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Chapter 16: In Which Lucien and Tom Finally Get an Education

 

I reached the parlor in record time, Tom and Helene hurrying behind me. When I stopped in front of the large double doors, I turned to look at my coven, uncomfortably aware of how hard my heart was pounding in my chest. “So this is what we’ll do,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. “On the count of three I will magic these doors open, and we will all concentrate and send that brute flying. Preferably into the wall.”

“He’ll just get up, a big bloke like him,” Tom hissed. “You ain’t seen him!”

“The bigger he is, the harder he’ll fall,” I argued. The voices in the parlor were nothing but a murmur from out here, and though they did not sound combative, I did not wish to waste time. “Let’s do it. The worst he can do is take a swing at us, right?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Luce?” Tom asked darkly.

I opened my hands against the doors, swallowing any remaining hesitation. “Brace yourselves.”

Tom and Helene must have been helping, for the doors blasted open as though they’d been rushed by a steam engine. Anabelle gave a little cry of surprise from her seat on a couch; as for the German, I only caught the quickest glimpse of a tall, long-limbed frame and an angular, severe face before my coven’s combined powers sent him airborne. He crashed into the wall across from the door, taking down a few framed Willoughby peers and disappearing behind the couch.

Anabelle sprang out of her seat and backed away from the ruckus, just as the Baron stood up, pushing the couch unceremoniously aside. I steeled myself for another attack, whilst noting that he was indeed every bit as formidable as Tom had claimed. He had a few inches over me, and though not particularly broad, looked solid underneath his coat and heavy grey scarf—the latter intertwined with his familiar, a thin black serpent of some kind. He looked rather frustrated, and pushed a long, stray lock of hair out of his face. I thought he would say something to us, but his black eyes were on Helene.

“There is no need for fear,” he stated, holding up a gloved hand as if to keep us at bay. “Helene Prideux? Do not do anything rash, kleines Mädchen. I am not an enemy.” His French pronunciation was perfect, almost better than his English, and he sounded sincere. But the dark angles of his face and those terrifying jagged scars belied his words.

“You are my enemy!” Helene shrieked, both her fists clenching handfuls of Tom’s and my clothing. “You want to kill me! I will not let you take me away! I will do anything to escape!”

A startled look entered the Baron’s face, and he held up his hand again. “No. You misunderstand, Miss Prideux. If you will let me explain...but you must first become not excited, or someone will get hurt,” he said in a warning tone. He took a step toward Helene.

Tom and I yanked her backwards and sent the Baron flying towards the windows this time; his back struck the glass, smashing out a few diamond-shaped panes, and he fell, toppling over a heavy oaken chair. He got up as before, seeming none the worse for wear; but before he could speak or make another move toward Helene, Tom caught my eye and we silently agreed to go through with our original plan—knock the Baron unconscious and then question him at our leisure when he was bound.

Wishing to get it over with, in our next attack I made sure to concentrate on controlling my powers just so, the way we practiced in class or at the breakfast table. Just as the Baron was thrown into a row of bookshelves by the door, I turned my hand and caused him to hit the shelves at a different angle. His strong shoulders would have broken the impact, but now it was his head that hit the target first, and hard. The bookshelves trembled but did not fall, shedding books in a heap over the Baron’s still form.

“Very nice, Luce!” Tom crowed, hurrying over to view the damage. “He’s out! Quick, let’s tie him up!” Tom brought the oak chair upright and began flinging books aside using his powers.

I walked over slowly, wincing when I saw the bloody gash we’d opened up on the man’s forehead.

Helene’s little hand slipped into mine as she looked down at him. “He is very scary,” she said softly. “And a liar! How could Sabine not know this?”

“She must have loved him, Helene,” I tried to explain gently as I went over to help Tom drag the Baron into the chair.

“I do not know why.” Helene’s face was very dark as she eyed him. “He said he was going to hurt us.”

I took up a sash from the parlor curtains and began to lash the Baron’s wrists to the arms of the chair, while Tom searched around for something strong enough to tie down his ankles. In a burst of inspiration, he reached for the thick scarf round the man’s neck. There was a sudden hiss, and Tom yanked his hand back. The Baron’s familiar slithered back into position, flicking its forked tongue in and out.

“Bloody snake almost bit me!” Tom cried.

“Do not worry,” Helene said in that bright way of hers. “Familiars are never poisonous, so it cannot kill you. It only has very sharp fangs.”

“Oh, that’s so much better.”

