AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Thank you.
The florid signature was likely Madam Munro’s secretary. The Madam and I had only met once, and she did not strike me as the type who had the patience for curlicues.
Those who possessed power, whether through inheritance or – like me – an accident of birth, were governed by a local Witches’ Council, and those Councils rolled up to a governing Congress. Magic was an open secret; most mundanes knew that witches possessed power, but they only admitted it when it served their purposes. The Councils and Congress were tasked with keeping practitioners in line so as not to upset our mundane neighbors.
My landlady didn’t normally allow strangers to roam her halls, however it was unlikely Madam Munro had delivered the missive by any normal means. Since my room was otherwise undisturbed, I didn’t waste time with worry. It was a simple place with a bed, a small wardrobe, and desk. Simple, yes, but mine. I paid the rent weekly, out of money I earned. Yes, I had access to a trust from my grandmother, but I took pride in taking care of myself.
The letter energized me, although coffee would have been as effective and a lot more enjoyable. Still, it gave me something to do besides worry about Rutger. I washed and shaved, put on a clean collar and a more subdued waistcoat, and gave my coat a good brush. My hair needed a trim, but a dab of pomade kept most of it smoothly out of my face. I saymostlybecause a single curl insisted on breaking free and falling over my forehead.
Ignoring it, I replaced my bowler, tucked a clean handkerchief in my pocket, and adjusted my neck-tie . Vanity insisted that I keep a small mirror on the wall near the door, and I gave myself a final once-over. My gold watch chain hung just so. Dark circles ringed my eyes and my cheeks were sallow, giving me the look of a romantic poet. Practicing the smile that no one could resist – or so I’d been told – I squared my shoulders and departed.
Once I’d been the spoiled youngest son of a Fairchild. Then my gift had emerged, and although my magic was little more than a parlor trick compared with some, I’d been pruned from the family tree, a routine occurrence when a mundane family discovered a child with magic.
Nice people had no time for anything that couldn’t be bought and sold.
Fortunately, my parents let me keep my name and the San Francisco Witches’ Council appreciated my pedigree, if not my charming ways. In gratitude, I’d sworn to take on whatever challenge Madam Munro chose to throw at me.
This summons had to do with what had happened last night. It had to. My optimistic side hoped I would learn what had happened to Rutger. My less sanguine side couldn’t shake a feeling of dread.
The hike to the Council chambers was just long enough for the foggy damp to slide down my neck and numb my fingers. The streets were quiet – nothing had yet opened for business on this Saturday morning – and the air had lost its dead fish smell. The exercise kept me warm enough, and when I reached building where the Witches’ Council kept offices, a glimpse in a dark glass window showed me that my cheeks had turned an attractive pink.
I wasn’t vain enough to think that would matter to Madam Munro, but it made me feel slightly better.
The building was on the corner of Market and Hayes Streets, taking up most of the block. A variety of small shops filled the lowest level, however a more formal entrance opened halfway down the block on Hayes Street. The door was unlocked, surprising for a Saturday, and the lobby itself was an echo chamber of marble and polished brass. I rode the elevator to the third floor, breathing deeply to calm myself so she wouldn’t smell the stink of my fear.
Fear, because my gut told me something had gone very wrong last night. Something had happened to Rutger, and to me, and I might soon find out what. While it made my jaw tight with fear, I had to be man enough to pay the consequences.
Madam Munro’s secretary, a young witch even prettier than me, waved me through to her office. I paused for a heartbeat before opening the door. No amount of preparation was going to help at this point, so I took a deep breath and went in.
The head of the San Francisco Witches’ Council sat behind a desk as impressive as her title. Broad, dark mahogany, with muscular carvings on the corners ending in clawed feet. Madam Munro was even more imposing. Her strong nose, high cheekbones and upright posture brooked no insolence, her hair was a jet black mass of braids and curls, and her bodice of midnight taffeta rose high on her throat. If her hair and dress weren’t the latest fashion, no one in their right mind would question her for it, least of all me.
“Come in, Fairchild.”
I did as she asked, parsing her tone for meaning. If I’d been in real trouble, she’d have dragged me in front of the whole Council. Seeing her alone and not obviously angry did much to calm my nerves.
“You asked to see me, ma’am?”
She didn’t respond right away, instead checking the time on the small clock that hung from an Albertina chain around her neck. “You seem to have had quite a night last night,” she said finally, glancing from me to a piece of paper on her desk.
“Apologies, ma’am. Rutger and I went out for a bite after work and…” My voice trailed off. Rutger and I worked together in one of the Council’s offices, mostly involved in dealing with the mundane city government when problems arose between witches and mortals. Rutger did the calming, I did the charming, and most of the time we all went home happy.
“Yes, well, the part that comes next is what’s concerning me. I cannot seem to locate Mr. Smit, and you”—her gaze pinned me where I stood—“apparently turned a man into a dog.”
“I…what?” They say when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. I wasn’t dead – yet – but the shock of her words triggered a similar reliving.
“Turned. A man. Into. A. Dog.” She spoke slowly, deliberately as if both giving me time to react and herself time to judge my reaction.
“I can’t believe that.”
She lifted the page from her desk and read from it. “Council investigators encountered three men and a canine on the edge of the Chinese quarter. Men were distressed, claimed the canine was their friend. J. performed a counterspell and the canine rose up to become a fourth young man. All four were taken by me and J. to the nearest Council office where they were calmed and their memories altered. Signed, L. M. Peabody, Council Investigator, dated 21 October, 1898.” She glanced up at me again. “Is that sufficient?”
Madam Munro hadn’t invited me to sit, but my knees were so weak I collapsed in the closest chair. “I suppose.”
She folded her hands on her desk. Her smile might have reassured me, if I hadn’t been worried that she was preparing to strip me of what little power I possessed. My composure shattered, I had to blink fast not to burst into tears. Using magic on an ordinary person was the Witches’ equivalent of a mortal sin. She’d be well within her authority to assign any punishment she saw fit.
“The thing is,” she said finally, “you’re of more use to me as a living witch than as a dead mortal. That Fairchild name…” She let her voice trail off in a way that wasn’t altogether reassuring.
I almost protested, telling her that in my case, being a Fairchild meant absolutely nothing. Before I could dig myself in deeper, I asked my most pressing question. “Where is Rutger? He was not there when I woke up.”
