A Witch's Feast

by C. N. Crawford

  Fiona’s muscles tensed as she closed the book, looking into Tobias’s dark eyes. “We can’t fly out of here with the spell book.”

  A floorboard creaked outside, and Mrs. Ranulf slurred, “That damn Fury won’t shut up.”

  Fiona’s shoulders tensed. Is she drunk? And what is a Fury?

  Mrs. Ranulf’s heels clattered across the rattling planks, and Fiona hurried through the cloaking spell, clutching the book in her hand. Not that invisibility solved their current situation. This nutjob might have that burning dust again.

  Tobias gripped her arm, pulling her down with him under the desk, and she landed in his lap. He wrapped his strong arms around her legs, pulling her in close so the desk covered their bodies. Beneath her, his body felt warm. She could feel a blush creep up to her ears. She cringed. Stop thinking about Tobias’s body.

  Another banging floorboard outside the door sharpened her focus. “Witches!” Mrs. Ranulf trilled. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Tobias’s muscles tensed around her, his upper arms pressed against her thighs. His breath warmed the back of her neck. Today, he smelled like a cedarwood fire. Focus, Fiona. An insane witch-hunter is coming for you. She clutched the book to her chest.

  Mrs. Ranulf tottered in, a pink cocktail in her hand. Her eyes were half closed. “This door isn’t supposed to be open.” She reached into her bathrobe, spilling her drink in the process. “Dammit.” Pulling out the little vial of red dust, she dumped a handful into her palm and blew it into the air. The dust rose in a cloud, coating the room’s surfaces.

  So that’s why we’re under the desk. Fiona could feel Tobias’s heart beating through his T-shirt, and his chest warmed her back.

  Mrs. Ranulf squinted, looking around the room. She threw up her arms, swinging her empty glass. The crypt key gleamed around her neck. If only the room weren’t covered in Purgator dust, Fiona could snatch it from her drunken body.

  Mrs. Ranulf turned, staggering back out of the room. “Nothing up here,” she hollered to no one in particular.

  Beneath Fiona, Tobias’s muscles began to relax, but his arms still enveloped her. “We should get back to our rooms before they find we’re missing,” he whispered, his lips next to her ear.

  “What about the spell book?”

  “I’ll sneak it back to my room to search through it. We need to hurry, though. They could be in our rooms any moment.”

  He released her, and she shifted off his lap, feeling a sudden chill now that he wasn’t beside her. She handed over the book.

  Chanting the transformation spell, she winced as her bones condensed. She took flight, her skin burning with the remnants of red dust floating in the air, and slipped through the vents into the humid spring night.

  She glided over the wildflowers and through her window just in time to hear two pairs of feet echoing on the floorboards outside her room. Landing on her bed, she burst back into her human form, hunching over the edge of her bed to retch. The doorknob turned, and the small mustached guard peaked in the door. Fiona pulled the covers over her legs, stifling a gag.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, frowning.

  She nodded weakly. “Just feeling sick. Woman problems.”

  “Oh.” The door was shut before she could take her next breath.

  She lay down and turned toward the window, pulling her covers up tight over her shoulders.

  She exhaled into her pillow and closed her eyes. Please make it back to your room safely, Tobias.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Thomas

  Lying on the hard floor, Thomas’s muscles throbbed. The rushes poked through his clothes, irritating his skin, and no amount of water could slake the burning in his throat. Seven points. Seven towers. Seven gods. The words circled in his mind like vultures waiting to descend on his last scraps of sanity.

  They’d brought him a few bits of food—stale bread and some kind of watery corn mush that still lay congealing by his side. He hadn’t been hungry, eating only to keep himself from hallucinating. The lack of nutrients had robbed him of his physical strength.

  He pushed himself up to a sitting position, grabbing the spoon for another cold mouthful of the gruel while he sat against the wall. The Throcknells had entire libraries of magical spells, for Christ’s sake. They could magic this sludge into something edible if they felt like it.

  The guard had spoken to him today. The first words he’d heard since the banquet dinner. “Six days,” he’d said. Six days until Thomas’s lungs burst with liquid in a scorpion-vat in Lullaby Square.