I’d nearly forgotten about Anabelle; she approached cautiously when we were finished, looking rather guilty. “I feel so terrible about this,” she said. “I had no idea Lord Klein was...bad.”

“What do you know about him?” I asked.

“He was my husband’s dear friend. They were young men together. Lord Klein left England some years ago and married an American girl. He has a daughter who still lives there...but from what I heard, he does not see her very often.” Anabelle shook her head, her eyes fixed on the snake wrapped around his neck. “How did I never notice that any of them were warlocks?”

“Lord Willoughby and his friends?” Tom asked.

“Nearly every man I’ve met since I came to England,” she said, with an almost accusatory glance at me.

Helene suddenly gave a shriek; Lord Klein had begun to stir, shaking his head and blinking. Anabelle whispered something about keeping the servants out and slipped away. Tom and I stood in front of Helene, arms crossed and trying to look intimidating.

Lord Klein finally looked up at us, first me, then Tom, then Helene; he made a movement as if to stand, but succeeded only in shifting the heavy chair slightly. He glanced down at his bound limbs, and Tom and I felt some sort of pulse in the air—Lord Klein’s power, attempting to break free. Quickly I clamped down mentally on his bonds, and so did Tom; the curtain sashes and my own tie tightened around his wrists and ankles. Lord Klein winced and ceased using his powers.

“Very well,” he said calmly. “I see this is the only way you will allow me to speak. Yet to do so is what I wanted in the first place,” he said, with a wry smile that looked a lot more sinister with his scars.

“Aye, you better speak,” Tom barked. “We want answers. We’re sick of runnin’ like bloody animals from blokes like you!”

“Mr. MacKenna,” Lord Klein greeted, inclining his head like he and Tom were old friends. “How good to see you again, and in one piece. The Dawkins coven, they were not so lucky, no?” He looked up at me. “Mr. Baptiste, I presume? I have not had the pleasure of your acquaintance. I would offer my hand, but....” He gestured helplessly.

“What do you want?” I demanded. “This is no time for pleasantries! We were safe here, and now you’ve come for Helene, isn’t that right?”

“Yes...and no. You must allow me to speak,” he said firmly, cutting off Tom’s rude remark. “Otherwise I do not think we will ever understand each other. We will go round and round—I chasing you, you throwing me into walls. It will never end, because you will never stop running, and I will never stop trying to protect the Prideux child. It is something I must do, you see,” he added, very seriously, “because I have made such promise to her parents.”

“Rubbish. You’re trying to hand her over to the Council,” I said.

“Indeed? What proof do you have of this?”

“Everything!” Tom exploded. “First of all, there’s the box—you knew it had to do with the bloody Three of Swords coven, and the Council wants it! I know all about it. You were trying to convince Lord Willoughby to give it to them, but when he said no and then went and died, you wanted me to get it for you.”

“And you killed Tom’s friend when he went to deliver Tom’s letter to you,” I added.

“And,” Helene chimed in, her voice shrill, “you told Sabine and me to meet you at the train station...but you never came! You let those men from the Council come and kill Sabine!”

Lord Klein’s shoulders fell a little and he might have gone slightly paler, if that were possible. He looked at Helene hard. “These are very many accusations. I do not even know in which order to answer them all. Perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning.”

“No! Tom, Lucien, he is a liar!” Helene cried, pulling at our sleeves. “We cannot believe anything he says!”

“Then let’s get that truth potion,” I said matter-of-factly, looking back at Lord Klein. “If you’re telling the truth, then you wouldn’t object.”

“I do not object,” he said immediately. “I have nothing to hide.”

Helene looked miserable, but was unable to find any more reasons to stall. She magicked into her pocket a small vial of the clear watery liquid, and wordlessly placed it in Tom’s hand. Then she turned and sat some distance away upon the sofa, clutching Grimoire. I frowned at her whilst Tom uncapped the potion. Helene must have thought that Lord Klein was going to tell us about her powers, and she was still frightened of what we’d think. I decided to make certain none of our questions steered in that direction.

Truth potions were not the sort to delay taking effect. Thin as water, and tasteless, they were undetectable mixed into drinks or food, and dissolved on the tongue immediately when drunk straight. Anyone who drank them was rendered incapable of lying, pretending, or even simple sarcasm; but the effects of a small vial lasted only two hours. I waited till Lord Klein had drained the potion, then lost no time in starting.

“Do you intend to harm Helene?” I asked.

“I do not. I am trying to save her,” Lord Klein replied.

