Chapter 8: Chapter 7 - I Will Have Her Recognized

A murmur rose from the room when Olivia and Jacky stepped out of the crowd and into the empty aisle that led to the break in the banister.

At first I was confused—why were they whispering about Olivia? Of all the places in the world, I thought her outfit would draw the least attention here. Then I realized it wasn’t her they were whispering about. It was Jack Noctis.

Ever since I had opened my undead eyes that October morning, I’d always seen Big Jacky for what he was. Suit. Skeleton. Death. And I had stared at him. Oh, how I had stared.

Other people didn’t. Darius had explained that most people saw Jacky as a normal man—if they saw him at all. Jack Noctis had this weird tendency to slip into the background in a way that made empty air look like the main event in a three-ring circus. He could be standing right next to someone, and they’d only notice him if he drew attention to himself.

After a while, I got used to people not reacting to Jacky in the same way I got used to Jacky himself.

But now everyone’s eyes were on Olivia and her master, and they were reacting.

The clamor would’ve been a lot louder if they were watching a skeleton walk into the center of the room. When I tried to figure out what the problem was, two things occurred to me: first, Jacky was the only man in the room, and second, he wasn’t wearing a pointy hat.

Male witches existed, but they were rare, and I got the feeling that, if one had been there, he would’ve had his own hat.

Which meant the coven had just learned that Olivia Oliversen’s master wasn’t a witch.

The head of the coven didn’t seem surprised.

“Miss Oliversen,” she said, “have you served under your master for a full year?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Olivia said.

The head of the coven said to Jacky, “Mr. Noctis, are you ready to witness Miss Oliversen’s report?”

“I am here to report on behalf of Miss Oliversen,” Jacky said.

The murmur that had settled when the head of the coven had started speaking rose again with new vigor.

My eyes flew up to Olivia’s face. Her stupefied expression was there and gone in under a second—replaced by an I-know-exactly-what’s-going-on expression that looked forced.

A witch in front of me leaned over to her neighbor and whispered, “Can he do that?”

Her neighbor whispered back, “There’s precedent, but it’s rare.”

The coven leader’s look of surprise was gone almost as fast as Olivia’s. She leaned forward on her chair and put her elbows on the table.

“Is there a reason you don’t want Miss Oliversen reporting for herself?”

“Yes,” Jacky said. “I’m afraid that, in her reserve, Miss Oliversen might downplay her accomplishments.”

Holding back my snort almost blew a hole in my sinuses.

Olivia? Reserved?

In the back of my mind, a reasonable voice had the gall to say, Think about it—have you ever heard her brag?

Olivia was sometimes haughty, always a know-it-all, quick to lecture, and as gentle and considerate as a bag of nails…but I couldn’t think of a single time I’d ever heard her brag.

Jacky went on, “I will have her recognized.”

The murmuring stopped and an uneasy silence filled the room.

The head of the coven tapped her finger on the table a few times.

“Mr. Noctis,” she said, “my understanding is that you’re not a witch—”

“Ignorance is not understanding. My status and nature are protected information.”

“Under which Torr?”

“All of them.”

There was something delicious about seeing that woman fazed, even temporarily.

She shook her head. “That’s beside the point—”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jacky said. “I’m Olivia Oliversen’s master. She’s worked under me the last twelve-month, and I’m here to report on her behalf.”

The head of the coven let her imperious eyes rest on Noctis for a long time.

Good luck staring him down, sister.

At last, the woman turned her gaze to Olivia. “Miss Oliversen, are you ready to witness your master’s report?”

Olivia kept her voice firm. “I am.”

“Jack Noctis, you may proceed.”

“Thank you.”

Jacky pulled out two small cylinders from his jacket pocket and laid them on the table beside the single candle. From where I was sitting and with all the people in the way, I couldn’t tell what they were.

Jacky said, “When Olivia came to my household, she was already an accomplished witch, but in the year that she’s been with me, she has progressed considerably. She’s learned principles and theories from every major branch of magic, excluding the thrismages, and using Merlin’s law of communality, she’s adapted the information to her own work, creating entirely new threads of witchcraft which will take decades to fully exploit.”

He took one of the small cylinders, ran the tip of his thumb bone along it, and unrolled it. It was an honest-to-god scroll. The end of the paper flew out from his hand. It was six feet long.

