Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks

by Dionnara Dawson

  The room was met with an uncomfortable silence that crept through the hearts of everyone. Even Remy looked something like ashamed, if not sympathetic. She cleared her throat and exited the room, leaving the three teenagers alone. Harrow and Hella disengaged. Harrow sat on the couch. Hella sat on the floor by the fireplace, feeling empty, as though an ice-cream scoop had removed her insides.

  ‘What will happen to them?’ she asked, not directing her question to either of them.

  Tommy leaned forward. ‘The Force will erase the memories they have of magic, and anything that could lead them to it,’ he explained calmly. As if this sort of thing happened every day. Maybe it did.

  Then something lit up inside Hella’s head, though she tried to keep it off her face. Maybe it did. If there was ever anything to write about, she thought, it would be this: the secret organisation of humans running around abducting people and wiping their minds, removing their rights—all to keep magic a secret—a government conspiracy if ever there was one. Keeping ordinary people in the dark. Against their will.

  ‘I’m going home,’ Hella suddenly declared, anxious to write this all down.

  But at that moment, Remy returned. ‘No, you’re not. We still have to find Meele. She was taken, remember?’

  ‘Why do you care about her, but not James and Alexa? They were taken, too.’ Hella folded her arms over her chest, a challenge.

  Remy blinked. ‘That’s not the same,’ she quipped. ‘Meele’s been abducted. I don’t have to explain this to you, you were there.’

  ‘My friends were abducted too. You knocked them out, and strange men came and took them away. If that’s not abduction, I don’t know what is.’ Hella was almost yelling.

  ‘She’s right,’ Harrow said, surprising them all. ‘It is abduction, Hella.’ He shook his head. ‘But that’s the way it is. They won’t hurt your friends, they’re doing this for their own safety. That girl looked like her head was about to explode. The stars know what she might’ve done if we’d let her go.’

  ‘But James was fine with it! And Alexa would have been too, if she had been given more than five seconds to react.’ On the surface, Hella was furious, but deeper down she was terrified for her friends. And felt horrible. Because this was her fault more than anyone else’s.

  ‘Enough,’ Remy thundered. She turned on her student. ‘Hellora, no more of this. They’re gone. Deal with it, and learn from it. Do not tell anyone, or let them find out the truth. Now, we have to focus on Meele, and how to get her back.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Meele

  Meele Scire was shoved roughly into the back of a black van, a blindfold wrapped tightly over her eyes. The angels outnumbered her, six to one, so she did not resist. Once she was seated, she could feel shackles clasped around her wrists, the metal cold against her skin. For a short time, she guessed ten minutes or so, they drove in what felt like a square. Were they looking for others to take?

  Then, she heard the thoughts of one of the angels. Hey, look, there. A silver one. Ooh, get her.

  The van stopped and there was a commotion of noise as they went to grab, by their description, what could only be a Sana. Meele heard the fae scream into the night, and be quickly silenced, as if knocked out. They returned to the van, slid open the door, and seemed to toss her inside. Meele heard her immediately.

  No, no, please.

  Hey, who’s there? Meele asked telepathically. Are you okay?

  Meele could also hear the angels’ thoughts. None of them pleasant. Let’s take them back to home base.

  Meele shivered.

  The faerie responded. Oh, thank the stars, another faerie. I’m Amara Sana. I’m okay. I think they just broke a rib or two. I was on my way back to the House. I should’ve known better than to walk alone at night. Who’re you?

  My name is Meele Scire. And it’s not your fault. It’s theirs. Meele reached out with her mind, but couldn’t find another faerie. She and Amara were the only fae. But there might still be other Cambions in here, chained to the van somehow. Meele tugged, rattling the linked metal. Meele felt the van drive on and on for what felt like an hour or so, but it was difficult to know. Everything was dark. Then the van pulled to a stop.

  ‘We should show him this lot,’ one of the angels said aloud.

  Meele felt the other angels grin, their bloodlust foaming to the surface of their minds.

  ‘He does pay well for their parts. Go on, Mal, open the door.’ The van door slid open with a squeak of sliding metal. Meele had a suspicion of who this visitor might be.

