The Witching Hour

Chapter Fifteen

On Wednesday, April 17th, magic was officially made illegal by a group of anonymous but powerful witch opposers.

It was because of the recent revolts. The deaths took up pages in the papers, magic and non-magic, people who died at the hands of friends and enemies alike. It was two men who caused the decision to be made, two men and their bloody coup.

The two men hadn't been caught yet, and everyone was tearing their hair out searching for them. They had left no leads, nothing. Miraculously talented at mass murder.

Their names were on the front page of every newspaper, witch newspapers and non-magic. Every force of power knew their names, their faces, how to go about catching them.

Printed in bold black ink, Claire read aloud the names–

"Vladimir Antonov and Lucien Fournier. Wanted for mass murder and other criminal offenses."

"What now?" Vivienne groaned.

Claire read on. "Sources say it was a planned assassination. In an interview with Jeanne-Marie Fournier, Fournier's mother, we learned that Lucien had been in great anticipation of the event, which was in question a coronation of sorts."

"A coronation?" Vivienne asked. "They're witches, right?"

Claire nodded. "There've been a lot of killings since Abel LeBlanc died. He was considered the 'Father of All Witches', and he had almost the authority of a king amongst the witches. When he died he left his title to his son."

"His son was murdered, right? We heard about this in my third period study session."

"Yes. And obviously his son didn't have an heir, so witches from all over have been fighting for his position. This 'coronation' the Fournier family hosted was supposed to be an alliance. Witches coming together to crown a new Father, instead of wringing each other's necks for a shot at glory."

"Oh, and that went well," Vivienne chuckled.

She'd expected Claire to laugh too, but Claire was still scrutinizing the page for more information.

"Mrs. Fournier was the only survivor," Claire said.

"Dark," Vivienne replied, no longer really paying attention. Final exams were coming up, and in her head she was reviewing the content of today's lessons.

"Yes, it was dark," Claire thought aloud. "But I don't understand–this says no dark magic was used. They didn't find any sign."

"But it had to be," Vivienne argued, returning to the moment. "You can only do something this massive with dark magic. And they all died, didn't they? You can only kill with dark magic."

"I know, it doesn't make sense," Claire mused. "But dark magic always leaves something behind. And there was nothing there."

"Don't believe it," Vivienne said, shaking it off. "They must've missed something."

She said it even as her mind rushed to bring a solution to this problem. She couldn't stand not having a clear path to the answer. There was a reason for everything, and an explanation. Even though after minutes of trying to work it out, she had to stick with her own statement–they must have missed something. There were rules, and even dark magic had to follow them.

In a darker place than Hallow's, darker even than the cellar basement crawling with rats, a metal star sat on the sill of a boarded-up window. It was a dagger, or more accurately four daggers in the shape of a star. One tip was sharper and longer than the others, but on all four was a dark stain that nobody had bothered to wash off.

Beside the dagger was a button and an envelope. The button was clear white, and it too was stained. The envelope had no address, only a name and two numbers–ten and eleven.

Below the window was a box with a lock, and no one who passed through the room knew what was inside.

Past the window and the box, the room was bare. No light came from the window to illuminate its few features, and the dust was piled up on the walls and floor. By the door it was so thick you could see the two pairs of footprints, one going out and the other going in. At first glance nothing would be thought of them, then take a closer look and wonder what had happened in the room.

The pair going in was small, child-sized in fact, and barefoot. The pair going out was wide and long, and you could tell by its size that its bearer was tall.

Another place in the room where the dust was especially thick was by the window. The larger pair of footprints had passed through here, and maybe turned several times, for the prints repeated here, paced in circles. Maybe there had been a scuffle.

Dropped among these footprints were maybe six nails, fallen off the boarded window.

There was a picture on the ground, drawn in the dust perhaps by a child. It wasn't of anything in particular, just a circle and two lines with a jagged stroke cut right through the middle. A stranger looking at it would not be able to guess what it was.

The door to the room was unlocked, but stuck in the doorframe from so many years free of use. On it was another drawing like the one on the floor, carved with something as thin as a fingernail, but it was missing the jagged line.

The room had been completely undisturbed for years, as you could tell from the thin layer of dust that had also settled upon the footprints. And from the way it had stayed, it was unlikely anyone would disturb it for quite a while longer.

And yet if you turned to the dagger on the windowsill you would see something wasn't quite right. The stains upon its edges were not ages old, in fact they seemed quite new. The envelope, button and dagger were all untouched by the dust, so how long could they have been here?