All the Pretty Witches

by Lauren Quick

Beatrice smirked. “You’re totally right about her. But she’s our leader and we follow her. I’d do anything for her. And soon you will too. Just do the spell and you’re golden. We’re going to have a blast.”

  Scarlet pushed through the door and pretended like she didn’t even see them, making her way into a stall. As they left, Honora hoped Scarlet got the message and brought help. She was going to need it.

  15

  Once outside of Diabolical, Honora took a deep breath and scanned the street. She didn’t recognize anyone. Corder had told her once that the cops had some of the best, least detectable glamors in Everland. He said his favorite was of a young punk with his hair shaved into a jet black mohawk. He wore piercings in his nose and eyebrow and cascading down the lobe of one ear. Corder liked to stand out, instead of the usual theory of blending in and being invisible. He thought no one would suspect him that way.

  But there was no wizard matching that description, no wizards at all really. The street was eerily quiet that time of night, and Ophelia wasn’t about to hang around.

  “Let’s go. Meet up outside of the main cage,” she said and rose off the ground. “The rest of us are going to scout the area and make sure it’s clear. You two wait for us there and get ready. No more delays.”

  Beatrice saluted her fearless leader. “No problem. We’ll be there.”

  They all lifted up and took to the air. Honora’s mind raced. Her only option was to get one of them to cast the black magic spell and have Corder catch them in the act. Then they’d at least have some evidence against the club. But first she’d need to trick one of them into doing the spell and hope that Corder got her message. Honora knew exactly whom she needed to bait into doing it—Ophelia.

  The area around the huge metal birdcage was bright from the full moon hanging overhead like it was watching their every move. The sanctuary was closed and quiet except for a few warbles coming from the birds inside.

  Beatrice landed and turned on Honora, serious as stone. “You better review the spell. I can tell Ophelia is losing patience with you, and trust me, you don’t want to see her angry. It’s not pretty. The last witch who angered her didn’t fair so well.”

  “Was that Connie?” Honora asked.

  Beatrice shot daggers at her, but didn’t respond.

  Honora opened the black grimoire. The spine creaked and the pages rustled, the faint smell of sandalwood and soot floated up. The pages were rimmed with black ink and filled with a bevy of dark magical spells. There were literally dozens of curses, blood magic spells, and dark charms. Her stomach twisted as she found the page that Ophelia had marked for her. Maybe something in the instructions would give her an idea.

  The spell was for a dark charm of mayhem. The instructions were surprisingly simple—she had to cast a circle of broken glass, poisonwood ash, and brimstone and then read the incantation, casting the spell into the object used to hold the charm’s magic. But the ending was the worst part. Honora had to seal the spell by spilling her own blood around the object, linking herself forever to the cursed magic. A shiver raced down her limbs. She closed the book and glanced up.

  Beatrice was smiling. “Told you the spell was easy.” She pulled a knife out of her boot and handed it to Honora. “I want you to have this. It’s a gift for doing the spell and joining the group.”

  “Thanks. It’s beautiful.” Honora took the blade. Under normal circumstances she would have been touched. It was a generous and kind gesture, but tonight she felt it twist in her gut, for she’d need to use the blade to cut her own flesh, the pain all part of the process. Black magic demanded blood and sacrifice and pain—the three hallmarks of a curse.

  Sweat broke out on the back of Honora’s neck as she waited. She could cut and run. Right now. Just go. Her body wanted to fly away from the situation, but her logical mind was holding her in place, forcing herself to play it cool. She scanned the park’s tree line, looking for a sign. Anything that Corder was nearby. Honora was certain that Scarlet got the message to him. Scarlet was one of the most loyal and dependable witches she knew. And she loved a good mission. Honora breathed, relaxing her tense muscles.

  Ophelia and the Blackbury wizards dropped from the sky like stone sentries surrounding her. Her gut clenched. There was no escape now. Magnus grinned wickedly at her, his dimpled chin winking in the moonlight, and dropped a sack at Honora’s feet. It was filled with the macabre ingredients for the spell.

