Salem's Witches (Neitherlands Book 1), page 15
There’s a reason to this—one other than Veronika being a potential maniac.
As you probably already gathered, Madame Xantiplam, first Dominatrix of the city, rules New Wakilork with an iron fist. She lives in a luxurious manor to the north, in a zone so exclusive only a few people have ever been there and most tales about it are little but urban legends. Said manor is aptly called Xantiplam Manor.
House Xantiplam is the birthplace of the Dominatrix, located on the western side of the city in the middle of a shanty town. It has, since Madame Xantiplam’s birth, changed hands several times. The most recent of these took place right after the Dominatrix promulgated a law declaring private property to be sacred, thus pledging to respect what people did with their property as long as it didn’t violate the law.
It wasn’t until right after signing it that the Dominatrix learned her dear childhood home had been bought by a well-known madame with extensive experience in the trade.
House Xantiplam was then turned into a house of ill repute, an expression that here means a brothel, while Madame Xantiplam could do nothing about it.
Laura approached House Xantiplam, still limping after a kid back at the market bit her. She hated it, but she felt overall lucky: Veronika had walked barefoot all the way there thanks to her ridiculous need to throw her shoes at people, and Sarah’s dress had been torn so badly it could barely be called clothing anymore. All three of them, as one would expect, had their hairdos destroyed and their makeup smeared beyond any recognition.[21]
Even worse, the row had served no purpose whatsoever. The man using the kid spent the whole time behind the stage and once things calmed down went out, chastised everyone for letting Xianuu dictate how they behaved, and gave them all a chance at redemption.
He gained nearly a hundred followers immediately after.
The first thing Laura saw on reaching House Xantiplam was a sign. This one wasn’t a big one with the name of the place in red letters—she had seen that one from far away. This sign was much smaller and hand made. It said:
HOUSE XANTIPLAM INFORMS:
THIS ESTABLISHMENT DOES NOT HAVE, HAS NEVER HAD, AND WILL NEVER HAVE MADAME XANTIPLAM’S MOTHER AMONG ITS EMPLOYEES.
PLEASE STOP ASKING ABOUT HER. WE DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MRS. XANTIPLAM’S WHEREABOUTS BUT WE CAN ASSURE YOU SHE DOES NOT WORK HERE.
REGARDS,
THE MANAGEMENT.
She couldn’t keep from giggling at the note, particularly as she thought of what might have prompted them to put it there. She then entered the brothel, conscious that it was the first time she ever entered such a place.
To her surprise, the inside was just luxurious. She expected an old, rickety place where drunk men spent the night, but as the bright lights reflected on the polished floors and hit her eyes, she understood she was wrong. If anything, she wanted to live in such a place, a squeaky clean manor where you were greeted with a golden staircase and the smell of perfume.
Well, she almost wanted to live there. The one issue was the, ahem, occupational requirements that came with living there. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to marvel at the gorgeous inside of such a disreputable place until—
“Hello, miss, how are you?” A woman had caught Laura unaware.
“I don’t work here,” Laura said, speaking as fast as humanly possible. “I don’t want to work here, I have nothing to do with this place, and I swear I only came here because I had to, otherwise—”
“Let it all out, sister,” said the woman, half smirking. “Now, can you tell me if I may help you with something?”
Laura drew a shallow breath. “Sorry, I just—”
“We’re looking for a woman,” said Sarah, who apparently had no problems talking to others and didn’t feel the need to state she wasn’t there to work. “Her name is Annabella Bostwick, and we’ve been told she’s working here. May we speak with her?”
“I believe she was with the nun. If you wait a moment, I’m sure she will come and—”
“Excuse me, but…the nun?” said Laura.
“Yes, you’ll recognize her when you see her. It’s difficult not to.”
Laura chose to keep quiet instead of giving that woman a piece of her mind. Using the looks of a nun to perform, well, what was performed in that house was disrespectful in her book. Perhaps she’d let the nun know of that after they found Annabella.
