Harley Merlin and the Secret Coven

by Bella Forrest

  “Hiram, you have to let her go,” another voice came through. I didn’t recognize this one. A woman.

  “Hi baby girl,” the first, familiar voice continued, ignoring the woman’s warning. I was in the arms of a man named Hiram. It was all I could understand, other than the softness and warmth enveloping me. “Did you have good dreams? You did? Of course you did. Daddy made you a special charm.”

  “Hiram, they’re getting closer,” the woman said. “You have no choice. Let her go, so she can at least have a chance to live.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” he said. It hurt us both to hear him speak like that. Why? Who is he?

  “My car is outside. Here, take it,” the woman said, and tossed keys across the room.

  “I love you, my sweet little Harley,” Hiram said, his lips gently pressed against my forehead. I was safe and loved. And it felt so good. I could barely see, but I knew everything was going to be okay.

  Who are you?

  My eyes popped open.

  Welcome back to consciousness.

  Wisps of my last dream were quickly slipping through my fingers. I sat up, rubbing my face. I was covered in sweat, burning a little hotter than usual. A name was lingering in the back of my head. A very distant memory had popped up in my dreams, but I couldn’t remember it anymore.

  I took the dreamcatcher down, grasping its frame with both trembling hands.

  “Yáshti,” I breathed.

  A sudden draft blew right through me. Frigid air burned cold, setting my skin alight. My eyes rolled into my head, and I suddenly felt weightless. The material world around me disintegrated, and the unbearable chill was replaced by… emptiness. It was difficult to understand what was going on, but I had no choice other than to follow through, and let the spell take me where it needed to.

  Darkness swallowed me whole, and I lingered in the abyss for a few seconds, before I opened my eyes—when did I even close them?

  I was in the dream I’d forgotten, but everything was crystal clear. Every color, every shape, every corner and shadow. I could see everything and… everyone.

  “Hiram, you have to let her go.”

  That was the woman I’d heard. She was beautiful, in her mid-forties, with long, curly black hair and blue eyes. She looked a lot like the man holding me in his arms, the man she called Hiram… the man who looked at me with so much love, my heart was close to bursting.

  He seemed tall, towering over me. This is a memory.

  I was a toddler, indeed. I could see my little arms and legs, pale skin and chubby fingers, wrapped in a warm, furry blanket. He kept me close to his heart and dropped a gentle kiss on my forehead, making me smile.

  “Hi, baby girl,” he said, smiling. “Did you have good dreams? You did? Of course you did. Daddy made you a special charm.”

  I was reliving the dream I’d just lost, in full clarity. Hiram held up a small pendant made of sterling silver. It was shaped like a tear, with different roughly cut gemstones mounted on the surface. Red, white, blue, black, and pink. I’d recognize them anywhere if I saw them again. I know I would. I have to.

  “Hiram, they’re getting closer,” the woman said. “You have no choice. Let her go, so she can at least have a chance to live.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Hiram was a handsome man. His hair was black, rich, and flowing in big, heavy curls over his forehead. I didn’t get my red hair from him, for sure. My mom… His eyes were the color of the sky, like mine, though, and he had a sprinkle of freckles on the blade of his nose. He beamed at me, but I could see the grief in his heart.

  “My car is outside. Here, take it.”

  The woman was related to him, somehow. They had similar features—sharp jawlines, blue eyes, and black curls. Brother and sister, maybe.

  “I love you, my sweet little Harley,” Hiram said to me.

  It was definitely a dream. A memory playing out like a dream. I had no input, no choice but to watch this man. My father. It only just hit me.

  This is my dad. Oh, my God. This is my father.

  I did my best to memorize every line of his face. He was young, in his late twenties. The pain in his soul expressed itself through his faint, permanent frown. He’d lost enough already and didn’t want to leave me.

  But he had no choice.

  I knew that, from the note he left me. Stay safe. Stay smart.

  The image faded away. I cried out, clawing at the fabric of my memories, desperate to hold on.

  I opened my eyes—again, when did I close them?