“I will spare you the details of her studies,” Jacky said. “Reading them all would be tedious in the extreme and exhaust your minute-taker. Instead, I would submit this list to be kept with your records, should the need to consult it arise.”

The witch at the end of the table—the one that had been writing the entire time—stopped and looked up at the head of the coven. The auburn-haired witch nodded.

The witch, presumably the minute-taker, stood up and walked over to Jacky. He handed her the scroll.

The head witch motioned to the other cylinder. “Is that another scroll, Mr. Noctis?”

“It is.”

“You couldn’t fit all her studies on one list?”

“By cutting out some particulars and sticking with the general categories for the less important branches, we managed to keep them all on one scroll.” He laid his hand on the second scroll. “This is a list of the spells she’s learned to cast, the tools she’s learned to create, and the spells and tools that she’s invented.”

The witch to the right of the head witch burst out, “Invented?”

The head of the coven glared at her from the corner of her eye. The other witch sat back and pressed her lips together.

The head of the coven turned to the minute-taker. “Ms. Keath.”

Keath picked up the second scroll and brought it to the head witch. She took it and unrolled the first part. Every eye was on her as she read.

“Some of these are standard spells,” the head of the coven observed.

“The rest are not,” Jacky said.

The head witch rolled up the scroll and handed it back to Ms. Keath. “Miss Oliversen, I hope you’re prepared to acquit yourself of these claims.”

Olivia was about to answer, but Jacky spoke first.

“Do you think I lied?”

You could have heard a pin drop in that fathomless silence.

When the head of the coven spoke, her voice was as even and calm as Jacky’s had been. “Mr. Noctis, these reports are utilitarian. The apprentice’s accomplishments are recorded against her name so that the coven can reach out to her if we need someone with that knowledge or experience—”

“I’m aware of that. That’s why we provided you with those lists. However, I was led to believe that you asked the witness for their confirmation only at the end of the interview.”

Olivia clutched the edge of her cape.

A witness confirmed that the report was true. A witness wasn’t tested—especially not by some malicious pop-quiz invented on the spur of the moment. I wondered if Iset had enough foresight to coach Jacky on exactly how to manipulate the situation, or if Jacky—god bless his clueless skull—blundered onto it by accident.

“I thought you were done, Mr. Noctis,” the head of the coven said. “You’ve presented us with her studies and her practice. What more is there?”

“Her work.”

Ms. Keath, with her head slightly ducked, went back to her seat and picked up her pen.

“No scroll for this one?” the head witch asked.

Jacky missed the sarcasm. Of course.

“No,” he said. “The list is, mercifully, shorter, and I would prefer to recite it myself. Her studies and practice are doubtless of greater interest to an academic institution, but her work was an act of service, and it has meant the most to me.”

“I’m sure we all look forward to it.”

Jacky missed the sarcasm there too. But maybe it wasn’t sarcasm. It almost sounded like irritation.

Jacky said, “Olivia Oliversen has offered her services to me numerous times and was quick to accept any requests I made. If, at the time of the request, she didn’t know how to do something, she put aside all her other work and studies in order to learn everything she needed to fulfill the task. She has created complex tools for me. She’s cast numerous spells. Every tool and every spell has functioned without fault. She’s consulted with torrmen. She’s aided seven Torr teams, and she’s acted as a temporary member of two Torr enforcement units. Finally, she has kept my personal home safe by creating a long-term ward that she maintains every day. It covers a sizable mansion and is strong enough to withstand an assault from a supernatural monster.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The witch to the right of the head witch said, “How do you know that?”

“It’s been tested.”

I remembered the wendigo scraping his faces over the blinding blue light of the ward.

Sure. Tested.

It wasn’t technically the wrong word, but it didn’t quite cover the nuance of the situation—such as the bowel-destroying sense of terror.

I was far enough to the side that I could make out the faint pink hue blooming under Olivia’s freckles. When I saw it, I smiled. She always blushed when someone gave her a compliment. It was one of the few things about her that I found endearing.

Another was that ward.

The head of the coven said, “Is there any more, Mr. Noctis?”

“No.”

“Are you satisfied with Miss Oliversen’s work as your apprentice?”

