Chapter Eight #2
Although in truth, I was rarely alone to quite this extent.
Not when I had always shared my body with another living being.
My heart gave a painful little squeeze at the thought of my magic, and I turned my thought inwards, mentally calling to the nameless entity.
It was reluctant to come, rising sullen and simmering from that untouchable cold within me, peering over some unfathomable edge.
I’m sorry, I told it.
Nothing.
I’m sorry for locking you away.
It crept a little further to the fore, but wouldn’t quite fill my chest, let alone rise to my fingers.
Whatever consciousness my Flame seemed to possess, it had never had a voice – and yet somehow, it had a way of making itself understood.
Right now, resisting my call, I had the sense my magic was waiting for something more from me.
I’m sorry for ignoring you.
Better, perhaps, with the warmth incrementally filling my aching chest, but not quite there yet. My heart gave an uncomfortable little flutter at the sudden understanding of what I truly had to say – and the knowledge that I truly meant it, too.
I’m sorry for keeping you away… from him.
It felt like a sigh that wasn’t my own, heaving inside my lungs and flooding me with breath when I hadn’t known I was suffocating. My Flame rushed through me, guided by my call to my fingers where it sparked to life and wreathed around my hand in a merry dancing glow.
I breathed a soft laugh, fresh tears springing to my eyes. “There you are. Missed you.”
I let it bounce from fingertip to fingertip and back again.
“I’ll do better. Alright?”
Flame whirled around my ring finger, then resumed its leaping pattern.
“I can’t promise I’ll be perfect. It’s… a dangerous time. I’m not sure if that makes sense to you, but there may be moments when I have to tuck you away–”
A slow shuffle of footsteps in the tavern had my words choking off. I twisted in my seat to peer out the door and saw a shadow fall across the threshold.
“Like right now,” I hissed, then shoved my hand behind my back, just as the figure rounded the doorway.
Behind me, my hand clutched to a fist. Flame was still pulsing just beneath the skin, every knuckle hot as a burning coal. My heart hammered, but I forced a rigid smile.
“Madame Bracken,” I said, a little breathless. “Dinner won’t be ready for a little while longer, I’m afraid.”
She paused beneath the doorframe, stooped and sour-faced as ever, eyeing me through a gleaming, narrowed gaze before she moved into the room.
Her every shuffling step was so painfully slow it almost felt as though she was putting it on; deliberately keeping me on edge until she drew out a seat at the opposite end of the table and lowered herself into it with wobbling arms. I didn’t say anything as she adjusted her wide black shawl around her thin shoulders and finally fixed her eyes on me.
They were brighter than I remembered; sharp enough to pierce right through me.
I felt an odd sensation in my chest, like her gaze had breached my skin to poke around my insides, hunting and assessing.
When it felt like my heart might implode from its unsustainable gallop, she finally pursed her lips.
“You don’t have to hide that from me, girl.” She gave an indignant sniff and added, “I’m hardly afraid of a human lantern.”
The hinge of my jaw gave way.
“What do you mean–”
“Oh, let’s not.”
I considered her as quiet shock surged through me, but she just stared boldly back, her jaw jutting and her stare both forceful and demanding.
My Flame, traitorous little thing that it was, licked curiously at my fingers.
It pulsed impatiently, a silent request. And at this point, what good did it do me to refuse?
Slowly, I brought my still-glowing hand out from behind my back and offered a meek little wave.
Madam Bracken nodded, satisfied and perhaps a little smug at her own suspicion verified.
But how in the world had she suspected anything?
I had been struggling with my Flame of course, but I hadn’t imagined anyone but the Captain would have noticed, given it was his presence alone that wreaked such havoc.
Unless she could sense it.
“Are you…?”
I hesitated. It wasn’t considered terribly polite to inquire after another’s magical signature, at least among the covens.
It was highly personal, something a witch would share only on their own terms. Having said that, she had forced a confession from me.
The old woman watched me war over my phrasing for too long, apparently quite content to let me flounder before I finally settled on; “How did you know?”
“Let’s just say I’ve my own relationship with magic and leave it at that.”
