Blake groaned and tried to move his aching fingers. Damnit, the old lady had not been gentle. Was it even possible for the strains of a soul to be carried over to the body? Apparently.

“Weaving sucks!” Blake muttered and all stared at him like he was insane.

“That aside, did you see it?” Ahriman asked. Blake pouted and turned over.

“So you did not see it?”

“I saw it alright! I just did not understand what I was looking at,” Blake muttered and Ahriman cocked an eyebrow before nodding.

“Now that I think about it, why would a mortal be able to understand the threads of the universe without practice…”

“Well, I did not come back empty-handed,” Blake said and raised his hand. All stared at it but it was empty.

“Mon lapin, that is literally empty-handed,” Hadrien pointed out and Blake blushed furiously.

“It was a metaphor. I have learned Fateweaving!”

Ahriman’s eyebrows shot up as he listened to Blake.”The old hag actually taught you Fateweaving?”

“Yeah!”

“What the hell is Fateweaving?” Jaxon grumbled sourly.

“I can use the threads of fate to weave small changes to fate. It is a gamble if it will work but it might be better than nothing in a tough spot,” Blake nodded and Ahriman sighed before looking at the two boys with a sharp gaze which screamed of murder.

“And if you tell anyone about this I will skin you alive.”

Hadrien just shrugged, clearly having no problem with it. Jaxon, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you would have pissed me off.”

“That’s not what I asked, why can’t we tell anyone?”

“Because I say so…” Ahriman sighed as Jaxon refused to relent. “Because it is very rare and advanced magic only a few in the world have even heard of. If the witches of the coven find out about it they might try to steal the magic by hurting Blake or in worst case scenario dispose of him to make sure he won’t be too powerful.”

“There is a reason why I hid my spells behind vulgar pictures of men.”

“Wait, you are still doing that with my grimoire?” Blake suddenly asked.

“I never stopped.”

Blake groaned and rolled around on the ground like he was in pain.

“Blake?” Jaxon asked gently.

“I showed that damn grimoire to Pyramus the other day! He just mumbled interesting and kept reading it so I assumed you have lifted the damn illusion.”

“It seems your Dark Arts teacher has other interests,” Ahriman chuckled. “Maybe you will get an A in his subjects. What are they? Drama?Art?”

“Both,” Blake muttered while allowing Jaxon to drag him up into his arms. “Have anything happen while I was gone?”

“Jaxon has gotten the task to handle Mark Rowe,” Hadrien said without hesitation and ignored Jaxon's angry glare. Apparently, Jaxon did not want him to know about his task.

Blake shuddered at the sound of Rowe’s name. He still remembers last year when he tried to break his hand…

Ahriman noticed Blake’s pale face and frowned. “A friend of yours?”

“More like an enemy. He likes to target witches for bullying,” Jaxon huffed.

“That can hardly be called bullying. He was abusing them. Send several of them to the hospital. Tried to break Blake’s hand last year,” Hadrien muttered. Ahriman listened with a frown before grimacing when he heard the last part.

“Seems like a dog who needs to be punished,” Ahriman’s grimaced turned into a wicked smile, ”be delighted, boys! I’m going to help you take down the mutt.”

*****

Elliott walked up to the bistro in the Rhayadar. The town laid beyond Elan Valley and it was far bigger than Elan Village or their own village Mactire in Claerwen Valley. It was a quaint town with pretty, old buildings and kind people.

The Bistro in the town was never a common location to visit by wolves. Not enough meat. Now when he thought about it, few restaurants are able to keep up with their demand for meat. Still, it was the place he was told to meet him. A strange meeting place though.

Elliott entered the little white cottage and soon heard his name being called. A tad uncertain, he still walked over.

“Idris Nemain?”

The man in a fancy suit smiled gently at him. He had short hair and a nicely trimmed beard. His dark blond hair seemed lighter in the sunlight and so did his blue eyes.

“Elliott Price, I recognized you immediately. The three Price brothers are rather famous I must add. Sit down, please,” Nemain said and gestured towards the chair in front of him after they shook hands. It was a firm handshake and Elliott smelled the lingering scent. A strong male scent, with a hit of expensive cologne. This man was both classy and rich, not an unusual combination for a witch but it was clear he was of higher status as a Justicar.

“I must say, I did not think much of this place as it was so quaint but I was pleasantly surprised. Not only did it have quite an extinguished bistro but also a museum. Well, something like it at least. Not as wonderful as Birmingham’s but still a good effort. When you forget about culture, that’s when true barbarism comes into play.”

“But where are my manners? My name is Idris Nemain. I am a Justicar from the Birmingham Coven. Birmingham's coven is one of the largest in the land, only rivaled by the one in London. As you might already know, I have come to inspect and past judgment on Fingal Keir,” Nemain introduced himself after they both ordered from the menu.

