‘Overwhelmed.’ She nodded a little. ‘Yeah, I am. But I like it here. And I need to train. Where better than where you were probably trained when you were younger?’
‘Exactly. Come on. I’ll show you the war room.’
‘That sounds dramatic.’ Hella followed.
‘It’s not because we were trained as soldiers or anything,’ Tommy said, leading her downstairs. ‘It’s sometimes called that because that’s where us warlocks had to go to be trained, and during our change, it felt like a war within ourselves.’
Hella raised her eyebrows as she followed Tommy down a few sets of stairs and out into a deep underground chamber that echoed with their footfalls. There were no windows and the walls were like solid stone.
Tommy walked down into the heart of the pit. There were dozens of targets painted in various places. Mostly, the room was empty. ‘Welcome to the war room, where many untrained, out-of-control warlocks have learned to harness their powers. Here, you can’t do any damage, trust me.’
Hella sighed, relieved. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
Tommy held up the book he’d brought from the store. ‘I thought we could kind of use this as a reference guide, since we have no idea what you can really do. For warlocks, at least, we know which Houses we come from, and occasionally we’ll have a hybrid where someone has come from mixed lineage, but that’s easy enough too. On you, we have little to no idea what you’re capable of.’
Hella nodded along, absently stretching. Tommy flicked through the book. ‘We do know that you can conjure, like any witch, so there’s a foundation. You have fire. That’s impressive, none of our Houses have ever had that ability. And, you can heal. That’s definitely different, but I’m sure it’ll come in handy, again. Ooh.’ He stopped on a page. ‘How about telekinesis? That would be great.’
The young witch paused. ‘I don’t have telekinesis.’ The amulet around her neck seemed to wink at him.
‘You might, you just don’t know it yet. You didn’t know you could heal.’
She shrugged. ‘I guess so.’
It was all so strange, Tommy thought. Their Houses were set out orderly, by their colours and their powers. Hella, though, was an entirely different matter. Her potential seemed limitless. In here, where there were no trees nearby, or earth readily available just under the surface of the floor, Tommy’s powers were very limited. However, when he shimmered, he would be better able to access the earth. Also, in hidden cupboards here in the war room, were touchstones for every House. A wooden-handled knife for terra. A column of water was hidden behind a panel to his left for nympha. Above their heads were shards of metal, embedded in certain places in the walls, for a mettalum. And wind could be created anywhere, he thought, with a pang of jealously to his ventus brethren.
Warlocks were often thought of as the Earth-based Cambions; always tied to the world. Whereas the Fae and their gifts were much more connected to the mind. Tommy was eagar to see where Hella fell upon the supernatural spectrum. She seemed nervous, he thought. Perhaps she was afraid. He opened a cupboard behind him and started setting out a few ordinary items for her to try telekinesis on one at a time. He set down a bottle of water, a book and a fold-out chair.
‘Just try,’ he said, attempting to sound reassuring. Working magic whilst overwhelmed can be difficult, as well as volatile. He wanted her to concentrate, not lash out.
For a moment, her eyelids fluttered closed—he would have to teach her to do this with her eyes open—then her amulet glowed purple, and a firey streak of purple engulfed her usually red hair. Sparks flew from her fingertips and then she was hovering a few centimetres off the ground.
Tommy watched as everything floated up into the air, as if their earthly strings had been tethered and they were free to roam about. There was nothing his warlock magic could do, he thought, if training with Hella went sideways, despite what he told her. The bottle, book and chair all floated before her. Her eyes opened, then grew wide.
He watched as the witch looked around. There was sheer wonder on her face but, he noticed, whenever she used her magic, there was something else there in her green eyes too. Fear and guilt. Tommy recognised those emotions. When he was a child, he had had the sames ones. He had felt afraid of what he was, and was often beaten for it by his stepfather.
‘Hella,’ he said softly, not wanting to startle her. ‘Can you put everything back?’ Admittedly, he was nervous. Tommy hadn’t expected her to turn it on fully. Even her braid floated behind her back. Tommy used his magic to root himself to the ground, worried about floating away as if he were lost in space.
There it was again. Guilt. ‘Sure,’ she said timidly, her brows creasing.
