13. Soul

thirteen

“Natje!” Constance’s booming, lyrical voice ricocheted off the bookshelves.

A stout woman, she was barely more than a whisper over five feet tall, but her personality filled the room. Her curly dark hair was cropped close to her skull, and though she favored loose black skirts and tunic-style tops, her jewelry and glasses matched the vivacity of her voice. Ruby-red winged glasses inlaid with diamonds perched on her nose, a massive green gem in a buttery yellow-gold setting swallowed her right index finger, and the baubles, beads, and crystals she wore, tinkling merrily together with every sweep and step, had Milla checking the room for vampires.

“It’s been an age and a day!” She swung her arms wide, and Natje stepped into the embrace. Air kisses were shared, and then Constance Abernathy, lauded Ink Witch, advoccultant, and Elder Witch of the Panhandle Coven, addressed Milla directly. “Look what the broom swept in.”

“Hi, Connie.” Milla sent her a faint wave. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s Aunt Connie or nothing, girl.” Constance swept past Lou and wrapped her sturdy arms around Milla before she had fully risen from the chair. Though short, the Elder Witch was strong, and Milla’s spine cracked in her hug. She held Milla at arm’s length, bright brown eyes taking her in. “Did you hit yourself with a wasting hex? What’s happened to you?”

“I—”

“Ludmilla ran afoul of a rogue loa a few weeks ago,” Lou interrupted, startling Milla.

Weeks?

She knew she had lost time in the cells, knew she had been down there for longer than she could track, but how many weeks was weeks ?

Lou’s eyes glinted cruelly at her, and she pointed between Milla and Constance. “You know each other?”

“Constance and my sister are close,” Natje said. She settled in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, her face impassive.

“I’ve known our little Milla Mouse since she was a tiny thing in pigtails.” Constance let go of Milla’s shoulders, waving her hands as she doddered behind her desk and plopped into the wicker-backed rolling chair. “Did you ever manage to get on top of the tower?” she asked Milla, smiling broadly. Before she could answer, Constance told the room, “She was determined to free-climb Morgen’s tower. I thought the witch was going to have a heart attack the first time Milla fell. How did I not know you took down the loa?”

“If it is all the same,” said Natje, “I would like to adhere to formalities.”

“Alright, fine.” Connie leaned back in the chair, swiveling side to side. “Dina should be here any minute.”

“Dina.” Natje straightened, uncrossing her legs to place both feet on the floor. “Of course, it would be Dina.”

“What’s wrong with Dina?” Milla whisper-hissed. Natje brushed her question off with a flick of her wrist.

“The Third Head takes accusations of the Forbidden and Foule quite seriously,” Constance said. “Her sympathetic nature has kept more than one witchling out of trouble.” Her eyes lifted to the back of the room where Lou hovered in the corner. Milla fought the urge to twist in her seat and put eyes on the Light Witch. She could practically feel her gleaming gaze boring into the back of her head, and the hairs along her neck prickled with an uneasy chill. “Better her than Em. You’d think she would have calmed down after twenty-six years as the Second Head, but she’s cleaved more witches in the last decade than any Tribunal member before her.”

A tight, quiet cough came from the back of the room, and Milla gave in, glancing over her shoulder at Lou, who stared calmly back at her, a fist pressed to her mouth.

“Are we besmirching the good reputation of my colleague?” A bright, lilting voice punched into the room, followed a moment later by a middle-aged presenting witch in a forest green power suit charging through the door. Coppery hair pulled into a clean French twist drew attention to the sharp line of her cheekbones and slope of her nose. Though not quite pinched, her face had a fox-like appearance, the features all pointing inward to the tight button of her lips and crowned by keen brown eyes. She swept behind Constance and summoned a tufted leather wingbacked chair to sit in. “At least wait until I’m situated; I love a good gab at Em’s expense.”

“As fun as that would be, we have a more pressing matter to attend to.” Constance tipped her head toward Milla. “Morgen’s girl has gotten herself into a bit of hot water.”

“Ah, yes.” Dina leaned forward in her chair, propping her elbows on the edge of the desk and resting her chin on top of her laced fingers. “Took out a raw-head, did we?”

“I—” Milla started. Natje swatted her thigh and hissed sharply. “Ow.” She glared at Natje, rubbing her thigh with the heel of her palm.

“You understand the risk this poses to C.R.O.W., yes?” Dina looked pointedly at Milla. “A caretaker of a demesne utilizing magick Forbidden and Foule without consequence threatens the very foundation of our ideals. Regardless of her status as a daughter of the Morgenhexe.”

“Foster daughter,” Milla corrected. Natje swatted her again, and Dina cocked her head.

“Did you or did you not utilize magick Forbidden and Foule to rid your demesne of a raw-head?”

“Objection,” Natje barked.

“This is not a trial, Advoccultant Tage,” Constance stated.

“Then kindly cease badgering my client into an admission,” she said. “There is no evidence of magick Forbidden and Foule having been performed in the demesne of St. Augustine on the date in question.”

