I am becoming dissatisfied with my work. Where previously, my scrawl has been precise and accurate, I find it rather amateurish in more amounts than I would regard as being acceptable. I feel, perhaps, it is the cold weather. The best work is seldom achieved in the grips of such things.

  “I don’t know why, but I don’t mind him,” said Josephine in the carriage to the jail. Maria was watching the surroundings pass by like set dressing between scenes. All the unique shops and storefronts and people hauling goods on curvy, slightly-treacherous roads.

  “I suppose it’s because you’re not related to him,” Maria responded.

  “I’m delighted to have the experience of learning more about your family, Maria. My, my, Edgar the anarchist, anti-social, misogynist, idiot. Smart if he has the chance to plot. Utterly stupid when challenged on the spot. And Alfred, simply out of his element, daft, manipulative, backstabbing, self-important. When the girls talk about you three from back in the day, there is a real storybook feel about it. I just wonder what it is about you that comes from being in their bloodline.”

  “Careful what you say next.”

  “Cold, detached...are words that come to mind.”

  Maria scoffed. Josephine’s dark eyes, ever-narrowed from the gleam of sun, betrayed a testing machination. “Spare me, Josephine.”

  “Why, you’re not denying it though.”

  “Of course not, it’s true! I am cold. And I am emotionless. You are not wrong there. But I will have you know, my younger brother spent jail time; and Alfred, he is in politics. At least I’m not so self-important to have entered into that.”

  “The politics of the cabaret doesn’t count?”

  Maria groaned, but found that Josephine was smiling. “You get off on this, do you, terrorising an old woman such as myself?”

  “Actually, yes, I enjoy it very much.” Josephine smiled more earnestly than Maria ever had seen her. The glint of sun in her eyes gave off a burst of youth, even as she tried to shield them. “What I do not enjoy is this damn sun.”

  Maria looked carefully at Josephine. She hadn’t noticed before how much she truly reminded Maria of a grown-up, more rebellious version of Antoinette. So stubborn and headstrong, and at this age!

  “You will become decrepit sitting like that,” Maria told her.

  Josephine over-exaggerated the most graceful sitting position. “Better?”

  The carriage turned, rocking Maria from side-to-side. She gripped the edges of her seat to sustain herself from falling over. An apple cart barrelled down the road towards them. The carriage driver began cursing at the woman hauling the cart, steering his horses to the side, and looking backwards with a face of disdain until she and her apples were out of sight.

  “Idiots!” he grumbled.

  There is something off about this city, Maria thought. Gazing out the window, she did have to commend her brother’s work in upkeeping this part of Carcassonne. The streets were clean and well-ordered, no poor or homeless on the sidewalks, nothing amiss. And yet, Maria could not shake an unnatural feeling despite it all, putting her at unease, her fingers anxiously tapping.

  She envisioned Edgar as the last time she’d seen him, the day before his murder. There had been political movements happening between the cabaret and the council, and Edgar had been unimpressed. Most of all, he had appeared anxious for things to proceed in a quicker manner, as if he sensed his impending demise. Alfred had left Bellvoir prior to their last conversations, not in the best of spirits, to meet abroad with shareholders of the cabaret. Maria figured things often went wrong at the best times. And her thoughts darted suddenly to Bellvoir, to Hermine, whom she had placed in charge.

  Oh, how she ached for a drink.

  #

  When they exited the carriage, Josephine popped open a wide parasol to shield herself from the sun. Maria glanced at her. “When did you find that?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t just sitting around doing nothing while I waited for you to get here,” Josephine said, raising her eyebrow. “You’re welcome to snuggle closer with me.”

  Maria clicked her tongue. “Let me under that.”

  Josephine smirked as she shuffled aside, allowing Maria underneath her parasol. It was not necessarily cozy, but Maria had to admit, it was a lot more pleasant than being in the hot sun. “Just don’t look too smug,” Maria said with a side-eye.

  “I won’t,” Josephine said cheerfully.