She had been made to feel bad about her powers, he could see that. Tommy wanted to punch the person who’d made her feel this way. ‘It’s okay, you’ve done well. Try to set them down carefully.’ He smiled.
She nodded, perhaps seeing the kindness in his eyes, a similar green to her own. Slowly, the objects stopped moving about and, steadily, she floated them roughly back to where they had been, then set everything down with a mild clatter. Nothing broke, and she smiled shyly. ‘I have telekinesis.’
Tommy grinned. ‘You have telekinesis,’ he agreed. He had never met a witch who could do that before. A small part of him was thankful for that. Hella was cute, and sweet. But that kind of immense power in all witches… Tommy shuddered at the thought. Not all witches were good, and that scared him. He shook it off. Hella was special. ‘Right, what shall we try next?’ He picked up the book and flipped casually through it, while Hella waited patiently for instructions.
Tommy landed on the astral projection page, then read the descriptions. ‘I’ve just had an idea, Hella. Do you think you can astral again?’
Hella shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Why?’
Tommy read the pages carefully. ‘Because, I think—’ He read slowly. ‘I think you could find our missing friends.’
Hella gave a half-smile. ‘No pressure, right?’
Tommy gave a glittering smile. ‘We need to save them, Hella.’
She nodded. ‘Agreed. Now, what’s your plan?’
‘We’re going to need Remy, I’ll tell you on the way.’
Hella sighed, following him out the door. Tommy must have looked worried, though, because Hella put an arm around his shoulders. ‘They’ll be okay. We’ll find them.’
Tommy was grateful for her warm reassurance. But he didn’t know if she was right, or if Meele or the others were still alive.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Tommy
Eight Years Ago
Tommy snuck into his parents’ small chambers of the Warlock House, creeping in through the back door, hoping no one would hear him come home. He had been out with friends, and realised, too late, how dark the hour was. He was not allowed out so late.
He crept around the side of the kitchen, the sink filled with dishes, to the right of the lounge room. His mother was asleep on the couch, the television still blaring one of her favourite old black-and-white noir films. Tommy glanced around, trying to gauge if his stepfather was home. He hoped not. Very quietly, he tip-toed over to his mother, gently pulling a blanket over her slim shoulders to keep her warm.
Tommy hadn’t eaten in a while. Stepping lightly into the kitchen, he devoured two bananas from the near-empty fruit bowl, then downed a glass of milk, silently putting the carton back in the fridge.
A floorboard creaked behind him, making him jump. Jacob Larson backhanded Tommy across the face, leaving a stinging mark on Tommy’s cheek.
‘The hell do you think you’re doing sneaking around, boy?’ Jacob snarled.
Tommy rocked back on his heels, clapping a hand to his aching cheek. Fear sent ripples through Tommy’s skin, activating his Cambion form. His once-pale skin turned a light, shining green, claws grew from his hands, emerald scales erupting along his cheek. The shift changed Tommy’s stepfath
er’s face, a deep disgust furrowed his brows, curling his lip back from yellowed teeth, his eyes darkened to a boiling anger.
His mother, Renee, jumped up from the couch, wide awake. ‘Tommy!’ she called, running over to him. Unlike her son, Renee had long ago learned to control her Cambion emotions. She remained in her human-form, though tears sprung to her eyes as she ran to her son.
Jacob held out a pointed finger. ‘You,’ he barked at his wife. ‘Stay there.’
Renee halted, then glanced over at her son. ‘Jacob, I’m sure he was just hungry.’
Jacob glowered over at Renee, with no hint of marital affection. ‘Shut it,’ he snapped at her. Then he looked over at his stepson. Tommy couldn’t control when his warlock form came over him. It happened when he was emotional, afraid, angry. And Jacob hated it.
‘No,’ he growled at his stepson. ‘None of that.’ In one swift motion, Jacob took off his belt, then whipped it at Tommy. The buckle caught his side, against a rib, an instant welt. Tommy flinched back. He wished he knew how to control his powers, so that he would never look like this in front of his stepfather.
‘Jacob, don’t!’ Renee cried. She raced around to her son, but Jacob yelled at her to stay back.