  Amara’s voice rang in Meele’s head, nervous. What’s happening?

  We’ve stopped. I think someone is looking at us. Be still. Meele could feel the fear buzzing through Amara’s mind. The faerie had never been captured before. Maybe never even tussled with an angel. She must be young, Meele thought to herself.

  ‘Get them all to shimmer. I want to see what I’m buying.’ The stranger’s voice was harsh and low. A man. Not a fae, perhaps a werewolf with the viciousness of his trade. Meele felt the van move slightly as someone stepped into the back and started ripping off blindfolds. Meele’s was removed, and she was met with the sight of an angel in her face, a pointed feather at her throat.

  ‘Shimmer, damn you,’ he growled at her.

  Meele frowned up the angel. She took stock of her surroundings while she could. Standing at the mouth of the van was a man, and Meele felt a twinge of betrayal. The buyer was not a werewolf, or even a vampire.

  He was a warlock.

  His platinum blond hair, with a single black lock at the front, was slicked back to reveal sharp, pale features, and cool black eyes, shaded with dark eyeliner. A mettalum, she thought, an alleged ally. Controller of metals. Buying faerie and warlock parts. He wore a black leather outfit, lined in silver. Traitor, Meele wanted to kick him in the face.

  The angel flicked the feather along her neck. ‘Shimmer,’ he growled again, watching her golden blood trickle down her neck.

  ‘No,’ she replied firmly.

  Another angel sat by a girl with long shining silver hair, the colour of a cloud holding rain. Her eyes were wild with fear, wings beating erratically at her back. Amara.

  ‘Shimmer. Or we’ll slit her throat right here.’ The other angel brought a feather up to Amara’s collarbone.

  She is young, Meele thought. Around eighteen.

  ‘Why should I care if you do that?’ Meele said aloud, her face impassive. Don’t be afraid, she told Amara. She looked around the van. There were two others. A vampire, who bared his fangs angrily. And a warlock boy, far too young to be here, with entirely white hair and eyes, a ventus, controller of wind. He frowned up at his many enemies, his eyes darting. Meele guessed he was thirteen.

  Amara stilled, her silver wings falling quiet. The mettalum buyer’s dark eyes narrowed, and he shimmered; his eyes became a vortex of darkness, his face sharpened, and black swirls danced along his pale skin. The metal of the van shook violently, sending the vampire sliding into the wall with a growl.

  ‘Get on with it,’ the buyer said, voice low and dangerous.

  The angel breathing onto Meele’s face, glaring down at her with his burning green eyes, suddenly smiled. ‘Okay, well if this one won’t shimmer, we’ll just kill her.’

  Suddenly, the buyer clicked his fingers together. ‘You will not. Cambion life is sacred.’ Then he climbed smoothly into the van. Shockingly, he dismissed the angel with a small wave of his fingers, and the angel backed off. The buyer sat next to Meele, cosying up to her like an old friend, or a persistent courter.

  ‘Who are you?’ Meele asked conversationally, acutely aware that Amara still had a bladed feather at her throat.

  He smiled, ignoring her question. ‘Go on, honey. Shimmer for me. I shimmered for you.’ His long dark lashes batted up at her.

  ‘Give me a reason why I should.’

  The buyer looked pointedly over to Amara, then back
at Meele. ‘Okay, then. If you shimmer for me, and I like what I see, I won’t have them kill you. How generous is that?’

  Meele scrunched her nose up at him. Then she leaned in close. ‘You are a disgrace to our kind.’ She spat in his face, only to have an angel try to hit her.

  The buyer held him back with another wave, then wiped the saliva off his face.

  ‘Well, aren’t you a little rebel? What’s your name?’ he asked, without a trace of anger.

  ‘What’s yours?’ Meele countered.

  ‘My name is Immego.’ He smiled, and though he was clean and presentable, all Meele could see was slime dripping from his personality.

  Her mouth quirked. ‘I’m sorry? What was that? All I heard was “ego”.’

  The warlock gave a hearty chuckle. ‘Oh, I do like that.’ He went over to the young warlock boy. ‘Now, look at you. I like your hair. Very stylish.’

