by Cate Corvin
Great. Now that’s all I’d be able to see while trying to sleep an inch away from the guy.
He pulled a white shirt over his head, obscuring the tasty view, and I held back a sigh of disappointment. I’d spent far too many years already imagining running my fingers over those tattoos, down towards… other things.
The bed shifted and creaked under us as Eric climbed into the bed next to me and clicked the bedside lamp off. There was barely an inch of space between us, and I felt his body heat, smelled the clean soapy scent of his skin.
I should’ve slept in the back of the van.
Being this close to him was maddening, an itch I was unable to scratch, and my entire body was alive with the awareness of his proximity.
“Morena.” His whisper was flat, filling the darkness.
“What?” My body was wound tight as a wire as I struggled to keep myself from sinking towards the middle, any closer to him.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “That we have to go back to Bellhallow before you’re ready. That I couldn’t keep you safe. I couldn’t even keep the covens away from you.”
I thought of Adrian Wolfe, his hair shining like silver and the grin that was every bit as feral as his namesake. Then Stone popped into my head, with his cruel, knowing smirk and annoying barbs. “We don’t have the luxuries that larger covens have,” I whispered. “It’s just us. And you know that I don’t hold you to this.”
It was the wrong thing to say. I felt him turn his head, his eyes boring into the top of my skull even in the dark. “Don’t insult me.”
I held my breath for a long moment. “We didn’t choose a hard path,” I finally said. “It was chosen for us. And it wasn’t your fault what happened to them, either. You might have promised Father you’d watch me, but he’s dead now. You don’t have to shoulder the burden yourself.”
I wished I could simply hold his hand and comfort him, but the strained gulf in our relationship was spreading further each day. We had long since passed beyond the relationship of witch and vassal, but I would try to maintain that appearance until my dying day, no matter how painful it was to be this close to him with every waking minute.
I wished I could just let my feelings for Joss grow without my heart torn between two. I wished I could shut the door on this dark history between us, shatter any lingering remnant of the girl whose love had turned the wrong way.
Was Eric here solely because of that promise? Was the bondage of servitorship stronger than the pull of freedom? Or did he still care for me in his own way, despite shoving my love for him aside?
If only I had kept my mouth shut. I could have lived with having my feelings bottled up as long as there wasn’t this awful awkwardness between us. I had ruined everything on the day I had taken that chance.
His breathing was steady and even. I thought my words would’ve made him angry. “I’ve thought about it a lot these past five years,” he said. “It’s more than my promise to John, or my life in the coven, or my loyalty to the Bells. I promised a long time ago that I would always be your anchor to this world. No matter how dark the path, or how stubborn a pain in the ass you’re being, I am your shield. I always will be. And I’ve failed at it time and time again.”
My throat was painfully swollen shut, tears pricking my eyes. “You didn’t fail,” I rasped. “I’m here and alive, and making the right choice for probably the first time in years. It’s time to face the past anyways. I can’t run forever.”
I stared at the ceiling in silence, fighting back tears until I fell asleep.
I woke to sunlight filtering through the window and blazing right into my eyes. I was strangely soft and warm, far too comfortable to move… which wasn’t right for a tiny, sagging motel bed.
I almost stopped breathing when warm breath brushed the back of my neck, the awareness of soft skin pressed against my shoulder filtering into my consciousness. One heavy arm, thick with corded muscle, was wrapped around my waist.
If this was a dream, I was content to let it go on forever. I closed my eyes against the sun, trying to keep my breathing even and steady. My heartbeat thumped in my throat as I struggled to stay collected.
It wasn’t fair, that only in sleep would I receive the affection I craved so deeply. I meditated on the walls in my mind, the fortress of iron and stone I surrounded myself with, strengthening them and shoring the defenses.
My heart finally settled, beating in a more regular rhythm. I couldn’t extricate myself without waking him, so I decided to enjoy it for now, pretend to sleep until he rose, then ‘wake’ with him none the wiser. We would never speak of it again.