‘You foul, evil little boy. You’re a devil.’ He lashed out with the belt again, this time hitting Tommy square in the stomach.
The little warlock cried out, clapping his hands over the new wound, a bloody tear in his shirt. Tommy slid to the floor, terrified. He pulled his knees up, hiding.
Jacob towered over Tommy, holding the belt high. Renee stepped in front of her son, transforming into her own Cambion self. Her once-orange hair shimmered to a flowing grass-green, her skin dissolved and re-formed, now a deep emerald. Tommy’s mother lashed out at her husband with sharp claws. With a swing of his hand, Jacob knocked her aside. As she fell, her head knocked hard against the fridge with a sickening crunch. A dark smear trailed down the white fridge. Tommy reached for her, but his hand was whipped with the belt buckle. In a tangle of fear and fury, Tommy pulled his hand back, knuckles bleeding. Jacob started yelling for him to change, back to normal, sending the belt down onto his shins, the metal gouging deeply.
Tommy’s startlingly green eyes shed his tears, but his heart burned. Before he knew what he was doing, his fists clenched, Tommy had called his magic. The room trembled, then the ferns on the kitchen bench grew. The roots of the massive oak tree by their lounge room window exploded inside, through their window, with a shower of broken glass and reaching branches. Dirt and earth and trees and grass grew from the ground, cutting lines into the weakening tiles of the kitchen floor.
Tommy could feel his eyes burn with hatred. Jacob’s small brown eyes had popped wide, his mouth dropped open. Frantically, his stepfather tried to hit him again and again, yelling at Tommy to stop. Tommy barely felt the belt anymore, a mere sting where it kissed his skin. Then Jacob brought the belt back, and stopped. He looked down at the ground which was now roiling as though a snake lay underneath, writhing and squirming to be free; the tiles broke, the roots loosed. They wove up Jacob’s leg, and he yelled out, dropping the belt in a flurry of panic. Tommy still sat on the ground, beaten and afraid, hateful and powerful now. Darkness and survival wove themselves together inside Tommy; he was doing the right thing. He had to.
Then the roots, climbing Jacob’s body, dug deep into the man’s skin. Tommy’s fear seemed to fuel his powers like he had never used them before. The roots pierced Jacob’s skin, crawling underneath until he screamed. The roots stabbed through flesh, flooding blood onto the kitchen tiles, and bit through nerves and tendons. Tommy heard small cracks as he willed the branches to crush him, like a python constricting its next meal, breaking his bones.
Through panting breaths, Jacob Larson looked to his wife, still unconscious where he left her, bleeding from a head wound, lying on the floor. ‘Woman, stop him!’ Jacob yelled, and Tommy’s mother stirred.
Tommy kept the roots away from his mother, keeping her safe. He glowered at his stepfather, his once-terrifying presence seemed smaller now. The young warlock felt the darkness of his powers lick his insides, the blackness threatening to overcome him entirely. He wanted to make their entire living quarters crumble down around them. Tommy wondered if he could make the roots destroy the structural integrity of the ceiling, burying his stepfather alive in rubble as he squirmed. He could make this horrible man watch his worst fears come to light as he realised his stepson was a monster, a demon. Someone who could finally fight back. The council had warned them about inviting a human into the Warlock House, and they’d been right, but not for this reason. They were prejudiced against all humans, but Jacob Larson was more evil than Tommy, even without demon blood.
Tommy reached out and gently shook his mother’s shoulder. ‘Mother, look.’
As Renee slowly woke, she looked around at the damage her son had caused, then saw her husband, split and bleeding red down the roots twirling through his body, severing veins, tendons and bursting vessels as they wrapped tightly around his bones with the occasional crunching. Her mouth fell open, but she said nothing, aghast. Tommy saw the relief in her eyes.
Tommy moved closer to his stepfather, remembering all the times he knew of that he’d battered his mother around. Tommy’s heart ached every day with an awful fear that she was hurting, and that he was next. He felt the welts on his skin, the ache in his cheek. Almost every day since he moved in, he’d beaten Tommy. Renee had refused to go to the council to ask for help, as she had broken the rules one too many times by marrying him, then allowing him to move in.
