Salem's Witches (Neitherlands Book 1), page 12
Mrs. Bostwick had a competitive edge, so she slapped Veronika again in response. Veronika did the same. Mrs. Bostwick retaliated once more and, tired of the repetition and longing for a little bit of variety, Veronika jumped on Mrs. Bostwick, officially escalating the situation into a proper fight.
The fight was one of the more awkward altercations one could speak of. First, because it took place in a wedding/funeral. Second, because it involved the deceased-cum-bride’s mother and a woman who was, all in all, a stranger. And third, because while the situation seemed as if it would devolve into something interesting, the fight was anything but: Both women kept trying to attack each other with different improvised weapons, never really managing to hurt, maim, stab, or burn each other. It was quite noisy, and at first glance, it looked rather scandalous, but all in all there just wasn’t that much happening there.
It was a bit of a waste of time for everyone involved. Laura, Sarah, and Jane stared at the women and their sorry attempt at a brawl. None of them did anything to separate them because, well, on second thought they didn’t like either Veronika or Mrs. Bostwick just enough to get in the crossfire and risk being the ones to end up hurt, maimed, stabbed, or burned.
Perhaps, had the row ended naturally, both women would have patched their differences and gone on to have a long, worthwhile friendship that would last a lifetime. As it turned out, however, the row ended in a sudden, unexpected way when a hissing noise came from the casket.
Everyone turned to see what caused the noise.
A dark figure stood over the casket. It had long, dark wings protruding from its back and shiny red eyes that stared at them for an instant. They took a few steps back, scared of the figure as it bowed on top of Miss Bostwick’s body. It leaned closer and kissed her lips, then rose back up, extended its wings, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Annabella Bostwick coughed. She felt as if she had been eating sand, for her mouth and throat were parched like never before. Just what had happened? She sat up and opened her eyes, trying to figure out where she was. When had her clothes become so uncomfortable?
Her vision was at first a blur. She could see something blue, with red tones, and some green spots, and little else surrounding her. She coughed a bit more, then tried to ask for water but found herself unable to thanks to a very sore throat. Maybe she had been given saltwater while on the ship? That would explain the dehydration.
As her sight cleared, she noticed she wasn’t on the ship. It was…a church? What a strange place to wake in, a church. Why was it decorated for a wedding? And if this was a wedding, why was she sitting on the altar, wearing…
Damn.
She was wearing a wedding dress, and sitting in a coffin.
She closed her eyes and tried to prepare herself for what she was sure would follow. People were whispering and sobbing to her left, and she was almost sure she knew what she would find. She didn’t know how she had arrived there, or what had happened, but there was only one explanation for the wedding dress and coffin combo.
She opened her eyes and studied the guests: As expected, there was her mother. And those two women she had spoken with not long ago. And that crazy woman from the religious store. And another woman she had never met.
And right in front of her coffin, there was an altar with a bunch of drawings of a random guy she shouldn’t know, but she actually did. Because her crazy mother had tried to get her into a cult that adored him as her way of helping her leave Quackology.
That did it. In an instant Annabella climbed out of the coffin and went to her mother. “Mother, I need an explanation for this that doesn’t include that deranged woman and her church.”
Mrs. Bostwick, in lieu of an answer, hugged her and broke down crying. “My daughter, returned to the living!” she said, “I can’t believe it! This is a miracle of John!”
Annabella, instead of letting her mother’s loving arms shower her with love, pushed her back to free herself from her grasp. “Mother, was I dead?” She had trouble wrapping her head around having been dead but no longer being so, among other things. Then again, stranger things happened. Stranger things were happening right then and there. Dead people, after all, weren’t supposed to marry.
“Yes, but John saw it fit to delay his marriage to you so I could enjoy your presence for—”
Annabella paid no attention to her mother’s babbling. Instead, she counted under her breath. “One, two, three…” she said, taking deep breaths between numbers. “Four, five, six…” she went on, making those breaths longer. “Seven, eight nine…” At this point she was taking two or three deep breaths each time.
“Ten,” she said. Then she realized nobody had ever told her what to do once she reached ten in her quest to calm herself down. They always said “count ‘til ten”, and so far all anger had been gone before she reached the number. Nobody had ever told her what to do once she was done counting. Perhaps nobody had ever done it, and she was in unexplored territory.
She assumed being able to reach ten while still angry meant she was allowed to let her anger flow, and so she did.
First, she did what angry people do best: Scream like a madwoman and, considering her sorry situation, cry.
Second, while still screaming and crying, she grabbed John’s altar and threw it to the ground. Then she stomped its remains, while doing her best to destroy her bridal dress.
Third, she walked to that ridiculous woman whose only goal in life was marrying some guy and who expected everyone would be like her, and gave her what she felt was a much-deserved kick in the shins. She didn’t aim higher because the dress didn’t allow her to. “Let this be the last time you try to marry me off to some idiotic god of yours, you hear me?” she yelled, while the woman rubbed her shin and said nothing.
