I had watched the flames burn, I had watched the wood, paper and leather, all turn to ashes. Then I had continued to watch, as flames became embers and embers died to nothing more than ash.
There was no response from Arabella, nor any word from Mathias. It was as though the world had stopped spinning, and yet, night became day, day became night, and before anything even began to make sense, a week had passed.
“Nina, open the damn door!” Arabella hammered on the door, shouting with a voice like thunder.
Hesitantly, and without any real urgency, I dragged myself from the sofa, and trudged to the front door.
On the other side, Arabella looked flustered. Her cheeks were unusually flushed and pink, and her eyes showed evidence of little to no sleep. For a woman who was always perfectly presented, she was dishevelled and unkempt. She wore what appeared to be men’s jogging bottoms with a vest top, covered with an oversized, woollen cardigan with big wooden buttons. Her dark mass of hair was unwashed and had obviously been pulled into a bun at some point, though now it looked as though she’d been through a hedge backwards.
“Are you serious?! Nothing?! I have tried for the last three days to get hold of you! I have spoken with every coven leader and not one of them had heard of Corrina, or this Orion. I even went as far as searching the archives. Still no mention of the witch or her hunter lover.”
At first, I said nothing. I just stood there and blinked at her. What could I have said?
“Nina, hello?” Arabella waved a hand in front of my face. “Are you going to let me in or do I have to stand in the hallway all day?” I stepped aside and she stormed in.
Each supernatural faction had their individual, extensive histories, recorded and stored in archives. Archives accessible only to their specific faction.
“I have to get into the witch’s archives.”
“Seriously? Did you not listen to a word I just said? Besides, you have to be witch to enter, or be accompanied by one, and I’ve just spent a week there. There is nothing in there. No mention of either Corrina or Orion. There’s isn’t even any mention of Dahlia, though I do know of her existence, she wasn’t a witch so she’s not likely to be mentioned there at all.”
Of course! How could I have been so stupid? The only record of the witch Corrina was now nothing more than ash in my log burner, and as far as I knew, Orion had been merely a man. As a mortal lover of a witch, the only mention of him would have been within her grimoire.
And Dahlia, well I don’t suppose angels, fallen or not, had any really records other than The Book of Heaven, which, obviously, never left the Elysian Fields.
“What if we spoke with Mathias? I’m sure he knew Dahlia. Probably personally.” Arabella’s suggestion made perfect sense, the only problem with it being the lack of Mathias.
I couldn’t very well explain to her where he was, I barely understood myself. All I really knew was he was somewhere in the mountains, looking for an angel who may, or may not, be able to restores his wings.
“Maybe, but I haven’t spoken to him in a week, I can’t even get hold of him. I think his phone is turned off. Every time I call, it goes to voicemail.”
By the look on her face, Ary didn’t believe a word I was saying. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, and after a couple of seconds it was ringing and on speaker.
It rang and rang and rang, and then...
“The number you have dialled is unavailable to take your call right now. Please leave a message after the tone. After you’ve finished you message you may hang up, or if you wish to restart your message press hash.”
Arabella’s face went crimson; out of embarrassment or anger I didn’t know, nor did I really care.
“Fine. What about Rogan?” Arabella’s tone was sharp and cold.
“What about him?” I retorted, imitating her tone. “You said it yourself, there was no mention of her in the witch’s archive, and no mention of him either. The only way Rogan would be able to help, would be if this Orion guy was a werewolf.” If he wasn’t, that would mean Corrina’s grimoire really was the only record of either of them, and no amount of magic would be able to return it to its original composition. See, the only way to destroy a grimoire is to burn it to ash, after which, it cannot be returned. This was their way of keeping secrets safe.
Humanity was power hungry, but had used magic for purposes it had not been made for; they abused it. And so, having it devoured by flames ensured its magic was safely returned to where it belonged.
“Surely, it’s worth asking him, at least?” I couldn’t work out if she was annoyed or desperate.
I shrugged, not ready to tell her I had already spoken to Rogan and that he was currently deep in his own factions’ archives, searching for any mention of Orion and, by extension, Corrina.
