Inquisition Spell

"YES, YOUR MAJESTY. It's a heart."

"What?" I nearly jump off the throne.

Instinctively, Yennara moves closer. "A human heart?" I shiver. It's large enough. God knows I can't handle that yet.

"No, Your Majesty. A horse's heart. Particularly," he smiles. "...the great steed of Lord Crave. It was acquired from the ruins of his ship after he met his Waterloo at the seas. In the centuries before, a human heart was strictly required for this ritual. This spell of Inquisition. But the laws were abolished decades ago. Now we can use the heart of a close pet, I suppose," he adds glumly, like he wouldn't take it if the only other option weren't cemented as barbaric.

The evening sun is a dense halo, bathing the halls of the Throne room. I look towards the splitting rays, hitting the high pillars in a mosaic of white gold. The shards of broken light on the floors from the chandelier above. About a thousand tears of amber. I wonder how the castle servants light it.

I look to the statues of past kings, stationed every now and then in a pompous line. Their stone faces stare at their unmoving shadows hidden from the light. I look at everything, everything but the tray in the Witch-man's hands. I clear my throat and Yennara bends over, leaning close. Her smell is distracting.

"What's his name?"

I look straight ahead. For a moment, she peers between Miss Chandle and the man in question but finally stops on him.

"Lester," she whispers close to my ear.

Right. How befitting.

"Thank you," I mouth to her. She ascends to assume position again.

Drawing a deep breath, I face the Court squarely.

"Alright, Lester, explain to me the ritual."

For good measure, the man's obsidian irises twinkle in their deep hollows. He looks too happy about this. Lester has the kind of face that one can't forget. A haunting face. A Pennywise kind.

"Your Majesty." He moves up the first step of the dais. "An Inquisition Spell is fairly simple to perform. However, its demand of the spellcaster comes at a great price." I gulp when he pauses.

What price?

"You must ingest the heart."

What the fuck! Eat a heart?

I mean...there were some real barbaric practices of the ancient world. The likes of the Roman Crucifixion. The English Flaying. The Viking Angel. The French Guillotine. There were many horrors. It wasn't called the Dark Ages for nothing. But consuming a heart? A horse's? And to think it had been a human's heart before. I'm not stupid. I know all magic comes with a price. But this is not a price. It's an effing sacrifice!

My eyes point towards the Celestine Court but I see none of them really. Like a snap from an iphone, both Lester and his grim smile are blurred into the background of the hall sparkle. The only clear thing is sight is the most feared. The tray. And what it holds. You have to understand that at sixteen, I once spent two full months vegan. Though it didn't last, I'm not a great fan of slaughter. I eat the steak and all but I sure as shit won't watch the butchering. Inwardly, I'm hoping this is all a prank by the Court. Some sinister joke amongst witches. Lester's warped sense of humor. Perhaps if I blink I'd find a burger coated with gooey dripping chocolate.

I close my eyes for a full second.

And open again.

Nothing changes. I'm confronted still with the severed heart laying soaked in a crimson pool of its own making. The golden dish holding it is a sacrament after sin. How ironic. Serving death in a pretty ribbon doesn't tip the scales. This is why I'd never really fancied medical school. It's all fun facts about the human body until you rip some cadaver open. And then be like...oh shit! It's so easy to clean up a murder.

Don't get me wrong. I live for Goth. I live goth. I'm all about shadows. The piercings. The Tats. Rock 'n fucking Roll. Def Leppard all the way. I don't know how many times I've seen Evil Dead. The Poltergeist is one of my favorites. Fright Night. I mean...come on! But you don't spring a red heart on a Lady and ask her to take a bite. I will name each and every character in the SCREAM franchise off the tip of my fingers but I'm not about to swallow a slice of heart.

How is it still beating anyway? Can't they cook it or something? It'll still be Crave's horse, won't it—just barbecued.