  I was in my room in the coven. The dreamcatcher in my hands, the knotted threads glowing softly.

  I shuddered, tears bursting from my eyes. I cried so hard, my stomach muscles hurt. For the first time in my nineteen years in this world, I knew what my father looked like. What he sounded like.

  He loved me so much. It killed him to leave me behind. I knew it, deep in my heart.

  He adored his little Harley.

  His name was Hiram.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The shock took a while to subside. I’d been carrying that memory around with me for so long, missing it by milliseconds in my dreams. Now what?

  First, I made a mental note to buy Tobe the biggest drink on the planet. I owed him big time, as I’d just gotten a sliver of my life back. Second, I rushed into a pair of jeans and a shirt, and called Wade until he picked up. It was well after midnight, and he didn’t sound too happy to have actually heard the phone ring.

  “Ugh, what do you want?” he grumbled.

  “I have something to talk to you about. It’s urgent,” I said, with very little sympathy. He was probably exhausted, but I’d just remembered something about my past. He could sleep later. I briefly wondered why I’d thought of him first, before anyone else, but I refused to let my brain go down that particular rabbit hole.

  “It took me forever to fall asleep,” he protested.

  “I remembered something,” I replied. “About my father.”

  There was silence on the line, followed by a shuffle and a zipper being pulled.

  “Meet me by the magnolia trees downstairs,” he said, then hung up.

  Less than five minutes later, he found me underneath the pink blossoms of magnolia trees, rooted firmly in the middle of the dome-shaped living quarters. His dark hair was tousled, his green eyes reduced to slits—he was struggling to stay awake. I felt sorry for about two seconds, until I decided to trust him with the knowledge of the dreamcatcher and my dream. By the time I was done, he was wide awake, two green gems cutting through the fabric of my soul.

  “His name was Hiram,” I said. “That’s all I remember for now. I bet I’ll capture more with the dreamcatcher going forward.”

  “Hiram,” he repeated absently.

  “Where can I find him? Are there archives, records we could look into? I can’t wait till tomorrow, Wade. I can’t wait another second. Frankly, I would’ve let you sleep, but I don’t even know where to break in and start looking for answers.”

  His forehead smoothed as he gave me a stern look. “You will do no such thing. I’m here, I’m up, I’ve got this. And stop telling me about your intentions to break rules, or I’ll have to report you.”

  “Really, Mr. I-Snuck-Into-The-Bestiary?”

  He blinked a couple of times, then exhaled. “Fair enough,” he replied, slightly amused. “Follow me.”

  “Where?”

  “I know where to look for Hiram,” Wade said, then dashed ahead through the main hallway leading toward the common areas.

  My heart thudded nervously, and I could barely stay focused for more than a minute, before a million questions trickled through and loosened my grip on reality.

  “Harley.” Wade’s voice pulled me back.

  Only then did I realize we’d stopped in front of a set of double doors. There was a brass plate mounted at eye level: Lewis Rathbone Wing.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “It’s
one of the coven’s archives,” Wade replied, then uttered a spell to open the doors. It wasn’t the Aperi Portam incantation, though. It sounded longer, more complicated, and it made the doorknobs light up red right before they turned on their own.

  I followed him inside, trying my best not to gasp at what seemed like endless walls loaded with leather-bound books. The ceiling was dark, and it seemed as though the shelf-covered walls went on forever, disappearing into the shadows far above. Wade snapped his fingers, and his ten rings took on a soft, golden glow, creating a source of light in the enormous archive hall.

  There were reading tables scattered along the sides, with the occasional ladder mounted here and there—for access to what looked like seven stories’ worth of books. So… many… books… If ever I needed to curl up with a book and a hot chocolate, this could easily be the perfect spot. A reading nook the size of freaking Grand Central Station.

  Right in the middle of the hall was a small desk, with a very old computer on top—the ‘90s kind, with a blocky monitor and a processing unit that was literally the size of a large box. I’d only seen one in movies. They’d already become exhibits in science museums.

