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Solanaceae

SOMEWHERE IN THE timeline of the night, when the sky was at its richest shade of inky black, Jinx leapt from Belle’s chest with such a start that it broke her deep sleep. Belle slid her bedcovers back up to her nose. Her heavy lids shuttered closed, but she was woken again when the cat let out a low, yowling growl of unease. Belle growled similarly in annoyance, leaning up onto her elbows to see what all the fuss was about. Zoomies, probably. It was so pitch-black outside, a thick blanket of night laid down across London, that she had to squint to even make out Jinx’s fur in the darkness. Her annoyance became dismay when she saw the cat’s drastically arched back, the fully fluffed tail that showed high alert.

“Jinx? What have you got there?” Belle asked in a voice thick with sleep. “Please, not another mouse. I can’t do that again.” She’d given up on trying to catch the last one somewhere behind the dishwasher and the washing machine.

She clicked on the bedside lamp and jumped as the light threw a jagged shadow against the wall. Just a trick of the light. Nothing was there, but Jinx remained in a fearful, sharp arch. Belle rubbed at her eyes.

“Jinxy?” she beckoned.

The cat continued letting out a low hiss, her stare transfixed on nothing at all, staring at the wall. Sometimes it felt as though she could feel things that Belle couldn’t, and it always gave her the creeps. Belle rolled her eyes in drowsy discontent, flicked the light back off and yanked the covers with her as she turned away. But seconds later, Jinx was growling again, her tiny voice more and more high-pitched, sounding strained and defensive against the silence. Belle let out an exasperated sound, on the edge of irreparably waking when what she needed most was a good night’s sleep.

“Jinx. Shut. Up.” She yanked the light back on again.

A sparking of pinpricks slithered up the back of her neck. She threw a hand towards it to scratch, but the sensation spread like wintry running water across the wings of her back. The feeling travelled down her arms and her chest, icy cold and burning at once. She kicked at the suddenly unbearable covers and reached across the bed to turn the light on but realised she’d only just done that very same thing. The power had cut out. She heard Jinx’s claws skitter on the floor as she bolted from the bedroom.

Belle’s stomach gurgled angrily, a flash of knotted pain. Hot prickles covered her entire body, her breath quickening as she touched the back of her hand to her forehead, to find beaded sweat beginning to trickle at her temples. She tried to bring herself out of the lull, to drag herself to the bathroom to splash her face, but a deadening pull towards sleep wrapped a tight fist around her.

She eased herself back down against the pillows, trying not to panic as her breathing became more and more shallow. And then a sudden pressure. Against her sternum and her collarbones. She willed her legs to kick, her arms to push, but she couldn’t make her body obey her thoughts. Something pushed down firmly on her chest, feeling so heavy that she thought her ribs would crack.

A figure, somehow darker than the darkness. A faceless, shapeless figure, who was at one with the shadows themselves, outlined only in the faintest touch of moonlight, watching from the foot of the bed. The blur of shadows pinned Belle down into the mattress, crushing her, enforced control on every part of her body other than her mind. Her mouth filled up, tasting of darkness and dirt and clogging earth, choking as she chewed on shadows. She felt it make a nest in her ribcage, settle itself as though it would never leave, and she heaved a final, fighting breath to surrender to it.

A burst of sparks so blinding that Belle felt as though it scarred her eyes.

The pressure relinquished. It flowed away, slow, controlled, the darkness pooling down her body and slinking away from her. The light beside her snapped back on as the power returned.

She gasped for air, convulsing upwards in a jolt. Her eyes were watering, tears carving their way down her face.

She began to focus and readjust, to register reality again.

Rune was there. He stood over her, chest heaving, one fist clenched tightly around a mason jar. Inside it, the lid firmly bolted shut, a pitch-black substance churned and roiled like a storm cloud and molasses, which seemed to be fighting against the glass to break out.

After a moment, allowing her to find control of herself again, wipe her face on the duvet, swing her legs over the side of the bed to bring herself upright, he spoke calmly.

“You’re okay. Easy, don’t get up.”

“What was that?” she spluttered, her voice full of fear.

“Night terror,” he replied softly but matter-of-factly, only seating himself in the armchair just across from her bed when she seemed to steady a little.

“No. No, that wasn’t just a nightmare,” she said. “That was real.”

“I never said it wasn’t real.” Rune had just about caught his breath back, slumping against the chair himself. He seemed shaken. “I came as soon as I sensed it. I thought I wasn’t fast enough. I saw this vision hanging over you, a black cloud, an ink stain, a…I thought for a moment I hadn’t been quick enough.” He exhaled to steady the slightly frantic panic in his voice. He frowned as he glanced inside the dream behind the glass, evidently disappointed in himself that he hadn’t unravelled the strange spell sooner. He stowed the dark jar away in the inner pocket of his coat. It vanished swiftly.

“I could feel it, I could feel them, sitting on my chest. Jinx knew, she—”

“I know, I know. I was here the moment I sensed it, I promise. It was so difficult to unravel…Taking dreams away should be child’s play. Hey, calm down, all right? Take a moment.”

Belle steadied herself, reaching for the glass of water that Rune conjured for her. She took a long, deep drink, feeling it soothe her rasping voice. As she placed it down on her bedside table, it clinked against an empty mug.

“Your coffee consumption is concerning,” Rune said with a half-smile, nodding at the cup.

