Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  Tommy put a hand on Harrow’s arm, bent down to quickly hug Hella, then took off.

  Hella and Harrow were still as they left, and when Amara closed the sliding doors behind her, Hella removed her hand from Harrow’s shoulder. She got up off the side of the armchair and raised her hand, a ball of purple fire erupted from her palm, and she tossed it at the fireplace which sparked to life. Hella began pacing around the coffee table, nervous and angry.

  Harrow was still curled up in the armchair. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘My measurements of “okay” have never been more off-kilter, so I really don’t know. I’m relieved that Amara is alive, of course, but this whole weapon thing… I don’t know what to do about that. There has to be another way, a better way, to help protect people—including ourselves—from Azazel and the demons.’

  Harrow was backlit now by the roaring purple flames. She went over to him. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘My measurements of that word have changed too. I have a soul now, so I guess that’s good.’ He took a moment to look up into her eyes. ‘I have you, and that’s the most important thing, Hella. I love you. But, I have to admit, physically, I don’t feel good. Far too stabbed for my liking, really. And now there’s someone out there—again—hunting Cambions. Maybe we’ll always be hunted.’ He said the last part in a lower voice, more to himself than her.

  She bent down and kissed him carefully on the cheek. ‘I love you, too.’ Hella sat close to him, on the edge of the armchair. ‘You won’t always be hunted,’ she promised, a hand on his shoulder. She could feel him tremble under her touch. ‘Are you worried Wyatt will come after you, like he did before?’

  Harrow fidgeted with the hem of his jumper, not meeting her gaze. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘if there is another way to kill demons we need to find it, fast.’ He intentionally didn’t answer her question, she didn’t miss that.

  ‘I agree,’ Hella said. ‘What do you know about demons? What hurts them?’

  He half-shrugged. ‘I always just thought angels.’ Now he met her gaze. ‘But that was before you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hella realised she had been absently caressing his shoulder as they talked, and he seemed to have relaxed a bit. His eyes grew a little brighter as he leaned into her.

  ‘Well, you’re the promised witch. If anyone can help, you can,’ Harrow said it as if it were obvious, that she would always be an exception to every rule. It was a weight on her chest.

  She barked out a harsh laugh. ‘Oh, right. No pressure. Again.’

  ‘Sorry. I just mean, maybe the key is in your magic, or even yours and Piper’s. We might need her help, Hella,’ Harrow said. She watched him now that they were alone. He was nervous, she could see. And afraid. But he wasn’t guarded like he was with other people. Hella wanted to hold him close and tell him she would never let anyone take him, or his Marks. But he had made it clear he wasn’t up for that discussion, and she could hardly blame him.

  Hella sighed. ‘Yeah, I know. I just couldn’t listen to Piper anymore, making it sound like the Deme blades were a good idea. So wrong.’ Hella twisted her hands together in her lap. ‘Do you remember everything, from when you had no soul?’ She had to know.

  Harrow swallowed hard at the abrupt question. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ His voice quavered, barely audible over the crackling of the flames in the hearth. ‘I want to say I never meant to hurt you, but I was angry, and in that state, it seemed like what I was doing was justified. I know that’s no excuse and it doesn’t make any sense. I’m just… I’m sorry.’ He put his head down on his knees, hiding his face. It made him look so small and vulnerable.

  Hella trailed her fingers in his ink-black hair. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said softly, squeezing onto the armchair beside him. ‘It was mine.’ He moved to give her room, his eyes pools of blue. ‘I brought you back,’ she breathed. ‘The fault was mine. You died for me.’

  Harrow reached out and grazed her cheek with his open hand, still bandaged. ‘I would do it again,’ he said. In that moment, the depth of his sincerity made it hard to believe that Harrow had ever been without his soul, had ever been wicked or malicious.

  Hella gazed down into his beautiful eyes, and she wanted to forget the bad parts, all the hurt and the blood and his punishment. His dark hair was aglow with the light of the purple flames. They were practically sitting on top of each other, she realised, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Hella wanted to be even closer to him. She leaned forward, and then they were kissing, their lips mashed together, soft and tender at first, and then more desperately.