“Are you on the Council’s side?” Tom demanded. “They want to kill her, right?”

“I am not, though I am quite involved with many of their people and know the inner workings of it. There is very little I am not aware of,” Lord Klein explained, with the oversharing typical of a truth potion’s effects. “As to your second question, there are some among the Council who most certainly do, especially considering you have made them chase you these past weeks. But that is not how it was at first.”

“Tell us,” I said, “everything about your plan, starting in Paris when you decided to take Helene to America.”

Lord Klein nodded. “I was spending a good deal of time in France at the Prideux home, when the Council first asked to interview the child. Very kindly, at first. Mr. and Mrs. Prideux refused, as any witch has the right to do when it comes to children. Then the Council made a demand. The Duchess of Everington came to the house and stated that if they would not let her see the child, then she would put it before the Council, and she would return and take the girl by force. At this time they were still only wanting this interview.

“Again the Prideux refused. The Duchess kept her promise, and a telegram was received alerting the family that in a week’s time, the child would be taken. My fiancée Sabine Guichard, Miss Prideux’s governess, expressed her concerns to me, and I decided to help. I went immediately to a telegraph office and sent a message to my friend Sebastien Rousseau.”

“That’s French—was he in Paris?” Tom asked.

“He was not,” Lord Klein replied. “Sebastien is American. He is the leader of the Council coven based in the United States, and we have been good friends for many years. I respect Sebastien more than any other in the Council—he is fair-minded and reasonable, but also has a kind heart.” The Baron leaned forward as best he could. “My goal was—is—to keep the child hidden from the Council, and I think to myself, where better than right before their noses? I told Sebastien that if the child were hidden deep in the United States, the Council would not look for her there, and then the matter could be discussed with calm minds and without worrying her parents.”

“But if he’s part of the Council, why would he even consider your request?” I asked, surprised. “The Council doesn’t take no for an answer, and when they want something, they’ll kill anyone to get it!”

“Because he is my friend,” Lord Klein said stubbornly, “and because I trust him. Sebastien is like a brother to me. Also, the Council as of late is not the Council I know. The way they have acted—they are afraid. They are out of control. That is why I wanted the child out of their reach. I do still.

“Sebastien was worried about doing this risky plan, but finally he consented, and the very next day I went to London to make arrangements to depart for America. Sabine and the child were to arrive at the station, I would join them and we would sail right away.” Lord Klein looked at the floor, as if it were hard for him to speak of it, but the truth potion propelled his words forward. “As I was walking to the station that morning, I had the sensation I was being followed. This disturbed me since at the time there was no reason to believe I was suspected of being involved in the Prideux situation. After some time I was convinced there was someone following me; I then turned a corner across from a mirror shop, and saw in the reflections that I was being followed by a coven of three men whom I know to be heavily involved with the Council.”

“The Fairfaxes?” I blurted out.

“Not the ones you met, Mr. Baptiste...and yes, I heard of your experience. It was all the witching world would speak of for a time, how the Fairfax gentlemen did not do the job to the Duchess’ satisfaction. But it was not they. It was their father, the Earl of Maverly, and his coven. They too are very important in the witching world.” Lord Klein looked up, but his eyes were on Helene. “I could not lead them to the station, you see. So I led them on a chase of wild geese. I took many false turns, and when I realized my time was getting close, I resolved I would confront them. And so I did. I stepped into an alleyway and waited for them; when they approached, I came out and took hold of one of them—and that is when they disappeared.”

“The blokes ran from you?” Tom said.

“No!” Lord Klein said vehemently. “This truth potion means I can only say exactly what I mean to say...and I mean to say, that they disappeared. Vanished! Into thin air!”

I breathed out hard. “They must be dreadfully powerful!”

“They are not! Not any more than I, or any of you,” the Baron insisted. “No, I do not believe it was truly Robert Fairfax and the others. I knew without a doubt that I had been shamefully tricked! It was a material illusion!” Apparently Tom and I were not expressing the appropriate amount of horror at this news, for Lord Klein glared at each of us in turn. “Do you not understand what that means? Witches can only create illusions that are immaterial. Not one that a man can lay his hand upon, as I did. No one can do this thing. It was then that I became afraid—but by the time I reached the station, it was filled with police and doctors and...the child was gone, and Sabine...it was too late.” He said the last part so quietly I could hardly hear it, but Helene certainly did. She buried her face in a sofa pillow.