  The jail house was a nondescript building not far enough from anything to appear distinct, yet with a stale air about it that conveyed the impression this was not a place you’d want to wind up in. The stone against the blue sky created a picturesque, almost surreal feeling as Maria examined the building’s heights. Its harsh shadow stretched across them.

  The main building was square in nature, while beside it, a little taller, was what Maria assumed was a guard tower, with a cylindrical structure and pointed, steeple roof that was fashioned in the vein of a long pike.

  She imagined the scene of transporting the witch here. The cautious, aggressive yet uncertain breaking in of her estate, or the cabaret—wherever it had taken place. Their not knowing of how dangerous she really was, and what she was capable of. Binding her at the wrists. Chaining her. Did they sedate her even, like an animal?

  Needless to say, Maria found this whole debacle of throwing her into jail to be overkill, but she did not necessarily expect any different.

  A portcullis opened, admitting them through to the courtyard within the stone walls. In the rocky entranceway, all strict and rigid angles, there was little greenery to be found but for scatter-cast weeds and dead grass. The women were almost instantly happened upon by a stern man in heavy leather garb, with a massive baton hanging from his hip. Something about him reminded Maria of a domino piece. Josephine snapped her umbrella closed as they entered the shade.

  “Ms Lucien?” said the man in a deep growl.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Maria responded.

  “Come on then.”

  Maria and Josephine exchanged a look, before the man led them through the jail grounds. There were partitioned cells both left and right of the courtyard, but the watchman did not take them to these. Rather, he went straight for where the jail house met the watchtower. A spiral staircase enclosed in a white cylindrical gate beckoned them. It seemed to go as deep down into the earth as it went upwards. The watchman descended.

  “I am aware there is to be a hearing soon,” Maria said.

  “Yes. Sooner rather than later, I hope,” responded the watchman, not looking at either of them. His footfalls were loud and heavy on the metal steps. “But if you can take her off my hands sooner than the council deals with her, by all means. It will stop me looking over my shoulder, wondering if the tickle on the back of my neck is just the wind, or a witch.” He grunted loudly after saying this. “A whiff of the woman is enough for me to make up my mind about her.” The three of them stopped at the bottom of the stairwell and the watchman looked at them closely for the first time. “She is in there.” He signalled to an immediate door on the right, bolted shut.

  “Thank you,” Maria said.

  The watchman eyed them both curiously, lips stuttered as if to say something, but it appeared he thought better of this. He opened the door, leading them in.

  The room on the other side was dark and dank. The cold was visceral, like ice on skin. “Take care of your matters quick,” said the watchman as he waited by the entrance.

  Maria let out a long breath that wobbled from the amount she was shivering, and walked inside. Their footsteps made no sound on the solid ground. The door squealed shut, but the watchman remained by the entrance on the inside, standing guard.

  The furnishings were minimal, the witch’s cell containing little but a rough pallet and a sink. Maria reckoned somebody half her age would be able to cross from one end of it to the other in a single leap. Lying on the pallet was the young witch. She had beautiful dark skin and loud blue eyes. From her hair hung wooden beads in various shapes, gold rings pierced in her small ears. A haze of dusty light danced around her face from a grate in the ceiling, causing this assortment of jewellery to glitter in a most dazzling fashion.

  Maria turned back to the watchman. “Actually, leave us. The girl is more likely to be agreeable if there are less people in the room, no matter a watchman.”

  The watchman grunted, his jaw bulging. “If it will be of help.” He bowed his head to the witches, turned and opened the door again. His stocky frame struggled through the gap, but as soon as he was out, the door slammed shut behind.

  It was this second clang that awoke the witch. Or maybe she had just been waiting for him to leave. Maria started walking towards her, feeling in her cloak for the wand.

  Selika Montesquiou yawned as she sat up on the pallet. Her eyes blinked blearily at them, but in record time, cleared up. She raised a single brow, pouting her full lips. Then, eventually, she smiled, sliding onto the edge of the pallet and rocking her head. “Finally,” sighed Selika. “Somebody to get me out of this wretched place.” Her voice was soft and high. Her accent prevailed, but the drunken speed at which she spoke gave no difficulty in making sense of it.

