I was out of breath by the time I reached our front door. Lucky for me it was already open. Although, because life wasn’t balanced without a little bad luck, Romy was waiting for me, and from the look across her face she wasn’t pleased.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through hell and back again,” Romy said through an exhale, brown eyes wide as ovals. Her gloved hand clutched at the doorframe, another clasping a large, and I mean large, mug of tea.
Even though it was early, she was already dressed for the day. She wore a matching denim set, jacket and blue-washed jeans with a loose white blouse. Her braids had been drawn back from her face, gathered in a thick plait down her spine.
“Morning to you too, friend.”
I slipped past her, entering our flat that smelled as fresh as overly sugared cinnamon from one of the candles that was burning on the sideboard. Something I’d learned about Romy since living with her—she loved anything pumpkin spice. It didn’t matter the season, you best believe she was either eating, drinking or burning something in the vicinity of spooky season. Only issue was that the sweet scent filling our home was suddenly squandered by the absolute stench of me. And from the sharp inhale, followed by a groan of disgust, Romy had noticed.
“You’ve really got to stop doing this, Hector.”
“You’re going to need to be more specific, friend,” I replied.
Romy slammed the door shut, feet in bunny slippers chasing after me. “For starters, you told me yesterday that you were only popping into Hatchards to look into their occult section. For one, I’m all for wasting hours in a bookshop, but you’ve literally been gone for almost an entire day. You know the dangers, you know how many people are looking for you.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d left yesterday morning to visit one of London’s oldest bookshops set on the bustling Piccadilly streets. I went with the intention of purchasing on Romy’s many credit cards a bunch of books, fiction and non-fiction, about witchcraft. Anything to help me better understand how and when we had given ourselves over from Hekate to a demon lord. But as ever my plans had changed… clearly.
“I got sidetracked,” I said, dumping the dead Witch Hunter’s bag full of goods against a pristine white wall, before slumping at our breakfast bar. “And then sidetracked again, and again until… well, here I am. Safe and sound might I add.”
“You stink like death warmed up.” Romy pinched her nose.
“It’s my new aftershave. I call it ‘Burn Your Enemies’. What do you think?”
“Blergh.”
Romy shadowed me, placing herself behind the chair as she contemplated her next words. I sensed her hesitation as if it was my own, but then again that was just my intuition. It had always been strong, but lately I was practically a telepath.
“Sidetracked is going book shopping and then stopping in for light lunch at a nice café.” Romy pulled out a chair and sat beside me, her posture slumped. “So, care to explain how you started with an innocent task, and returned home smelling likedeath?”
Ah, so she knew. That meant news had hit of what I’d done.
“If it makes it any better, I had no intention of doing anything else yesterday.”
“But…” Romy sang.
“Butafter I left Hatchards, I overheard some people talking.”
“And by some people you mean Witch Hunters?”
My chest ached at the way Romy whispered the last two words. I nodded, snatching a banana from the fruit basket, not realising just how hungry killing a Witch Hunter can make a person. “Well, yes. But this is big, Romy. The first time in almost two months any of the bastards have been seen, and not only by me.”
“I know it is, but that doesn’t mean you need to jeopardise yourself, Hector. It’s a dangerous place out there.”
Mouth full of almost-ripe banana, I forced out a reply. “I’m fine, aren’t I?”
Romy rolled her luscious brown eyes, kissing her tongue across her teeth. “Yes, but someone isn’t.”
One of my brows rose over a dramatic gaze. “You’re not suddenly worried about the well-beings of Witch Hunters, Romy?”
“No,” she replied. “But Iamworried about you. This isn’t the past anymore, you do not need to spend your time hunting them. Leave it to the Coven.” She lifted the mug to her lips and added, “Give them something else to do but try and find you. The more Hunters you kill, the easier it is for the Coven to map out your locations.”
“It’s presumptive that they think that every Witch Hunter death is my doing.”
Romy lifted a single brow, tilting her head. “You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?”
Romy was my plant amongst the Coven. There was a small, but mighty, number of supporters of Romy who believed she should be the next acting Grand High. A replacement for her uncle who I had killed. If my vote mattered, I’d say she was perfect for the role. But her hesitation came from the fact that she understood the truth of how twisted the Coven had become in past generations, and she wanted no part to play in it. Especially when they were all still trying to dispel the truth…
The truth being we’d all been misled from our old ways, and given willingly into the hands of a demon. The truth being our Gifts were not magic, but warped power awarded to us for giving our souls to a monster.
