Salem's Witches (Neitherlands Book 1), page 6
Betelgeuse stood still for a moment, the realization of having pushed his boss to the floor dawning on him. His boss being a criminal mastermind didn’t quite make things better. “I have information for you.”
“Information, about what?” said Desiderio, feeling like hitting the blue-haired bastard again. And again. And again. And maybe once more for good luck. “What information could you possibly have that would excuse you for coming into my house uninvited, unexpected and, most importantly, unwanted?”
Betelgeuse stared at Desiderio, who would have been impressed, hadn’t it been clear over the many years he had hired him that Betelgeuse was more often lost than not. “What?” he said, unable to stand the idiot’s expression anymore. “Did you forget I fired you?”
Betelgeuse blinked and kept staring for a few seconds. “You hired me again,” he said just as Desiderio was getting ready to hit him in the face with his cane.
“Why would I ever do such a thing?” Desiderio was sure this was it. The idiot had finally gone insane, and now he couldn’t tell past from future. Surely he had come to his manor to let him know Madame Xantiplam had taken over the city after a bloody uprising.
“How would I know? But I got your letter, the one—”
“My letter?” Desiderio didn’t know how to react. There were too many emotions going through him at present, all of them demanding he tortured Betelgeuse in different ways. “Why would I send you a letter? To tell you what?”
Desiderio decided to go back to his armchair. As he started walking, the blue-haired marvel spoke again. “To ask me to investigate Salem’s Witches. You sent it with a crow, which I was—”
“A crow!” Desiderio was achieving levels of indignation he didn’t know existed. It was a fact: Every encounter with Betelgeuse taught him something new about himself or the world. None of those things were ever good. “Why would I use a crow? What do you think I am? Some crazy warlock living atop a tower? The head of the Assassins’ Guild—do I look like bloody Marcia Gibson to you? What kind of person sends messages by crow? And—” The other part of Betelgeuse’s story landed on him. “Wait, how do you know about Salem’s Witches?”
“Because your letter said so,” said Betelgeuse. He seemed to genuinely believe the letter had come from him. Of course. The idiot probably thought it was all an act, a test to see how interested he was in the job. It was just the kind of thing he would do. “It asked me to investigate them, so I did. And so I came, to give you information.”
Desiderio drew a deep breath. He had sent no letter, and whoever had sent it for him would sure find himself on the wrong end of an assassin’s shiv sooner rather than later. Before that, however, he had to deal with the local fool, who had come bearing information. Then again, this was Betelgeuse, who sometimes though the most ridiculous things to be valuable. Still, it was worth listening before deciding whether it would be a good idea to hand him over to the Dominatrix.
They sat down, Desiderio on his couch and Betelgeuse on the floor.[10] Desiderio skipped any pleasantries and immediately questioned him about what he had learned about the witches. He hoped he’d have found a secret weakness, something like a peanut allergy, that could be used in a lethal way while making it look like an accident. Disguising murder as accidents was, after all, the best way to get around in the high circles of New Wakilork, with hitmen being a close second.
Betelgeuse told him about his afternoon, the fortuitous encounter with the witches while in the café, and how he trailed them through the city afterward. Desiderio listened intently, almost sure he had found nothing at all, down to the part where Betelgeuse listened in on the conversation with Annabella about the Church of Quackology.
“This woman knew about the church? I mean, she had dirt on them?”
“Seemed so,” said Betelgeuse, who gave the appearance of trying to get the rug as wet as possible. “I don’t know if it was true. Might have just been a bluff. People will say anything to anyone if they stand to win. So, if the witches were to offer her money, I’m sure she’ll say it’s ruled by an ancient dragon who plans to make all of humanity its slaves.”
Desiderio disregarded Betelgeuse’s wild comments on human behavior. “I thought there wasn’t anyone outside the church who knew its secrets,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m going to need to investigate this…”
“I can look into it,” said Betelgeuse, in such a way that Desiderio could smell his thirst for money. Had Betelgeuse ever been any good at investigating, he would bet he had been spying on him. That would explain him knowing about the witches and the mysterious, yet far-too-convenient, crow-delivered letter. Alas, the guy didn’t have the skills for such a play. Or for any plays at all. “At the usual rate, of course, although I might need to add an extra if this Church of Quackology happens to be—”
“I don’t need you for that. I have my ways of investigating things. No, I’ll handle this myself. As for you, well, I don’t know. I shouldn’t even pay you for this, considering I never even hired you. Go find out who the next-door neighbor is bedding tonight, or whatever it is you private investigators do during your spare time.”
“Real sweet, that comment.” Betelgeuse got up from the rug, apparently making sure to drip wherever the rug hadn’t yet become wet. “As if I didn’t already know she’s doing— Oh, whatever. It’s not your business anyway.”
“Not that I cared about it.” Desiderio rose and went to open the door to let Betelgeuse out. “So, I’ll call you if I ever need you again, Betelgeuse, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” Desiderio hoped Betelgeuse would indeed hold his breath. That would solve a problem permanently. “I’d say you did a great job, but to be honest it was just acceptable. For what I’m sure you’ll charge me, I would have expected you to find out something more… meaty.”