  The boy made a noise between a whimper and an attempt at a growl. Then Immego held his hair back, exposing the young warlock’s throat. With sharp black nails, Immego slit the boy’s throat. The warlock boy, a ventus – controller of wind - bled a river of churning grey blood, which, with his wind, curled and roiled slightly through the air, then into his lap as Meele tried, and failed, to cover her mouth with bound hands.

  Immego sighed. ‘I meant it when I said that Cambion lives are sacred. But you will not defy me.’

  The angels sat on in patient silence. Immego looked at the angel still by Amara. He gave a pointed nod to the angel, but Meele shimmered quickly before they could act.

  Her golden hair shone brightly; her wings sparkled in the dimness of the van. Immego smiled a terrible smile.

  ‘Oh, my. Well, that was worth the theatrics. A beautiful fae indeed, Scire, how rare—and a Sana. My lucky day.’ He looked at the angel, and with a nod, he lowered his weapon. Amara sighed gratefully.

  ‘I do want this one.’ Immego nodded at Meele. Much too close, he sidled up to her. ‘I do love beautiful wings.’ He brushed her wings with his warlock-sharp nails, just grazing her wing so that she would feel it. ‘Don’t think of being strong. It will never work.’ He looked around at his angel-pets. ‘It never does.’ He climbed down, out of the van. ‘I want them whole, this time, you buffoons. Not in pieces. Both fae. You understand? I’ll come visit shortly.’

  ‘What of the vampire?’ one of the angels asked.

  Immego studied the vamp. ‘I could make one of my lovers a nice set of earrings from his fangs.’

  Meele watched as the vamp recoiled. She had no love for vampires, but something fought against the thought of hurting even one of them. She shimmered again.

  That’s what happens when the angels take our Marks? Amara asked. They give them to him? But he’s one of us. The betrayal was clear in her voice.

  I think he’s the furthest thing from one of us, Amara. But it would seem so.

  What do you think he does with our wings? Amara asked, her mind’s voice shaking.

  I don’t know, child. But I shudder to think of it.

  Immego looked at both faeries wistfully, as if reluctant to part with them. Then he scooped up the ventus warlock boy, slung him over his shoulder, and waved the van away.

  As they drove away this time, the angels didn’t bother to retie the blindfolds. Meele watched Immego recede into the night, a horrible smirk on his face, his fingers still dripping with the boy-warlock’s blood.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Hella

  Hella walked home slowly, her whole body tired with the events of the past few days. They had been attacked by angels. Again. Meele was taken. Harrow was almost killed. She met a handsome new warlock, Tommy—the only good thing to happen. And her two best friends, James and Alexa, were gone—perhaps the worst.

  She needed to rest. Recharge. And she desperately wanted to see her family and get back to something familiar.

  She had left the warlock boys together at the store. Harrow was asleep, and Tommy said he would keep an eye on him. Hella rearranged the furniture, moving the armchairs and Remy’s desk, and conjured another couch for Tommy to sleep on. He smiled gratefully.

  ‘Thank you, for today,’ she said to him, feeling the need to step up on her tip-toes to properly look into his bright green eyes, so like her own. ‘For coming and helping him, with Amara. It was my fault he was hurt in the first place.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked, soft green eyes pouring into hers.

  ‘Because he warned me not to go out into the dark, searching for trouble. And I did anyway. He came with me.’

  ‘That sounds like it was his choice to do so,’ Tommy said. He brushed wayward strands of hair out of her eyes. ‘Don’t blame yourself. The Harrow I remember had a fancy for getting into trouble. He makes his own decisions.’

  ‘How do you know him?’ She kept her voice low not to wake Harrow.

  ‘All warlocks tend to know each other. We grew up in the same place, our Warlock House. But he left some time ago and, it appears, has been drifting since. I haven’t seen him for a while.’

  ‘Were you friends?’

  Tommy seemed to consider. ‘Not precisely. We’re in different Houses, you see. There’s a certain amount of friendly competitiveness between them, so we sparred often enough, but weren’t exactly besties.’

  Hella nodded, interested. Sparring, she thought. That sounds handy. ‘I should get home, to my family. It feels like weeks since I’ve been back there to see them.’

