Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Betrayal

by Lydia Sherrer

  Madam Barrington shook her head. “No, not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, remember a while ago when Sir Kipling found witches poking around the library? We assumed it was nothing more than general mischief, but perhaps they were looking even then?”

  “Hmm. It is possible. If there is a wizard who has gone rogue, so to speak, and allied with witches so as to funnel them privileged information then we may indeed have a crisis on our hands. But as we have strengthened the wards and put up extra precautions specifically to deter such nosiness, I would not worry overly much. Remain vigilant, and notify me if anything out of the ordinary occurs.”

  “Of course,” Lily said, rising to gather the tea dishes. Sir Kipling, awoken from his nap and displaced from his warm and comfy perch, meowed grumpily. As soon as she headed for the kitchen, he jumped back up on the couch to ensconce himself in the warm indentation she had left, grumbling about humans and their lack of respect for a cat’s beauty sleep.

  Lily saw her mentor out the door, then collected her purse and a few other things, intending to head to the library for the last few hours of the day. Checking the state of her carefully pinned bun in the mirror above her chest of drawers, she spotted Sebastian’s tux jacket in the background and wondered why she hadn’t thought to send it with Madam Barrington along with the rings. She knew she ought to hang it by her front door so she wouldn’t keep forgetting it. But the thought of it gone from her house produced an unexpected hollow feeling behind her breastbone, and she shook her head, promising herself she would deal with it later.

  Leaving her tangled thoughts behind, she drove to McCain Library, hoping that catching up on paperwork would calm her better than tea and scones had. Yet, the entire evening she remained distracted, mind chasing itself around in circles as she wondered about life and relationships and, most concerning of all, what sort of magical mischief they had stumbled upon. Could it have anything to do with her father and his convoluted plans for consolidating power and “saving” wizardkind? As much as she wanted answers, a part of her hoped she would never have to find out.

  Finally giving up on getting anything constructive done, Lily headed home. Problems always looked better after a peaceful night’s rest. All she had to do was make her brain shut up long enough for her to fall asleep.

  It was going to be a long night.

  A piercing ringing intruded into Lily’s slumber, and for a moment her groggy brain couldn’t tell if the noise was part of a dream or outside of it. Then a paw patted her cheek, claws out just enough to prick uncomfortably, and Lily’s eyelids fluttered open.

  “Uuhhh. This’d better be ‘portant,” she mumbled, gummy eyes unseeing in the darkness as she groped blindly for her phone.

  “My whiskers are positively vibrating. Something is very wrong,” was all Sir Kipling offered, moving to the bottom of the bed, where he watched her drag herself from under the piles of covers to find her still-buzzing phone. She answered it on autopilot, mashing it against her ear as she mumbled a hello.

  “The Hilprecht Museum is under attack,” came Madam Barrington’s sharp voice.

  “What?” Wakefulness shot through her like a dart and she turned on her bedside lamp, then fumbled for her glasses.

  “A contingency of witches, most likely Roger and his allies, are attempting to break into the sub-basement of the administration wing, where the closed collections are kept. I just received a panicked call from the head conservator and caretaker of all magical objects stored at the museum. He knows only that his ward alarms went off some thirty minutes ago, and when he arrived at the museum to check, the demon taint was so strong he was quite sure the witches had already summoned a good number and were trying to brute force their way through the wards. Thank heavens it is contained to the sub-floors, or else we might already have civilian casualties. He is keeping the night guards distracted, but we must head there immediately, before local law enforcement is called and this turns into a bloodbath. Or, heaven forbid, spills into the exhibits on the main floors.”

  “O-of course, but, how can we help? Even by plane it would take hours to get there.”

  “Leave that to me. Meet us at the back entrance of the library, we are already on our way.”

  Before Lily had a chance to ask who, exactly, was meant by “we,” Madam Barrington had hung up. “I knew something horrible was going to happen. I just knew it,” Lily muttered as she threw open her closet and began dressing as fast as her stiff limbs would allow.

