‘I’m sorry,’ the man said hoarsely, his voice high and panicked.
Harrow blinked. ‘Sorry? For this?’ Harrow held up his left hand, still bleeding, the shard of glass protruding gruesomely. His entire forearm was a glove of blood. ‘Well, good. You should be. It really hurts.’
The man nodded, accepting of his crime. ‘Please, kid, just let me go.’ The smoke curled up his chest like a hand until it gripped his throat in a vice-like clamp, leaving searing ice-burns.
Harrow’s dark eyes reflected the light, like moonlight on dark water. ‘Hmm,’ Harrow considered. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not without a parting gift. You see, I’ve lived on these streets for a long time now, and I don’t appreciate people like you thinking you can just beat up kids because you feel like it. I want you to remember that.’
Harrow moved a little closer, then bent down to pick up another bottle from the ground and swung it at the man’s head. He flinched, hard. But Harrow’s aim was for the dumpster behind him. On impact, it smashed the bottle. Harrow smiled, retrieving a large shard. The mist dissipated quickly, as if it had never been there. ‘Fair is only fair.’ Harrow said, driving the glass into the man’s forearm. He screamed, rivulets of blood flowing down his hand, a red river.
Harrow smiled. ‘See, now we match. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before glassing a kid. Because maybe we’re not just kids.’ Harrow surveyed his attacker, riddled with his ice-burns and a significant amount of blood loss in the near future.
Harrow flicked blood off his own hand. ‘I should probably get this looked at,’ he muttered. Looking up at the man he laughed. ‘Don’t want to bleed out, do I?’ Bleeding profusely, Harrow staggered out onto the poorly lit street. In the distance, by the long wooden docks, Harrow could see the light of the streetlamp dancing off the water of The Governor’s Way. He wished there were more people around, maybe someone could have helped him. Leaving behind a bread-crumb trail of blue blood drops, Harrow walked around until he found a small park by the harbour, outside a closed Fish and Chip shop. Exhausted, he lay down on the damp wooden bench, his hand in agony.
He didn’t regret stabbing that guy, but using his powers combined with his fierce anger always drained him. He didn’t know where the local human hospital was, and he refused to go back to his Warlock House where his ghastly parents would be waiting for him. He looked down at his hand and cringed. Harrow thought he could see bone. Torn veins and tendons. The young warlock gagged, then felt tears spring to his eyes, one slipped down his cheek as he tried to catch a breath.
After a moment, Harrow lay back down on the bench. He thought the oblivion of sleep sounded perfect and fell into the darkness, wondering if he would simply bleed out and die on a park bench. About half an hour passed, Harrow blacked out, when someone jostled his good arm gently, waking him. Sitting bolt upright, a snarl already spread across his lips, Harrow growled.
‘It’s not illegal, I’m just sleeping!’ The person he thought would surely be a pain-in-the-ass police officer with nothing better to do than to harass a kid with nowhere to sleep turned out to be an ordinary woman. A young woman, actually, barely a year older than himself. She had long pale-silver hair and shining grey eyes.
‘I’m not a police officer,’ she said softly. ‘You’re injured.’
Harrow looked down at his hand. The blood flow had slowed now, the blue was dry, though it spread all up his forearm. ‘I’m aware, thanks.’
‘I’m Amara,’ she said with a smile. ‘Amara Sana. I can heal you.’
Harrow looked up at her. She shimmered for him. Her silvery wings shone in the dim lamp light on her back. That was the Sana colour, silver. He frowned up at her. Their house had dwindled over the years, and with it, the healing gift. She was a rarity. He had never been healed by a Sana before, only other warlocks who had managed to make salves with their own blood, to varying degrees of efficiency, though apparently Sanas were the real, pure thing; healers.
Gingerly, he sat up. ‘I’m Harrow.’ With some effort, he shimmered for her.
‘Nympha,’ she said, noting his blue colouring. Then she frowned with sympathy. ‘You don’t have a place to go, do you?’ She sidled up a little closer to him on the bench. She wore a prim charcoal-grey dress and black ankle-boots in stark contrast to Harrow’s shabby muddy—and bloodied—jeans and hole-ridden black shirt.
