The Accidental Witch (30 page)

I followed my senses through the labyrinthian keep to some kind of central chamber. It looked like it had been an old dining hall. A cozy fire was crackling in the huge fireplace against the wall, and several sprawling rugs added extra warmth to the cold stone room. There were comfortable sofas everywhere. Fred was in the room talking to a woman who looked like what I imagined the Belle witch must have looked like. She was a crone. She was hideous and bent and old. It hurt just looking at her. Crowley was there and another man with a giant fluffy beard.

My mother was there. She was tied up in some strange thumb screws that tied her thumb to her big toe. She couldn’t move and she was in a circle of red stones. I knew it was her that had been calling to me. She summoned me there for some reason.

I crept in as close as I could and listened to the conversation.

“Frederick, Frederick, Frederick,” the crone said. “You didn’t even want to go. You said it wasn’t your job to clean up some fool girl’s mess, remember? You had no desire to have anything to do with another one of Nineveh’s hell spawn, remember?”

“I make mistakes,” Fred said. “We all make mistakes.”

“What does that T-shirt say?” asked the bushy bearded man.

“It says to watch out or I’ll send the flying monkeys,” Fred answered.

“Why on earth do you dress like a fool?” the bushy bearded man asked again.

“I don’t know, Al,” Fred said. “Just to piss you off, I guess.”

The crone laughed.

“So,” Al said. “You are going to give her to an idiot like this?” he said signaling to Fred.

“I don’t know why you’d be better,” the crone said.

“Because I’ll teach her well. I won’t bias her with faith and religion and devotion to the work of a man who died three thousand years ago.”

“That man was my father,” the crone said.

“We aren’t ever allowed to forget that, are we?” Crowley said. “Why do you get to decide? Call the full counsel and let them decide.”

“This isn’t important enough for the full council,” the crone answered. “She’s just one witch and I think you two are making fools of yourselves over her.”

Fred laughed. “You really are.”

“Better to make a fool out of myself over a woman than to be a fool all the time,” Al said.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the crone said. “The girl will stay here to learn, end of story.”

“She won’t stay,” Fred said.

“That’s absurd,” the crone said. “She’ll do as she’s told.”

“She never does what she’s told,” Fred said.

The crone shook her head. “What about Nineveh?” she said. “Her trial starts tomorrow. I’m growing tired and Fred won’t be able to contain her alone with all the chaos.”

“She’s here,” Crowley said.

“Who?” the crone said.

“Phaedra.”

I stepped out of my corner and walked over to stand behind Fred. I put my hand on his shoulder and he took it and kissed it. The crone was even uglier up close. She looked like a witch from a particularly gruesome fairy tale. The bushy bearded man, Al, was very well dressed and didn’t seem as outwardly malevolent as Crowley. He looked like a fluffy, dark haired Santa Claus.

Now that I was close to Nineveh, I could hear her. I could feel her under my skin, like a disease. I turned away from the others in the group and looked at her. She seemed peaceful enough. She looked like she’d been sedated. She lay in the circle of stone, bleeding from her thumbs and toes. She was still beautiful, but she had taken a beating and her fair skin was bruised and cut. Her voice was a whisper in my head. It was pressing me, begging me to move forward. She wanted something from me. She was pleading. I could feel her pulling me, like she had in the hall. She wanted me to free her. It took an effort to fight her off.

“So, girl,” the crone said to me. Nineveh’s pull on me was so strong, I was only half-paying attention to the crone. I couldn’t help myself. I was everything but a girl. I was a divorced psychologist in her thirties. Even when I had been a girl, there hadn’t been anything girlish about me. No one had ever called me a girl, so I laughed. I opened my mouth and barked laughter at the old crone.

Laughing didn’t go over so well. Crowley and Al looked shocked and the crone looked pissed. Fred looked amused and only barely tried to suppress a half-smile. I knew that I had royally pissed the crone off, but with Nineveh in my head, I could barely care about anything else.

“You find me amusing?” the crone said gruffly.

“Yeah,” I said, “I do. I’m no girl.”

“All right,” the crone said. “But you are eavesdropping in the hall like some wayward child, so if I choose to call you a girl, I believe I am being completely accurate.”