  Find me in the Gold Tower, Celia had written. How was he supposed to do that? He was even more a prisoner than she was, and he had no idea how the portals worked.

  All he knew was that at least two of the towers were named for metals. The Gold Tower and the Iron Tower. Gold and iron. The patterns clamored for recognition, and try as he might, he couldn’t shut them out.

  Six days, seven towers. He gave in to the patterns’ demands, turning to the zodiac wheel again. Seven points. Seven towers. Seven gods. He rubbed his face. Seven Sisters. Seven Stars. “No!” He smacked a hand against the cold wall. The last two were just mental static, a pub and a tube station in London. Where was I? “The seven points of the zodiac.”

  There had to be something there. He’d seen the fire goddess’s statue. If he could remember anything about astrology, the Leo sign was associated with fire—and gold. His fingers fluttered, nervous little hummingbirds as he inspected the zodiac wheel. The Gold Tower. Leo, gold, fire. Seven points. Seven eleven. Nine eleven.

  “No.” He shook his head, running his fingers over his hair. He had to separate the static from the real pattern. Some of this was real and some of it wasn’t. He sprang up, tracing a path around the room, trying to mimic the pattern of the lines. The rushes tickled his bare feet. What happened to my shoes?

  A thought struck him mid-step. He hadn’t yet investigated the floor. Eirenaeus might have left him a message there. Grinning, he got down on his hands and knees, frantically scooping up the rushes with a wild urgency. He tossed them through the bars in the window and they tumbled into the wind, scattering like autumn leaves.

  His breath grew ragged with the effort, and a cold sweat sprung up on his forehead. He tripped over his bowl of gruel in a frantic scramble to clear the edges of the room, spilling out its congealed contents. When most of the rushes had been liberated from the cell, he returned to his knees to scour the cold floor. There were no obvious names or drawings, but he inspected every inch of stone.

  He found nothing—until he got to the stone in front of the fireplace. He trembled with excitement as he ran his fingers over a small carving of an M with an arrow, etched close to the empty hearth. The sign for Scorpio—the Iron Tower. It must be a clue—a clue telling him where the passages were.

  The passages, the passenger, and I ride and I ride… He crossed to the window, the chilly air invigorating his skin. That loose bar might come in handy, now. He gripped the bar and yanked it out of its place. He had his tool.

  Returning to the marked stone, he held the bar above his head and began to smash the Scorpio stone with all the force he could muster.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Fiona

  Mrs. Ranulf scanned the students seated in rows. Afternoon sunrays filtered into the drawing room, electrifying her curls with pale light. She stroked the chalice pendant around her neck. Tobias sat to Fiona’s right, arms folded in front of a black T-shirt. She hadn’t heard how he’d managed to sneak back to his room, but he was safe.

  Mrs. Ranulf’s nostrils flared, and her heels clacked across the hardwood floors. “For your own protection, the guards have begun checking rooms at night. We believe that someone among you still practices witchcraft. We have ways of detecting these things.”

  Around Fiona, students sat in rows of wooden chairs. On the other side of Tobias, Connor tapped his knees with the tips of his fingers, his mouth pressed into a thin line. J
onah slumped in his chair to Connor’s right. From Fiona’s left, Alan shot her a nervous glance.

  Dr. Mellior stooped against a bookshelf at the front of the room, staring over the rims of his glasses.

  Mrs. Ranulf wore a flowing, cream lace dress with an open neckline. “We’re here to shelter you. To protect you. To guide you. And yet someone among you still practices magic. Infecting our house like a sickness.”

  Fiona tightened her fists. What would happen if she just stood up and confessed?

  Dr. Mellior nodded solemnly. “We must protect you from yourselves.”

  Munroe’s mother turned her back to him, pulling up her hair from the nape of her neck. “Would you?”

  Dr. Mellior stepped toward her. His long fingers fumbled with the clasp around her throat. His eyes lingered over her pale shoulders, and his tongue ran over his thin lower lip as he pulled the necklace from her.

  She plucked it out of his hand, gripping it in the air with a smile. “This should help us uncover the witch among you. The pendant will sear the skin of anyone who lies.”

