Putting on the Witch (10 page)

The witchfinder did as I suggested, grimly summoning my friends into the brandy room one at a time until all of us were together. Brian immediately poured himself a drink when he heard why we were all there.

“That's amazing.” Dorothy was surprised when she heard the tale of the Bone Man and the witchfinder. “We have good news too. We found Brian's cat. She somehow managed to get out of the box and was wandering through the castle. Brian and I did a locator spell and found her.”

“Great.” I looked around the room. “What did you do with her?”

“Brian and Dorothy put her back in the carrier and took her upstairs to their room. I guess we all get rooms, since we have to stay here,” Elsie said. “Brian, pour me one of those too, please. I feel a headache coming on, and it needs something stronger than an aspirin.”

Brian handed her a drink.

“But as soon as he saw her he knew her name,” Dorothy continued her story. “It was amazing. At least she was okay.”

“Really? What are you going to call her?” I asked.

“Kalyna.” Brian laughed. “It sounds crazy, but that's what I got from her, and Dorothy said that's how you name them.”

“I can't believe you never had a cat,” Elsie added. “Your parents really neglected your childhood. What witch doesn't have a cat?”

The witchfinder had been restlessly moving about the room as we spoke. He finally gave up all attempts at keeping still. “While you prattle about your cat, a killer is free in the castle. He or she may kill again. This is no way to run an investigation.”

We all sobered at the reminder of why we were there. Once he had our attention, Antonio asked us on which witch he should begin his interrogation.

“I think that's where you're missing the point,” Elsie told him. “In this day, people aren't interrogated so much as those looking for the truth find it with scientific means.”

“There is no torture?” he demanded indignantly. “No scalding of the feet nor pain?”

“Definitely not.” Dorothy shuddered. “We just don't do things that way anymore—well, at least not here. There are some places where torture is still used. It's usually waterboarding or sleep deprivation. Sometimes they use drugs.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at her and gave her the finger-slicing-across-my-neck sign of that being too much information. “But what Elsie said is true, Antonio. We use scientific ways of approaching evidence that will lead us to the killer. This is what my husband does every day as a homicide detective.”

“What are these scientific methods you speak of?” he asked. “How do you utilize them?”

“Well, as we mentioned before—someone out there
should have blood splatter on them from using the ceremonial knife,” I explained. “We'd need some luminol and a black light to see blood where it seems invisible now.”

“And there would be prints on the knife,” Elsie said. “They would match the killer's prints.”

“Prints?” Antonio swore in fluent Spanish. “What are these prints you speak of?”

“Let me show you.” Dorothy took out a tiny notepad and her makeup brush. “You put some powder on someone's fingertips and then push them down on the paper.” She showed him her fingerprints on the notepad. “Everyone has different prints. Let's do yours and we can compare our prints.”

She carefully dusted the witchfinder's fingertips and then pushed his fingers on the notepad beside her print. “There. You see? Our prints are completely different. If we did one for everyone in the room, they'd all be different.”

“And that's the way we find out who killed Makaleigh,” Elsie added.

Antonio looked carefully at his fingers and at the marks on the notepad. “Where do we start this scientific examination? Every witch here could be guilty.”

“We should start with the knife,” I told him. “Where is it?”

“I do not know, since I could not interrogate the blade.” He looked exasperated with the turn of events he wasn't expecting. “I shall inquire as to its resting place.” He bowed slightly to us and left the brandy room.

Olivia's ghost popped out of Dorothy's bracelet. Even for Olivia, she looked stressed.

“What are you doing, Molly? I can't believe you all are trying to reform the witchfinder. Have you lost your minds? This man is a monster. We all know that. He can't be bargained with or taught new ways of finding killers. We have to get out of here. He said you were innocent—let him and the council take it from here.”

“But we may never know who killed Makaleigh that way,” I argued. “It hasn't been easy getting to this point with him, Olivia. I don't think he's a monster—just a man obsessed with his job and finding the truth. We can help him not to have to use enhanced interrogation techniques.”

“It's crazy. Dorothy, you should at least get out of here. Brian, get my daughter somewhere safe.”

“We can't leave the castle,” he reminded her. “This room is as safe as any other with the killer still wandering around out there. At least he or she is only at half magic. Once the spell wears off, everyone will leave, and Makaleigh's killer could go free. This is the best shot we have, Olivia. I agree with Molly on this one.”

“Anyway, I'm not leaving, Mom,” Dorothy said. “We're going to find the killer, just like we figured out who killed you. We can do this. I wish Joe was helping us, but we'll have to do it without him.”

