Chapter Thirty-Six #3
“Oris Webb,” she sneers. “Couldn’t get the Eldercraft to pay a visit and interrogate Warlock Knight? Or is that perhaps because you didn’t contact them in the first place, lest they pay attention to you?”
Pastor Webb finally closes his mouth but looks no less dumbstruck.
The Witch doesn’t give him time to answer.
“You’ll be interested to know, Oris Webb, that after years and years of silence, my kin chose this afternoon to seek my help and advice.
Her beloved church had been destroyed. While I believe she’d like revenge, for now, I think she’d settle knowing the same fate did not befall another center of the community. ”
Gertha Fudge. My eyes dart around, but I don’t see her in the crowd in her normal place right behind Webb. Interesting. Fudge went to her ancestor about the tornado?
Just then, I remember: We never did find the Witch’s scorches in the ground by the barn.
And I never understood why she sent a tornado careening through the middle of town, and the church.
Not just Webb’s domain, but the home base for the folks in town who distrust magic so much, they’ll do anything to rid the Holler of it forever.
Only a powerful Witch or Warlock could’ve conjured that tornado. Or—
Someone truly rotten. The answer hits me right between the shoulder blades.
“You,” I blurt into the stillness, looking at Webb. “You sent that tornado through town.” I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. “You’re a Warlock.”
The chorus of shock and alarmed muttering has a rhythm even the church ladies would be proud of. Somewhere behind me, Beulah Buchanan cackles.
Webb huffs in my direction. “Excuse me, Miss Frost? That is a bold claim for a simple Farewitch who is well in over her head.”
He’s right. The folks here have no reason to believe me, especially if they’re already here on behalf of the pastor.
But the Widow Witch—they’ll believe her. Because they’re afraid of her.
And she knows it. A scar of a frown emerges from deep within the Witch’s face.
“Hush yourself, Webb. Shame on you, using the magic I granted you with abandon. How far did you think you would get, coveting power like this? What did you reckon would happen once your followers realized you didn’t hate magic, you just wanted to control it? To be the only soul with it.”
This time, he doesn’t deny her, doesn’t say a single word in protest.
For the first time since I’ve known the man, Webb actually looks afraid.
Suddenly, the crowd pushes toward the door, leaving the pastor standing alone. I realize it has less to do with the man’s betrayal and more to do with the incensed Warlock currently closing the remaining distance between himself and Webb.
Now I understand how the Holler could believe the Warlock s’mored an entire library.
The Warlock halts in front of Webb. When he speaks, his anger is a low rumble in his chest. “That tornado put people I care about in danger.”
For once, Webb’s cheeks aren’t pale, but a pasty red, flushed with guilt. “Lest you forget the sins on your conscience, I wasn’t the one who burned the library. Faith forgives, but Foxe Holler does not.”
“I have a library,” the Warlock says, looking out to the crowd. “A house, too, with dozens of empty rooms. Anytime the town is in need of a community space, Knight Manor is open. Everyone is welcome. And I mean everyone.”
I do a legitimate double take. Even Ms. Zeen is looking at Mr. Knight like he’s had one too many slices of Gertha Fudge’s rum cake. What in the world is he doing?
Webb barks a laugh. “You’re assuming your neighbors would want to take their lives into their own hands in such a way.”
Governess Zeen raises a delicate hand. “I would.”
A chorus of agreement rings out behind me.
Ms. Buchanan sidles up to Webb, Beauregard on her heels. “Go home, Oris.”
Before Webb can respond, a sharp eruption of light envelopes the foyer.
The Warlock’s figure flushes with a glow the exact green of his gardens. The color in his cheeks returns, and when his eyes find mine, the hazel is bright and healthy again.
My tongue tastes that wonderful earthy bite of thyme as his magic returns.
The air hums with the force of his power as he studies his hands. “That’s better.” Then he looks back to the pastor. “It’s time you leave, Mr. Webb. After all, if the Eldercraft visit Foxe Holler, they’re looking for a dangerous Warlock, are they not?”
Webb opens his mouth to respond but quickly shuts it again. He turns in a flustered shuffle and pushes his way through the crowd.
Quickly, the Widow Witch blocks his path. He tries to backpedal but runs right into Silas, Arna Jean, Rett, and me.
“Knight is correct,” the Witch says. “In fact, they’re quite interested in how you’ve been spending your time, Webb. I promised I’d do them the favor of delivering you. Come with me—though, you don’t really have a choice, do you?”
She holds up a bony hand, ready to snap, and gives the Warlock one last glance.
“Oh, my kinfolk sends her regards.”
Then, in a supernova of blinding wind, the Widow Witch winks out of existence—dragging Oris Webb with her.