  Hella was aware of his wounds, careful not to hurt him. Harrow’s hands were in her long red hair and trailing up and down her back. She could feel the softness of his skin, as well as the stained bandages. Hella’s hands were at the nape of his neck, that gentle spot that was so intimate. His hair felt like melting silk between her fingers. The fire kept them warm, but it could have been snowing in the room and they wouldn’t have shivered or noticed.

  For just a moment, Harrow broke away from her. ‘The fire to my ice,’ he said to her again, this time sadly.

  ‘We’ll get your ice back, Harrow. Tommy says you need to heal first,’ Hella said quietly. ‘You can’t shimmer, can you?’

  Harrow paled and shook his head. Evidently, he had already tried. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not a warlock anymore.’

  Hella brushed her fingertips down his cheek. ‘You’re still you. You’re perfect.’ On his lap, she watched happily as his eyes sparkled with joy looking up at her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her chest for a moment. She wondered if he could hear her heartbeat.

  ‘You know, when I’m with you Hella, the rest of the world—especially the bad things—seem to disappear. Does that make sense?’ Harrow murmured.

  ‘It does,’ she said, and now he looked up at her again, peering into her eyes. ‘Because I feel that way too.’ Their lips connected again, and Hella felt it—the world slip away.

  Harrow’s hand ran along her back smoothly, around her hair and up to her shoulders, just touching her. He didn’t reach under her clothes, didn’t even seem to think of it, just blissfully happy to have her this close.

  Hella wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him into a tight hug. ‘I won’t let Wyatt hurt you.’ Hella knew she was bringing up something he might not want to talk about, something that might even ruin the mood, but she had to say it, now, while they were alone, and she could freely reassure him.

  He nestled into the crook of her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist. ‘I know you won’t,’ he said quietly, and there was a world of trust behind his words. Hella wanted to crawl down onto the floor, perhaps conjure a blanket, and lay beside him (or, perhaps in another position) with the crackling fire above their heads. Hella had a feeling Harrow was slightly too stabbed for that, and she was in no rush. Just being in his arms was amazing.

  Suddenly, the sliding doors separating the rooms rolled open, and a startled voice greeted them. ‘Oh! So sorry. I should have knocked. My bad.’

  ‘Net!’ Hella yelled as he retreated. She climbed off Harrow who looked adorably mortified. ‘Oh, my god,’ Hella said, her cheeks flooded with a deep blush. Harrow self-consciously smoothed down his hair and seemed to be checking himself for other outward signs of their make-out session.

  ‘Net, what do you want?’ Hella called through the door. ‘You can come in now.’ There was a tentative knock on the sliding door. ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Net.’ Hella whipped open the sliding doors.

  Net’s pale cheeks were streaked with colour. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I just thought you two might want some dinner.’

  Hella opened her mouth and shut it again. Dinner was the last thing on her mind. Net suddenly blinked and looked from Hella to Harrow. ‘Fire and ice,’ he said with a frown. Harrow’s powers were gone, but Net must still obviously associate him with his gift (not
to mention the gruelling ceremony he’d just witnessed). Hella’s long (likely now-messy) braid crackled with her purple fire and sparks.

  Harrow sat up a little straighter. He looked a little peeved that Net had stolen the words he had said to Hella in moments of romance. ‘Yes, Net, what about it?’ Now he didn’t sit in a ball, he sat with his back straight, glaring. He winced as he moved, but he looked more like his old self in that moment: proud and ready to be snarky.

  Net tilted his head. ‘Something,’ he murmured, incredibly vaguely, looking for all the world like an eccentric uncle. He rubbed his jaw, and Hella could see stubble and shadows. Did ex-angels know about shaving? His white shirt was ruffled, and she desperately wished he would change—there were still small dots of dark-blue blood splattered there. Suddenly, Hella wanted to ask Net how he felt about the Deme blades, but was afraid to know the answer.

