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“Are you sure you want to be a part of this?” I ask Willow. “I will take care of it.”
She is determined though, my fierce Little Witch. “I want to see him one more time.” Caleb Church almost killed her three times now. He hurt her family. He hurt a lot of families. I understand her wanting this. And Willow is strong. I always knew she was, but at Shemhazai’s altar, I witnessed the full breadth of her strength, Elizabeth’s enduring determination an undercurrent of that power.
It was the strangest thing during that final flash of lighting that killed the Disciples. I was looking at Willow with the noose around her neck and, for brief moments, it was as though she was Elizabeth. Not the Elizabeth gasping for her last breaths on Proctor’s Ledge, but the Elizabeth Wildblood fully in her power. She was the witch Elizabeth that Isaiah should have been afraid of.
“All right then.” I climb out of the car and go around to Willow’s side to take her arm. From the trunk of the car I take the small, leather bound parcel.
We walk hand in hand toward the Tribunal building to where the same man who showed us in on our wedding day waits for us. Looking like it’s normal for him to be here at three in the morning, he’s dressed impeccably in a dark suit. He nods to me in greeting before opening the door and gesturing for us to enter. His counterpart waits inside and this time, rather than leading us up to Councilor Hildebrand’s office, we are taken to a darker corridor and down a set of curving stone stairs half as wide as those leading up. They’re lit only by torches blazing with hot fire and as we descend the interminable staircase, I keep Willow close.
No one speaks, and the sound of three pairs of shoes hurrying along ancient stones echoes eerily.
Does Caleb hear us, I wonder? Does he hear his reckoning coming for him?
The Tribunal building houses not only the offices of the Councilors, who are the judges of the Society’s judicial system, and the courtroom itself, but below ground are several cells. Caleb won’t be spending too much time down here, though. Only those sentenced after the most heinous of crimes take up residence here, some as they await execution. There aren’t many of those, the last being a low-ranking member of the Society who had been responsible for the murders of several Sovereign Sons.
Lesser sentences are also carried out here. The Society’s protections are many, and their punishments equal those protections. Although archaic in nature, most members of IVI are good, upstanding citizens both inside and outside the walls of the Society, and never even know what goes on within the confines of the Tribunal.
We reach a door and the man guiding us holds up his hand for us to wait. I glance at Willow, whose eyes are wide as she takes it all in. It’s my first time down here, too, but it’s not very different from what I expected.
The man knocks once on the door before opening it, and I hear Hildebrand’s voice as he bids us enter. I gesture for Willow to walk in ahead of me, keeping my hand on her back at all times so she feels me beside her.
“Azrael,” Hildebrand says, walking around the desk set in this cave-like room. There is electricity, I notice, so I guess they use the flaming torches for dramatic effect. It fits.
“Councilor.” I shake his hand. “Thank you for meeting us at such a late hour.”
“These matters are best dealt with in late hours, are they not?” he asks with a dark smile. He’s no stranger to the ways of the Tribunal. He has presided as one of three Councilors for nearly all of his adult life. “Although it is unusual for a woman to be present,” he says with a glance at Willow. “With all due respect,” he adds.
“My wife has a history with Caleb Church, and she’s chosen to bear witness. I will not deny her that.” I don’t give him the opportunity to do so either.
“Of course. This way,” he says, opening the door and stepping out into the same corridor we just came down. Willow and I follow. “Everything has been arranged as you requested. He’s been looked after so he’s fully healed, care you were generous to provide, Azrael.”
“For selfish reasons, I assure you. I want him fully present for what is coming.”
He smiles, nods. “Oh, I am sorry to hear about the passing of your grandmother,” he says when we stop before an unlit corridor within which I hear rustling.
“I’m not,” I say curtly.
He studies me for a beat before picking up one of the torches and entering that dark hall. He knows it well, I can see from the ease with which he walks. I wonder if he’s aware he’s humming a jolly tune as he lights several torches and we finally come to a wider opening at the back of which is a wall of bars. It looks medieval.