“How would someone get into someone else’s head without casting a spell while being restrained?” I asked, completely ignoring the crone’s interests.

Fred turned around. He stood up and stared down at Nineveh. He knew what I was saying without me even having to finish my sentence.

“She’s not eavesdropping,” Fred yelled. “Nineveh is using the right of first blood.”

“That will be problematic,” the crone said. She rose and walked over to Nineveh. The crone was stooped and needed a stick to walk.

“You’re awake, aren’t you, dear?” she said to Nineveh.

Nineveh’s emerald green eyes opened. She smiled. Her red lips turned upward in a cruel gesture of almost pure malevolence. The pull over me became almost blinding. I fell to me knees in front of her and reached out to her, but I had to stop myself. Fred pulled me back. He sat me down in the chair. I reached for my tattoo. I didn’t want to, but I could feel the fire in my veins. Fred stopped me again.

“What is it?” I hissed.

“It’s the pull of blood. She’s using her own power. She doesn’t need a spell for that. You are her daughter. Historically, it’s been used to communicate with members of your family. It is so strong that even those that have no witchcraft in their blood can convey emotion to their twins or their close siblings. She’s using it to crawl into your mind. The closer she is to you physically, the more power she’ll have over you, even from a distance she can get in your dreams or call you,” Fred answered.

“You’ll always be mine,” Nineveh said from her circle. “No matter whom they choose to teach you. No matter whom you share your bed with. Your blood makes you mine.”

“Nineveh,” the crone said almost sadly. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

“Would you expect any less of me,” Nineveh said with something that resembled affection.

“No, my darling,” the crone said. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’m sorry for this.”

The crone raised her gnarled walking stick and smashed Nineveh’s head, rendering her unconscious and slightly more drenched in blood. Blood trickled out of her nose and mouth, but she was still breathing. I took a deep breath as her influence over me faded. I felt like I had just taken off a particularly tight pair of jeans. It was liberating.

“This complicates tomorrow,” the crone said.

“Can Phaedra even testify? How will we know she won’t be moved to say what Nineveh wants her to say?”

“Without her testimony, we are lost,” Al said somberly.

“We should just kill her,” Crowley said. “No one would complain.”

“I would,” the crone growled. She clearly had some attachment to my mother.

“Why don’t we just sedate her?” I asked.

Everyone looked at me like I had suggested they take a warm bath in cow dung. I looked at Fred and he gave me an encouraging nod.

“In the real world, I’m a psychologist. Chemical restraints are the best way to manage an uncontrollable patient. She’ll still be conscious and able to testify, but she’ll be weakened,” I added.

“Young people always make me feel so very old,” the crone said as she sat down. “I don’t know how to do these things. I don’t know anything about modern medicine. I always thought bleeding worked fine. Why do we need to change things so often?”

I wanted to laugh, but I bit my lip.

“I don’t think bleeding will help here,” I said as seriously as I could. “Diane is an odd cat. She always carries an arsenal of prescription drugs with her. I’m sure she has something. If Nineveh is sedated, she won’t have the strength to mess with me.”

The crone smiled at me. “Fred said you were clever and a woman of the modern age. I think that is a very good idea. I’m tired now. Will you two watch Nineveh while I rest a little?” The crone asked Al and Crowley.

The two nodded.

“You should stay with Phaedra,” the crone said to Fred. “Just in case Nineveh wakes up again. Keep Phaedra safe.”

Fred nodded and the crone walked wearily across the room. Fred took my arm and led me through the long, dark halls back to our room. We were tired, but for some reason that didn’t matter. It was sleepy sex, somewhere between dream and wakefulness. When we were done, I lay in his arms looking at the tapestries on the wall. He kissed my head.

“How did you go from being a priest to what you are now?” I asked sleepily. “You seem so different. I mean, the way you dress and act, it seems inappropriate for a priest.”

“Centuries of bitterness lie between me and the day I took my vows. Life is cruel and I learned that if you can’t laugh at life, it will drive you crazy, especially if given a life as long as mine has been. So I dress as I like and say what I think and anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck themselves. Especially Alexander Dumas. That man always took himself way too seriously.”