Betelgeuse crossed the threshold, then stopped abruptly on the other side, just a second before Desiderio closed the door behind him and locked it. “Wait up!” he said. “There is something else, something I forgot.”
“How…convenient.” Desiderio left the door ajar, barely open enough for sound to pass through.
“It’s about the witches.”
Desiderio opened the door and stared at Betelgeuse.
“They…they’re not witches at all.”
“Excuse me?” Desiderio raised an eyebrow. “You followed the witches all afternoon, but they weren’t the witches? Who did you follow then, boy?”
“I don’t mean that. I followed Salem’s Witches, yes. But Salem’s Witches aren’t witches. Like, they’re normal people. With no magic.”
“So they’re liars.” Desiderio smiled. He didn’t like liars, except when he found out his enemies were. The best thing his enemies could be was liars, because liars were easy to bring down.
“I don’t think they lie. I think they’re more, like…a brand name. Like the Alligator Man, you know? Everyone knew it was a man in a suit, not a real alligator. But people remembered him by that name, and they loved him even when he was no alligator at all.”
“Didn’t they find him floating face down in the swamp?”
“I guess they did… But that’s not the point. It’s just, it might be useful to know they can’t do magic, right? I mean, if you wanted to confront them or, say, arrest them.”
“Don’t you worry, boy,” said Desiderio, grinning. It wasn’t pretty. “With this information I’m sure I can arrange so that these alligator women run into a swamp of their own. As for you, well, I guess you should keep investigating this. I’ll pay you if you learn anything useful.”
Betelgeuse opened his mouth as if to say something, but Desiderio, noticing his attempts to lengthen the conversation, slammed the door on his face, leaving him to find his own way out of the manor. Still puzzled about who would be enough of an idiot as to forge a letter from him, Desiderio went back to his book. He would have whoever had done that hanging from their toes sooner or later. There was no need to stress over it right now.
As for Betelgeuse, maybe he would for once in his life turn out to be useful. Not that he was betting on it, but considering the subject matter…there was also a chance he would get himself killed. Either way, he would win in the end.
“Won’t you please open the door!” Veronika shouted once more. She had a way to make something as polite as a please sound like a threat.
The door refused to budge on the grounds that Veronika wasn’t being polite at all. Also, on the grounds that it was a non-sentient, inanimate object that couldn’t go around moving on its own. It just wouldn’t be right.
“I really think she’s not home…” said Laura, staring at the not-quite towering door. While Veronika had decided to yell and scream and shout at the door to open, stopping only short of kicking it— Never mind, there it was: She’d just kicked the door. Laura had spent that time listening.
During that time, she had heard nothing coming from the apartment. Not a noise, however small, had escaped it, although it was always possible that Veronika’s ruckus had helped mask any sound. Nonetheless, Laura was pretty sure there nobody was home.
“Veronika, maybe if you take a step back and we think of other ways to proceed,” said Laura, trying act as the voice of reason.
“We’ll tear the door down if we must!” Veronika stated just how much reason she was willing to put up with in their situation. “I’m sure that woman is in there, lying cowardly on the floor, afraid unspeakable things will happen to her if she tells us about the crazy plan this cult has in store for the city! Well, I will not have it! We will not have it!” She kicked the door again. “We’re going to get in there, grab that woman, and show her there’s absolutely nothing to fear when we’re around. Nothing at all!”
Veronika kept screaming and kicking the door under the aghast gaze of her partners. For a pacifist entity hell-bent on making victims look better, Veronika sure did manage to make Salem’s Witches seem daunting at times.
“Maybe we should just open the door ourselves,” said Sarah. She’d been unusually quiet all afternoon. “Something might have happened to her in there. Let’s find someone who can pick a lock and—”
“I’ve waited years to hear that phrase!” In an instant, Veronika produced a set of lock picks from her robe. In even less time, the door was open.
Laura stared at Veronika, not sure whether she should feel proud or scared one of her mates was an accomplished lock-picker. The speed at which she opened the door would easily rival that of the best members of the Thieves’ Guild, and…where and why had she picked up such a skill on the first place?
She decided to keep her mouth shut and progress with the investigation, so she followed Veronika and Sarah into the apartment, almost sure they’d find nothing of interest in there.
She was wrong. The apartment had been utterly trashed, to the point where it was difficult to think of it as an apartment anymore. It looked more like the ruins of an apartment after a natural disaster that had somehow spared the rest of the building and the surrounding neighborhood.[11]
“Just what happened—” Laura started saying, only to be interrupted by someone. Specifically, a man hiding under the rubble of what used to be the kitchen.
For a moment no one said a thing. The witches stood there, staring at the man, and the man stood there staring at the witches. A total silence reigned.
Then hell broke loose as Veronika jumped on him, screaming insults of all kinds and blaming him for whatever had taken place in there. The man, instead of defending himself, just curled up against the wall, his arms the only thing keeping Veronika from poking out his eyes.
Sarah and Laura jumped in as soon as they could and, with more than just a bit of effort, managed to neutralize Veronika. They put her on what seemed to have once been a chair and positioned themselves at her sides, ready to act if she decided to attack again.