He frowned. ‘Way to rub it in.’
Amara’s soft face creased. ‘I wasn’t. Why aren’t you at your Warlock House?’
‘I don’t want to be,’ he snapped.
She blinked, taken aback. ‘Okay,’ she said, letting it go. ‘But let me help you, at least.’ The faerie held out her hand, asking for his bleeding one.
Harrow took a moment to look her up and down, measuring her. He hadn’t met many faeries, though their Houses were allies. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them. There was a formal alliance between them and his kind, of course, but that doesn’t mean they could be trusted. In Harrow’s experience, anyone was capable of hurting another.
But at this moment, she was offering her help, and seemed friendly enough. And he wanted to know what it was like, being healed by a Sana. They were uncommon enough to be considered a rarity, and to be healed by one was an honour most actually paid for—unless it was by order of a council member.
Hesitantly, he placed his injured hand in hers. Her skin was pale, smooth, and reassuringly warm to the touch. The shard of glass sticking through his hand caught his eye, the blood dripping off the end of broken tip. He tried not to gag again.
Sitting on the bench, Amara took his hand, holding it up to the light to better see the wound and the damage the glass had inflicted. She gave a small nod, as if satisfied about something. The faerie held his wrist, looking at the shard of glass. ‘What happened?’ she asked, with no inflection of judgement as he’d expected.
‘Some asshole attacked me.’ Harrow spat.
‘They do that,’ she said sadly. She held Harrow’s injured hand in her left hand as he winced. ‘Hold still now. There’s going to be a zapping when I heal you,’ she warned.
Harrow’s eyes pinched shut. ‘Do it.’
She gave a great pull. Harrow screamed, shattering the silent night, his eyes flew open in time to see Amara pull the bloody shard out of his skin, a fountain of blood spurt onto the ground, her hands, and his jeans. There was now a gaping hole in his hand. Harrow shuddered as agony washed over him.
Quickly, Amara set the glass on the bench behind her, then took Harrow’s hand in hers. There was a soft silver glow, then a crackle of energy as the light brightened blindingly. It looked like a spider-web of electricity. It connected with Harrow’s hand. He almost seized up. His eyes rolled for a moment. He felt the bolts send waves of shocks throughout his body. He couldn’t breathe. It felt like he was being held under water, and his hand was on fire.
‘Hold on,’ Amara said, keeping him steady. After a moment, she let his hand go. It was still filthy and caked with blood, but the wound was healed.
Harrow’s eyes bulged. It felt like he’d been electrocuted a dozen times. His hands shook. Harrow tried to catch a breath, but even outside in the cool night air, there seemed to be none available.
‘Just breathe,’ Amara said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. She smiled a little, apologetic. ‘You’re okay now.’
Harrow sat up, turning his hand over and over. The pain was gone. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured.
She nodded, like it was just her doing her job. ‘I’m guessing you lost quite a bit of blood, judging by that wound, and the decorative splatter about the park that I followed here. It’ll take a little while for you to feel normal again.’
Harrow nodded and made as if to lie down on the bench again.
‘No, come on.’ She hauled him smoothly to his feet. ‘If you don’t want to go back to your house, there’s somewhere else our kind can go. It’s called the Den. I’ll take you there.’ She let him lean on her a
nd together they walked down the street.
After walking together for a few moments in peaceful silence, the gentle faerie looked over at him. ‘Did you at least get back at the person who did this to you?’
‘Oh, yeah. I got him back. I don’t think he’ll attack a kid again anytime soon.’ Harrow’s smile was smug.
Amara’s soft, sweet face curled into something a little darker. ‘Good. We have enough enemies, don’t we?’
Harrow woke with a start, choking on the blood frothing from his mouth, the agony of his throat unrelenting.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Hella
It took an agonising twelve and a half minutes for the healing faerie and warlock emissary to arrive at the store. Hella waited by Harrow’s side while she stared out the window overlooking the street. As she saw two unfamiliar figures approach, she expelled a breath that had been tightly wrapped around her chest.
