Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 9: Challenging the Inquisition
Rosalia gathers the incriminating documents and wraps them in a silk scarf. She tucks them beneath her cloak, and strides out of her chamber. Her face is pale and her eyes are red from tears, but her steps are steady.
“Come, Jeannia,” she says to me. “We must reach the tribunal before my mother realizes what I am doing.”
I remain in my ethereal form, cloaked from the eyes of others. I’m mindful that Rosalia’s well of magic, allowing her to summon my assistance, is starting to show signs of exhaustion. We need to free her father soon or the bracelet’s magic will no longer help her.
We slip through the quiet corridors of the Fuentes mansion. Servants are busy elsewhere in the house, and only a few candles burn in the hallways. Rosalia moves quickly, but I sense her fear beneath her resolve.
Outside, the air is cold and sharp. The rising sun paints the Alhambra’s towers in muted gold. Granada is slowly awaking. We hurry down the narrow streets toward the tribunal, Rosalia’s footsteps echoing softly on the cobblestones.
We’re halfway there, when I sense danger. “My lady! Wait!” I whisper urgently.
Rosalia stops and looks confused. “What is it?”
Before I can answer, a figure steps out from a side alley. Don Mateo. His eyes burn with fury.
“Rosalia,” he hisses. “Give me those documents.”
Rosalia stiffens. “No.”
Don Mateo advances, his voice low and venomous. “You foolish girl. You think you can defy your mother and me? You think you can save your father? You have no idea what you are doing.”
“I know exactly what I am doing,” Rosalia says, though her voice trembles. “I am saving him from you and my mother.”
Don Mateo lunges forward and I react. A surge of heat races up my arm, and the world slows. The three Realms of Earth, Heavens, and Soul realign for a heartbeat. I take the solid form of the prostitute that beguiled Mateo earlier, and step between Rosalia and her cousin, raising my hand.
“Do not touch her,” I say.
Don Mateo freezes mid‑step, his eyes widening. “You! What sort of creature are you?”
I feel magic gather around me like a storm. Maristela’s defensive magic was never meant for violence, but as a barrier. A shimmering veil of force that pushes Don Mateo back. He stumbles with a shocked expression on his face.
“You dare to use sorcery against me?” he spits.
“I dare to protect my mistress,” I reply.
Rosalia steps forward, voice breaking. “Cousin ... why? Why would you do this to my father? To me?”
“Because you are weak,” he snaps. “Both of you. And weakness destroys families. I did what I had to do for the honour of the Fuentes family name.”
“No,” Rosalia whispers. “You did what served you and my mother.”
Mateo lunges again, but the bracelet flares brighter, and he is gently, but firmly, thrown backwards for a second time. He stares at me with hatred. “You will regret this, spirit.”
“Perhaps,” I say. “But not today.”
Rosalia grabs my hand as she breaks into a run. “We must go. Now.”
As we leave I muddle Mateo’s thoughts, leaving him confused, and questioning whether he is dreaming of magic spirits.
The Inquisition tribunal holds its meetings in a stone walled chamber inside the Alhambra. Rosalia hesitates just long enough to swallow her fear, before pushing the doors to the outer office open. Despite the early hour there are a dozen clerks and scribes busy working inside. They look up in surprise. A senior notary approaches, frowning.
“Señora Fuentes? What brings you here at this hour?”
Rosalia lifts her chin. “I bring evidence of a grave injustice. My father, Don Carlos Fuentes, has been falsely accused.”
She places the documents on a table. The notary’s eyes widen as he reads.
“This letter implicates Don Mateo in a conspiracy against Don Carlos Fuentes. This one shows Doña Esperanza is involved...” says the stunned man. “Where did you obtain these?”
Rosalia’s voice is steady. “From the hands of the conspirators themselves.”
The notary signals to two guards. “Fetch the Inquisitor. Immediately.”
As the guards hurry away, Rosalia exhales shakily. She turns to me and risks speaking to my cloaked ethereal form. “Jeannia ... we did it.”
I don’t reply since any hint that Rosalia has access to magic would condemn her in an instant. My powers to influence minds is limited. The notary has a weak mind, so it was easy to influence him into accepting the evidence Rosalia presented. Persuading the Inquisitor is likely to be another matter entirely.
The tribunal chamber is a cold, echoing hall of stone and iron. Rosalia stands clutching the documents as though they are the last threads holding her world together. I watch passively in my invisible ethereal form. The notary returns with the Inquisitor of Granada, a tall, severe man with a face carved from granite and eyes that miss nothing. He’s not happy at being dragged from his breakfast.
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