  “We don’t keep electronic copies in this coven,” Wade continued. “There was a hacking incident a few years back, so we decided to hold on to the hard copies until a safer alternative is found.”

  “How does this work, then?” I asked. “Wouldn’t you need electronic copies to search for anything? Like with keywords?”

  “We do use keyword search. However, this old boy has a little magical upgrade.” Wade smirked, then playfully tapped the top of the computer monitor. “Here, let me show you. Let’s try a search term. Hiram.”

  He typed my father’s name, and I watched the letters appear in green on the black screen. Wade then hit the enter key, and the text vanished. The cables coming out from the back glowed white, going right into the wooden floor. The light spread across the entire surface, bathing the entire hall in a phosphorescent warm white.

  I held my breath, watching every single shelf and book gleaming, before it all died down and a single object remained bright—a large registry on a top shelf in front of us. “Wow,” I breathed.

  “The computer is connected to the physical archives through a spell. Anything you need, just type the search terms in here,” Wade said, nodding at the computer, “and it will find references of it everywhere in this hall. Every note, every page, every mention of that word will light up. Can you get that?”

  He pointed at the glowing object with mentions of Hiram. I climbed up one of the ladders and retrieved the book. Its shimmer faded once I opened it on top of one of the reading tables nearby. Its title made my stomach churn: Undesirables of the 20th Century.

  As I flipped through the pages, I caught glimpses of various headlines. Newspaper clippings dating as far back as the early 1900s had been glued onto the old, yellowed paper, each showing magicals who had been accused and convicted of various crimes against other magicals and, in many cases, humanity.

  Most of the names didn’t ring a bell. Others were known as serial killers and convicted war criminals. My throat closed up tighter with every page. My father was mentioned here, according to the search system.

  Wade joined me, watching quietly as I flipped through, my gaze scanning the clippings for Hiram. “Undesirables,” he said thoughtfully, and his furrowed brow didn’t ease my worry one bit.

  “Oh, man,” I managed, my fingers trembling over a heart-wrenching headline, which I read out loud, my voice raw. “‘Hiram Merlin, 28, Killer of Own Wife in NYC Murder Spree Was Executed’… Oh, God.”

  I leaned onto the table, my knees turning to sand. My insides burned, threatening to send back the little I’d managed to eat during the day. I broke into a cold sweat as I read through the article. Wade said nothing, his gaze following the text, as well.

  The article was dated sixteen years ago, and it had been published in the New York Coven Journal, a local newspaper. Hiram Merlin, aged twenty-eight at the time, had murdered his wife, Hester Merlin, née Shipton. I recognized the man in the black-and-white photo—his hair was shorter, but his devilish smile, his handsome features, his sharp cheeks… they were all there.

  According to the report, he’d burned her alive, while she was presumably still pregnant with their first child. Me? Had to be me, and she was no longer pregnant with me when he killed her.

  “He then went on a murderous spree and vanished for three years, despite consistent efforts to track him down,” Wade murmured. “Hiram Merlin was the former director of the New York Coven, and a descendant of the great Merlin himself. Hester Merlin’s sister, Katherine Shipton, is also missing, and a suspect in five other murders on top of the above. According to a slew of rumors, Hiram and Katherine were having an affair and conspired to kill Hester, in order to cash out on her life insurance and hefty inheritance. The lesser able of two sisters, Katherine was cut from the Shiptons’ will at an early age, after she was caught embezzling Boston Coven funds, where she’d been assigned a couple of years back. Nobody knows when and how Hiram and Katherine planned this horror, but one thing is certain—”

  “While Katherine Shipton is still missing, Hiram Merlin has been given his just desserts yesterday at 16:01 hours…” I kept reading, despite the tears glazing my eyes and the tremor in my voice. “Hiram willingly surrendered early last week, but denied all charges brought against him, claiming that it was all Katherine Shipton’s doing. Persistent in declaring his undying love for Hester Shipton, Hiram refused to acknowledge his involvement in her murder, along with the gruesome deaths of six other magicals and humans. Among his victims were Telford Brown and Sharon Oxford, members of the New York Mage Council, and beloved magicals best known for their extensive research into the preservation of Esprits and magical powers upon the magical’s death. However, the evidence against Hiram Merlin was undeniable, leaving the jury no other choice but to sentence him to death.”