“Are you serious?!” Now Ary was definitely pissed off. “That’s all I get? A fucking shrug of the shoulders? It’s like you don’t even care!” I could see the muscles in her jaw tightening as she ground her teeth.
“Ah yes, because you so willingly believe me before I presented you with evidence.” I feigned disinterest, simply biding my time until Rogan messaged or called.
Unlike Arabella, Rogan hadn’t needed any evidence or proof to believe me; he had dropped by, taken the dogs to Esther to care for, knowing this could take us anywhere, and then headed directly for the archives, suggesting I contact Damion to check his archives as well, in case we were missing anything.
Damion too had jumped on the task with his heir, Alice, hot on his coat tails.
It was at this moment that both Rogan and Damion burst through the front door. Neither of them acknowledged the witch stood in the living room, red faced and clenched fists.
“Nina, sweetheart, we found something.” Rogan was neither grimacing nor smiling, and I couldn’t work out if the news was good or bad.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Nina.” Damion dipped his head in polite greeting, but didn’t move further in than the doorway.
“Likewise,” I smiled, suddenly very aware of the presence of Dahlia beneath my own skin, “no Alice this time?” I asked as sincerely as I could through gritted teeth.
“She had gone ahead, to prepare them for our arrival.”
“Prepare who?”
“The librarian of the Archives of Adam.” It was Rogan that replied, not Damion.
The Archives of Adam held the history and recordings of everything from the beginning of time itself. All beings were recorded, the new the old and creatures and beings that had long left this plain. It held the accounts of the highest of creation right down to lowest animal that crawled the earth. No one had been there in over a 1000 years, and it hadn’t been mentioned or even remembered for 800 years; few livings beings even knew where it was, let alone remembered.
“Okay, when do we leave?” If we could actually get into the Archive of Adam, it could open so many possibilities. We might not even find anything on Corrina or Orion, but we might just come across the origin of Dahlia’s aggression.
The three of us began to devise a plan; who would do all the speaking, who would deal with the travelling and travel costs, and who would make sure everything ran smoothly.
“You all seem to be forgetting one little thing.” For the first time since they had entered the flat, the wolf and the vampire became aware of the witch’s presence. “No one knows where the Archive of Adam is, so how do you propose we to find it.”
Damion began to root around in the pocket of his brown leather, authentic world War 2 bomber jacket, and pulled out a yellowing piece with of paper.
“Alice found this in the Archives of Night.” The Archives of Night were the vampires’ archives.
Damion passed the folded piece to me, holding it at arms length.
“I’m afraid celtic is one language neither I nor Alice can read. The only reason we know that it relates to the Archive is because the librarian pointed us in the direction of those records.”
Cautiously, I unfolded the page, concerned that it might turn to dust in my hands. The paper was old and thin, beginning to fall apart along the lines of the folds. The ink was faded and nigh on illegible. I could just make out three words, and Damion had been right, it was written in ancient celtic.
“The words that are least faded don’t really make much sense on their own. This one is Heberdies, and this one is stones. The only other legible word is a name, Lewis.”
“There’s an Isle of Lewis in the Outer Heberdies.” It was Arabella that spoke, though the information she had given didn’t quite make sense either. “There’s an old circle of stones called the Callanish Stones, located on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. Legend goes that they hold some sort of old magic, that long forgotten creatures used to roam there freely and in peace.”
“Well, as best a place than any to start, I suppose?” Damion glanced from me to Arabella with great caution.
Arabella rolled her eyes, huffed and walked away, muttering about a long journey in a ‘cramped little car.’
Within two hours everything was set; Rogan had borrowed a car, from a pack member and his wife, which was more suited for island terrain than my old, small fiesta, bags were packed and in the boot of the car, and a route had been planned.
The 4x4 provided ample space for each of us, despite the large, muscled statures of both males. Arabella sat behind the driver’s seat, while Damion climbed in beside her.
The plan was for Rogan to drive us to the Scottish boarder, where Damion would take over and drive to Ullapool; though whether, or not the males would actually make the swap was still to be seen. Both males had wanted to do all the driving. Until, of course, it was pointed out to them that they’d both need to rest, at some point, along the way, and so a compromise was made. Whether or not they kept the compromise would be another thing.
