Chapter Thirty-Two

FOLEY AND HIS cousin helped light candles and place them around the area, so they could hold a true coven council without leaving the front lawn of the Copry household. Rowan had checked on his father and found him still unconscious from Yael’s spell, and they both agreed to leave him. There was no telling what may happen if he saw Ithen, or if he would attack Storm after what had happened to Rowan.

For now, Cesa was safe and content, but Storm was determined to resolve his curse by the end of the night, once Ithen had been taken care of.

With the coven members rallied, Storm began the meeting with what mattered most: explaining everything. Foley’s mother Florence volunteered her seer gift to prove that the answers they were given were honest and first-hand accounts. Rowan offered to read the cards of the meeting, drawing the upright Judgement to represent reflection, reckoning and awakening; Justice followed, to represent cause and effect, clarity and truth; and the Hermit finalised the reading to show that Storm offered contemplation, a search for the truth and inner guidance.

Once the leaders were satisfied that they could believe Storm’s every word, he walked them through the entire story, from being sent back in time to his changed friendship with Rowan, discovering Ithen’s crimes and how Ithen and Gladys had been working together. As Yael was a demon still not bound to any mage, the coven leaders accepted their word as impartial. Whenever they wanted a question answered, they asked Yael or Kyrie, trusting that neither could lie when asked a direct question.

Storm left nothing out, speaking about the rogue witches and mages who had worked with Ithen, that demons had become his allies, and that he was sure Gladys and Ithen had manipulated him during his first run at this life to prevent him from fulfilling the prophesy. His prevailing theory was that Gladys had only sent him back when magic began to fail, and the elementals suffered. Then and now, Gladys and Ithen saw Storm as nothing more than a pawn, finding no reason to remove him from the equation or fear his magic until his decision to study necromancy interfered with their plans.

Most of the covens listened without interruption. Gregory, Denver, Auden, or Scott would occasionally ask for clarification or to pause and focus on a certain event. Storm was happy to oblige, as all but Denver were coven leaders and had every right to question his story. He enjoyed the looks on their faces when Denver asked intelligent questions to clarify Ithen’s part in events and made observations none of the rest had considered.

Storm kept to the point, but some events were interwoven, and he had to recap others to provide context. He felt like he’d relived the entire last month in half an hour, but the covens soon had a full account of everything Storm knew about Ithen, his motives, actions and the crimes he had committed against magic and against the local covens who had welcomed him into their circle.

With the truth laid bare, Storm called for the covens to make their judgement.

“We recommend exile and to bind his magic,” Scott said, after conferring with the Sorrell coven for barely a minute.

Acting as the Copry coven leader, Rowan was left to make the decision for his family. The absence of any member of the coven beside him and his father was noted by every other coven, now aware that the demon horde had frightened them off or rendered them unconscious during the fight. For now, they were happy to believe that Ithen had infiltrated the coven and used his control of Cesa to manipulate them. Whether they’d been spelled, cursed or simply won over by Ithen was something they would only discover after the members had regained consciousness.

For now, Rowan had a decision to make, and they all waited with bated breath to hear what he had to say. “I say we stick to the old ways. Death for a coven traitor.” He didn’t glance at Storm, but he wasn’t angry. He couldn’t blame Rowan for feeling the way he did, because his father had suffered the worst under Ithen’s curse.

“I support the motion.” Florence Lasym was usually calm and poised, but she readily agreed with Rowan for once. “I don’t believe someone who has committed the crimes that Ithen has can ever be considered redeemable. Balance should be restored with the spilling of his blood.”

Storm nodded, though he’d hoped to avoid a death sentence if only to give him more time to find a cure for Cesa. “I’d like to recommend we strip Ithen of magic and wipe his memory. We can’t undo what he’s done or change his personality, but he wouldn’t be any more dangerous than a regular human.” He wanted a unanimous vote, but the least he could ask was that they rendered Ithen magically impotent; without magic or any memories related to magic, he could be confined in a prison or mental institution to suffer the way Cesa had for the last ten years and more.

Auden nodded with a cruel smile. “I agree.” He was trying too hard to get on Storm’s good side, but he made the vote equal.

Two counts for death, two for the elimination of magic. As the Sorrell suggestion of exile was accompanied by the idea of binding Ithen’s magic, the vote became a majority for rendering Ithen human and left the how and when of that decision firmly in Storm’s hands.

*

WITHIN TEN MINUTES, in which Storm cleansed his magic and accepted a rejuvenating drink and snack from Kyrie, chaos erupted amongst the covens. Irritated by the distraction, Storm left his secluded area of contemplation to find Gregory standing at the side of the bickering gathering, biting his thumb nail. “What the hell happened?”