  “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started,” Ophelia said.

  The group fanned out in a circle, giving Honora room to work. She loosened the knot on the bag and pulled out a jar filled with shards of broken glass and scattered it in a circle. Next she pulled out the poisonwood that had been burned down to a heap of ash and sprinkled it around the glass. She moved slowly and methodically, taking her time. There was also a jar of brimstone—powdery sulfur that she added to the already horrible circle.

  Honora brushed the hair from her face. She was sweating profusely and her hands trembled. Even with all her bravado, she was nervous. She glanced around the faces of the witches and wizards leering at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Beatrice who rushed to her aid. “Let me help you. You’re sweating.” She stepped into the circle. “I’ll hold your jacket for you,” she said as Honora slipped off her leather jacket.

  “You’re doing great. Almost there. I’m right here with you,” Beatrice said, fumbling with the jacket, getting tangled in the chain. “Here’s your wand. I still want one of these chains when you’re done.” She handed Honora the wand and winked.

  Despite Beatrice’s kindness, Honora wasn’t relieved. She was slipping down a slope she could never climb up. Black magic stained the soul. It didn’t matter if she was doing it for a good reason or for the cops—a stain was a stain. Her sisters would be so disappointed in her. How could she have backed herself into such a corner? Jenny and Sawyer wouldn’t understand. She should have gone to them for help. She shouldn’t have let it get this far. She remembered something Slader had told her when they met long ago—regret is the worst emotion, because it forever reminds you of the one moment in time that you had a chance to take a different path.

  Hadn’t she been tainted enough with the mayhem of another wizard’s bad deeds? Was she really going to bring that on herself just to catch these witches? Honora straightened her shoulders. She gripped her wand in her sweaty hand, almost dropping it. “Ophelia, this isn’t my game.” She shook her head. “I’d rather drink a gallon of your black potion than cast black magic.”

  Ophelia’s gaze turned hard as ice. “You will forget everyone you ever loved.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her sisters, of her friends and family. “But they won’t forget me. I want them to remember me as I am—the true me with integrity and honor. If you want a dark charm cast, you’ll have to do it yourself. I quit your little gang of minions. Do your own dirty work.” She squared her shoulders and stepped outside of the circle.

  “I knew you didn’t have it in you.” Ophelia motioned to the wizards and they pounced on Honora, holding her tightly by the arms, so she couldn’t fly away.

  “I’ll do the spell.” Beatrice stepped into the circle. She held up her wand and muttered the words. She didn’t need to use the book that was at Honora’s feet at the edge of the circle. She knew the curse by heart. She spun around the ash and glass, lighting the brimstone on fire with her wand, and within seconds the entire circle was in flames. A terrible stench rose up around them in a noxious cloud. Honora and the wizards stumbled back and watched Beatrice cast the spell. “May I have my dagger back?” she asked with hand outstretched.

  Honora yanked her arm free from Magnus and pulled the dagger from her boot. Beatrice grabbed it from her, cutting Honora’s hand in the process. “Oops. Sorry.” She smirked. “I told you I would help you.”


  Honora glanced down at the cut. It wasn’t deep and the knife looked clean, but she couldn’t be sure her blood wasn’t on it too.

  Beatrice returned to her spellwork, wiped off the blade on her pants before running the knife over her palm. She squeezed her own blood around the metal charm shaped like a dagger in huge red drops that sizzled when they hit the ground. The fire surged and Beatrice finished the incantation. She raised her head and spun in a circle with her arms outstretched, extinguishing the flames, leaving the sooty ring to smolder. Beatrice snatched the charm off the ground and slipped it into her pocket. She stepped lightly from the ashy ring and stood by Ophelia’s side, her kindness to Honora over, her allegiance clear.

