Page 63 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
"That's your son!" I screamed, grabbing his ankle.
Bishop stared down at the frog in horror. "You turned my son into an amphibian?"
"Your son was caught torturing kidnapped girls," Callum announced, stepping forward with eyes hard as flint. "He's being charged with multiple counts of kidnapping and murder, among other things. The only question is what your charges will be."
"Councilman Bishop, as a representative of the High Council, it is my duty to inform you that your son, Tommy, along with Cate Bennett, were apprehended in the act of systematically torturing innocent young women."
Bishop's face cycled through several interesting shades before settling on an alarming purple. "My son would never?—"
"Perhaps you'd care to explain the underground torture chamber?" Callum interrupted with arctic politeness. "Or the magical extraction equipment? Or the cages filled with terrified teenagers?"
Gran stepped up beside Callum, her expression carrying the authority of someone who'd spent decades dealing with this particular brand of willful stupidity. "The evidence is irrefutable, Bishop. And the High Council investigators are already here to conduct a full investigation."
Bishop's bluster deflated slightly as the implications hit him. "This isn't over!" he declared, though with considerably less conviction than before.
"By all means," Callum replied with a cold smile, "file your complaints with the High Council. I'm sure they'll be fascinated to hear how you attempted to burn an innocent woman at the stake to cover up your son's crimes."
I couldn't resist adding my own commentary. "You know, Bishop, I always thought you were missing a few cards from your deck, but trying to murder me to protect your precious baby boy? That's impressively unhinged, even for you."
As if summoned by our conversation, several figures in High Council robes appeared at the edge of the square. They surveyed the scene, the burning pyre, the scattered mob, the two frogs hopping frantically around the cobblestones, with the patient expression of people who'd seen it all before.
Within minutes, they'd taken custody of Councilman Bishop, and began the process of taking statements from witnesses.
Justice, I reflected as I watched Bishop being led away in magical restraints, had a sense of humor almost as dark as mine.
"So," I said to Callum as the chaos finally began to settle around us, "this is probably not how you imagined your investigation going."
He looked at me, singed, soot-covered, and still crackling with residual magical energy, and smiled in a way that made my heart do things that had nothing to do with the recent trauma.
"Actually," he said, reaching for my hand, "this is exactly how I hoped it would end."
When our lips met in the middle of the town square, surrounded by the smoking remains of a failed execution and the satisfied croaking of justice served, I realized that some stories really do have happy endings.
Even the ones that start with accusations of witchcraft and end with turning people into frogs.
Twenty-Eight
Sage
As the chaos of the town square finally died down and the last of the High Council investigators disappeared with their collection of evidence and amphibian prisoners, I found myself standing in the smoking ruins of what had been my carefully constructed life, feeling oddly philosophical about the whole situation.
"Well, that was refreshingly apocalyptic," I said, surveying the charred remains of my hut with the detached interest of someone whose day had officially exceeded all reasonable expectations. "Though I have to admit, being nearly barbecued by an angry mob wasn't on my Tuesday agenda."
Callum chuckled, slipping his arm around my waist as we picked our way through the debris. "I don't know. I thought you looked pretty hot up there on that pyre. Literally and figuratively."
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't suppress a smile athis terrible timing. "Flatterer. You just have a thing for women who've survived ritual execution attempts."
"Guilty as charged," he grinned, his eyes sparkling with the kind of inappropriate humor that suggested we were definitely made for each other. "But as much as I'd love to continue this post-traumatic flirtation, we should probably assess the damage to your domestic situation."
My heart sank slightly at the reminder of my poor, incinerated hut. It may have been a ramshackle little sanctuary, but it had been home for years, filled with carefully accumulated magical supplies and memories both bitter and sweet.
Cosmo padded through the ash with the careful precision of a cat who had strong opinions about getting his paws dirty. "At least that infernal buzzing sound from your bedroom finally stopped annoying my sensitive ears," he observed with feline satisfaction.
I felt heat rise in my cheeks as Callum's eyebrows rose with obvious interest. "Buzzing sound?" he asked with the tone of someone filing away information for future investigation.
"It's exactly what you think it is," I said with as much dignity as I could muster, "which is why we're not discussing my personal inventory in front of Cosmo."
"I have excellent hearing and absolutely no shame about eavesdropping," Cosmo added helpfully. "Also, I've been living with that particular soundtrack for months, so really, you're the one who should be embarrassed about the frequency."
