“I’m not sure, but I know it is.”
Nahum went to speak but Zee shushed him. “Wait!”
Alex was quiet for a few moments. “They don’t have control of it. Magic, I mean. Especially Otherworldly magic. It’s wild, and not of our world. The world of fey is like magic on speed, right? That’s how it almost seems to me. It’s like having it on tap. Raw and unfiltered, unlike our world where it’s hidden. Muffled.” He laughed, eyes widening almost maniacally. “Oh, wow. They can’t read it. Or could once but can’t now. Or Belial can’t, anyway. He’s tuned to his own angelic magic, but that’s different.”
Nahum stared at his brothers, glad to find they looked as baffled as him. Well, Zee did. Eli laughed, too. “The dryads have no truck with Gods or angels. They are just other concentrated forms of energy to them. Dryads are a bit smug, actually. They consider their own magic the purest because it’s of the earth.”
“And the old God, the Christian God,” Alex continued, “had no sway in the Otherworld.”
Nahum nodded, seeing what Alex meant. “Shadow used to think that we’re some kind of sylph, but now she knows we’re not. They are air spirits. We’re similar, but from a different mould. A different magic.”
“The same root, but a different branch. He has no sway over Shadow at all.” Alex grinned. “She’s your secret weapon.”
“But if she touched his jewels?” Eli asked. “We’ve been very careful to keep them apart.”
“Probably wise, but I don’t think they would have an effect on her.”
Nahum had another idea. “Could her blade destroy these?”
“No. Break them, yes. But there’d always be pieces of them.”
“So,” Zee said, “we’re back to being dragons again.”
Confused, Nahum said, “Dragons?”
“I’ll explain over lunch. Alex, are you getting anything from the jewels?”
“Let me sit quietly with them for a few minutes and I’ll let you know. Then it’s time for a pub lunch.”
Ten
So, this was Moonfell , Barak thought, as the huge front door opened to a colourful hallway of rugs and burnished wood.
An older woman with a thick mane of white hair greeted them, elegant in a dark red dress, displaying a beaming smile and shrewd eyes that took them all in. “Welcome to Moonfell. Come in quickly, out of that nasty February cold.” She shut the door behind them and shook their hands. “I’m Birdie. Estelle, I presume?”
“Yes. Thank you, Birdie. We really appreciate your help.”
“A fellow witch is always welcome.” She kissed Estelle’s cheek. “Well, most of the time. We had an issue with one only recently. Anyway, you must be Barak and Lucien.”
Lucien had been at a loose end and was as anxious as them to see the outcome of this visit, and the witches had welcomed all of them when Estelle had called for assistance.
“We’re in the kitchen at the moment,” Birdie said, leading the way down the hall, “the heart of the house, but we’ll head to the tower room for the spell. Time for tea, first.”
Barak followed her, soaking in the magic of the house. Now he knew what Nahum meant when he said the Moonfell witches were very different to the White Haven witches and Estelle’s family. Although the Cornish witches had strong family histories of witchcraft, they lived fully in the present, especially Estelle and Caspian, who were doing their best to forget their father’s influence completely. Already he sensed that the inhabitants of Moonfell kept a foot in the past, as well.
Birdie chatted to Estelle as she led them down the hall, and Barak observed the bohemian décor. He had no doubt that the characters who lived here were as colourful as the house. It reminded him of his old palace in Ethiopia. The wall hangings, the rich furnishings, and the sense of opulence. It was nothing like his ancient home, and yet it was, too, even down to the scent of incense that hung on the air. A wave of homesickness hit him like a blow to the stomach, and he stopped for a moment, images unspooling before his eyes like an old film.
Birdie turned and smiled. “It has that effect sometimes. It will pass.”
She knew. “I’m okay. The past catches up with me sometimes.”
“As does the heartache.” She smiled at Estelle. “But that will pass, too. He has new things to love now. And you, Lucien, well, you have been through a lot. Morgana can help with that.”
“You read auras,” Estelle said, eyes narrowing. “I’ve never been able to do that.”
“I can turn it off, but sometimes it’s so strong that I can’t help it. All of yours are strong. That’s good, and to be expected from such powerful individuals. Now, here we are.”
Suddenly they were in a large, spacious kitchen, with grey February light illuminating the shining surfaces of a very modern, yet still very Gothic kitchen. Two women were in there, one with long, dark hair who was making a pot of tea, the other younger, with thick, auburn, wavy hair, who was seated at the table reading a magazine.
“My granddaughters,” Birdie announced. “Morgana and Odette.”
Odette, the young woman seated at the table, rose to her feet, mouth falling open in astonishment. Her unblinking gaze seemed to see right through him. “Another Nephilim! By the Goddess, look at you! Your wings are like the wings of night. I can almost see stars in them.”
Barak laughed. “My brother, Nahum, warned me about you. You have the Sight.”
“Of a sort. And a sister witch.” She moved around the table to hug Estelle. “You’re not a hugger, I can tell, but you need one right now. And you!” She took Lucien in. “Metals course your veins and pattern your skin.” It was like a storm swept over her clear features. “Such a violation. But you have mastered it. You are strong and will get stronger still. All will be well.”
“Good grief, Odette,” Morgana said, ushering them into seats at the table. “Let them get settled first before you blast them with your insights.”
“I can’t help it!” She smiled an apology. “Sorry. It’s out before I know it sometimes.”
“You can see the metals?” Lucien asked, face creased with confusion. “How?”
“See is the wrong word. It’s a sense I have, really.”
Barak could tell Lucien was itching to ask more questions, but they sat at the table as Morgana carried over a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, and then set out the cups.
“So,” Birdie said when they all had drinks, “you have a manifesto that you wish to prise secrets from.”
