Witches of East End - By Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,81
There could be no more undue attention that would jeopardize knowledge of their existence. To continue to survive in mid-world they had to agree to live in the shadows. Those who did not comply would be in breach of Council laws and would be severely punished.
Their mother also told them that Norman had left the family for good, and they never saw their father again.
Back in Salem, as in North Hampton today, Freya understood that they would not be allowed to use their magic to save themselves. That had been made clear from the very beginning, when they found themselves stuck on the other side of the bridge, right in the dawn of the world. Sometimes Freya wondered how it was that she was so old and yet so young at the same time that she found herself in the same place as she had centuries before. Would she never learn? Maybe the Council was right, maybe magic had no place in mid-world. Every time they practiced it in the open, this happened: an anxious mob, a swift rush to judgment; and the result was always the same - witches hanging from the gallows, or burned at the stake, their ashes scattered to the four winds.
They sat in the room for what felt like an eternity but in reality was only a few hours. The policemen were kind and polite, especially those who had worked with Freya before, bringing deli sandwiches and drinks from the vending machine. But they were not allowed to leave. Matt Noble checked in on them from time to time, but Freya had been able to understand from his tight-lipped anxiety and Ingrid's mournful gazes that while he was not happy about what was happening, he had no power to stop it, either.
Finally, the door opened and their mother was allowed inside the room.
"What's going on?" Freya asked, helping Joanna to the nearest chair.
"It's the most absurd thing," Joanna said. She looked at her daughters, completely mystified by the situation in which they had found themselves. Here there were, afraid of the Council's recriminations, worrying about thunderbolts from the sky, and they had forgotten that the human realm was historically the area that had brought them the most pain.
"Okay, what is it? What did they want to talk to you about?"
Joanna looked at her girls with an expression of disbelief. "Maura Thatcher woke up from her coma."
"That's good, isn't it?" Ingrid asked.
"Well, yes. Except she told the detectives I was the one who attacked them the night that Bill died, that she saw me hit him on the back of the head with a rock. Then I did the same to her. Can you imagine? According to her, I killed him. "
Chapter thirty-eight
A Good Offense
Is a Good Defense
Before the girls could react, the door opened again. Matt Noble entered the room and addressed the three women grouped around the table. "I'm so sorry. It's quite late and we're going to have to continue this another day." He looked plaintively at Ingrid but she refused to acknowledge him.
"So we're free to go now?" Freya asked.
"Even me?" Joanna asked tentatively.
"Yes, even you, Mrs. Beauchamp." Matt nodded. "Again, I apologize for the inconvenience. We're hoping you can come back tomorrow and answer our questions then."
Freya nodded curtly. "Come on, Ingrid, Mother," she said, leading her sister and mother out of the room. Ingrid looked as if she had gone catatonic, and Joanna appeared exhausted beyond reason.
"We're not coming back tomorrow," Ingrid said, finding her voice and looking straight at the detective. "Not without our lawyer."
One good thing about lawyers, Ingrid thought, was that they were always punctual. Attorneys and their bills always arrived right on time. Antonio Forseti was a defense lawyer with a sterling reputation. He was also a warlock and an old friend of the family. Like the Beauchamps, he had been unable to practice magic since the restriction had been imposed on all of their kind. Instead he had used his natural talents at negotiating, striking balances, and using mediation to build one of the largest and most successful legal firms in New York City. He arrived the next afternoon armed with news.
"So I talked to the DA down here," he said, taking a seat at the head of the formal dining room. Forseti was a large man with a powerful barrel chest and a full head of dark hair, and his handshake had left Ingrid feeling a bit bruised.