  “The wicked cannot rest until they do evil, as I believe the saying goes,” Sir Kipling commented, crouched on the end of the bed, yellow eyes wide and watchful.

  “Yes, well I would like to rest, but apparently the universe disapproves. Darn drat witches and their greedy, good-for-nothing…” she trailed off in a string of maledictions that would have made her mother pale, and probably threaten to wash her mouth with soap. But for once, Lily didn’t care.

  Within minutes, she was ready to go, dressed in her spelled outfit complete with sturdy Doc Marten boots. As she turned to exit the bedroom, she hesitated, eyes drawn inexplicably to her jewelry box on her dresser. She almost ignored the impulse that pulled her toward it, but after a second of hesitation, she rushed over and opened the lid to tenderly lift out the silver charm bracelet Sebastian had given her. For a moment she held it, heart full of hope and fear in equal measure as she fingered the charms representing all the things in life she held dear. Then she hurriedly clasped it about her wrist and grabbed her carpet bag, stuffing a few “just in case” items inside and snapping it shut. She had added a handy little closing spell to it so that no one could open it who she didn’t want snooping around. Not unless they took a knife to it and cut the bag to shreds.

  On the way to the front door, Lily paused only to gulp down a glass of water and stuff a banana in her mouth, hoping to forestall any stomach grumbling that might give her away in a precarious situation. It might seem silly, but it was the little things that could make or break one’s endeavors, and she had no idea when she might get her next meal.

  Sir Kipling met her at the front door and they rushed out into the freezing night air. Lily didn’t even pause to activate her normal “away” wards on the apartment, hoping the everyday wards would be enough until she got back.

  To her dismay, a fine mist was falling from the black sky, and the air was just cold enough for the condensation to form slushy sheets of ice on every surface it touched. Slipping and sliding, she made it to her car and climbed in, Sir Kipling shaking his paws and growling at the weather from where he already crouched in the passenger seat.

  The drive to McCain Library, though short, had Lily’s heart in her throat as she tried her best to hurry without sliding off the road. She was not used to driving in such conditions, and her only saving grace was that it was the middle of the night, so there were no other drivers or pedestrians out for her to run into.

  When she pulled into the library’s staff parking, she was relieved to see Madam Barrington’s Buick, dark and silent but not yet frosted over, in a parking space nearby. She hurried to park and extricate herself from the seatbelt, then grabbed her carpet bag before jogging across the dark and soggy lawn toward the back entrance. Sir Kipling bounded behind her, having resigned himself to the wet.

  Lily rounded the bushes along the west side of the building and slid to a halt, surprised to see no one at the back door. There was no light directly above the entrance, but distant lights along the sidewalks and over the parking lot showed no figures waiting for her. After a moment of panic, her mind presented the obvious conclusion that they had already gone inside, since nobody would want to stand around in the misty sleet.

  She was just reaching for the knob, carpet bag slung over her other arm, when she heard Sir Kipling’s hiss and things went horribly, horribly wrong.

  “Why, Miss Singer, how very nice to see you again.”

  Lily whirled toward that creepily familiar voice, a defensive s
pell already forming on her lips. But her mind stuttered to a halt at the sight of Roger Darthe standing before her, Sebastian held prisoner in his grip as he pressed a wickedly curved knife to Sebastian’s throat. A trickle of blood cut a scarlet line down Sebastian’s neck, as if her friend had already tried struggling and paid the price. Lily could tell from the grimace on his face and the angle of his arm disappearing behind his back that the limb was being horribly wrenched, probably almost to the breaking point.