“After that,” Lord Klein continued, “I used divination to try to trace the child, but she has been covered in so much cloaking magic that she is nearly impossible to find. I had to rely on non-magical methods, such as eyewitnesses, to discover that Mr. MacKenna had taken her. I supposed he would naturally go to the Council—they would pay handsomely for Helene Prideux. So I sent him threats. I waited each day at the zoo, which was foolish, because gradually the Council realized I would be there, and the Dawkins coven was sent to kill me.”

“The Dawkins—those mad warlocks that gutted me?” Tom demanded. “They were long ripped to shreds by then!”

“Ah yes, but there are always more Dawkinses,” Lord Klein muttered, giving the impression that no one cared much for that particular family. “They often do the Council’s dirtiest work. However, Sebastien warned me in time, and I did not go to the zoo that day. I later learned that your friend Mr. Kelly ran afoul of them, and when they saw the correspondence he carried, they murdered him.” He looked up at Tom and inclined his head. “I am sorry. He was a kind man to go to such trouble for you.”

“Aye, and he wouldn’t have died if none of this mess hadn’t been thrown on his doorstep,” Tom snapped. “Look, I know all of this you’re sayin’ is true. You don’t want to kill Helene or hand her over. But you ain’t going about it the best way, you ken? Your plans always go wrong—Helene’s governess gets killed, Cormac Kelly gets killed, me and Luce get our hides handed to us every other week! I’m not sayin’ I’m sorry I’m helping Helene or anything, ‘cause I ain’t, but you got me neck-deep in danger from the minute you hired me!”

“At the time you were the best choice of getting the box,” Lord Klein explained.

“And what exactly is with that box? I mean, it’s nothing—it got some weird memories attached to it, and there’s an old piece of hair inside, but—”

“You opened the box??” Lord Klein cried, almost leaping up and upsetting the chair he was tied in. “How did you manage it?”

“Ach, hold on now, I ain’t opened it,” Tom said, backing away. “I’ve got...what do you call it?”

“Archeomancy,” I supplied.

“That’s it. I can see the box’s memories. If I fall asleep, I have dreams about the Three of Swords coven—you know, from the fairy tale. All that’s inside is a piece of that bloke Malphas’ hair,” Tom explained, his voice lowering involuntarily at the mention of Malphas’ name. “It was his girl friend’s box.”

Lord Klein was staring at Tom as though Tom had solved the world’s greatest mystery. “That explains why the Council is looking for it! It must contain great power. The Council would insist it be locked away.”

“Well, isn’t that what you wanted? In one of your letters to Lord Willoughby, you said—”

“That was a long time ago,” the Baron said dismissively. “Peter, he found it in the oldest parts of this house, and suspected it was connected to that story. There was powerful ghostly protection on it—specifically, the ghost of one of Peter’s ancestors, a woman. Being her progeny, only Peter could touch it without bringing on himself an attack. We discussed it, and I thought it too dangerous to be in his home, especially with a young wife and a child on the way.”

My jaw dropped a little. I did not know Anabelle had ever been a mother. The child must have died before I met her.

“Peter agreed as far as this, but he was not ready to tell the Council about it. So he stored it away safely. Not long after this, the Council summoned him to London. He took the box with him, and left it in the study while he answered the summons. He placed more ghostly protection upon it there—Peter was very good at ghost magic, though he could not see or hear them.” Lord Klein shook his head. “That was the last I ever heard from him. The same night as the summons, he departed London for Willoughby, leaving the box behind, which is very unusual. He arrived home, walked upstairs to his study, took out a pistol and shot himself.”

Again I started. “Ana—Lady Willoughby’s husband committed suicide?” I whispered. “I have never heard that before.”

“I should’ve told you,” Tom admitted. “I’ve been seein’ his ghost in the study all the time. He just shoots himself over and over.”

Lord Klein looked at Tom sadly. “Peter was probably my dearest friend, the most loyal companion I ever had. He was a happy man, but his suicide is no mystery. The Earl of Maverly was at the scene soon after, and there has been talk that Fey was nowhere to be found.”

“Who’s Fey?” Tom asked.

“His familiar, a bat. The general assumption is that there was an accident and Fey was killed. Considering that, anyone can see why he shot himself.” Lord Klein shook his head again, as his snake familiar nuzzled his scarred cheek. Tom, Helene, and I nodded wordlessly in agreement. “After Peter’s death, I all but forgot about this box. That is, until the Prideux matter, when Sebastien informed me that the Council was searching for it.”

“How did they know about it?” I asked.

