Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
M y heart hammered in my throat, the muscles throughout my legs aching. I cursed myself for sitting around for three days doing nothing—my body had suffered from the laziness. Ignoring the discomfort, I focused on getting out of the White Tower. Every passing second as I raced through the seemingly endless corridors of The White Tower, I expected to come face to face with my captors.
Allies and enemies had never blended so perfectly.
Old stone walls pressed in on me from either side. Windowless spaces, where the only light offered was from the florescent bulbs hanging above me, so stark it encouraged the beginnings of a headache.
I threw a ball of energy out towards every security camera I saw. Not to destroy them, but to simply move their line of sight so I could pass undetected. For all I knew, guards had returned to my empty room and found me missing. An alarm would surely be sounded if that was the case? But I treated every second as though it could be my last.
I had no understanding of where I was running—for all I knew I could be moving in the same direction as Romy.
History told of witches who could cast spells and hexes, relying on the old magics of the world rather than these Gifts, a rather modern tool in our arsenal. If I had access to one of the greats grimoires, I could have opened a portal between spaces or alter the very matter of the stone walls so I could walk right through. Instead, I was forced to run like some pathetic mortal.
‘ Pathetic yes, mortal no .’ Caym chided. He was close. I could practically hear his wing beats beyond the building.
‘Not. Helpful,’ I replied, breathless.
My goal was simple. I didn’t plan to fight my way out of a heavily guarded tower. Instead I was looking for something simpler. A window. All I needed was to allow Caym entry and then woosh , I could fade into the shadows.
Daylight spilled in ahead, casting the corridor I had just rounded into in a halo of golden-hued light. Relief came thick and fast. Beyond the thin glass I could hear the sounds of tourists visiting the surrounding buildings. I knew that the floors above me were where the mortal Queen’s crown jewels were kept. Hundreds of thousands of humans flocked here yearly to gape at expensive jewels in glass boxes.
If only they knew the true wonder hiding beneath them.
‘Ready to get the fuck out of here?’ I asked, filling my thoughts with the question.
Caym emitted a caw so loud I swore it could’ve etched the meaning into my bones. ‘Correct, Master, but it is you stuck in the cage this time, not me.’
I was so focused on reaching the window that I didn’t notice the sliding glass doors just ahead of it. I stopped, chest aching, feet numb, as I caught a glimpse of a figure through the doors. Peering around the small corner, my heart sank like a stone in my stomach. Although I had only met the man three days prior, I would recognise Jonathan Baily’s outline anywhere.
‘Shit.’ I pressed myself against the wall, knowing my next moves had to be careful. One wrong step and I’d alert the acting Grand High to my escape. ‘ Shit. Shit. Shit .’
‘Language, Hector.’
‘Oh, fuck off.’
Caym flew into view beyond the window. Seeing him unspooled the thread of relief, until his beady eyes settled on Jonathan. ‘You are correct. Profanity certainly is the best choice in a time like this.’
My familiar’s black feathered wings gleamed as though drenched in oil. His wingspan was certainly abnormal for mundane crows, as was the russet hue of his beak. If Jonathan noticed a bird pecking at the glass, this all would be for nothing. And there was a part of me, although small, that didn’t want to incriminate Romy in my escape.
I steadied my breathing, knowing this was a moment in which I desperately needed clarity. Jonathan was clearly occupied—I could hear his muffled voice through the sliding glass doors. He was facing away from me, a phone held to his ear, his knuckles pale with the tension in his grip. Whoever he was speaking to kept interrupting him, making Jonathan’s nervous pacing only intensify. I took pleasure in knowing at least one person could make the man feel uncomfortable.
Now was my chance.
I focused on the window’s latch, slowly lifting it with invisible hands. That was what using my Gift felt like. It was an extension of me, like unseen fingers and limbs. Sometimes, like now, the power called for careful and intricate focus. Other times, it was like forcing a wall of energy out to barrel down Hunters like pins during a game of bowling. It quickly became apparent, though, that I didn’t have the time to be careful when Jonathan’s voice raised in pitch.
I risked one more look and could see he was growing increasingly distressed. The nosey part of me would’ve loved to know who held the power to shake that man, but my practical side understood my window to escape was growing smaller.