Fourth, she went to her mother. “Mother, how nice of you to try to marry me after I’m dead, making me join a religion I did not follow and honestly have no reason to believe in. I expect this little episode will help you understand just why I rarely ever contacted you and would have had no issues never contacting you again. As I intend to do now,” she yelled. Her mother tried once again to hug her, but Annabella took a step back then pushed her. “Please stay away from me and, if I ever die again, throw me into the river to rot!”
“But my child!” said Mrs. Bostwick, sobbing, “I only wanted what’s best for you. This— I did all of this just to give you a better future, together with John and—”
“That has always been the issue with you!” cried Annabella, sobbing and glaring at her mother. “You seem to be a much better person when you’re not trying to help anyone, because whenever you do you screw it up!”
“But my child, I—” Mrs. Bostwick tried to say, but her daughter ignored her.
As the last part of her tantrum Annabella, in a heroic display of herculean strength, grabbed the refreshments table, raised it above her head, then launched it against one of the stained glass windows, screaming in rage. The window shattered and Annabella, figuring out she could conveniently escape through the hole, did just that. She ran into the city, and in her rage, decided to wander through it aimlessly.
None of the witches knew what to say about the grisly spectacle. Even Veronika, who always had a comment, could only think something about foreshadowing but said nothing. Meanwhile, Annabella’s mother cried as she hadn’t at all during the funeral, while Jane tried to comfort her by letting her know that this didn’t mean John had rejected her daughter.
Then Mrs. Bostwick noticed the witches were still present. “Why are you three still here?” she said. “Haven’t you already seen enough of my disgrace? Please go. I think I deserve spending some time on my own to cry—”
The doors to the church opened, letting in the noise of the crowd, which had grown loud enough to be impossible to ignore. “What’s going on out there?” said Mrs. Bostwick, “The wedding is over. Why are the guests still there? Are they waiting for the bouquet? If so, could you please give it to them on your way out?”
“Actually, they’re picketing your daughter’s funeral,” said Veronika.
Mrs. Bostwick sighed. “Please, just leave. I won’t even ask why they’re picketing. I just don’t care anymore.” She then opened her purse, produced a bottle of wine, and drank straight from it.
The witches turned to leave the church only to see six men entering. City Guards. “About time somebody dissolved the protest,” said Laura, approaching them. “Although it’s a bit late for that, considering what just happened.”
“Are you three Sarah, Veronika and Laura?” asked one of the men, staring at the witches. The rest of the men surrounded them.
“That would be us,” said Sarah. “Is anything wrong, officer?”
“By decree from Madame Xantiplam, Dominatrix and Supreme Ruler of New Wakilork, you’re all under arrest.” The men moved to immobilize the witches and tie their hands. “You will now be taken to the Dominion Fortress, where you will be granted an audience with the Dominatrix. In it, your fates will be decided.”
“On what grounds are you arresting us?” said Veronika. “There has to be a reason!”
The man stood in front of her. “We receive orders from the Dominatrix. We carry them out,” he said. “Now, you have the right to remain silent. Should you refuse said right, we reserve the right to make you go silent. Understood?” The man motioned to the other guards. “Take them away!”
“We weren’t expecting the Dominion to take interest in this case,” said T. Peter Howard, sitting at his desk atop the main building of the Quackology compound.
Betelgeuse looked at him from the other side of the desk, admiring the overtly busy decoration of the blue office while doing his best not to betray just how nervous he was. Perhaps infiltrating the compound under the guise of a Dominion envoy hadn’t been the brightest idea, considering all the possible ramifications.
Regardless, the task itself had been awfully easy. He had been mistreated as he first entered the compound, with pretty much everyone giving him funny looks due to his hair…until he mentioned having been sent by the Dominatrix. Suddenly everyone was respectful and did everything to help him, including giving him an unscheduled interview with the leader of the cult.
They called it respect. Betelgeuse knew they were just afraid.
“One would expect a cu— A church like this one to have been visited earlier by our agents, yes,” said Betelgeuse, hoping an actual Dominion agent wouldn’t suddenly decide that day was as good as any to stage an official visit to the compound, “but you must understand we do tend to prioritize other, shadier dealings within the city to police first—”
“Until one of our members died, I’m guessing,” said Howard.
For a moment there was an awkward silence, where Betelgeuse didn’t know what to say. Perhaps Howard was leading him into a trap with such a casual, offhand comment.
Howard, on the other hand, said nothing else because he was busy feeling bad for being such a blabbermouth. The worst thing he could have done was draw attention to the recent death, and he had done exactly that. Not his brightest moment as a cult leader, all in all.
It is important to point out that neither Betelgeuse nor Howard had learned of Annabella Bostwick’s miraculous resurrection. Therefore they expected she would still be dead, since decent people don’t jump back and forth between life and death.
“Back to the dead member, the news did arrive at our offices, as you would expect,” said Betelgeuse, trying to act like a Dominion agent. He failed because he talked too much and destroyed and threatened too little. “It’s what reminded to come audit the church, you know, to make sure everything is fine.”
Howard’s smile did not look at all genuine. It looked scary.
“So, I have been asked to go back with more details of both the mur— The death of Miss Bostwick, and with a small study of your church and how it deals with matters both physical and spiritual,” said Betelgeuse, trying to nudge the old man. “Care to share them with us?”