Or sleep in a bed together again.
But until that moment, when reality would come crashing through my happy bubble, I would thoroughly enjoy every inch of him pressed against me, not just his arm and the warmth of his chest at my back, but the hard bulge against my ass.
Now that was a feeling I was going to savor.
It took another half an hour but I finally felt him stir, his arm tightening around me. That simple motion threatened to send my heart rate back into double-time, and his eyelashes brushed my neck as he opened his eyes.
Slowly, so painfully slow, Eric pulled away. I bit my lip, my face shielded by a fall of black hair, as his hand brushed over my hip. Every inch of my skin was hypersensitive, every eddy of air a hurricane against me. It was like being seasick on dry land.
His fingers lingered at the skin of my waist for a long moment, brushing me as light as a feather before he pulled away.
He got ready as quietly as possible, before slipping out of the room and pulling the door shut behind him. I laid curled in place for another five minutes, biting my lip hard and fighting against the lump in my throat.
I slid out of bed when I was calm and tears no longer threatened, the mask of serenity pulled over me once more, and locked myself in the bathroom to get ready. It was a simple, mindless task, making it easy to focus on maintaining the calm around my storm.
After stuffing everything into my backpack and wiping away signs of our temporary protections, I stepped out into the sunlight.
“Good morning, Mor.” Eric appeared around the side of the van. I gave him a cool smile, hoping it didn’t waver. He met my eyes, the jet black of his own flecked with gold in the sunlight. His sandy hair was sticking straight up on one side, but the rumpled look just made him more appealing. “How’d you sleep?”
Was he referring to how we woke up? The question felt strangely like a test. “Great, considering we were stuffed in a tiny bed like sardines,” I said easily. “I’ll just sleep in the van next time.”
Disappointment flashed in his jewel-like eyes. Was I imagining things?
I watched the muscles of his tattooed arm flex as he handed me a rucksack filled with our emergency rations.
“I’d do better for you, but we’re in the literal middle of nowhere.” His smile flashed, as appealing as Joss’s dimples, if only because it was so rare these days. I chose a vanilla protein bar and he took the rucksack from me as I opened it, his fingers brushing mine before he tossed it in the back of the van.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He loomed over me, the sheer size of him blocking out the sun. One of his fingers traced the welt on my cheek, which was developing a yellow tinge. “It’s not too late to turn back.”
I stared at him incredulously. What was with him this morning? “It was your idea to go in the first place.”
Eric’s hands were light as air against my skin. The urge to lean into him and soak up his affection was difficult to resist. “I never claimed to have the best ideas. I don’t want to force you to go if you’re not ready.”
“We’re halfway there.” My terror as I was dragged further into Death was still very fresh in my mind. Bellhallow was my best chance. “We’re definitely going. This is now a full-on commitment to see it through. Also, I want to see the look on that Warden prick’s face when he doesn’t get to enforce the penalty.”
<
br /> My servitor’s dark eyes ran over my face, and his thumb lingered against my lower lip before he drew away. “Just let me know if it gets to be too much. I’m here for you, Mor, but it won’t be easy.”
I bit into the bar, which tasted like glue and sawdust, and managed to hold my mask together. What the hell was happening?
We had eight more hours until we reached Bellhallow. Eight hours of hell.
I opted to stay in the back for most of the ride, avoiding Eric’s newfound desire to touch me, which was both painful and euphoric by turns. My heart clenched like a fist was physically squeezing me every time I felt his skin against mine.
My phone kept flickering in and out of reception, but I typed a message to Joss anyways.
Almost to Bellhallow. I’ll clear the waystone.
He might not even receive it, considering how deep in the mountains we were now.
Distraction was my goal as I polished the rowan sickle and refilled my belt pouches with sea salt and coffin nails from our mismatched plastic storage containers. I even poked through an old bin I hadn’t looked through in ages.
