Putting on the Witch

by Joyce

  Dorothy carefully picked through the gifts until she found what she was looking for. “Oh no! She got out.” She held up the empty pink cat carrier. “No telling where she is now.”

  Brian started searching in earnest too. “Don’t worry. She’s just a cat. She was probably terrified and has hunched down in a corner around here somewhere.”

  “You can tell he’s never had a cat,” Elsie said. “That cat has probably been all over the castle a few times by now!”

  “Oh, Brian.” Dorothy rested her head against his shoulder. “That poor little kitty. We have to find her.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine, honey,” Brian said. “She’s locked in too. She’s here.”

  “Wait,” Elsie said. “Let’s do a locator spell for her.”

  “With the magic already diminished here, I don’t think we can find her that way,” I said to Elsie. “We might just have to look for her the old-fashioned way.”

  “So this is what it’s like to have a cat.” Brian smiled at Dorothy. “Fun.”

  “It’s not always like this,” she told him. “Once you get to know each other, this won’t happen. You’ll have a rapport with her, and she won’t run away.”

  “Sounds like a wife.”

  Dorothy frowned at him.

  “Uh-oh,” Olivia whispered. “That look means trouble.”

  “Just kidding.” Brian hugged Dorothy and took her hand. “Come on. Let’s find the cat.”

  She laughed and they sprinted toward the stairs.

  “You know, I wonder why I was sneezing in the other room.” Elsie put away her handkerchief. “There are very few things that I’m allergic to.”

  “It’s a castle,” I said. “Lots of mold and mildew, even if it is maintained by magic.”

  “That’s true, I suppose. Although I’ve never been allergic to mold or mildew. I’m glad it’s not that way out here. I could sneeze myself to death. A fine thing to do. Lock all of us up in here with a killer. Someone’s brain wasn’t working when that spell was cast.”

  “What would you have done?” Erinna Coptus was standing behind us. Her long black hair was shining with blue highlights from the chandeliers.

  “I would’ve called the police.” Elsie didn’t back down. “It’s ridiculous keeping all of us here with no way of knowing who did it.”

  Erinna smiled slightly, the barest upturn to the edges of her lips. “I have not lived in the human world for many years. What would these police do to find the killer?”

  “You should talk to Molly.” Elsie nodded at me. “Her husband is a police homicide detective. He could take care of it for you.”

  I was shaking my head and miming “no” as hard as I could once I understood the direction she was heading, but Elsie’s words had come out anyway.

  “And where is your husband, Molly?” Erinna asked.

  “He doesn’t have magic,” I told her quickly. “Naturally he couldn’t be here because he doesn’t know anything about magic or witches.”

  “Naturally.” Erinna regally inclined her head. “But we could, of course, bring him here and then clear his mind of everything that happened while he was finding Makaleigh’s killer. As you can see, our resources in this matter are not the best. I’m certain we could benefit from his experience.”

  Elsie’s expression froze as she realized what she’d done.

  There were several problems with the suggestion, but I had to tread carefully. Erinna could simply decide to bring him here. She didn’t need my permission. I’d worked too hard to protect him from having his memories—possible the memories of his whole life—stripped from him. I had to be careful how I declined her offer. Bringing Joe here could make the council realize that he was protected from them and they couldn’t see or hear him and that he knew all about magic. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I nodded respectfully to Erinna. “That would have been such an honor. Alas! My husband has been ill recently, as non-witches sometimes are, and has lost many of his powers of deduction.” I laid it on thick and smooth as peanut butter with a smile to sweeten the pot. “I’m afraid he is not the man he once was.”

  Erinna actually lightly patted my shoulder. “Poor dear. Probably for the best anyway. Whoever killed Makaleigh might have killed your husband as well if he was here investigating, Molly. I suppose that means we shall have to find another way.”

  “What about the witchfinder?” Elsie immediately jumped in to help me get Joe out of the conversation. “If he’s so good at finding guilty witches, why not let him do it?”

  Several witches had been standing around us in the ballroom, listening to our conversation. They echoed Elsie’s words. Erinna shuddered and hurried away.

  “I’m so sorry, Molly,” Elsie muttered when the council member was gone. “I don’t know what I was thinking suggesting Joe’s help. I guess I thought I was with normal witches who didn’t want to rule the world.”

  “It’s all right. We got her mind off him. That’s what matters. I don’t think she likes the idea of the witchfinder.”

  “I don’t think anyone who knows who and what he is would, do you? It’s still hard for me to believe he’s real.”

  She gasped as she finished speaking and put a trembling hand on mine. Her eyes were huge and terrified as she stared behind me. Witches were backing slowly away from us with the same expression on their faces.

  “What the—?” I glanced behind.

  “Molly Addison Renard.” A deep voice called my name. “You are to be judged.”

  CHAPTER 10

  A long, bony finger pointed toward me as I slowly faced him.

  The man was tall and thin, dressed in black velvet with silver trim on the seams. It would have been considered a costume from the 1500s today, something Shakespeare or his contemporaries would have worn, with its puffed sleeves and short pants that went down to black stockings and knee-high leather boots. A real-looking sword hung at his waist.