Literally .
The window creaked open with the aid of my gift. Caym shot inside just as the swish of the moving glass doors sound at my side. I reached out for my familiar, fingers grasping feather, the same second Jonathan stepped out into the corridor.
Darkness enveloped me. Pure, endless, obsidian shadow. I sunk into it like a body into a warm bath, willingly descending into the depths of Caym’s endless lake. It was comforting, a wrap of familiar arms like the embrace of a parent.
‘ Do not dawdle, Hector.’ Caym’s reprimand was as sharp as silver. ‘A moment later and it would have been all over.’
I wouldn’t admit it aloud to my familiar, but he certainly had the power to make me feel like a misbehaving child. Not much was documented about familiars—they were outlawed after the actual witch trials, not the deadly contest the Coven created after the old magic was lost. There was something ancient about their spirit. Caym was like a moody old man trapped in a body of feathers and shadow.
But he was my moody old man, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
‘You’ve got me now,’ I replied, not bothering to speak through my mind. No one would hear us in the twisting world of Caym’s shadows. We were still present in the corridor, Jonathan Bailey literally feet in front of us, but we were concealed. The darkness before me rippled like a surface of water. ‘Let’s get out of here whilst we?—’
‘Do not threaten my daughter,’ Jonathan shouted, eyes bulging out of his skull. I was no empath, but the emotion etched into his physicality stopped me from speaking. ‘I understand what is required of me. Threats against my own are not needed… yes, Sir. I am sorry.’
‘ We must go .’ Caym’s command hardly registered as I focused on Jonathan.
He’d just spoken about Romy. No wonder he was agitated. Jonathan was breathless, hand shaking as he gripped the phone to his ear. The wall near him suffered the brunt of his fist as he turned to punch it. I heard the ripping of his knuckles over stone, followed by the hiss of pain as he drew back his hand.
‘Wait, Caym.’ Something was stopping me from going. Caym sunk his talons into my shoulder. The pain hardly bothered me, nor did the promise of yet another scar he would leave on me after needing to drag me away. ‘Not yet.’
Jonathan continued pacing, his drawn-out silence proof that whoever he spoke to was currently on a tirade. But out of everything I expected him to say next, what came out of his mouth was never a possibility.
‘Have I not assured you enough that I am on your side, Tomin?’
There was only one man with that name. Only one man worthy of the barrage of hate that battered me just at hearing it repeated. Caym knew it too, which was why he didn’t attempt to tell me we’d heard wrong.
Tomin. Tomin Hopkin. Head witch hunter. And the man who’d stood and commanded his own son to murder my parents.
Jonathan was practically crying, his hollow cheeks flushed with colour. ‘Father Tomin, please.’
Caym’s grip tightened, keeping me from tearing out from the shadows, snatching the phone, and demanding the elusive man’s location.
This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Jonathan was acting Grand High—he controlled witches across the world. And yet he was speaking on the phone to our enemy, pleading as though he was some powerless grunt at the bottom of the Witch Hunter’s barrel.
‘Your champion will succeed in the Witch Trials,’ Jonathan said, clutching his bleeding hand, trying to regain composure. ‘I will see to it. Everything is in place for them to win, Tomin, I understand my word is not final. But have I not proved my allegiance? Have I not given you enough to trust my intentions?’ Jonathan took a heaving breath in, his body radiating anxiety.
I, on the other hand, was boiling with ire. My skin bubbled, my blood twisting in my veins until the pain was almost pleasurable.
‘He’s betraying us,’ I spoke to the dark, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. ‘Jonathan is working with them .’
Them. The monsters who’d ruined my life. The people solely responsible for the eradication of witch-kind.
‘ Speculation leads the lost lamb astray, ’ Caym replied, although even he didn’t sound convincing. ‘ We do not know what is going on.’
‘Yes,’ I growled, eyes narrowing, power fizzing beneath my skin. ‘Yes I do.’
Jonathan straightened, his posture uncurling, his expression steeling as Tomin continued his speech on the other line. What came next was the confirmation of my darkest fears.
