Page 39

Chapter 39

The room was depressingly large, as was the number of its occupants. I stared around in dismay, though thankfully the cowl hid my reaction. There were so many witches here. How could so many have followed a path of evil?

I heard some words in French and then some German. Relief sank in as I realised this wasn’t just the UK’s black witches but evidently some of Europe’s, too. It appeared that the black Coven was a worldwide outfit. Brilliant.

I tried not to let my apprehension slide across my bond to Bastion. We were in a room full of people who killed for power and they weren’t going to let a spying white witch walk away; if we were discovered, it would be curtains for me. I tried to shove down my apprehension. Didn’t the prophecy say that the black witches would tremble at me? At the moment it felt like the other way around .

Everyone was in disguise and, almost without exception, they were using Seer-bespelled cloaks. How much were the Seers making out of the black witches? That was certainly a line I could tug; if I could get names of who purchased them, I’d have one heck of a suspect list. I wasn’t sure if Liyana would share that information, though she’d seemed to warm a little to me by the end of our meeting. If she refused, the only way to get that list would be through the Connection and I was loathe to involve the Inspectors.

There was a tangible aura in the room. Power and darkness crackled in every recess and alcove of the building. Everyone here used blood, torture and death to augment their magic. There were obvious cliques, too: huddles of four witches here or five witches there.

Bastion and I stood out like a sore thumb as the only twosome. Witches, even black witches, need to be a part of a Coven. Heads twisted towards us and, although I couldn’t see the suspicious glares hidden under the cloaks, I was certain they were there.

I threaded my arm through Bastion’s and deliberately moved us a little closer to another group under the guise of examining the room’s centrepiece. It helped us blend in a little more. I hoped .

The sumptuous room had polished teak floors. Teak is hardwearing and I dreaded to think what use these floors had seen. Black columns rose floor to ceiling and the walls were freshly painted a soft cream that complemented the red carpets on various raised daises. Chairs had been set out, and in the centre of the room there was a vase on a pedestal holding an opulent floral display.

The items that were up for sale weren’t on display. There was no catalogue to browse through, so I guessed they were planning a big dramatic reveal. Waiters and waitresses circulated offering sparkling wine and I looked at it longingly. I took one in order to fit in, but I didn’t dare sip it. The last thing I needed was to consume some sort of hidden potion or poison. My entanglement – and poisoning – with Becky was fresh in my mind.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Frogmatch piped up. ‘I was nervous that killing that fly last week wouldn’t count as me properly killing someone.’

‘You killed a fly?’ I was aghast. We’d risked his life by bringing him, believing that he’d recently killed. There I was, imagining Frogmatch sabotaging cars and buses and killing innocent humans, and this whole time his crime had been to kill a fly .

‘It was a really big one,’ he said defensively. ‘And it wouldn’t get out when I opened the window.’

I couldn’t see Bastion’s face but I knew he was grinning. ‘You could have died! ’ I hissed.

‘We’ll discuss it later,’ Bastion interrupted. ‘Eyes on the prize, everyone.’ His gentle rebuke was enough to calm me. He was right: now wasn’t the time, but we would examine Frogmatch’s foolhardy attitude later. I was going to write him a full report about all the things he’d done wrong, but for now I shelved it. We didn’t need to draw any more unwanted attention.

Bastion and I waited patiently for the auction to begin as our wine slowly warmed in our hands. The murmur of voices around us was infuriating because it was next to impossible for me to differentiate the voices to get any useful intel. I hoped Bastion, with his super hearing, was having better luck.

Finally someone in a sharp pinstripe suit banged a gavel. He wore no cloak, and clearly worked for the auction house. The room was galvanised into action and there was an audible buzz as everyone moved towards the chairs. Bastion and I picked two chairs at the end of the aisle, close to the walls and escape – if we needed it. It’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you .

The man in the suit stepped aside, giving the gavel to a cowl-covered witch. Thank goodness we had accidentally complied with the dress code, though in truth it wasn’t really luck because witches have used bespelled cloaks for centuries. It’s our go-to disguise; how wonderfully predictable we are.

From what Ria had told me, the black Coven operated in cells. No one knew more than a handful of other black witches so that they couldn’t betray anyone else if they were caught. Consequently a meeting like this required anonymity for everyone present.

The witch who now held the gavel spoke in a thick French accent. His deep voice echoed around the room. ‘It is wonderful to see so many of you could join us at such short notice. I am grateful to our family that have travelled so far to be with us today. I know there have been grave concerns about our familiars’ continuing ill health.’