  His face appeared to be made of wax or plastic. Only the dark eyes were alive beneath it, staring out at me. Gray-laced long black hair hung to his bony shoulders in rattails.

  A chill went down my spine when I looked into those dead eyes. I knew I was facing the witchfinder, Antonio de Santiago.

  Elsie grabbed my arm. She was shaking and cold yet prepared to defend me. Words wouldn’t come from her lips as she tried to think of what to say. I was no better, though I clenched my jaws so that my teeth didn’t chatter. Just being this close to him was horrible. The evil that he had been was intensified knowing the evil that had been visited on him.

  Someone had freed the demon on us. It was easy to imagine Abdon releasing him with no thought of the consequences. Who else would immediately put him after me? I wished I could laugh at Abdon with his ridiculous notions that he could use me to intimidate Brian.

  The legends that accompanied the release of the witchfinder were enough to make anyone nervous. I wasn’t as terrified of him as I might have been after facing down the Bone Man on Oak Island. That experience, and my amulet, had left me armored for this encounter. I was terrified but was able to stand near him without crying and begging for mercy from those relentless eyes.

  “I am Molly Renard.” I was proud that my voice wasn’t shaking.

  He wore one leather glove, slapping the other against his leathered hand as he spoke. “You discovered the victim, did you not? You shall be the first one questioned in the death of Makaleigh Veazy.”

  Elsie squirmed a little more under his regard before she finally laughed. It seemed to erupt from her as though she’d tried to hold it in.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I hissed, keeping one eye on the grim man in front of me.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said but laughed again. “I mean, he’s a little like Michael Jackson, you know? With the one glove and all. Is he the witchfinder? I had expected him
to be scarier. I guess after the sea witch, it’s going to take more to scare me.”

  “I think you must be light-headed. Maybe you should sit down for a while,” I suggested. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No. I’m not letting them question you alone.” She held her head high. “We all know that the witchfinder can use any means necessary to find out what he needs to know.”

  He shook his finger at her. “That’s right. Do not tempt me to make you my first victim.”

  The dreaded witchfinder struck a pose with one knee bent and his head turned away from us as he took a pinch of snuff from a gold and enameled box.

  “Oh for goodness’ sake.” Elsie shook her head as she snatched away his snuffbox. “That’s not good for you at all, you know. I realize you’ve been locked in a closet, or whatever it is that they do to you between jobs, but we’ve discovered now that tobacco will kill you or at least shorten your life. Maybe you should try sugar-free gum or mints.”

  The eleven members of the council were still in the ballroom, though not close by. They carefully kept their distance from the monster they’d created. But I could hear their indrawn breaths at her audacity.

  The witchfinder leaned closer to her, one dark eye closed as he peered into her face. “Give that back to me. I hardly worry about how long I shall live considering I am already more than five hundred years old.”

  He held out his hand, and Elsie returned the snuffbox.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said. “It’s bad for your teeth too.”

  Antonio de Santiago studied her pink face for another moment before his hand closed on the snuffbox and he resumed his painfully erect posture. “You shall come with me, Molly Addison Renard, or be dragged to the cellar in chains for your interrogation.”

  “Wait!” Elsie interrupted us again. “This isn’t ancient Spain, my friend. Everyone nowadays gets a lawyer. Molly has to have someone represent her.”

  “It’s fine, Elsie.” I was terrified that he would drag both of us to the cellar in chains. I didn’t imagine that anyone would be willing to help us. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “No. You can’t go alone.” Her brilliant green eyes landed on Richard Brannigan, the witch lawyer who had helped Olivia settle her estate. “You!” Elsie pointed to him. “You’re a lawyer. Go with them.”

  Richard glanced around as though he was hoping she’d meant someone else. When it was clear that there was no one else, he straightened his deep blue tuxedo on his short frame and approached us. “I am not a criminal attorney,” he said.

  “That’s all right. Molly’s not a criminal,” Elsie told him. “But she needs your help.”

  The dwarf turned his spectacled face to the council. “Must I go with her? Is there some sort of precedent that precludes this?”

  Abdon shrugged. “She’s asked for an attorney. You may be the only one here. I think it’s fair.”

  His stare burned through me for a moment, and I wondered what his game was. Surely he must have been the one who decided the witchfinder should question me first. I knew the rule Joe always went by when he questioned the suspect that had found the body, but there were several of us in the room at the time.

  “By that fact, I would have to sit in on hundreds of interrogations, Mr. Fuller. Who is going to pay for my services?”

  Cassandra Black, the herald of the Grand Council of Witches, stepped forward. “I’m sure we would all appreciate your services, Mr. Brannigan. Think of it as a goodwill gesture that will be paid forward. These are trying times, sir.”

  Still not appeased by her response, the lawyer grudgingly agreed to go with me. “But does it have to be in the cellar? Have you been down there, Mr. Santiago? Not exactly the most pleasant of places.”

  “I do not care where the interrogations take place.” The witchfinder casually withdrew a foot-long needle from his boot. “Let us quickly get to the truth of the matter.”