‘Our goal is shared, Father. Your champion will be victorious during the Witch Trials. They shall take the mantle of Grand High, using the power to finally cleanse the world of demons. But I must hear you say it. You must confirm that my daughter will be left unharmed.’
Jonathan swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bobbing. ‘Her name? It’s Romy Bailey. Kill the rest of them, destroy them, burn them. Hells, your champion can do whatever they see fit to do. Just leave my Romy alone.’
Clearly the response was what Jonathan longed to hear, because he smiled, his shoulders relaxing.
‘Of course, Father. The Briar boy will not be an issue. I’ve done as you asked and left him alive. He is all yours to play with. We’ve pumped him with enough thistlebane that the effects should last a day or so. He’ll be powerless for the first trial.’
Jonathan took his fingers and crossed himself, physically depicting the Witch Hunter’s prayer. My stomach twisted in on itself, watching the person who vowed to look after our kind throw us to the literal wolves. ‘Forever your loyal subject.’
The phone call ended. Jonathan released a long sigh, his smile never faltering.
‘ Hector, no. ’ Caym sensed what was to come next before my command left my lips.
‘Take me back to my cell.’
‘ No ’
‘Take me back!’ My gift ached beneath my skin, forcing my bones to rattle. I couldn’t fathom what I’d just heard. ‘Or you let me kill Jonathan right here, right now. The choice is yours.’
Either one would’ve been a win-win for me. And the choice, in fact, didn’t belong to Caym. As he said, I was his master. If I commanded it, if I truly asked for something, he was powerless to say no.
‘ Do not make me do this, Hector. I made a promise, I cannot keep it if ? — ’
‘Return me to my cell.’ I grabbed onto the invisible leash binding us together and tugged. Guilt simmered in my soul, but I did this for the right reasons. No matter if it displeased Caym, I knew that going back to my cell was the only option.
Jonathan Bailey was working with the Witch Hunters. The Witch Trials were rigged. Somehow, a Witch Hunter had been entered into the contest with the plan of winning, taking the witches’ source of power for themselves.
Allies and enemies.
Whoever this champion was would leave a trail of dead witches behind them. I couldn’t let it happen. I wouldn’t. Everything was changing, my mind making decisions before I could even contemplate them.
All I could do was watch from the shadows as Jonathan sauntered away, his gait as proud as his rolled-back shoulders.
‘Prick,’ I shouted at his back, knowing full well he wouldn’t hear me, but wishing he could.
I knew I didn’t like him. Intuition was one thing, but I knew a bad man when I saw one. And Jonathan Bailey was the worst of all.
‘I made a vow to your mother that I would protect you, Hector. If you do this, I will not be able to help you.’
His words only irked me. Fuelled me. What good was that vow now that we had already failed? The Witch Trials were proceeding whether I escaped or not. My involvement would mean the difference between allowing the Witch Hunters a chance to finally get control over us, or stopping them once and for all.
The answer, in my mind, was simple.
I pulled against his hold, feeling the shadows stretch like wet paper. One by one, they ripped, offering me some freedom. ‘If the Witch Hunters gain access to our source of magic, how are you going to protect me then?’
That stumped Caym, just as I knew it would. He too couldn’t comprehend what we’d just overheard. ‘ And what do you plan to do? ’
The question simmered across my skull, bouncing between bone until it grew in volume. It was so noisy in my mind, so overwhelmingly loud, that I barely heard my answer beneath it.
‘I’m going to win the Witch Trials. Then I will destroy Jonathan Bailey, Tomin Hopkin and anyone else who stands against me.’
My guards returned for me only minutes after Caym got me back to my cell. I sat, waiting for them, on the edge of my bed, my mind a storm as Jonathan’s deceit repeated through my mind. I didn’t fight when asked to stand, and didn’t even speak when the guards put their hands on me, guiding me back out into the corridor.
To them, I’d never left the room.
I took my time, looking every witch in the eye, contemplating if they were also working against us. How many of Jonathan’s followers had been corrupted? And for how long had this been going on? Did my mother know of this alliance, and is that why she longed to keep me and my blood from them?
Questions swam violently through me, each one left unanswered.