  “Not quite,” Maria said.

  “Shame.” Selika sagged where she sat. “Here just to taunt me with your shackless feet?” Maria noticed her ankle was secured by a chain to one of the legs of her bed.

  “I assume you must know who I am, considering your obsession with my brother.”

  Selika grinned. “Of course I know who you are.”

  “I heard about his body, exhumed from his grave. Now, I’m not so fond of him these days, but certainly, it’s a vile thing to hear nevertheless. To hear somebody has dug up your brother’s dead body...And you begin to wonder why.”

  She imagined this now even as she said it. The graveyard where they’d buried him, dirt caking under fingernails, shovels in wet earth.

  Edgar’s face under a sheet of lightning.

  Selika cackled, leaning forward with interest.

  Approaching her, Maria drew the wand from her cloak. Selika’s eyes followed it, her smile becoming wider, as if an invisible blade was tearing her face in two.

  “Why did you dig up my brother?”

  “How sad, to be buried like that for all these years? I thought Edgar deserved better than that, don’t you, after everything he did for us?”

  “He wanted it,” Maria said.

  “Why do you even care? You never cared about Edgar Lucien, never in his life, only now that he is dead. True, ever since he died, you have made every effort to undo the work he devoted his life to. I’m not wrong, Maria. Is it out of spite, or do you just hate him that much?”

  “How dare you speak to me like that.” She stepped closer to Selika, her shadow looming. “Nobody can know of what you have done, you hear me?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Selika tugged on the hair in front of her face, pulling it to her teeth and chewing on it behind the haze of light astorm with dust. “Our deeds are not a book that can be simply closed and put away, Maria Lucien,” she said in a mad, lilting voice. She chuckled. A nervous, schoolgirl kind of noise.

  “What is so funny?”

  Selika licked her lips as they parted to speak, but then she shook her head and relaxed. “Nothing.”

  “It isn’t a nice look when things like this happen. It upsets certain people.”

  “Maybe that is what this world needs.”

  The way she said these things angered Maria. It went against everything she and the cabaret stood for. Indeed, it did remind her of Edgar and everything she despised about him. “I demand for you to tell me now, so that we can bury this before it gets out of hand, what have you done with his body and who else is involved? No secrets!”

  “All you ever care about is how it all looks, Maria! She cares about nought but optics. They used to say that the Count of Bellvoir has secrets, and I know we can all agree that he did. But what of his sister? The one who would never be seen with him in public. So many rumours about who you were. But you schemed...when nobody was looking.”

  “What are you on about?” Maria said.

  “At least Edgar let people know what he believed in.”

  “Pfft!” Maria spat. She is fanatical. Selika didn’t know Edgar. None of these girls did. He wasn’t honest with anybody, hardly even with his direct family, and certainly not the people.

  It all just spoke to an utter madness.

  “This is a dangerous line of thought,” Maria said. “If you know what’s good for you, you will leave this city by the morning, or I’ll see to it that you live out the rest of your days miserably. And if you think you’ll be let off by some miracle, you can forget about it. Striking the fear of witches back in people will get us nowhere, only serve to see the lot of us exiled. Is that what you wish? There are rules now.”

  “Rules?” Selika exclaimed. “Oh, but I bet they don’t apply to you, hag!”

  “Don’t speak to her like that,” said Josephine. For what must have been the first time, Selika looked at Josephine, her expression becoming sinister.

  “Clearly you are brainwashed by her. But honestly, just by looking at you, that wouldn’t surprise me. It’s probably that you’re so agreeable and smitten that she brought you here.”

  “Shut up,” Josephine snarled.

  Selika’s eyes sparkled, enjoying this.

  “That’s enough,” Maria said. Selika’s mocking smile vanished in a puff, her eyes becoming dark again. Maria straightened as she cleared her throat. “Do you wish to be punished, is that it? To be sent to jail, put to death? I assure you, if this becomes a matter for the council to decide, they will treat you far worse than I ever will. Now, what I suggest is you will be gone in the morning, and we will never cross paths again. Do you hear me?”