I don't know how long I stay in my head but the entire hall must see my trepidation because Lester takes another step up the dais. His lean arm remains stretched out. His smile would be gleeful if not for his weird homodont dentition. All his teeth look the same. Pointy and savage.

"Your Majesty, you could think of it as that of a murderer." He gestures down at the open plate. "After all, Lord Crave was the vilest of them all."

What! No. No way. That's even worse. How does it make me feel better knowing I'm eating the heart of a murderer. Lester has obviously never heard of the Sin-eater. Taking up the sin after consuming part of the sinner's blood. Many still believe Dracula was evil partly because of the evil he kept taking in from the blood of his victims.

"At least in its sacrifice in death, the horse can be redeemed of its master's evil." Lester licks his canines.

I frown at him. He is by far the most witchy of the entire Court. I want to suggest they cook the heart but I'm certain they'll all laugh. I bite back my words.

"Fear not, Your Majesty." Miss Chandle speaks over Lester's eagerness. "Past Regents have successfully fulfilled the Inquisition Spell."

Great. I'm not the first. But it's sarcasm.

I know they are all just trying to help out. After all, I'm the one who suggested confirming Crave's hand in the ghost ship. I shall not back away from this. I don't have the luxury of being squeamish. The fate of a great city rests on it. I feel like Merlin saddened at the prospect of the destruction of Avalon. Who knows? Maybe I'll even like it. No, I chastise my mind. Don't think like Lester. But his smile is already growing. He can tell I've given in.

"Alright then. Let me have it," I say, sighing at the surreal light in Lester's all-black gaze.

I suppose I'll just have to add eating a fresh heart to my list of dying, resurrecting in a totally strange world, learning I'm a hot Witch-Queen; alias former nerd with a penchant for horror flicks and handsome lost causes. What a rap sheet!

I watch quietly, everyone in the room fallen silent, as Miss Chandle steps up to the same level as Lester. She takes up the golden tray from him, holding it steady in her hands as he withdraws the cutlery from the side. Not giving so much as a blink, Lester bends the knife over the pulsing red organ and pushes down. There's a wet squelch. Fresh blood rushes out and my face turns green.

It's alright, I calm myself. How many times have you watched limbs sent flying with a chainsaw? Heck! You've even played it a few times on your Xbox. You can handle way more blood than the average teenage girl.

The sanguine essence doesn't clot immediately but the heart finally stops beating.

My lips are a hard line when Lester licks up the sliced portion with a similar gilded fork. He dips in the flesh in the dish of blood for good measure. Darkness is a hobby to this man. Carefully holding out his free hand under like a chalice, he moves the small distance or my throne, and bends smoothly at the waist, offering both hands. The fork of sliced heart balances a breath away from my tight lips.

"For you, Enchantress."

Lester's black eyes are urging, bearing the same look a mother would holding a spoonful of syrup to a colic child. This is the weirdest Communion ever.

"May the flame abide!" He calls in an open voice.

"May the flame guide!" The rest of the Court respond.

Uh, okay.

Lance and his officers, having no clue to the witches chanting, remain silent. This is my cue I guess. Breathily, while praying not to gag, I part my lips. With a flattering display of satisfaction, Lester dips the fork in. I grip the flesh with my teeth and he pulls back. The fork slides out stained with remnant blood but empty of flesh. Slowly, I begin to chew.

I feel all eyes on me.

Other than being harder to chomp on, the cut heart is okay. Of course there's the tingly metallic taste of blood. The coppery feel of life's bane. It dissolves in my mouth. It's scent fills my nostrils until all I can smell is blood. Red hues blur my vision. I think maybe it's just my imagination. It's like the flesh itself is in a hurry to merge with my system.

After a while, I swallow.

What now?

I feel every conscious inch of peristalsis, until it hits my stomach. And then... nothing. Something is supposed to happen, right?

I squint at Lester.

"Is this what normally hap—" I start to say. But it hits me then. Mighty and destabilizing.

It's a freight train. And I'm stuck between the tracks.

Immobilized.

