Moon Spell

“I’m sorry to call on you this late, but I’ve been…”

“It has begun earlier this time?”

His mother glanced toward the moon, so Bellamy did as well. It was full and brilliant in the night sky. “Yes.”

“Wait right here,” the woman said, and Bellamy held his breath, afraid to make a sound. Somehow he knew this was serious business between his mother and this woman, who also seemed like she did not associate with others very much.

The woman returned and handed his mother a plain bottle of clear liquid. “This batch will cost you more. It had to be specially created.”

“I don’t—” He could hear the panic in his mother’s voice. “I only have what was agreed upon.”

She scrambled to empty her pockets as if to prove how poor they were and how well they had to conserve their coin, only allowing for rare special treats once all the bills were paid.

“Perhaps you should consider other alternatives,” the woman said with an arched brow. “It might suit you better.”

“No, I cannot. I must take care of him—my son.”

His mother glanced over her shoulder, perhaps hoping he wasn’t listening. But he was, intently.

“If he ends up…” Now the woman looked over at him. “You will both be fine. Perhaps find somewhere to live in the country.”

“There’s no guarantee and certainly no kind of life for him,” his mother said in a desperate tone, though Bellamy thought the idea of living in the country sounded nice. He’d play in the grass, pick flowers, climb trees. And, of course, count the stars at night. “I can pay extra next time. I promise.”

The woman stared at his mother sternly, and Bellamy felt scared that she would deny her whatever it was she’d come for. She looked at him again, scrutinized him closely, then nodded.

His mother blew out a breath. “Thank you.”

Then she gripped his hand and pulled him toward the hallway, where he tried to keep her pace toward the waiting carriage.

Once she got them safely inside, she pulled him to her chest, crushing him in her embrace. He could feel wetness against his neck.

“Mama, why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad, just tired and looking forward to being home after a long day. Everything will be okay now, I promise.”

“Was that lady a witch?”

“Of course not.” She pulled back, her eyes wide. “Why do you ask such a thing?”

He motioned toward the bottle she’d placed on the seat beside her. “She gave you some kind of potion.”

“In due time, I will tell you all you need to know. You are too little to understand things now.” She clucked her tongue, and he felt guilty for asking. “And then we will have decisions to make, together.”

As the carriage pulled onto the cobblestone street, driving them home, she clutched the bottle to her chest, lost in her own thoughts.

Bellamy awoke shivering. He could feel the sweat cooling on his skin, which told him how much the dream—nightmare, more like it—had affected him.

He immediately felt Ashwood in the room, smelled him too. He tried to shake the memory, recoiling from it, but it was one that haunted him during the daylight hours as well, so he had no choice but to try to calm his breathing until he’d properly recovered.

“What were you dreaming about?” Ashwood asked warily. When Bellamy didn’t respond, he could feel him approach. “You were mumbling and twitching and appeared quite distressed.”

“I don’t want to discuss it,” he mumbled, just wanting to get on with it. “Is the carriage waiting, or was that another lie?”

“I promise to try again, but we are on the outskirts of Lunar’s Reach, and they don’t run as often as in town,” he replied, and Bellamy scoffed. “Don’t give me that look. It’s not an excuse. You can watch me out the window if you like. I will walk down to the nearest livery and inquire again.”

“That would require me standing, which I suppose I will need to do in order to get to the street…” Unless Ashwood carried him, which might cause suspicion. He realized he was babbling and saw Ashwood bite back a smile. “Never mind.”

He felt disappointed but also strangely at peace now that there was an actual plan. He knew it was unwise to trust Ashwood, but when he looked into his eyes, his excuse seemed plausible. Besides, it was true that outside of Ashwood carrying him, it would do well for him to somehow gather more strength. Ashwood’s idea to eat and allow him near Bellamy was what it would take. After all, he felt small tendrils of energy gathering inside him every time the man was in the room.

“Here—a damp cloth to wipe your brow after that troubling dream,” Ashwood said, stepping nearer, and Bellamy allowed him to press it against his skin as a compromise on his conditions for departure.