  “Hmmm.” Selika put on her best inquisitive expression. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Is it really the best idea to let her go?” Josephine asked.

  “You heard me,” said Maria.

  Selika smiled maliciously. Maria felt goose bumps flare up along her arms, and she was glad that they were both covered entirely with her fabrics. She could not, however, stop the breath from becoming caught in her throat, searching the witch’s dark eyes.

  “Is there anything else?” Selika asked impatiently.

  Maria sneered. “Just consider it. For your sake.”

  #

  In the watchman’s office high up in the tower, Maria sat in a corner chair looking out the window.

  “We found these in her residence,” the watchman said, handing Maria a bundle of papers and then sitting back down behind his desk. “Mean anything to you?” Maria pursed her lips, holding the pages up to the light and beginning to examine them.

  These were from Principles of Witchcraft, Edgar’s book.

  “Selika had these?” Maria asked.

  “When she was arrested, yes.”

  Josephine wandered over to her, standing over her shoulder. “How did she even get these?” Josephine asked. Maria handed them to her as she finished examining each page.

  “Black market,” Maria said. “Somebody’s copying pages from Principles of Witchcraft and distributing them. I just don’t know who would do such a thing. You can even tell by looking at the ink, how it’s a poor attempt at copying his style. See the lettering, it’s unprecise. Cheap”

  Then, she froze. Handing a sheet to Josephine, the page underneath it was something she had not expected to see. In fact, should not have been there at all. Its lettering was, indeed, more precise than the others, but that alone was not what frightened her so. It was that the last time she had seen such a page was prior to the publication of Principles of Witchcraft, and her deciding with Edgar that such a page ought not to be published at all.

  There were others like this in existence, things they deemed unsuitable, branches of witchcraft that Maria pressed should not be taught widely. Even Edgar, as foolhardy and stubborn as he was, could agree that there were limitations to what should be practised.

  The page in front of her, therefore, was never published.

  “Maria, are you all right?” Josephine asked, her hand outstretched still in a way to take the rest of the pages. Her expression was concerned as she tried to see what Maria was looking at.

  “No. This one’s different. It shouldn’t exist. We...destroyed it.” Maria looked up and around, in deep thought. The cramped nature of the office did little to let her mind fully breathe, with little décor and mostly wood. A fire burned inside a coal pit, sending smoke up through piping into the Carcassonne sky. Stacks of books were littered about in a mostly-chaotic way, reminding her of Otto’s own cavernous dwelling.

  Reminding her of Otto, and how he had shown her copies just like these. But something they never published at all, that was a problem. Well, a bigger one.

  “If you say you destroyed it, how is it here?” Josephine asked.

  “I don’t know. Before my brother published his book, we went through it and decided that certain things should be taken out. This page”—she shook it violently—“was one. There were others. It concerns me that they, too, could be out there among the rest.”

  “What does it say?”

  Maria folded it up so that nobody in the room could see it. She, herself, felt sick looking at it. She shook her head to tell Josephine to give it up. “I’m keeping it with me, and if I’m smart enough, I will have it destroyed so that nobody gets to see it.” She looked across the room at the perplexed watchman, and said, “I assume that will be all right.”

  “Be my guest,” he responded.

  Maria shoved it into her cloak, thinking about who could ever have had possession of something like this aside from her and Edgar. He had scribes, of course, but that seemed outrageous.

  There was Rosalie. She was the only one who had been with him the night of the fire—his assailant. She had gotten off with a portion of his wealth, including the only other published copy of the book. She could have stolen these, too. But...why?

  Maria didn’t have the means to locate any of them, anyway, as all this was some time ago now. What she did have was Otto, and Otto knew things like this.

  “This was everything?” Maria asked the watchman.

  “Yes. Well, you are by all means welcome to investigate further. These pages were the only thing of note we had found. Granted, it wasn’t the most detailed investigation. But you won’t find me stepping anywhere near that place. So, again, you are most welcome to it.”