“Mrs Sorrell got confused and had a flashback to when her father faced the council forty-five years ago. She was understandably upset,” Gregory explained with genuine sympathy for her condition. “Florence made a snippy remark about how the Sorrell family were unstable and they shouldn’t be allowed to remain in the circle. Scott shot back that Florence should get off her high horse because she’s not even a real Lasym since she married in and…this happened.”

The explanation was more than Storm required but let him know who was to blame. Putting fingers to his lips, he whistled loud enough to interrupt the shit-storm that Rowan stood in the middle of, trying but failing to diffuse the situation.

“Florence—keep your bitchy judgements to yourself,” he demanded, refusing to apologise to Foley for telling off his mum because he looked embarrassed enough. “Mrs Sorrell has a legitimate medical condition that causes confusion, and in case you haven’t noticed, my boyfriend’s father is losing his mind. Attacking the mentally impaired—and being bloody tacky—might not be the best way to go.”

He’d always hated her arrogance. Just because her family of white witches dated to the beginning of magic, she thought she was better than most. One day he would dig into her family background to prove that one dark mage lurked in her line. For now, he had to yell at adults who behaved no better than kids.

He turned to the coven leader. “Scott, don’t stoop to her level. She’s just pissed that she didn’t get her own way.” Storm faced the gathered coven members to remind them of the facts. “In case you forgot, I didn’t agree with Rowan either, but he’s mature enough to accept my decision instead of pouting like a brat. Keep the bitching to zero or go somewhere I don’t have to hear you. I have an important spell to work, and I now have to cleanse my energy again, thanks to you lot bickering.” He didn’t bother waiting for an apology or to hear the inevitable muttering.

Storm walked back to the quiet space he’d found to complete his cleansing and sank to his knees in the treeline to start over. Yael poured from a bottle of purified water into a bowl, blew their magic into the spell, and handed the bowl to Storm to drink.

Rowan lit the candle in the centre of the space they’d cleared amongst the fallen leaves, half white and half black to represent the two sides of Storm’s magic. Blowing out the match he’d used to light the candle, he set the still smoking end into the side of the candle to represent north. He lit a second candle, then blew out the match to set in the place for south. Taking the box of matches, Yael lit the matches for east and west.

For a full minute, Storm sat on his knees, breathing deeply of the elements, connecting to the four corners of time and space, and using his magic to remove impurities. In a matter of minutes, he was ready to try the spell.

Approaching Ithen, Storm pushed back the sleeves of his jumper and stood a foot from where the mage hovered in the air. He brought Ithen to his feet but didn’t remove the barrier keeping him immobile. While the script for this punishment was basic, he’d run a few ideas past Rowan.

“Ithen Deontay, you are judged by this coven, council, and circle to have committed crimes against magic, human nature and the Fates,” Storm said, deciding to get a few things off his chest while he could. “You are hereby convicted of murder, treason, and betrayal and will face a sentence befitting your crimes.”

Storm whispered his intent to his magic, which struggled because his innate powers were reluctant to let Ithen escape justice for the wrongs he’d committed against dark magic. The most important argument he could give his magic was the reminder that the only fitting punishment for a man who sought to become the only magic user left in the world should be to lose all knowledge and connection to magic.

Ithen’s greatest fear was not being good enough or having enough power, unable to prove his worth with a flick of his wrist or bend the will of another with a whisper. They couldn’t undo what he’d done and killing him would make them as bad as he’d become, so Storm thought they should turn Ithen into his worst nightmare: a regular, powerless human.

His magic calmed upon realising Storm wasn’t prepared to taint his magic with the murder of another human being. Gathering what magic he could into both hands, he lifted them to his mouth and blew. A black cloud of magic rushed toward Ithen, penetrating the confining barrier to wriggle into Ithen’s ears and mouth in search of his magic.

Storm felt empty as his magic worked separately from him for the first time. The constructs of the spell were complex, so the distance was a necessary precaution; had he attempted to have contact with Ithen or be inside his head, Storm could risk losing his magic and taking Ithen’s in exchange.

While he allowed his will and magic to flow through Ithen, seeking every last piece of magic within him, Storm turned his attention to the audience of coven members. “Through this journey to fulfil the prophecy, I’ve noticed disturbing truths amongst those of us with magic. It’s made me question whether the prophecy truly means for me to become the ‘owner’ or ‘leader’ of those who have magic or if the Fates wanted me to protect magic, to ensure all magic is used properly, with guidance, logic and consideration,” he confessed, looking at the coven members he had the most concerns about.

Florence was ruled by her stubborn, holier-than-thou attitude, while Auden’s ignorance had led to the mistreatment of demons. Even Gregory had big shoes to fill, hopefully without becoming his grandmother and repeating her mistakes.

The few faces of dissent remained silent, unaware they were the focus of his words. “Whether magic or power, people can’t help but feel threatened by someone with more ability. They convince themselves they’ve been persecuted or that a simple disagreement has become an attack or a fight to the death,” he explained, making sure Florence noticed his stare. Her reaction to Mrs Sorrell’s innocent outburst had been uncalled for and unprovoked. She needed to start acting like the goody-two-shoes she pretended to be.

