Page 117 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
“Accusemeof foul deeds whenyouare the one poisoning our coven and cavorting with the Devil herself!” Aunt Justine spat in the face of War, and Moira had to grudgingly give her a couple points for accuracy as the wad hit him square between the eyes. He wiped it from his face with the back of his hand, and for a split second, Moira thought he might use the same hand to deliver a stinging blow to Justine’s cheek.
He froze, charcoal-dark eyes seething with black flame as he gripped both chair arms instead and shoved his face within a hairsbreadth of hers.
“Say what you will,witch. I may have slaughtered men without number in battle, but at least I can confront whatever gods may be knowing I didn’t attempt tomurderthree newborn babes.”
Justine’s face turned to ash, her expression stricken and scorched. Her mouth drew into a tight, white line as her gaze fell to the torn fabric of her dark, shapeless dress.
Dru took a step back and looked from Moira to Justine and back again. “‘Divide and conquer,’ Nick said. ‘It will be the best strategy,’ he said. I should have fucking known better.”
“Because you underestimated what a royal red pain in the ass that ol’ harpy can be?” Moira asked, hoping she might flatter herself into an ally.
“Because I fucking invented that strategy. And in this case, divide and conquer isn’t going to cut it.”
“How’s that?” Moira summoned what she hoped to be a look of genuine curiosity.
“Because two bitches in Nick’s room means no bitches in mine.” He turned his broad back to them and stormed toward the door.
“Hey, Mister?” Moira called after him.
“What?” Dru asked through gritted teeth.
“Look, I know you’re War and all and probably know what it feels like to pave garden paths with the skulls of your enemies, but could you please,pleasenot leave me alone with her?”
“You should be thanking me, water witch, for allowing you the company.”
“And I can certainly see your point,” Moira agreed quickly. “Only I hate her guts and she hates mine, so probably we’d be better off separate. See?”
War’s slow smile sent prickles of fear straight up the back of Moira’s neck.
“Well then, I’ll be sure to leave you two together for a long, long time. Give you plenty of opportunity to work out your differences.” With that, he quit the room, slamming the broken door behind him.
Moira exhaled through her nose and thought she might have seen just a touch of steam. “Fan-fuckin’-tastic. Kidnapped. Chained to Conquest’s bed. Busted upside the head with a lamp by Satan, and now I’m stuck in a room with Aunt Just-give-me-a-minute-to-kill-these-babies.”
She waited for a sharp-tongued rejoinder of the kind Justine had just flung at Dru, but nothing came. Justine remained silent.
“You know what really chaps my ass?” Moira continued. “I tried to be a good person, you know? Didn’t steal. Didn’t lie. Never killed nobody. Didn’t hardly cuss.” Moira’s reflection in the mirror above her head confronted her with a shrewd expression. “Okay, maybe that last one was a lie. But of all I ever done, I can’t quite figure out what I did to deserve being locked up in a room withyou.”
Deafening silence filled every corner of Nick’s cavernous quarters.
When Justine finally spoke, the sound was so low, so quiet, that at first, Moira wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Come again?”
“I don’t,” Aunt Justine whispered. Only then did Moira see the fat tears sliding from her aunt’s red-rimmed eyes, landing like salty polka dots on the fabric of her dress.
“You don’twhat? Make any sense? I’ll vouch for that right here and now.”
“Hate you,” Justine said. “Never have.”
She spoke the words so tentatively, so carefully that Moira felt each one must have clawed their way up her throat.
“So the killin’ and all, that just a hobby for you, then?” Moira asked. “Back where I come from, women of a certain age take up knitting or canning preserves. Hell, even bingo, if it’ll keep you from turning the chicken-carving knife on your family.”
Justine shifted in her chair, the iron shackles binding her wrists and feet making the movement more difficult. Her eyes grayed as they took in the newspapers and magazines surrounding Moira on the bed. Then she was staring past them, looking at nothing at all, fresh tears turning her eyes to glass, spilling crystals down her cheeks.
“I never wanted this.” This phrase wasn’t so much spoken astornfrom Aunt Justine’s throat on a harsh cry that gave Moira pause.
Her reply was gentler than it might have been even five minutes earlier. “You think I did?”
“Ilovedmy sister.” Aunt Justine had begun to sway forward. Slowly, gently, in time with her sobs. “I loved Mirelle more thananything.” Her throat closed over, and the tears came faster then, streaming hot down Justine’s chin and neck.