  “How did Selika’s name come up?” Josephine asked, scratching her chin with one hand and holding the papers with her other. “How’d you know it was her?”

  “There was a letter. Somebody ratted her out.”

  “And went to the council? That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Josephine said. She looked at Maria. “That’d be the last place I would go to in regards to a witch’s matter.”

  “That depends,” Maria said.

  “On what?”

  “How many people are involved, or might be, in the cabaret.” She changed course with her train of thought. “Do you still have the letter?”

  The watchman checked briefly, and came up with the small tear of manuscript paper. Maria walked over to his table herself, collecting it from him. It read:

  I have learned of a plot perpetrated by witches of the Black Dime Cabaret, to rob a powerful witch lord’s grave and obtain secret documents that have been leaked on the black market.

  I am not sure why, or what they intend to do. All I know is there are possibly many people involved. One of their names is Selika Montesquiou. I confronted her about these rumours I had been hearing, in confidence, and she immediately threatened terrible things on me.

  I do not know who else is involved.

  The witches of the Black Dime Cabaret here in Carcassonne cannot be trusted. I don’t know what they’re trying to do, but I know that they are mad.

  I don’t know who else to tell.

  Maria folded up the letter, asked to keep it, and the watchman seemed more than glad to be rid of it. She handed it to Josephine.

  “You mentioned her residence,” Maria said.

  “Yes. 14 Cheri Street,” the watchman said. “You will need this.” He handed her a key.

  Maria took it, noting the address. She needed to pay the residence a visit, and see if she could find anything else that helped reveal the bigger picture of what was happening here. Parts of it didn’t connect, and others were simply too vague to make anything of. Like, why had they taken her brother’s entire grave, and where were they obtaining his manuscript pages from?

  “What are you thinking?” Josephine asked.

  “I hope I’m wrong, but I get the feeling they were trying to establish a new sect,” she said. Certainly, by effectively manufacturing their own archive of her younger brother’s teachings, they would have the means to do so. And if there truly were many witches involved...

  “Like another cabaret?” Josephine asked.

  “In a sense. But one we don’t know about.”

  “And that’s a problem because?”

  “Imagine hundreds, maybe thousands of people just like Selika. It’s even worse now, with the fact they may also have access to those pages that even Edgar agreed should not be published. Not to mention, the means to discover things for themselves. Goodness, Josephine, it’s bad enough most days knowing where all the witches are.”

  Josephine’s eyes glanced at where Maria had folded up and concealed the unpublished page earlier. “What sort of things are we talking about? When you say that there were things that both you and Edgar agreed shouldn’t be in the book?”

  Maria sighed. She did not want to discuss this with Josephine, but she thought that she would not be able to get away from the topic so easily. “Curses, worse even than things you’ve seen. Death spells. We ruled out many things on the basis of ethics, even. It’s not that hiding these things means nobody will ever stumble on them, but that’s part of why it’s also important to know who’s practising witchcraft. So, you see how this will threaten all of that?”

  “I guess. Then, what do we do about it?”

  “If you would send word to Bellvoir, first I’d like to open communication with Otto regarding the watchman’s leaked pages. Even though it’s bad enough that these unpublished chapters are here, only somebody with direct access to my brother could have gotten them. I want to know if this is something Otto has come across.”

  “And you will investigate Selika’s residence?”

  “Yes, perhaps I will discover something else that helps it all make sense.”

  “Certainly,” said Josephine.

  The watchman had gotten up from his seat and was crossing the room between the two women. “How do you know the Baron anyway? He seems to trust you women more than he does most.” Maria noted a hint of suspicion in his tone.

  “We are acquaintances,” she responded.

  She followed the watchman, with Josephine close behind, out of the tower and back to the streets where their carriage awaited. Before he departed, the watchman said, “Good luck. I’m not a fan of witchcraft, but I will be pleased when the matter is resolved.”

  “I bet you will,” Maria said.