“That fluffy man was Alexander Dumas? As in
The Three Musketeers
?” I said a little astounded.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I guess I am young,” I said as I drifted off to sleep.

I fell asleep thinking about The
Count of Monte Cristo.
That had always been my favorite of Dumas’s books. I loved a good revenge story. I dreamt of sword fighting in old castles and prisons filled with lost souls. In my dreams, I wandered the French landscape searching for something I would never find.

* * *

Morning came too soon. There were no windows in our chamber, but I felt morning come even without the light. Even after I was awake, I fought the morning. I curled up next to Fred and kept my eyes shut and pretended to sleep. The last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed and go testify in a room filled with witches and warlocks. I was hoping that maybe if we stayed in bed long enough, the day would pass us by and we would miss our opportunity. Then again, if I didn’t testify, my mother might be freed and then I would have to deal with her again. I’d prefer the room of witches and warlocks, so I got out of bed and took a shower.

Fred was up doing sit-ups when I got out of the shower. I didn’t know he did sit-ups. I watched him as I brushed what was left of my hair and got dressed. I dressed as formally as possible. Fred got in the shower after me and we went down for breakfast. Diane wasn’t waiting for us. I had expected her to be milling around looking for us since she was a stranger in a strange land and all, but I must have forgotten who Diane was because when we finally found her, she was sitting downstairs in the dining hall eating breakfast with a young man. She really didn’t waste any time. I wondered if they even spoke the same language.

I stepped into the light of the dining hall and it felt like something snapped inside of me. It was something I had never felt before. It felt like there was a piece of dust in my eye that I just couldn’t get out. I rubbed my eyes and turned away from the crowd. Fred took my arm.

“What is it?” he whispered.

I turned back around and my vision blurred and refocused. Suddenly, everyone in the room was bathed in a strange sort of light. It was soft, barely visible. I wouldn’t have seen it in the dark, but the bright morning sunlight filtering in through the large windows made it unbearable. Most of the people were washed in shadow, in darkness. Many others were glowing a yellow light. Maybe two or three, including the one Diane sat next to, were bright red. I turned to face Fred. He was red, too. Shit.

I rubbed my eyes again.

“You see it, don’t you?” Fred asked.

“What?” I answered.

“You can see what they are? I knew you were too strong not to see eventually.”

“What?”

“You can see other witches and warlocks?”

I looked and realized I could. The necromancers were black, the oracles were yellow, and spellcasters were red. I could see them. I knew them. Fred smiled at me.

“Why?”

“Only the really powerful can see it. Only the old ones and the strong ones. You are too strong to be blind to it. Honestly, I wondered why you hadn’t seen it sooner.”

“Maybe I’m not as tough as you all think?” I said as I walked over to get my food.

The food was laid out like a potluck at my grandmother’s house. Various unrelated dishes were just placed on the big oak table at the front of the dining hall. It was France, so it wasn’t American eggs and bacon and cereal. There were several plates of croissants and toast and poached eggs. It was light. It hardly looked like enough food, but I grabbed a piece of toast and a pear and sat down next to Diane and her new friend. The two were completely engrossed in each other.

It was a few minutes before Diane turned and looked at me. She smiled and gave me a wink. The man held out his hand to me. He was moderately attractive with a big nose and sandy blond hair. He had brown eyes and a prominent chin.

“Bonjour,” he said.

“Hi,” I answered.

“
Tu ne parle pas français
?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“He doesn’t speak English,” Diane said.

“You speak French?” I asked, but I knew the answer.

“No,” she said. “But he’s wonderful in bed and I like listening to his French. I know enough to pretend I know what he’s saying.”

“You are a wicked woman, Diane,” I said. “Speaking of which, do you have any alprazolam with you?”

“Sure,” Diane rifled around in her purse and handed me a bottle of pills. I looked at the bottle and then in her purse. She was a living breathing pharmacy for all the wrong reasons. Not that she was a drug addict, but she collected prescriptions like some women collected shoes. She was afraid of pain and anxiety and sorrow and she insulated herself with pills. Even if she never took the pills, knowing they were there made her feel safe. Not that I blamed her, being an oracle seemed to fill her with enough anxiety and sorrow for ten lifetimes.