Page 53 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

One bookshelf didn’t fit the rest of the hall aesthetic. It was solid mahogany, built to last, with a warm, almost rosy varnish over the wood, which had been lovingly carved and sanded, making it look like the good kind of museum piece, the kind that got preserved because it was loved, not because it was valuable. The glass fronts of the doors were leaded and unbroken, and there was nothing about it that should have seen it banished to this hall. So why was it here?

I approached the bookshelf, studying the way it met the wall—without so much as a crack to slide a sheet of paper through—and the apparent weight of the books inside. They were thick, hefty tomes, enough to have caused even the sturdiest shelf to eventually bow a little, but there was no bend. Everything looked exactly like it was supposed to, which was the problem. It was like someone had crafted the perfect dollhouse bookshelf, only to realize that it was built to human scale and stick it here instead.

There was a cleaning service. Even if they no longer came upstairs, this thing had been cleaned once. Keeping that in mind, I got up onto my tiptoes, extended my uninjured arm, and felt carefully around the decorative molding of the very top, the places where the dust would have been impossible to get at, and where many services would never even have tried.

There was a click. The bookshelf shuddered as it swung out from the wall, revealing a plain, slightly undersized door on the other side. I smirked, turned the knob, and stepped through, onto a narrow staircase that might be rickety and choked with cobwebs, but was at least better than a ladder.

The bookshelf swung shut behind me, casting the entire stairway into absolute darkness, and behind me, in a pleasant voice, Bethany said, “There aren’t any wards here, Annie. I was just waiting until we could have a moment alone.”

Shit.

Fourteen

“Always know where your exits are. If you don’t have any, be prepared to make one.”

–Enid Healy

Locked in a secret passage with a dead woman, where no one is going to hear the screaming

“GO AWAY, BETHANY, I’M working,” I said, voice low and tight.

“Mmm … no. I don’t think so.” Ghostly fingers caressed the back of my neck, cool and clammy. That was a choice. Assuming the rules governing Mary were universal to crossroads ghosts, Bethany could be as warm as the living when she wanted to. If she wasn’t, it was solely because she wanted to mess with me.

I hate being messed with. “I’m serious. Go away, or first chance I get, I’m finding someone who can craft a spirit jar, and I’m putting you on time out.”

“Oh, because that’s a proportionate punishment for bothering you? Locking me in solitary confinement until the great Antimony Price decides I’m worthy of my freedom? I didn’t know much about your family before I died, but I’ve been doing my homework, and you people are a real class act. You’re still Covenant in your bones. You may have changed what windmill you’re willing to die defending, but that doesn’t do anything to take the swords out of your self-righteous, hypocritical hands.”

“That argument would work better if I thought you believed any part of it, and weren’t just repeating buzzwords—oh, and getting your metaphors wrong. Get out. I can’t win his trust if he doesn’t trust me, and boys don’t go for haunted girls.”

“Please. Mary’s been haunting your family for what, three generations? If boys didn’t go for haunted girls, you’d have died out like the relics you are.”

I couldn’t see a damn thing. I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing I hadn’t been so quick to give away the fire in my fingers. “What do you want?”

“We want to know what the boy knows.”

“I told you, I’m working on—”

“Not good enough.”

“All right, how about this: he knows the crossroads ate his best friend.”

Silence. I couldn’t tell whether I’d startled her or whether she was gone. That’s the trouble with ghosts. Sometimes, they make things unnecessarily complicated.

Finally, Bethany said, “The bargain of Sally Henderson was sworn and witnessed before my time, but I’m assured she got what she asked for. What she paid for.”

“That’s cool and all, but still. Ate his best friend. I don’t care whether she did it so she could have a pony, that’s going to be upsetting for the people she left behind, which is to say, James.”

“That’s why he wants to hurt us?”

I paused. Something about her voice …

“I’m not talking to Bethany anymore, am I?” I asked.

In response, a hand grasped my wrist and yanked. I stumbled, falling forward—

—and landed on my feet on an endless country road. Fields of corn stretched out toward eternity on either side. The sky was the color of a worn-out dishrag, so stained with other people’s dirt, with other people’s crimes, that it would never come clean again. Bethany stood in front of me, looking suddenly small and young and bewildered, like she had no idea how we’d gone from the stairwell to the outside.

I had some idea. I’d been here before, after all, although the last time, I’d come willingly, and to save my own skin. I focused on the empty air behind Bethany, and spoke like I knew what was going on.