Congress hoped that bringing you here would at least make that much clear. If we knew what he wanted, we could plan to stop him. But ever since you arrived, he’s been erratic. Confused.
We think the Maleficia may have broken him. And now it seeks a new host.”
“One of us,” I whispered.
“All of us,” Jenna clarified.
I meant to ask more, to find out more about what the Congress had in store for us, but I could barely keep my eyes open.
“Sleep,” Quinn said. “We’ll wait, and figure this out in the morning.”
Only there wasn’t anything to figure out in the morning. In fact, the rest of my suspension was a blur of books and boredom. Quinn warned me that I’d be sore for a day or two, lethargic and worn down because of the Maleficia attack. But he still expected his stupid essays.
Last night’s attack led to some changes, one of which was that while the other four were still allowed to go to school (there’d been some debate on whether or not it was safe), they had to arrive and leave together. In addition, all of us had to be home and indoors before nightfall, when the Maleficia was believed to be strongest. In the event of another attack, the Witchers wanted to make sure we were as protected as well as possible.
Which meant that my day was filled with constant interruptions as groups of Witchers in twos and threes walked through the house, examining weak points and bolstering the house wards.
Maleficia wasn’t supposed to be able to cross a house’s threshold, but they didn’t want to take any chances.
I stayed on the couch, because half the time I could barely keep my eyes open and I didn’t think sleeping at the kitchen table would end well. Gravity was a bitch, and the floors were hardwood.
I finished the first paper about the Coven Wars by the skin of my teeth, but as soon as I emailed the document to him, he came downstairs with another stack of books and my next assignment. If possible, these books were even dustier than the first ones. “I want you to write a report on how a warlock is brought to trial. How is a charge of invoking the black arts proven?
Talk about the trial, the investigations, and everything up until a guilty verdict. And then you can talk about how the process has changed in the last twenty years.”
I was waiting for a word count, but Quinn didn’t say anything further. “How long?” I’d max out on a thousand words before even covering half of what he was asking for.
“As long as it takes,” he said. “Be succinct. You should be able to wrap it up in … five or six thousand words.”
Quinn wanted the Never-ending Paper. Five thousand words was huge—that would take me at least a month! But I was too drained to argue. But surprisingly, the books he’d given me weren’t nearly as dry as the ones for the first assignment. Maybe the writing style was more modern, or maybe it was because the subject matter hit closer to home.
Coven trials were cruel, devastating processes that always ended badly. In comparison, the
Salem witch trials and the witch hysteria that gripped the world were passive, calm affairs.
Now trials were public affairs, open to any witch who wished to attend. An emphasis was placed on “innocent until proven guilty” and other modern conceits—with one main exception.
Moonset, the book explained, had been tried “in absentia” and thus their sentence had been carried out almost immediately upon capture.
It made sense, though. If there had been a trial, it would have been a circus. Sherrod
Daggett was charismatic and enticing. Putting him on the stand would have only done harm by giving him yet another platform.
The last day of my suspension, I felt a little better. I only slept about half of the day, and while I was still tired, I wasn’t as bone-weary as I’d been the day before. I worked on the paper at the kitchen table, spreading the research out.
Tucked in the middle of Quinn’s stack of books, I found one book that wasn’t dusty and unused. It was a copy of Moonset: A Dark Legacy —the definitive encyclopedia of the lives of our parents, from beginning to execution. It was full of personal letters, interviews, and trial transcripts that covered every aspect of their lives.
All of us had read the book cover to cover. Well, all except Bailey, I think. Jenna, Mal, and I had read it when we were still in middle school, sneaking copies out of our guardians’ houses.
We wanted to know more about who our parents had been. As soon as we were done, we all wished we’d never read it.
“How goes the slave labor?” Jenna asked as she came inside, dropping her school bag on the papers filled with notes I had spread all over the kitchen table.
“Not as bad as I thought.” I stretched, using the motion to shove her bag forward, away from my things. Yawning, I pulled the loose sheets back into a pile and stuck it next to the laptop I was working on. “How was school?”
“Monotonous. Until further notice—meaning until they hire a new sucker to take over the magic class—we’re all reading biographies of important historical witches. What’s the point of having magic if you can’t ever use it?” Sherrod’s spellbook was still in the garage. I couldn’t get it now, not with all the Witchers sniffing around the house. And I certainly couldn’t trust Jenna to take care of it. She’d take it for herself and abuse the hell out of everything she learned. I had to get rid of it somehow. The Maleficia attack hadn’t happened until I brought the book home. I needed to get rid of it.
But what if there’s something useful in there? What if you could use Sherrod’s magic for good? Wouldn’t it be worth it?
I shook my head, trying to shake the thoughts free. That was what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. Second guessing myself, and wanting to believe that there was something that our legacy could do to redeem itself.
“Justin? You okay?” Jenna had been more concerned lately, ever since the attack. Concern for others wasn’t a good look on her.
“I wish people would stop asking me that,” I said in annoyance. The sooner Jenna stopped acting like I was a fragile flower, the better. “Where are the others, anyway?”
“Mal went to the gym. Cole and Bailey are hanging out with the runt of the litter.”
“Who?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Luca. You realize it loses the humor when I have to keep explaining things to you.”
“How was I supposed to know he’s the runt of the litter. That’s not even accurate. There’s no litter!”
“You must be feeling better. You’re back to being tedious.”
I yawned. The words on the computer screen were starting to blur. I was halfway through a section talking about how Covens were charged as a single entity. If one Coven member was believed to be a warlock, they were all guilty of his crimes.
Did that happen with Moonset? Were some of them just caught up in Sherrod’s crimes? The
Moonset biography didn’t seem to think so. It made a point of singling out all six of the members and breaking down each of their crimes.
“Have fun with that,” Jenna announced. “It’s back to school for you tomorrow. Who wants to bet the science wing blows up before noon?”
Twenty-Three
“The tide turned when two of the remaining
‘Great Covens’ aligned and commandeered control of the resistance. Illana Bryer, a new grandmother, transformed into the most capable general any of the Covens had ever seen. Within a month, she’d beaten back Moonset on three separate fronts, and given the resistance the momentum it desperately needed.”
Moonset: A Dark Legacy