A Witch's Feast (11 page)

“It showed me all about you. You were a math prodigy. Your parents are Harvard-educated physicists. They pushed you to learn complex programming. You took college classes in high school, got into MIT early. But before the end of your sophomore year you’d stopped attending classes.”

She stopped drumming her nails, narrowing her brown eyes at him. “Have you been stalking me online?”

He opened his palms toward the ceiling. “I told you. I used the scrying stone.” He smiled. “You do believe in magic, don’t you? I saw that you rebelled against your mathematical background. You began to experiment with tarot cards, herbal love spells, and astrology. You dabbled with hallucinogenic mushrooms and dated a didgeridoo player who called himself a shaman. And now here you are. Selling trinkets and spells.”

She was trembling now, and circles of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jack.” He rested his hands on the edge of the counter, pressing forward. “And I need your help to complete my Great Work.”

“You expect me to believe you’re some kind of wizard?”

He sighed. “Philosopher. But I can see you need more convincing.” He raised his right palm before his mouth, whispering a few words in Angelic. A small cloud of colorful, shimmering moths burst from his hand, fluttering around Alexandria.

She shook her head, her eyes wide in disbelief as she watched them fly. “What are you doing?”
 

He smiled. “You never really believed in magic, did you? You were mostly just trying to antagonize your parents.”

The moths settled on her black shirt, transforming into tiny, colored gems. She gaped at them before lifting her eyes to stare at Jack again. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

He flashed his most charming smile, beginning to understand that there was another way to this girl’s heart. The usual way. He tilted down his head, gazing at her from beneath his lashes. This was his James Dean
look
—
sultry but troubled
.
“I sense that you’re looking for something more from life. Sure, you’re beautiful and smart, but it’s not enough, is it? There’s that ever-present emptiness.” He gently touched the center of her chest with a finger as she stared into his eyes. “The void that can’t be filled.” He ran the finger along her neckline, nodding toward the street. “You’re not like those idiots out there. You need meaning. And I can help you find it.”
 

“You want me to help you with magic?”

“Not parlor tricks like the one I just showed you.” He pressed closer, their breath mingling. “You have a spark of genius, and you should’t let it die. I need your help with writing a computer program. In exchange, I will teach you some real spells.” He glanced around the room. “You must know by now that none of this really works, right?”

She exhaled, long and slow. “What’s the program for?”

He curled a strand of her hair around a finger. “To crack the Voynich manuscript. You see, Alexandria, it holds the key to rewriting all of creation.”

At the head of the long table, below the scarlet-clad image of Great-Great-Grandmother Edgar, Dr. Mellior’s tall, lanky frame dwarfed Mrs. Ranulf. The esteemed psychiatrist’s florid cheeks shined like waxed fruit, and droplets of carrot soup hung suspended in his black beard. He looked around the room through a pair of wire-framed glasses. His hunched, angular posture reminded Fiona of a praying mantis.
 

Their first group therapy session was set to take place over a dinner of brown rice and green beans. On the other side of the table, Alan and Mariana whispered conspiratorially between sips of kale smoothie. Mariana was probably filling him in on the plan to investigate the crypt tonight.
We’ll find out exactly what—or who—Mrs. Ranulf has locked up in there.

From Alan’s side, Sadie was trying desperately to eavesdrop on their conversation, while red-eyed Jonah wolfed down his food without speaking to anyone.
How is he managing to get stoned here?
 

Munroe’s younger brother Harrison crawled under the table, giggling as he touched people’s legs.
But Fiona’s attention was focused on Tobias, who sat to her right. She was determined to speak to him in private. After flying back to her bedroom last night, she’d sat up in bed, staring out the window. Mrs. Ranulf had never strode back through the gardens—but Tobias had. He had slipped along the path from the magnolia grove, smoothly and quietly.
 

Fiona still didn’t know what he’d been up to. After a long day of classes and supervised badminton in the back gardens, she hadn’t had a chance to speak to him alone. And now, Munroe monopolized his attention from the other side of the table as she prattled on about dressage horses.

 
Dr. Mellior fiddled with a wedding ring. “Well, now that we have nourished our bodies a bit, why don’t we begin the healing process?”

Fiona couldn’t stop staring at the globules of soup stuck in his beard.
Does he have anything to do with the person locked in the crypt?
 

He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, missing the bright orange drops. “You may note that I take an unorthodox and informal approach to group therapy. However, my research into family systems therapy indicates that mealtimes are an ideal environment, strengthening one’s ability to heal after a trauma with a wholesome setting. It’s important to have the support of family. And here at Winderbellow, we are a family.”

“I like that we’re safe here.” Connor spoke a little too loudly from the other end of the table.

Mrs. Ranulf shot him an irritated glare.
 

“Well, let’s begin the healing process.” Dr. Mellior stared at Mariana. “Mariana. Why don’t you tell us about your experiences that day, when the Harvesters came?”

What is she supposed to tell them? That she’d spent the day helping to resurrect a Wampanoag king?
 

“I remember the building being on fire. Everything was hot.”

“Hot.” Dr. Mellior’s glasses had slid down his bony nose, and he peered at Mariana over the rims. “Go on.”

She shot Fiona a panicked look. “Maybe someone else can go? It’s too difficult for me to think about.”
 

An image flashed in Fiona’s mind—one of the students she’d seen bleeding to death on the grass outside the school. She couldn’t remember his name, but he’d done magic tricks at a school talent show. Arrows protruded from his ribs like a statue of St. Sebastian. Even though Dr. Mellior had asked them to speak, there were some things people didn’t want to hear about, and that meant the words were blazing in her mind now. What would happen if she spoke her thoughts out loud?

