It was almost four p.m. I wasn't sure how much good a single hour of sleep would do me, but I'd take what I could get.
Assembling in the Great Hall at five o'clock, we lined up in front of the dais as before. Morgellen held a paper scroll out to Lydia. "Let the names be read," she said.
Lydia took the scroll, and said, "For those whose names are not called, you may retire to the holding room after dinner. You will gather your things and be moved to another holding room, where you may rest and not be disturbed by the comings and goings of the finalists. For those whose names are called, you will return here after dinner." She lifted the scroll, broke the seal, and unrolled it. "These are the names of the contestants who will progress to the next round, in alphabetical order…"
My name was first. Persephone Alcmedi.
Hunter was in that list, as expected. Holly was announced as the runner-up. She'd made the first cut, and being the youngest of us, that was impressive. I gave her a thumbs-up.
After a quick, light dinner of soup and sandwiches (I had potato soup and passed on the ham sandwich) we finalists were taken to the Great Hall and again stood before the Elders. "The eleven of you will compete in the second test. Should any of you be disqualified, the runner-up will replace you," the Eldrenne said. She gestured to her far right and said, "Elspeth."
The other Elder with the crescent moons on her lapels leaned forward. Her permanently frowned face pinched up derisively. "Twenty-one there were, now ten plus one there are." Her words were elongated as if she formed each sound very carefully, but it lent her an air of scheming. "The second test is mine to designate. Now that we have established who among you has the most book knowledge of our ways, you will all submit to a formal interview."
Damn it! That was the last thing I wanted to do: stand before them, answering their questions, hoping they couldn't sense my stain.
"Before these good Elders and the Eldrenne, I will consider whether you are well spoken and judge how you conduct yourself under our ever-watchful eyes. To serve your community as high priestess is to be visible to all and you must exhibit confidence in your demeanor, as well as possess the persona and image that will uphold our standards. Further, you must display an accessibility the media cannot manipulate—and they will try." She appraised each of us in turn. "We will choose five and a single runner-up to proceed to the next round."
Elspeth gestured to the cauldron, then toward the end of the line on her right. "Choose lots. They are numbered one to fifty. You start."
Again, Maria approached the cauldron first. When she looked down, she gasped and stepped back.
"You will draw a lot," Elspeth commanded.
"But—"
"Draw," the Eldrenne said, "or suffer the consequences."
It took Maria a moment, but she gathered herself and stepped up to the cauldron. Sinking to her knees, she stared down into the deep cast-iron pot. She darted her hand inside, gave a squeal and withdrew.
What was in there?
"An empty hand will forfeit," the Eldrenne whispered.
The woman reached in again and as she retrieved her lot she swiftly stood. Held at arm's length, her lot squirmed in her grip. I stared; she held a scorpion by its tail.
"What is the number," Elspeth asked, "on its belly?"
"Six."
Elspeth turned to the next in line. "Now it is your turn."
Maria scanned about for a place to discard the wriggling creature and realized she would have to hold it until this was done. She seemed unsteady as she returned to her spot. The women around me fidgeted nervously.
Remembering Nana's advice, I watched the Elders as this process continued. They were forming opinions of us as we reacted to choosing a scorpion from the pot. I determined not to show any fear. When my turn came, however, staring down into that cauldron, seeing their dark insectlike bodies crawling about, I felt fear.
Still, I watched them, trying to determine movement, to anticipate it.
A childhood memory of catching crawdads in the stream when Nana took me to a nature preserve flashed through my mind. Like a light breeze through a tunnel, calmness billowed into me and blew away the dust clouding my judgment. I reached into the pot, selected a scorpion, and lifted it. "Thirteen," I announced.
After the lottery was reviewed and the critters returned to the cauldron, I found out I was to be interviewed third out of the eleven. Lydia ushered us to the kitchen. "The interviews will begin at seven o'clock. You have free time until then, that is, after you ladies have washed up the evening dishes."
