By sunset, Gran still hadn't told me Rafe was coming back. Arden had given me a firm dressing down for not telling him it was my birthday and he'd promptly dashed out of the cottage. After pushing the same piece of chocolate cake round my plate for the hundredth time, I abandoned it and went to my room.
Laying down on my bed, I stared at the ceiling. I could access the Iron Moon archives, I knew I could. If there was a way to draw out the Iron Moon witches then I could slip in, get the name and be out in no time. I wasn't stupid. It wouldn't be as easy as that, but the plan could be. Anything else we could deal with.
Nearing midnight, I sat at the dressing table in my room, Arden curled the length of my golden hair and topped it with a circlet of small autumnal coloured flowers he'd grown out of the palm of his hand. It looked like a crown. He whistled at his finished creation, taking in the knee-length dress and coordinating taupe ankle boots he'd bought me for my birthday. The sleeves were a little too long.
"You look beautiful," said Arden.
I squirmed at the compliment, feeling the blush on my cheeks. "Thank you. As do you, always."
Heading downstairs, we found Gran already in front of the fireplace. Flames danced and crackled, heating our cheeks. She held a jug in her hands. It was nothing special, just an old ceramic one which Gran used to display the wildflowers I sometimes picked for her.
"Are you two ready?" Gran smiled.
Arden and I looked at each other, nodding in unison.
"Good. Then let's begin. On this, the final day of October, we douse the flames and stifle the light so we may welcome the darker half of the year." With those words, Gran poured the water over the fire. It sizzled and hissed, fighting to burn until it suffocated.
Together, we walked into the centre of the village. Sticks, twigs and branches had already been gathered into a huge mound. The coven had formed on the village green, waiting for us. Their faces were sombre and respectful on this special night. Hopefully they kept in mind those missing witches who wouldn't be spending Samhain with their coven.
"You're here. Finally," said Mrs Horton, puffing out her cheeks. Only she would have the nerve to scold her High Witch for being late. "Come, come. We're all ready." She ushered Gran before the mountain of gathered wood and kindling and thrust a burning torch in her hand.
"Yes, yes. Thank you Ariadne," Gran waved her away and addressed the coven. "Tonight, when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thinnest, we remember those whose souls have passed over. We remember because they lived and they live because we remember and so their light may never be diminished. The candles if you please, Riley."
Starting with Gran first, I began handing out plain, white candles. One for each witch. Gran took the candle in her hand and held the wick towards the fire. When the flame had taken, she cupped the wax stem in both hands. "Bryn Archer," and pushed the base of the candle into the soft ground around the bonfire.
One by one, each resident of Valestone took a candle and lit it from the communal flame. Fawn, her brother and her sister took instruction from their mother. Their father, the only non-witch in the coven, hovered by her side. Names were spoken aloud, a mixture of whispers and booming voices, however best they honoured their dead.
Arden had chosen a quieter spot around the other side of the bonfire, having taken two candles for himself. He'd not taken the first two his fingers grazed, but searched and examined them for any imperfections until he chose the two he was happiest with.
My own candle was stubbier than the rest with a chip out of the bottom, but I didn't mind. The bloody thing only melted anyway. I held my candle to my lips briefly, tasting the smooth wax before lighting it and pushed it into the earth. Her name left my mouth in a whisper. "Celeste Darkmore." The flames gave a little dance as if murmuring a distant reply.
I could see Arden a little further away, head bowed. I compared our situations. Did I fare better because I'd been young when my parents had been taken? Too young to understand what it truly meant or was Arden the most blessed because of the extra years he knew their love? There was no answer, just two parentless teenagers stood around a bonfire on Samhain.
It didn't take long for the mood to lift. Having honoured our dead, the coven unwound. A few had taken to dancing around the fire, jackets discarded, skirts twirling. Drink appeared at some point, courtesy of Jack and Jonah and the more everyone drank, the louder they got. Our Samhain celebrations were normally quieter than this.
Gran made her rounds, as usual, but she was acutely attentive today. Every so often, I caught her glance to where I sat alone on the damp grass on the village green. She offered me a wistful smile each time.
And each time I didn't return it.
You're lying to her.