“I had a hot chocolate before bed, actually,” Belle said indignantly, rubbing her fingers against her bruised throat as she swallowed. “Artorius had me reading auras all evening. I needed little marshmallows. And then…”

Rune eyed her. “And then?”

“I added the last dregs of the flourish potion.”

Rune’s eyes pinched. “May I take a look?” He stood to take a step closer, then hesitated for a second, wondering whether their proximity was okay.

“It’s fine. You’re fine.” Belle gestured him closer. For the first time, she was truly grateful for their protective arrangement. He picked up the drink from her bedside table, holding it towards the lamp for a better look. He brought it to his nose and instantly recoiled.

“Well, that explains the night terror. Belle, what the hell is this?” He sounded baffled. “Are you for real? You could have killed yourself.”

“What?” She snatched it from him. A faint smell, but once she’d noticed it, it sent her reeling. Overbearingly sweet, turned thickly rotten, a putrid, carrion combination. “Oh my…What is that?”

“Poison, sitting pretty on your nightstand. Enough to make you hallucinate to hell and back, to literally scare the life out of you.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “Poison?”

“Solanaceae, if I’m not mistaken. Deadly nightshade. Ironically, commonly known as belladonna…You seriously drank this? No wonder it took hold of you so deeply,” he said incredulously.

“Yes, but…Rune, I swear, that wasn’t the potion I brewed. It can’t have been. I took most of it this morning and it was good. It worked. Even the grimoire said so.”

“Then it’s Subfuror Incantare . Interference with your magic from a distance again. This is worse than I thought. Count your lucky stars that you drank most of it before it had been tampered with.” He sounded entirely disbelieving, as though it couldn’t be real. “Your own brew tampered with extra ingredients added by transference. It’s highly illegal, against every Selcouth rule imaginable, it’s…Who did this?”

“Well, I don’t know, do I? Maybe it was Christopher.” She offered a watery smile.

“Will you stop turning everything into a joke to try and distract me from seeing that you’re scared? As if that buffoon could have anything to do with this.” Rune was growing visibly more frantic, beginning to pace the length of her bed as he tried to think.

“Oh, please don’t start pushing your hair back angrily now.”

“You’ve been poisoned, Belle! By your own magic, no less. Manipulated by someone else!”

A momentary silence hung between them. Once the quiet allowed her mind to form its own real thoughts, she knew what she needed to say. “I don’t think I can do this,” Belle said in a small voice. Her shoulders were slumped, exhausted. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Rune sighed. “Sorry. Sorry. I just…I should be able to see exactly what this force is. Exactly who is hurting you. It’s driving me insane that I can’t stop it. I’m trying so hard to protect you. I’m not sleeping, I’m working around the clock, and nothing’s working.”

“It doesn’t matter. Whoever it is, whatever it is, they can have what they so clearly want. It’s done. I quit.”

“Belle, you’re so close.”

“I’m not, though, am I? Arty and Mum keep saying things like that to try and make me feel better, but I’m not. I still have four challenges unlit in the grimoire. Four in four days. Even I’m not delusional enough to think that sounds doable. But that doesn’t matter now. I can’t keep putting myself through this.”

“But your magic…”

“I love being a witch, I love my magic. The past few weeks have brought some of the greatest joys, seeing it come back to life. I thought things had changed today, I thought I’d turned a corner but…this isn’t worth it. I’m losing it. Every day, something else seems to disappear from me.”

“May I?” Rune gestured to the bed and took a seat on the mattress when she nodded.

“If Ariadne had been here tonight,” she continued. “Imagine what could have happened. It’s probably putting you in danger, it’s probably putting Artorius in danger, my mum, even the coven itself…” She felt her bottom lip quiver; it made her feel like a child.

“The coven is not your responsibility.”

“But it is, if I’m the one bringing danger to its doorstep.” Belle pushed her hair out of her face, still clinging from the sweat that had beaded at her temples.

Rune reached out to gently tuck it behind her ear. She sighed, eyes closed.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

Rune was thoughtful for a moment, searching her face. “The watchman side of me wants to tell you that, honestly, maybe it is the best decision. The most sensible one, at least.” His dark eyes were locked on hers, trying to read her. “But as your…friend, who’s been witnessing your magic bloom, despite all of this, I can’t support you giving up. You’re meant for this.”

For a second, she faltered. But it didn’t last. “I’m sorry, but I don’t need your support. I choose to protect everyone. It’s obvious. I’ll go to Artorius in the morning and tell him, and then I guess I’ll have to inform Hecate House to surrender my powers formally. This isn’t meant for me.”

Jinx peeped a head around the door-frame. Sensing that the coast was clear of all threatening shadow forms, she curled back up on the duvet, satisfied yet looking distinctly unimpressed that a large man seemed to be taking up her usual spot at the foot of the bed.

“What a fat lot of good you were, oh brave guard cat,” Belle said.

A thought occurred to her. “My sooth stone. It seems to like letting me know whether my decisions are good ones or not. It always glows whenever it’s trying to encourage me one way or the other. It can make the call for me. Maybe it was trying to protect me from…”

She reached into her bedside drawer and fumbled around the contents, sliding aside painkiller packets, bookmarks, a biscuit wrapper. Her brow furrowed. She summoned a light cast from her finger, guiding the torchlight around in the darkness, checking behind the table and underneath.

She glanced back at Rune. “It’s gone.”