  Honora’s heart raced. It was over. The deed was done. The hands on her arms tightened. She bumped into a solid wall of Blackbury wizard chests. She wasn’t going anywhere. She swallowed, her mouth dry. Panic raced through her limbs. Ophelia held the black potion bottle in her hand and strode right through the smoldering circle to reach Honora more quickly.

  “I never trusted you. And now you’re going to forget all about us. You will know nothing. You won’t even remember your own name.” She uncorked the potion bottle.

  Honora squirmed under their grasp. In a last-ditch attempt at escape, she rose up off the ground with a huge thrust of her power, trying to take off, but the wizards were too strong and yanked her back to the ground. She kicked and thrashed and it took all four of them to subdue her.

  “Hold her mouth open!” Ophelia commanded.

  Magnus grabbed Honora by the hair and wrenched her head back, tilting it to the sky, and forced her jaw open. A tear streamed down her cheek as pain shot through her head and neck. She saw the outline of a bird fly across the milky surface of the moon. Squawking filled the air. It was Barnaby! He circled closer and closer, screeching and dive-bombing the wizards. Suddenly, the sounds of sirens filled the air and lights flashed. The wizards released her and scattered.

  Ophelia yelled, “Fly, fly, fly!” The group disappeared in all directions.

  Honora panicked. Officers descended. She jumped to her feet and began to run away from the circle, trying to get out of the line of fire, so she could explain to Corder what happened. The squealing sirens and spinning red illuma lights disoriented her. She spun in a circle and lifted off the ground, but was suddenly hit from behind with a strong magical spell that encased her in a trapping sphere. She was suspended in a pink gel, hovering a few feet off the ground. She tried to pull up with all her might, but couldn’t get airborne. It must have been a neutralizing bubble that negated her magic. She pounded on the soft gelatin-like substance that encased her.

  An officer she’d never met ran up to her and yelled. “I got one of them! I got one!” A grin bloomed on his face. The sound was garbled, but she could read his lips loud and clear. “I got you! I got you black magic witch. You’re going down.”

  Honora’s heart raced in her chest. “It wasn’t me,” she tried to speak, but the bubble muffled the sound coming out of her mouth.

  Within seconds there was a swarm of officers surrounding her. They were a blur of motion. One officer waved his wand as a garbled spell flew from his mouth. Her magical prison shifted with her inside. The officer levitated her over to a waiting hover van. With a swift slice of his wand, the officer broke the confinement spell and Honora dropped to the ground. Her whole body jerked, but she gained her balance quickly, holding onto the side of the van for support.

  The grounds were swarming with officers. She scanned the park, but saw no other members of Witches of a Feather. They’d scattered. Clearly, Honora had been the weak link as far as making a getaway went. The entire area in the park where they’d performed the spell had already been encased in a glowing crime scene bubble—the magic stretching skyward in a huge arc. Nervous energy raced through her body. The wizard who broke the containment spell stood with his wand pointed at her chest.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “You’re under arrest.”

  “For what?” she asked instinctively, her hackles raised. She went directly into defensive mode.

  “As an officer of the law, decreed by the Witch Council, I arrest you for the use of black magic. Silence is recommended. Magic is prohibited until further notice.” His voice shook. But his stance was strong. “Put your hands in front of you.” She complied as he waved his wand and made a figure eight motion. Honora’s wrists were snaked with a glowing red band of magic, cuffing her hands together. This guy wasn’t playing around.

  “I need to speak to Detective Corder,” Honora said. “I’m a friend of his. We work together. He’ll explain everything.”

  “You need to get into the van,” the officer said, ignoring her pleas.

  Honora followed his instructions, climbed inside, and sat on a sleek metal bench. The door shut behind her and she was transported to the police department. This time she was taken through the perpetrator entrance and subjected to a more rigorous series of wards and spells. Her entire body was scanned, hair was taken, and so was a drop of her blood. A female officer waved a wand over her body, capturing her image. Next her hands were scanned. That was when Honora realized her wand was gone, so was her jacket. A chill raced over her arms. For the first time, she was on the other side of the law and for however brief it would be until they realized she was working with Corder, she didn’t like it.

