Chapter 12 #2
“Helena, what more can you tell me about the demonic threat?” I ask.
“All I’m sensing is a bit of weakness, some energetic seepage that might allow an imp or two to slip through undetected.
Concerning, of course, but that’s nothing we can’t remedy.
Especially once Miss Bonnivarde comes more fully into her magic. ”
“She can’t, though,” Helena says. “Not without the grimoire.”
“That’s why we’re here, actually,” Miss Bonnivarde says. “I need it for my studies. Do you really believe it’s missing? There’s so much junk in the house—maybe it’s just stuffed in a box somewhere.”
The woman gives her gray head a firm shake. “You won’t find it in a box. The grimoire was stolen, Lizzy. By the same monsters who murdered your mother. They’d been after it—and her—for decades.”
My stomach sinks. A lost grimoire is one thing. Lost objects can be found. Tracking spells, recovery rituals. Difficult, but not impossible.
A stolen grimoire, on the other hand… by malicious actors, to boot... I close my eyes, try to steady my breathing. Matthias will need to be told. It won’t go well.
Damn it.
“I thought my mother had a heart attack?”
“She did,” Helena confirms. “From the poison she was given by her killers. Carefully crafted and administered to avoid detection.”
“Who are these men?” I ask, though I suspect—and fear—I already know the answer.
“The filthy spawn of the same men who killed Calista,” she replies, her jaw tight. “The men who’ve been hunting their family—and other witches’ families—for generations.”
“The hunters?” Miss Bonnivarde sets down her teacup, her face blanching. “But I thought… Dr. Sutherland, you told me they died out.”
“The original perpetrators have, I assure you. We’d assumed the brotherhood itself had gone dormant soon after Davina came into power, if not vanished entirely.
” I clench my jaw. More bad news Matthias will need to be told.
Demons rely on witches as consensual participants in summonings. Hunters disrupt the entire ecosystem.
“They never really disbanded,” Helena says. “Just went underground, biding their time. Their mission lives on, passed down through the generations, just like the Bonnivarde mission.”
Miss Bonnivarde looks positively stricken. “You’re telling me there’s some crazy, witch-murdering cult somewhere out there—present tense, right now—plotting to obliterate my family?”
“Not somewhere, Lizzy,” Helena says. “Everywhere. Their network stretches far and wide, across every state and country, across every generation. Dr. Sutherland is partly right—they were dormant. For decades. But recently, your mother and I started to suspect she was being targeted. Threatened. The police were useless—told her to come back when she had more than a ‘hunch’ to go on. Fat lot of good that did her when the bastards finally cornered her in the woods. If only I’d been there.
Done something. I…” She trails off, shaking her head.
Tears glaze her eyes. “Sorry. Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s gone. ”
Miss Bonnivarde leans over to touch the woman’s arm. “It’s not your fault, Helena. I’m sure my mother knows that.”
Helena pats her hand. “In any case, I think it’s safe to assume the Wielders of the Righteous Flame won’t rest until they’ve eradicated witchkind from existence.
Your mother was their most recent target, but they’re not done.
You can bet they’ll be after you and your sisters next.
Especially once you start harnessing your magic—that’s when you’re the most useful to them. ”
“But if demons are on the same side as witches about this,” says Miss Bonnivarde, “how come no one’s teamed up to stop them? The hunters are just humans, right? No supernatural powers or anything? No magic of their own?”
“Power is its own kind of magic,” I say.
“Often stronger than spells and curses, especially in a world that values it above humanity. Individual perpetrators can be stopped, can even be killed. But stopping the machine behind them, the system that thrives on the suffering and subjugation of others…” I shake my head.
“That’s always been a complicated proposition. At this point, we must focus on—”
“No, I’m not buying that,” she snaps. “Nuclear physics is complicated. Making pizza that’s thin enough to fold in one hand, crisp enough to be satisfying, and sturdy enough to hold multiple toppings?
Also complicated. Bringing despicable monsters to justice is simple, once you strip away all the bullshit excuses.
Whenever it’s not simple, it’s for a simple reason: bad men doing bad things. ”
“That’s the entire history of the world, Miss Bonnivarde, and if you don’t believe me, I’ve got an entire archive of books to prove otherwise.
I’m sure Helena’s shelves hold the same tale, told by many different authors across many genres and generations.
It doesn’t change the fact that it’s true, and it’s something we’ll need to contend with, especially while you’re still learning to master your magic. ”
“I say we fry their asses.” She furrows her brow and wriggles her fingers, as if smiting her enemies is as simple as making a wish. “It won’t take me long to level up with a motivation like that, right?”
“While I appreciate your commitment,” Helena says, “it’s nearly impossible to track the Wielders these days. They no longer advertise. They discovered it’s a lot easier to accomplish dastardly deeds while passing as respectable.”
“In my experience,” she says, “it’s always the so-called respectable ones you have to watch out for.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Unfortunately, not all respectable people are secret witch hunters, so we can’t just go round picking off the ones we don’t like.”
“What else are we supposed to do? Wait around until they attack, then hope we’ve got a chance at fighting them off?”
Helena sighs. “That strategy did not help Evelyn. We need to be proactive.”
“We need to retrieve the grimoire,” I remind them.
“That’s the most proactive solution to the myriad problems stacking up.
The hunters, the portal irregularities, the demonic upset.
Helena, do you have any information at all on the identities of the men who attacked Evelyn? Physical traits? Other details?”
Helena rises, assembling the remnants of tea service back onto the tray. “If I knew their identities, Dr. Sutherland, they’d already be dead.”
We leave the store with more questions than answers, and several more books to boot. The rare editions for me. Miss Bonnivarde selected two books on the Tarot, more determined than ever to follow her calling, despite the many challenges ahead.
I want to tell her that I’m proud of her. Not just for embracing books—a thing that doesn’t come naturally to her—but for being so eager to accept her destiny.
I want to tell her that she shouldn’t worry. That we will absolutely figure this out together, track down and stop the hunters, and solidify the portal.
I want to tell her that yes, she will one day return to California, sparkly and magical, every one of her dreams laid out before her like a thousand treasures waiting to be unearthed.
As it should be.
But I’ve hidden enough truths, and in the end, I say nothing.
I walk her home, not keen on leaving her unprotected but knowing I must. She invites me inside for a drink, but as much as I’d love to take her up on that, I can not delay my trip another moment.
“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow,” I say, leaving her on the front porch. “Work on your basement project, get acquainted with your new books, spend some time with your sisters. Whatever you do, do not leave the house until I return.”
“Return? Return from where?”
“There’s… something I need to attend to.”
“Where are you going?”
The word tastes bitter on my tongue, but I force it out anyway. “Home.”