by Tania Hutley
With my sore leg I’m easy to corral, and when she gives me a push, I fall into the hallway. As my uncle comes out of his study, I pull my hand free of my pocket, leaving the piece of paper tucked away.
“Didn’t I say I’d come by tomorrow?” my uncle says, blinking at me.
My mind is still on Aunt Therese. Does she know something about the murders? Has she given me something important? But whatever she gave me is clearly between us, so I force myself to focus on my uncle and try and act normal. “I heard about Mireya.”
He nods and waves me into his study. “Come and sit down. I was taking a moment to collect myself while I feed Jemima. It’s a terrible shock.”
I haven’t been here in years, and Uncle Ray’s study is much plusher than I remember. He has golden drapes, a high-backed leather chair and an enormous wooden desk. Mahogany, perhaps? A large glass cage takes up one wall. I remember it from my childhood because I always thought it was creepy.
A quirk of the animal magic side of the family is an affinity to a certain type of creature. My mother’s magic used to bring packs of stray dogs into our house, though after I absorbed her magic, I’ve been attracting cats instead.
Uncle Ray’s glass cage holds the creatures he has an affinity with. It looks a little like a forest in there, with tree branches, fresh leaves, and a thick layer of dirt on the bottom of the tank. Even a shallow dish of water that’s molded to look like a mini lake.
Inside the cage, spiders clamber everywhere. They crawl and fight, and have way too many legs for my liking. And they’re big. Really big. Lots of tarantulas, and others with thinner bodies and impossibly long legs. Not as huge as the massive model spider on his desk, but still nightmare-inducing.
I try not to let him see me shudder as I slide into the guest chair that faces his desk.
He moves behind the desk to settle into his large leather chair. It looks like the kind of chair a James Bond villain would have. My nondescript uncle looks out of place as he slides into the seat made for someone with a far more menacing aspect. He leans forward, reaching out with one hand to the model spider as if he’s going to pat it.
I cringe at the idea of touching it, even if isn’t real.
Why would anyone want such an enormous fake spider taking up most of the room on their desk? It’s really life-like. Whomever made it must really like—
The spider lifts one thick, hairy leg. I flinch backward, clutching the arms of my chair.
That monster is alive?
“Good girl, Jemima.” Uncle Ray lets the spider walk up his arm. The thing is the size of a puppy. Its front legs are halfway to my uncle’s elbow before its back legs leave the desk.
“Hungry, girl?” he murmurs. With his free hand, he takes a lizard out of a little box on his desk and feeds it to the spider.
I look away, swallowing. The lizard is alive, and watching it squirm in the spider’s mandibles isn’t my idea of a bag of chuckles.
“Did I see you limping, Saffy?” asks Uncle Ray. “Are you okay?”
“I was attacked by a pack of dogs.” Shifting in my seat, I keep my gaze averted from the lizard bloodbath.
Is it my imagination or can I hear chomping?
“One of the dogs tore up my leg. And their eyes were glowing, like they were under a spell.”
“Under a spell?” He frowns. “Somebody sent them to attack you?”
I nod, but I have other things on my mind. “Do you know what happened to Mireya? I mean, how it happened? Was her chest…?”
“Like Sylvia’s?” He nods. “Apparently so. Her heart was missing.”
I close my eyes. Mireya and I might not have been besties, but she didn’t deserve to die that way. Nobody does.
Maybe Uncle Ray realizes I don’t want to watch Jemima having lunch, because he gets up and starts coaxing the spider off his arm and into the cage.
“Is Dallas okay?” I ask. “He was with Mireya when I saw her.”
“He wasn’t there when it happened, but he’s the one who found her.”
“That’s rough.” I don’t like the guy, but he and Mireya seemed close, and I know how devastating it is to find the body of someone you love.
“Is that why you came?” asks my Uncle, sliding the lid of the spider cage back into place. When he turns, I see he’s swapped the monster spider for a smaller one. Smaller in comparison, that is. Although it’s not Jurassic Park sized like the first one, its fat body still takes up his entire palm and its back legs are on his wrist.
