CONTENT WARNINGS: violence, horror-like scenes
"It has been many years since the days of the Justicers, but in times like these, we must revive the old Jacoban spirit of dealing with your enemies in whatever way is deemed necessary. The blades you wield are the Teeth of Jacob."
"As Justicers, it is your job to rid the world of witches as you see fit. With the Teeth of Jacob, they will be judged upon the Watcher in their death - as will you, should you fall. If any of you do not agree with these wise words of the Watcher, then They will see to it that you are damned for eternity."
"There is no time like the present to show the Watcher that you have obeyed Them and Their teachings. The Eve of Retribution is upon us, and it is up to us to secure our own retribution against the scourge of witches in the name of the Watcher and the late Eduardo Volpe."
"We have no time for trials - I trust your judgments. We must do whatever we can to get rid of witches...however, The Watcher and Jacob also grant you permission to deal with those who defend the witches in whichever way you see fit. The witchfinders may be in shambles without their leader, but you, Shepherds, are led by the High Priest, Jacob, and the Watcher Themselves."
"Whether she has magic or not, there is one target who must be eliminated... someone who will become dangerous if left to influence people of the witches' innocence...I believe that, should anyone kill her, the Watcher would look upon you most favourably."
"And who would that be, High Priest Thorne?"
"The woman who spoke out at Juniper's trial. If left alone, she will amass as many people as possible against what is left of the witchfinders."
"When the time is right, Clementia Morgan must be dealt with accordingly."
Katlego
With the thick of winter upon us at long last, I realise it isn't fair on either Edwin nor Róisín to have them doing my deliveries in this weather. Additionally, I do not want Róisín to be at risk with the witchfinders and their apparent uprising.
I should have done this much earlier, but I bought myself a beautiful mare that I named Sethunya. We could more quickly get our deliveries done together, and in the height of the season of illness, people needed remedies as quickly as possible.
Henford is quite beautiful in the winter. The freezing cold is completely unbearable, but at least it makes for a nice backdrop.
As we're travelling, I see a familiar outfit standing out amongst the striking white snow... the hat, the clothes, the sword. I had no doubt of what I was seeing.
Sethunya stands completely still, ears perked up. I can't just let him go about his day. Who knows what he has planned when the Sun goes down...
Our eyes meet. Like two predators competing for territory, we don't take our eyes off of each other, each waiting for the other to make a move.
"Miss Anansi."
I give him a firm nod. "Complete stranger."
"You're brave to show your face around these parts," he says, his voice gravelly. "If it weren't for you, Volpe would still be alive."
"And if it weren't for you, many of my friends and neighbours would still be alive."
Sethunya looks as if she wants to charge at him. A nervous warmth fires up in my chest. I don't want to have to fight him, but I doubt he is going to give me much choice.
He charges at me with near-blinding speed, and I only manage to raise a magic shield in time.
A strange screeching noise erups from the surface of my shield as his sword slashes against it. I keep it held up for as long as I can, but he keeps slicing against it. Bright cracks glow where his sword strikes the shield until the entire thing shatters like grass. Thank goodness the snow is there to cushion my fall.
The witchfinder stabs his sword into the snow, gloating as the sparks from the shield dissipate.
"I reckon the head of a witch with mind-control powers would fetch a pretty penny on the black market, don't you reckon?"
Come on, Kat! Pull it together. Think like the trickster spider!
Sethunya rears and neighs at the top of her voice. I don't know if she's threatening him or trying to give me a kick up the backside.
I muster the strength to gather a magical, mischievous energy around me.
He charges again, the determination sparkling across his features. He's convinced he's going to land the killing blow - and that he's going to sell my head for thousands of Simoleons.
It isn't my head he should be worrying about.
I conjure a spell that forces him to face his greatest horrors. Grief, sorrow, sadness, real or imaginary, whatever the magic conjures in his mind.
The man drops his sword and screams, clutching his head as if it were about to split open.
He screams and begs for me to make them stop. He screams at 'them' to 'get out of his head'. The true power of Mischief magic leaves most people wishing you'd set them alight with Wild magic instead.
"Run, then," I tell him. "Run, and never lay a finger on another witch- or I'll be back for you."
He grabs his sword and runs as fast as the snow allows him. That'll teach him, with any luck. And if any more of his friends come after me, I'll give them a little extra taste of Mischief magic.
Violeta
Today, I am teaching my art class again. This time, I will be teaching them the art of portraying emotion in their work. Now, I am not one for emotions, but when it comes to others, I have a personal favourite...
"Today, the emotion we will be learning to portray in our artwork is..."
"Fear. And today, a very special and very willing guest will model it for us. What is your name?"
"I won't ask you again!"
"I-It's Jonathan!"
"And if I were your mother, I wouldn't love you either. Now, my lovely students, study his features closely. The beads of perspiration on his forehead, the open mouth, the bug-like eyes, the holding of the head... All of these are perfect to focus on in your piece. I recommend being less careful with your brush strokes for that chaotic look. Of course, painting a man entirely dressed in brown is not the most exciting, so let me give you a far more interesting point of reference."
I must say, this is more fun that outright killing him.
My students make me so proud with each piece they create. I love watching them grow and evolve as artists, and I think they appreciate the therapeutic nature of painting. Tiana is one of my longest-term students, and her work never ceases to amaze me.
Just look at that brushwork. The realism. The attention to detail. The absolute horror on the man's face. Bună treabă!
* * *
After class, I hire Dinah to spend a little time with me. Sometimes, I just need her soothing presence. She gives me a clarity I do not find in anyone else.
"It seems the women are greatly enjoying the art classes, but I am beginning to feel as if I may have to return to my roots."
"What do you mean, my dear?"
"I may have to take to the skies and hunt witchfinders once again. We may be dealing with more than just Volpe's former lapdogs, and I am most likely the strongest person in Henford. There's no chance of them killing me."
"Perhaps, but you've been enjoying your life since you...somewhat...settled down? Are you sure you want to go back to your old ways, Violeta?"
Every time I revisit Oskar's grave, I'm reminded of what I thought the first time I visited him: that the empowerment I give to the women at my workshops is more powerful than my vampirism, that a mother's rage was no use without a son to protect...but there will be no women left to empower if I don't do something about it.
"Indeed, but I...I can't explain it. I dread to think what kind of Hellish things they will try putting the witches through. I can't let that happen."
"Oh, I see. You're feeling...empathy."
"Pfft! Perish the thought!"
* * *
My dear son...There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about his sacrifice.
I don't take my eyes off the painting. Dinah's voice booms through the hallway.
"Your 'model' is trying to make a run for it."
"Not on my watch, he isn't."