“Fair enough,” I said, even though it really wasn’t all that fair.
I was not in the mood to argue with this woman, who had been so prickly and difficult since the moment she checked in.
But my heart was still a little frantic, uncomfortable against my ribs, and I was compelled to add; “I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, though. ”
Her eyes flashed. “I’m aware of the code, girl.”
A magic user then, even if she didn’t want to put a name to her affinity.
It was something, I supposed, and I nodded my thanks for the little crumb she’d offered.
And yet it bothered me still; it wasn’t unheard of, that some could scent magic on a person.
But she’d given no indication of recognising me for what I was.
Not as I checked her in to her room, or delivered her three meals a day when she tired of the Kingsmen’s rowdy antics.
Why reveal it to me now? The thought niggled at me even as my Flame swirled excitedly around my knuckles, delighted at the chance to shine for an audience.
Madame Bracken glanced at my flickering hand, sour expression melting just a touch as a smile tugged at her thin lips.
“You never said anything.”
Her lip flattened, eyes cutting to me sharply.
“Neither did you.”
Fine, I thought wearily – I really could not be arsed with this right now. I forced a tight smile and drew in my reluctant Flame with another forceful clench of my fist.
“I’ll just go see to dinner, Madame.”
I readied to stand and glide away with some scrap of dignity, but the moment I pushed to my feet the room tilted violently around me and I half stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the table just a moment before my knees buckled.
Fuck.
My hand flew to my head in a vain attempt to steady the spinning there as I gripped the table. Madame Bracken tutted, but I couldn’t even open my eyes to glare at her.
“Running around like a headless chicken all day will do that to you.”
“I’m fine.”
I steeled myself to storm off again just to prove how fine I was, but once again my head had different ideas and I made it one step before my whole body swayed as though I’d left my brain stuck in place behind me.
Madame Bracken was at my side with impressive speed given her usual hobbling pace.
Although judging by the odd painless throb in my skull, it was entirely possible that my mind was not experiencing time as it happened.
Still, she managed to catch at my elbow before I lost my balance, hauling me upright with both hands clutched tight around my arm.
I turned my head to peer blearily at her – and found her startingly close, eyes round and fearful, and the ever-present furrow of her brow softened with concern.
It was almost touching. I might have thanked her, had she not then bristled and released a string of obscenities under her breath.
“These old bones are not up to hauling around grown bloody women who can’t remember to feed themselves,” she huffed, but she curved a hand around my waist, wedging her shoulder beneath my arm and urging me forward. “Come on now, slow steps.”
She half-dragged me through the adjoining room to the kitchens, ignoring my feeble protests the whole way.
Once inside, she led me to the corner with the little table where Sorcha and I ate our meals, and herded me into a chair with a grunt.
It was already hot in here, as it always was, and the effort of carrying a woman twice her size had Madame Bracken stripping off her shawl and slinging it over the opposite chair as she huffed with exertion.
The almighty bout of head rush had ebbed somewhat, and I made to scoot off my seat to get her some water, but Madame Bracken clapped her hands at me like I was a misbehaving pet.
“Don’t you dare. Who am I to call if you pass out and crack your pretty golden head open?” She stabbed a gnarled finger at the table. “No, you sit there now until you’ve had a bite to eat.”
I’m not sure why I did as I was told. Perhaps it was because my Flame stirred within me at her demand, almost pleading in the way its glow stroked at my heart as if to say slow down.
So I did. Madame Bracken bustled about the kitchen, peering into cupboards at random and pulling out the items she wanted; sugar, honey, bread, an assortment of tea leaves and dried herbs, fruits, a small copper pot.
She glanced up at me intermittently from beneath a furrowed grey brow, muttering to herself all the while.
Gods, she was a mean old crone. I flinched at the odd word I caught, drawing a little further into myself and reaching for the comforting warmth of my Flame with every hiss she sent my way, every brisk click of her knife against the cutting board.
“You’ve made a living of caring for others,” she finally huffed aloud, eyes on whatever she was stirring in the pot. “You should know how to care for yourself by now.”
“My friend died,” I said. I’d meant it as a retort, but the words came out far too quiet to have any real bite.