  Hella stepped back to let him into the room. ‘Care to share?’ She took a moment while Net wasn’t looking to check to make sure her clothes were all in order, nothing had been undone or removed, and she was relieved that nothing had accidently been revealed. You never know. She was curious what Net was talking about, but half her mind was still with Harrow on the armchair, her lips on his. She put a finger to her lips, now slightly puckered and dry from all their kissing. It was nice.

  Net walked into the room, continuously looking from one to the other.

  Hella went back over to Harrow’s armchair, but dared not touch him with Net watching. Hella puffed out her cheeks. ‘Net, what’s your point?’ She was over-exasperated, she knew, and tried not to be annoyed with him, but she so rarely had any personal time these days, and her eccentric uncle-type person was interrupting.

  Net pointed at each of them. ‘If only they knew. Humans have always been ignorant and defenceless.’ He seemed to be talking more to himself than to them—at least, she hoped—because he wasn’t making much sense. Finally, he took a few steps closer to Hella. ‘Hella, that notebook you keep, where is it?’

  Hella barked out a nervous laugh. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The one you keep notes on the magical world in, where is it?’ Net pressed.

  She couldn’t believe he knew about it. How the hell did he know about her notebook?

  Hella had started writing in the notebook the day she had seen Azazel, the very first time her ridiculously boring life in Mill Valley changed into something dark and sinister: something magical. When she thought of Azazel, the attack in London snapped back to her mind. All those people, killed because of demons which most people didn’t even know existed.

  If those ordinary people had known the threat they faced, would they have survived? Hella had found out about angels, and the threat they posed, toward the end of an era of brutal killing and torture they had inflicted mostly on Cambions. If all ordinary people knew the threat that demons posed—which Hella was still wrapping her mind around, fourteen thousand people—would they be safer? What was stopping the demons from attacking Cambions or witches? Or attacking here, in Mill Valley?

  ‘You wrote it down?’ Harrow said, incredulous. All affection he had paid her moments ago slipped away.

  Net pointed at him. ‘Yes! Exactly. Because humans can’t know, right?’ His teal eyes grew wild. ‘But what if they did?’ He looked intently at Hella. ‘We can’t use the weapons, that won’t do. But what if everyone knew, the truth of the world, I mean. They could at least prepare somehow, they could…’ He shook his head, rubbing his fingers together, as if trying to grasp something. ‘We could mass-produce spells, charms. Yes, something like that. Hella, you need to get me that notebook.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Harrow said, looking up at her.

  ‘I… it was when I first found out about magic, it was insane. It was sort of like a diary, I wrote things down. Well, I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone about it!’ Hella added defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

  ‘We release it. We—I mean, you—of course, could edit it first, take out the personal things,’ Net was rambling now, pacing around the room.

  ‘What are you talking about, Net?’ Hella said.

  The former angel stopped pacing and faced them. Net’s expression now was clear and serious. ‘The world does not know about magic.’ He spoke slowly, to emphasise. ‘The humans that have just been massacred did not know why they were being killed, or by what. But if we told the world about magic, everything, and then produced some sort of defence mechanism, they might stand a chance against the demons.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Harrow said, his eyes wide. ‘You don’t want to do that. Humans will always attack, hunt, kill what they don’t know or understand. They wouldn’t believe us about the demons, they would just want to kill us.’ He still said ‘us’ as if he were a warlock, then blanched at the realisation.

  Net shook his head. ‘Not if we do it right. Make sure they know we’re allies, and the demons are the enemy. If we help the humans kill them, they’ll see that.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I write some sort of tell-all book about the magical world?’ Hella laughed.

  Net stared at her, the purple flames flickering in her hair and up her hands. ‘Actually,’ he said seriously, ‘I think I am.’

  ‘I’m going to call Piper,’ Net said. ‘We need her input on this.’ Nerretti pulled out his phone, and Hella realised he was already getting the hang of modern technology.

  ‘Fine, but we are not using the Deme blades,’ Harrow said scathingly.