The witches waited in the parlor for a few minutes while people came in and out: It was barely noon and the establishment was bustling. Once again, Laura’s expectations on the opening hours for such a place were destroyed.
The nun approached before Laura could put her thoughts in order, and she was indeed impossible to miss: a woman in her fifties with clear skin, probably the only woman in the precinct with no makeup, who also wore a white tunic with a light yellow scapular on top. A white veil covered her hair, so that only her face and neck were visible. She smiled at the witches as she walked down the stairs.
“Wow,” said Veronika, staring at the nun. “I guess it does take all kinds of women for all kinds of men, doesn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just, it takes guts to do something like that, miss,” said Laura, feeling free to say whatever she wanted now that Veronika had pointed it out. “It’s one thing to cater to the lowest instincts of men for a living, but doing it while dressed like a religious woman?”
Instead of getting angry, the woman smiled at Laura. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding. Let’s leave these phrases behind and start over, shall we?”
“Starting over would be good for you, perhaps that way you’ll—”
Sarah rushed to keep Laura from talking by putting her hand over her mouth. For a moment, Laura learned what daily life was like for Veronika. “My friend agrees with you, miss. Shall we start over? We’re Salem’s Witches, and we’re here as part of an investigation.”
The nun smiled. “This is a first. We don’t often see people investigating things around here. Nice to meet you all. I’m Sister Theresa, and I work here giving spiritual support to both the workers and the clientele. I believe there was a misunderstanding about my line of work.”
Laura removed Sarah’s hand from her mouth and smiled, saying nothing. There are some things you can’t take back once said. Her flushed face probably said it all anyway. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed to say. “I just thought—”
“The world would be a better place if we all thought better and judged less, dear. Anyway, who is this you’re looking for? I might be able to find them if you want me to.”
“Annabella Bostwick,” said Sarah. “We were told she was with you.”
“She was, indeed. I’ll go get her, but first, may I know who sent you?”
“We’re investigating a series of disappearances related to a cult,” Sarah answered immediately, as if trying to keep her friends from opening their mouths. “We would be grateful if—”
“Not here too, not here,” said Annabella. She had entered the parlor while the witches spoke with Sister Theresa, and stood atop the stairs, staring at them. “You came to see me at work, a day later I find myself at sea. I died, then I found you lot in my horrible funeral. What is it now? Did you lot come to burn down the place?”
“We can’t burn down the city,” said Laura. “It wouldn’t be proper. We just wanted to ask you why—”
“Why?” Annabella went down the stairs, visibly agitated. “Why what? Why I’m working here, is it what you all want to know? I’ll tell you all a story.
“There once was a maiden who escaped a cult. She worked in the city just like an adult. Two women then asked her for help with their ruse; they brought her bad news and she could not refuse. That very same night the maiden was taken, the cult had decided their trust had been shaken. The poor maid then worked in a ship for a while, until unexpectedly death at her smiled. She awoke feeling lost, though she was the host of a terrible wedding, the thing she’d been dreading. Angered and sad she escaped, she was mad! Then she found a place where there’d be no disgrace. And then in a wham, she spoke with madame, and became the maiden of House Xantiplam.”
“You’d make a great balladeer,” said Laura.
“Of course I would.” Annabella no longer spoke in rhymes but sounded even angrier than before. She was almost screaming. “You wanna know why I’m not singing verses right now? Because nobody, nobody at all in this godforsaken city will hire a dead woman. So here I am, in the last place I ever thought I’d find myself in. And as of this moment, with the last three people I ever wanted to find myself with.”
Laura exchanged glances with her friends. None of them seemed to have any clue what to do.
Not that there was much to do, since Annabella left House Xantiplam immediately after, content with making a habit out of walking out of everywhere the witches were in.
“I’m going to guess this wasn’t what you were expecting,” said Sister Theresa. “I’m sorry about—” The front door slammed.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Sarah. “We didn’t have a chance to talk to her because the crazy cult took her with them, but we hoped she’d help us. Apparently it’s not to be.”
