There are three thrones in front of me and I already know who will come out before they do. I’ve met them before, not here but previously when I got my first two strikes.

The first woman walks in, Elizabeth the true. She appears to be in her early thirties, but you would be mistaken. She’s easily one of the oldest witches alive at nearly two thousand and ten. Her black hair is in a loose chignon, her pale face is makeup-less and challenging. Her face shows she doesn’t take shit, and she doesn’t know what smiling is. She’s petite, but terrifying.

The next witch is Hadiza, with no last name. She’s the most warm of the bunch in appearance, anyway. She at least smiles. Her skin is a dark brown, her hair in long braids reaching her waist. Her dress is bright orange and reads friendly, but I know better. Hadiza can be the most cruel with punishments out of the three.

Lastly, we have Nimue. If anyone is going to be on my side, it’s her. She drowned a few men in lakes back in the fifteenth century. If anyone will understand my need for revenge, she will. She still wears clothing that would be better suited for a Renaissance fair. Her dirty blonde hair reaches her butt with two long braids in the front.

All three of the witches take their respective places in front of me. In complete synchronization, they all cross their left leg over their right and look down on me.

Hadiza speaks first. “Blair Bellamy, it’s been quite some time. I was hoping you would heed our warning.”

Nimue speaks next. “She’s always been a firecracker, this one. Could you expect any less?”

“Endangering one of her own? Hurting someone in her own Coven, it’s just abysmal,” Elizabeth shrieks.

“Tell us, why did you kidnap and poison your fellow witch? In the process, also almost exposing us to a mere mortal?” Hadiza asks.

“It’s like these young witches don’t remember Valais, Trier, Pendle, or Salem. I’ll tell you, I do. Watching some of my sisters’ flesh burn at the stake. Look at you,” Elizabeth spits. “Not even loyal to your own kind, not recognizing what your ancestors sacrificed so you could live freely now. I say we execute.”

I glare at Elizabeth, the old coot. I remember the history of those trials, how witches didn’t fight back, how they let mostly mortals die at the stake for them. They killed very few actual witches during any of the most famous trials. Seems the witches quite like rewriting history.

“Now, now, Elizabeth, let her speak,” Nimue says.