Caym was uncharacteristically quiet. Or perhaps I had just shut everything off. He was lurking somewhere close, more shadow than crow. I knew he would stay by my side, even if he longed for me to turn my back on this whole situation and run.
I wouldn’t. I had to trust that my parents longed to keep me away for a reason. A purpose.
Failing my mother’s final wish was one thing, but actively ignoring her legacy was another.
As I was guided down into the belly of the White Tower, I wondered if this is how my parents felt as they prepared for the Witch Trials. Nerves, excitement, fear—a concoction of emotions that battled with one another, leaving them as numb to the world as I felt right now?
Although my body and mind seemed to have separated since Jonathan, I was still aware of my surroundings. The air grew thicker, the scent of dust and age lingering like the aftermath of a storm with each inhale. Down we went, until the floor evened out and the hallway opened into a large chamber.
Countless people filled the space, each dressed no differently than me. They stood around pillars of stone that held up the low ceiling. The cellar was imposing, likely a place people hid from bombs during the Great Wars. Here, deep under the ground beneath the White Tower, it felt like we’d stepped foot directly into another world.
It seemed that every set of eyes turned to me as I entered.
Contestants. Witches—at least all of them but one. Father Tomin’s champion had to be amongst them, and they wouldn’t be a witch. Romy would be here too, likely noticing my arrival. I didn’t have the energy to care what she would think seeing me. Perhaps that I’d been caught running, and that was why I was the only one with guards escorting me.
My life was in danger, but that didn’t scare me. It thrilled me. I vowed to myself that I would keep up the pretence that I was powerless, until the moment my power was required. For all the participants the Witch Trials were a deadly set of games, but I was the only one walking in with a target already on my back. So I rolled my shoulders, straightened my spine, and made sure that whoever was watching knew I was prepared.
Jonathan Bailey stood in the centre of the room. The moment my eyes landed on him, my power itched beneath my skin again. I longed to release it, to gather him up in my Gift and fold his body in on itself.
‘Patience, Hector. Not yet.’
Jonathan grinned in my direction and I knew the nuances of why. It only made my anger burn hotter. I held his eyes, hoping he read the message I was sending his way. Traitorous prick.
Jonathan stood before a large arched stone formation. It looked like it was once a large doorway to some great castle, except it had been removed and brought all the way to the centre of London. Marks were worn into the ancient stone, each one glowing with light—not marks, then, but runes. Just as Romy had said.
The air beyond Jonathan’s back rippled like water was caught between the archways instead of empty space.
‘Welcome, all.’ Jonathan swept his gaze over the crowded room, delighting in the countless faces watching him. There were so many witches, the cavern humming with the magic and the potential for chaos. I couldn’t even begin to understand the number that had gathered— it had to be more than had ever partaken in a single contest before. ‘It has been close to thirty years since the last Choosing, and from the sheer number of you, I can see this year will be one written down in history and remembered for an eon.’
My palms screamed in agony as I dug my nails into them. Warmth spread across my skin. I knew if I looked down, I would find my palms coated in blood.
‘You all know the rules, but as a man who celebrates custom, I will share them with you.’ Jonathan paused, his eyes drinking in his adoring crowd. I wondered if he, like me, was searching for the Witch Hunter. ‘For the next few weeks, until Samhain, you will face four trials. Each one is designed to test specific qualities, with the hope of finding the witch most suitable and deserving of the title of Grand High. May I remind you that you that during the trials, you are outside the Coven’s reach. It will only be each of you in a place beyond our rules. Stay vigilant, for you will only truly be safe when the final trial is completed. The rules are simple. If you wish to withdraw from the contest at any point, you must simply speak it aloud with intention. Otherwise, good luck. And remember— anything can happen.’
Like rigging the competition and allowing a Witch Hunter to join? The thought was as hot as coal in my mind. How could a mundane Witch Hunter even win against over a hundred witches with access to magic? It made no sense. The limits to what Gifts these witches possessed ranged from empathic abilities to elemental-conjuration.
If Jonathan truly believed the Witch Hunter had a chance, I had to believe whoever this champion was had the means to win. Whatever that meant.