“Do you think she might change her mind?” said Laura.
“I don’t know,” said the nun. “I do not push people to do things or not. It is not my job nor do I wish to make it so. I’m here to give support and try to help everyone be the best they can. However, I am curious about this Quackology thing. She has mentioned several times having been a part of the cult and having left, yet she she doesn’t say much more. They seem to have gained a lot of popularity recently. Can you share what’s going on with me?”
“Well, it’s a bit of a long story,” said Laura. “And not even we are entirely sure of exactly what’s going on. But it all started some time ago…”
Betelgeuse was dreaming.
In his dreams he was rich. He was famous. He was important. He was even handsomer than outside his dreams. He was followed everywhere by an entourage of women of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities, all of whom were interested in whatever he had to say and were willing to fight for his attention.
In his dreams, life was good because the world finally saw his worth.
He woke to his parrotphone, the dream was gone and he was alone in a tiny, ratty old office that was all he could afford with the few clients he had. Reality hit him so hard in the face he would likely need extensive cosmetic surgery as a result.
It hurt twice as much when, startled by the noise, he lost his balance and fell face-first on the floor. Luckily his nose was spared a fracture.
“Who is this?” he said after getting up and grabbing the parrotphone by the neck. He wanted to yell an insult or two to whoever had woken him up, but he needed the money, and work for second-rate investigators like him didn’t grow on trees.
“Hello,” said Desiderio’s voice. “I’m looking for a certain Dominion agent, I heard he might be there? I was told he was called Orion. Is he around?”
Betelgeuse shuddered. “Hello, Desiderio,” he said, trying to keep his voice as confident as possible. “I fear you have dialed a wrong number, for you see, this is Betelgeuse.”
“Shut up. There’s only one blue-haired idiot in this city, and that’s you. Now, why would you go sniffing around the Church of Quackology, acting like a Dominion agent of all things? Is that really your idea of a good, completely incognito disguise?”
Betelgeuse said nothing. He wasn’t one to admit his idea had been a terrible one.
“See, Betelgeuse, I have friends in high places, and therefore I learn of everything that goes on in this city. So I learned of this, and when I heard about the blue-haired guy I immediately knew who this was. Now, what drove you to this?”
Betelgeuse sighed. “There seems to be an awful lot of people interested in that church lately, both genuinely and due to…concerns. I just felt the need to jump in, make sure everything was going fine, you know… If so many people suspect them, I felt there would be something weird going on, and thought you would want to know about it…”
“Oh yes, the good, altruist Betelgeuse. The one who’ll risk his skin just to give good old Desiderio a bit more information. How nice of him! I had completely forgotten about his tendency to put others ahead of himself, and this is such a good action I’ll have to give him a raise.”
“Seriously?” Betelgeuse smiled. He liked getting raises.
“No.”
Betelgeuse’s smile faded away. He didn’t like being lied to.
“Do you really think I’ll buy that story about you wanting to give me information?”
“Look, Desiderio,” said Betelgeuse, mustering all of his charisma and courage and cleverness and few other things better left unmentioned. “I just thought, there are indeed a lot of people investigating this church. Sure, the witches were the notorious one, but have you been out there? People are suspicious of it. And, well, with this woman who disappeared and then died and whatnot, I just thought, where there’s smoke…”
“There’s people getting charred on the fire because they couldn’t keep their noses away. Let’s assume there’s something nasty going on there. Betelgeuse, do you know who you work for?”
“A paragon of virtue and morals,” said Betelgeuse. He blinked cutely as he said so, although of course Desiderio couldn’t see it.
It was better for Betelgeuse that way.
“Don’t be ridiculous, even I don’t see myself as such and, to be honest, being a suck-up isn’t up your alley. You’re terrible at it.”
Betelgeuse frowned. He wasn’t used to be called terrible at anything,[22] and therefore couldn’t help but be offended. “Look, I was just trying to gather—”
“I already know all I need about the Church of Quackology, Betelgeuse. And so do you, if you value your own hide.”
