Nine Shillings

In The Garden

London - 1842

I picked a spot in the garden well away from the house, the trees, and anything else flammable. Except for me, the book, and the grass which were unavoidable.

I lay the book on the frosty grass and peered at the yellowing pages. It didn't help much beyond making me look like I had some idea what I was doing. The book said I needed to draw in energy, tap into primal forces, and some wishy-washy rubbish about nature and knowing thy self. I had no idea what the book was talking about and it was a book about witch magic, books on Fae magic were the one thing Bran didn't have.

As long as I had no control, I was a walking signpost for our energy stealing murderer, which was dangerous for Bran and Josef too. I needed to learn control and staring at a book wouldn't get anything done.

I concentrated and threads of purple energy appeared running through everything, untangling and reforming, always in motion. I put my hands the grass, it was cold with the onset of winter and yet the ground buzzed with warmth. I pinched a thread and my fingers passed through. I lifted my hands, the threads followed, snapped, and fell away. It reminded me of trying to touch anything after the children had been eating toffee, it was amazing how far toffee could spread.

I tried again. The threads stuck and snapped. I couldn't grip them.

'You're thinking too hard,' Freyja said. 'You didn't even notice me.'

I swung round. She was leaning against a tree and looking at her watch.

'How did –'

'If it looks like a door, I can step through it.' She snapped her watch shut. 'I'd hazard a guess at "why" next.'

Nothing looked like a door as far as I could see. It was a silly thought, the door would've been on the other side, not in the garden. I glanced towards the house.

She tilted her head towards the house. 'That's a door I cannot cross. No Fae may enter a non-Fae home without permission.' She clapped her hands together. 'But that's another lesson.'

'Lesson?' I said.

'Aye, after our last meeting I decided I'd sorely regret if you burned up so I thought I'd help you out.'

'Oh, you did.' I supposed it answered the question of whether I was flammable or not. I doubted her motive was generosity, people didn't live as long as Freyja by going out of their way for people. Still, I was interested to know what she was up to.

She gestured at the spot I'd been kneeling. 'As you were.'

I got down on my knees, without turning my back on her.

'Now.' She crouched down in front of me. 'Magic can be a logical thing but you're not logical.'

I gave her a look and she gave me one right back.

'Power is what we are. We absorb it from the earth but it comes from the core of us.' She smacked my chest. 'And yours is rage. Use it. Don't let it use you.'

'You sound like, Josef,' I muttered at the grass.

'It's quiet here, Little Red, I have no trouble hearing you.' She chuckled. 'I'm sure he would be furious.'

I sighed and rested my hands against the buzzing ground.

'It's a symbiotic relationship,' she said. 'You need the magic of the earth to power you and the magic within you to access it, like blood vessels to and from the heart.' She leaned towards my ear and whispered, 'Use your rage.'

I closed my eyes and thought of the workhouse. Of how I ended up in London. Of Aubrey. Of Duncan. Of Richard hurting Bran.

My skin turned hot. The air cracked and crackled.