“I’m more than satisfied. I am grateful.”

There was so much sincerity in his words that, even though they were meant for someone else, I felt my own heart rise.

The head witch—aka, Mistress Made-of-Marble—turned her cold eyes to Olivia.

“Miss Oliversen.”

Olivia stepped forward. Jacky stepped back.

“Is your master’s report accurate?”

The pink of Olivia’s cheeks darkened by another shade. “Yes, Mistress.”

“You stand here prepared to swear that, if called on, you could speak to any topic or perform any spell mentioned in these scrolls?”

“Given the time and the proper tools, yes, Mistress.”

“You’d need time to study?”

Olivia’s face hardened. “I’d need time to prepare and cast the spells. Some of them are complex.”

Olivia and the head witch watched each other, their eyes slightly narrowed. The rest of us waited to see if there would be another jab. It was clear Olivia was expecting one. Her whole posture was braced for combat.

The Mistress looked down and moved one of the papers in front of her. “Very well.”

Olivia relaxed. Everyone relaxed. When all those shoulders eased at once, it looked like the room itself was exhaling.

The head of the coven said, “We’ll expect your final report in a year’s time.”

What? No “well done?” No “we’ll be looking forward to it?” That miffed me.

Olivia bowed theatrically low and said, “Thank you, Mistress.”

She turned and, with a proud step, moved toward the back of the room. Jacky turned to follow.

“By the by,” the head of the coven said, “I notice that you haven’t lit the candle.”

Olivia and Jacky stopped. Olivia looked over her shoulder. Her face was stiff.

The head witch glanced up as she shuffled a few more papers. This wasn’t a casual glance to check if Olivia had heard her; it was the rifle shot at Lexington and Concord.

“I didn’t realize that you’d think it was important,” Olivia said.

“It’s traditional.”

It was at that moment that I decided I could never be a witch. When I fought with someone, I was like a rhinoceros in full charge. There was often name-calling, and I always raised my voice to say—or, more accurately, yell—exactly how mad I was. People who could fight with that kind of restrained grace had to be a different species.

Important? The head witch wouldn’t say that. No, no. She would say “traditional,” as if it was nothing more than a simple fact, and give Olivia all the rope she needed to hang herself. If Olivia chose not to light the candle, then that would be Olivia declaring, in front of everyone, that she didn’t think tradition was important.

I scanned the room. Some of the witches looked uneasy. Others were frowning at Olivia, their eyes nothing more than slivers of ice.

Olivia finished turning around so fast the edge of her dress rolled out, as if she was twirling. “Of course.”

She managed only two steps toward the candle before the head witch spoke.

“From there, please.”

Olivia stopped.

The silence was broken by a nervous voice. A plump witch, left of the head witch, had leaned over to say, “Mistress—”

The head witch said, “Olivia Oliversen graduated at the top of her class, and she’s had an extra year of advanced study on numerous subjects. She should have no trouble lighting the candle from there.”

“B-but—”

“Mrs. Bovoyay seems to be worried about something, Miss Oliversen. Is she right? Do you need to have an exception made for you?”

There was no disguising Olivia’s hostility now. If words could kill, Olivia’s stark “no” would have put a hole through the woman, and there would’ve been a room full of witnesses to the murder.

The head witch nodded to the candle. “Then, if you please.”

Olivia raised her right arm in front of her while her left hand snuck behind her back. All the witches watched her right hand with a look of nervous anticipation. I watched her left index finger squiggle around, drawing out a small white glowing rune in the air behind her.

“A rune, Miss Oliversen?”

I raised my eyes. The head witch was leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. There was a subtle look of contempt on her face.

There was no way she should have been able to see that rune. None. Olivia’s body was between her and it. That meant she must have sensed it. Since everyone else looked faintly surprised, she might have been the only one that had.

The head witch said softly, “I thought you were a witch.”

“Witches use tools,” Olivia said.

“Not for something like this.”

When Olivia brought her arm around to the front, the rune wavered and disappeared. She pulled the hat from her head, swept it across her chest, and bowed again.

“To witchcraft then!” Olivia said.

