“You won’t get away with it, you know,” Minerva said for the sake of covering the soft sound of the zipper with her voice. “They’ll investigate if I go missing.”
“Students stop attending classes, they drop out.”
“Wait. How many students from Stoneridge have you killed?”
“Very few, actually. But when I did, nothing came of it. Thomas, Ginny, now you. Oh, a couple of others a few decades ago. My father and I focused on those who wouldn’t be missed. The occasional hitchhiker, the illegal worker with few ties to this country, or poor young fools looking for handouts through our foundation. You are an only child, far from home, with no money and few people to wonder what happened to you. Besides, you’re witchborn. You’re worth the trouble.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It means you have an interesting family tree. And I need your spark. Frankly, I’m famished and you’re a delicious dish. I’ve looked for a long, long time for someone like you.”
Carolyn grabbed the black box and held it in front of Minervafor her to see. It was lined with red velvet and contained a thin, sharp knife with a golden handle. Carolyn set the box back on the table.
“For the grand finale. It’s an athame. I thought you might appreciate the workmanship. And you do have a love for the dramatic, don’t you? How you love Betty’s cruel horror stories.”
Carolyn unbuttoned her coat and carefully draped it over a corner of the table. She was wearing a white blouse, but the woman quickly grabbed a long red sleeveless tunic and slipped it over her head. Minerva almost laughed, thinking that it would cost a lot to get bloodstains out of the white fabric, and wondered if sorcerers had a special dry cleaner for that.
The ghostly presence drifted across the room; she could almost see it. It possessed a soft kind of shimmer, like an oil slick that faded in and out, yet it was also a shadow, a darkness that almost formed the outline of a man. Could Carolyn also see it? Maybe not. Or maybe she didn’t care.
“You’re rich. I doubt killing me would make you much richer,” Minerva said as the shadow-shape slid next to the pile of red fibers, making some tumble to the ground as it brushed against them.
“I need to buy more time.”
“I don’t understand.”
She finished unzipping the backpack’s pocket. Carolyn’s back was to her, but she looked over her shoulder at Minerva and Minerva stilled her hands.
“The ability runs in my family. But sometimes it skips a generation, or if it manifests, it’s too weak. One of my sons had it, and he rejected it; he stunted his power with drink and drugs. And he wouldn’t let me near Noah.” Carolyn sighed. She picked up a golden pendant with a great red stone and placed it around her neck as she spoke. It occurred to Minerva that it was like watching a knight dressing for battle, or an actor putting on a costume. Perhaps it was necessary for whatever ritual she’d perform that night. Or maybe Carolyn also fancied the dramatic. “Such a disappointment.”
“So you killed him and his wife.”
“I thought if I had Noah to myself, I could rear him properly. Teach him, the way my father taught me. But I was too late, or there was a flaw in his constitution. Perhaps he simply takes after his father, seeking booze and cheap thrills. He’s stunted, too. There was nothing I could show him. But I’ve arranged a good marriage for him. He’ll have a child soon, and that child will have power. I know it. This time I’ll get it right. I’ll raise that baby. And for that, I need more time. We’re rather long-lived, witches. My grandmother died at the age of one hundred and three. But I’ve had a few health snags.”
Carolyn carefully removed the turban from her head, revealing sparse tufts of silvery hair. She was nearly bald and her hands trembled a little. Her painted face and carefully made-up eyebrows, her fanciful outfit, and the extravagant jewelry concealed the frailty of her age. And glamour, a hint of magic, had camouflaged the wounds of time. But now Minerva glimpsed her mortality.
“I need twenty more years and I can make a warlock out of my great-grandson,” Carolyn said as she folded the cloth and set it aside on the table.
“Poor Noah. I suppose he’ll have an accident after he studs a kid for you.”
“Every family has their share of tragedies.”
“The child might turn out useless, too,” Minerva said. “Maybe your power has simply run out.”
“It’s in our blood, girl. Generation after generation.” Carolyn bent over the worktable, her fingers brushing the handles of tools and sharp instruments.
“Except when it skips one or two. Could be you’re the last of your kind. An atavistic remnant, a vestigial tail.”
She whipped out the box cutter from the backpack.
I’m going to die,she thought.I’m going to die, but I’m not going down easy.
Without turning to look at her, the woman spoke. Her voice was magnificently serene. “My dear, it won’t do any good to try and attack me,” she said.
“I had other plans,” Minerva said, and she slashed at her left wrist.
Carolyn let out a furious scream. Minerva was shoved back by a powerful force, her chair toppled over, and she hit her back against the floor. The box cutter went flying through the air and landed in a corner of the room.
“Silly girl,” Carolyn said, slowly approaching her. “You can’t get away from me.”
