I Buried a Witch

by Josh Lanyon

  Chapter Seventeen

  John was not in my hotel room when I returned from my meeting with the Société du Sortilège.

  There was no note, no sign he had ever been there, and though I wasn’t surprised, it did sadden me. I wasn’t so foolish that I imagined the fact we’d had sex meant our problems were over, but I had hoped there might be a little softening on his part.

  I caught the first flight I could, and landed back home at 6:55 Saturday morning. I went straight to my mother’s.

  I arrived outside the dining-room doors just in time for breakfast. Unlike me, my mother is an early riser. But breakfast was not being served in the mansion on Nob Hill. From the sounds issuing through the solid oak doors, it seemed that vitriol with a side of jealousy was on the menu.

  “I’m not a poodle,” Phelon shouted. “I’m not going to sit around here day after day waiting—hoping—you might deign to drop in!”

  “So long as I am paying your kennel fees that is exactly what you will do,” Maman shouted back.

  I winced. There is a reason Maman, unlike her twin sister, Countess Iolanthe Saville Whitby, did not enter the French Ministry for Europe and Foreign Affairs.

  “Maybe I don’t need you to continue paying my kennel fees,” Phelon cried. “Or any other fees. Maybe I’ll be paying my own fees from now on. And how is it this spa of yours doesn’t have a phone? Maybe I should be the one looking at credit-card statements.”

  I heard the sound of breaking glass. Maman shrieked. I threw open the door to the dining room and saw Maman picking up the remaining half of a pair of black Chinese cloisonné vases decorated with yellow celestial dragons. The other vase lay in pieces around Phelon, who was cowering in the corner behind the dining table.

  “That’s an antique!” I protested.

  Maman jumped. “Cosmo, will you never learn to knock?”

  “I was knocking!”

  “Knock louder,” Maman snapped. She set down the cloisonné vase. “Get up, Phelon. You look like the poodle you claim not to be.”

  Phelon jumped to his feet. “That’s it! I’ve had enough. I won’t stay under this roof a minute longer.”

  “Then you had better pack quickly,” ma mère retorted.

  Phelon kicked aside one of the fallen dining table chairs and strode from the room.

  “Bah!” my mother exclaimed. She glowered at the tall doors through which Phelon had vanished.

  I said, “I hate to interrupt breakfast, but I wanted to check on Jinx.”

  “You’ll have to do it at her mother’s home.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “John dragged her out of here at the crack of dawn.”

  This was confusing, not least because I’d sort of thought this was the crack of dawn.

  “But why? What did he say?”

  “He said he was more than capable of protecting his own sister. He said he did not approve of my influence on an impressionable girl.” She tossed her head. “Good riddance to both of them.”

  No, clearly he had not softened at all.

  “I’m sorry, Maman. I hoped— It doesn’t matter. Was she very difficult?”

  Maman made a little moue. “Non. She was no real trouble. In fact, she’s rather amusing.”

  I hid my smile. “Is she a witch?”

  She shook her head. “I could find no sign that she possesses Craft.”

  I expelled a breath. “Okay. I guess I’m not surprised.”

  My mother made a noise of exasperation. “But there is something there. I sense…something. She is not a witch. Not yet anyway. But…”

  “But?”

  “But she is not not a witch.”

  I stared. “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea. I would have liked to spend more time with her. It pains me to say this, but I believe she should receive training.”

  My own feelings were mixed. It was a relief to know my instinct about Jinx had been correct. But this news would not make John happy, and it would only further complicate his relationship with his sister.

  “You’re not alone. Valenti Garibaldi seems to think so as well.”

  “Mm…” Maman scowled. “There must be something in their dam’s bloodline. I can’t imagine what.” She gave a delicate shudder. “La femme est un troll.”

  “Not literally, I hope.”

  She said dryly, “So do I.”

  “Did Jinx leave willingly?”

  “She wasn’t happy, but she didn’t refuse to go with him, or of course I would have interceded on her behalf.”

  The thought of that intercession made my blood run cold.

  Maman tilted her head, regarding me. “What did you gain by your audience with le Conseil?”

  “Nothing. They have no interest in Seamus’s murder or the murders of these women. They’ll pick up Ciara’s legal fees.”

  “That will be no small thing.”

  “Ciara was hoping for more. So was I.”

  “You’re an idealist, Cosmo. You get that from your father. This is not a world for idealists.”

  I don’t think I am particularly idealistic, but I didn’t argue the point. I have ideals, of course, but one reason I thought I could make my marriage to John work was because I know ideals are often unrealistic.

  “Did you speak to your aunt?”

  “No. She wasn’t there. There was a Madame de Darrieux running things.”

  Suddenly I had my mother’s full attention. “Thérèse de Darrieux?”

  “I don’t know her first name. She was about your age.”

  “Dark eyes, dark hair, aquiline features?”

  “Her hair is platinum, but otherwise, yes.”

  “Ah-ha.” My mother scowled into space. “So. Thérèse has resurfaced at last.”

  “Who is Thérèse?”

