Estelle Watch and Michael Blackwood.
I had two names, which meant I was two names closer to finding out who the real murderer was. And I was certain one of these people had poisoned and killed Bernard the baker. Hell, I’d bet my life on it.
Too bad I was stuck doing my third witch trial.
Today was December 22, and I was back in Montevalley Castle, in the theater where I’d sat on my very first day of the Merlin trials. I took a seat in the back, perhaps even the same seat, and as far away as possible from the stage at the end of the room.
Though this was the same theater, glancing around now, it was a far cry from the ninety-six witches who’d sat in those seats on October 31.
Now, we were only eighteen, including me and Willis.
My eyes moved to the mess of brown hair and round eyes behind a pair of glasses that were way too big for him and might have been in style back in the eighties. A strange, mothball smell was rolling off of him. Yes, Willis was an oddball, but I liked him.
Only four minutes ago, when my butt had barely made contact with my seat, Willis had called out my name and hurried to grab the one next to me, as though it were the only available seat left in the theater. Looking around, Willis and I were the only ones sitting next to one another. In fact, all sixteen other witches were sitting as far away from one another as possible. They were avoiding each other like the plague. Yet, they kept throwing covert glances filled with disdain and hate our way.
I let out a breath. That was way too much emotion for me. At least Willis and I were on the same page. Trial besties. They could go on hating each other for all I cared. What did it matter anyway? We’d all made it this far. We all deserved to be here. What was their problem?
I had no idea what the third trial would entail. All I knew was that: one, it was the last trial; and two, it was the hardest trial yet.
Excellent.
My eyes scanned the stage. Greta wasn’t here yet. No one was, except for the two witches standing at the roped-off section at the far right of the stage, who I’d presumed worked at the castle. They’d ushered us inside the theater when we’d first arrived and now stood in the shadows, where they could overlook the crowd.
The longer we waited, the worse I felt. Glancing at the heads of the other witches, we were all literally squirming in our seats, awaiting our fate.
I had a feeling Greta was doing that on purpose. She was probably hiding behind a curtain or a door, enjoying the show and sneering at us.
“What do you think the third trial’s gonna be?” asked Willis, his voice low and shaking so much I barely understood him.
“No idea,” I answered, my gaze on the stage. “Harder than the other two. Worse. A lot worse.”
Willis nodded. “Okay. Okay.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs. “You can do this, Willis,” he told himself, and I felt a tiny pang in my heart. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far… I have faith in you. You’re the man. You are awesome.”
“You are weird,” I snorted.
The middle-aged witch beamed. “Better to be weird and unique, than to try being something you’re not.”
“Amen.”
“I don’t know how you did it,” said Willis. “How you pulled me into that ley line? But thank you, all the same. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” He hesitated. “How did you do it?”
“You mean, pulling you in there with me? I’m not exactly sure,” I told him. “And that’s the honest truth.” I hadn’t had the time to think about it much. I’d been too busy trying to figure out who those two people were who’d bought the black belladonna.
“Willis.” I waited for the witch to look at me. “You would have been fine without me. If those witches had played fair, you wouldn’t have needed my help,” I said, remembering the blood in his ears and nose with the bloody gash at the back of his head. Willis would have had a real shot at defeating Silas if he hadn’t been suffering from what I suspected was a severe head trauma. I cast my gaze around the witches, wondering which one of these bastards had done that to Willis.
“They hit me too,” I told him.
“But you got up. I was down, Tessa. I was the one beaten.”
“But you weren’t beaten,” I said. “After what they pulled? They don’t even deserve to be here. But you and me? We do. We’re the underdogs. And they’re jealous that we have a shot at winning this.”
Willis looked down. “Well. We’ll see. My Wilma doesn’t want me to give up.”
“Wilma?” No way. Willis and Wilma?