“They even end up victimising those weaker than them,” Rowan added, sending him a warm and supportive smile across the short distance between them. He glanced back at his father, who remained unconscious in Kyrie’s care, his concern obvious.

“Yes.” Storm wished he could comfort Rowan but knew better than to redirect his will from the spell. “Tonight, we’ve seen the devastating consequences of what happens when someone’s will is forced and twisted. Cesa has been suffering for a decade, but even the witches and mages who fought with Ithen tonight have suffered moments of confusion. We don’t know what will happen to those Ithen manipulated, but we’ll do what we can to free them from his power. Those like Cesa Copry, under a curse for years, may never see justice or freedom,” he said, sparing a glance for Cesa, his heart hurting to see the man helpless.

“I genuinely believe the world would be better off without magic, but that isn’t my decision to make. The Fates gave us these gifts for a reason, and we’ve been selfishly misusing them. Myself included. From this moment on, I accept their prophecy, the path they’ve paved for me, and I will become the Protector of Magic. I will do all in my power to ensure anyone born with magic is taught and trained how to respect magic.”

Reed Hadley had taught him so much, without living long enough to know his impact and the legacy he’d left behind. His nephews were never allowed to know the man who had become a teacher and mentor to Storm, but he would make sure his name was remembered. Though he had only read the man’s words, he’d learned from his wisdom, through his mistakes, theories, and hopes for the future. He wanted the Hadley nephews to share in that knowledge.

“I also want to be abundantly clear that demons are our allies, not slaves or objects to be used for a purpose and discarded,” Storm continued, sparing a smile for Yael, who stood nearby, leaning on their scythe. “Anyone who wants to bond with a demon will need the demon’s permission. A contract will be required, sealed in the blood of both as a promise that any magic performed will be through free will. I won’t watch any more demons being mistreated or kidnapped for their power.”

Kyrie and Haven had suffered so much. Once this thing with Ithen was over, he would ask Kyrie to help him free any other demons held against their will by a bond only Storm could break. If he’d intended to add anything else, Storm forgot when an audible pop rippled the air, and his magic shot into his body with such force he stumbled.

The change in Ithen became clear instantly: he was now without magic. Storm’s magic had escaped Ithen’s body before the pop killed whatever traces of magic remained, then snapped home in panic at the last moment.

Pressing his heart, both to comfort his magic and in relief that the shock he’d suffered was nothing awful, Storm laughed out the excess energy.

Rowan was quick to join him, though Yael rolled their eyes.

Shaking off the nervous energy, Storm bent at the waist, hands to his knees, and took slow steady breaths. The panic of his magic and the subsequent shock of the pop had his heart racing and his palms sweating.

“Um…Storm,” Gregory said, sounding oddly hesitant and someone gasped as bodies moved, pushing back to make room around the coven leader.

Storm looked up to find Ithen’s hand around Gregory’s throat. The man was seething, pale, and looked barely capable of doing more than holding himself up. With his hand around Gregory’s throat, they couldn’t be sure what he might manage before they could incapacitate him. Storm drew a blank on how to resolve this. If he used magic, Gregory could be hit or face a ricochet of the spell, but if he did nothing Gregory could die. A physical tackle was out of the question. Ithen was far superior in strength and physique to anyone gathered here, bar the demons.

“Ithen,” Storm said, but stopped when he realised there was nothing he could say to diffuse the situation. He was the real target, but offering himself would be offering magic stronger than anything Gregory had.

Always one to overreact, Florence didn’t hesitate to consider the situation. She wove white magic in her hands, whispering a spell that Storm deciphered at the last moment as a reverse healing spell—one to open any existing or healed wounds and make them bleed until Ithen inevitably died of blood loss.

Furious that she was ignoring the will of the council, Storm raised a hand the minute she let the spell loose and caught the ball of spite in his bare hand. The white magic burned his palm until his magic overpowered the spell and disintegrated the intent. “Don’t be reckless with someone else’s life! What did we just talk about?”

Florence truly had no regard for the rules, the council, or Storm’s position as the Chosen One and the rightful leader of all covens. She blatantly ignored him and began reforming the spell, while Scott argued with Rowan about the wisest course of action.

Foley grabbed his mother’s hand and winced as a spark of her magic singed him. They began bickering about responsibility, about listening to Storm, and Florence being so caught up in her emotions that she singed her own kid, something Foley took personally.

Before a single mage, white witch or human could notice, Storm felt the swell of Yael’s magic, their anger, and the determination to protect him. Everyone else was focused on Florence being reckless and Foley reasoning with her.

Ithen froze as a crack resonated through the night, and blood spurted from between his lips. A black talon erupted through the hole punched through Ithen’s chest…with Yael’s hand curled around the mage’s heart.