“I came to ask what you think is happening,” I say. “Everyone who’s died has been a council member. That must be why they’re being targeted. And you and Aunt Therese are on the council, which means you’re both in danger.”
My uncle nods. “I’ve already discussed that possibility with the other council members. We’re taking precautions.” He leans against his desk. “It’s you I’m concerned about. You’re not spending time with that detective, are you? It never pays to get too close to a mundane. He’s not part of our world.”
“It’s your world, not mine.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “Besides, the detective’s okay. He took me to hospital to get patched up.”
He clicks his tongue and comes over to me. “Which leg was hurt?”
“This one.”
He moves next to my chair. There’s a thick coating of blood on his palm, though I didn’t see him cut himself. He sweeps his middle finger through the blood and uses it to draw a rune on the leg of my jeans.
Wait a minute. What happened to the spider? Is that where the blood came from?
“Uncle Ray did you just kill—?” The question flies out of my mind when his eyes light with a soft glow and he hovers his hand over the rune. A tingling sensation spreads down my leg and the pain dissipates into nothing.
“That’s so much better,” I say with relief. “Thank you.”
“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s your world too.” His voice is soft. “If you get hurt again, come to me. Stay away from mundanes.”
“I doubt I’ll see the detective again. He’s off the case and he blames me for it.” Standing up, I try walking on my wounded leg. It feels normal; the dog bite has completely healed.
“Did you kill that spider and use its blood?” I ask. “Isn’t killing a creature to use its blood against the rules?” Harming a person to use their blood is the realm of dark magic and strictly forbidden. But a spider’s blood? I’ve never heard of a witch doing that. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be possible.
“There’s no law against it,” he huffs. “Do you think I’d break the rules?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I think you’re the last person who’d break them.” It sounds like I’ve upset him, so I search for a change of subject. There’s a picture of Aunt Therese on his desk. She’s dressed to play tennis, and has a racket over her shoulder and a huge smile on her face. I try to match the image in the photo with the woman who opened the door to me earlier, and it’s almost impossible.
“Is Aunt Therese going to be okay?” I ask. “I didn’t realize how sick she was.” I finger the piece of paper in my pocket, wondering whether to ask my uncle about it.
Before I can decide, the phone on his desk rings and he picks it up. “Yes,” he says, glancing at me. Then, “Alright, fine.” He hangs up abruptly, wearing a sour look as though the call wasn’t a pleasant one.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“More blood ceremony madness. The moon’s proximity is disturbing everyone. I’ll be glad when it’s over.” He stands up, frowning. “I need something to drink, don’t you? Wait here and I’ll get us both something.”
“You’re busy, and I have things to do.”
“No, wait. Please don’t go yet, I enjoy your company. Sit for a few minutes.” He waves at a chair. “You’d like some hot cocoa, yes? I’ll get us a drink, then you must tell me about your visit with Mireya. You and Dallas were probably the last people to see her alive.”
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br /> He bustles out. When the door shuts behind him, I test my leg by rubbing the place where the wound used to be and stretching my muscles. Then, drawn by morbid fascination, I drift over to watch the spiders in the cage fight with each other.
But my mind is on Aunt Therese.
I didn’t even ask what’s wrong with her. Something psychological? Alzheimers, perhaps? Whatever it is, it must be impossible to heal through magical means.
I should spend some time with her. Perhaps I could offer to help Uncle Ray caring for her. It’s not too late to make up for my long absence.
I’ve just glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering where Uncle Ray is, when he comes in carrying two cups of steaming cocoa. Though it hasn’t been my drink of choice for a dozen years, it smells good.
“Here.” He hands one to me. “Now, tell me what you and Mireya spoke about.”