“And yet two Enforcers in good standing bore witness,” Dina replied. “Their report states—” The lights flickered, surprise cutting off her tirade. Constance swiveled in her chair to put her eyes on one of the lamps. Something brushed against Milla’s ankle, and she stiffened, the hair along her arms and scalp prickling with unease.

“The Elder Agent Simmons filed the report in question.” Natje dismissively flicked two fingers over her shoulder at Lou. “Her report declares that the E.R.I.E. signature retrieved at the scene of this supposed crime was inconclusive.”

“Social distortion,” Lou confirmed.

Dina’s eyes narrowed in her direction, and for a brief instant, her gaze slipped to the side. A frown pulled at her pinched lips, the slightest furrow appeared between her brows, and then the coolly disinterested mask slipped back into place. “How so?” she asked Lou.

“The good intent of the holiday obstructed our readings.”

Dina blinked, straightened, and snapped her fingers. A manila folder identical to the one Natje had shared with Milla appeared in her hands and she set it down, flipping through the pages. “Valentine’s Day?”

“It was impossible to get a clear read with the obstruction from vinefica, obnubilari, and augury magick.”

“Then why did you suggest that the guilty in question performed an acte of magick Forbidden and Foule?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered. At Milla’s back, the slight ruffle of clothing suggested Lou was adjusting her weight from foot to foot, and Natje’s warning—everyone’s warning—came roaring to life in her head.

No one lies to C.R.O.W.

Dina dropped her gaze to the file, eyes darting from side to side as she waited out the silence, and then—she laughed.

“Inconclusive signature suggests the potential for magick Forbidden and Foule,” she read aloud. “Request approval to deploy a team of Enforcers to join singular officer in an evidence-gathering mission.” She flipped the file closed and smiled beatifically at Lou. “Clever clog.”

“Without a clear reading upon which to accuse the guilty of magick Forbidden and Foule, there is no reason my client should continue to be detained by C.R.O.W.,” Natje stated.

“You are forgetting that this report is based upon the eyewitness accounts of two Enforcers,” Dina replied. “The Elder and Younger Agent Simmons have been a great boon to C.R.O.W.; at the end of the day, it is a matter of their word against hers.” She tipped her head at Milla. Again, something soft lapped at her ankle. She shuffled her feet, rubbing the exposed skin against the hem of her pants. “If Agent Simmons suspects magick Forbidden and Foule, then C.R.O.W. is inclined to investigate the matter to the full extent of their capabilities.”

“Investigate, but there is no precedence for elongated detention,” Natje argued.

“And what about her dues?” Constance asked. “Milla is several years in arrears, not to mention outstanding fines and fees associated with summons, dealings, transactions, and transgressions, all of them unsanctioned.” Her eyes bored into Milla as she spoke, voice laced with maternal disappointment.

“No.” Milla sat up. “That’s not right, Morgen has been paying my dues—”

“To the Biscayne Coven, dear.” Connie frowned slightly. “But you have been a practicing witch in a Panhandle demesne for several years.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Not only did you never come to visit your Aunt Connie, but you failed to update your affiliation when you moved to St. Augustine.”

“She’s also unregistered,” Rhett added from the back of the room. “And uninsured.”

Milla twisted in her seat to glare at him, and Natje flicked her arm.

“Now, I know things have been a little”—Constance tapped her bejeweled finger against the desk—“chaotic, but a Witch of the Demesne must remain in good standing, which means paying their dues, continuing to register with their regional oversight coven, and maintaining insurance equivalent to the risk their Way presents the Staid populace. Any witch who fails to do so is subject to fines, and if they do not pay and adhere to the regulations set forth by C.R.O.W., it is within my right as Elder Witch of your regional coven to detain you.”

“But I’m registered with the Biscayne Coven,” Milla argued. “And my dues have been paid there. Can’t we just transfer the paperwork?”

“And what of the ritual dues?” Constance countered.

Milla bit her cheek. It was not that she’d forgotten about paying her ritual dues, or hadn’t wanted to, it was just— how was she supposed to pay them? The Witch of a Demesne was expected to tend their city and charge the magick coursing through the earth. She paid her dues to the demesne, and the demesne supported her in return. It was a conversation between Witch and Earth. A give and take to ensure both were made stronger by the other. And Milla paid her dues to St. Augustine. Or, at least, she had. Running daily, treating with the desecrants, performing small, untraceable magicks disguised as hippocromancy or chronomancy to feed the demesne and fill the well of magick waiting at her fingertips.

The magick Anaisa had stolen.

But how was she supposed to pay her ritual dues to the Panhandle Coven when she wasn’t supposed to exist?

“We can’t transfer those between covens, and even if it were possible, Biscayne reports you have not attended a single ritual with their coven in close to a decade.” Constance tipped her head at Milla, peering at her over the bright red frames. “It is within my right to hold you in custody until the monetary and ritual debt is paid.”

Milla sank lower in her chair. Beside her, Natje grumbled under her breath, casting a sidelong glance her way. “How much does my client owe?”

Constance summoned a pen to hand and scribbled on a notepad, tearing the paper free and sliding it across the polished mahogany. Milla leaned over as Natje plucked it from the desk, trying to gauge just how fucked she was, but the witch turned the paper away before she could see. Face blank, Natje folded the paper between her fingers and it vanished to wherever the Nachtehexe stored her secrets.

