“And you think getting me killed would make me happy?”
“Perhaps,” Sophie says without a trace of humor so I know she’s serious. “But I don’t think you would die. You’re just as powerful as Merlin’s Scarlet Knight. And a little more challenge might snap you out of your doldrums.”
“I’m not in any doldrums.”
“You’ve been mired in them for almost two centuries now. When are you going to let him go?”
“That’s easy for you to say; you’ve never loved anyone in your life.”
“I love you and Mama and Agnes.”
“It’s not the same. Haven’t you ever looked at a mortal and wondered what it might be like to hold his hand or kiss him?”
“No. Mortals are beneath us. I’d just as soon kiss Bella.” Bella is Sophie’s tabby cat, an addition to the household a hundred fifty years ago. These days the cat rarely leaves Sophie’s room; it hasn’t caught a mouse since the Spanish Armada was defeated.
“You probably do kiss Bella.”
“Childish insults aren’t going to deflect me from the issue. Can you honestly say that you’re happy in your work?”
“My work isn’t supposed to make me happy.”
“Then maybe you should find something else to do.”
“Like what?”
“Have you considered teaching?”
“Why, something wrong with Hisae?”
“No, but you’re more powerful than her, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh, suddenly feeling tired. I can’t remember the last time I slept. “Why are you so concerned all of the sudden about how powerful I am?”
“Is it wrong to believe in my sister’s talents?”
“Do you give Aggie these pep talks?”
“Agnes doesn’t need them. She needs only warnings about her little flings.”
“Maybe that’s how she stays happy with her work.”
Sophie glares at me. “That’s not funny. You mark my words: one day one of these flings is going to bring her to ruin.”
“Like mine with Henri?”
“Henri wasn’t a fling.”
“Then what was he? A mistake?”
“He was the last vestige of your childhood.”
I leap to my feet, badly wanting to take my crossbow from its sling. “So you’re saying I should be glad to be rid of him? Is that it?”
“No. I’m saying that his death was the last step to you becoming a woman—an immature woman to be sure, but a woman nonetheless. You can never celebrate his death, but you can at least be cognizant of it being a growing experience.”
“Well, thank you very much. Is Mama still up?”
“No, she’s asleep. She has to get up early to inspect the grape presses.”
“Fine. I’m going to bed. Enjoy your book.”
“I’ve read it five times already.”
“Then why read it a sixth time?”
“To remind myself of the wisdom it contains.”
I shake my head and go upstairs. My childhood bedroom hasn’t changed much since we first arrived here. The dolls are still up on a shelf with whatever hairstyles I gave them. Only now I’ve added a few trophies from my years of killing monsters, like a horn from another Class-4 demon.
I toss my jacket on the floor along with my leggings and tunic. I untie my hair, shaking it free. Then I put on my nightgown so in the morning Mama won’t complain that I look like a stable boy instead of a proper young woman—some things never change.
***
Mama is downstairs at the breakfast table, along with Sophie. Like Sophie, Mama has let her hair turn gray, so they look more like sisters than a mother and her daughter. I could have let myself go gray too, but I need to be in peak physical condition for my job. Agnes likes to keep herself even younger out of vanity for her little flings, as Sophie says.
“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Mama says as I sit down.
“I got home pretty late.”
“Another monster hunt?”
“A Class-4.”
“Any problems?”
“No. Pretty routine.” Mama asks this whenever I come home after I was careless in my second assignment and came home with a gash across my midsection rivaling the one that had killed Henri. Aggie was able to give me a Restoration potion in time so I didn’t meet his fate. I wonder if Mama’s worries aren’t why Sophie wants me to go into teaching.
We spend the rest of breakfast idly discussing current events on the estate. The Devereaux clan still does all of our work; by now we’re to Clare’s great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren. I can’t stand being around any of them, always seeing signs of Henri in their eyes or noses or jaws. I wish Mama would hire someone else, but the Devereauxes are loyal, not to mention good workers.
After breakfast, Mama goes out to check on the presses, while Sophie retreats back to the library, where she will remain until lunch. I don’t know how she can stand doing nothing but reading and writing all day. If the high levels of magic wouldn’t make her ill, she would probably stay in the archives all the time.
I go upstairs and change back into my work clothes. Only instead of hunting monsters, I go out to the forest to hunt deer or other game. The paths are more overgrown than when Henri and I walked them, but I can still feel his presence when I’m out here. The place where we first kissed is still there, although nearly inaccessible now. I vanish myself there, the location burned into my memory enough that I only have to think of the place to take myself there.
I lie down on the ground, curling up on the spot where Henri and I kissed. His scent has long since evaporated, but I can still smell the faint odor of horseshit. To most people this isn’t very romantic, but to me it’s better than any perfume. I take off my jacket, balling it up to rest my head on it. As I close my eyes, I can imagine him next to me. I wish as I always do that we had been able to make love before he died.
A branch cracks and I open my eyes, reaching for my crossbow. It’s not a deer or a monster, only Glenda. Two hundred years haven’t changed her at all, but then she’s over three thousand years old according to Sophie. She holds up her hands in surrender before I shoot her.