The cocoa is surprisingly delicious, far better than I remember. I sit in the big armchair and sip it while I tell him about my visit to Mireya. I’m going to tell him about Agnes too, and ask for his help to change her back into a human. But first, I relate everything Mireya and I talked about, including what I can remember about all the different types of dog demons she mentioned.
My uncle watches me intently, nodding at parts of my story. Then he murmurs something I don’t catch.
“Excuse me?” I try to ask, but what comes out sounds like, “’Sckusmm?”
My uncle doesn’t seem to notice my inarticulate question, because though his gaze stays on me, his mouth is still moving. I can’t make out the words he’s murmuring.
My toes are tingling, but when I try to wriggle them, nothing happens. I can’t move my legs. They feel dead. Or paralyzed.
Uncle Ray puts his cup on the desk. Blood is smeared on its side.
Shit.
The mug of cocoa slips from my fingers and lands in my lap, before my hands fall by my sides. I can’t say anything. Can’t cry out. My head lolls forward, then the floor rushes toward me. Every muscle in my body fights for a way to protect my head as I fall. It’s no use. The side of my head hits Uncle Ray’s plush rug hard enough that stars fill my vision.
“Are you alright, Saffy?” My uncle kneels by my side to turn me over. “I had no choice.”
My mind screams profanities, but my mouth won’t form the words. Hell, I can’t even blink angrily at him. All I can do is stare up at my uncle’s traitorous face.
“Was this really necessary?” he asks. But he’s not speaking to me now. Somebody else steps into my view. A tall man with a long gray beard. Magnus Fox. I should have known.
“She wouldn’t have come willingly,” says Magnus. “And the Veritas needs to see her to determine the truth.”
My chest feels like iron bands have tightened around it. Whatever spell Uncle Ray cast has paralyzed me so completely that it’s hard to breathe.
The Veritas is the witch with the ability to create living statues.
And now, as I lie on his plush rug, unable to move or even scream, I realize my uncle has given me a taste of the horror of that punishment.
Fourteen
The council is headquartered in a huge mansion in the forested area of Druid Hill Park. It’s hidden from the city’s mundanes using a complex spell that’s been in place for hundreds of years. When they look in the direction of the council chambers, they see a part of the forest too thick and dark to penetrate, and if they try to get close, they don’t even feel the magical nudge that steers them right past it.
Though my parents came here all the time for council meetings and ceremonies, I’ve never been here. The wards that surround the place are so strong that nobody can get near the place without an invitation.
Mostly frozen in the back seat of Uncle Ray’s car, I’m not exactly in a mood to appreciate my first visit.
My uncle’s spell is wearing off, and I’m finally getting enough movement back that when we pull up to the front doors, I can get out of the car by myself. But my legs are weak and I can only move slowly. Somewhere in the distance an elephant trumpets. The Maryland Zoo is just down the hill, and I can feel how unsettled the animals are, even from here.
Aunt Therese gets out of the passenger seat and stands with her back to me, looking out over the gardens. I’m thankful Magnus Fox drove here in his own car so I didn’t have to endure his company.
Uncle Ray tries to take my arm to help me walk up the steps leading up to the building’s impressive entrance, but I manage to shake him off.
“I trusted you, Uncle Ray,” I snarl. And while I haul myself up the steps, I inform him about the exact characteristics of the foul stream of fecal discharge he resembles. I count it as a small win when I manage to stagger unaided through the building’s front doors and see that his face has flushed a deep shade of red.
The lobby is enormous, with a gold and marble theme that makes it feel both opulent and cold. Two statues stand guard beside a grand staircase. They’re made of stone, but intricately carved. A man and a woman. Both have wild, unseeing eyes. The woman has her arms flung up and her mouth open in terror, as though the sculptor captured her mid-scream. The man has his hands up too, but in a defiant, attacking posture, though he looks just as terrified.
My throat closes and I stop dead.
They’re not statues. They’re witches who’ve been judged by the Veritas. They’re still alive, unable to move or speak for the duration of their sentence, however long that may be.
That’s what could happen to me.