  “She’s a distant cousin. Ambitious, ruthless…”

  Yep, clearly a blood relation.

  My mother shrugged. “Eh bien. I got rid of her once. I’ll get rid of her again. But this does complicate matters.”

  “Does it? Which matters?”

  She patted my cheek. “Nothing to trouble you, mon chou. Thérèse has always wished to take my place in the line of ascension. Nothing new there. I know all her little tricks. It is discomfiting that she has wormed her way onto le Conseil, but in her place, I would attempt to do the same.”

  None of this was very reassuring, but if life with Maman has taught me anything, it is that sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

  “There were several new members on the council, including Oliver Sandhurst.”

  “Oliver?” Maman’s elegant brows arched. “Ça me surprend.”

  I asked guardedly, “It surprises me, but why does it surprise you?”

  “Oliver’s standing in la Société has been shaky for many years. Some of his attitudes and opinions are irregular, even for an academic.”

  “That’s what I thought. I couldn’t remember the details. It was something to do with his books, right? He didn’t have all the permissions required?”

  “A little more serious than that. He revealed information never intended for mortal eyes regarding the Craft, particularly of the Abracadantès.”

  “It seems all is forgiven.”

  Her smile was odd. “And yet ours is not a forgiving tradition.”

  No, ours was not. Which meant what exactly?

  Had I got it backward?

  I had jumped to the conclusion that Oliver was being menaced by the Society for Prevention of Magic in the Mortal Realm. What if it was the other way around?

  What if Oliver was working for our enemies?

  What if Oliver was a double agent?

  And if that was the case, who within the Société du Sortilège was working with him?

  * * * * *

  After I left Maman’s house on Nob Hill, I took a chance and popped into City Hall.

  I do mean popped in. I entered through a postern on the third floor and took the elevator up t
o the commissioner’s office. Pat’s desk was empty, but John’s door was partially open.

  I could hear the restless shuffle of papers and Ella Fitzgerald crooning “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”

  I poked my head in and found him sitting at his desk, reading over a file.

  I knocked on the doorframe. John’s head jerked up, he stared, and a quick succession of emotions played across his face: surprise, pleasure, suspicion…and then nothing. He regarded me impassively.

  “I hate to bother you,” I said.

  His mouth twitched, but straightened. “Since when?”

  “I thought you’d like to know what I found out at my meeting.”

  He pointed at one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

  I left the doorway, sat down.

  He held up his mug. “Coffee?”

  I shook my head. “You made good time getting home.”

  “So did you.”

  I started to speak but, in my haste, swallowed wrong and started to cough. John rose, came around the desk. I caught my breath. Shook my head.

  “Sorry. I swallowed a speck of fairy dust.” John drew back doubtfully, and I smiled. “Totally kidding. It was just a normal, ordinary dust mote.”

  He shook his head, his expression derisive, though whether at me or himself was unclear. He leaned his hip against the corner of his desk and picked up the file he had been reading.

  “Your father sent me your astrology chart.”

  “Oh,” I said uneasily. “Did he?”

  “He did. I thought he was an astronomer?”

  “He is. He does, um, take an interest in astrology. But I mean, that’s natural.”

  “Is it?” John gazed down at the paper he held. “He believes I should be aware that you are ‘gentle, affectionate, curious, adaptable, and possess the ability to learn quickly and exchange ideas.’”

  I cleared my throat, said, “Nothing you didn’t know.”

  “Nothing I didn’t know,” John agreed. “He says that you are also ‘nervous, inconsistent, and indecisive,’ and I should be prepared to be patient.”

  I felt myself turning red. “That’s not very fair. I don’t think I’m inconsistent.”

  John didn’t reply, continuing to read from the report. “‘There is much childish innocence in the nature of this Gemini. He recognizes love first through communication and verbal connection, and finds it as important as physical contact. Not surprising, then, that Cosmo has spent a lot of time with different lovers, waiting to find the right one who is able to match his intellect and energy. He needs excitement, variety, and passion, and having found that right person, the lover and friend combined into one, he will be faithful and determined to always treasure—’”

  “You can stop now,” I said. Loudly.

  John grinned. For a moment he looked like his old self. The self I fell in love with. The self I believed did really love me.

  I said, “You should see what he wrote about you.”

  “I bet.”

  For a moment or two we just gazed at each other, smiling.

  Belatedly, I recalled my mission. “So the people I went to see in Paris? It was no-go.”

  “No-go?”

  “They aren’t going to be any help in solving these murders.”

  “I see.” He corrected, “Or no, I don’t. But at least, I can say I’m not surprised.”

  “I am. And disappointed. But that’s the situation. These crimes will have to be solved by SFPD without outside help.”

  “That’s usually how we do it,” he said gravely.

  Yeah, well, he still didn’t know what he was dealing with. But then, in all honesty, neither did I. Not really. And after the reaction of the Société du Sortilège, I was afraid to say anything more. Afraid for John’s sake above all else.

  I changed the subject. “Is Jinx—”

  At the same moment, John said abruptly, “Anyway—”

  He stopped, nodded for me to continue.

  I said, “Maman says Jinx is staying with your mother now?”

