Slices of Midnight

Chapter 3

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Enter."

I stepped into the office of High Priestess Nyomi Bettencourt—chief of healing and disciplinary actions for the priory, and the leading voice of the Society of Laeron Madrin on the Isle of Indamar.

The room reflected her authority.

Stately oak furniture. Gilded banners of her priestly order. Every detail exuded elegance and control.

For the average villager, being summoned here would be enough to set their knees knocking.

"Did I give you permission to sit?"

Nyomi stood with her back to me, gazing out an open window at the light rain now falling over the priory.

Somehow, without even turning, she knew I was about to lower myself into the guest chair opposite her desk.

Given her tone, I abandoned all hope that this summons concerned anything but our foray into Waurista’s Woods.

Rather than sinking into the cushioned guest chair, I remained standing beside her highly polished desk.

And there, resting atop it, sat the one object on the Isle I despised above all others—Nyomi’s white wooden rod of discipline.

It was all I could do not to snatch it up and snap it over my knee.

"How was breakfast, Marissa?"

Nyomi let me stand there a moment longer, my eyes locked on that wretched white rod.

"Excellent," I said smoothly. "Miss Margaret is a first-rate cook, as everyone knows, and this morning’s fare certainly lived up to expectations."

I clasped my hands behind my back, voice dripping with gratitude.

"I must thank you, Miss Nyomi, for allowing me to partake—if not for you and Prior Shambling, I don’t know how I would ever eat."

I’d hoped to stir a little sympathy by steering the conversation toward my sordid family life.

But Nyomi didn’t so much as turn from the window.

"Speaking of Prior Shambling, did you notice his absence from the morning worship service?"

I rolled my eyes at her pitter-pattering around the real reason she’d summoned me.

This small talk was getting us nowhere.

"I did," I answered curtly. "And yes, Miss Jocelyn did more than an adequate job filling in. In fact, I rather enjoyed the change."

I tilted my head.

"Jocelyn is sweet and kind—everything a priestess of the Society of Laeron Madrin should be."

Now, Nyomi turned from the window, fixing me with a calculating glare meant to pin me where I stood.

Her striking green eyes would have been more than enough to unnerve some run-of-the-mill yokel standing beside the desk.

But run-of-the-mill did not describe me.

"Do you know why Prior Shambling was absent?"

Still glowering, she stepped forward, positioning herself behind the desk like a judge preparing to deliver a verdict.

I didn’t blink. I locked eyes with her, matching her intensity with my own.

"No, I don’t know why the prior was absent at morning prayers. But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me."

Much to my delight, Nyomi’s fingers twitched toward the opal ring on her right hand.

She always did that when she was aggravated.

"Piper has fallen ill," Nyomi said, taking a moment to steady her patience.

"As you know, she was out in Waurista’s Woods last evening, sneaking from her room long after her parents thought she was asleep. She returned in the dead of night, soaking wet and raving mad about some haunting she had witnessed—skeletons, soldiers, and the vile witch for whom those woods are named."

Nyomi retrieved her rod from the desk.

"Now, I know you were responsible for her being out there, Marissa, but I can’t figure out why she would concoct such an outlandish story—"

She took a step closer.

"Or why she’s so vehemently sticking to it."

Her grip on the rod tightened.

"I want answers. And I want them now."

I shrugged. "I don’t know what to say other than I’m guilty. We went into the woods hoping to witness a haunting, and we were successful. The apparitions we saw were exactly as Piper described."

I folded my arms.

"And yes, Waurista was part of it—riding a stallion and wielding a fiery sword. Did Piper happen to mention those details, or was she too busy laying the blame on me to save her cowardly hide?"

"She described the witch the same way," Nyomi admitted, then shook her head. "Witnessing such an event is one thing, but predicting when and where one will occur is nigh impossible."

"Impossible? Hardly. We’ve been out searching for ghosts plenty of times. Last night wasn’t the first."

Nyomi’s eyes narrowed. "Piper has done this before?"

I shook my head. "No, usually it’s just Sir Isaac and me."