“I thought you might be here,” she says.
“Get out of here,” I say. It’s not a proper thing for a witch—even a senior witch—to say to the head of the coven, but I don’t care. This spot is holy ground.
“Then let’s go somewhere else. Meet me at the front gates.” Glenda vanishes, leaving me alone again. I sit up and then put on my jacket again. With a weary sigh, I vanish myself to the front gates, where Glenda waits.
“You have another assignment for me?” I ask her. I don’t feel any need for pleasantries with her anymore. “Another bogeyman to track down?”
“Something much worse, I’m afraid.”
I think of my conversation with Sophie last night. “The Black Dragoon?”
“No. We leave that for Merlin’s armor to deal with.”
“Then what is it?”
Glenda’s voice goes down to a whisper and for the first time she looks almost fearful. “I’m afraid that Morgana has turned.”
“Turned?”
“She’s using her magic against mortals in some Scottish villages, making them disappear. We think she means to establish her own kingdom and then recruit other witches to join her.”
“I see. And you want me to kill her?”
“Only if you must. I would prefer that you bring her to the archives for punishment.”
“How am I supposed to do that? She’s a witch—a senior witch.”
“That doesn’t make her invincible.” Glenda reaches into her pocket for a doll-shaped charm made of auburn hair. “This should help you.”
“How did you get that?”
“I have my ways.”
I snort at this. “Let me guess, you have one for each of us stashed away somewhere?”
“Sometimes you’re nearly as bright as your sister.”
“I know how paranoid you are.”
“At my age you learn not to take chances.”
I take the charm from her, tucking it into my pocket. Next time I visit the archives I should go look for a hidden room where Glenda stashes her goodies. She probably has more than just charms in there to protect herself—and the coven.
“So where is this in Scotland?”
“The Orkney Islands. Way up to the north and right in the middle of nowhere.”
“Great. How much time do we have?”
“The longer we wait, the worse it will get. You should know that.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
Glenda touches my arm and again I can see the fear in her eyes. I know this isn’t going to be easy. “Be very careful of her. Morgana’s specialty is dream bending. If I were you, I would make sure I was good and rested before I go.”
“Good advice.”
“Be sure you heed it.”
“Right, I’m sure you’re really concerned about me.” Though I know it’s not fair, I can’t help but bear a grudge against Glenda and the rest of the coven. They could have stopped the war between the pope and King Louis so Henri wouldn’t have been forced into the army and died. They didn’t, just as they didn’t lift a finger when he died. I’m old enough to understand her reasons, but that doesn’t make it any better.
“I do care about you, Sylvia. Your mother is my best friend. I feel like you’re my niece—my favorite niece.”
“Well, Auntie Glenda, thanks for stopping by. If you don’t mind, I’m going to say goodbye to my real family now.” I leave her at the gate, deciding to walk up to the house to let the exercise take the edge off my anger. When I reach the steps, Glenda is still down there, watching me.
***
I go to the library first only to find Sophie waiting for me. Her face looks more agitated than I’ve seen it in some time, her lip curled as if she’s just bit into a raw lemon. “Is she still here?”
“Who?”
“Glenda.” The way she says this is as if she’s saying a curse word.
“I doubt it.”
“Good. Where is she sending you this time?”
“Scotland.”
“I suppose she wants you to nip Morgana in the bud.”
“You know about that?”
Sophie only shrugs. “Morgana asked me to join her months ago.”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“Of course not. Only a fool would confront Glenda so openly—yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sophie gets up from her chair and crosses the room to close the door, as if that would stop Glenda or Mama or any other witch from coming in here. Then she motions for me to sit down in the same spot as last night. “Glenda has been keeping secrets from us. Terrible secrets.”
I think of the charm in my pocket. “That’s not surprising.”
“I don’t have proof yet, but my preliminary research indicates that she’s been lying to us for centuries.”
“About what?”
“About everything. About the coven and even ourselves.”
“Ourselves?”
“Tell me something: what do you remember about Papa?”
“Nothing. But I was just a baby when he died.”
“I don’t remember him at all. Neither does Agnes.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that story Mama told us about Papa dying not long after you were born is a fabrication.”
“Then how did he die?”
“I don’t think he even exists.” She pats a pile of papers next to her. “That’s why I’ve been looking through the church records, to find proof of him. I haven’t found anything so far.”
“Maybe they weren’t as good at keeping records as you.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps Glenda is lying.”
“Wouldn’t that mean Mama is lying too?”
“She might not be aware that she’s lying.” Sophie leans forward, whispering, “Glenda is the most powerful of us, but she only allows us to see a fraction of what she can do. If she wanted, she could easily destroy those demons you chase after. She could probably destroy the Black Dragoon.”
“But she doesn’t. Why?”
“So we’ll do her bidding. Think about it, Sylvia: if it seems she needs us then we’re much more content than if we think we’re merely her puppets.”
“Sophie, this is madness. If anyone else heard you talking like this—”
“That’s why I’m waiting until I have proof.”