  The watchman scoffed, then departed back inside the jails.

  #

  There was nothing significant about the place where Selika had been staying. The small housing unit was squeezed beside others in lower Carcassonne, had several jars hanging along the eaves outside, and some potted plants stacked on a wire shelf by the door. Maria walked from the carriage, went up the stairs and knocked on the door, before waiting.

  While on the top step, she observed the view over the street behind her. All was sloping and irregular, in a way similar to Bellvoir, but less dirty. Children played on the wide street, and on the other side was more housing. She found that most used bicycles and carriages to get around the city, the ringing of bells and wheels frequent.

  When nobody answered the door, Maria opened it with the watchman’s key and stepped inside. The air was cool and the light soft and dispersed. Small windows kept the residence dim, yet provided enough lighting for her to see. She immediately noticed overflowing bookshelves, portraits and paintings (some hanging by nails from the walls, others lying about tables and shelving), and various incenses, some of them still burning. The scent was strong and botanical. Maria found a vial of some concoction, held it to her nose, and grimaced. The smell was not any that she was familiar with, like sewage and tobacco.

  She’s been experimenting, Maria thought, returning the vial to the shelf where she found it, and kneeling to examine some books on the tops of piles. Authors of the sciences and philosophy. Scrolls on scrolls, and who knew where she’d obtained some of them. A voracious reader, Maria thought. Or just stockpiling, like Otto...

  There was no indication that anybody else lived here. Maria walked into the sole bedroom, a small room with a crude double bed, and some folded clothes on the end. A chest sat at the foot of the bed, burnished bronze bordering good wood.

  Maria checked the lock but couldn’t get in. Letting the woman keep some degree of privacy, she instead went into the washroom and found a detangler strewn-through with chewed-up raven hair. Maria plucked a few strands from the instrument. They were still slightly-wet to the touch. She enclosed the hair within her hand and gave the room a final look-over, catching her reflection in the standing mirror. Her appearance was unprovocative, her cloak glittering slightly with imbued crystals. Her blue Lucien-esque eyes traced lines back and forth across the mirror’s surface, eventually leaving it for the woman’s nightstand.

  Maria followed her gaze over to this spot, picking up a little playing card with shiny ink across it. It was the Jack of Hearts, but there was a message written on it.

  Lucien is coming.

  The handwriting was indicative of a member of the cabaret, but could also have been somebody else of good schooling. Young girls entering into studies of witchcraft were often highly-educated in all matter of arts, including writing. She flipped over the card, but there was nothing on the other side. She looked back at the message on the front.

  Who was this referencing? In truth, it could have been any of them. But if it were her, then the card must have been placed here after Selika’s arrest. Which meant somebody else must have been here. Maria felt a chill on the back of her neck. She became distinctly aware of how quiet it was inside the house, and for the first time noticed how it creaked.

  Was there somebody else in there with her now?

  “Hello?” she called in a hesitant voice.

  There was no response. Unnerved and ready to be out of there, Maria’s eye shifted to the bathing tub. Pocketing the playing card, she walked over to the tub, peering down. Water puddled in places within it, glinting in the meagre light coming from the next room.

  Yes. There have been others here until recently, she thought.

  Before leaving with the bundle of hair still clasped in her hand, Maria did one final survey through Selika’s small house but found nothing particularly of note. She decided it was quite likely that whoever had been here earlier had since gone. Somebody had told them that Maria was in Carcassonne, and maybe it had scared them off.

  She just wished there was something else here.

  She looked at the tangle of hair she had obtained. It was still wet, which meant it probably wasn’t Selika’s, after all. However, she could use this to find the others.

  Sloppy of them, Maria thought.

  She stood there for a while, letting her mind run. This was undoubtedly magnitudes worse than she had wanted it to be. She needed to clean things up soon, or risk the council getting involved. Things like this did not reflect well on the cabaret, and could only make matters worse for all of them.

  Cleaning up Edgar’s mess. How could it be, that even in death, her younger brother would cause her family such plight.