyed people’s discomfort.
Faye paled, mouth agape as though she didn’t know what to say. Most of the town knew Peter was a Grim, but a soul collector was bound to make anyone nervous. It wasn’t every day people came face to face with mortality in the flesh.
“Ignore him,” Benedict told her, wondering why Peter was looking at her all moony-eyed. He wasn’t aware they’d even known each other. He guessed it had less to do with who she was and more how pretty she was. With her cropped auburn hair, dark green eyes and full rose lips, you’d have to be a fool not to acknowledge her beauty – but it was her sad eyes that caused people to keep their distance.
“Get in,” she said, leaning across to open the passenger door. Before Benedict could obey, Peter hopped into the front seat. Faye backed up against her door as death got a little too close.
“I love Taylor Swift! This is my song!” Peter turned up the old CD stereo. Faye stifled a laugh, clearly never having seen a Grim dance to the queen of pop. Benedict didn’t know her well, but it was the first time he’d seen her smile.
“Forgive him – the dead don’t get tired.” Benedict wished his brother had an off switch, but oddly, Faye didn’t seem to mind.
Getting into the back, Benedict focused his attention on the view outside the window, lost in his thoughts. He’d hoped to bring Lucinda some good news, to have her light up as Faye did when Peter started singing along with her song after song. They were both behaving as though Benedict wasn’t there, which suited him just fine. The more she was distracted by Peter, the less likely she was to ask about what they’d been up to in the middle of the woods.
It didn’t seem long before Faye dropped them at the Manor. He watched as Peter, obviously reluctant to leave, kissed Faye’s hand and thanked her for the ride before disappearing. Benedict doubted his brother knew she was in a relationship.
“Can you do me a favour?” Benedict asked through the open window before she pulled away.
“It’s the least I can do,” Faye said.
He frowned, not sure what she was talking about.
“For the job at the bakery. I know it was a couple of months ago now, but… thank you.” She wouldn’t meet his eye, but he could hear in her voice how much it meant to her.
Benedict resisted the urge to curse. He might’ve got her husband the job at the Clover pub, the only vamp bar in town, but he hadn’t had a hand in the bakery hiring her. Peter must have used his likeness again to pull strings. But why would he have helped Faye? They’d seemed like perfect strangers to each other today. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with women troubles.
“Don’t mention it,” was all he said, using his brother’s meddling to his advantage for once. “Could you not tell Lucinda about today?”
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. “We haven’t talked in a while. Not much time to hang out, these days,” she said sadly. “But if she comes by the bakery, I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you. Just… I don’t want her thinking I was up to anything out there.” He’d hate for this little adventure to sow any discord between them.
“You’re going to be bound, right?” she asked, concern edging her soft voice.
“Yes, on All Hallows’ Eve. I’m sure Lucinda would love for you to be there.” He pulled at the back of his neck. It still felt strange to say. “If she’ll have me.”
“I don’t know what’s changed between the two of you. I remember the two of you hating each other in school, but…” Faye took a breath. “Please treat her right. She has the best heart. Don’t break it.”
He looked her in the eye, having no intention of breaking his word. “I won’t.”