“So why are you telling me?”
“I only want you to watch out. As I told you last night, you’re a very powerful witch. So is Agnes. If she decides you’re too powerful then she might try to dispose of you.”
“Do you think Aggie is in danger?”
“Not at the moment. Agnes is too loyal to her. You are another story. She knows you don’t like her. She knows you bear a grudge against her for letting Henri die. Of all of us, you’re the one most likely to turn.”
I stare at Sophie for a moment, wondering why Glenda would send me to kill a traitor like Morgana if she really thinks I’m that vulnerable to turning. Maybe she thinks Morgana will kill me and solve the problem for her. Or maybe she wants me to prove that I’m a loyal soldier by bringing in her rival. “I should get going.” I stand up, but then stop myself. “Do you know if Aggie has an Energy Boost potion around here?”
“It should be in her hope chest. It’s a brown vial.”
“Thank you.” I go upstairs to Aggie’s room, which still looks as if a teenager lives in it. I toss aside a half-finished dress to uncover her hope chest. It’s locked, but the lock responds to my touch, as well as Sophie’s or Mama’s.
Inside the hope chest I find rows of tiny stone vials, each a different color. I run my finger along the tops until I find a brown one. Picking it up, I see, “Energy Boost” written in Aggie’s neat script. I drop this into my pocket, along with the charm. That ought to help me stay awake long enough to do the job.
As I close the lid, I think again of what Sophie said. Is this all an elaborate trap? Or is it a test for me to prove myself to Glenda? There’s only one way to find out—I vanish myself to Scotland.
Chapter 10
Getting to the Orkney Islands is the first major challenge. I can vanish myself anywhere in the world, but it has to be somewhere I’ve seen in three dimensions before. Otherwise I could wind up appearing in the middle of a wall or inside someone.
For that reason I have to begin my assignment in Edinburgh, the farthest north I’ve ventured to in Scotland. I appear in an alley, the smell of puke and shit immediately assaulting my nostrils. I’ve smelled worse things over the years, but I still feel a queasy tremor as I hurry out of the alley.
One of Sophie’s jobs for Glenda is to monitor the coven’s treasury, the loot of thousands of years piled up in some hidden location. Only a select few of the most senior witches—and Sophie—know where the treasury is hidden in order to maintain control of the funds. Once I find out how much for a carriage to Thurso, the northernmost port with ferries to the islands, I have to duck into another alley. There I scribble a requisition on a slip of paper and vanish it back to Sophie. A sack of coins appears a minute later. A note in Sophie’s neat script reads, “Spend this wisely. And take care.”
I return to the stables with the money to buy my passage. I assume I’m the only one heading for a godforsaken place like Thurso, but I’m wrong. A dapper old gentleman is already there, leaning on a walking stick as he waits. “You’re bound for Thurso as well?” he asks, his accent sounding like one of the natives.
“Yes,” I say. My English is stilted from years of little use, so I try to keep my words to a minimum. I could use a Speak in Tongues spell to speak flawless English, but I see this as a waste of magic; I’m going to need as much magic as possible to go up against a witch like Morgana.
“Then I guess we’ll be t
ogether for some time,” the old man says. He holds out a hand for me to shake. “The name’s Connor MacCullen.”
“Sylvia Joubert.”
“Ah, a French lass, eh?”
“Yes.”
“A beautiful country. Been there many times. Whereabouts are you from?”
“Marseilles.”
“Aye, I know that area well. Wonderful place.”
Before we can continue the conversation—or before he can continue the interrogation—the carriage pulls up. Connor, being a gentleman, holds open the door and gives me a hand to help me up. I take his hand, noting that it feels far rougher than that of a gentleman, more like a workman’s hand—like Henri’s hand.
The drive to Thurso takes the rest of the day. Since Connor and I are the only ones in the carriage, there’s no one else for him to talk to. While I keep my answers short and as unrevealing as possible, Connor is more than willing to go on at length about himself. As his accent indicates, he is a native, from Edinburgh. His family was poor, so as soon as he was able, he went to work on the docks. His plan was similar to Henri’s, only unlike Henri, Connor enjoyed a life at sea. “I’ve spent most of me time on the sea. Been around the Horn a few times to India and China.”
This is supposed to impress me, but I’ve been to those countries as well. Hisae took me to China and her native Japan not long after I became a junior witch so she could give me some on-the-job-training in hunting down evil spirits. Still, I pretend I am impressed, since as a proper young French woman I’m not supposed to have seen anything beyond my hometown. “That must have been quite interesting,” I say.
“Oh yes. And dangerous too.”
As he goes on about storms and tribes of natives that nearly slaughtered he and his crew, I wonder if he’s trying to pick me up. I review the number of spells I could use to incapacitate him if he tries any unwelcome advances. I nod and mumble to encourage him, not really paying much attention.
Probably sensing my boredom, he turns the tables by asking me, “What takes you to such a godforsaken place as Thurso?”
“I’m going to Orkney. I have a friend there.”
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 94
