Joy of Witchcraft (23 page)

That meant someone—David or Tony or Caleb or Garth himself—would end up hurt if I didn’t get a move on. I reached for a silver flask on a nearby table. It contained a tincture of angelica infused in pure rainwater that I’d collected on the night of a full moon. I’d poured the liquid over amber to heighten its protective value, and I’d added particles of my own golden energy when I filled the flask.

“We seek a traitor among us,” I said.

“I’m not the one.” Alex’s eyes flashed fury. Despite the December weather outside, she wore a sleeveless T-shirt, the better to feel the magic, she’d told us just that afternoon. The deep V of the neck only emphasized the tattoos on her arms, the elaborate feathers that glinted blue and green and red.

Those feathers… I could not look at them without thinking of the harpy, of burning quills sweeping against curtains and walls and furniture, destroying so much that I held dear.

Her magic felt like feathers, too, like the hard edge of a quill. I’d known since the night the farmhouse burned that Alex was my first suspect, the student most likely to feel a kinship with that fiery bird-woman.

I raised the flask between us. “Then drink, and prove your innocence.”

But Alex didn’t move. Instead, she cocked her head at a sound behind her—running feet, a wordless bellow. Caleb edged forward, slipping his weapon from its scabbard. As Garth tumbled into the basement room, Caleb called out, “Hold, Warder. You may not pass.”

“You’ve got my witch in there!”

“Our magistrix is talking to a student.”

“Get out of my way!”

Caleb repeated in a steady tone. “You may not pass.”

I eyed Alex, trying to manage my rising tide of urgency. “Drink, before anyone is harmed.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Anyone but me, you mean.”

“If you aren’t a threat, you won’t be hurt.”

“What’s in it?”

I shook my head. “Drink first. If you aren’t the one we seek, then I’ll share all my knowledge with you.”

“Don’t do it, Alex!” Garth’s growl was threaded with a bass note of command. But my student merely held my gaze. She obviously sent a silent message to Seta, though, because her familiar closed the distance between us. With a petulant snarl, Seta held out her hand. I considered holding fast, requiring Alex to come to me, but Garth’s strangled cry convinced me not to stand on ceremony.

“Wait!” the warder hollered. “Let me taste it first!”

“The potion is not for warders,” I said.

“Says who?” Garth cried, pushing forward until Caleb’s blade lodged against his belly.

“Says your magistrix, man!” David’s voice shot across the basement. I could imagine the brutal stare he’d be directing at Garth. I’d been the recipient of his disapproval more times than I cared to remember. I knew how intimidating he could be—and that was without a bared sword to back up his word.

“Drink, Alex,” I commanded. “Drink and put an end to this.”

She tossed her head like a high-strung racehorse refusing to submit to a bridle. But Seta edged backward, bringing her the flask. Alex unscrewed the silver cap. She brought the container under her nose, breathing cautiously at first, then more deeply as she tried to analyze the contents.

The muscles of her arms rippled as she raised up the silver vial. She must have spent hours pumping iron to get that sort of definition beneath her tattoos; each individual barbule seemed to move under its own power. She lifted the flask above her head, as if she was saluting me, as if she was making an offering to Hecate.

“No!” Garth roared as she lowered the container to her lips and tossed back the entire contents in three hearty swallows. When she was done, she dropped the metal to the floor, where it clattered loudly enough to wake the dead.

Neko was the first of us to break the spell; he leaped forward to keep the silver from rocking back and forth. Alex bared her teeth in a feral smile, turning her palms up to show she was innocent of anything we ever could have suspected. Caleb eased back a step, letting Garth bull past him.

Alex shrugged off her warder’s attention. “Magistrix?” she asked, and her voice was the studied cool of a teen in a skateboard park, a kid smoking behind the 7-11 when she was supposed to be in school. “Anything else?”

She wasn’t the traitor. My magic wasn’t clashing with hers, carried on the arcane energy infused into the angelica, garnered from the amber. The elixir had to be spreading from her belly, into her veins, up to her heart, but she wasn’t being bound by Hecate. She was unaffected by the strongest protective potion I’d ever devised.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. I had to know.”