“Come on,” says Uncle Ray. “This way.”
Aunt Therese walks slowly but purposefully through the lobby, as though she’s being drawn forward on a string. She was silent in the car, and now I wonder if she even knows I’ve been brought here against my will. Ignoring me and Uncle Ray completely, she turns down a long corridor.
It takes a while for me to convince my legs to move again. Only the knowledge that my uncle could just restrain me with another spell gets me to follow him. Last thing I want is for him to use that paralyzing spell again now that I’ve seen the real living statues. I’ll never have another nightmare-free night as it is.
He leads me down the corridor after Aunt Therese, and through a set of big double doors into a circular room. Though the room itself isn’t large, I need to crane my neck back to see the ceiling. It extends up the full three stories of the building, and there’s an enormous round skylight set into the roof that shows a wide expanse of sky.
This must be the room where the council conducts its ceremonies, because there are circles carved into the floor, all connected to make one large ring. The circles are a dark blackish-red. The deep grooves in the floor must have had so much blood running inside them that it’s stained the marble.
The council members are all there, staring as Uncle Ray leads me in.
Magnus Fox stands tall in the first circle, his expression stern. His long gray beard hangs to the top button of his wrinkled gray shirt. Next to him is Dallas, his pale face filled with grief and rage. Dallas’s eyes are bloodshot and his clothes askew, his shirt buttons in the wrong holes. He looks like a man on the edge.
Next to Dallas is Amber, another friend of my parents’ who turned her back on me after they died. Then there’s Aunt Therese, picking at a thread in her dress. Uncle Ray is next, then a young girl who looks totally out of place. She’s around twelve or thirteen, I guess, and wearing white while most of the others are in black. Her dress is long and made of satin, and her long hair is as white as Dallas’s.
The six of them aren’t just in random places. Each stands in one of the circles carved into the floor. There is one circle for each council member, with two empty ones where Mireya and Sylvia must have stood.
Only there aren’t eight circles. There are nine. One isn’t stained with blood, which is why it’s harder to see. But yeah, definitely nine circles, with three of them empty. It’s a weird thing to notice at a time like this, but why is there an extra circle on the floor?
&
nbsp; My gaze flicks back to the young girl. Her hands are smeared with blood, and when she turns her face to me, her eyes are completely white.
The Veritas.
“Sapphira Black, you are here to answer two charges of murder,” says Magnus in his deep, booming voice. “You’re accused of killing Sylvia Black and Mireya Oswalde.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with their deaths. I’m innocent.”
“You must have had something to do with it,” snarls Dallas. He glares at me with pure hatred in his eyes. He’s just looking for someone to blame for the death of his beloved wife, I get that. And if he hadn’t put me in the firing line, I’d feel a lot sorrier for him.
“The Veritas will determine whether you speak the truth. Come forward.”
It’s clear he wants me to move inside the large ring, but I can’t force my feet to move. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. This is it. If the Veritas decides I’m guilty, I’ll become another statue decorating their lobby.
“You are here to be judged,” says the girl. Though her voice is soft, with a lisp that would have been cute on a normal kid, it still echoes around the room.
“You’re a little girl.” I cast an accusing look at my aunt and uncle. I’m facing the most horrible future imaginable, and it’ll be in the hands of a child to decide?
“I am everyone and everything. I seek the truth. Come before me.”
Her words take on a deeper tone, and suddenly my feet are moving without my consent. I let out a growl of anger and dismay, unable to stop myself walking toward her.
Her white eyes glow. When she catches my gaze, I can’t look away. The room dims, and in the dark, her features take on a sharper quality. Shadows highlight the lines of her face and she seems more like a devil than a young girl.
I stop directly in front of her. Her eyes dominate her face. She reaches out with one bloody hand and drags her finger across my forehead, drawing a rune on my skin. Though I’m innocent, I feel the urge to blurt out a confession. The Veritas’s white eyes glow brighter. They’re all I can see.