"Dishes?" Hunter asked pointedly.
Lydia's eyes narrowed. "Are you unwilling to wet your hands for the coven you may lead?"
Hunter's jaw dropped, then firmly shut.
"I didn't think so." Lydia turned to leave. "Again, the time before and after your interview is also free time and I suggest you sleep if you can. Return to the holding area. I will come for you there when it is your turn to be interviewed." She left us.
An awkward moment of silence filled the kitchen. I started opening cupboards hunting for the dish soap, found it.
"Let me wash my hands first," Maria said. She scrubbed her hands mercilessly in the sink. "Goddess, I hope there are no more scorpions!" she said and shivered heartily.
She received a bevy of seconds to her thought. "It's not like we'll have to deal with those on a daily basis," added a woman named Suzanne who spoke with a slight Southern accent.
Hunter let her crossed arms fall loose. "No, as high priestess, you'll just have to establish our community platform, state our goals, and implement solid plans to reach them while creating lines not only for outreach but awareness."
"Sounds like you memorized a pamphlet," Maria remarked.
Hunter didn't miss a beat in replying, "Trying to institute and apply that level of strategy makes snatching a single scorpion from a pot seem easy."
Suzanne squared her shoulders. "That is kind of what I meant. We don't have to deal with the unsavory image of the mystic medicine woman of centuries past. That kind of thing made us easy targets for superstition and haunts us yet. A high priestess is clergy. Aside from all the public outlets you mentioned, we also have to be available for our coven members, to counsel and teach them, and often deal with the foolish who want power but are clueless about our laws and ignorant in general. We must be vigilant for our cause."
I noticed Holly's head snapped up at that last and she squinted hard at Suzanne, as if the woman had just spoken some secret spy code phrase. Holly's hands were fisted.
I cleared my throat and interjected, "Comparatively, doing dishes is worry-free."
"If you like menial work," Hunter answered.
"I'm not above doing it," I retorted.
"But a high priestess has far more important things to worry about, as I've just pointed out." She added, "That's not conceit or pride, it's a simple fact."
"Are you ready for all that?" Maria asked, rinsing her hands.
"Are you?" Hunter asked back.
Maria dried her hands on a towel. "Of course, or I wouldn't have asked. And I've noticed that women who think highly of themselves—as in being too good to do the dishes because it might damage their pretty, fake nails—are easily baited and generally turn the hook around and send it back trying to avoid tough questions." She tossed her brown and gray braid over her shoulder. "Think you can answer now?"
Hunter squared her shoulders and took a pose of authority. "Yes, I am ready to be a high priestess, ready for the responsibility and the work of the position. And, if you must know, I have an allergic reaction to most dish, hand, and laundry soaps. I use specialized products at home and I doubt that what they have here is the same."
Maria tossed the towel to her. "Then you dry."
She caught it and said, "I would be glad to." She didn't look glad to.
Holly spoke up. "No one even mentioned dealing with vampires, waeres, wanna-bes, frauds, and the fey."
"Exactly," Hunter said tri
umphantly. "It all makes washing dishes seem" — she looked down at the drying rag with distaste—"absurd."
"So you'd rather deal with a vampire than safely wash dishes?" Maria pressed.
"Yes."
"Have you ever faced an angry vampire?" I asked.
She spun to me. "I assume you have?"
"I have," I agreed. "And you didn't answer."
She realized she was busted again, but didn't back down. "All I can do is my best. That's all any of us can do. And when this is over, we'll know who the best of us is."
She still hadn't answered the question, but had said something that sounded good and leader-ish anyway. Around us, the side-choosing began, some of it mental, some of it outward as women moved to stand nearer Maria and me, or nearer Hunter. Goddess, help me. I hated politics. I wanted no part of it.
So, I gathered the dishes and started the water, but warily watched the assessment. Maybe I was assessing as well, but I wasn't choosing teammates as if we were on a reality show. I was wondering who could handle the position. For whom was I planning to pave this road?
