“Do I get a quid pro quo?”
I sighed. Everything with this witch was a negotiation. “I freely tell you I have no intention of attacking you without being attacked first.”
“I already knew that. I want to know about your magic.”
“No, that is not a quid pro quo.” I shook my head. “The value is not the same.”
Malina raised her eyebrows. “You are suggesting that innocent questions about your magical abilities are more important than questions of your immediate safety?”
“Of course, for the answer to the latter will do me no good past this evening, and the former will inform you forever.”
“I am too upset to enjoy fencing with you about this. Ask your questions about personal safety.”
I raised Fragarach slowly, deliberately, and pointed it at Malina’s throat. “Freagroidh tu,” I said in Irish, and Fragarach turned cold in my hand, its blade gleaming blue and enveloping Malina’s head in a soft cloud of cyan light. The witch blinked.
“The sword can cast a spell?” she said. “Most unusual. Was this the reason Aenghus Og wanted the sword so much?” I was sure it was one of the reasons, but the true answer had more to do with Fae politics and a personal vendetta against me. I had not come to discuss my sword’s magical capabilities.
“I’ll ask the questions,” I replied. “Did you have anything to do with the attempt on my life tonight, or do you have any knowledge of who might have been involved?”
“I personally had nothing to do with it, nor did any from my coven, but I do have knowledge of who might have been involved.”
The temptation to ask “Who?” was nearly overwhelming, but I bit it back; it could wait, and I only had one question left. I carefully composed it, then asked, “Do you, or any other person, creature, or spirit within your home, intend to cast any spell on me while in the building, or are there enchantments that I may unknowingly trigger during my visit?”
“Neither I nor any other person, creature, or spirit in my home intends to cast a spell on you. I do not wish to tell you about our enchantments, for I feel that intrudes uncomfortably into the area of coven secrets, which you promised not to explore…” Malina frowned for a moment and then continued, her eyes widening as she realized she could not stop herself. “But of course you tripped an enchantment the moment you walked into the building, as all nonresidents do-a simple low-level alert. And another that identified you as carrying a magical item. And then another in the hallway that-Zorya Vechernyaya, zamknij mi usta!”
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.”