“I do not know. I do not think Peter would have told them. In fact Sebastien did not even know anything about it, except that perhaps it was at Willoughby. He only insisted it needed to be found. I knew where it was, of course, but I did not feel right telling him. Sebastien has had some coven difficulties lately, and he seemed rather worried about hiding any more secrets from the Council. I decided to obtain the box myself and hide it, as it was only a matter of time before the Council searched Peter’s London home.”

“Well. Thanks,” Tom grumbled.

“So I have been searching tirelessly for both Helene Prideux and Mr. MacKenna. My research led me to Mr. Baptiste, which in turn led to Lady Willoughby, a twist of fate I had not anticipated. But it seems she has been placed under some kind of protection from divination, so that she was as invisible to me as the child.”

I remembered Anabelle’s onyx pendant and smiled to myself. She had worn it diligently after all.

“However,” Lord Klein announced, sounding pleased with himself, “I have known Mr. Baines since I was twenty years old. And he was not difficult to divine.” He smiled, pushing his scars up along the sides of his face. “So I am here now. Would either of you gentlemen care to unbind me? I am beginning to lose feeling in my hands,” he said pointedly.

Tom and I looked at each other and shrugged; it was the truth, after all. We magicked the sashes and tie to the floor, and Lord Klein stood up, massaging his wrists. We stood back just a little, as the Baron extended his hand to each of us in turn.

“Mr. MacKenna, Mr. Baptiste. And of course, Miss Prideux. My name is Kaspar Klein—and my familiar, Wotan. I am pleased to make your acquaintances.”

Everyone shook hands, except Helene, who remained on the sofa looking grief-stricken. Lord Klein busied himself for a few moments blotting the cut on his forehead with a handkerchief, and tying back his long silver-streaked hair, before gesturing at some chairs by the sofa. “Come, let us sit. We must discuss what is to be done with the child.”

“Are you still planning to take her to America?” I asked, sinking into a chair. “Because there might be a slight problem with that. You see, while she has been with us, we’ve...well, we’ve become a coven, and—”

“Yes, I can see that,” Lord Klein said approvingly. “I am very impressed. I admit that when I first realize she is with you, I am not happy. I am concerned for her safety. Two men, whom I know nothing about—one a thief, one a...I have not yet quite been able to deduce exactly what it is you do for a living, Mr. Baptiste. I have heard many different opinions, none of them good. You understand my fears.” He shrugged. “But then I see how hard you have worked to keep her safe, and then I think, we are on the same side. And you have done a better job than I. The Council is frothing at the mouth in frustration. I pity you both if they ever catch you.” He flashed a smile again, so I suppose it was a joke, but it wasn’t very funny.

“Aye, well, like Luce said, we’re a coven,” Tom declared. “So she’s staying with us, you ken? Not goin’ off to America with some French pal o’ yours who’s in the Council!”

“She most certainly must go to America,” Lord Klein stated, folding his hands in his lap. “There is no other option. The Council is already beginning to trace you here. Soon they will arrive, and you will have nowhere to run. They will take you all prisoner, and possibly kill you two—they hold you responsible for the Dawkins murders.”

I swallowed hard. “How close?”

“A month at least. It is my plan, then, to have Miss Prideux out of the country by mid-January.”

“No!” Helene shrieked suddenly. She lept off the couch and ran over to us, throwing her arms around Tom’s neck. “I will not go! I love my coven and I do not want to leave them! I do not even know you!”

“That is very true, child,” Lord Klein said matter-of-factly. “Which is why I wish for your coven to take you themselves. I will remain in Europe and support your parents’ cause before the Council.”

Helene looked relieved, but I was horrified. Leave England? I had never thought to do such a thing. I knew England, it was comfortable to me. I knew where I stood. Out there in the world—in America, the land of the brave and what-was-it? I wouldn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t know who I was.

Tom seemed about to expire. “No!” he cried, almost as loudly as Helene. “I am not one of them sail-to-the-New-World Irishmen! America’s about the worst place a bloke can go!”

“I lived there for many years,” Lord Klein said. “It is a wide and varied place—one cannot make such general statements about it, Mr. MacKenna. Some places were to my liking, some were not. I will settle the plans later, but I will likely have you travel to New York City, and from there find someone to escort you to New Orleans. Once the child is in the right hands, you gentlemen would best hide elsewhere until this matter is cleared.”