  Roger’s mismatched eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, backlit by an unholy glint of red. He was flanked by two of his followers, one a shorter man with hair as blond as his master and tattoos festooning his neck, the other an exceptionally tall man with skin as dark as night and arms bulging with muscles—arms that held the sagging, frail form of Madam Barrington. She looked unhurt, but her head lolled against the witch’s shoulder, her body limp in unconsciousness. A strangled cry escaped Lily’s lips and she stepped forward, hand reaching out toward her mentor.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” said Roger. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. As I'm sure you can guess, there are some things I need you to do for me, and if you do not, or if you defy me in any way, your dear Sebastian here will be the first to die. I have been looking forward to killing him slowly, bit by bit, for a very long time, so if you force me to kill him quickly and spoil my fun, I shall be very upset indeed. And as for your mangy cat,” he added, eyes leaving her to glare down at Sir Kipling, caught in the act of creeping up on them. “I’ve seen what he can do and will have none of it. Keep him muzzled or he will be the next to die after your precious boyfriend.”

  Lily’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t even swallow, and despite her thick winter coat, her limbs felt as if she had just plunged into a frozen lake. Everything around her seemed fuzzy and unreal, except for the smoldering mix of anger and terror in Sebastian’s eyes, his gaze locked on her like a laser-beam. “They jumped us from behind,” he said, voice as tight as Roger’s grip on the knife against his throat. “No demons, so we didn’t detect them until it was too late. They held some chemical over Aunt B’s nose and—”

  “Enough!” Roger yanked Sebastian’s arm up higher and Sebastian’s lips pressed together so hard they became thin lines. Even so, Lily heard his muffled groan of pain.

  “Stop! Please. You’re going to break his arm.” She took a shuddering breath, looking back and forth between her friend and her mentor, thoughts racing in circles but getting nowhere.

  “Certainly, my pretty Lillian, as soon as you unlock this door and take down your little wards, nice and quiet like. We would hate to have to kill anyone who stumbled upon us by mistake.” When she hesitated, the witch’s eyes narrowed and his grip on the knife shifted, causing a fresh line of blood to trickle down over Sebastian’s Adam’s apple. “Now!” Roger hissed.

  Not knowing what else to do, Lily turned to put her key in the lock. Technically, only maintenance and security were supposed to have access to the building, but Madam Barrington had always ignored such rules and had passed her own set of keys on to Lily. After unlocking the door, it took two tries before Lily managed to deactivate the anti-demon wards, her mind was so distracted by panic and worry. Every hostage situation in every movie she’d watched and book she’d read ran through her head, and she remembered scoffing at the heroes’ inaction when they clearly could have surprised their enemies and gained the upper hand.

  But it was different in real life, so very different.

  Lily’s heart raced and thumped in her chest, leaving her short of breath. Adrenaline pounded through her body, making her hands shake and her eyes dart back and forth as she looked for any way out. What spells did she know that could help? What would instantly incapacitate Roger before he had a chance to press his knife even a millimeter deeper into Sebastian’s throat? What if she failed? What if she got her friend killed? A chilling image flashed across her mind of blood pouring from Sebastian’s slit throat and down his chest as the life fled from his eyes.

  No, no, no.

  She couldn’t take that chance. There was nothing she could do, not until some better opportunity presented itself. It always did in the stories, didn’t it? Roger would make a mistake. Or perhaps Sebastian could call on his fae friends? The witches wouldn’t know what he was saying, they wouldn’t know what was coming. So why hadn’t he done so already? All these thoughts shot like lightning through her as she unlocked the door and went inside.

  “Cassius, watch her,” Roger commanded.

  The shorter man came forward to hold the door, and she stepped back deeper into the library, putting space between them as he looked her slowly up and down, a malicious grin on his face. “That’s right, girlie. Do as you’re told and maybe we’ll let you live…after we have some fun, of course.” He chuckled, standing back as Roger maneuvered awkwardly through the door, Sebastian held in front of him. The tall witch brought up the rear, still holding an unconscious Madam Barrington. For a second, Lily thought she saw a flash of something behind them, glowing faintly silver in the dimness. But then the door closed, and her view was cut off.

  “Go on, then. Lead the way, my dear. I’m sure you know where we are going.” Roger’s lips lifted in what could have been a sneer or a smile. Whatever it was, it sent a shiver through her and she turned to walk stiffly down the silent corridor, mind still grasping for a plan. She looked down, expecting to see Sir Kipling at her heels, but he was nowhere to be found. Had that been him outside? But why had he held back?

