It’s a softball. We all know he left because he heard he’d been ousted. But I’m trying to give him an opening. Flattera man with the best version of himself, and he might just decide to become that version.
‘I believed – and still do – that I was correct in each instance. Luka Ortiz killed a young woman with his magic. He attempted to kill another and hospitalised a third victim. The penalty for that is the stripping of magic. I found Sandra Ortiz’s argument persuasive that doing it pre-emptively, i.e. before any trial, would dampen public hysteria and avoid a media circus.’
‘Did you believe you had Luka Ortiz’s consent?’
‘There was documentation which confirmed his consent.’
‘Which you believed was freely given?’
Okoye lifts his chin. ‘It was documented, and he deserved it. The arguments in favour of nullification were clear. Listen, while Moot President I was never anything less than transparent about my position, which is to keep the magical population as safe as possible. Whether I do that by being amusing and unthreatening on talk shows, or by ripping the magic out of a boy so he goes on trial simply as a killer, not as a killerwitch, I am consistent. Any moral scruples I may have, I subordinate to the interests of our community.’
Heads nod around the chamber. Not everyone here supported Naomi’s coup to oust him.
‘And Montreal? Did you know what the scientist, Delacourt, was working on up there?’
‘No.’ Disgust creases his features too deeply to be feigned. ‘Absolutely not. I backed Registration because that had powerful political support. It was clear ever since the congressional hearings that Government felt a need to appease those disappointed by the conclusion of those hearings. Above all, I felt Registration would be showy. A big visual stunt – and you know how the current president loves those – that would make little practical difference to the lives ofwitches but provide a lot of reassurance to the public.’
‘You didn’t know the data would be used by researchers like Delacourt? Really?’
‘That’s why I stayed “in the room” with Ortiz.’ He makes air-quotes with long dexterous fingers that could shape magic beautifully. Then I imagine them spooling Luka’s magic out of him, and swallow down bile. ‘I realised I’d seriously underestimated the scope and advanced nature of her research.’
‘Redhaven knew about it.’
‘Redhaven.’ Okoye’s handsome mouth twists. ‘In my humble opinion, your Mr Frey has done more to damage the reputation of witchcraft than even Luka Ortiz. And I’m sure you’re aware of the rumours that his manipulation was the very reason Luka followed such a dark magical path.’
‘Would you say Frey’s action yesterday has undone some of the damage? In fact, wouldn’t you agree it’s bringing the public round very significantly to our side?No More Salemsis trending on every platform, being discussed by every news outlet.’
‘Frey has made a … significant sacrifice. Not one I would have expected.’
I can’t help it. Tears overwhelm me. We knew what would be done to him and Lachlan was prepared for it. But I can’t imagine the cold horror of it. The clinical setting. The needle in the arm. All carried out behind closed doors, by hostile enforcers. No one to hold his hand. No witnesses to such an inhuman act.
I pull myself together. Lachlan has done his bit, and now I must do mine.
‘This past week,’ I tell Okoye, ‘as we’ve all seen how far those who hate us are prepared to go, I’ve realised you’re … notright, exactly, but not as wrong as I thought. Mundanes do need to feel safe and secure and in control. Butmore fundamentally, they need to understand that witches are people just like them. It’s the only true way to end persecution. That’s why Lachlan made that speech and gave himself up.’
‘Indeed. But I fear it won’t be enough.’
‘It won’t be. And so I think the torch now passes to us at the Moot. I’ve an idea about how we can keep this in the public eye. Neither of us will be able to continue as Moot President after what I have in mind, though, so I’d like to get a successor in place. I nominate Naomi Yamakawa.’
Naomi leaps to her feet, a betrayed look in her eyes.
‘You never said that,’ she hisses. ‘And after I helped get everyone here! How bad does that look?’
‘I told you I’d need to resign. And that the next appointment must be properly voted in. I now open the floor to futher nominations and discussion of the next Moot President. Charles and I recuse ourselves.’
I lead Okoye from the council chamber to the office which both of us have recently occupied, myself only briefly. He moves to stand by the window, peering round the edge of the emerald curtain (yes, the colour was a joke on the part of a former Moot President), to where a few media cameras wait below. They’ve been lurking since yesterday for a statement on Lachlan. We haven’t issued one yet. I’ve got something even better lined up for them, although the thought of it sits queasily in my stomach. Curls up the edges of my soul.
‘I used to hate the fact Moot HQ was here in Salem,’ Okoye says. ‘It felt cheap. I believed we should be looking forward. Shaking off old superstitions and making a case for all the benefits magic still brings in an age of capital and pharma and Big Tech and AI.’
‘I remember hearing you on the radio sometimes.’ I hit a button on the coffee machine and think how its laboriousgrinding surely proves the superiority of our ways, because who wouldn’t prefer mint tea fresh from a garden? ‘Always wheeling out that argument about witches boosting the economy by tens of thousands of dollars over their lifetime. Or how our crime rate is a third that of non-magicals.’
‘Yeah. Well, I learned you can’t reason away hate, only remind people of its consequences and hope their hearts do the rest. Frey’s on to something with that slogan of his,No More Salems.’
‘Showing people consequences,’ I say. ‘That’s exactly what I plan to do, if you’ll help. You said yourself that Lachlan’s sacrifice wasn’t enough. I agree. That’s partly because it took place behind closed doors. America’s seen his rage. It’s seen his protest and his apology. But it never got to see his suffering.’
Okoye’s eyeing me narrowly. He tugs the curtain across and comes to lean on the studded leather couch.
‘What can be done about that now? It’s over.’