All around us, a billion sparks of white danced in the air, blazing for a moment, fading, blazing again, almost blinding me. I squinted against the gaudy glare but, otherwise, tried not to react. I could hear the murmur of uncomfortable people, but no one was looking around, and no one was covering their eyes. I was probably the only one seeing the monochrome firework display.

There was a whisper of a noise, like a low, tiny, whomph, and the billions of sparks faded for the last time. When I opened my eyes wide, the room was filled with a yellow-orange light. Every last wick on each candle in every scone, every candelabrum, and each tier of the chandelier was burning. On the table in front of the head witch, the solitary candle glowed.

“It’s lit,” Olivia said.

The head of the coven drew herself up with a long inhale. “Well—”

“It’s lit,” Olivia repeated. She turned and walked past the banister. Jacky followed her. The other witches moved aside so they could take their places next to me.

The mistress was still for a few seconds, but whatever she was thinking, she decided not to say anything. She looked down at the papers in front of her and waved her hand to put out the candles.

“That’s our last review for the day,” she said, “and our last review for the week, since many of us will be busy preparing for the Besom Days…”

I tuned her out. I didn’t care about coven business, and I wanted to count the number of candles that had escaped the woman’s efforts to extinguish them. They were at the furthest edges of the room, glowing in luminous defiance.

I elbowed Olivia, smiled, and nodded to one of the still burning candles. Her eyes flicked over, then returned to the front. A smile tugged at the edge of her lips.

“Hey,” I whispered in her ear, “does that woman hate you or something?”

“Oh, I’m sure she would,” Olivia whispered back, “but that would be ‘unprofessional.’”

“Is there a reason? Did you step on her cat or something?”

A look of frustration and grief skimmed over Olivia’s features. “It’s because I didn’t do what she wanted.”

Disturbing buried pain wasn’t a hobby I indulged in. I shut my mouth and looked toward the front of the room.

While our whispered conversation had been going on, the head of the coven had finished the meeting. All the witches were gathering their things and standing to leave. The head witch tucked her papers away in a tasteful leather messenger bag, removed her hat, and shook out her hair.

I’d been silently snarking about the title “Mistress” since I’d heard it. I knew it was traditional and proper for a woman with power, but to me, it made it sound like she had a horde of devoted men on the side. Looking at how beautiful she was, it’d be hard to blame them.

People filed past us.

“Should we go?” Jacky asked.

“We need to wait for Autumn,” Olivia said.

“Let’s at least get out of the way,” I suggested.

Olivia led us over to an already empty row so we wouldn’t be blocking the main aisle. Most of the witches walked right by Olivia, noses in the air, careful never to meet her eyes. Some glared at her.

That was my Olivia. Making friends wherever she went.

A few witches—very few witches—offered Olivia a sly smile as they left. It was one of the smiling ones that waved out the rest of the candles.

Beside me, Olivia stiffened. I followed her gaze to see what was bothering her. The head witch was already halfway across the floor and heading straight for us.

Gosh. This was going to be fun.

The mistress stopped in front of us. She was looking down at her phone, tapping on the screen, when she spoke.

“That was quite the display you put on, Olivia.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said.

The woman’s eyes whipped up to Olivia’s face. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I suppose that would depend on what my goal was, wouldn’t it?”

“Hmm. And I suppose you’re very proud of yourself.”

“I am, Mother.”

Time did a slow-motion double take, giving me the extra minute I needed to process what I’d heard. If I’d been living in an anime, you could’ve seen the dot…dot…dot…pop up on the screen above my head.

Did—did she just say Mother?

I tried not to stare. I failed. I’m sure I looked like one of those brainless, wide-eyed fish, goggling at the woman in front of me.

Yup. I could see it. Olivia’s hair was a lighter, brighter red, but the texture was the same, and their faces had similar bone structure. Since I couldn’t imagine Olivia in anything other than black, I had to superimpose a goth outfit on the older woman. When I pictured that, the resemblance was striking.

The head witch tucked her phone into her pocket and reached out to shake hands with Jacky. “Thank you for looking after my daughter, Mr. Noctis. I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble.”

“You heard my report, Mrs. Oliversen,” Jacky said. “She’s been invaluable.”

The woman hummed again, then turned to me. She put out her hand. “I’m Ellis Sofie Emma Tara Grace Oliversen.”