‘Finally,’ Hella seethed. ‘Let them in,’ she ordered Remy, who blithely complied.
They were ushered into what Harrow had fondly called the Training Room, one a female with long silver hair to her waist, the other a very handsome young man with fire-orange hair, both surprisingly around Hella’s age.
‘Hurry up, before he dies!’ she pleaded, not knowing which one the faerie was until the girl turned and Hella saw her delicate silver wings.
The young man stepped forward formally. ‘Hello, witch. Witches. I’m Tommy Terra, this is Amara Sana, at your service.’ He bent down to get a look at the patient and blinked back surprise. ‘Harrow?’ Tommy knelt to the ground. ‘Oh, no.’
The faerie shooed them away and set to work, sitting by his head. ‘I’ve healed Harrow before, don’t worry, he’s strong.’ She smiled up at Hella by way of greeting, then set immediately to her work. A soft silver glow appeared by her hands, then a pulsing wave of what looked like a web of silver electricity vibrated through the couch and into the floor. Hella could feel it in her hands, and through the carpet.
‘What is that?’ Hella asked, leaning forward, but the warlock Tommy gently pulled her back.
‘Don’t get any closer. You don’t want your magic colliding with Amara’s, believe me. Don’t worry, she’s healing him.’
As Hella opened her mouth to ask how exactly she was doing that, Harrow bucked, as if struck, his blue eyes snapping open as he yelled out. Amara held his shoulder, keeping him down. The crackle of the magic blurred her words, but Hella thought she was saying something calming to him, because he then looked up, recognised her, and went still. He closed his eyes while Amara worked.
‘I’m Hella, by the way,’ Hella said. ‘This is Remy.’
Tommy sat beside her and she noticed that his sparkling green eyes were a few shades lighter than hers, and brilliantly friendly. ‘Nice to meet you both.’ He glanced up at Remy who, stunningly, was flipping through a book and didn’t pay him any attention at all, nor the commotion of a warlock nearly dying on her couch. Tommy returned his sparkling gaze to Hella. ‘Is Harrow your friend? I didn’t know he knew any witches.’
‘I only met him a few days ago,’ she admitted. ‘I’m uh, new to all this magic stuff. I only just found out I’m a witch.’ Her gaze returned to the faerie-electric web pulsating through the first warlock she had ever met. And stabbed. Tommy looked too, and cringed in sympathy, shimmering as he did so.
Hella looked curiously at Tommy, his skin pale-green instead of blue like Harrow’s. There were similarities between the two warlocks; the scales and claws, their own colours. Hella could see how they were both the same species, though by all other accounts, the boys both looked unique. Harrow’s long dark tail flicked out behind him, spiralled through with dark blue. Tommy had a smattering of emerald scales along his cheek. In his warlock form, the older warlock’s orange hair shone brightly against Harrow’s own oil-black hair. ‘You’re different colours,’ Hella started politely, ‘does that mean you have different magics?’
Tommy looked at her curiously. ‘Yes, it does. We’re from different Houses. Harrow is Nympha, that’s water, or ice. I am Terra, which is earth. And—do you know about faeries?’
Hella glanced up at Amara. She looked very different to Meele, her silver hair making her seem older than she was. ‘A little. I’ve only met one. She was gold, though.’
‘Ah. You met a Scire? Well, Amara here is a Sana, kind of rare, actually. They’re healers, but as with any magic, it comes with a cost. Harrow feels as if he’s being electrocuted right now, but she will save his life,’ Tommy promised.
Hella nodded, following along, relishing the distraction from wondering how Harrow was doing under the force of the electricity. Magic is confusing, Hella thought. In order to heal someone, you must hurt them. She made a mental note to write down the new information later. The web of faerie light faded as Amara finished.
Then Harrow groaned, and blearily opened his eyes. ‘Where am I?’ He blinked around. Then his hands shot up to his throat with a pained expression. ‘The angels—’
‘They’re gone now,’ Hella said quickly, rushing to his side. ‘Amara healed you.’ She conjured a rag for him and handed it over. His neck and hands were coated with blue blood.