“I didn’t know someone could have that many arrows in you and not die immediately,” she said. “There was a boy. The arrows must have missed his heart, and he was lying there bleeding. And someone’s clothes were on fire, and she was shrieking, but the flames were too high to see who it was. It smelled like—”

“Thank you, Fiona,” said Mrs. Ranulf.
 

Forks clinked against plates in the golden-walled dining room. It had a bitter smell of burning sage.
 

Connor broke the silence, his voice cracking. He named each one of his classmates who’d been slaughtered by a burning arrow—Jason, Eric, Emily, Dave, Oliver, Ava, Stuart, Paul, Scarlett… She’d never paid much attention to Connor, but he’d remembered everyone’s name. He was probably a much better person than she was.

Fiona’s chest ached. It had all been Jack’s doing. She should have known, somehow. She had spent more time with him than anyone else at Mather. She could have stopped it if she hadn’t been so obsessed with his beauty. Suddenly without an appetite, she pushed her plate away. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Beneath the table, Munroe’s brother pinched her leg.
 

“And what about you, Alan?” Dr. Mellior asked. “You were friends with Celia. What did you think about her?”
 

“I mean, she was the prettiest girl in our—” He held up his hands. “I shouldn’t say the prettiest girl. I mean equally pretty as the girls at the table here. Not that girls—women—should be judged—” He took a sip of water. “Can someone else go?”

“Pretty.” Dr. Mellior’s greatest skill seemed to be repetition. “Yes.” The psychiatrist steepled his fingers. “But you never suspected Celia of being a witch?”

Was this supposed to be therapy? It seemed more like an interrogation.
 

Alan shook his head. “She certainly surprised us.”

“I’ll go next,” Munroe trilled. She wore a pale green sundress, with her nails painted to match. “I remember that the witch army was outside, and I thought Tobias was working with them. But then I held my chalice to his cheek, and it didn’t burn his skin when I asked him questions. So he was telling the truth.” She turned to Tobias. “Sorry about that. Then Celia turned into a cougar. And that’s how I knew she was evil.” Her chest flushed. “I’d like to rip her stupid face off.”

“Honestly, Munroe,” Mrs. Ranulf chuckled. “Control yourself in front of company.” She turned to her guests. “Munroe has always been highly emotional. Harrison is a much more intellectual child.”

Munroe glared. “
Mom.
This is supposed to be
our
therapy session.”

“Everyone has a valid opinion here,” said Dr. Mellior approvingly.

“Harrison’s teachers all agree that he’s very advanced,” added Mrs. Ranulf.

“Bang bang bang bang!”
Harrison shouted from under the table, thumping on Fiona’s foot.
 

Fiona jerked her foot up, slamming her knee into the wood.
 

“Well, that seems like enough for today.” Dr. Mellior smiled. “In the next few weeks, I think you’ll find that we’ll grow even stronger as our own sort of family.”
 

Mrs. Ranulf crushed her napkin in her fist. “I hope everyone feels that they’re on the pathway to healing.”

“I almost feel like my chakras are clear from the witch curse,” Sadie piped up. “And it’s kind of nice not having to choose things for myself. Sometimes I’m not sure if I want—”

“Thank you, Sadie,” Mrs. Ranulf interrupted. “Physical wholesomeness can protect us. But before we dismiss you all, I just want to remind you of a little unpleasant fact.” A bit of steel entered her voice. “We are at war with people who are trying to destroy our way of life—our family. Some might call them terrorists, and some might call them witches.” Her pale eyes raked across the room. The students were silent.

Fiona felt her muscles tense. Had Mrs. Ranulf known it was her flying over her head last night?

“I hope you all know to inform the authorities of anything suspicious,” she continued. She turned her icy gaze to Mariana, clad in black as usual. “Anyone who takes an unusual interest in the dark arts should be suspect. And anyone who does not report such acts could be considered co-conspirators of the terrorists. Silence on these matters is against the law.”
 

Mariana looked away in a panic.
Damn.
Her eye makeup and skull jewelry had attracted the wrong sort of attention.
 

Mrs. Ranulf plastered a smile onto her face. “We are here to protect you, but we can only help you if you’re honest with us.”

Dr. Mellior tossed his cloth napkin into his bowl. “She speaks the truth. Now, I believe Mrs. Ranulf has some more cheerful news.”

The woman’s strawberry blond ringlets stood out against her emerald green dress. “A party. In a couple of weeks. It will be a fundraiser for the Sanguine Brotherhood. Mr. Ranulf will be returning from the capital, and we will be hosting some very important guests here. It’s a celebration of my husband’s success in fighting the witchcraft threat.”

Munroe beamed. She’d obviously been waiting for this announcement. “It’s going to be a masquerade ball! We’re all going to work on our masks after classes.”

Mrs. Ranulf eyed Fiona’s faded hospital T-shirt. “Of course if you don’t have the right formal attire, you may look through the old clothing trunks in the basement.” She flicked a hand. “You’re all dismissed.”

Fiona rose and pushed in her chair, before following Tobias through the arched doorways and into the drawing room. He stopped on the far side of the room, idly staring at dusty tomes on a bookshelf. A faint light glowed from bulbs in the chandeliers above, casting muddy shadows over the mahogany chairs and Victorian figurines on the mantel.
 

She approached him, resting a hand on a bookshelf, and he turned to look at her.
 

“We haven’t really talked since we got back from Maremount,” she began. “How are you doing?”

His dark gaze was steady. “Well, I’m alive.”
 

“I’m sorry about Eden. I mean, I’m sorry you had to, you know…”
Save me instead of her.
The words rang in her mind, but she stopped herself.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He lowered his head. “Was there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?”

“My familiar showed up last night,” she whispered, leaning closer. “I transformed and followed him outside.”

“Sounds like a nice evening.”

“I guess, except transforming is so painful. I feel like it’s going to snap my bones.”