  My legs abandoned me completely. I simply collapsed, but Wade was quick to catch me, his arms pulling me back up. He sat me on top of the table, and I could sense he felt my pain, his gaze soft and full of pity. I could barely breathe at that point, sobbing between hiccups.

  My father was Hiram Merlin. And he was a murderer. My father… killed my mother. He had an affair with her sister and… Good grief… Weren’t couples supposed to love and protect each other? What the hell happened?!

  “I never should’ve looked into this,” I cried out.

  Wade placed a hand on my shoulder, his deep green eyes almost soothing me. “Don’t be silly. You deserve to know the truth, no matter how bad it is,” he said gently. “I’m sorry, Harley. I really am.”

  “He… He killed my mom,” I said, shuddering. “My father… It’s him. I recognize him in the photo. He’s the man holding me in his arms… telling me how much he loves me. He… He killed his wife, my mom… He abandoned me at an orphanage… Left me that damn note and… What do I do, Wade? How… What can I make of this?”

  I was at a loss. I’d gotten my hopes up. It hadn’t occurred to me that my father might not be the hero I’d daydreamed him to be over the years. I’d put him in the boots of a knight in shining armor, lost somewhere in a daring quest, hoping that one day, maybe, he’d find me. I’d thought about it so many times, imagining where he was, what he was doing…

  The truth was a horror show. Blood, murder, and betrayal. I’d lost my mother because of him and Katherine Shipton. I’d lost my chance at a magical upbringing because of them. I’d lost my family. My life.

  Threads of red-hot anger intertwined with my gut-wrenching sorrow. His note was what, then? His way of making himself look good to his daughter? A façade? A lie? He had no other choice, he’d said. He could’ve not murdered my mother, for starters!

  “Are you sure it’s him?” Wade asked, as if hoping I’d gotten the wrong Hiram.

  I couldn’t blame him. I’d thought about that, too, for a split secon
d. But the man smiling back at me from the newspaper clipping was definitely the man I’d seen kissing my forehead, calling me by my name, telling me how much he loved me.

  “It’s him. I just… I just don’t get it,” I replied between sniffles. “He had me for three years. This article says they couldn’t find him. That he surrendered… Why would he surrender, if no one could find him? Why leave me behind at an orphanage?”

  “My guess is he wanted to keep you away from the magical world,” Wade said, then shrugged. “Though, that doesn’t make much sense. You would’ve been much safer at least knowing what you were from an early age, not left to struggle the way you probably did.”

  I looked up at him, surprised by his sympathy. He was so kind, so gentle. I almost didn’t recognize him. A part of me wanted the hard-ass Wade back—that guy didn’t leave any room for me to wallow in self-pity. He nudged and kicked until I reacted, until I hit back. This Wade, however, as warm as he made me feel on the inside… also made me sad. He showered me with pity, and that just made everything feel worse, and real.

  The doors opened, startling us both. Alton came in, carrying a large book under his arm. “What are you two doing here at this hour?” he asked, frowning.

  Wade and I looked at each other for a moment. I swallowed another wave of tears, then pointed at the newspaper clipping. “I remembered something from my dreams. A lost memory. The name Hiram came up. My dad…”

  Alton eyed me carefully, then joined us at the table and looked at the article. A couple of minutes later, he let out a flat, soft hum. “Yeah, the thought did cross my mind.”

  “What?” I blurted.

  “Harley, I’ll be honest,” Alton said. “From the moment we shook hands, I felt there was something special, different about you. Looking at this now, I’m not all that surprised. You do remind me of Hiram Merlin, in a way.”

  “You knew him?” Wade replied. He was as stunned as I was.

  Alton shook his head. “Not personally. I mean, we never really met. I saw him, more than once. But we never spoke.”