One of the short visits to the church, Penny had only finished her time when the carriage came to wait right in front of the church for her to step in so that she could return back to Quinn’s mansion.
Just when she walked out of the church, a man came to call her,
“Lady Penelope,” she turned to look at who had called her as she didn’t have many acquaintances. There were only a few people who she spoke to, she raised her brows wondering who this man was, “Excuse me, milady,” he was a man who was taller than her. His clothes looked rough and dirty which made one think he had been living in the forest or was a traveler.
Penny took a quick note of the man’s boots that he wore which was covered in dirt and mud. As if it had been more than weeks since it was last cleaned. With the winter which had come to settle in the land of Bonelake, she took him to be a traveler until the little arrow peeked out from behind him where his cloak covered his back.
He was no ordinary man but a hunter.
Oh great, thought Penny to herself. As if one and two weren’t enough, she would have another person who was keeping an eye on her.
“Yes?” Penny asked her hand that was resting on the carriage door continuing to hold it before it slowly slid down.
“I am Caymond Turner. I was hoping to ask you some questions. I hope you aren’t busy, if you are,” the man said, “I can accompany you in the carriage so that we can save time,” he had a hard scruff around his jaw. His eyes looking at her lazily as they were slightly slanted that had her wondering if the man slept enough. There was a shadow beneath his eyes to confirm it.
Penny had no interest in riding a carriage with a witch hunter, “What is it about?” she asked, her eyes moving to follow the sight of the man who looked at her.
“Would you like to sit?” he asked her, showing his hand towards the empty cemented seats outside the church. She walked towards the seat and placed her bottom on the surface. Her hands in her lap.
“I was wondering why your name has not been registered in the council registry of the white witches,” he said coming straight to the point.
Penny gave him a blank look, “White witches?”
“Yes,” the man confirmed.
“It might be because I am a human, Mr. Turner,” she answered, her words confident and firm but the witch hunter had encountered many witches who had tried to get away with lies. They were always almost the same and this one was no better.
“How strange for a mere human to keep visiting the church almost three to four days in a week. I apologize I wasn’t keeping a tab on you,” said the man, his eyes moving from her to the carriage that passed by them.
“I would call it stalking, Mr. Turner. I believe you and I both know why we visit the church. To pray,” she said, leaning back slightly and then to say, “Is that all that you wanted to ask?”
“Maybe we should go to the magistrate and have yourself checked and verified to make sure that you aren’t one. What do you say?” the witch hunter proposed being stubborn about it.
The cold wind in the atmosphere that the man had been standing in for hours and days didn’t deter him. He was used to such drastic weather and was nothing that he couldn’t withstand. With a jacket that looked old and the cloak around him, he stood looking at the people pass by while giving the witch an option to respond than deny the kind she belonged to.
Penny spoke, “I wouldn’t mind going to the magistrate but that doesn’t mean you can threaten me without any proof. Like I said-”
“Do you know how many witches have given me the same answer? Oddly, they are all the damn same ones. What are you doing here sitting in the church for hours? From what I have gathered you are a lady in Quinn’s mansion,” Mr. Turner the witch hunter appeared to be one of those nosey people who didn’t let go of the matter until they got to the bottom of the matter. As much as she would have loved to admire that certain quality she didn’t like her being questioned and putting herself in the spot. At the same time, she noted that there was a possibility that the man didn’t know she was a slave before that. But she wasn’t going to speak about it, “I see the pureblooded vampire, Damien Quinn who comes to drop or pick you.”
“Have you been stalking me, Mr. Turner?” she confronted the man.
“I have. My work involves it. At least you should be aware of so much, isn’t it?” he asked her, turning himself to face her where he challenged to make her say otherwise.
“Knowing this is making me uncomfortable,” Penny said, her eyes looking at his disapprovingly as her words turned to be distant, “Your words imply that every person who comes to the church are all witches. People like me come here to gather courage, to ask for forgiveness to be able to shoulder the difficulties that we face in life. I am sure you understand that unless it has been a while since you have entered the church,” she sent him a hostile look at him.
He huffed, a smile that was sarcastic, “What sin have you committed that you are asking for forgiveness?”
“You are neither my father nor my husband that I need to answer on what forgiveness I have come to ask here for. I like to spend my time in the church here. It brings peace to my mind,” she said, placing her words heavily so that it could come out to be genuine.
“Spending an hour or two is understandable but being here for the whole day makes one person suspicious about it. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were to agree that you are one of the witches. All you will need to do is register yourself at the council, the councilmen will come here for you. You wouldn’t have to trouble yourself.”