  Connor stopped tapping his knee, sitting bolt upright and looking around the room with incredulity. “Is this, like, legal?”

  Mrs. Ranulf shot him a sharp look. “Relax. If you’re pure, you’ve got nothing to fear. Just tell the truth.”

  Fiona’s blood pounded in her ears, and the temptation to confess burned in her mind. She could envision herself screaming “I’m a witch!” so clearly that it almost seemed like an inevitability. And would that be such a terrible thing? She would at least find out where they’d taken Mariana.

  Mrs. Ranulf prowled toward Jonah, the stoner. “Let’s go in order, shall we?” She beckoned him forward.

  His shaggy hair hanging in his eyes, Jonah rose with a half smile, standing in front of Fiona. “Uh, okay.” He was at least a foot taller than the woman.

  “Come closer.” She reached up, pulling his face toward her. She forced the pendant against his cheek as he hunched over.

  “Whoa, okay.” He laughed awkwardly.

  “Are you a witch?” she said.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Have you recited any spells?”

  “Nope.”

  “Have you used any herbs or charms to alter reality?”

  He stared at her cleavage. “Herbs that alter reality?”

  “Have you used any magical herbs?” she demanded.

  “No.”

  Fiona’s nails dug into her palms. I’m a witch. She wanted to scream it to the rafters.

  Connor inched forward. “Is this really necessary?” He cleared his throat as Mrs. Ranulf’s icy gaze fell on him. He pointed to the pendant in her hand. “You’re using a magic charm.”

  She pulled her fist from Jonah’s face, clutching the pendant in the air. Her cheeks reddened. “This is a tool of Blodrial, the one true god. Those of you who don’t believe soon will. The Purgators’ rose will bloom in this great nation once again.” She turned to Jonah, straightening her dress. “You may sit.”

  Dr. Mellior closed his drooping eyelids, nodding approval.

  Mrs. Ranulf smiled, holding out her hands in a maternal gesture. “Don’t let your fear get the best of you, Connor. Just tell us the truth.”

  He shook his head. “I’d like to leave.”

  Her smile disappeared. “There are new laws now. We will do whatever we can to keep our country safe.”

  Fiona bit her thumbnail. Why is Connor so freaked out? I’m the one who’s going to be permanently branded in a few minutes.

  Mrs. Ranulf’s pale gaze bored into the golden-haired boy. “Connor, tell us now if you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.” Her hands hovered outstretched as she stepped toward him.

  His mouth twitched, and then his voice cracked as he spoke, shaking his head. “I was trying to protect myself. I saw what the witches did in Boston, when they cut that man’s head off. They killed all those people.”

  “Tell us what you did. Was that you and your bat flying around at night, spying on us? Were you using magic last night?”

  Fiona swallowed, trying to catch Tobias’s eye. What the hell is going on?

  Connor rose, eyes glistening. Edging toward the door, he stumbled over Jonah’s leg. “It was just herbs. Bay leaves. I read they’d keep the witches away. I said some words over them. It was for protection.”

  Mrs. Ranulf stepped toward him, clutching the pendant in the air. A grin spread across her face. “It’s just as Blodrial told me. You’re the witch. I can see the sickness all around you.” She pointed at his face. “You’ve been marked by evil. You’ll burn in the inferno.”

  “It was just herbs. I didn’t have a bat.”

  Two guards entered, and Mrs. Ranulf nodded toward Connor. The guards gripped his arm, dragging him across the floor.

  He struggled against them, kicking his legs, as they pulled him out of the room. “Where are you taking me?” he shrieked.

  Fiona stood. “He’s not the witch. I’m the witch.” The words spilled out of her.

  “Fiona!” Tobias jumped up. He shook his head, frowning at Mrs. Ranulf. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  Mrs. Ranulf turned slowly, gaping at Fiona and folding her arms. “You what?”

  “I’ve been using magic. I’m the one who transformed into a bat.” Her hands shook, but it felt like a relief to get the truth out. And maybe they’d take her to Mariana.

  Tobias gripped her arm, pulling her close. “Don’t do this.”

  “They have Mariana,” she whispered.