Rogan got in and started the engine; we were off.
For an hour or so, we drove in silence. It was neither awkward nor uncomfortable, it was just, silent.
Until it wasn’t.
“So, young witch, you have lived a long number of years, and yet, you are not immortal. Do you know why?” Damion’s voice showed no hint of accusation or anger, just genuine curiosity and concern.
“That’s none of your business, Bloodsucker.” The words came out like acid, making Damion visibly recoil as though it had burnt.
“Ary!” I turned to look at her, shock and horror filled my gut.
“Well, I don’t hear him asking how a mere mortal has lived for over a millennium but hasn’t aged a day!” Arabella’s face was red with infuriation, I could see how tense the muscles in her jaw had become, and her arms were crossed over her chest.
“Ary, whit did you find in the Witch’s archive? You’ve been aggressive and standoffish ever since you came back.”
“It’s none of your business, Nina.”
Again, we drove in silence; Arabella’s anger hung heavy in the air.
“You found what your mother had hidden from you, didn’t you?” Damion’s tone was soft, almost apologetic. Arabella didn’t respond, she simply turned her head to watch the world go passed her window.
I looked away from her and watched Damion as he watched Arabella with sorrow in his eyes.
“What was hidden?”
“The truth, about her ‘immortality’.” The reply was gracious, giving nothing away. Damion was wise enough to know that this was not his story to tell.
At first, I thought Arabella might not divulge on the unspoken question that hung in the air, only to realise she was steadying her breath.
“My unusually long life was never to keep Nina ‘in check’.” She paused, looking hurt and ashamed, and almost as though she might throw up. “This life of mine is a curse. For befriending Nina when we were children.”
As the air within the Land Rover turned icy, Rogan pulled into the nearest layby and killed the engine.
“Okay, little witch, spill.” There was no judgement in Rogan’s voice, and his face reflected the image of true compassion.
Arabella took a deep breath in through her nose and released it through pursed lips.
“When my coven first arrived in Ipswich, I was only six years old. My mother had heard of a man imbued with great power; a power that had to be stopped.” She looked straight at me then, tears glistening in her eyes. For a moment I watched as she opened and closed her mouth, clearly finding it difficult to find the right words.
“Ary, its okay, you were a child. You should never have been expected to stay away.”
Instead of lightening the witch’s mood, my words made her sob viciously.
“Oh, but it’s so much worse than that.”
Again, she took a deep intake of air through her nose and released it through pursed lips, only as she exhaled that second time, a mist seemed to creep over my mind.
“Now, child, you listen carefully.” A stern looking woman in her late twenties/early thirties looked down at a wide-eyed little Arabella. “The girl is not to see you; you are to hide at the edge of the forest and lure her in. Then you will return to your lessons with the other girls; like you were never gone at all.”
“Yes, Mother.” The young witch spoke to her mother more like she was a deity than a family member of any kind.
She didn’t’ hesitate in following the ferocious woman’s orders.
In a blink of an eye, the scene changed. Day was replaced by night, and the young girl was suddenly the perfect replica of the woman I called my friend.
The clearing was dark, bar the fire that raged in the centre. My mother, coven matriarch, sat on a throne made of twisted and entwined branches, which looked as though they had sprouted up from beneath her and formed this state purely by coincidence. However, that was the case, the chair had belonged in Arabella’s family for centuries, and was taken with them whenever they relocated.
“Daughter.” Her mother’s voice boomed across the vast space. There was no compassion or care, not even a hint of motherly nature, in her voice. “You have failed us. You have put us in mortal peril. The Flynn girl should have died the day we arrived, driven her by you, by what little power you had. Instead, you befriended her, let her live; you let her grow strong, and now,” She paused, the flickering of the flames reflected sinisterly in her eyes, “Now she wears her father’s mantel. She is stronger than he, and she will destroy us if one of us does not finish the job.”
From out of the darkness and cover of the surrounding trees, the whole coven emerged; all of them wearing the same thing; white sacrificial robes.
“Arabella, of the Coven of Ipswich, you are hereby banished, and cursed. From this day on, you will not die. You will know starvation, you will know bloodshed and war, but you will not die. This is your curse, child; to live the remaining years of your coven, alone.”