Harrow took the rag gratefully, first wiping the tears from his cheeks, then rubbing the blood away. After a moment, Harrow saw Tommy, and a sense of recognition lit his face. ‘Oh. Hi,’ he said awkwardly. Harrow tried to sit up, stiffly. He smiled over at Amara. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘Again.’
Hella frowned. ‘Are you okay?’
Harrow felt tenderly around his throat. Hella wondered if he could still feel the ghost of the halo, the way she still felt the feather in her leg, at her neck. Slowly, he nodded. ‘I’m surprised I’m alive.’
‘So am I,’ Remy chimed in helpfully, glancing up from her book.
Harrow glared at her darkly. ‘You didn’t lift a finger to help, did you?’
Remy didn’t look up this time. ‘I did,’ she said. ‘I called these two.’ She pointed at the others.
Harrow rolled his eyes, then glanced around and peered out of the open window. ‘What the hell?’
There were two teenagers staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Hella recognised them as her two best friends.
Who had just witnessed a lot of magic.
‘Oh, shit,’ Hella swore. At that, Remy glanced up and noticed what they were all looking at and saw them.
‘Oh no.’ Remy’s head snapped to her student. ‘Hella!’ As if she’d invited them there.
Alexa looked as if her world had exploded, and James looked stunned too. She made as if to run away, but James caught her up, and Hella ran outside, Remy close behind.
Remy cast a quick glance at the empty street, then muttered a spell. James and Alexa dropped to the ground in a tumble, asleep.
Hella whipped her head to her guardian. ‘What are you doing? They could’ve hurt themselves!’
‘We have a healer inside,’ Remy said dismissively, ‘and we have much bigger problems now, Hellora. Get them into the store.’
Harrow and Tommy peered outside, then both helped drag the humans in. Both warlocks and the faerie looked at Hella accusingly.
Remy took up the phone by the counter and made a call, muttering into the speaker for a few moments. Then she announced, ‘The Force is on their way.’
Harrow sat back down on the couch, then suddenly blinked, remembering the earlier events of the evening. ‘Wait, guys. Where’s Meele?’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Hella
There was much discussion as to the chaos her friends had caused. Hella watched on as the room exploded into a frenzy. The others filled Harrow in on Meele’s disappearance, and at that point, Amara insisted she leave to head back to her House in order to inform her higher-ups of this turn of events. Hella waved her goodbye, grateful of her services to Harrow, who still looked a little pale, but healed. And now, he was worried.
‘How e
xactly did you let that happen?’ Harrow demanded of Remy. ‘You were with her!’
Tommy, left behind by Amara, seemed to take up responsibly of keeping things under control, still in his emissary position. ‘Now, now, these things happen,’ he said reasonably, ‘it was not the witch’s fault. As ever, it was the angels. These women are our allies, Harrow.’
‘Your allies,’ Harrow spat, then cast an apologetic glance at Hella. ‘I’m not a part of your House anymore,’ he drawled at Tommy.
For a moment, Tommy looked sad. ‘You will always be part of our House, Harrow. Just because you refuse to return does not change that. Your mother sends her regards, by the way.’
‘Not my father?’ Harrow asked scornfully.
Tommy pursed his lips. ‘I did not speak to your father before I left. I can’t speak on his regards, or lack thereof. Now, back to the matter at hand.’ He looked at the two unconscious human teenagers. ‘Hella, I’m terribly sorry, but these are the laws we live by. They’re human. They witnessed more magic than can be explained away. They have to go.’
To Hella, it sounded like a death sentence.
Hella opened her mouth to argue, but the front door opened with a bell-chime, and four suit-clad solider-looking beefy men walked through the door without so much as a welcome or introduction. They looked at Remy and nodded. She pointed at James and then Alexa, and the men set to work. They hauled Hella’s friends over their shoulders and exited out the front door without a word.
Hella tried to run after them, but—in a surprising display of teamwork—both warlock boys caught her.
‘Hella, no.’ Harrow said firmly. ‘They’re gone. I’m sorry.’
At that moment, Tommy let her go, and Hella turned into Harrow. He hugged her tightly to his chest, her face turned away from her friends.
Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks Page 14