It held a dusty old pair of combat boots, torn across one toe, and tooth marks had ripped through the ankle… the boots I’d worn during my final test for my journeyman training, when I was sixteen. That was the test that had established me as officially able to take on real petitions, go out alone into the world as a fully-mantled witch.
The same night I’d passed that test was the night I’d placed my heart in Eric’s hands, and he’d handed it right back to me. I put the boots back in the bin, a little nauseated at the sight of them.
Finally, I was reduced to flipping through the Bellhallow grimoire. A worn, leather-bound book the thickness of my palm, the grimoire had been created and enchanted by one of the first Bell witches. It never needed rebinding; once it passed to the next witch in line, blank pages would appear in the back as needed. I’d signed my name in its pages years ago in my own blood; there it was, Morena Rose Bell, written in the bubbly cursive of a teenage witch. My signature was the last one in the grimoire… for now.
It functioned as a communal diary of sorts, holding the records of every Bell witch for several hundred years. Unusual spirits, personal nemeses, favorite spells, even family recipes were recorded there. Hannah Bell had written an entire record of a hundred-spirit exorcism from a burned-out building in 1824.
No coven would ever look inside another coven’s grimoire. It was absolutely taboo, just like personally approaching another coven’s servitor.
Unfortunately, I’d already read the grimoire cover to cover several times. It held no information on anything relating to many-handed spirits, or even mentions of a witch being pulled deeper into the deadside. With the exception of Hannah, whose disaster-inclined genes I seemed to have inherited, my ancestors must have lived dull yet happy lives.
I did find a recipe for a sleep potion that was rather intriguing, calling for the eyes of a bat, but the mountains were beginning to loom around us as we drove, the rolling hills giving way to sharp and deadly peaks. I brought the grimoire with me as I climbed up front.
My heart leaped into my throat as I stared out the window. We left the highway behind, turning onto a curved and bumpy road that seemed to lead to nowhere. The twisted oaks of my childhood, the berry-crowned branches of the rowan trees scattered among them, lined the road like stately kings. The terrain grew bumpier as we climbed, the forest becoming wilder and more twisted.
My hands were shaking like leaves. I tucked them together in my lap, as cold as if ice water had been poured over me.
Eric glanced my way. “You still want to do this?” he asked. “It’s not too late to turn back.” His voice was rough with disuse after the hours of silence between us. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet.
The trees rustled as we pulled up a level and winding path to an enormous paved circle in the forest, thick with moss. A curling iron gate stood before us, stark and black against the trees.
I slid from the van on boneless knees, gazing up at the rusted bars choked with tendrils of ivy, two gnarled oaks curling over the gate in a natural arch. Eric was at my side, close enough that I felt him brush against me.
The lock was enormous, heavy black iron that glared out at any intruders. I took a deep breath and ran my fingers over it gently, and the cold metal stung my fingertips.
It shuddered for a moment, creaking ominously, as though considering my greeting with a jaundiced eye. I held my breath for a long moment, until the lock fell open with a loud clank.
The ground shuddered under my feet, the manor sensing my presence and trembling from the foundation up. Welcoming me home.
We left the van outside the gate. It would still be protected by the wards and magic around Bellhallow, and I wanted to take my time on the way up the manor proper, breathing the air of my home and sensing the presence of my old coven’s magic around me. My parent’s magic- now turned to ashes and returned to the earth, and a part of the wards that were reaching out for me even now.
We each carried several backpacks, not wanting to make a trek back to the van, and began following the long paved drive.
I stopped dead in my tracks as it came into view, my heart in my throat. The fountain that had been set in the middle of the paving stones had stopped flowing. It was full of stagnant water, choked with dead leaves and algae. I stared up at the marble statue of a long-haired witch holding a bell in her outstretched hand and a grimoire tucked under her arm, a crescent moon gleaming on her forehead. It was supposedly the exact likeness of Sarah Bell, the founder of our coven.
