Page 84 of The Witch and His Crow

I did as she asked, plating up the cinnamon-coated pastry beside a cup of stewed camomile tea. But my focus was on the page before me as I stirred the tea clockwise three times, then anti-clockwise another three times.

From what I’d learned about old magic, it was rooted in intention. The stronger the intention, the more potent the desired outcome was. And regardless of me not knowing if this would work, mydesirefor it to was powerful.

I pinched my eyes closed, burying down the brewing guilt as I put all my will and intention into the mug of brewed tea. The stirring focused me until all I could think about was the outcome I desired. Eleanor’s grimoire explained that spells were used to focus an intention. A coven would recite spells aloud, like we had done in the mausoleum, to narrow the focus and strengthen the collective intention of a group of magic users. But a solo witch didn’t need to speak a spell aloud as long as their desire was clear and unwavering.

And mine was as bright as the sun.

My stirring shifted to a different movement as my focus was on my outcome. Then, with the spoon, I drew the symbol for sleep. It was one of the symbols within the hand-drawn table in the grimoire. It was complicated, with swirling curved lines, diagonal slices and dotted marks around the left side. But it was meant to be, because when you drew it, the magic user thought of nothing else.

When I was done, I was certain I could taste the magic in the air. Like thick particles of dust, but sweet like candy, or sharp as the ash of a burning bonfire. I hoped Romy didn’t notice as I poured myself a mug of tea, but skipped the same process I had just completed in hers.

‘Here,’ I said, offering her the mug and pastry. ‘Drink up.’

Romy stopped trying to get Arwyn to drink and took the mug with a tired smile of thanks. I tried not to watch her as she took a bite of the pastry then washed it down with the tea. I was so sick with nerves, I couldn’t eat. I’d hardly touched more than soup and bread in the days since Arwyn had been unwell.

I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare do anything but focus on the outcome I needed. Romy was halfway through the mug of tea, and I believed I’d failed, that my attempt at betraying her was for nothing. Until Romy’s eyes grew heavy and her posture shifted like she was drunk on vodka.

‘Hells,’ Romy giggled, half panicked and embarrassed. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

‘Are…’ My throat was dry. I took a swig of my tea as I watched her. It tasted odd, as though the camomile had a sharper taste than usual. ‘Are you okay?’

Romy opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Her head lolled forwards, followed by her body as she slumped over the side of the bed. The mug and plate crashed to the floor, tea puddling amongst the ruins of the broken ceramics.

My heart stopped for a moment. I waited, silently waiting for her to get back up. But Romy didn’t. Soft snores emanated from her mouth, matching the pace of Arwyn’s breathing.

It had worked.

It had fuckingworked.

Guilt and shame soon turned into hope as I put my mug down and sprang to standing. There was no telling how long this would work, or why it did in the first place. But that mystery was for another day as I took the key for the room from Romy’s pocket, whispered an apology, and left.

My heart was hammering in my chest, my hands shaking with unspent nerves as I locked them inside. I searched the shadows beyond the room, making sure no witch was lurking to strike when I left. But I wasn’t about to use old magic to get this far, and not try one final thing.

As I locked the door, I closed my eyes and focused on my intention. The air fizzed with power. My tongue tasted the thick sweetness to the air as I forged the lock with what I desired.

This spell I did speak aloud. The words didn’t rhyme, but I found it easier to truly focus on what I wanted by saying it to the universe. It helped me imagine Hekate listening and heeding my desire.

‘Keep them safe. Keep them safe. Keep them safe.’ To really drive home what I wanted, I finished it off with a witch’s full stop. ‘So mote it be.’

I left the room, running through the castle’s darkened belly. My Gift rose to the surface, ready as a coiled viper after days of rest. In case I needed to use it, it was ready. But Romy had been right. By the time I got to the graveyard at the north of the castle grounds, I’d seen no one else. It was as if we were the only ones left, although I knew that wasn’t the case.

Mist clung to the ground, slithering around the outside of the mausoleum like reaching hands. I kicked through the mist, closing in on the stone formation before me. In five days, it was as if mother nature herself had already reclaimed it. Vines had regrown over the door at an unnatural speed. But then again, nothing about this place was natural.

If only Caym were here. He’d sweep me up in his shadows and protect me from the darkness I was to face. But then again, how could I fear something I had grown so accustomed to?

I held onto that confidence as I broke the chains on the door and entered the waiting dark. The daylight eased into the mausoleum, offering little light for me to navigate. This time I didn’t have Arwyn’s fire to guide the way, nor his presence to calm me. I was alone. But that didn’t frighten me as much as it should.

I climbed over the vault, refusing to allow fear to overcome me. The stairs stretched beneath me, silent and still. There was no sign of demons, no shuffling of bodies or scratching of claws.

There was something else. The hint of a flower growing out the cracks of the steps. I was confident they’d not been herebefore. I knelt down, plucking one of the vibrant purple stems and brought it up to my nose.

‘Thistlebane,’ I said, the single word echoing around me.

It was growing in places that shouldn’t be natural. I took as many steps as I could before the outside light gave over to darkness. The deeper I got, the more thistlebane grew until some steps were completely overridden with it.

Strange. But that wasn’t what I was here for. At the precipice of shadow, I reached out with my Gift, searching the expanse for what I came for. It was a shot in the dark, literally. But with my invisible hands, I combed the stairway, searching for something which didn’t belong.

Never before had my Gift ached when I used it. Even after days of rest, it still hadn’t recovered.

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