Page 53 of The Witch

I stare at him in astonishment. “But I must speak with Archie,” I insist. “And I would also like to speak with a man of the law to help me with my trial.”

“A man of the law!” Strickland says it as if I have requested something obscene. “Your case will be presented to the magistrate. He has received a list of townsfolk bearing witness to your witchy dealings and shall convene with them to ascertain the truth in their grievances. He will be the one who makes the final decision on your guilt.”

Jonas Reeve is standing in the cell across from me, his hands on the bars again. After I put my clothes back on, he turned to observe our interaction. I must admit that I am surprised by the respect he showed me in averting his gaze, especially after all the terrible things he has done to other women.

Our eyes meet now for a brief second. He raises a single eyebrow.

“What witnesses will be called against me?” I ask.

“We cannot tell you this,” Bixby says. “If we do, you may hex them.”

“I shan’t hex anyone!”

“The trial will be Monday,” the sheriff says, as if he did not hear my protests. “Should you be found guilty of practicing witchcraft, you will be hanged on the morrow.”

Monday. Today is Friday, so that means in less than a week, I will be on trial for a crime that I did not commit.

39

PRESENT DAY

JULIA

I am sitting at a coffee shop in the middle of Woodhaven, sipping on a decaf, trying to get my nerves under control.

It has been two days since I saw that noose from the window in my bedroom. I won’t sleep there again. I moved all my stuff to the smaller bedroom, and when Ethel asked me why, I mumbled something about a draft in the middle of the night. But I have a feeling she knew the real reason.

What she doesn’t know is what I’m planning to do right now. Nobody knows. Honestly, I think if I told anyone, I would die of embarrassment.

I take another sip from my cup of coffee, craving real caffeine, but knowing that I’m already ready to jump out of my skin. If I drink the espresso that I want, I’d be levitating right now. Really, what I need is a glass of warm milk.

I keep my eyes pinned on the door to the café, waiting for my appointment to show up. Then there’s a jingle as the door swings open, and in walks Henry Ziegler. We’re not far from the museum, so I suppose it makes sense he would come here to grab a cup of coffee midmorning, but I’m still surprised to see him.

Henry has a newspaper tucked into his arm. He’s got on another pair of tweed pants and, of course, the suspenders. Somehow, he pulls it off. He almost seems like he’s from…well, whatever time period it was when people wore suspenders and trilbies (which are different from fedoras, by the way).

I lower my eyes, hoping he doesn’t spot me. But of course, I’m not that lucky. His eyes light up behind his black-rimmed glasses when he zeros in on me, and he makes a beeline for my table. I suppose he doesn’t want to miss an opportunity to talk me into selling my family’s estate.

“Julia!” he says.

I force a smile. “Oh. Hi.”

There are two empty seats at my table, and Henry nods at the one closest to me. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”

The last thing I’m in the mood for right now is another sales pitch, but before I can tell him so, he drops into the empty chair.

“So, listen.” Henry scoots his chair closer to mine—close enough that I can smell his aftershave. “I wanted to call you to let you know that I had a really good time the other night.”

“Uh, yeah.” I avoid his gaze. “Listen, Henry, I don’t think I can talk my grandmother into selling right now, so⁠—”

“I don’t care about that,” he says quickly. “I mean, I do care about that, obviously. But that’s not why I came over to talk to you.”

I rip my attention away from the door. “Oh?”

“The thing is,” he says, “after I dropped you off, I realized I didn’t have your number. So, you know, I couldn’t call and suggest we do it again. Even though I wanted to. Do it again, I mean.”

It hits me what’s happening. He’s not doing a sales pitch anymore. He’s trying to ask me out—and he looks adorably nervous about it. Apparently, he’s not only besotted with the knocker on our door.

He raises his eyebrows. “So…any interest in, uh…doing it again?”