Her statue was gray with neglect, moss creeping up her bare legs. She had been pristine white when I was a child, smiling down at me and my father before me, and all the ancestors who came before us. Now her mouth was open in a silent scream of agony, lichen growing between her lips and over her cheek.
The gardens around us were overgrown. I was ashamed and regretful for the neglect of everything around me. This was my fault for abandoning it.
The manor of Bellhallow, nestled at the base of the mountain, loomed before us, the thousand windows cracked in places and the bricks dull with age and lichen. It had not been built with a small family in mind; two wings spread to either side, but now a cavernous hole gaped in the eastern roof. Silence pressed down on us with a palpable weight. It felt like a ghost town now. Not even birds sang.
The dark oak doors seemed to stare at me, daring me to approach.
It took all my courage to pass the marble columns and touch the doors, pressing my entire hand to it firmly. The wood was ice-cold under my palm.
I’m sorry, I thought, refusing to budge even an inch, pushing all my genuine sorrow into the thought. I felt the wards flutter, slowly awakening as they reached out for me. I’m home now. I’m here to fix this.
The wards shuddered, and the door creaked open under my palm.
Cobwebs fluttered overhead in white sheets as I pushed the door open and stepped into the front hall, taking it all in as my heart ached. The tarnished chandelier hung crookedly, barely swaying in some unfelt breeze, as shards of glass glittered over the foyer floor and the stairs. It felt far too close to the deadside in this condition, but it would take a lot of time and energy to restore Bellhallow to its former glory.
I didn’t want to speak aloud in the terrible silence, but evening was already approaching, and we had a lot of work ahead of us.
“We should probably find the least-damaged rooms to sleep in,” I said. Even trying to be quiet, my voice echoed through the empty and cavernous hall like thunder. “And maybe figure out what we’ll eat while we’re here.”
I pushed aside the urge to walk through Bellhallow, to touch everything in it, taking in all the dilapidation. The sad condition of it was all my fault. A coven’s manor required a loving caretaker to remain whole, even with the wards in place. Witch’s houses liked a warm, familiar touch. If I remained, anchoring my magic here, it would slow
ly rebuild itself. For a moment I considered coming home for good.
But just overhead was the study. My heart clenched in my chest, like a hand had reached through me and squeezed with uncaring fingers.
Two sweeping staircases belled out before me, leading to the second floor. I decided I would choose a different room to sleep in, one on the first floor, possibly in the guest wing. I had to leave my old bedroom untouched for now. There were too many bad memories locked upstairs.
“Are you okay?” Eric asked quietly. He seemed to feel it too, the weight of despair pressing down on us. His face had gone paler than usual as he rested a hand on my shoulder, the contact excruciating.
“I’m fine,” I said grimly. I remembered bursting into this hall on that night, screaming for my father as I tore up the stairs over a glittering carpet of broken glass with the smell of burning wood and flesh thick in my nose- I gritted my teeth, shoving the memory aside. “We’re already here, so we might as well make the most of it.”
A wing of guest rooms lay to my left beyond another set of doors. I pushed them open, wincing at the rusty scream of neglected hinges.
The hallway before me seemed to stretch on forever, gray and clouded with webs. As hard as I stared, the far end of the hall was completely shrouded from view. I wouldn’t be able to stay here for an hour, let alone several days, if this was all I had to look at. Maybe coven manors became a part of Death itself, the deadside creeping in through untended wards, if left to rot alone for too long.
I sensed no spirits, and Eric didn’t seem alarmed as he looked around in silence, so the wards must have held steady in at least one respect. I stepped into the hallway, leaning my forehead and hands against the wall, and closed my eyes.
I sent the manor love and affection and good memories. The warmth of seventeen years of happiness running through these halls, the home I’d been born and raised in. Regrets and apologies, acknowledgement that I belonged here. My palms grew warm as the magic coiled in my soul spilled out into Bellhallow, and the manor itself soaked it up.