  There were gasps at the sight of the needle. We all knew how that had been applied during the Inquisition. No one wanted to see it again. And yet I was expected to walk out of the ballroom calmly with him to my fate.

  “Good.” Mr. Brannigan nodded. “May I suggest we adjourn to the brandy room, then? I don’t know about you, but I feel the need for a drink or two.”

  • • •

  “This is all highly irregular.” The witchfinder paced back and forth across the expensive blue Persian carpet.

  Mr. Brannigan had me sit in a turquoise velvet chair beside an alabaster statue of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. It was a fully naked pose of the goddess as she rose from the sea in her oyster shell. Across the room was the large, well-stocked mahogany bar of which the lawyer had quickly availed himself.

  “What’s irregular about it?” the lawyer asked as he poured another brandy.

  “The subject of the interrogation should be seated in a plain wood chair with her arms and legs bound to it with leather. It is the way it has always been done. This is wrong, sir. Such comfort and softness will yield us no answers.”

  Elsie laughed again. She’d refused to stay behind and was sitting on a matching velvet sofa across the room from me. “I told you, Antonio, it’s been a while. Things have changed. Women aren’t the easy targets they once were. You and your kind were able to take advantage of mostly midwives and hedge witches who were charged with witchcraft. You won’t find today’s witches as easy to intimidate.”

  Mr. Brannigan applauded. “Brava! Well said. Now, shall we get on with it? I don’t want to sit in here any longer than I have to.”

  The witchfinder remained unhappy with his surroundings but finally came to terms with them. He still had the long needle in his hands, no doubt to intimidate me. It had once been used to decide whether or not a woman was truly a witch—and still had the bloodstains on it to prove its usage.

  “It was you who found Makaleigh Veazy dead on the floor, was it not, Molly Addison Renard?”

  “Please, just call me Molly and save us all some time.” I flicked a glance in his direction. It was said that a witch couldn’t lie to the witchfinder. I knew I would have to, since Olivia was actually the one who found her. “Yes. I found Makaleigh behind the sofa with the ceremonial dagger in her back.”

  The witchfinder grinned and shook his finger at me. “You are lying to me. Why is that?”

  “I’m not lying,” I said. “I went behind the sofa and she was lying there. I turned her over and asked her who attacked her.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “I couldn’t understand her. She was nearly gone and her voice was too weak. We whispered healing spells for her, but none of them helped. She died. And our world is the worse for it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because she was about to instigate changes that would have made life so much easier for witches who live with family members who don’t have magic.”

  “I can still sense that you are lying to me,” the witchfinder said. “Did you kill Makaleigh Veazy?” He peered closely into my face.

  “No. I’m sure if there were forensics we’d be able to tell whose fingerprints were on the knife,” I said. “Also, there would be blood splatter on the person who actually stabbed her.”

  “Yes. That’s right,” Elsie added. “They could use that chemical and ultraviolet light to detect blood on the surrounding surfaces. I watch CSI.”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Brannigan said. “Clearly a police homicide detective could get to the heart of this matter faster. Why are there no witches who are police detectives?”

  “Maybe there are,” Elsie said. “But they aren’t elite enough to be here at this party.”

  “Silence!” the witchfinder yelled. “You two should not be here.” He waved his hand, and Elsie and Mr. Brannigan disappeared.

  I guess it was me that was transported from t
hem. I found myself alone with him in a damp, dark place—tied to a crude wood chair with leather thongs. “Where are we?”

  “Where we should be, madam, to get the answers we need. Now you will only speak to me, and we shall get to the bottom of this. I will do what is necessary to have the truth from you.”

  CHAPTER 11

  I can’t say being alone with him in that terrible place didn’t make me nervous. I had no idea where we were or if my friends knew where he’d taken me. It was obvious that the witches’ council had given de Santiago a heavy dose of magic to use at his discretion. The irony of a witchfinder with magic put a grim smile on my face.

  As though it didn’t bother me to be there, I slowly looked around the prison. The room surrounding us was made of rough concrete with rusted iron bars on one side. There were other chains on the walls, and reddened torture devices hung from the ceiling. I couldn’t see or hear anyone else around us. The stench was horrible, even though it was cold. I didn’t want to know why it smelled so bad. I didn’t want to know how many terrible things had happened here.

  Were we beneath the Fullers’ castle? It seemed likely to me. I doubted that the council would let their prisoner go very far. There had to be some limit on the witchfinder’s magic to keep him in check.

  My amulet was softly glowing in the dim light. It wasn’t surprising, since it was tethered magically, and by my family line, to me. I was in danger. It was letting me know that magic was available for me to use to free myself.

  The witchfinder saw it too. He bent close and stared at it. He smelled of cloves and other spices that made me want to sneeze. “This will not do. You cannot have access to your tools of magic, witch. I shall have it.”

  But when he tried to touch it, he received a strong shock from the living current of the sea that filled the ever-moving amulet.

  “What have you in there, madam?” He moved back a step and nursed his finger. “That is magic I have never seen.”

  “It’s old magic,” I explained. “Much older than you, Senor de Santiago. The amulet can’t be removed by anyone else, even someone with magic given by the council.”