Inside the box is folded pale blue velvet, silver thread ancient and new, all at the same time. That whiff of magic Hecate had sensed all of a sudden isn't a whiff – it's heady and old, dormant. Hecate reaches for it, a stray thought causing her to still before she picks up the fabric.
Is this a Cloak?
"...may I?" Hecate questions, hoping her simple etiquette is enough even for this sleeping relic.
"Of course," Julie encourages, reaching underneath it to pull out a small tetrahedron made of a pale white wood. Like the velvet, the item has a soft undertone of magic but unlike the fabric, it's faded to a point where Hecate doubts it – whatever it is – would work. "What's the robe?"
Hecate turns her gaze on the fabric, picking it up and feeling the magic kick into action. Definitely a Cloak, she swallows, eyes widening as she spreads it out. The Cloak is an older style than Hecate has seen, more similar to the Cackle Cloak than the Hardbroom Cloak, with a high collar and reaching to the ground, the silver embroidery bordering the edges except for below the collar – instead, decorating the collar with similar, but different type.
It takes Hecate an embarrassingly long few moments as she inspects it to realise the collar is decorative, compared to the embroidery around the edges, which is chockablock with runes and protective sigils. Laying it out on the table so she can see the empty back, Hecate narrows her eyes.
"What is it?" Julie questions, sounding troubled.
"This is a Wedding Cloak, passed down from Hubble witch to Hubble witch forever how long your Family has existed. Even without magic, you've all kept it, a more significant argument in my theory that you have been magic-less witches the entire time."
"A Wedding Cloak?" Julie raises an eyebrow, "Is this like in 'Game of Thrones'?"
"I have no idea what this 'Game of Thrones' is," Hecate mutters in reply, before placing her hand on the middle of the blank back, reaching deep down into the slowly-waking, but exuberant Cloak. It feels like Mildred, Hecate thinks with some exasperation. She feels the deep magic inside it, but right before she can approach it properly, it lashes out at her, categorising her as a foreign witch – an attacker. Hecate hisses in pain, drawing back her hand as it steams, burnt.
"Oh my god," Julie drags her to her feet, taking her to the kitchen to run her hand underwater. Hecate, more shocked at Julie's sudden action than the burn, stands still, letting Julie inspect her hand under the kitchen light, through the cold water. "This is at least second degree – what even happened?"
"...Cloak's have defence mechanisms, mostly to ensure no-one can tamper with them to add or remove Family members. Even banished Family can marry under their Family Cloak – it's one of the few reasons that banished Family and current Family ever meet, including their subsequent branches," Hecate explains softly. "You'll find that in the witching world, main branches, secondary branches and suchlike-" bastard branches, she thinks in the privacy of her own head "-are set in a certain hierarchy."
"Why did my Family Cloak attack you?" Julie questions hotly.
"Because I am not a Hubble," Hecate says, wryly wondering what would have happened if the Cloak had been aware of the latest gossip. Lip twitching at her own little inwards joke, Hecate watches Julie pause and go a little red.
"...right. Of course. Makes...perfect sense." Julie looks back at her hand, pursing her lips. "Can you heal this with magic?"
"Cloak Magic is irreversible," Hecate states, looking at her hand in regret. "This will have to heal...naturally."
"Right. I can do something to help, then," Julie says, letting go of her hand to dry her own with a nearby tea-towel. "Keep it under while I get my burn kit."
Hecate does as she's told, keeping quiet and doing as instructed when Julie returns. Julie makes her keep her hand under the tap for another ten more minutes before letting her dry her hand gently with paper towels. Then, having her sit again in her chair, Hecate winces her way through Julie cleaning it, rubber gloves a strange, new sensation on her wrist as Julie holds it in place expertly.
"I think we could forgo a bandage," Julie says, eyeing it carefully and then looking at Hecate with narrowed eyes. "But I bet you're the kind of person who still uses their limbs when they're hurt."
"...perhaps," Hecate says guiltily, looking away, back at the Cloak which Julie had angrily folded over a chair.
"Bandage, then," Julie says and as she prepares one to loosely wrap around Hecate's hand, the witch motions to the velvet.
"It shouldn't be blank. It should have some sort of mural or coat of arms. I was going to see whether it had hidden itself, when it attacked me." There's a long pause as Hecate waits for a reply, but Julie is dedicated to wrapping her hand and fingers properly. "Julie. This was my own foolishness."
"As we previously established, you're my friend – if it's so magic, it should have let you do what you wanted instead of hurting you," Julie mutters darkly.
Flattered by her words, cheeks pinking, Hecate waits until her hand is bandaged to continue the conversation. "You need to give me permission to alter it. Or Mildred does. Either way, only the Hubble Matriarch can."
Julie gives Hecate a curious look, "I thought Mildred had to handle all things witchy – like the Hubble Grimoire."
"Well, she's the only one with active magic," Hecate allows, "but the Cloak would have burned me far earlier if you hadn't said that I could touch it. I imagine, as Mildred is not yet nineteen, you may act as...Regent, for the Cloak. Grimoires are a different branch to Cloaks, despite both things being Family Magic."
"See, this is why I want to learn," Julie shakes her head, "All these things Mildred isn't old enough for, that she doesn't know – I want to learn, but I also need to. Who would have told me all this if you hadn't, already?"
"I imagine Mildred might have asked her friends and teachers...me, or Ada." Hecate replies softly. "You may have been told in turn."
"Via Mildred, which isn't what a parent should do," Julie leans forwards, hugging Hecate gently. "Thank-you for this. I can't show you how much this means."
Stiff, Hecate nods, swallowing as Julie leans back, looking at her curiously again.
"If you don't mind me asking – are you autistic?"
"What is...autistic?" Hecate frowns, watching Julie's eyes widen.
"Right- okay," Julie leans back even more, running a hand through her curly fringe as she looks at Hecate like she doesn't know what to do. "Okay. Might as well have told someone at the school anyway. Mildred was okay with me telling her teachers at Saint Joseph's about her autism when the time came, anyway..."
A little frustrated at Julie's non-answer and pained by her hand, which was less numb now from the cold water, Hecate frowns and glares at her lightly.
"What, Julie, are you talking about? What is...autism?"
"It's classed as a mental disability," Julie says, "which is sort of rubbish. Do you know what I mean when I say 'brain chemistry'?"
"I could guess," Hecate grits her teeth, wondering why Julie would ask if she had a mental disability.
"Okay," Julie says quietly, almost to herself, before speaking louder. "Brain chemistry – in the average ordinary person, there's a certain template. Men and women have different brain chemistry, which can be tracked in transgender people too, actually. Autistic people have drastically different brains. It makes things difficult to process. Mildred was diagnosed when she was in nursery."
"How?" Hecate questions and Julie smiles at her.