Chapter 16
Lying on my cot, wrestling with the drowsiness that came after eating, I was racking my brain for a way to shield against the Elders that wouldn't rouse their suspicion. I had to make it through the round. If I had a later interview, I could sleep and perhaps, with a fresher mind, come up with a plan. But that hadn't been my multi-legged lot.
After the interview, I'd have about two hours to sleep. If I wasn't cut after this round, that, I thought optimistically, should get me through the night.
A scream resounded through the stone walls.
Instantly on my feet, I was the only one up and moving forward. Yanking open the door, my feet had me in the hall before I knew which direction to go. The sound of another door pulled me around to face the restroom end of the hall.
Mandy backed from the alcove, trembling. One hand covered her mouth, while the other was held before her like a loathsome thing. Footsteps resounded behind me; Lydia was hurrying toward us.
"Mandy." I eased toward her. "What's wrong?"
The holding room door shut behind me, then shoved open again.
"Mandy," I repeated.
Her frizzy blond head turned to me, her distress evident. She blinked. "Persephone," she whispered. She held that outstretched hand toward me. Blood was smeared on her fingertips. "She's dead—she's—she's dead."
Lydia stopped beside me; I felt the other finalists crowding behind us.
"Who's dead?" Lydia asked. "Where?"
Mandy shivered. "The… the one from Georgia. S-Suzanne." She began to sob and pointed to the shadowy alcove near the restroom. I could see nothing from where I stood.
I heard the regular tapping of staffs behind us and turned toward the sound; Morgellen and Elspeth were rounding the turn. "Finalists! Return to the holding room," Morgellen called. I did not obey quickly. Lydia went to them and they whispered together as they moved forward. "Lydia, take Mandy to the office where she can clean her hands. Call the police immediately. Elspeth and I will wait here to secure the area."
The next hour passed in what seemed like only moments.
The police arrived right away and quickly marked off the area with yellow plastic tape. We were all herded into the holding room while they "secured the scene." They photographed everything and dusted for fingerprints. From the doorway of the holding room, we watched the body bag roll by on a stretcher. We were all stunned, moved, and frightened. We barely spoke at all.
Until the police came in with fingerprint cards and ink, I don't think it occurred to any of us that we were suspects… or that a killer might be among us.
We were questioned individually in the kitchen by a short, balding male officer with glasses. His badge had the name Moore on it. During my turn, he wrote down my name and asked, "All right, miss, where were you when you heard Mandy scream?"
"On my cot trying to sleep."
He scribbled in his notes. "And for the half-hour preceding that?"
I explained about being in the kitchen, then returning to the holding room.
He scribbled more. "Did you go to the bathroom at any time?"
"No."
"You just laid on your cot and stayed there?"
"Yes."
"Did you see anyone else leave?"
"I was aware of the door opening and shutting a few times, of walking back and forth, but I didn't see who. My eyes were shut."
He let me go back to the holding room alone, after asking me to send in Holly. The doorless stretch of hallway must have been deemed safe enough for us to walk alone—and no one could escape from it. As I reached the last curve before the holding room door, I heard Morgellen arguing with another police officer. "We are conducting an Eximium! Every one of the contestants has been given a dagger. Every Elder has one as well, though I cannot be sure if any of us brought ours. I didn't bring mine."
"We will have to have everyone's dagger," the officer said. "For forensic testing." He radioed to another officer and requested thirty evidence bags be brought.
"You may take the daggers and proceed with your investigation, young man, but we must continue with our competition."
"That may not be possible—"
Despite the horror I felt that someone was dead, I was ready to cheer about getting out of the interview with the Elders. But Morgellen cut him off mid-sentence.
"I assure you it is," she insisted, her voice firm. "We will keep to the Great Hall. You may do your work here."
"In all likelihood, ma'am, one of them is guilty! I want them all confined to the holding room below ground for now."