  Net shook his head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. I’m going over to Warlock House to make sure everyone’s settled in okay.’ Hella glanced at Harrow, a silent invitation, and he shot up out of his seat and to her side, wincing as he did so. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to—’

  Harrow waved her down. ‘I’m okay. Some fresh air would be nice.’ He kissed her on the cheek as they left. Net gave them a wave to show he’d heard, and then they were outside in the crisp Autumn air. Together, they braved the darkness of the streets. For a moment, they walked in silence.

  ‘I know the angels were terrible, but it would be handy if we had a bunch of good angels right now,’ Hella said, not wanting to admit it. ‘I just… I can’t think of anything else.’

  Harrow followed her line of thought. ‘I don’t know that there are—or were—any good angels—I mean, apart from Net, but he’s useless,’ Harrow said fondly. ‘But you’re right, their powers would be really handy.’

  Hella halted and Harrow walked a few steps past her. She saw that he limped a little, and her chest ached for him. ‘What?’ he said, his brows raising.

  ‘We got your soul back,’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’ he said slowly.

  ‘From Valhalla,’ Hella said significantly.

  Harrow blinked at her. ‘I think I’m missing something.’ He walked back to her, then put his hands on her arms. ‘What’s going on in that head of yours? And can we walk and talk?’ He felt it too. It’s dangerous to be out at night. She wondered if it were a universal thing: humans, witches, Cambions.

  ‘I mean,’ Hella said, ‘that we went to Valhalla and brought something back. You remember how many angels were there. What if we could bring them back, to fight all the demons?’

  It was Harrow’s turn to stop in his tracks. ‘Oh, hell no.’ He turned and looked her dead in the eyes, his own blue ones clear and sharp as glass under the streetlamp. ‘Not after everything we went through to banish them, Hella! Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes, I’m serious. Harrow, do you have a better idea? We can’t just run away. Azazel could—and maybe even will—attack and murder this whole country. There are only two options: fight or flee. I don’t see how else we can fight, and there’s no way we can flee.’

  Harrow was shaking his head. ‘They’ll kill us, Hella! If we brought any of them back—we killed them! They’ll know that. You know they’ll kill us.’

  Hella sighed. ‘Then what e
lse can we do?’

  ‘We just have to do what I’ve already done,’ Harrow said, more calmly now. They started walking again, now hand in hand. ‘We place our faith in you.’

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Tessa

  It was getting too weird being at Faerie House. All the warlocks who had come to them in their time of need, when their House had collapsed—there were still varying rumours about how that had happened, but most of them blamed Harrow—and then they heard the news. The world-stopping, heart-wrenching, gut-tearing news that demons were the new alphas of the supernatural world and everything got weirder from there.

  As far as Tessa had heard, the death toll of the London attack was over fourteen thousand people. Fourteen thousand. That was more Cambions than lived in Australia in total, she would bet. And the demons had no fear of daytime, nor night. Tessa couldn’t think of anything they would fear.

  Well, except for one thing. Amara had burst through the doors, much to everyone’s relief, wielding a strange iridescent weapon. At first, Tessa had thought it was one of Hella’s witchy blades—an athame—but no, this was strange and oddly familiar, those indigo hues. Amara had set to work healing the wounded, then gathered them all around and explained where she had been—who had taken her—and what he wanted to do. What the weapons were.

  They were melted down and moulded Cambion Marks. Deme blades, they called them. Gross.

  It made Tessa want to throw up.

  And she was not the only one. Scores of Cambions had roared their rage at such blasphemous disrespect. Others had cowed away from the instrument, as if touching it might burn them.

  Amara had handed the blade over to the council, and Tessa had crept away, needing to be free of the confines of these over-crowded walls. Hunter had kept her close since the collapse, but she needed space and fresh air. No one noticed her leave as the warlocks and faeries parted ways. They left in groups, she noticed, no one alone or with a group fewer than a dozen. They didn’t want to leave anyone behind or have one of them straggling alone or unprotected. It was sad. And smart.