  Tommy nodded. ‘Of course. But please let me walk you. Evidently, it’s not safe out there.’

  The offer was surprisingly gentlemanly, but last time a warlock tried to accompany her, he was almost killed. She showed him her athame.

  ‘I’m armed this time. I’ll be fine, but thanks. I’m more worried about him.’

  Hella walked now, in the cool night air, alone, wondering about the warlock boys. She kept a firm grip on her athame as she walked briskly through the park, and around the corner to her home. Her mother had left the lights on. As she climbed the porch steps, she was surprised to find Elliot waiting for her, leaning up against the front door, his arms folded over his chest.

  ‘Hi,’ she said uncertainly. He had hardly spoken to her since she had told him the truth about her new world. The witchy-truth. She couldn’t quite discern if he hated her, or was afraid of her. Or both.

  Elliot stood up, scanning his big sister. ‘You have a knife,’ he said with a frown. His deep, dark red hair looked black in the shadows, casting his, freckled face paler in the streetlight.

  ‘Oh. It’s actually called an “athame”. But, yes. It’s for protection.’ Hella said.

  Elliot frowned again. He did not ask from what or who she needed protection.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ Hella asked, trying to make her way inside.

  Elliot stood firm, blocking her. He paused, chewed his lip. A nervous habit.

  Hella slowly reached out for him, and, to her great relief, he did not recoil this time. She tucked the athame into her belt, taking her little brother by the shoulders. ‘El, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Are you evil?’ he whispered up to her, tears in his dark green eyes.

  Something twisted in Hella’s stomach. ‘No,’ she breathed back, a little stunned by the question. ‘Of course I’m not.’ She pulled him into a hug. ‘We’re good witches.’ He hugged her back.

  ‘I want my sister back,’ he mumbled. With a movement so swift, she could not have seen it coming, Elliot pulled her dagger from her belt, and brandished it at his big sister. ‘You’re not my sister. You can’t be.’ He shook his head, as if confused.

  Hella’s eyes grew wide. ‘Elliot, I am your sister. I’m not evil. Look at me.’

  Tears slipped down his young face. ‘Magic isn’t real,’ he hissed.

  Hella felt herself nod. ‘I know,’ she said, voice heavy with sympathy. ‘I thought the same thing.’ She kept her eyes on the blade.
‘El, magic isn’t bad.’ Hella thought about her conversation with Harrow, how he’d told her the more she practised, the better she would be—the less likely she would do any harm. Remy, telling her it was a gift. ‘It’s not something to be afraid of,’ she said, still convincing herself.

  The blade shook in his hands. ‘You’re like mum?’

  ‘I am, yes.’

  Elliot nodded. ‘She’s bad too.’

  ‘No, El, come on. It’s me. It’s just me. Please put that down. I’m your sister.’

  Elliot finally looked at the blade he was holding. ‘Father hates you, you know.’

  ‘He doesn’t, El. Maybe he doesn’t understand the way mum does, but he does not hate me. Or mum.’ Despite the blade, she moved toward him, feeling for her chakras, which burned. ‘Hey, come on, little brother. Don’t be afraid of me.’

  In one swift move, Elliot reached out with the blade to swipe at her, but Hella deflected it, twisting her brother’s arm, bending it behind his back. He yelled out, letting the blade clatter to the ground. Hella swooped down to gather up the athame and tucked it out of reach. She brought her brother into a tight hug.

  ‘I am not evil,’ she whispered into his hair as she hugged him, gently patting the arm she had twisted a little. ‘You’ve nothing to fear from me, little brother.’

  Elliot cried into her shirt as Hella brought him inside. Hella remembered when he had been a child, and she would carry him everywhere, his red head lolling trustingly into the crevice of her neck and shoulder, knowing she would keep him safe.

  Their parents sat in the kitchen, each with an evening mug of tea. They both stood as Hella came in with Elliot. Her mother came forward, frowning and concerned, to hug her children. Their father stood, setting down his tea.

  ‘And where have you been?’ he asked.

  ‘I was with Remy,’ Hella said. ‘But you should be more concerned with him.’ She nodded her head down to her little brother. ‘He just tried to stab me. For being a witch.’

  ‘What?’ their mum demanded.