"Isaac?"

"Oh, let me guess—Piper failed to mention that he came along. Am I right?"

Nyomi’s expression darkened. "This is the first time I’ve heard Isaac’s name mentioned. It seems thoughtlessness has become this morning’s theme."

I bit my tongue to keep from unleashing a litany of profanities about Piper.

Of course the brat wouldn’t implicate Isaac. She wouldn’t risk getting him in trouble.

Why mention the object of your callow affections when there’s a ne’er-do-well like Marissa Bonifay to shoulder the blame?

"How have you figured out how to hunt down these hauntings?" Nyomi asked.

"You’ve been spending time with those vagabonds again, haven’t you? I’ve warned you about those women before, Marissa."

"I have not visited them, I swear. I haven’t seen any of them in Dowling for weeks on end."

"Then how did you learn to predict and track these events so precisely?"

I shrugged. "There’s not much a girl can’t do if her bag contains the right tricks."

Nyomi snatched up her rod and slammed it against the desk.

"That is exactly the type of obtuse, serpent-tongued answer I’d expect if I were interrogating a witch!"

She glared at me.

"But you’re not a witch, Marissa. You’re a headstrong young lady in dire need of discipline."

Taking a deep breath, she placed the rod back on the desk and exhaled slowly.

With a sigh, she rounded the desk to stand before me.

"Listen," she said, setting her hands on my shoulders. "We don’t preach sermons here at the priory just to hear ourselves talk."

"They contain wisdom to live by, wisdom to love by, and wisdom to die by."

"The tenets of the Society of Laeron Madrin serve as a shelter against the storms of life that buffet us without end. Stray but a little, and the currents of sin and lawlessness will sweep you away to a violent, scorching end."

Her piercing green eyes locked onto mine.

"Please, remember this."

I heard the earnestness in her voice. I saw it in her gaze.

Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that this heartfelt appeal wasn’t just for my benefit—perhaps not even consciously.

Yes, I’ll admit I had a penchant for the unlawful practice of magic.

Secretly, I longed to dive headlong into forbidden pursuits and never look back—to hell with the laws and the risks.

But I wasn’t the only one with vices.

This resplendent, seemingly consummate priestess struggled with iniquities of her own.

I had seen them firsthand.

"I’ll do better, Miss Nyomi."

"You always say that, but you never do."

I dutifully ducked my head in shame.

Yet, I felt no remorse.

Nyomi sighed. "Alright, in the future, will you please refrain from including Piper in your misadventures? An irate prior can make life hard on a poor priestess."

"I won’t. I promise."

"Good. Let’s get on with the punishment. Is there anything else you’d like to say on your behalf before I dole out the blows?"

She tapped the rod against her palm. "I think three quick strikes to the wrists shall suffice."

Rather than giving the priestess the pleasure of hearing me beg, I extended my hands, bracing for the punishment.

It wasn’t until Nyomi lifted the rod to strike that I realized—

I did have something to say after all.

"Ombra'lay! Zak'tachinay!"

I still had no idea what the phrase from last night’s haunting meant—nor what language Waurista’s apparition had spoken.

I didn’t know what sort of reaction, if any, I’d get out of Nyomi by repeating it now.

But what happened next took us both by surprise.

An enormous crow—one of the largest I had ever seen—suddenly landed on the open window’s sill.

It unleashed a loud series of caws that sent both of us jumping.

For a brief, gleeful moment, I imagined the priestess bolting from the office, stumbling and tumbling down the hallway as she fled from the Isle’s newest witch and her vile pet bird.

This, however, did not occur.

"You know, you just don’t get it."

Nyomi turned back to face me, still breathless from the sudden fright.

"I don’t get what?"

She scowled.

"Oh, damn it to hell. For your soul’s sake, it would be best for you to bend over, Marissa. Grab your ankles and hold on for all your miserable hide is worth. Prepare for five sound strikes."

She lifted the rod again—but paused.

"Or, better yet…"

Her grip tightened.

"Perhaps I’ll proceed until my arm is spent."