Tommy used his power to hold Jacob tight, squeezing his insides with the roots, bursting his organs, and Tommy looked deep into his eyes. Jacob yelled and screamed, begging for mercy.
‘You don’t deserve mercy,’ Tommy seethed. He was about to send a sharp root through his stepfather’s skull, when someone broke through the front door, knocking it clean off its hinges. A faerie with long golden hair burst into the room. The woman approached Tommy, her hands up, indicating that she came in peace. The young warlock looked up at her. There was a slight sheen of sweat covering her beautiful face, as if she’d been running. The woman gave a nervous smile.
‘Tommy?’ she asked, as Jacob slid to the floor, wailing in agony.
‘Yes? Who’re you?’ Tommy asked, slightly annoyed to be interrupted.
‘My name is Meele. Tommy, would you mind dousing your powers?’ Golden wings fluttered nervously at her back.
‘I’m actually in the middle of something here.’ Tommy indicated the bloody mess of a man on the floor. Jacob screamed, the pain acute. Renee remained quiet in her corner. ‘You shouldn’t have hit me.’ Tommy hissed down at him, returning his attention to the task at hand.
Meele stepped into the jungle of vines, roots and writhing leaves mixed with dirt which crawled through the house. ‘Little warlock, I need you to listen to me. Stop torturing the human, come listen to me. It’s important.’
‘I can’t. You don’t understand. He deserves it.’ The darkness swam through Tommy’s heart, through his veins, begging him to end Jacob’s life.
Meele took another step forward. ‘Little one, I do understand. I know what awful things he’s done to you, and to your mother. Look at me. I can see things others can’t. I know exactly what you’re feeling.’
Tommy blinked, remembering the Faeries’ Houses. Gold. Scire.
‘You can see things,’ he said, noting her colouring. Gold wings, scales, hair.
Meele nodded, pleased at his recognition. She took the opportunity to approach him. ‘Little one, look at me. I know he’s hurt you terribly, but you can’t let this hate and fear consume you. You’re a warlock, you must decide to use your gifts for good and, however justified, this is not good.’
Tommy glowered at her. His heart raced, adrenaline washing over him in painful waves as the darkness threatened to drown him. Meele took small steps toward him. She was wea
ring a long red dress which flowed in the breeze through the open door.
‘Tommy, it’s okay now. He’ll be sent away, you won’t ever have to see him again. We have the means to do that.’ Meele gently put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
Vibrating with fear, pain, anger and hate, Tommy flinched from her touch.
Finally, his mother spoke. ‘She’s right, Tommy. Leave him. They’ll send him to The Force.’ She got up and limped over to her son. ‘I should have kicked him out a long time ago. And the faerie is right. We have to do good. You, especially.’
‘Why me, especially?’ Tommy glowered, feeling picked on.
‘Now that you have your gifts, Tommy, you must fight the darkness you feel. That’s the demon blood. Fight through it, or you’ll succumb to it.’ Renee put a hand on her son’s head, ruffling his orange hair.
Meele nodded in agreement. ‘She’s right, Tommy.’ She pulled out a phone and made a call, turning away from the Terras. All Tommy heard was, ‘…get this forsaken human out of here… hurting our kind, unacceptable.’
Tommy looked up to his mother, her hair mussed with blood. ‘I’ll be good, mum,’ he promised.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Remy
Remy Stealthing stopped to catch her breath. She bent and leaned her hands on her knees, too old to run so much. The angels had attacked their coven, the bold bastards, and the coven had been unprepared. Though, Remy thought, mostly because she had never heard of angels doing such a thing before. She looked around, hiding out the front of Sian’s house. She had seen their coven leader escape into the house, but Remy wasn’t sure if she was followed. Likewise, Remy had seen Hunter and Lola run out the back gate. But she feared the rest of her witches were dead, or still dying.
Whichever the case, Remy had to check. The cacophony of screaming that had pierced the once-still night air during their blessing ritual had now stopped, and the night was still again. Remy gathered her strength, took an athame out of the folds of her skirts and stepped cautiously back inside the darkened house, not daring to call out. She stepped quietly on the wooden floorboards, through room after room, until she came upon a study with a window that looked out onto the once-beautiful garden that Sian tended so carefully, blooming with an abundance of white roses.
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