“Don't wish that too hard,” I disagreed. “I wouldn't want him here. This is an ugly side of being a witch I hope he never has to know about.”

The witchfinder returned. He wasn't alone, accompanied by Abdon. The elder witch and council member was angry. He shook the Spaniard, nearly lifting him off his feet before he tossed him to the Persian carpet as though he was a rag doll. If there had been witches like Abdon during the Inquisition, things would have gone much differently.

“What game are you playing at, Brian?” Abdon's voice shook with his fury. “For hundreds of years, the witchfinder has used extreme measures to get to the truth. Now you have him wanting to find fingerprints on the knife that killed Makaleigh. What next—he'll be asking pretty please for information?”

“Grandfather, this is a better way. Every study ever done has showed that torture doesn't work. People say whatever you want them to say just to stop the torture. If you allow
us to proceed, with the help of the witchfinder, I think we'll catch the real killer.”

Staring at Abdon's livid face, I wasn't sure what his response would be. He was used to doing things his own way. The Council of Witches never took rationality into consideration when making their judgments.

But then his features softened when he gazed on the handsome face of his only grandson. “All right, Brian. On one condition.” He put a hand on Brian's shoulder. “I want you to take Makaleigh's place on the council when this is over. I won't be here forever, you know. But there has always been a member of our family on the council. You should be next in line.”

I could see that Brian was struggling for words. If he had any political aspirations to follow in Abdon's footsteps, I'd never heard him mention them. I thought he was as polar opposite from the old man as possible. I wondered why Abdon planned to skip a generation—shouldn't he be talking to Schadt about replacing Makaleigh?

Even though the council was political, with members of the same families coming and going as sitting participants, there were no elections. The council decided who took empty spaces, though to my knowledge, there had never been a place open on the council in my lifetime.

“Well?” Abdon asked impatiently. “You want to change things, do things your way, don't you? The only way to do that is to join the council. Make the changes you want to see. How do you think things got to be the way they are now?”

“That's not saying much,” Elsie muttered.

“It's easy to say that now,” Abdon continued. “During the time of the witchfinder and those like him, witches would have given anything to have an authority like the council. We protect witches, provide ways for them to prosper. I'm sure your girlfriend would approve, right, Debbie?”

Brian's jaw tightened. “Dorothy. Not Debbie. And I don't
want to be on the council. If you don't care whether or not you have the right witch who killed Makaleigh, why should I? What way is that to convince me that I should join a useless organization that I don't agree with? Excuse me. The air is kind of thick in here for me.”

He brushed passed Abdon in a disrespectful way, his blue eyes hard on his grandfather. Dorothy followed closely behind him with a subtle glance at me and Elsie.

Abdon stared at us too. “I suppose you're pleased with that. You've been trying to turn him against me since you forced him into your coven.”

“I'm not happy about it,” Elsie said plainly. “I think Brian would be great on the council, and I wouldn't mind being friends with people in high places. But he's probably right—the stuffiness might kill him. As for forcing him into our coven—that boy never even had a cat! For being such powerful witches, you and his parents have done nothing for him as far as I'm concerned.”

His mouth opened and closed like a disbelieving fish out of water. He obviously didn't realize that Elsie always spoke her mind.

“We really aren't your enemy, Mr. Fuller.” I tried to smooth things over. “It doesn't seem to me that Brian has ever been on the same wavelength with his family. I agree with Elsie that we could use his fresh ideas on the council, but coercing him to do it won't work.”

“When I need advice from two witches who are so far beneath me as to almost be invisible, I'll let you know.”

He stared at the witchfinder, who was still on the floor where Abdon had thrown him. “Get up and get on with your job. You know the consequences if you don't find the witch responsible for Makaleigh's death.”

The door slammed behind him, and Elsie poured herself another drink.

“I thought this party was going to be fun,” she said. “I'd rather watch Larry catch fish than be here.”

Without considering my actions, I went to Antonio and offered my hand to help him up. He ignored me to begin with and then suddenly caught hold of me and rose to his feet.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

He tried to smile, I felt sure of that, but the mask that covered his face barely moved. Still, I saw something in his dark eyes that wasn't there before. I didn't know what to call it—hope? Understanding? I wasn't sure.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that. I guess you'll have to do what the council tells you to do,” I said.

Antonio took my hand and pressed it to his face where his lips would have been. “Dear lady, you have given me something wonderful. I will not dishonor it by taking the old roads. We shall investigate this murder according to your scientific methods, not using torture. What more can the council do to me?”