Chapter 3 #2
“It’s far more complicated than that,” Helena says gravely. “Yours is not the magic of rainbows and unicorns, girls. The magic tethered to this house, to your ancestral line, has a much darker source. One even your mother didn’t fully understand. She was right to fear it. Most witches do.”
“Why?” I ask. “Seems to me having this kind of power would come in handy.”
“There are always tradeoffs. Never is that more true than when we’re dealing with dark magic.” The lights flicker, and Helena meets our gazes in turn. “Your magic is sourced from the demonic plane.”
“As in… actual demons?” I ask, equally intrigued and incredulous, because, well… Insert Dos Equis beer guy voice here:
I don’t always discover I’m last in a long line of witches possessing untold power, but when I do, I make sure that power comes straight from Hell. Stay cursed, my friends.
“Crossroads demons, to be specific,” Helena says, “though advanced practitioners can summon other kinds, and lesser demons sometimes slip through un-summoned. Part of your mother’s role was making sure that didn’t happen.”
“But how would she even do that?” I ask.
“Through her magic. A magic only afforded to the Guardians of the Grave—witches who keep the peace between the realms of humans and demons. A powerful spell bestowed that responsibility on the Bonnivarde bloodline many generations ago. It’s why the women in your family have always kept the surname, even when they married.
Now, the three of you are all that’s left. ”
Rachel’s out of her chair again, pacing the dining room. “Let’s say all this is real. Magic, the house, demons, all of it.”
“It’s as real as any of us in this room,” Helena says. “As is your responsibility to it.”
“What if we don’t want that responsibility?” Rachel asks. “What if we just pack up, leave town forever, and leave my mother and this house and all her problems firmly in the rearview?”
The lights flicker again. Rachel is unimpressed.
“That’s your right, of course,” Helena says.
“But if you refuse the mantle, the portal will degrade until demons are free to roam the earth unchecked, which wouldn’t take long.
More and more entities slip through every day, wreaking havoc.
Small, for now, but they’re gathering strength.
And girls, there’s something else you should know.
The Bonnivarde Grimoire—the spell book that contains the entirety of your magical history and all of the workings of your line—the book you’ll need if you have any chance at fully stepping into and harnessing your magic—was stolen.
Whoever has it is in possession of untold potential power.
Dangerous power, particularly when it comes to the portal and the chaos demons seeking a way through.
” Her face turns decidedly grim. “The witch hunters are also a—”
“Chaos demons?” Kate exclaims.
“Witch hunters?” I exclaim.
Rachel? Rachel does not exclaim. She just tosses up her hands and says, “This is pure speculation, Helena! We don’t even know you, and you come in here with this outlandish story and think we’re going to be remotely comfortable with—”
“Forgive my bluntness, Rachel,” Helena replies, “but your comfort is hardly the priority. The book must be found, the hunters dealt with, the portal stabilized, and communication between the realms reestablished as soon as possible, before the demons realize how precarious our situation is up here and decide to mount a full-scale invasion.”
“We’re here to settle the estate and tie up loose ends,” Rachel says. “That’s it.”
“And sell everything,” I add helpfully, in case anyone forgot.
Yes, I’m all about getting our magic on.
But I’m also a very practical witch. One who’s endeavoring to make good choices—or at least, slightly less bad ones.
And making good choices is a lot easier when you have good amounts of money to back them up.
“Please listen to me,” Helena says. “You three have a very important—”
“I’d like you to go, Helena,” Rachel says. “Now.” She stalks to the front door, leaving no room for argument. There’s a good amount of grunting and tugging on the knob, which seems to be stuck. Then, as if to spite her, the door suddenly wings open, nearly knocking her on her ass.
“I’m not trying to be rude,” she says rudely, righting herself. “But my sisters and I need some time alone to sort through all this.”
Helena rearranges her scarves, bangles chiming, breath huffing. I can tell she wants to argue, and I’ve definitely lost my shot at adoption, but it’s obvious Rachel’s not going to budge tonight.
“If and when you come to your senses, you’ll find me at my bookstore across from the plant shop.
” The way she says it, I can’t tell if it’s an offer or an order, but I nod anyway.
I don’t have any senses to come to, so hanging out with Oracle Helena at the bookstore and getting the full scoop on my magical inheritance sounds like a rollicking good time to me.
It’s only my pesky sense of loyalty to my sisters that keeps me rooted in place right now, or I’d be grabbing my suitcases and following her right out the door.
“Oh, one more thing.” She turns at the threshold, her jaw set, eyes flashing a warning behind the glasses. “I’m strongly advising you for your own safety to avoid the basement until we finish our conversation and you’re better prepared to deal with what’s down there.”
“Why? What’s down there?” I ask. Obviously there’s no way I’m avoiding the basement now.
The wind kicks up, blowing her scarves around in a dizzying swirl and tugging her hair loose from its bun. Unbothered, Helena says plainly, “The doorway to Hell.”
Then, cherry on top of the night voted most likely to be a hallucination, she closes her eyes, turns into a fucking bat, and flies off into the mist.