A loud murmur passed through the crowd.

‘To that end, the potion work of Madame X has continued to be resourceful and proactive.’ His voice darkened. ‘But as yet, she has not been able to solve the problem. However, she has given temporary energy to our familiars so that we can remain undetected within our so-called Covens. Samples of her enlivening potion will be handed out as you leave the auction tonight. Those samples are free. If you require more, do make further enquiries. In the same vein, the forcible removal of tails continues to provide the best pain treatment. The agony of such an act certainly continues to sustain us and our familiars for an extended period.’

Hidden in my top, Frogmatch let out an enraged growl. I coughed to hide the sound, not daring to look around to see if anyone was looking at me oddly. The tails! I had thought it was just a crazy vampyr on the loose but suddenly everything was clear. Even the tail of poor Cindy, Ria’s familiar, had been removed. I had thought it a brutal, horrific message, a warning to the member of my Coven, but now it took on a more sinister aspect. I didn’t just have a few stray vampyrs to worry about because they were just hired hands – either willingly or unwillingly.

The necromancer who’d killed Melva through a possessed vampyr was certainly busy. My stomach lurched; what if there was more than one necromancer? After all, Hilary had been one as well. How many of these black witches around me were necromancers who could re-animate the dead and possess vampyrs ?

I wondered if the bastard that had killed Melva was here. My fists clenched and it took everything in me to sit still and look at the Frenchman who was still pontificating.

‘I will now pass you into the capable hands of Mr McGoughlin, our auctioneer. The opening lot will be a box of specially curated tails. I can verify the taste of agony on this bunch is truly delectable.’ There were polite claps, like all of this was normal. I thought I might be sick.

McGoughlin, in his sharp pinstripe suit, stepped back up to the microphone. He took the gavel from French Guy. ‘Opening bid for the Box o’ Tails is ￡500.’ The bidding increased rapidly until the small box finally went for just shy of ￡13,000, when McGoughlin finally let the gavel fall. Frogmatch was bubbling with fury, his skin getting progressively hotter as his anger rose. I was sure I could detect the faint smell of brimstone.

Next up was a brooch that would ensure the wearer passed out within thirty minutes of having it pinned on. After the brooch, things went from sinister to nightmarish very quickly. The lamenting mirror, or mirror of tears, caused madness in anyone that gazed in it for twenty minutes. The truly dark thing about it was that it wasn’t twenty minutes in one go but a cumulative effect. If you wanted to drive your enemy mad, all you needed do was gift them this mirror and be patient; eventually the quick glances would add up, even if they weren’t vain enough to stare at themselves. The mirror went for an horrific ￡100,000. It seemed that the witches gathered here were eager to turn their enemies mad. I shivered.

The shadow skull went next for an eye-watering ￡250,000. It was sentient and stored the memories of both its original owner and the dozens of subsequent ones that had bonded with it. There were apparently a plethora of dark spells locked inside it. It reminded me uncomfortably of Grimmy.

Each item shocked me with its vileness. There was a cursed harp, a necro dagger and an ancient grimoire made of human skin. A number of items focused on removing people’s free will, forcing them into subservience or some semblance of cursed love. It was appalling how high the bidding went for those items.

But it was the last item that we’d all come to see.

The cloaked witch with the French accent brought it in. A gong sounded pretentiously and we all watched as he carried in a glass box containing a dark-red crystal. He walked through the assembly at a slow march, as if it were a wedding and he was the bride. This was the crown jewel of the auction; it was for this that people had travelled across oceans. A harkan crystal, a real one too.

The room vibrated with a power that was so strong it made my teeth ache. The implication of its size made my heart weep. So many had died for this piece of vile magic to come into being, hundreds – even thousands. It surprised me that it was for sale. I would have thought that the black witch owner would cling to it with all their might.

The room bubbled with excitement; whispers broke out and people were leaning forward in their seats. Next to me Bastion did the same, and I shifted forward too. As I moved, Frogmatch took advantage of the swirl of my cloak to sidle out of my top, down one of the cloak’s folds and run away. Rune ruin! Where was that damned imp going?

I dared not shout after him. I’d felt his anger at the Box o’ Tails and all that had followed. His skin had become progressively hotter against mine until I’d been sure he must be burning me with his rage. I had no idea what he was thinking or planning, but it couldn’t be good.

My stomach twisted in fear for him, and I silently prayed for the Goddess to watch over him.