“How much?” Milla asked.

“More than you make in a year.”

“How do you know how much I make in a year?”

Natje sent her a droll look, giving all the effect of slowly rolled eyes. To Constance, she said, “I will require a full report of all lapsed dues, fines, fees, and an account of ritual dues owed, of course.”

“Of course.” Constance nodded. “My assistant will be happy to put that together for you. Rhett?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The vestic answered from behind Milla, nodding to the room and slipping through the office doors.

“Well.” Dina picked up a stack of papers from the folder, tapping them against the desk to straighten it. “As intriguing as local bureaucracy is, I did not fly all this way to discuss lapsed dues.” She pointed her pen at Natje, then Constance. “The Tribunal is only concerned in this matter as far as the allegations of magick Forbidden and Foule are concerned. With the eyewitness accounts of two witches in good standing, and without a reliable E.R.I.E. scan to disprove their claims, it is my opinion that she remain under coven custody until extradition to ?esky Krumlov can be arranged.”

The light winked out as briefly as if Milla had blinked, so fast that she would have happily believed that she’d imagined it if not for Lou’s angry hiss at her back and Constance’s tiny yelp of surprise. She swiveled around to stare at the window, frowning at the glowing lamps.

Lou cleared her throat, stepping beside Milla’s chair. “There is one way,” she said. “Or rather, one Way , I suppose.”

“Oh?” Dina lifted one brow, waiting.

“I do not mean to impose, but if it would aid the Third Head in her review of the events, I am happy to offer my services.” Lou looked around the room, eyes bright and face the picture of innocence. “If there is a svítilna, on hand, of course.”

“You don’t mean to suggest …” Constance craned her head around to gape at Lou, her body slowly following as she spun her chair. “A Soul Projection, Agent Simmons?”

Milla sucked in a breath, holding herself as still as she could. A Soul Projection was a specialty of Light Witches. Soul was the memory, the truth of things as seen and lived without personal biases and feelings distorting fact, and a Soul Projection put all of that on display. With their Way, a Light Witch could summon any specific memory to hand and, with the aid of a svítilna, project it for all to see. It was an infallible means of discerning truth in given testimony and only called upon when the need was dire. Veritas potions could be worked around by a clever mind, and allures could be dispelled, but Soul-bound memories were fact writ in stone.

“The tribunal wouldn’t dream of asking you to perform such an invasive ritual for a trivial matter.”

“A witch’s life lies beneath the cleaving blade, Dina,” Natje said. “This is hardly trivial.”

For the third time, something tickled Milla’s foot, slipping around her ankle and staying there. It was a soft possessive touch that had her clenching her teeth and staring at the corner of Constance’s desk to keep from whirling around and glaring at the gloom in the corner.

“I agree.” Lou’s fingers drummed the back of Milla’s chair. “As the younger Agent Simmons was the witch assigned to St. Augustine, this matter is anything but trivial”—leather creaked under her nails as she gripped tight—“to me.”

Dina’s eyes narrowed, and she regarded Lou for a long moment. “I was unaware that your brother was the agent in question,” she paced out. “One would think I would have been alerted.”

“An oversight,” Lou said.

Dina pursed her lips, nodding as she weighed the matter silently. Without warning, she slapped both hands down on the desk, the sharp sound making Milla flinch. “Very well,” she waved the back of a hand at Lou. “Get thee to a svítilna.”

“We have one or two on hand,” Constance said, reaching for a phone at the edge of the desk. The doors at the rear of the office opened, and Rhett stepped in, accompanied by a youngish witch carrying a Bankers Box. Hair styled into a neon-pink faux-hawk clashed wonderfully with their burgundy and tan suit, and the teal pocket square on their suitcoat called the eye to finer, lusher threads in the weave. “Ah, Rhett,” Constance smiled at the witch. “Well done, as ever.” He nodded his thanks and Constance gestured to the witch carrying the box. “You can place that over there, Maddox.” She pointed at Milla, who barely had the time to react before a hefty box full of what had to be rocks dropped on her lap. The witch, Maddox, turned to leave, and Constance asked, “If you have a moment?”

Maddox’s shoulders hitched, and they froze midstep, creaking around to face the Elder Witch. “Yes?”

“You are a svítilna, correct?”

Their eyes widened, darting from witch to witch in the room, lingering on Lou before returning to Constance. “Yeah?”

“Excellent.” Constance clapped her hands. “We require your Way. Agent Simmons has offered to perform a Soul Projection.”

“A Soul …?” Maddox shook their head, backing away from Lou. “I’ve never—”

“I have.” Lou took in the witch from head to toe, looking unimpressed. “It requires little effort on your part; all we need is a mirror.”

“I can go get one.” Maddox pointed at the door, already leaning into the step

“No need.” Constance waved her hand, and a large red velvet drape that had absolutely not been hanging on the wall a moment earlier pulled aside, winding in on itself and disappearing to reveal a gilded framed mirror nestled among the bookcases. “Let’s get this over with, hm?”