Despite our talk, she was still keeping secrets, except now it seemed Rafe was too. It had taken Gran to utter those words for me to realise I trusted him implicitly. Beyond all reason. Now my stomach was in knots. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe it was just nature to lie and keep secrets, no matter what you were. After all, I'd done it too and he was my greatest secret.
Childish giggles drew me back as Fawn's brother and sister raced passed, fire-lit torches in each hand. Their sister wasn't far behind, eyes-wide and cheeks puffed.
"Put those down now!" Fawn looked around, frantic, possibly looking for her mother. Her father, the only nemocane in our coven, kept his distance and a suspicious eye on the proceedings.
Arden and Toby were together. The permanent blush on Toby's cheeks glowed like a beacon. The way their heads inclined towards each other, knuckles curled around glasses almost grazing but not quite made longing swell inside me.
I drew my knees up to my chest and rested my arms and chin on top.
"You could join them. You should be with them, enjoying Samhain. Even if it wasn't your birthday, it is your right." Gran lowered herself next to me, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear and folded the skirt of her long robe-like dress under her knees.
"The grass is damp."
She ignored me. "You look very beautiful, you are very beautiful. So much like your father. How does eighteen feel?"
"No different to seventeen," I answered honestly, keeping my eyes trained dead ahead.
"I see. I spoke with the coven today. We have agreed to let you access the Iron Moon archives."
"You have?" I tried to keep the air of triumph out of my voice, one of only a handful of victories. "What did they have to say?"
With a single finger, Gran pushed her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. The flames from the bonfire reflected in the gleaming circles making it look like fire danced in her eyes. "That you are unprepared and mostly untrained, but you're also correct. For much too long, we have been silent and still while witches and humans alike die around us. So while I agree you are as unprepared as they say, you are also our best hope."
"I'm your only hope. No-one else can enter the Iron Moon archives."
"No," Gran swallowed. "No-one else."
I nodded my agreement. "When do I go?"
"We can not wait as long as I'd like. Sunset tomorrow. There are a few details I still need to work out but we should be ready by then. There's a plan in place, hence all this." She gestured to the scene in front of us. While Samhain was always a time of celebration for us, today, our more sombre tidings had given way to wild dancing and raucous laughter. Drink flowed as freely as their movements as if any gulp could be their last, as if each twirl or stumbled misstep would be the last one they would take.
"You're drawing them out," I whispered. "You, them, the coven."
Gran nodded. "She believes we have you, so she'll come. There's no doubt about that. It is the only way I can make the archives as safe as I possibly can."
"You're offering yourselves as bait."
"The thought of you is the bait," Gran said firmly. "We're the hook to keep the Iron Moon away while you get the name we need. Nova has coveted you for a long time, my plan rests on her doing whatever she can to get you and the angel promised, in and out."
"You've spoken to Rafe about the plan?"
"He is part of the plan. He's going with you. I've also given him the location of a safe house, should you need it."
"But then afterwards, I'm still not allowed to see him?" Not that I think he'd want to see me anyway after last night. I could barely think about it.
Gran reached over and took my hand in hers. "Not tonight Riley. Let's talk about happy things tonight. Life is hard enough when you don't know what tomorrow will bring, but there are dark witches on our horizon and I'm seizing my happiness while I can."
I let her draw me in close, giving her the comfort she sought, taking what she herself offered, while we watched our coven revel and kept a watchful gaze on the fear that crept from glance to glance, for there were dark witches on our horizon.
I thought I would find it harder to sleep knowing what was to come, but crawling into bed sometime near Witching Hour I found my eyelids as heavy as my bones.
Snuggling into the covers, I was hit with an immediate scent that made me groan into my pillow.
As if I'd summoned him, my window frame snapped up, the white voile curtain blowing in like a bride's veil, and there was that scent again, stronger than the ghost of it on my sheets.
If I had a wish at my disposal right then, it would have been for darkness to swallow sound as it does light, for he must have heard it, even from where he stood by the window; the truth drumming in my chest. Despite it, I feigned sleep.
"I told your grandmother I'd return around midnight. I waited for as long as I could."
He knew I was awake. No point pretending now.
Pushing myself up, I reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp illuminating the room in a soft, yellow light. Squinting until my eyes grew accustomed, I let them settle on him. He looked much better than yesterday, though pale still due to the blood loss. His wings were out tonight, falling either side, as much a part of him as his arms or legs.