“Of course,” Alex said, and she flexed her arms again. The ripple of those feathers let me know she understood why I’d reached out to her, first of all the new students. For a moment, I thought I’d lost her; I thought she’d have no respect for me or my classes ever again. But then she folded her hands into fists. “And if you let me help you, I’ll beat the crap out of whoever brought that harpy to us.”

I nodded in silent acceptance, a little afraid of what Alex might actually do to the guilty party. “For now, the best help you can provide is to stay quiet. I need you to swear you won’t let anyone know they’ll be tested. You won’t give them a hint of what’s coming.”

Alex licked her lips, letting her tongue stud click audibly against her teeth. “I don’t have any problem with that.”

I fished in my pocket, taking out the figure of Hecate I’d used in Raven and Emma’s trial. “Do you solemnly swear, Alexandra Warner, that you shall not tell any living creature—witch or warder or familiar or mundane—about the trial you have faced in service of the Jane Madison Academy?”

She placed her right hand on the statue. “I solemnly swear.”

I covered her fingers with my own. “And do you bind your warder and your familiar to this self-same oath, so they shall not speak of these events?”

“I do.”

I pushed a golden wash of energy through my palm, into hers. She tightened her grip on the carving, bowing her head in reverence. I nodded and stepped away, returning Hecate to my pocket.

Now that the trial was over, I was weak in the knees. Raven and Emma gathered close, talking to Alex, telling her about their own testing. Tony crossed to Garth and leaned close to whisper something, clear instructions for him to forgive and forget if the glare he cast my way meant anything. Caleb ventured forward with an extended hand, ready to put everything behind him. Seta circled around Alex, keeping a jaundiced eye out for anyone else who might challenge her mistress.

I met David’s gaze above the crowd. He shrugged, as if to say,
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Before I could cross to him, though, there was a knock on the door at the top of the stairs. Someone tried the doorknob, and the knock turned to a pounding. “Jane?” I recognized Bree’s voice. “Jane! We need you upstairs!
Now!
”

My heart pounded as I climbed the stairs to where Bree waited. My fingers still tingled in an aftermath of adrenaline from the confrontation in the basement, and I couldn’t quite manage to draw a full breath. Behind me, David was still grappling with Garth, ordering the other warder to stand down, to let it go, to accept that everything was over now.

I fumbled with the lock on the basement door. From the expression on Bree’s face, I knew I was in trouble. My sturdy Montana cowgirl looked like she was about to faint—not a comforting thought when I remembered how poised she’d remained in the face of a satyr, an orthros, and a harpy. She licked her lips and refused to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t want to interrupt. But… You’d better see for yourself.”

I followed her into the foyer to find an awkward young man, complete with smudged glasses, an over-large suit jacket, and a briefcase that looked so new I expected to see a price tag still dangling from its handle.

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Jane Madison?” he responded, and his voice actually broke on my first name.

“Yes.” I fought not to laugh out loud as my relief fizzed through my bloodstream.

“You’re served,” he said, and he whipped a packet of papers out of his breast pocket, slapping the blue backing against my palm.

I was so startled that I dropped the document on the ground. I gaped as he turned on his heel and helped himself out the front door. I shouted after him, “You can’t serve me! I’m not picking that up! Come back here! You! Don’t take one more step!”

But he did take one more step, and another and another, until he disappeared around the corner, presumably heading to the subway, because I wasn’t certain he was old enough to drive.

I whirled back to Bree. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“He told me I couldn’t. He said I had to get you, but that Hecate’s Court forbade me to say who was waiting.”

Muttering to myself, I bent down and picked up the document. I barely noticed when Bree hurried upstairs. Her bedroom wasn’t even in this townhouse. She just wanted to get away from me.

I studied the paper I held in my hand. “Subpoena” proclaimed the light blue cover sheet, in a Ye Olde English font that made it difficult for me to pick out the individual letters. I folded back the top page and read the very formal, very intimidating document beneath.

“In the Matter of Norville J. Pitt,” said the heading, along with a case number. “Subpoena to Appear and Testify at a Hearing before Hecate’s Court.”