One by one, the witches between the trees took out small, curved blades, and without a single sound, one by one they plunged the blades into their own hearts. As each witch fell, as each took their last breaths, Arabella felt their agony as though it were her own. She felt their deaths, all 47 of them, until only she and her mother remained.
“One final punishment, Daughter. I take this memory from you and leave in its place a fictitious lie about you little friend. Nina Flynn killed you coven, your mother. This life is your redemption for surviving, by keeping the Huntress at bay. This curse I seal with mine own blood.”
By now they stood toe to toe, tears welling in Arabella’s eyes. Her mother placed the wooden handle of the blade in her palm, closed her fingers around it and pulled her hand, guiding her daughter in her own murder.
The car was filled with the sound of Arabella’s cries. The males both sat looking between the two of us. Had I been the only one to see that? Or had she shown them too?
“Little witch how were you to have known your mother had planned to kill a child, an innocent. Had it not been for her desperate writings to my father, we would never have been there. She had said she was in grave danger and needed the protection of my father’s pack.” Rogan looked chalky as he spoke. “Your mother blames you for having a good heart, for seeing the innocence in someone she had already deemed dangerous, without ever having met them.”
Arabella only cried harder, screams rattling through her slight frame.
“Arabella has not shown me what you have you seen, for I was there the night her mother cursed her. I had gone to stop the vampire called Felix. I arrived too late and overheard the coven’s plan for the youngest member among them.” Damion sounded sombre though no remorse for standing by and watching as they killed themselves to curse a young girl.
Almost instantly, the witch’s cries stopped.
“Do not speak of that night.” Once more there was venom in Arabella’s voice that seemed to invisibly sting the vampire’s skin. “You stood by, you let it all happen and did nothing. You are as bad as the nightcrawler that killed my friend Althena, you let my mother curse me, for making a friend.” Her voice shook with fury. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE SORRY!” As she shouted, blue sparks darted between her fingers.
Quickly, Rogan reminded her this car was only on loan to them, and if we incinerated it, not only would the owners be unimpressed, but we would never reach our destination.
Soon the engine roared to life, and we were back on the road. The silence that now hung around was heavy, and in an effort to dispel it I turned on the radio.
By the time we reached the ferry in Ullapool, no one had spoken since the incident between Arabella and Damion. Music had filled the silence, but it had done nothing to break the unbearable tension.
On the water, it was cold and while the males needed protection from it, Arabella and I did. It was strange to watch the witch from afar, unable to help her grief and pain.
Rogan came and stood beside me as I watched her.
“You should go talk to her.” I didn’t respond. “Nina, she doesn’t blame you, she scared. She thinks that now you know she was supposed to lead you to your death as a child, that you’ll somehow take it out on her.” He squeezed my shoulder and left again.
I continued to watch her for a moment. I took in the way she stood, with her shoulders stooped forward, wrapped in her big, grey puffer coat that fell to below her knees, her hair was hidden beneath a navy woollen hat with a bobble. She’d shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from the cold.
I wrapped my scarf around my neck and zipped up my own coat.
“Ary?” I spoke as quietly as I could while still being heard over the crashing waves. She turned suddenly, wiping her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her nose looked like a cherry. “Oh, Ary.” I didn’t say another word, I simply wrapped my arms around her and held her. She cried harder, holding on to me with all her strength.
“I’m so sorry Nina, so, so sorry.”
I had no words of comfort to give, so I just held her. I held her for the entire ferry ride.
We reached the docks in Stornoway, and it seemed as though Arabella and cried herself out, at least for the time being. She had, in fact, cried herself to sleep and Rogan had carried her back to the car.
Once off the ferry and onto shore, it was a mere 27-minute drive to the monument, so as expected Arabella was still sleeping when we arrived. The sun was setting, and tourists were dwindling. We would have to wait until it was empty.
The landmark consisted of 13 enormous stones, in the centre stood a 15ft tall, 4ft9 wide, ship rudder shaped, stone.
The sun had long set when it was finally safe to go in search of a possible entrance to the Archive of Adam.