"She didn't say," I kept my words cool and crisp, my arms crossed tight. "Did you need something?" Don't think about last night.
Rafe straightened, possibly taken aback by my abruptness. He held my gaze before letting them flit across the room. I tracked each frantic movement. Was he grasping for something to say, a conversation starter? We'd never been this awkward around each other, even when I had him magically pinned to a concealed pentagram.
"Presents," he said quietly.
"What?"
Rafe pointed to the small pile of unopened presents and cards stacked up on the carpet by the door. "You have presents."
"It was my birthday yesterday."
He looked at me again, startled. "Your birthday? Why are they unopened?"
Because all I can think about is you. Because tomorrow I have to sneak into the coven of my psychotic grandmother to retrieve the name of the erased coven.
Because all I can think about is you.
I shrugged. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. The thirty-first is our Samhain celebrations so there's lots to do. I normally open them the next morning."
"In my youth, we didn't celebrate birthdays or acknowledge them, really," one arm reached back to cup the back of his neck. "It was more common to enjoy the feast day of the saint you were named after."
"And when is that?"
"September 29th."
I sighed. "What do you want Rafe?"
His shoulders slumped. It seemed like it was a conscious effort to keep his hands by his side. "I wanted to know you were all right after..."
After you rejected me?
"It's fine. I'm fine."
One step forward, his throat bobbing. There was a twitch at his side as though he'd reach out. My cold words stopped him dead.
"I said I'm fine. I need to get some sleep, Gran's told me all about the plan tomorrow. I can't go walking into enemy lines with droopy eyes."
Rafe's head dipped. "Nothing will happen to you tomorrow. You'll be safe."
"I know. Goodnight, Rafe," I didn't wait for him to say it back before I turned off the light. Sinking down low, I pulled the covers as far up as they'd go.
"Goodnight Riley," the darkness whispered back. My window slid shut.
Silent tears slid from the corners of my eyes soaking the cotton pillow case where his head had been hours earlier. Forever the gallant knight, Rafe had done as I'd asked. He left when I told him to, but I'd give anything for him to stay. Anything for him to curl up behind me and hold like he did last night. Anything except ask.
Morning came, quickly followed by afternoon, and then before I knew it, the sun was sinking beneath the horizon line.
Gran, Arden and I gathered in the garden, my grandmother going over the plan one more time in case the other ninety-nine times hadn't sunk in.
True to his word, Rafe touched down not long after, wings stretched wide. He'd dressed simply. Dark jeans, a plain t-shirt and a military-style jacket for the journey north.
And he still stole my breath, secrets or no. The feeling of dread which had pitched in my stomach eased now he was here. I rubbed at my stomach as if it would relieve the remaining discomfort there.
He looked at me, something like a plea on his face. I forced myself to ignore whatever he wanted, watching instead as Gran faced him square on. "I am trusting you with everything I hold dear." She glanced at me. "And I'm trusting you because Riley does. Don't let me down or I'll hunt you down and skin you alive."
"Me too," Arden chipped in.
Rafe had the respect to gulp. "Riley will return to you unharmed. I swear it."
Gran nodded. "And if you get summoned," she twirled a finger in the air, gesturing to the heavens above. "Take Riley to the safe house."
"We know what to do." I finished buttoning my coat. "Are you ready?"
Rafe straightened. "When you are."
"Wait," Gran cupped my face, fanning her thumbs down each side. She sighed, crystal clear eyes roaming, taking in every feature. "You were a gift from the Goddess. After what happened to your dad, if I'd not had you-"
"I know, Gran. I know." I reached up and placed a kiss on her warm cheek. "Be careful and I'll see you soon."
Then I went to Arden and threw my arms around his neck. "You be careful too."
He clutched me tight, fingers gripping the woollen material of my coat. "I will."
Rafe coughed. "We should go. I want to cover most of the journey while there's still light left."
"You're right." I retrieved my broom from where I'd left it propped up against the cottage wall.
Rafe cocked his head.
"What?"
"I could fly us. Honestly, I thought that was the plan," he tried to get confirmation from my grandmother. She looked just as confused as he did.
"In case things go wrong, or I need a quick exit. I might not be able to rely on Rafe, so I'm taking the broom." I raised the handle in the air for effect. "Besides, it would be much easier if you could just summon a portal or if Rafe could use his dagger to do whatever he does."
