Page 40 of Autumn L.A.W

“Wall collapse,” Lioness said smoothly. She subtly drew a pile of rubble in the air. The glamour appeared behind them.

They nodded, then loaded Cal onto the stretcher. As they did, his fingers tightened weakly around her sleeve.

“I’m apt to be an invalid after this. You staying with me?” he asked.

She leaned in close and smiled despite everything. “Try getting rid of me.”

“You can find him at Mount Sinai Hospital,” the EMT said. The ambulance doors slammed. Sirens wailed.

As they pulled away, Lioness glanced once at the space where the mansion had been, felt the echo of it moving home without her. She’d find him at the hospital, then wait for him, however long his surgery might take.

For now, she was choosing the human road.

And she was oddly okay with that.

The entrance hall had been cleared with efficiency. The oriental rug had vanished with the witches’ help, leaving behind bare marble etched with a pentacle, precise and glowing. The front doors loomed at one end, massive and sealed, as if the house itself had decided this conversation was not leaving the foyer.

Without being able to reach a new body, the prisoner appeared as he must have centuries ago, in his corporeal form.

Rayna stood at the edge of the circle. “Bring in the truth chair.” Crystal and Brianna dragged it in together, legs scraping loudly across the floor.

“Says a lot about us,” Brianna puffed, “that our most honest artifact is also the heaviest.”

They stood outside the pentacle and used magic to push the truth chair into the center. The prisoner eyed it warily. “What is that?”

“Accountability,” Rayna said pleasantly.

It resisted, of course. The witches gestured as if pushing from all directions, and the pentacle flared. The entity was pulled onto the seat with a low, satisfying plop.

Then it waited.

Sahara stepped forward, her gaze steady. “Before we decide what to do with you,” she said, “we need to be certain of something.”

The prisoner lifted its chin. “And what is that?”

“We suspect you were not the victim.”

“I was unjustly imprisoned.”

Creeeeaak…

“The chair has spoken. Now, how about the truth?” Sahara said.

“It squeaks when you lie,” Magda added.

Sahara nodded. “We didn’t teach it that. It was trained long ago, probably during the Middle Ages, based on its design and materials. But we digress…”

Rayna smiled. “Try again.”

The prisoner’s jaw tightened. “I was feared.”

The chair was silent.

Victoria winced. “Oh, that answer is worse.”

Sahara didn’t blink. “Was the pharaoh protecting his people when he imprisoned you?”

Silence.