Hour of the Witch

by Chris Bohjalian

She contemplated a mystery: How is it I am humiliated when I am alone? Does not humiliation demand an audience?

“Thou petitioned for a divorce because thou claimed that Thomas treated thee with needless cruelty.” “Cruelty by definition is needless.”

“Thy scandal has scarred me, too—and will forever.” “No,” she corrected him. “We are mortal. Nothing that touches us or we touch here is forever. Even rocks are rubbed small by the river.”

There were people in the world who were good and people who were evil, but most of them were some mixture of both and did what they did simply because they were mortal. And her Lord? Peregrine’s Lord? He knew it all and had known it all and always would know it all. But the deliberations of His creations? Meaningless. Absolutely meaningless. Still, there was one thing of which she was certain. “Oh, I think we do know,” Mary said finally. “Yes, this may be the hour of the witch. But the Devil? He most definitely wears breeches. The Devil can only be a man.”