"You know why we can't do those things. They'll detect any large surges in magic like that and you'll be compromised before your foot even touches the ground," said Gran.
I sighed. "I'll see you both soon." Gran gave my hand one more reassuring squeeze before I cloaked myself, fed my broom a belly full of magic and sped off into the light of the dying sun.
Blues, pinks and oranges streaked the vast stretch above and in front, reaching the horizon where a burst of yellow clung to the day. Rafe spoke to me once and only once, to ask if I was okay. I'd mumbled my reply, eyes not wavering from the open path in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his head turning my way every now and then, but there were no further attempts to speak to me.
We landed at the edge of a snow-dusted forest and the beginning of a sheer drop. The place where one world ended and another began. Red-brown cliffs dove into the violent sea beneath where waves hit them at full force, tormenting. If they wanted, they could surge up to where we were and sweep us away. But I wasn't frightened. Water was my gift, and the angrier it was, the more my power thrummed in my veins as if we were connected. I stood on the edge of this world, not caring as the glacial wind bit at my cheeks or tore at my hair.
And there it was.
The island itself emerged from the sea in the shape of a great hunched beast. Its mouth opened into a permanent snarl, baring dagger-like teeth. The castle was carved from the same stone which sat upon the beast's back, protruding like an arrangement of spears and spikes. Even the windows littering its intimidating side were only narrow slits in the stone. Barely anything to let light through.
"There it is," I shivered, my back aching. My fingers tightened around my broom.
"I can't see anything," Rafe said. "Only the beginning of the ocean."
"You can't see the castle on the island?"
"It is the blood coursing through your veins which allows you to see it, the blood of the Iron Moon. There must be a magical veil cast over the castle."
I looked back to the harsh outline of the building, the castle itself nothing more than an extension of the jagged rock beneath. "Can I help you see it?"
"Perhaps if I were to consume some of your blood."
My head whipped to him.
"I don't think it will take much."
Something about the act appeared too intimate, particularly with what happened the other night, but then we were screwed if Rafe couldn't even see the castle and then we'd never get the name we needed. Taking in a deep breath, I raised my arm up, offering my hand. "Take what you need."
See as I see. Feel as I feel.
"Do you know anything about blood magic, little witch?" He whispered, eyes glittering darkly. He took my hand, our frozen skin akin to one another and bent my wrist back to expose the veins. Slowly, he lowered his mouth until his lips were millimetres from my pulse point, breath warming where the icy wind had numbed. Then he froze, throat bobbing.
My heart thrashed inside my rib cage, my breathing uneven.
"Are we okay?" he whispered, fragments of his broken voice snagging in his throat.
I could have cried. "Yes," I whispered back, because at that moment I would have given him anything.
Rafe nodded, then sank his teeth in. I bit down so I didn't cry out when he punctured my flesh. As promised, he didn't take much. He licked up a few drops with a flick of his tongue, then ripped off a strip of his own shirt and bound it around the holes in my skin.
"That is quite a foreboding prospect," Rafe noted, the magic in my blood taking hold to allow him to see the Iron Moon stronghold. He ran a hand through his wind-tangled hair, eyes narrowing. In silence, he stood on the edge of the cliff taking it all in.
I wondered if the same feeling of dread which filled me now rendered him speechless. Was worry surging through his veins too?
Darkness eventually doused the last embers in the sky. I hoped a sign would materialise showing the plan had worked. When we'd reached the castle in the dying hours of the day, it had been cold, bitterly so. But here, in the endless night with only specks of stars above and slithers of fire-light escaping the castle's window slits, ice-whitened arctic winds hurled at us from across the sea. My coat offered piss-poor protection.
"Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking how bloody cold it is..."
Then a crack broke the sky above the castle. Green, blue, red and white light lit up the night like fireworks. Magic. Black dots rose from the sharp turrets. Witches on brooms.
Thunder roared above. Rafe pulled me back into the tree line. I felt the thud as his back hit a solid trunk. His wings wrapped around me, darkness swarming in his tightening arms. His darkness. The sort I yearned for when I awoke alone in the early hours of the morning.
Brooms whooshed overhead, shaking the trees and bringing down canopy-caught frost. One. Two. Then another. More and more, accompanied by cackles and screams of blood-curdling laughter. My stomach rolled as I thought about them heading towards my family and my friends. Towards my coven.