The males took the 19 stones that made up the Northern Avenue of the landmark, while Arabella and I took the main circle and centre monolith.
Once Arabella had reached the 15ft centre monolith, the search may as well have been over.
“Nina, Rogan, I think I’ve found something.” She was still refusing to acknowledge Damion’s existence, though whether it was out of anger or embarrassment no one quite knew. He must have heard her though, as he joined Rogan and I as we headed to the centre piece.
“Look.” Arabella pointed to the bottom of the rudder shaped boulder, where there was a strange, pulsating shimmer seemed to glow in the dark.
“What is that Ary?”
“A Glamour.” Arabella flinched at the sound of Damion’s voice. “It’s hiding something. Something meant only for supernatural eyes.”
Arabella muttered something about him not having been asked as she crouched and began to push aside the grass. As her fingers grazed the Glamour, it rippled and vanished, revealing not an entrance but an engraving.
“Great. The beginning of a wild goose chase, no doubt.” She huffed and threw her arms up in annoyance.
“No, it’s not.” Rogan grumbled. We all just looked at him. “It’s not the beginning of anything because it’s a password…sort of.” He went on to explain it was written in some form of Gaelic and once spoken in said Gaelic, the passage would be opened.
“Okay, but what exactly does it say?”
“Fosgailte. Open.”
Even as the word reverberated around the stones, the ground gave a rumble and began to move. The four of us had to jump aside as the ground in front of the centre stone gave way completely, and turned effortlessly into a steep staircase, leading down into utter darkness.
“I didn’t know you could speak Scots Gaelic.” I didn’t dare speak louder than a whisper, who knew what was lurking down in the dark. Rogan just shrugged, clearly as shocked as I was.
“After you, Vampire.” Arabella’s voice was stiff as she spoke. “After all, you see better in the dark.”
It sounded more like self-preservation than fear in her voice. Witches weren’t known for leading, despite being quite possibly the most powerful beings on earth.
As the last of us stepped on to the cold compacted clay, the stairs disappeared back into the ground they had been made from, and we were plunged into blinding darkness.
We walked for what seemed to be hours, the only sounds were the echoing of footsteps on stone.
Overhead, a strange light appeared.
“We’re not there yet, are we?” Arabella sounded confused.
“Why don’t you look up and find out.” Damion seemed unphased by the odd lighting., almost as though nothing in this world surprised him any longer.
As I took his advice and looked up, I noticed it was moonlight, shining through a vast expanse of water.
We were under Loch Roag.
The bottom of the water seemed to ripple like the surface, making lines of light on everything below it.
A fish passed over our heads and I reached up to touch it, but before the tips of my fingers could break the surface of the water, a hand grabbed hold of my wrist.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I blinked, as if I were coming out of a trance. “Many a man has made that mistake and drowned.” Damion’s words were soft yet firm, and for the first time since I’d met him, I realized how calloused and cold his hands were. My instincts told me to pull away, that he was unnatural and dangerous, but I stayed there, my wrist in his hand, gaze fixed on his eyes.
He looked sad, haunted almost. Had he been here before? Had he witnessed those men drown in their folly?
“We still have a way to go, keep your eyes on the path ahead, the Loch may only be the first trial to get through before we reach the archive.”
Again, the way ahead grew dark, and the path sloped downwards.
The air grew warmer with every step we took, and yet we seemed to walk for miles. Arabella and I had to remove our coats and hats as beads of sweat formed on our faces.
Just as my legs were about to give up, there seemed to finally be hope. The darkness gave way to soft glowing lights, revealing what seemed to be an unending cavern, lit at intervals by floating orbs of light.
In the entrance to the cavern stood a rounded desk with a plaque that read ‘Adam’s Archive’.
Behind the desk sat a young woman with such beauty that she couldn’t possibly be entirely mortal.
Her mousy brown curls cascaded over her slender shoulders and framed her delicate face. Her eyes seemed to emanate raw power that, if unchecked, could cause global devastation.
Her right eye shone blue, and swirled like the depths of the ocean, while her left was deep green and looked like the canopy of the rainforest.
“Welcome, my name is Beatrice, how may I help?” The girl’s full lips pulled into a sweet smile.