  “No. Jinx has made it clear that she would rather be burned at the stake.”

  An unfortunate choice of words.

  He added, “She went to stay with her friend Valenti.”

  My spirits sank. “Did she?”

  “Is there some reason she shouldn’t?”

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t look convinced.”

  I said, “For reasons I can’t explain, I wish Jinx wasn’t so tied in with her.”

  After a moment, he admitted, “I think anything I say will make the situation worse.”

  “I think you’re right.” I considered. “I’ll try to talk to her. Hopefully, I won’t make it worse.”

  “She does seem to think a lot of you.”

  “Puzzling, isn’t it?”

  He smiled faintly.

  Time to go. It was so hard, though. It was always going to be hard.

  I gathered my nerve. “Paris was nice.”

  He nodded. “It was.”

  “Not the nearly drowning part, of course, but later.” Why, oh why couldn’t I shut up? Like he didn’t know I didn’t mean the nearly drowning part?

  It wasn’t easy, but I made myself ask, “Is that going to be it for us? Was that the last time?”

  “Cos…” No question John was in pain too. Knowing should have helped, but it didn’t.

  “Okay. I just…needed to know.” I tried to smile, but it was a dismal effort. “No point asking if the answer is always going to be no.”

  He sucked in a sudden breath and looked away. A muscle jerked in his cheek.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I stood up. “Right. Well, I guess there are things that will have to be worked out. I’ll…wait to hear from you.”

  He nodded, his face expressionless, his eyes watchful.

  I hesitated, but what on earth was I waiting for? I went out, closing the door softly behind me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It took me several hours to find where Valenti Garibaldi lived. Eventually, I had to resort to a finding spell, and even that took time, which was in itself revealing.

  It was evening when I reached the green and white Queen Ann Tower Victorian on Fulton Street.

  I rang the doorbell. A minute later Valenti opened the door. She wore a red velvet tea gown embroidered with tiny blue and yellow and purple birds.

  “Merry meet, Valenti.”

  For once I saw her unguarded reaction—she was utterly flabbergasted.

  “Cosmo. What in the— What are— How did you find me?”

  I hadn’t been wrong, then; she had been using an obfuscation spell. Old-school but generally effective. Except that I was a bit old-school myself.

  I smiled. “I let my fingers do the walking.”

  Zero comprehension. She was still struggling with the fact that I’d managed to break through her spell.

  I said, “Is Jinx staying here? John said that was the plan.”

  “Uh, yes. Joan is here. She’s staying for a few days.”

  “Would it be all right if I spoke to her?”

  She hesitated, which raised a few alarm bells for me, but then she got hold of herself, smiled, and opened the door.

  “Of course. Won’t you come in.”

  I followed her down a short hall into a U-shaped living room with a small marble fireplace. The house was lovely, one of the quintessential old Victorians: large light-filled rooms, dramatically tall windows and ceilings, a gorgeous grand staircase, and beautiful white woodwork.

  She invited me to sit, and I chose a chair near the fireplace with its photo-crowded mantel. “I have to say, Cosmo, you’re much more adept than I realized.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “I’m embarrassed to admit I thought you were all sparkle and no spell.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Well, it’s just the way you present yourself. You seem so…frivolous,
so inconsequential. And then, of course, you married a mortal. It was hard to take you seriously.”

  I murmured, “Was it?”

  “Would you like some peppermint tea? I was just brewing a pot.”

  Tea is tricky. Sometimes a cup of tea is just a cup of tea. Sometimes it’s something else. I wasn’t sure I was willing to ingest anything Valenti brewed until I knew her a lot better.

  “Thank you, no.”

  She permitted herself a small smile, as though she knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “I’ll go and see if Jinx is available.”

  The moment she left the room, I jumped up and went to study the photos on the fireplace mantel. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Some hint as to who she was before she became the Witch Queen? A hint as to where she came from? Anyway, they were the usual thing. The gap-toothed kindergarten shot, the first pony ride shot, summers at the lake shots, family holiday shots, the high-school grad shot, the college grad sh—

  I turned back to study the family holiday photos. Mom, Dad, Valenti, and a kid who was vaguely familiar but did not look much like Valenti.

  I peered more closely.

  Who the hell was that kid? Why did I think I knew him?

  I moved from the fireplace to check out more framed photos on the white built-in bookshelves. Absently, I noted a small library of books on philosophy, metaphysics, and the occult, but my real interest was the family photo gallery.

  There he was again. A tall, gawky kid with shaggy brown hair and a lopsided smile.

  My heart stopped.

  Chris.

  Valenti said from right behind me, “I’m sorry, Jinx isn’t feeling well. She said she’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I barely registered it.

  I pointed to a photo of her and Chris taken at what appeared to be a Halloween party. They looked young and drunk and happy. Both were dressed like witches. “Is this— Who is this?”

  A shadow crossed her face. “Chris. My brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  Her green gaze grew curious. “Stepbrother. If it matters.”

  “But he’s not… He’s mortal, isn’t he?”

  She looked wary. “Do you know Chris?”