"That's it," Rafe said when silence resumed. "It's now or never. Are you sure you want to do this?"
I broke free of him needing space to cool the heat his touch caused, but with a powerful grip, he pulled me to him again, twisting my body until I faced him full on. His hands moulded around my upper arms. I didn't want him to look at me and see the colour burning in my face.
"At your word," he said, calmly. "We do what you say, when you say it. Only when you're ready."
"Ready," I lied.
Not another word was uttered. Rafe took my broom from my hands and dropped it on the ground by the trees. Then he swept me up and carried me over the roaring sea. We landed on the steps spiralling around the beast's hind leg. Scaffolding dug into its torso, scaling up and up to an arched wooden door at the base of the castle. In case an Iron witch had remained at the castle, Rafe didn't fly us any higher.
Waves thrashed the surrounding rocks. I slipped on every sea-soaked step, gripping the rail to anchor myself or be taken by the sheer power of the surging waters. Even Rafe struggled. Sea water darkened his feathers, the struggle of whether to take to the air written on his face. The whole staircase rocked and groaned with every assault.
We'd never make it to the top.
Holding my hand out, I burrowed deep into myself, reaching down for my own ferocious waves, that vivid blue power. I could feel it rising within me. To keep control, I didn't give in to the wildness beckoning me, the one that drowns when I let my emotions overrun every sense of myself.
Instead, I sang to it. An Irish lullaby Gran sang to me. I see the Moon. I repeated the words in my head, allowing the melody to soothe the waves until they were swaying in time with the gentle rhythm. The real waves stopped hitting the rocks, lapping only at the base. I sighed in relief.
Although Rafe was a few steps below me, he still matched my height. Clear, bright eyes and a proud smile shone back at me. I was about to offer him a smile back when a golden glow illuminated the space between us. I felt a thud in my stomach.
"Go," I tasted salt on my lips.
Worry had aged his beautiful face in seconds. "Your grandmother said-"
"I'm not leaving here without the name, Rafe. Go and come back for me."
There it was, that internal struggle again. He looked to the skies, the castle then back to me. "I'll hurry."
I nodded to let him know I'd heard then continued climbing. When I looked for him again, he'd gone. I reached the wooden door at the top and with one huge breath, I pushed it open and entered the castle of the Iron Moon.
A wretched smell hit me.
Covering my mouth and nose with my coat sleeve, I tried not to vomit. My stomach heaved with every step, the air thick with the stench of blood and rotting flesh. I didn't understand how anyone could stand to live here.
The castle's underbelly housed its dungeon. Cracked flagstones gleamed with foul smelling water, probably caused by flooding when the sea felt spiteful.
I took tentative steps, heart thumping so loud it echoed off the stones. Either side of me, tightly closed bars ran from floor to ceiling puncturing the unforgiving stone. I didn't want to think about what lurked in the shadows behind them. My first instinct would have been to keep to the sides in case anyone came, but not down here. The hairs on my skin pricked at the mere thought of going near those bars.
Splash. Splash. Shit. Splash. Splash. The ripple of water on the floor. Splash. Splash. Closer now. A shadow shifted in front.
Panicking, I threw myself into the side, the very thing I'd not wanted to do and pressed my back into the bars. Splash. Splash. I tried to hold my breath, pushing further back as though I could sink into the cell myself.
Pressure wrapped around my calves, tugging on the material of my jeans. Long, bony fingers grasped trying to pull me down. They were strong for skeletal limbs and I was falling, the fingers worked their way up my body.
I was on the floor, folded and crushed against the arms. An arm, all bone with the thinnest covering of skin, tightened, compressing my throat. I thrashed about, gasping for air. The room grew darker. The temperature dropped. My head felt looser as the fight in me seeped away. I flopped against the iron bars.
"Release her." It was a woman's voice, dispirited but firm. "I said release her."
A blur of red and orange accompanied the smell of burning flesh. The arm loosened, I brought myself round, taking in as much air as I could. Scrabbling on all fours, my chest heaving and sore, I watched the leathery-looking arm whip back through the bars, a row of flames licking their way up towards the shoulder.
Pushing myself up onto my feet, I made sure my back was to the woman.