“I’m sorry this happened,” said Sarah, as the man rose, “but also I feel we must ask: What are you doing here?”
The man blushed. He also shook noticeably, but Laura couldn’t tell if it was because of the attack or if something else was going on. When he failed to answer, Laura poked him softly. “We need to know, or else we’ll have to call the watch. Something happened here and, since you’re here, that makes you the main suspect.”
The man sighed, still shaking. “I… I didn’t do this, I swear. I wouldn’t be able to.” He looked around at the devastation surrounding him. “I just couldn’t…”
Laura believed him, if only because the man had reacted to Veronika by just curling up in fetal position. Clearly this wasn’t the kind of man who would be able to trash an apartment. He probably couldn’t even break a chair if he tried. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m hiding…from the men who did this. I got lucky, I hid inside a cupboard and they didn’t get it with a direct hit when—”
“Who were those men?” said Veronika.
Laura took a step closer to her, just in case she was planning to lunge at the man again. “What were they doing here? And what were you doing here?”
“They came, they took Annabella. Then they trashed everything. I’m lucky I was hiding—”
“You were hiding,” said Sarah. “Like, you were already hiding when they came in?”
The man stuttered. “I-I was… But it’s not what it looks like, it’s just…Annabella didn’t know I was here and—”
“It looks to me like it’s exactly what it looks like,” said Laura. “What were you doing hiding in a cupboard at a woman’s house without her knowledge? I don’t see any balloons or other guests, so a surprise birthday party is off the cards.”
“It’s just, I didn’t want to scare her, because—”
“Because?” Veronika’s voice was threatening.
Laura put a hand on her shoulder, and hoped Sarah was ready to grab her again.
“Because she doesn’t know—”
Veronika moved, but Sarah and Laura grabbed her. Meanwhile, the man curled up on the floor again.
“For a stalker you’re quite the coward!” said Veronika, struggling to break free. “Breaking into houses of women you don’t know…just wait until I get my hands on—”
“Veronika, we have more important things to do right now,” said Sarah. For once, her voice was loud and seemed to admit no excuses. “There is a woman who was taken from her home, and as despicable as this little man here might be he could be the only one to help us.” She turned to face the man, who had decided he felt quite comfortable curled up on the floor. “So tell us, who took Miss Bostwick? And where?”
“I don’t know where…” the man said, sobbing. “I just heard them tell her some stuff about, about some church, and—”
“The Church of Quackology! I knew they were a part of this, I just knew it!”
“Veronika, let him speak!”
“They said she was to go back, that they had orders, and they took her, and then they trashed all this, and pleasedon’tkillmeIdidn’tmeanto—”
“We’re not going to kill you,” said Laura, half-doubting it. She knew she and Sarah wouldn’t hurt the man, but Veronika was a bit of a wild card.
“We could call the watch,” said Sarah.
“Yes, we could, and they’d ask what happened here and why we were breaking and entering. Fancy spending the night being questioned by the city watch?”
Sarah sighed.
“The way I see it,” said Laura, “We have to leave this man alone, at least for the moment. Somebody has taken Miss Bostwick, and we need to find her as soon as possible. Lucky for us, we now know who it was. Let’s get on it.”
The three women then left the apartment in silence, not bothering to say their goodbyes to the man or make sure he was unharmed. Sarah and Laura, however, did bother with making sure Veronika walked with them instead of going back for round two with the stalker.
After several hours sitting there, sobbing and scared, the stalker left the apartment. He did so thinking perhaps his chosen occupation was too risky, and considering a career change. He eventually went to become a successful, if somewhat creepy, traveling soap salesman.”
The Church of Quackology had a huge compound on the western side of New Wakilork they had made their headquarters. It offered plenty of amenities for both church members and people interested in joining: There were dining halls, information centers, lecture halls, souvenir shops, several barracks…
There was also a dungeon.
Annabella Bostwick found herself lying on top of a wooden table, her legs and arms spread out and tied to each corner of the table. It took her but an instant to understand where she was, partly because she only knew of one place with such a horrid stench of dried blood, because she had long been expecting to be taken there, and because she was greeted by the twisted smile of Antoine LeFlay.
Antoine LeFlay was the adviser to T. Peter Howard, the head of the church, which made him the second-in-command. At times he was actually the first, considering how malleable Peter Howard was and how good LeFlay was at getting his way.
He was also a twisted, sadistic son of a whore who took his job as the lord of the dungeons a little too seriously and, as Annabella had learned, enjoyed it way more than anyone would be expected to.
“I see you’ve woken up,” he said in a monotone, brushing his short beard with his hands. “I expected you’d wake up sooner, but I can see now you’re not quite a strong person. Not even for a woman.”
Annabella grunted.
“Do you know why you have been brought here, my dear?”
LeFlay moved to caress her cheek, and Annabella attempted to get away from his hand. She failed because she was tied to a table inside a dungeon, and LeFlay smiled at his little victory.
“Well, do you know? Or should I explain it to you?”
“I take it you felt I was a liability and thought I would blab about your plans to everyone out there. Not that you wanted me out of here to begin with, I was amazed when Howard—”