As we shook, I said, “Emerra Cole. Just…uh…just those two names.”

“Are you friends with Olivia?”

That was a darn good question. Not that we were friends. Ha! No. But I was pretty sure that Olivia wanted to keep quiet about the real reason why she was there. That meant lying, and lying meant we needed a cover story.

When in doubt, dodge.

“I was curious what a coven meeting would look like,” I said. “Olivia was kind enough to let me come along.”

That was mostly true which made it easier for me to say with conviction.

“Will you be staying for the celebration?” Mrs. Oliversen asked.

I wasn’t that good at dodging. I turned to Olivia.

Olivia’s answer came out one stunted word at a time: “We don’t know.”

The mistress cocked her head. “You don’t know?”

“There’s a few things—”

“Besom Days is this weekend.”

Olivia sounded annoyed. “I know, Mother. It happens every year.”

“But this year is the three hundredth anniversary. The whole coven is gathering. We have special guests coming from out of town. I thought that was the only reason you bothered coming.”

“That’s not—”

“Where are you staying?”

Olivia spoke through her clenched teeth. “We haven’t decided if we’re staying yet.”

“Meaning you’ve made no preparations.” Mrs. Oliversen sighed through her nose. “That was irresponsible of you, Olivia.”

Olivia went red and looked down at the floor.

Her mother pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’ll call Janice and have her prepare the guest rooms.”

Olivia’s head jerked up. “No!”

Mrs. Oliversen paused, her finger hovering over her phone’s screen. “You have an objection?”

Olivia must have had dozens of objections. I could see them warring behind her eyes, vying for the title of “Biggest Reason Why Olivia Would Rather Be Eaten Alive By Rats Than Stay With Her Mother.”

Since the war would probably be a long one, Olivia only repeated herself.

“We haven’t decided if we’re staying.”

“And if you do decide to stay, what then?” Mrs. Oliversen said. “Did you really think you’d be able to find a room on such short notice?” When Olivia didn’t answer, she added, “Did you think at all?”

“Um, excuse me.”

What? Who said that? And why was Mrs. Oliversen looking at—oh, crap. It was me. I’d said it.

I grabbed Olivia’s arm and smiled at her mother. “If you could please give us, you know, a minute. Or two.”

I dragged Olivia to the corner of the room.

When I turned to her, she hissed, “I thought you were supposed to be mute!”

“Hey!” I put a hand to my chest, “Believe me, I get that! It’s my mouth we have to convince.”

“What do you want?”

“Maybe we should take your mother up on her offer.”

“What?”

“Maybe we should—”

“It wasn’t an offer, Emerra! She’s bossing me around.”

“Okay, yeah, it wasn’t the most polite way—”

Olivia glared at a line in the floorboards. “I’m not going back. I’m never going back.”

A small crack appeared in my heart. Out of it came a whisper of sympathy that had escaped from the deepest part of my soul.

I put my hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “It’s a five-hour drive.”

The witch raised her eyes. I’d never really looked into them before. The green flecks that dominated the hazel color glinted like a glass bottle in the sun.

I said, “If something’s wrong and we have to look for your friend, do you really want to waste all that time driving?”

“We can find somewhere closer,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, but how close? I mean, it’s the three-hundredth anniversary. I don’t know what the celebration is about, but I do know that people have a weird affection for big round numbers.”

Olivia gnawed on the edge of her bottom lip.

I continued, “Or we could be here, at the scene, staying with the head of the coven who probably gets all the news first.” I paused. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

A second later, Olivia gave a violent shrug to dislodge me. “Get your hand off my shoulder.”

I followed her back to her mother and Jacky.

Olivia said, “Do you want to call Janice now, or would you like me to let you know once we’ve made our decision?”

“You can’t make it now?” Mrs. Oliversen said.

“No, Mother. I can’t.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to accommodate you. I’ll call Janice and Nylah and let them know what’s happening.”

“Thank you.”

Olivia looked ill. Extracting those two words had probably knocked five years off her life.

“Will you be going home now?” Mrs. Oliversen asked.

“We have things to do.”

“Then I’ll see you later this evening.”

“If we decide to stay.”

The head of the coven started toward the exit without looking back. “Have it your way, Olivia.”

I can’t say I was sorry to see her go.