"Celeste?"
My body tensed at hearing my mother's name before I half-twisted, staring down the cherry-haired witch. Pale pink scars hatched across an empty socket where one of her eyes should have been. I believed her to be younger than the bruises under her eyes suggested. Or the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. Had she lived, I bet she would have been close to my mother's age.
"Not Celeste, but Hester. You are much too short for me to have mistaken you for Astrea."
I kept my breathing calm and regulated, fighting so fear didn't take over."
"Celeste's child has grown brave. Tell me, what has brought you to the dark abode of Iron Moon? Please tell me you have not come to join us; Celeste would never have wanted that."
"Who are you?"
The witch stood a couple of metres away, bare feet filthy and almost submerged in the water pooling on the floor. No rich material, precious stones or intricately created black lace adorned her clothes. Instead, she wore a simple dress. The colour of dusk. Its three-quartered sleeves threadbare at the end. The bottom hem of her dress frayed so badly it looked like cobwebs.
"My name is Leda. I am the Keeper of the Dungeons. Now answer my question. Why are you here? It must be something important for Rebecca to allow her heir to come. Especially since everyone knows how desperately Nova has tried to get you."
I focused on my breathing. What the hell was I meant to tell her? I couldn't just divulge my reason for being there. I didn't know anything about this witch, but I'd no idea how long the coven would keep the Iron Moon witches busy. I needed to get what I came for and get out.
"Spit it out."
"I need to know the name of the family William Darkmore bound the powers of."
"Why would the Iron Moon concern themselves with bound witches?"
"You did once. Or William Darkmore did. We think the documents may exist in your archives."
"Ah. The archives you can access because Celeste's blood flows through your veins. Do you know what my Dark Lady would do if she finds you here and you refuse to join her? She would take pleasure in unravelling those veins from your body one by one. She would hang you from the ceiling and bleed you dry. She would-"
"Yeah, yeah. I get the point. So, to make sure that doesn't happen, will you show me to the archives? You seem to have known my mother pretty well."
The witch's one good eye clouded over.
"I adored Celeste, but I serve Nova." Her voice broke, and she sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me.
There was a certain way she said my mother's name. There was love there and I'd use it to my advantage, though for a second, the bitter sting of jealousy shot through me. Jealousy for the time this witch got to spend with my mother. Jealousy for everything she knew about her that I didn't. It died as quickly as it ignited.
"My mother would have wanted you to help me. All I need is to know where the archives are and where to find the name. Then I will be gone, and Nova will never have to know that I was here."
"She will know, and she will know I helped you. Do you know what she would do to me?" A spindly finger pointed to a disfigured eye socket.
"Please," I begged. "What would my mother have done?"
Leda's whole body stiffened. "Come and quickly."
"I'll tell her," sneered a voice from one cell. "I'll tell the Dark Lady."
With a flick of her wrist, Leda sent a fireball flying into a cell on her right. The tiny room was ablaze as was the scaled creature inside. It shrieked and writhed in pure agony as it burned alive. Leda didn't look, but stalked ahead.
"Now you will tell nothing no more."
I tried not to look at the charred, twitching body as Leda led me through the winding corridor. Offshoots ran in all directions like the branches of a tree with cells carved out of every available wall space. Sometimes, a groan of pain broke the solid silence.
"Are these cells full?"
"Most of them," she replied shortly, keeping several paces ahead of me.
"Then why are they so quiet?"
She snorted. "Because they dare not make a noise. You saw what happened with the Dagen demon. Most of them know not to test me."
Following her, I saw nothing else within the cells. My imagination reached fever-pitch. Images flashed of emancipated bodies shrinking against the back walls, wearing down the ancient stone hoping to melt into it and disappear. It must have been miserable down here for the darkest corners to provide the most comfort.
"Keep walking."
At the end of the corridor, a stone staircase spiralled upwards vanishing through the ceiling above. Leda headed up.
"Oh god," I cried, managing to climb a few steps before flinging my sleeve over my nose again. "Why does it smell so much worse down here?"
"Because of that," the witch spun on the stairs and pointed to a small grate in the dungeon's floor.
"What is it?"
"The Oubliette. It is where Nova disposes of the male children born to anyone in the Iron Moon. She believes females to be more powerful, more worthy of a place in her coven."
