Page 41 of Autumn L.A.W

The chair did not squeak. No one had spoken a lie…yet.

Joell jammed her hands on her hips. “Answer, or we will assume the worst.”

The prisoner exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

The pentacle’s glow was steady. The house hummed approval.

Sahara’s voice sharpened. “Why were you imprisoned?”

The prisoner hesitated. The chair pulsed. Expectant.

“…Because I demanded worship,” it admitted. “Because belief fed me. Because I would not remain subservient.”

The chair stayed silent.

Joell crossed her arms. “So. Not a victim.”

“No,” the prisoner said. “A God.”

Creeeak! The chair squeaked sharply, as if offended.

“A false God,” Brianna said.

“Did you harm people who doubted your divinity?”

He remained mute. They waited.

Finally, Sahara’s lips thinned into an angry straight line. “We aren’t monsters. We won’t destroy you.”

Hope flickered across the prisoner’s face.

“You won’t walk free, either. We’ll improve the prison,” Sahara finished.

Ezra stepped beside her. “A new obelisk. Your glyphs. Fully sealed.”

“And it goes back to Egypt,” Sahara said. “Where it belongs.”

The prisoner strained against the chair. The pentacle flared brighter. “You cannot cage what remembers freedom,” it hissed.

Rayna tilted her head. “You’re sitting in a chair that squeaks when you lie, and you can’t get up.”

The chair gave a small, smug hum.

“Sit tight,” Rayna added. “We’re remodeling your home.”

The clearing smelled like apples, damp leaves, and woodsmoke. The mansion had settled into the Tennessee mountains with a sigh of relief, stone and timber sinking into familiar ground. It knew this place by heart.

Lanterns glowed softly between the trees, their light catching on strings of dried herbs, copper charms, and ribbons the color of turning leaves.

Magda adjusted the altar cloth, smoothing the deep rust fabric until it lay just right. “I swear,” she muttered, “this thing wrinkles itself out of spite.”

“Blimey. It’s all natural fibers, so we deal with it. Yeah?” Crystal said.

Magda sighed.

Rayna set a bowl of apples at the center of the altar. “It’s Mabon. Everything’s trying to balance. Nature is allowed to be a little temperamental.”

Joell snorted as she stacked candles. “That explains us.”