  Mrs. Ranulf stared, licking her lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. Blodrial hasn’t marked you. Look at your test scores! You’re far too smart for that. Your mind has merely been tainted through proximity.” She stepped toward Fiona, grasping her hand and pulling her up. As Fiona’s stomach turned, Mrs. Ranulf wrapped her arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. “And this is why it’s so important to keep our house clean,” she projected. “So we don’t become corrupted through the miasma of evil and filth.” She smelled of honey and crushed roses. For some reason the scent made Fiona want to gag.

  Tobias glared at her. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate her impulsive attempt to find Mariana, but their window of opportunity to find her was shrinking.

  Mrs. Ranulf’s arm remained firmly around Fiona’s shoulders, the tips of her nails pressing into Fiona’s skin. “Without order, we are nothing,” she sighed, and turned to Fiona. “Well, I feel confident we have solved our magic problems. Don’t you?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Fiona

  After a dinner of pea shoots and quinoa, Fiona requested permission to call home. It had taken her a few tries to dial the old-fashioned rotary telephone in the drawing room, and she listened to the ringing on the other end while Mrs. Ranulf stared at her from an aubergine armchair on the other side of the room.

  “Hello? Fiona?”

  It was an enormous relief to hear her mother’s voice. At seven in the evening, she knew her mom would be sitting with her laptop at the kitchen table. Ordinarily she’d be grading papers, but with the school shut down, she’d likely be reading the news over a glass of white wine and a plate of garlicky pasta.

  Still, with Mrs. Ranulf’s gray eyes burning into her, there was no way she could tell her mother she was being kept prisoner here.

  “Mom! I just wanted to give you a call. See how everything is going.”

  “I’m glad you did. I’ve been missing you here. I haven’t been able to get through on the number they gave me. Can you ask Mrs. Ranulf to give me the correct phone number?”

  She’s a psychopath. “I’ll put her on after. What’s going on in Boston?”

  “They think they’ve caught all the terrorists, and they’re lifting the lockdown. People are talking openly about witchcraft now. Are the Ranulfs okay to live with? Senator Ranulf seems a little fanatical on the news. I’ve been thinking maybe you should come home. It’s safe here, now. We can worry about making up the
classes later.”

  Fiona could hear the radio blaring pop music in the background. It all seemed so normal, and tears stung her eyes. She glanced at Mrs. Ranulf, who didn’t seem to blink. “Mariana and Connor were arrested for aiding the terrorists.”

  “What? Fiona, that’s not funny.”

  “It’s not a joke.” She glanced again at Mrs. Ranulf, whose pale eyes bulged. “Mariana and Connor are witches, it turns out. Mrs. Ranulf caught them. It’ll be on the news soon.”

  “This is crazy.” There was a noise like the shuffling of papers. “I’m going down to rent a car and come down to see you. Is Mrs. Ranulf around? Can I speak to her?”

  Fiona felt awash with relief. Maybe her mother could fix this. “She’s right here, as it happens.” Fiona held the phone out to Mrs. Ranulf, who rose from her chair.

  She pressed the receiver to her ear. “Yes?”

  There were a few moments of muffled words from the other end of the line, and then Mrs. Ranulf’s face paled. “Mrs. Forzese. We do what we must to protect our country.” She slammed down the phone before glaring at Fiona. “Your mother would like to terminate your education here. You will not be finishing your junior year. It’s a terrible waste.”

  “She misses me.” Fiona turned, leaving Mrs. Ranulf alone in the drawing room. She hurried through the hallway to the garden doors, slipping out quietly. She still had to meet Tobias and Alan to look over the spell book.

  Fiona picked her way through the overgrown field behind the gardens. There was a burning smell in the air, and a tendril of dark smoke curled into the sky from somewhere near the cemetery. The scent of a barbecue made her mouth water.

  She was meeting Tobias and Alan in the magnolia grove by the river. Despite the gentle sounds of the water lapping against the shore as she drew closer, her shoulders locked with tension. The Purgators were watching everyone with hawks’ eyes. It was a relief that her mother was coming to get her, but she couldn’t leave without finding Mariana and Connor.