Howard coughed, and for a moment seemed disoriented. “As you know, I don’t do public appearances or interviews these days,” he said.
Betelgeuse, who had investigated him before, knew that saying he didn’t do it often was akin to saying people rarely sprouted wings to fly with. The man hadn’t shown his face in public for well over a year, had no public appearances of any kind planned, and in general was enjoying the life of a recluse.
“However, we at the Church of Quackology are of course open to helping the Dominion with any investigations, since learning the truth is our prerogative. Yet… I can’t help but feel we are being profiled here. After all, I don’t expect such investigations are ever open when people from other churches die under mysterious circumstances, am I right? In fact, just having the Dominion investigate anything is mighty suspicious itself.”
“Just following orders, sir,” said Betelgeuse. “I don’t know the details or the reasons why I was sent here, although I believe the deceased woman’s mother has friends in high places.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bostwick, of course. I remember her,” said Howard. “She was…unhinged. Are you sure believing her word is wise? One may as well go to the sanitarium to learn how things work, if you’re open to buy what that woman says. You’ll get more sense out of those interned there.”
“It is not part of my job description to defy any decisions from above, sir. It could cost me dearly to do so. I was just asked to bring back a description of how the church worked, and that’s what I hope to do. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I guess I’ll have to help you, then.”
Howard then told the story of Annabella Bostwick’s repentance, in great detail and letting Betelgeuse know the Church of Quackology had been nothing but supportive of their wayward child when she asked for redemption. Betelgeuse saw through all the lies, mostly because Howard didn’t seem to be a good liar to begin with. Nonetheless he feigned interest in the story, all the while wondering how a man like Howard had managed to attract such a multitude of followers.
Then, as he was finishing his tale, a crow landed on the ceiling window.
In response Peter Howard, the mighty leader from the Church of Quackology, pushed back his chair and fell to the floor.
“Are you…are you all right, mister?” said Betelgeuse. He hoped the man hadn’t broken his neck and died. He had a hunch such a situation would blow his cover.
The man grunted something incomprehensible.
Betelgeuse looked around, trying to figure out what to do. Luckily for him, the man rose unassisted. “Sorry about that,” said Howard, looking at the window. The crow was gone. “I got a bit startled there and—”
“It’s…fine,” said Betelgeuse. “Back to the subject. I agree it is an interesting set of teachings your church imparts, Mr. Howard. Now I have to go back to the Dominion Intelligence Enterprise to report all of this. I’m grateful for your time, sir.”
“Always a pleasure to reassure the doubts of my friends in the Dominion, mister… What was your name again?”
Betelgeuse, who had risen from his chair and was just starting to leave, turned around. “Orion,” he said. There was no way he’d give that man his real name, not when he was using the Dominion as a front to investigate a case behind his employer’s back. He already felt letting the Quackologists see his blue hair had been a mistake; it was too unique.
Betelgeuse departed from the room, feeling oddly scared of walking through the halls of the Quackology HQ, even though his cover was intact. There was always a dangerous feeling when infiltrating a place, a kind of fear he couldn’t ignore.
Antoine LeFlay entered as soon as Betelgeuse left, having listened in on the whole conversation, as was expected of him. “An investigation, sir? How strange,” he said, his voice toneless. The man either was a master at showing no emotion or simply had none to show. He came all the way to the desk and sat in front of Howard, showing no respect whatsoever.
“Let them investigate whatever they want,” said Howard, putting his head between his hands. It hurt. “We didn’t have anything to do with Bostwick, so there’s no reason for us to fear. She dropped dead and that was that.”
“Still, you think it’s wise to allow such people to walk in? Don’t you fear they’ll find out something…bad about us?”
“There are no clues left of the petrification, Antoine. The warlock is gone and there’s nothing to be found, nothing at all. And if anything, denying the investigator access to the church would have only drawn more attention. And we don’t want to attract more attention from them, or do we now?”
Antoine regarded Howard as if he were a child. “I guess we don’t, sir, but I will point out it would be easy to make this man disappear. People disappear all the time in this city, after all. And that way we’ll be able to keep growing freely…”
“We’ll keep growing, there’s no reason we wouldn’t. Hundreds of people have disappeared, and the Dominion has said nothing. We just need to call them out, say it was all Xianuu, and people will flock to us. We have no enemies in this game, which makes us the winners. If we also mix the Dominion in it, letting people know they are aware of the disappearances and doing nothing about it, well…”
“Well?”
“Well, they’ll start doubting the Dominion. If we amass enough people to like us and dislike the Dominion, we’ll have the city in our grasp soon enough. Even the Dominion can’t stand having everyone against them! And then, once we have the city, we’ll finally be safe. All of us.”
Antoine sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing, sir,” he said, gazing around the office as if inspecting it. “I wouldn’t want for any of this to come back to bite us, you know. Far too many people investigating us lately. It’s not good for us, I’m just saying, and hoping people will turn against the Dominion might not work as you want. Not unless you have an army ready to fight, but you seem to be too much of a pacifist. Sometimes I just wonder how the church would fare under another, less…lenient hand.”