The call ended. Betelgeuse got himself off the floor, feeling somewhat sorry he wouldn’t be able to keep on investigating the church. He also felt sort of relieved, since they indeed seemed to be the kind of people who, when in doubt, would kill first and ask questions later. Surely such an endeavor couldn’t end up well, or could it?
Then the more ambitious part of him took over. It was that hidden part that worked behind the curtains all the time to make it seem as if he was doing great things, and that made him think his current task was definitely the biggest, most amazing one to date.
It was also to blame for much deception, heartache, and the odd bank robbery.
This time it made him think of the possible events that following the investigation could lead him to. The ones that weren’t quite impossible, just very unlikely. In an instant, Betelgeuse saw himself finding out a dirty, horrible secret about the Church of Quackology. The kind that the Dominion would pay more than well for. Then he saw himself being awarded the Dominion Medal of Domination. He saw the masses gathered to honor him, and even the Dominatrix herself bowing to him after such service to the state.
All the ladies going crazy. The press requesting interviews. Everyone on the streets opening up to let him pass, everyone wondering how it was that Betelgeuse could be so amazing. Everyone wanting to hear how he uncovered the crazy cult. He’d make a fortune or two or three by telling the story over and over, he’d be famous, and he’d be wanted, loved, and…the most desired bachelor in the Neitherlands. Sure, Desiderio would be pissed, but nobody needed Desiderio if they had the Dominatrix on their side.
To let go of such an opportunity would, of course, be idiotic.
And that was how, repeating the train of thought of many a fallen leader, Betelgeuse gave in to his ambitions and decided to go on with his ill-advised investigation.
The office was clean and orderly, the exact opposite of what Sarah expected as she and her friends walked in after many weeks in jail.
On one hand, it was good to know Salem hadn’t re-purposed it to host remote parties via parrotphone. On the other hand, it was really strange it had been kept immaculate if nobody had used it or gone anywhere near it for such a long time. And Salem wasn’t one to clean, well, anything. Not even his own thoughts, many of which required copious amounts of scrubbing and lots of bleach to be considered presentable.
“I can hear you there!” Salem’s voice came from the parrotphone, “You returned earlier than I expected. Did you forget anything, my dear?”
Sarah exchanged glances with her friends and found them just as flummoxed as she was.
“Salem…were you waiting for someone?” she said.
Parrotphones were made to transfer sounds, allowing for people to hold long-distance conversations in real time. They weren’t meant to portray human emotions or expressions. Salem’s expression must have been peculiar enough to break though this barrier, however, because the parrotphone’s face alone told quite the story.
It was a horror story involving three teenage girls, a night in the cabin by the lake, and an ax-murderer.
“Is anything the matter, dear?” said Sarah, fearing the parrotphone would drop dead. “Were you not expecting us to stop by our office?”
“Well I certainly wasn’t expecting any of you to come around this soon, or ever again. This is indeed a surprise. An awkward, unwanted one.”
“Who were you waiting for if not us?” said Laura, “This doesn’t look any different than it did before we went to jail. You remember when that happened, right, Sally? It was so much fun, and your letters really helped us through those many dark nights…”
Salem was very bad at sarcasm. “What letters? I never sent you any letters. Don’t tell me there’s yet another identity thief out there. I still haven’t recovered from last time and—”
“Of course there were no letters,” said Veronika. “That’s her point. Why would you not write us while we were unjustly put in jail? Did you even try and figure out where we went, or did you just move on, not caring at all?”
“Of course I knew were you went right away—” Salem coughed. “I mean, right away once the papers reported it. Did you all see the papers? The gossip section of the New Wakilork Times wouldn’t shut up about you lot. They even wrote a column on the possibility of me being a ringleader! They said I was probably the one behind all the religion-hating, and that I had taught you all to murder, arson, and jaywalk! It was horrible over here. It’s the worst thing that’s happened forever!”