“I heard as much from Scarlett Graycrest. She was rather loudly proclaiming it in the matter of fact,” Elliott muttered.

Nemain cocked an eyebrow,” who?”

Was he jesting? It didn’t look like it.

“The High witch of Elan Coven.”

“Ah, that… lady. Yes, I do seem to remember her now,” Nemain said and scratched his skin with a pondering look on his face.

“So you know who I am but do not recognize the High Witch of the Elan Coven. Are you trying to butter me up? It’s working,” Elliott said and Nemain leaned forward over the table with a slight, alluring smile.

“Well, how can I ever forget such a handsome man?”

Yep, this one was definitively flirting. His pheromones were so thick his wolf made cartwheels in his mind. He had no idea if that was even possible but it sure felt like it. She was more than willing to be courted.

“I’m starting to believe you didn’t just choose this restaurant because it was your favorite,” Elliott said and his heart fluttered as he looked into the blue eyes.

“Oh, this one is my favorite but I might have chosen it because of its romantic atmosphere and by the look of your claws,” Nemain peeked at Elliott’s hands who was quickly removed as the wolf claws were in full view,” I think it’s working.”

“Sorry,” Elliott muttered while he forced his wolf back. The claws vanished and left in its wake ten very human nails instead.

“No need to apologize, it is appreciated that my hard work is acknowledged,” Nemain chuckled while Elliott cleared his throat. When did he start fumbling about like a teenager? He really needed to get out more.

“So, I take it you don’t like Scarlett Graycrest.”

“Ms. Graycrest is… Very much like your Ronan Walsh. She craves for tradition like wolf craves for prey.”

“And that is a bad thing.”

“Depending on who you ask. If you ask her son, then the answer would be yes. Birmingham was when I grew up a place of tradition and in such a place men had no status. I fought with every fiber of my being to become what I am today. Defying tradition as I find that tradition is only a way to exclude other people.”

“So I must admit. I find her values a tad-“ Nemain raised his hand towards the candle on the table which suddenly lit up as the flame danced at the sound of his voice,” unsettling.”

Elliott’s eyes followed the flame before turning to meet the blue eyes which seem to peruse him with interest.

“And I find those who defy tradition to be utterly charming.”

Elliott tried to hide his blush but that was utterly hopeless and just cleared his throat to say something like he hadn’t notice Nemains shameless flirting.”Then you do not support her when she wants to put the blame on Blake Oakley.”

Nemain frowned as he leaned back with a sigh.”Mr. Oakley, yes. I am well aware of her desire to shift the blame. I have no interest in such a thing. I put the blame where it belongs.”

“And is that with Mr. Oakley?”

Nemain did not answer and just watched the flame. Elliott felt his nervousness slowly rise with every heartbeat. “You cannot seriously think-“

“I will refrain from passing judgment until I have investigated but personally I feel like Blake had very little part in this. Mr. Keir’s fear stems from the dying World Tree. Mr. Oakley just unknowingly sped his fears along. But-“ Nemain met Elliott's eyes,“ it was Mr. Oakley who summoned the shade which possessed Mr. Keir. That is a fact and a crime.”

“He didn’t know, he was severely hurt. If he had not opened that portal he would not be here today!”

“We only have Mr. Oakley’s testimony of that. The druids were summoned but did not see anything of the like.”

“Interrogate the villagers. They should-“

“We did. Even his own family. None remembers anything.”

“They are lying!”

“I know, not a single one of them could look me in the eye when they claimed they knew nothing of it. So, yes. I do believe Mr. Oakley but I still would have wanted more evidence than his testimony,” Nemain sighed.

“I will interview him myself soon. Hopefully, I can clear things up but at the moment, both Mr. Oakley and Mr. Keir might be punished.”

Elliott frowned, “punished? how?”

“Nothing severely, he won’t even notice. Most likely I will give him a punishment that prevents him from joining a coven in around five years.”

“He doesn’t want to join a coven.”

“Exactly, so it won’t be much of punishment either way. It might be the best I can do.”

Elliott noticed Nemain's expression. Like he had eaten something sour.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing much. I just dislike Hedgewitches. Well, dislike is a strong word. I pity them. The covens have failed them. They were created because of the coven’s close-mindedness. I hope one day, the coven will be open for everyone. Then there won’t be any need for Hedgewitches.”

Elliott frowned at his words,” not everyone will want to give up being a Hedgewitch because you dislike them. The covens stand for control and rules. The Hedgewitches want freedom. That is not something the coven can offer them.”

The food came and Nemain received it with clear joy. He had ordered quite a lot for them. Most likely because he knew wolves ate much. He just smiled at Elliott and said a few last words before they started to eat.

“They will give up freedom if they are encouraged to do so.”