Willis looked back at me and smiled. “My wife. I’m doing this for her, you know.” He moved his eyes back to the front stage. “She believes in me. I don’t know why, but she does. I’ve already failed the Merlin witch trials twelve times. I’ve never been this close to winning before. Never even got past the second trial. I want this, Tessa. I want to win this for Wilma. She’s my everything. You know?”
Not really. I patted his shoulder. “You will.” My heart clenched at how he spoke of his wife. There was so much love there, and it made me jealous. I wanted a Wilma too—well, a Marcus.
Marcus…
My heart shattered into tiny pieces just as my phone beeped. I glanced down at it in my hand. It was a text from Ronin.
Ronin: I said I’d give you an update. Here it is. Nothing. We’re stalking Facebook but still can’t find anyone by the names of Estelle Watch or Michael Blackwood. Do you want me to ask Gilbert?
Damn. The last thing I needed right now was for that little shifter owl to start a fuss about us having those names. He’d figure out we broke into his store, and then he’d have a fit. Next, he’d figure out his precious book of exotic herbs was missing—another fit—and then he’d blab. Estelle and Michael would hear about it, and they would take off. And that would be the end of that.
We had proof that they bought the black belladonna. Next, we needed a motive, the drive that propelled them to commit murder and poison Bernard the baker.
Me: No. DO NOT TELL GILBERT!!! Sorry about the caps. Please keep looking.
Ronin: Yes, ma’am.
Ronin: Iris here. U doing ok?
Me: Yes. Tell you all about it when I get home.
Ronin: K
“It’s starting,” whispered Willis and I switched my phone to vibrate mode and shoved it in the bag on my lap.
From the right, roped-off section, Greta strutted her way to the middle of the stage across from us, followed by Marina and Silas who stopped and stood a few paces behind her. Each had a stack of white envelopes hanging in their hands.
Greta walked like a disciplined businesswoman. She wore a white robe trimmed with gold cloth. The light from above shone down on her nearly bald head. Her eyes were no less calculating, but there was an edge of something there that I recognized—cruelty. The love of power, to the exclusion of the well-being of one’s fellow beings.
Willis shifted next to me. There was a general murmur of restlessness from the witches in the room. My own nerves were shot. My entire body shook with them. I felt like I was about to shoot off from my chair to the ceiling like a cartoon character.
“Welcome,” she said finally, “to the final Merlin witch trial.” Her voice resonated around the theater. “Ninety-six of you began this journey,” she continued. “And only eighteen of you are left. I expect only half of this group will graduate with their Merlin license. Perhaps less.” She delivered that last while giving me a pointed look, making sure anyone in the room who hadn’t noticed me would now.
I felt my face heat up.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Gasps and low murmurs did another run around the theater. The witches in attendance all muttered and grumbled their disapproval. Obviously, like me, none of them intended to fail. We were here to pass. To get our licenses. And if the last two trials weren’t evidence enough of what they were willing to do to each other, this third trial was going to be hell.
Greta stared at me for another long moment with animosity and I swear a flicker of curiosity behind her eyes. A-ha. Silas had told her about my using the ley lines in the second trial. Either she was curious about them, or she was wondering if I should be disqualified. I was here. Wasn’t I? Which meant the old witch was curious about my ability. My aunts had said it was unique. Maybe they’d been right. Maybe no other witch could bend the ley lines. Yay me.
“Why is she looking at me?” whispered Willis, his eyes wide with panic as he slipped slowly down in his seat until he was practically on the floor. “She thinks I’m going to fail!”
“Shhh,” I told him, pulling him back up by his shirt. “She’s looking at me. Not you. Our hatred goes wa-a-a-y back.” Like a few generations back.
So, she thought I was going to fail. If she thought I would shrink away like Willis, she was wrong. It just made me that much more willing to succeed.
Greta let silence fall afterward and I looked to Silas and Marina whose heads were bent together, deep in conversation. And by the smiles on their faces, I had to infer they were probably placing bets on which one of us was going to make it.