  After the officer finished processing her, Honora was escorted to a cell. Luckily the cell was empty, but once the door was shut and the ward activated, fear spread like fire through her as she clutched the bars. She was caged, like an animal, like a bird. She tried to remain calm, to think. She needed to chill out and be patient. She didn’t want to blow it now. Corder would come and get her released.

  Honora had no idea how much time passed, but finally the detective arrived with another officer in tow. Their eyes met and Corder’s gaze was neutral and yet there was more, a hint of worry in the soft wrinkle of his brow. He nodded but said nothing to her; instead, he said to the guard, “Take her to interrogation room seven.”

  Honora followed the guard and sat at a smooth metal table in the nearly empty room. Corder entered and shut the door. They were alone. At least she hoped.

  “We can speak freely. The scrying mirror for this room is broken so no one can see or hear what we discuss.”

  Honora’s whole body relaxed for the first time in what felt like days. She leaned against the table, letting it take the weight of her arms and upper body. The adrenaline had seeped completely out of her, leaving her exhausted.

  “I’m assuming you got my message from Scarlet.” She tried to smile at him, but her mouth was too tired. “How did the bust go? Did you get what you needed to lock them up?”

  “It wasn’t that simple.” His brow creased.

  “But the circle, the black magic. Their presence there gives you probable cause to search them and their homes.”

  “You’re right. And searches will be done. We were able to apprehend two of the wizards. We’ve had the entire group under surveillance, but so far we’ve got nothing on them. They’re clean.”

  “Nothing?” her voice rose sharply. “You’re kidding me. What about Beatrice? She performed a black magic spell tonight. She created a charm. You had to get it.” Honora couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  Corder straightened. His shirt was rumpled, his tie loosened. “They’re an experienced group. So far they’ve made no mistakes.” His gaze lowered; his jaw tensed.

  “What do you mean no mistakes? What aren’t you telling me?” Honora asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “We were unable to recover the dark charm. Beatrice probably took it with her when she escaped. But we did recover a wand.”

  “You got her wand!” Honora sat up. “That’s great. That’s even better than the charm. It proves she c
ast the spell.”

  “Our guys are doing tests on it now. But there’s a problem.” His eyes were bloodshot, exhaustion his new state of being.

  “I’m listening.”

  “It isn’t her wand. Honora, it’s yours.”

  A sick wave washed over her. Memories of Beatrice being so kind to her all day slithered over her like a snake. She helped Honora with her jacket, which was now gone. And somehow she’d switched wands with her. Honora shook her head in disgust with herself. She’d been so wrapped up in the events that she’d forgotten to watch Beatrice. “I didn’t do the spell,” she said. “I refused at the last minute. They must have suspected that I wouldn’t go through with it and Beatrice switched wands with me. She did the spell. She invoked the black magic, the dark charm, and she used my wand.” Honora turned over her palm, revealing the cut.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Corder said.

  “She didn’t use my blood. I saw her wipe off the blade. She used her own.”

  “But we don’t have the charm. We only have your wand and you with a cut on your palm. You were caught at the circle. It looks bad for you.”

  “They set me up. Don’t you see that?” Anger seethed inside her. “I was working for you.”

  “I see it. I know they framed you, but we’ve got no evidence linking them to the black magic. There is some good news. We know all about the operation of Witches of a Feather and the players thanks to you. They have no idea we know about Diabolical. We can collect the evidence we need to bring down the whole group. We’ve set up surveillance and now we can do legal searches. It’s only a matter of time before we collect enough evidence.”

  “I guess that’ll have to be good enough. I thought we were going to get them tonight and it would all be over with.” Honora leaned back in her chair. “But I can’t go back into the group. I’m done. They’re going to figure out I was working with you once I’m released.”