I frowned, trying to piece together from memory some generalized idea of how the States were arranged. New York City was somewhere in the northeast vicinity, and New Orleans was south of that. Not close, I imagined. “This journey will take us weeks...months,” I said, looking up at Lord Klein. “I mean, is there no other way?”

The Baron shook his head. “There is nowhere else in Europe she will be safe. I am sorry.” He glanced at Tom, who was shaking his head stubbornly. “Of course, if you refuse to go, I can find someone else. Reginald Guichard is very reliable, he would take her if I asked—”

Helene’s wails drowned out everything else Lord Klein said, and Tom grimaced, patting Helene’s back as she sobbed hysterically. It was clear from his expression that giving in was inevitable.

“All right, all right!” Tom cried, prying Helene off him and holding her at arm’s length. “Look, we’ll go, aye? Just stop cryin’.” He glared at Lord Klein. “Fine. January. What’ll we do till then?”

“If Lady Willoughby is willing, you may stay here,” the Baron said. “You will be safe here. You are all cloaked from divination, and the Council has already questioned Anabelle in person. I will also make certain that Mr. Baines and all the servants are cloaked likewise.”

Just then there was a low knock at the door. Sighing, I stood up and opened it to see Anabelle; she stood on her tiptoes to peek over my shoulder into the room.

“Is Lord Klein...?”

“Yes, he is a friend,” I replied, stepping back and allowing her in. “It was all a great misunderstanding.”

“Lord Klein,” Anabelle said. “I am sorry for all this upset.”

Lord Klein had stood up, and he kissed her hand in a friendly way. “It is no matter, milady. You were all merely taking the proper precautions. Of course,” he turned to Tom and me with a smile, “if I had truly wanted, I could have fought you both. But I knew we would better solve things by talking...and I did not want to upset Miss Prideux.” His black eyes rested on Helene a moment, and she seemed to shrink back from his gaze.

Anabelle nodded demurely. “If you are staying, Lord Klein, I will ask that tea and refreshments be set in the dining room, and we can all recover from this morning’s excitement.” Her face softened when she noticed Helene’s red-rimmed eyes. “Helene, is there anything special you would like? I can have Mrs. Holmes—”

“I am not hungry,” Helene sniffed, climbing out of Tom’s lap and smacking away the tears on her cheeks. “I am going to my room.” She hurried toward the door, nearly shoving into Anabelle, and left.

For a moment, I saw through Anabelle’s feelings—the hurt look on her face was impossible to miss, and I thought immediately of her lost baby. “Well,” she said quietly. “I’ll...go to the kitchen straightaway.” She too left the parlor, I watching her go.

I turned to see Lord Klein looking at me with an imperceptible expression.

“What is your relationship with Lady Willoughby?” he asked, curiously. My face must have betrayed my discomfort, for a moment later his eyebrows raised. “Ah, I see. I beg your pardon.”

“We’re friends,” I said halfheartedly.

“She is a very good friend to allow your coven to stay here, especially knowing the danger,” Lord Klein stated.

“Would the Council really harm her?” I asked. “It’s not as though they could do it quietly. Lady Willoughby is a celebrity.”

“Ah, you think I mean danger from the Council? Tell me,” the Baron said, looking at Tom and me in turn, “are you both aware of the Council’s reasons for capturing young Miss Prideux?”

Tom and I exchanged glances. On the one hand, I felt guilty betraying Helene’s confidence by ever inquiring on the subject; on the other, Tom and I certainly deserved to know, and curiosity was starting to eat at me. “I suppose we could better protect Helene if we knew what the Council wanted from her,” I said, still looking at Tom.

“Aye, I guess,” he said, unsure. “I mean, it can’t be anythin’ really bad, right? Like she ain’t ever killed no one, right?”

“Oh, no,” Lord Klein assured him. “If she had, the Council would have sought not an interview, but her life. She would have been placed on trial and either executed, or imprisoned for life.”

“But she’s just a little girl!” I exclaimed.

“Very powerful little girls can grow up to be dangerous witches, Mr. Baptiste.” Lord Klein took his seat once again, and looked up at us. “I will tell you the full story. Gentlemen, Miss Prideux has not killed anyone yet. But the Council feels it is only a matter of time. The right circumstances, combined with the proper intent on her part or merely an accident....”

“What?” Tom whispered.

Lord Klein shook his head, managing to look anxious and fascinated at the same time. “Helene Prideux is capable of causing instant death with a single touch of her fingertips.”

END OF VOLUME III: THE HEIROPHANT

Glossary:
Kleines Mädchen - (German) Little girl