Greta regarded us with passionless, distant features. “You’ve passed the first two trials and now you are here. You think you’re something special. Don’t you? Well, you’re not.”
“Always liked her,” I murmured, seeing Willis slip down again from the corner of my eye. “Does wonders for our egos.”
“Don’t be fooled,” continued Greta, her eyes scanning the rows of seats. “Being a Merlin not only means you need to be able to use your magic abilities, but you need to use your brain. Your investigative skills need to shine. You can excel in your magic, but it means nothing if you can’t use your brain.” She raised her brows and enunciated loudly, “Magical Enforcement Response League Intelligence Network. That’s what a Merlin is. You need to become analysts. Intelligence analysts. You need to prove to me that you’re capable of solving a case.”
A rush of whispers shot through the auditorium.
Willis jerked up in his seat. “Did she just say case?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his finger, looking excited for the first time since he sat down.
“She did,” I answered, tense, edgy, and eager all at the same time. I leaned forward in my seat.
Pulse racing, I stared at Greta as the old witch moved her gaze along the witches. Excitement rushed through me in waves. I could do this. I could solve a case. Right?
Greta cleared her throat. “There are eighteen cases, one for each of you,” she instructed. “Each case is specifically designed for you and you alone. If you need assistance from friends or family, you may do so. Or you can choose to work alone. It’s up to you. You need to collect data, make assessments, investigate your crime scene… your case. Once you have collected all your evidence,” she said, her gaze on us again, “you will come here and present your case to me.”
My lips parted. So, Greta was playing judge, jury, and executioner? Why was I not surprised?
“If you don’t solve your case in the designated amount of time…” She paused. “You will fail.” Again, her eyes pinned me, and I had to resist the urge not to flinch. “Listen up, witches. It’s simple. Solve your case and you will become the next Merlins. Fail… well… better luck next time.”
Willis gave a little whimper and I reached out and patted his head like I would a puppy.
“Now, when I call your name, please come up to the stage to get your assigned case,” ordered the old witch. Greta turned and motioned for Silas and Marina to come forward. They gave her the stack of envelopes they were holding and stepped back.
The old witch glanced down at the first envelope and called, “Craig Allen.”
A twenty-something witch with a shaved head and latte-colored skin stood up and jogged his way to the platform to get his envelope.
The pulsing of adrenaline hurt my head, and I barely heard the other names she called as, one by one, witches in the theater stood. Their movements were fast with barely controlled excitement as they milled together and walked up to the stage to get their envelope, their case.
“That’s me!” exclaimed Willis as he tripped, pushed himself up, made it out of our row, and of course, tripped on the steps on his way up the stage. My eyes were glued to him as he took his envelope and moved away, clutching it as though his wife’s life depended on it. He took three steps, ripped it open, read what it said, and gave me a thumbs up.
I released a shaky breath.
“Tessa Davenport.”
Somewhere in my frazzled brain, I heard my name. I was last. Who knew why. Clearly, it wasn’t alphabetical. Maybe it was by merit. Willis and I both were last to make the second trial.
Numb, I moved out of my row and walked down the aisle to the platform. I barely registered my legs moving, but they did.
I faced Greta. We stared at each other for a moment. Her face was empty of emotion, but her eyes were hard. I flicked my gaze down to the last white envelope in her gnarled fingers. Without uttering a single word, Greta handed me the envelope.
I snatched it up, fingers trembling, as I stared at the simple white envelope with the name TESSA DAVENPORT written in elegant black letters.
I moved down the platform to a space away from the others. I did not want anyone to see me while I opened my envelope, just in case it was bad. I would do badly alone, thank you very much.
With my heart jackhammering in my ears, I ripped open the envelope with shaking fingers and began to read. There was just one sentence, one tiny sentence on the entire piece of eight-by-eleven paper. Yet I had to read it over twice.
You have until midnight tonight to prove Ruth Davenport’s innocence.
Holy hell. She’d given me Ruth’s case.