Kevin Hearne - Hexed

I really needed to pick up some Polish if I was going to continue dealing with Malina, though I did catch that she invoked one of the Zoryas, the star goddesses from whom her coven derived its power. “Whatever you’re trying, it won’t work,” I said. “You must answer the question fully before you are released. You were speaking of an enchantment in the hallway.”

Malina decided to try a physical response: She attempted to slam the door in my face, or at least made an abortive movement as if she wanted to do so; that was when she discovered Fragarach wouldn’t let her move more than a couple of inches. Since the sword’s enchantment had been originally intended to interrogate highly hostile enemies, it was a defensive measure more than anything else—can’t have people stabbing you when you’re pumping them for information. I smiled gently and said nothing. The only way she could be free now was to answer the question, and the spell would compel her to speak soon enough if she insisted on being silent.

She insisted.

Fifteen seconds later—a decent holdout—she was telling me everything about the hallway and glowering at me for it as her volubility waxed.

“The hallway has an enchantment that removes a few hairs from your head if you do not live on this floor. Crossing the threshold of my door will do the same thing. There is a knife in my kitchen that will slice into your fingers if you try to use it, thereby producing blood we may seize upon. And if you use our bathroom, your waste will be stored for later use.”

“Eww, gross,” I said. First impression of a valley girl, ever. I swear.

“That is all. Release me from this spell now,” Malina said.

“I have promised to ask you only two questions regarding my safety, and that is what I have done. The fact that you did not want to answer the second question demonstrates I had good cause to be worried. And, of course, you did not want to answer because you know that possession of my hair, blood, or any fragment of my cells for magical purposes is expressly forbidden in the nonaggression treaty we have yet to sign.”

Malina seethed quietly, and I continued, “I am going to release you shortly. Before I do, I want you to know I hold you and your coven blameless in the recent attempt on my life. I’m not going to ask you any more questions now, for that would violate my promise, but I would appreciate it very much if, once you are released, you would share what you know about who tried to kill me. If the party responsible for attacking me is the same party that killed Waclawa, then I offer my aid in avenging her.”

The witch’s expression softened minutely, and after a brief hesitation she gave me a curt nod. “That is reasonable. I will return any hair taken from you immediately and dispel the enchantment on my threshold so that you may enter safely. But you will never use this sword’s power on me again, nor on any member of my coven.”

I didn’t nod or give any other sign that I agreed to that but instead released her and said, “Let us proceed, then.” I was curious to see whether the silent hallway had succeeded in taking my hair when I had put a binding on it specifically to prevent that from happening.

“Who attacked me?” I asked.

“Just a moment,” she said. She spoke a few words of Polish, and the door frame flared with white light for a brief second. “It’s safe for you to come in now.”

“Thank you,” I said, and stepped into her condo. It was decorated in purples, ranging from intense violet to soft lavenders, and anchored by black leather furnishings and steel appliances. The wall above the obligatory big-screen TV boasted a large painting of a triple goddess figure, presumably the Zoryas. Pale wax candles dotted the room with fingers of light, emitting a scent of orange peel and cardamom.

“I think custom demands that I offer you refreshment,” Malina said as she moved to the kitchen, “but you won’t take any, will you?”

“No, but I thank you for the thought. It is a meaningful gesture in itself.”

“Will you be seated?” she gestured toward the inviting leather couch in the center of the living area. The black coffee table had several magazines scattered about on it— Newsweek and Organic Living and Rolling Stone , I noted with some surprise. Then I wondered at myself: What did I expect, Ritual Animal Slaughters Quarterly ? I almost accepted her offer, because the couch did look comfy, but then a tense whisper of caution suggested that she could say something in Polish and make it eat me.

“I prefer to stand, thank you. And with my sword drawn, though I will keep it pointed at the ground. I do not wish to take much of your time, only what is necessary to establish who attacked me and to retrieve anything of mine your enchantments may have removed.”

Malina was not used to being so flagrantly mistrusted, and I think she was close to taking offense. But, let’s face it, most people outside her coven didn’t know she was a witch; they thought her nothing more than an alluring, successful, cosmopolitan woman with glamorous hair and a penchant for wearing sexy boots.

“Fine,” she said shortly, pulling a cork out of an already open bottle of Rosemount Estate Shiraz that waited on her granite countertop. She started to pull a glass out of her cupboard, but then thought better of it and tossed the cork carelessly over her shoulder, deciding to drink straight out of the bottle since I wouldn’t be partaking. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” She took a gulp or two for courage before continuing. “Waclawa is nothing more than a collection of cinders now on the lake shore, thanks to a certain hex I haven’t seen since my younger days in Europe. It’s not something my coven can do, I assure you, nor would we want to. This hex cannot be cast without the aid of dark powers, and it takes three witches in tandem to cast it. That,” she said, aiming her bottle at me meaningfully, “should give you an idea of what we’re confronted with.”

“If I was targeted at the same time as the rest of your coven, it means we’re dealing with two dozen witches plus eight demons.”

“Correct—well, the demons may not still be around. But I’m sure they left something of themselves behind.” Her eyes grew round significantly, and I began to wonder how much wine she had already consumed.

“Oh, no. Let me guess. Eight of those witches are eating for two now.”

“Very good, Mr. O’Sullivan. That’s generally how these things work. In nine months, eight demon babies will be born—and more soon after, if the witches care to try again. There’s only one coven large enough and soulless enough to try this, and we have run into them before: They call themselves die Töchter des dritten Hauses. ”

“The Daughters of the Third House?”

“Yes. They are the bitches I was referring to on the phone.” Her face twisted and she looked as if she was going to scream a curse or five, but she mastered her temper in time and instead observed calmly, “I see you speak German.”

“ Ja , several versions of it. Why did you survive when Waclawa did not?”

Malina shrugged. “She was outside when it happened; the rest of us were at home. Here on our floor we are very well protected, as I am sure you are protected somehow. Had we all been outside at the time of the attack, we’d all be dead.”

“If that’s so, then you would think that they would have timed the attack better, to ensure more of you were vulnerable.”

“You are assuming they’re aware of our defenses. They have no conception of the wards the Zoryas provide us. Their magic is as different from ours as it is from yours. To their way of thinking, they have cast a hex no one can survive. They will be surprised to learn otherwise.”