Putting on the Witch (9 page)

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.”

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 them. 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.”

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.”

“We shall see,” he promised. “There is more to you than appears, Molly Addison Renard. Your magic might be powerful, but I have been gifted by the council with the means to take it from you. It is my ‘gift' from the council by which to break you and have your confession.”

Streams of water had begun to flow from cracks in the walls and floor around us. The scent of sea life grew stronger as the water began to flow faster and pool in depressions in the old concrete. Having the water nearby made me stronger and caused the amulet to glow even more fiercely. I didn't know where the water was coming from, and I couldn't tell if the witchfinder had noticed it. He seemed so intent on what he was about to do that I thought it might have eluded him.

I had a feeling that I knew what was happening, and I didn't give it away. If it was what I suspected, Antonio was in for a big surprise.

The witchfinder took out a crudely made pair of pliers and came toward me to cut the amulet's chain from my neck.
His booted foot splashed in the pools of water as he moved. He glanced around, watching the water fill the chamber. His quickly worded incantation did nothing to stop the water from spilling into the cell—if anything, it came faster.

He swore softly in Spanish but kept coming at me with the pliers. “Water will not avail you, madam. I have taken the lives of water witches in the past.”

I closed my eyes and recited every spell I knew to break bonds and get free. I felt the leather loosening around my wrists, but it wasn't fast enough. I knew he couldn't cut the amulet chain, but I was worried about what he might do with those nasty-looking pliers once he found out.

I could have been home eating pizza with Joe and Mike, I reminded myself, breaking my concentration, when I realized I couldn't get away fast enough. My heart was pounding in my ears as fear took hold of me and I grasped why even the witches with magic during the Inquisition couldn't get away. It was difficult to retain control of the necessary concentration to make magic work when you were terrified.

“My dear Molly,” a familiar voice said. “What are you doing down here?”

I opened my eyes to the awful—but right now wonderful—face of the Bone Man. He was too tall for the chamber and had to bend his head to stand. His black eyes were normally frightening, but compared to the witchfinder, I was happy to see him.

“What is this?” the witchfinder demanded. “I said I would be alone with this lady.” He snapped his fingers again and again, thinking he could dismiss the Bone Man from his sight as he had Mr. Brannigan and Elsie.

The Bone Man laughed, his bloody red mouth stretched to its fullest. “You can't wish me away. The power of the Grand Council of Witches means nothing to me.”

“You do not belong here, sir.” The witchfinder was
beginning to understand what he was dealing with. “Your magic has no place here.”

“I belong where that amulet is used.” The Bone Man nodded toward me. “This witch is under my protection.” His neck creaked as though it might fall from his shoulders. A necklace of dried bones clicked together when he moved. It hung above a black suit that had been fashionable in the 1700s.

“I am Antonio de Santiago.” The witchfinder curtly nodded to him. “Molly Addison Renard is my prisoner.”

The Bone Man's laugh still made my skin crawl, even though I knew he was on my side and was there to help me. His black eyes fastened on the witchfinder with deepening fury. “Then you and I have a problem, dead man.”

“I have everything in good control,” I assured my erstwhile protector as I held up my hands so he could see that I had finally worked them free between the magic and the water. “I was about to get away. I appreciate you coming for me, but I can take care of myself.”

Water had begun spraying from every direction and was ankle deep on the floor, probably ruining my shoes from Madam Tunis's. It seemed pressurized, as it started spewing in very quickly, making eddies and ripples across the concrete. I couldn't see where, if anyplace, it was going back out. Bits of sand and plant matter from the ocean were mixed with it, swirling in the warm salt water.

The Bone Man shrugged, his eyes appearing much larger than they should have been in his gaunt face. “Very good. But I shall still see you out of this place, Molly. I am prepared to offer you a very good bargain to rid yourself of this council trash. Part of it will be my pleasure.”

“Council trash?” The witchfinder was obviously offended by the term. “I am the chosen of the Council of Witches, sir. Begone before they realize you are here and come for you.”

“We both know the council has no power over me, dead
man.” The Bone Man smiled slowly. “I'd love to see them come.”

“No.” I tried to stop the discussion. “He's here to do a job.” I stared at the witchfinder. “I'd rather you not get rid of him. He may yet be valuable.”

“Then it seems my work is done.” The Bone Man cracked his prominent joints in his large, bony hands and feet. “Another time.”

Though he was gone, the water continued filling the chamber. It was up to my knees by then. I was free of the chair restraints but had no idea how to get out of that terrible place.

“I do not recognize that man.” The witchfinder still pondered the mystery of the Bone Man. “I am not even certain he was a man. Where did he come from? Where has he gone? Why was my magic nothing against him?”

“Right now, we should think about getting out of here.” I wasn't a witch who could snap my fingers and be elsewhere. While I loved the water and felt stronger in its embrace, I could also drown. It might be harder for me to die that way, but I didn't want to find out. “Perhaps we should go back to the brandy room.”

“Perhaps you are correct.” His curious gaze was steady on mine. “You have powerful friends. But I still know that you are lying to me.”

With water approaching my thighs, I said, “Let's leave this place, and I'll tell you what you want to know.”

“Simple enough.” He nodded and we were back in the brandy room. Elsie and Mr. Brannigan were gone. It was only me and the witchfinder. I staggered, unsure of my feet and not used to using so much power to get places.

“Now, the truth.” His eyes were sharp behind the mask.

“Someone else found Makaleigh,” I confided. “But it was not a witch.”

I explained about Olivia as I grabbed a hand towel from
behind the bar to dry my shoes and legs. I was surprised to find the shoes in good condition, barely wet at all. It had to be part of their magical properties. It would be awesome to have a pair of my own.

Unfortunately the magic would be over at dawn, but the spell to keep us in the castle would still be in place. Dorothy, Elsie and I wouldn't be naked, as Madam Tunis had promised, but I was hoping we wouldn't be the only ones to be de-glammed.

“This I believe,” the witchfinder said as I finished my story. “No wonder that creature from the sea came to protect you. Not everyone would have walked into a company of witches who hate ghosts knowing she has a ghost pressed into a bracelet. You do not appear to be unintelligent, so I must believe you are brave,” he acknowledged, “but foolhardy.”

“Thank you.” I didn't explain that I had no idea Olivia had hidden herself in Dorothy's bracelet. It felt like a good time to leave without telling the complete story.

“And so you are exonerated. I move on to interrogate that foolish friend of yours who dared defy me.” His bearing became stiff and rigid again as he took a pinch of snuff and sneezed.

“I'm afraid that's a waste of your time too, Antonio. I was in the room with Elsie, Dorothy and Abdon Fuller's grandson, Brian, when we found Makaleigh. None of us were with her alone. You need to look elsewhere for the killer.”

He sat slowly on one of the velvet chairs, fingering his pencil-thin mustache. “I am quite confused by this turn of events. But how shall I redeem myself if I do not question your friends?”

“Well, you could say you questioned them,” I suggested. “Call them all in here, but then let's strategize. One of the witches in the castle is still guilty of murder. It would be my honor to help you discover who that is.”

“And you would do this for me?”

“Makaleigh was a very special person. I would do it for her.”

He jumped to his feet and held out his hand. “Then let us begin, madam. The truth awaits.”