"I think that has to be the most horrific thing I have ever heard."
Leda shrugged. "Perhaps. We do not question our High Witch."
"Even though most accept William Darkmore as one of the greatest witches that has ever lived by any coven?"
"Do you wish to access the archives or are you leaving now?"
"I want to see the archives."
"Come along then."
At least the second floor was lit. Torches of fire lined the corridor provided the only splash of colour against grey walls, all except for a couple of faded tapestries. I found myself hesitating before every doorway listening for signs of sounds or movements inside. I hadn't asked Leda if anyone else was in the castle, not that I was sure she'd even know. From the way her eye shied, shuttering and watering at the light, I doubted she made it up here often.
Then the witch disappeared through an open door. Slipping inside, I found it was a bedroom. Leda hurried over to a crude nail hanging by the side of the bed and retrieved a heavy-looking set of keys. Where the colours of my coven consisted of the darkest black and silver, here, everything from the floor-length drapes to the upholstery and bedspread were fashioned out of rust-red and silver material. It reminded me of dried blood.
But one object caught my eye. Resting on a sideboard beneath a lead-lined window was a picture frame. The only thing allowed to grace the surface. The frame itself was ornate. Gilt coloured and detailed like lace. Cold metal bit into my fingers as I picked up the picture. It was a photo of a girl a little older than me. She smiled shyly at the camera. Despite a slight fading, I could see why everyone said what they did. That my features were my father's, but my colouring, the pale skin and the blonde shade of my hair were all hers. I'd even bet the blue of our eyes would be a near match. I put it back down and found Leda staring.
"This is Astrea's room. Your mother's sister."
My chest tightened. "We need to hurry," I walked out. The air was suffocating. I fell against the wall, taking in oxygen slow and steady. I heard Leda follow, pausing in the doorway with a peculiar look aimed down at me.
"Let's hurry then."
The next few rooms were bedrooms too, Leda explained. The whole of this floor was, and the one above, although Nova was the only one to sleep on the higher level. She led me back to the spiral staircase, and once again we climbed. We went round and around until I was dizzy, ascending until we'd exhausted every step. "The archives take up the whole of the top floor. The Iron Moon pride themselves on having one of the most comprehensive witch history records of any coven. Astrea is the Keeper of the Archives though, and I do not believe she would disagree with me, but she is somewhat neglectful in her duties. It was your mother's responsibility before hers."
I had to remind myself of the real reason why I was here today, and why my family and friends were currently putting themselves in danger, because my mind was brimming with questions about my mother. Before me stood someone who was an untapped source of information. She'd be able to tell me what Celeste Darkmore was like in her youth. How did she dress? Was she funny? Was she rubbish at cooking like I was? Did I remind Leda of her? Would she be proud?
"Why did you need the keys?" I asked suddenly.
Leda's brow furrowed. "To open the door..."
"But Gran said only I could access the archives because of my blood."
Leda nodded. "The Seal is the outer door on all coven archives and only a blood offering from that coven will allow access. To the door that needs a key," she jangled the set in the air. "If anyone but you had come, I would have killed them. Or locked them up in one of my cells," her grin hinted at a touch of madness.
A giant arched doorway towered ahead. Dark red light, reminiscent of the rust-red furnishings, shone through a black metal framework. It twisted, forming voids in the shapes of stars and flowers beautifully connected to a solid circle representing an iron moon in the centre. Illuminating.
I took the knife from my side and sliced it across my palm, hissing at the sharp sting. With blood starting to slide from the wound, I placed my palm on the Iron Moon. It felt like dozens of tiny needles piercing my skin, hooking into the flesh and drawing me in. The framework vibrated and the magic ties keeping the door locked snapped. Down the centre, the red light grew brighter, opening slowly to reveal another set of doors, wooden and clinging to the castle walls with the medieval brackets that adorned all the others on the castle.
Leda unlocked it with the keys from Astrea's room and pushed against the wood with a flat hand. She slipped through the gap, her hand reappearing to beckon me with a curl of her forefinger. We stepped into darkness and right into a dense musk wall. The only blessing was that it masked the odour of rotting flesh.
The older witch waved a hand and the room was alive with fire torches fastened to the walls. Then I gasped as the warm glow of the flames highlighted monstrous sights.
Angel wings.