‘You will know when a trial begins when the bell tolls once. The same goes for the end of the trial—another bell shall toll. I cannot tell you how each will present, for every Witch Trial has been different. Draw on the past, remember those who came before you, as clues will be left woven amongst the trial from the last Grand High. Messages—’ Jonathan’s eyes settled on me. ‘--from beyond the grave.’
From beyond the grave. Messages. The last Grand High.
I knew this detail—every witch did. But I hadn’t contemplated just how tied my mother’s spirit was with the contest. It made me want to push through the crowd and set off into the waiting archway first.
‘I am sure you are all educated on those who won before you. It is as much talent as it is skill, knowledge, and respect for our history. Now, I ask you all, are you ready?’
The chamber erupted in excited shouts. Feet stomped against the floor, making the ground shudder with the weight of over a hundred witches. Every soul in this room, including me, knew the bloody history of the Witch Trials. It was well documented, and part of a witch’s education.
‘ Hector ,’ Caym’s presence spread through my mind like unfurling wings. ‘ You have a chance to change your mind. Ask it of me, and I will get you away from here .’
‘No,’ I replied through our bond, my finality unwavering.
‘ So be it. Just know that I may not be able to interfere during the Witch Trials. As the traitor explains, where you are going is outside of the reach of normal laws. ’
‘I can do it.’ Could I?
‘Your mother believed the same, and she was victorious .’ Caym’s response offered me comfort, making me feel the slightest bit closer to her. Had she stood in this room, listening to the very same speech, not knowing what she was to face? ‘I believe in you, Hector, just as she would have.’
What would she think, seeing me now? Would she regard me with pride or fear? Either way, I would never know. Mother was dead, murdered by the very people now hoping to steal the source of our magic.
I’d do this for her. I’d do this for all witches. And most importantly, I’d do this for the chance to eradicate the Witch Hunters. With the power of Grand High, I could do it. Finally.
‘Step forwards for judgement, in the name of those beyond the veil.’ Jonathan’s voice rose in volume, bouncing off the stone, from pillar to pillar. As though encouraged by his words, the rune markings glowed brighter, the water-like mist between the archway becoming more erratic. ‘Prove thyself worthy of the gauntlet of power, the source of the craft, and we shall discover whom shall claim the title of Grand High.’
‘Oh,’ I replied aloud, not caring who heard. Jonathan’s neck practically snapped as he found me again, tilting his head like an inquisitive, feral dog. The rustling of the bodies around me proved that everyone looked at me too. ‘I intend to.’
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, drinking me in, likely reading my knowing expression.
Yes, you little prick, I know all about your plans.
‘The prodigal son,’ Jonathan said, raising his arms towards me. As he did, the crowd parted ahead of me. ‘Hector Briar, child of the late Grand High. It is only fitting that you are the first to enter the Witch Trials. Please, come. Make your mother proud.’
A crack spread beneath my foot as I took a step towards him. There was no controlling my gift anymore, not when I could barely keep my mouth shut. Jonathan noticed, his brow raising. I felt some strength knowing how Jonathan would react to me having access to my gift. It was enough of a message, especially when combined with my unwavering gaze locked on him.
The wall of faces blurred beside me. At one point I was sure I heard a familiar voice hiss name—Romy, no doubt. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the traitor, the man who’d put his vile feet into my mother’s boots, who was trying to lead the witches to our demise.
I would see that he paid for his deception, preferably with his life.
Jonathan stood aside, allowing me a full view of the archway. What I thought was water in the midst of the archway was actually shadow. It seemed to reach out for me like a phantom hand, drawing me in. But before I passed through it, I stopped at Jonathan’s side. My back was to the crowd, and I kept my voice low so that my threat was only for us.
‘I will find your little champion,’ I hissed, teeth slick with blood from my torn lip. ‘And I will see them ruined. Then, when I take the mantle of Grand High’ I turned my full attention on him, delighting in the expression of shock and horror on his gaunt face. ‘I’ll be visiting you first.’
Before he could respond, I stepped through the doorway of shadows, and entered the arena of death.
Whose death, exactly, was yet to be decided—but I was sure as fuck going to make sure it wasn’t mine.