There was indeed no smoke, though the tip glowed.
“They say she’s the richest witch in Venice. She made her fortune selling enchanted cigarettes.”
Janet eyed her with disapproval. She had donned her disguising spell again and to the casual observer looked to be a frail nonagenarian rather than a slender thirty-something.
“I’m sorry, sisters, but the Regata delle Befane is this week, and there isn’t a room to be had in this part of Venice.” Signorina Malipiero’s attention remained on her cards.
I’d seen notices all over town announcing the annual Epiphany gondola race to see who could get from San Tomà to the Rialto the fastest. There were two races, of course: the official regatta in the morning and the far more exciting and dangerous one at midnight that involved not just brute strength but magic, too.
“We aren’t interested in a room, Signorina Malapiero. I’m Janet Gowdie, and this is Diana Bishop.
We’re here to see Satu J?rvinen on Congregation business—if she’s not practicing for the gondola race, that is.”
The Venetian witch looked up in shock, her dark eyes huge and her cigarette dangling.
“Room 17, is it? No need to trouble yourself. We can show ourselves up.” Janet beamed at the stunned witch and bundled me off in the direction of the stairs.
“You, Janet Gowdie, are a bulldozer,” I said breathlessly as she hustled me down the corridor. “Not to mention a mind reader.” It was such a useful magical talent.
“What a lovely thing to say, Diana.” Janet knocked on the door. “Cameriera!”
There was no answer. And after yesterday’s marathon Congregation meeting, I was tired of waiting.
I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and murmured an opening spell. The door swung open. Satu J?rvinen was waiting for us inside, both hands up, ready to work magic. I snared the threads that surrounded her and pulled them tight, binding her arms to her sides. Satu gasped.
“What do you know about being a weaver?” I demanded.
“Not as much as you do,” Satu replied.
“Is this why you treated me so badly at La Pierre?” I asked.
Satu’s expression was steely. Her actions had been taken in the interest of self-preservation. She felt no remorse. “I won’t let you expose me. They’ll kill us all if they find out what weavers can do,” Satu said.
“They’ll kill me anyway for loving Matthew. What do I have to lose?”
“Your children,” Satu spit.
That, it turned out, was going too far.
“I bind thee, Satu J?rvinen, delivering you into the hands of the goddess without power or craft, for you have proved yourself unfit to possess them.” With the index finger of my left hand, I pulled the threads one more inch and knotted them tight. My finger flared darkly purple in the color of justice.
Satu’s power left her in a whoosh, sucking the air out of the room.
“You can’t spellbind me!” she cried. “It’s forbidden!”
“Report me to the Congregation,” I said. “But before you do, know this: Nobody will be able to break the knot that binds you—except me. And what use will you be to the Congregation in this state? If you want to keep your seat, you’ll have to keep your silence—and hope that Sidonie von Borcke doesn’t notice.”
“You will pay for this, Diana Bishop!” Satu promised.
“I already have,” I said. “Or have you forgotten what you did to me in the name of sisterly solidarity?”
I advanced on her slowly. “Being spellbound is nothing compared to what Benjamin will do to you if he discovers that you are a weaver. You’ll have no way to defend yourself and will be entirely at his mercy. I’ve seen what Benjamin does to the witches he tries to impregnate. Not even you deserve that.”