David came up behind me, his body warm against my back. That was just as well, because every cell in my body froze as I read the legalese: “To Jane Madison. You are commanded to appear before Hecate’s Court at the time, date, and place set forth below to testify at an inquest before Hecate’s Court. When you arrive, you must remain at the court until the judge or a court officer allows you to leave. You must also bring with you the following documents, electronically stored information, or objects.” There followed a long listing of materials: any and all documents relating to the formation, chartering, and operation of the Jane Madison Academy, any and all documents relating to Norville J. Pitt, any and all documents relating to David L. Montrose…”

I looked up at David in shock. “Can they do this?”

“Of course they can.”

“But don’t I get a lawyer? Someone to get me out of this?”

He looked grim. “There aren’t any lawyers. It’s an inquest, not a trial. An internal administrative matter.”

“But I don’t know anything they haven’t asked you already! Anything I talk about would be, what, hearsay?”

“Hecate’s Court isn’t like the mundane legal system. They don’t recognize hearsay.”

“So, they can ask me about things I don’t know anything about?”

“If they want to.”

“That’s ridiculous. What if I don’t show up?”

He shrugged. “You’ll be in contempt of court. You can be locked up, and the magicarium can be shut down.”

I bit back a moan of protest. “That isn’t fair! Can I appeal?”

David shook his head. “Look on the bright side. You don’t actually have a lot of documents on hand.”

He was right. Any materials I’d owned had burned in the fire. I continued with a steadier tone. “So I just show up, answer a few questions, and get back here to work on what’s really important?”

“You show up and answer a
lot
of questions. About Pitt.” He paused. “About me.”

This was going to be a nightmare. I scanned back over the subpoena again. The testimony date was Thursday, December 4. Tomorrow.

“What if I had other plans?”

“You’d cancel them.” David sighed and took the subpoena out of my hand. “Try not to worry too much. I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

I stared at him. “You can do that? Why couldn’t
I
be with
you
when you testified?”

“Because you were still a potential witness. They didn’t want to skew your testimony. Besides, you’re a witch. A witch can always claim the protection of her warder.”

He made the inquest sound easy. A little annoying. Maybe even uncomfortable. But nothing to be dreaded. I appreciated the effort he made for me, even though I remembered how devastated he’d been upon his return.

Still, if he was pretending, I could too. I forced myself to smile as I asked, “And what am I supposed to do between now and then?”

“You have three more students to test,” David said. “And I recommend you move quickly—before the traitor strikes again.”

~~~

Skyler was up next. She’d taken up residence in the farthest townhouse. Unlike the other witches, she’d chosen to share a room with Siga. It was an old-fashioned arrangement, one that treated a familiar like an object, almost like a slave. But there wasn’t anything technically wrong with her choice. And Jeffrey, her warder, only had one room to watch over.

As I paused in front of Skyler’s door, Neko pressed close behind me. His lips curved into a nervous grin that showed more skeleton than mirth, but he held up an ornately carved box and nodded. David stood a pace behind both of us, with Caleb and Tony farther down the hall.

We’d all made a silent pact to ignore the summons that had ended our last testing. No one had asked why I’d been needed at the door. We were all one big happy magicarium, pretending that nothing bad could ever happen to us.

I didn’t want to knock, didn’t want to confront another person. Instead, I longed to crawl into my bed, to pull my quilt over my head, shut my eyes, and rock myself to sleep. But a magistrix rarely got what she wanted. I knocked.

Siga was quick to answer. She rested her fleshy fists against her hips, filling the better part of the doorway. This close, her eyes looked too small for her face, an impression heightened by her habit of leaning back as she squinted for a better view. “Yes?” she asked.

“I’m here to speak with Skyler.”

Without looking over her shoulder, she grunted, “Jane wants to see you, Skyler.”

I resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. The rooms here in Blanton House might be bigger than the old lodgings in the farmhouse garage, but Skyler had certainly heard every syllable we’d exchanged. She took her time coming to the door, though, leaving me gritting my teeth.