Putting on the Witch by Joyce and Jim Lavene Page B

safe.”
    â€œWe can’t leave the castle,” he reminded her. “This room is as safe as any other with the killer still wandering around out there. At least he or she is only at half magic. Once the spell wears off, everyone will leave, and Makaleigh’s killer could go free. This is the best shot we have, Olivia. I agree with Molly on this one.”
    â€œAnyway, I’m not leaving, Mom,” Dorothy said. “We’re going to find the killer, just like we figured out who killed you. We can do this. I wish Joe was helping us, but we’ll have to do it without him.”
    â€œDon’t wish that too hard,” I disagreed. “I wouldn’t want him here. This is an ugly side of being a witch I hope he never has to know about.”
    The witchfinder returned. He wasn’t alone, accompanied by Abdon. The elder witch and council member was angry. He shook the Spaniard, nearly lifting him off his feet before he tossed him to the Persian carpet as though he was a rag doll. If there had been witches like Abdon during the Inquisition, things would have gone much differently.
    â€œWhat game are you playing at, Brian?” Abdon’s voice shook with his fury. “For hundreds of years, the witchfinder has used extreme measures to get to the truth. Now you have him wanting to find fingerprints on the knife that killed Makaleigh. What next—he’ll be asking pretty please for information?”
    â€œGrandfather, this is a better way. Every study ever done has showed that torture doesn’t work. People say whatever you want them to say just to stop the torture. If you allowus to proceed, with the help of the witchfinder, I think we’ll catch the real killer.”
    Staring at Abdon’s livid face, I wasn’t sure what his response would be. He was used to doing things his own way. The Council of Witches never took rationality into consideration when making their judgments.
    But then his features softened when he gazed on the handsome face of his only grandson. “All right, Brian. On one condition.” He put a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “I want you to take Makaleigh’s place on the council when this is over. I won’t be here forever, you know. But there has always been a member of our family on the council. You should be next in line.”
    I could see that Brian was struggling for words. If he had any political aspirations to follow in Abdon’s footsteps, I’d never heard him mention them. I thought he was as polar opposite from the old man as possible. I wondered why Abdon planned to skip a generation—shouldn’t he be talking to Schadt about replacing Makaleigh?
    Even though the council was political, with members of the same families coming and going as sitting participants, there were no elections. The council decided who took empty spaces, though to my knowledge, there had never been a place open on the council in my lifetime.
    â€œWell?” Abdon asked impatiently. “You want to change things, do things your way, don’t you? The only way to do that is to join the council. Make the changes you want to see. How do you think things got to be the way they are now?”
    â€œThat’s not saying much,” Elsie muttered.
    â€œIt’s easy to say that now,” Abdon continued. “During the time of the witchfinder and those like him, witches would have given anything to have an authority like the council. We protect witches, provide ways for them to prosper. I’m sure your girlfriend would approve, right, Debbie?”
    Brian’s jaw tightened. “Dorothy. Not Debbie. And I don’twant to be on the council. If you don’t care whether or not you have the right witch who killed Makaleigh, why should I? What way is that to convince me that I should join a useless organization that I don’t agree with? Excuse me. The air is kind of thick in here for me.”
    He brushed passed