Slices of Midnight Chapter 9
Marissa Bonifay uncovers more than scandal in the priory’s hidden chambers—she hears a truth that redefines her: she isn’t just gifted, she’s destined. Maybe not even human.
The rooms where Nyomi Bettencourt and Prior Karl Shambling met for their liaisons had once belonged to the baron who built the original manor.
Like my own private lair, this hidden space consisted of four rooms, sealed off from the rest of the priory.
Back then, these chambers had given the baron a sense of security.
Here, he had likely conducted private dealings—and indulged in his own flesh-filled adventures.
No doubt, he had believed his actions would remain secret.
In truth, nothing had happened in the baron’s four rooms without the ancient witch knowing.
The passageway from her cauldron chamber—the one I now used—split into four separate viewing areas, each allowing the occupant to peer inside and overhear any conversation.
Through a blend of magic and technology, small metallic boxes within the alcoves transmitted voices from the rooms beyond.
Like the glowing orbs that lit the lair, these sound boxes drew their power from the souls the witch had long ago plastered into the walls.
"So, what do you think we should serve for the upcoming Feast of Raz’ool, my dear?"
I stepped into a viewing alcove overlooking one of the baron’s old rooms—a stately parlor.
I knew from experience this was where I’d find the lovers.
As always, the lithely built prior would have his impeccable hair frizzed and oiled, while Miss Nyomi would look antsy—just as she did whenever teetering on the edge of sin.
Their encounters had become painfully predictable.
"The festival is in two weeks. I certainly hope more people attend than last year."
I set the spider’s jar on the sill of a two-way mirror overlooking the parlor.
From the other side, it appeared to be just another elegant decoration—one of many adorning the baron’s old rooms.
Through these mirrors, I could watch Nyomi and Prior Shambling wherever they went, and they would never know.
"I don’t know what to do about the feast," Nyomi answered absently.
"What fare is traditionally associated with Raz’ool? It would be best to keep with what is written in scripture."
"Cabbage and potatoes don’t make for much of a feast, my dear. And neither does that hideous sausage."
Shambling shuddered.
"Globs of congealed nastiness crammed inside a sow’s intestine. How anyone can stomach such vileness is beyond me."
"Karl, my love, a feast is meant to honor the one it was established for—even if the meal is a bit... disagreeable."
"No, a feast is meant to fill this priory’s coffers," Shambling countered, circling the calfskin divan where Nyomi lounged.
"It’s damn near impossible to get these wretched islanders to part with their coin when we serve them cabbage, potatoes, and plate after plate of curdled slop."
"I stand corrected," Nyomi said.
Unusual.
She never shied away from sparring over tradition—especially not when she was in such an edgy mood.
Shambling noticed the shift, too.
"What’s wrong?" he asked.
"Is it Piper? I thought you said she’d be alright."
"Oh, she’ll be fine. She’s sick and badly shaken by what she saw in those woods, but with a little rest, she’ll recover fully."
Shambling sat beside Nyomi, placing a hand on her knee.
"Then what’s the matter, my dear?"
Nyomi opened her mouth, then hesitated.
"What is it?" He gave her knee an ardent squeeze.
"You can tell me."
She stiffened slightly, bracing herself.
"Actually, I’m concerned about Marissa."
Shambling shot to his feet, pacing the parlor.
"Marissa?" he sneered.
"Why in God’s name would you be concerned for that rat?
She’ll be the death of my daughter before it’s all said and done—maybe the rest of us, too."
I crossed my arms.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been their topic of conversation.
Nyomi brushed aside a strand of golden hair.
"Perhaps she will be."
I sighed.
"So, what are we going to do with her?" he asked, pouring the wine.
"She needs guidance, that’s for certain—and from someone with a much heavier hand than me.
Her aptitude for the arcane is astounding, surpassed only by her willfulness."
"And she’s highly intelligent—criminally so."
With his back to Nyomi, Shambling reached into the pocket of his snowy robe, withdrawing a pinch of pitch-black powder.
"But we can’t simply ship her off to Arinar to study magic properly."
He sprinkled the powder into one of the goblets.
"She’s a back-alley urchin, not an aristocrat."
"No, Marissa is not of noble blood."
Nyomi, hands folded in thought, looked up as Shambling turned to her with both goblets.
"But you know, Karl… I’m not sure she’s even human."
Shambling’s brows lifted.
I sat bolt upright.
"Here, have some wine."
Shambling handed Nyomi the goblet laced with black powder.
"You know me well, Karl. I don’t often sing my own praises," she said, taking a sip.
"But when I was Marissa’s age, back in Kennox, I was heralded for my intellect and magical potential."
Another sip.
"I turned down offers from Arinar’s finest academies to study at the Aegis.
Graduated at the top of my class.
But even then, I would’ve looked like a mush-brained imbecile compared to Marissa Bonifay."
She took a deeper drink.
"That girl’s perceptive abilities defy logic.
She picks up on things most academy students wouldn’t grasp until the end of their second year—with no instruction whatsoever.
She’s too intelligent, Karl.
Too observant.
Too precocious."
Shambling nodded, impressed by Nyomi’s insight—then took a sip of wine and leaned in to admire her other ample qualities.
She had freed both breasts from the confines of her robe.
As always, the lust potion worked wonders on his often-reluctant lover.
"She’s a special one, our Marissa," he mused.
Nyomi, now panting under the substance’s sway, ran her hands over her exposed skin.
The opal on her stately ring, normally a milky white, had turned a fiery red.
"You should see about getting her into the Society," Shambling continued.
"I’m sure the priests and priestesses at the Aegis could find some use for such a genius."
Nyomi’s newfound hunger for pleasure had set her chest to heaving.
Yet, enough of her measured self remained to answer.
"Perhaps I should."
One final drink would push her over the edge.
She guzzled it down, then set the goblet aside.
"Something must be done for her—and soon," she murmured.
"As it stands, Marissa Bonifay is on her way to becoming the most powerful witch this kingdom has seen in five hundred years."
I longed to hear more of what Nyomi thought of me, but the scene quickly dissolved into a tangle of arms, legs, and discarded vestments.
No matter—I had heard enough.
Nyomi had validated what Muriel and Morgan must have already seen.
Destiny had slated me to become a witch.
And I swore then and there—
I would grow into the greatest magic wielder the Isle of Indamar had ever known.
Visions of Waurista riding through a haunted wood filled my mind as I retrieved my spider from the sill.
Below, in the parlor, the business of lovemaking had reached full stride.
Moans and coos of pleasure crackled through the soundbox, but I barely noticed.
I turned from the wanton spectacle, heading back to the cauldron chamber to think about my future—
To delve deeper into my bag of potions and reagents.
Besides, I had long since grown desensitized to all the exposed anatomy.
By now, I doubted these two could show me anything about the mechanics of sex that I hadn’t seen before.
I was wrong.
I had taken two steps out the door when, through the soundbox, I heard Nyomi gasp.
"Oh, Karl, don’t put it there. Please, no!"
A brief cry—then a moan of delight.
I stopped.
Perhaps I didn’t need to leave just yet.
Turning back, I settled into my seat, hiking my dress up to my waist.
My daydreams could wait.
So could my alchemical pursuits.
Time was on my side.
