Page 2 of SIN Bone Deep

“Thank goodness for that.”

Nova and I exchanged a look and hurried down the stairs as both aunts headed toward the kitchen. The light above the stove was on, but the kitchen was otherwise dark, turning the familiar shapes of pots and pans and the greenery that grew wherever there was room for a pot mysterious and eery.

A cauldron bubbled above the gas-lit flame. I went over to stir it, breathing in the scents of witch hazel, lavender, and calendula. A tonic for bruises, I guessed, leaving it to simmer and circling the central table, to where the room bent into an L. The original owner had built a false wall cunningly disguised behind wood paneling, perhaps to hide the tools of her craft during an era when owning them could mean death. We used the space as a walk-in-pantry, and it was now lined with shelving that held neatly labelled jars and baskets. The wooden floor cleverly hid a trapdoor into the cellar, and, when Callista lifted it, a woman and a young girl ascended the ladder.

For a moment, the little girl recalled to me that other. It had been less than a week since the accident, and it haunted me, her broken little body, and her fear. And the burning eyes of the reaper as they had met mine…

This little girl had been weeping, her cheeks tracked with tears and her eyes red and swollen. The mother had been beaten, most likely in the morning before the man had gone to work from the scab of her split lip and the colour of her bruises.

“I’m sorry. I did not know where else to go. I couldn’t go to my mother’s – she’ll just make me go back to him,” the words poured from the woman. “If I go back, he will kill me. Please. Please. I’ve heard the rumors that you help women like me…”

She was not a local, I thought. Not born in Mortensby. But she had lived there long enough to have heard the townspeople speak of us.

“Of course, my dear. All who come seeking aid are welcome here,” Fennel said warmly, drawing them out of the pantry and over to sit at the farmhouse table which served as both our central kitchen island and an informal seating space. Nova put the kettle on to boil and began preparing tea and hot chocolate, setting cookies out onto a plate to tempt the little girl from her tears.

“Prepare a cord-cutting, Nyx,” Callista said quietly as she passed me.

I nodded and, as they calmed the child and began to tend to the mother, drew down the box of candles selecting one black and one white taper from within. We had many candles, all homemade and each for a purpose, in varying colors, scents, ingredients, shapes, and sizes. From a basket, I selected the black-dyed twine and cut off a length.

At a section of the kitchen bench out of the line of sight of the woman and her daughter, I prepared a tray with black salt and rosemary and set the candles a hand space apart with the twine joining them.

“Julie and Sophie from Warren,” Fennel said softly as she passed me on her way to the pantry.

“I release you, Julie,” I whispered as I lit the candles. “From Warren, I set you free, and with you Sophie, so mote it be.”

Fennel returned with cloth for bathing Julie’s bruises in the tonic, and as she began to wash Julie’s face, I could hear Callista on the phone, her side of the conversation sparse as she knew she could be overheard.

“Yes, as soon as possible,” Callista said. “Mother and daughter… Nine or so… Yes… I will have them ready.” She set the old-fashioned handpiece onto the receiver. “They will be here shortly and will take you to the home of a volunteer. You can stay with her for as long as you need, and when you are ready…”

I stopped listening as the flames had reached the twine. Julie’s flame was weak, fluttering, and fragile, whilst Warren’s burned in a tall, bright flame. Julie’s flame smoked the twine but did not catch upon it, fighting to sever but lacking the power to do so. On Warren’s side, the wax that melted sealed the twine to the candle, appearing to absorb it.

“Oh,” Nova came to stand and watch with me. “I haven’t seen that before.”

“Shh,” I cautioned her, leaning around her to see the table. The aunts were almost done patching Julie and Sophie up for transfer to the safe house and had not heard her.

There was a network of people who worked to assist women to escape domestic violence, but they were very covert as to how they performed their role. All we had was a phone number. We did not know their names, or where they took the women that we gave into their care. However, my aunts did get mail from the women that they had helped over the years, little letters with no return addresses that thanked them for their help.

Julie’s candle went out.

There would be no letters coming from Julie in the future, I thought grimly.

Warren’s flame continued until it burnt itself out as a stub, the twine deeply buried in his wax and still holding onto Julie’s candle.

The phone rang, and Nova and I both jumped.

“Hello?” Callista answered it. “Yes. We will be out front waiting. Thank you.” She hung up. “They are almost here. They do not like to stay overlong. The car will pull up, you must get in, and then you will be on your way to safety.”

“Thank you,” Julie’s voice shook with relief and exhaustion. “Thank you so much.”

As they moved through the house to the porch, Nova and I looked at each other.

“What does it mean?” Nova asked me.

“Nothing good,” I replied. “I’ve never done a cord-cutting spell where the cord was not severed.”

“The aunts will know,” Nova comforted me, placing her hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Nyx. Sometimes spells go wrong, right?”

She thought I had miscast it, I realized. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I told her. “It was them, not me.”

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