Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Eighteen: The Dead Don't Stumble

To my surprise, Evander scorned my idea.

"There's no Goetist," he objected. "The Dark Fae have been coming through the springs since we've been settled here. They're not called. They just come. And if Orla's killer is a mundane, he has not been alive all that time, communing with the damnable creatures, has he? We hunt the Dark Fae, track them long distances in the mountains sometimes, and we've never found them in the company of a human. Not a live one, anyway."

"But if the Dark Fae come from the spring on a regular basis, maybe the Goetist somehow learned where they were coming from. Maybe he's come here to Sanguine Springs because of them. Goetists are said to be demon-callers because they offer the demons sanctuary in this world, protect them from those who would destroy them."

"There is no sanctuary for the things that come through the springs. I send them back to the hell from whence they spawned," Evander said tightly.

"He's right." When Darrow sat down the coffin that he'd been casually holding on his shoulder and moved into the circle, all of the witches fell back, to the other side, behind Ciara. "Celie might be your fiancée, Evander, but she's still a witch, and she's doing what witches always do—conjuring up some horrible enemy that justifies their treacherous ways. There's no proof of a Goetist."

Darrow might intimidate the other witches, but I knew that he could not harm me. "There's proof that a mundane was the only other person around when Orla died by a magical spell that this Coven and I have never run across."

"Are you that confident in your craft, Celie, that you know every spell known to witchkind?" Ace asked. "I thought that was the way of witches, to keep their spells secret. Isn't it just as likely that this unfamiliar magic came from another Coven?"

"But it wasn't a witch who worked it," Maeve objected. "A witch would never give a family spell to a mundane. Especially a mundane with magical ways."

"Oh, aye? There's never been a witch who took a lover and let a little secret slip here and there? No witch who woke up one day to find her lover had made off with her secrets and maybe a bit of magic?" Cutter teased Maeve.

"Oh, sure. But the fool who left his spunk behind in such a case wouldn't live very long." Maeve suddenly looked devastatingly beautiful as she rose and smiled at Cutter. "Here's a Coven secret for you, Cutter Brown. In Mystic Mountain, when we want to do away with a lover, our spell hits him first where it hurts. We rot his balls off," she says coolly. Then she giggled girlishly and shrugged. "And the gangrene just spreads from there."

She focused deliberately on his crotch and spoke Latin in a harsh accent. He cupped his balls, but Evander growled.

"Stop your nonsense, Witch," Evander barked. "She did not curse you, man. All she said was 'You are an uneducated dog who can not speak Latin.'"

Cutter relaxed and laughed. "Well, that's true. But Maeve? I still manage to speak your language in the boud-"

"Enough," Ciara said wearily, and she waved a hand. Cutter's voice cut off mid-sentence, and Maeve's hand went to her throat as well, and I knew Ciara had frozen their vocal cords. "The night wears on, and I am tired of standing in the forest, playing games and poking at bears to glean information while my daughter makes a fool of herself," she shot Maeve a long, impassive look. Maeve gripped her throat and glared at her mother.

While I was reeling from the revelation that Maeve was Ciara's daughter, Ciara dropped her hostile act and spoke with civility to Evander.

"I have learned all that I need to know this night." She gave me a cool accessing stare. "Your commitment to your mysterious witch is real—you would kill for her with no hesitation. But her attachment to you is not as lengthy or settled as you would have me believe, Evander. It is easy to see you are not yourself—that this witch has scattered your priorities, and your Sept does not approve," she nodded at Ace and Darrow.