"I don't doubt that, young man, but the rest of them are not killers and a high priestess will be chosen from among them. These women are foresworn to compete, and face dire consequences should they refuse to participate, let alone leave these grounds before the night is over. We Elders see no reason to halt the contest."
"Someone has taken a life, ma'am. Your consequences are clearly less of a deterrent to the killer than the threat of life imprisonment or capital punishment."
"Perhaps, Officer Detrick, but our prize is probably the motive for the murder. Our proceeding may help you find the murderer."
I stepped into view as if I hadn't been listening out of sight. Still, I felt the weight of Morgellen's gaze as I passed.
Rejoining the others, I said to Holly, "Officer Moore will see you next." She left as I sat on my cot.
Overhearing Elder Morgellen and Officer Detrick confirmed to me that Suzanne had been stabbed to death and one of the ceremonial daggers we'd each pulled from the cauldron was the most likely weapon.
Hot, I removed my sweatshirt, folded it, and laid it under my cot. I smoothed the copper Henley down.
Why would anyone kill her? As I understood it, none of us contestants knew each other, beyond what would be revealed in holding-room chatting. I thought about each person in the room, considering Morgellen's suggested motive. Who might have done it?
I noted Holly's empty cot; she was answering Officer Moore's questions right now.
As the runner-up, if one person was out of the running, she was in for the next round and therefore had a one in ten shot at advancing. If she remained the runner-up, she would compete, but it would not even be counted unless one of the other ten refused.
Or died.
I remembered how she had glared at Suzanne in the kitchen when Suzanne spoke of being "vigilant for our cause." Among us, Holly was the only one who seemed to have any benefit from Suzanne's death. Did the paper tiger have real claws?
Morgellen had convinced the police to let the Elders proceed with the Eximium. I had no idea how she managed it but the fact that she was an Elder left me wondering if she would use her power to compel him into giving his permission. Unethical, but considering the situation, I wouldn't rule it out. Even if she was sincere in her belief that we would aid in the killer's capture if we continued, allowing us to do so wi
th a killer loose among us was quite a risk to take.
Another officer came to the holding room and bagged and tagged each of our daggers individually. A watchful and silent female officer stayed in the room with us when he left.
When I was called to my interview at ten after nine, my feet felt heavy. Escorted upstairs by Lydia and the dagger-bagging cop, I trudged along, my legs like iron weights. How could I shield? How could I hide? At the bottom of the steps to the Great Hall, I stopped. This was my formal meeting with the Elders. Nana had warned me about this.
Would they detect that I was the Lustrata? That I carried a stain? Would I, in the next few moments, be condemned to be Bindspoken? Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would nullify the stain.
But I couldn't imagine not feeling the vibration in a stone, or the elemental's spirits standing guard in a circle, or not hearing the call of a ley line.
Determined to clear my mind and keep my secrets my own, I started up the steps. The handrail was cold under my sweaty palm as I ascended into the dark, and turned to the dimly lit center of the vast floor.
"Come, child," said the Eldrenne.
I went.
The candlewicks had receded deep; the flames were no longer atop the pillars, but housed inside thin walls of wax, dimming the already low light until the Elders' faces were shadowed under the brims of their hats, wrinkles deep and forbidding as they appraised me.
"Merry Meet," I said, bowing in formal greeting, "Elders and Eldrenne. I am—"
"You are Persephone Alcmedi, of Eris Alcmedi, of Demeter Alcmedi, of Clio Alcmedi, of Thalia Alcmedi, of Elpis Alcmedi," Elspeth said.
"Yes," I answered. My Greek witch lineage went back centuries. I was grateful she didn't want to list it all.
"As the local nominee, we all anticipated you would breeze through the written portion of the test, as surely the acting priestess made a wise choice in you. We were not disappointed. We are assured by your very nomination that you not only know the Rede well, but strictly adhere to it."
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