  Two turns later they were in front of the door to the basement archives. Reluctantly, Lily lowered additional wards—backups she and Madam Barrington had cast after Sir Kipling’s last run-in with witches—and inserted her key. Mentally, she was banging her head against the wall of her mind, screaming at herself to do something, anything. But she could think of nothing to do that didn’t risk death for one, or all, of them.

  Feeling lightheaded and detached from her own body, she led their macabre-looking party down the archive steps and along row after row of metal shelving. She came to a halt in front of the broom closet door and turned, eyes sweeping the area for her faithful feline, but saw nothing. She could only hope he had gone for help, though who could help them now she had no clue.

  “Open it.”

  Roger’s command made her stomach twist and knot until she felt she might throw up right there onto his polished shoes.

  “I—I can’t”

  “Nonsense. I know you are the caretaker of this arcane library, so don’t try to pretend otherwise. Open it, while I still feel generous enough to ask politely.”

  “Sebastian, I haven’t seen your—your green friends lately,” Lily said as calmly as she could, ignoring Roger and catching her friend’s gaze instead. She had to curl her fingers into fists to stop their trembling.

  “I—I haven’t either…” Sebastian’s face, already contorted with pain and frustration, looked close to crumpling.

  As Lily’s brows drew down in confusion, Roger began to laugh. It started as a chuckle deep in his chest, but soon he had thrown his head back, his malicious pleasure ringing through the basement room. Lily’s brain nudged her, whispering that now was the time to strike. But Sebastian had all but slumped in defeat within his captor’s grip, and before she could decide what to do Roger was staring at her again, his eyes alight with a blood-red glow that bled through his irises and into the whites of his eyes, making them twin pits of fire. When he spoke his voice was lower, smoother, more refined. Though his form did not change, Lily sensed that whatever thing was inside him now had control.

  “His green friends? Ah, it is too much. Too much. Indeed, he has not seen them. But has he told you why, my dear? Has he told you the extent of his mistakes? The depths of his sin? Has he not admitted his own utter helplessness?”

  “Sebastian?”

  Her friend said nothing, but something that could have been shame dimmed the fury in his eyes. His expression was almost pleading, as if he was begging
her to understand. But she didn’t know what she was supposed to understand, only that everything depended on her.

  And she could do nothing.

  “Do not try my patience, Miss Singer. Open the portal.”

  Lily was frozen. Her breath came in shallow gulps of air. What did they want? What would happen if she let demonic forces into a refuge of wizard heritage and learning? She was the caretaker. Could she betray her responsibility, break her oath to care and protect?

  She couldn’t.

  But Sebastian.

  She couldn’t.

  All the stress, all the fear and anxious confusion of the past weeks surged forward in a rush, and her body chose that oddly opportune moment to betray her. A ringing started in her ears and dark spots appeared on her vision as everything around her seemed to sway. Her carpet bag slipped from numb fingers and flopped to the floor. She saw Roger’s mouth open, angry words coming out, but she couldn’t hear them. Sebastian’s face swam before her vision, sad, yet eerily calm as his eyes met hers. Resigned to his fate.

  She was going to pass out.

  Probably for the best, she thought, and collapsed.

  A slap brought her around, the stinging in her cheeks indicating it hadn’t been the first.

  “Get up, you useless idiot. Come on, we don’t have all day.”

  Another slap landed and her eyes snapped open, leg kicking out in instinctive defense. Her boot caught the blond man’s knee and he stumbled away, cursing and limping. Lily scrambled to her feet, trying to clear her head, take the room in, and decide what to do all at once. But she was still lightheaded and dizzy, and before she knew it a giant hand had descended on the back of her neck, gripping it like a cat grips its prey. She stilled beneath that ominous pressure, knowing it would choke her if it tightened much more. The scene before her finally registered, and she realized the giant of a witch was no longer holding Madam Barrington. Rather, her mentor was standing on her own two feet as Roger held her face cupped between his hands, their foreheads touching as he stared intently into her eyes, muttering nonstop.