...burned through by a scorching blast. A grenade explosion. Electrocuted to an inch of life by screaming thunder. I open my mouth to yell out my pain but no sound comes out. The storm of the spell barrels through my bones, my teeth chattering. Its heavy voice drums in me, knocking my limbs together and dislocating joints. I'm in a tsunami, abandoned in a force field, every single molecule in my makeup pulled together in different directions.

My skin is no longer there. My body is air. I'm floating. Subconsciously, I'm aware I'm having a seizure. But this is no ordinary one. My nerves are shot to eternity. It's as if my body and mind are at union—to completely disintegrate me into a million pieces and fix me back up. A neurophysiological impossibility.

It's as if I'm watching from afar. Watching the entire Throne room from ten feet above. An astral wonder. I'm outside—my body—looking in. Up above looking down.

I see Yennara crouched over my stiff body, tears in her eyes. Though she knows it's only for a moment, concern still laces her face. The others are enthralled, gazes glued before them, to a queen bent over her own throne. Like a spider stuck in its own web. Lester wasn't kidding about the demand of the spell. My body is lifted up the throne, like I'm doing a scorpion walk. Only I'm immoble. My fingers gripping the edges of my opal seat are devoid of color, and it looks like my knuckle may pop anytime.

I also see Lance, his golden hair shiny from above. He however isn't concerned with the astonishment beyond. His eyes are on Lester. Glaring. Blue eyes blazing. Terrible flames. He looks like he wants to run the man through with his sword. It's his version of anxiety. I understand. Frankly, I look frozen.

"You are..." A crackly voice from nowhere spit, heralded by eerie laughter. "...in a place where time and space are of no consequence. You can't run."

I hear the voice in my head. Warbling, like speaking underwater. I try to speak and figure I can't. And so I think it.

"Who are you?"

There's more creepy laughter and shrill echoing.

"I am who you seek. Funny you had to kill my prize steed first. I would have met easily."

"Crave?" I shudder.

"Yes." The voice bounces in my head, flooding in, not asking permission. "Though dear Queen, you on the other hand are not who you say you are. It is unfair, don't you think?"

And suddenly I'm choking. Invisible hands grab at my neck. I see my body jerking on the throne. Yennara is shaking visibly in fear.

"Stop it!" She yells to the Celestine Court. "Do something!"

"Now!" Lancelot roars to Lester below.

The man shrugs, bending his head. "I can't. Only the Enchantress can rid herself of a spell. It's too potent to risk intrusion."

Lester's words ring true. I'm aware that if I don't do something right now I'm dead. And something tells me this time there'll be no waking up in a new reality. It's Game over. I can't breathe. My thoughts are sand in a desert, dispersing before I can clutch onto anything. But suddenly I recall Lester's words,

With the last of my strength, I scream mad as a Banshee, howling away the tsunami.

'May the flame abide. May the flame guide.'

The flame? The Spiritflame. Yes!

"Fuck you, Crave!"

The force of it stretches my mind, splintering our connection, tearing his hold right out my head. I slam back into my body with a jarring force. I'm no longer choking. I'm not dead. I no longer hear the serpentine drawl. My body stop shaking. And I open my eyes.

Yennara looms before my blurry vision, her brown eyes searching. Lance leaps to the throne. He hovers over the shiny silver seat. My body is cold, my arms dotted in violent goosebumps. Yennara smiles through relief in her eyes as she pulls me close, placing a light kiss on the corner of my mouth, embracing me tight, whispering soft words over my cheek, rubbing her hands up and down my arms. The cold lessens.

Through broken vision I see Lester step forward. Lance instantly moves to accost him, his eyes murderous. But I stop him with a hand to his forearm. Lester bows. His black eyes surprisingly hold apology. I know his question even before his lips move.

"Was it him?"

Since I can't speak yet, I nod.

It was Crave alright.

"No more spells ever!" Yennara says in her tiny voice. "No more."

I think I hear her sob, just before I black out, the taste of blood warm in my mouth.