Water Witch

by Carol Goodman

  “No. Here.”

  He lowered me onto the polished oak floor of the foyer and crouched over me. Keeping my eyes on his face, I slid out of my skirt, half afraid that if I didn’t keep my eyes on him he’d vanish. The rain lashing against the windows cast speckled shadows across the foyer, painting Bill’s body with a dappled tattoo. When I reached for him my own arms dipped into the rain shadows as though into a waterfall. For a moment we were both caught in the same current and I thought, Good, if he vanishes so will I and then he pressed the length of his body against mine and the strength of him anchored me. His skin against mine awoke a heat deep within – another coil of the wards that had bound me unwound as I pulled him inside me. As we moved together, our eyes locked onto each other, I felt it coil around us, wrapping us in an endless spiral of desire.

  “I could do this forever,” I whispered in his ear.

  “We have done this forever,” he answered.

  At some point, we made it up to the bedroom. We made love again and then slept. I awoke in the middle of the night to a room filled with moonlight. My head pillowed on Bill’s chest, I saw the profile of his face etched against the silver light.

  “It’s stopped raining,” I said.

  “No,” he said, turning to me, his eyes flashing silver. “It’s witchlight. The woods are flooding. All the lost creatures are making their way back to the door before it closes.”

  “Bill, how do you know about all that?”

  He smiled and traced his fingertip along my lips. “I don’t. You’re dreaming. You’re also dreaming that I’m about to kiss you. Is that all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, my heart fluttering. “I suppose that would be …”

  He pressed his mouth against mine, his lips spreading mine open. I felt the heat of him pouring into me, warming every last inch of me. I pressed against him and felt his heart thud against mine. My heart beat in answer to his. I heard an answering thud from deep in the woods. The door, linked to my heart, was opening wide, beating so loud I could hear it …

  I startled awake in the empty bed to the sound of pounding. Bill sat in a chair beside the bed, his face dark in the rain-shadowed room. I saw by his posture that he was alert.

  “Bill? Was there moonlight a minute ago? And were you …”

  “It’s still raining,” he said, getting to his feet, “and there’s someone at the door. I’ll go and tell them to leave. It’s the middle of the night.”

  He left the room before I could stop him. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge for a moment, trying to reconstruct my dream. I went to the window. Through the rain, I saw the woods were filled with an eerie light: a white, glowing mist that rose off the wet ground and flowed along the forest floor like floodwater. It was full of shapes. Dream-Bill had been right. The woods were full of creatures heading toward the door. But how did Bill Carey know that?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I GOT DRESSED in jeans, a turtleneck and heavy socks and then took the Aelvestone out of the bag where I’d stashed it and stuffed it in my pocket, making sure it was carefully wrapped in flannel. I needed one other thing, which I got from my desk, then I crept down the backstairs with my waterproof hiking boots held in my hands, listening to the murmur of voices in the front hall. I could make out one excitable young man’s voice and two lower, more mature male voices besides Bill’s.

  “I don’t care how much you need her,” I heard Bill saying as I walked through the library. “She’s not going out in the middle of the night in a rainstorm.”

  “It’s only an hour or so till dawn. And I’d like to see her myself and hear her say that. Who the hell are you anyway?”

  “This is Bill,” I told Frank as I came into the foyer. “He’s my … boyfriend.” I felt silly using the word for a man I’d spent all of two nights with, but Bill’s smile chased those scruples away. “At least I hope he is,” I added.

  “Well, that’s sweet,” Frank said, staring at Bill. I scowled at Frank and then at the other two men in the hallway. Mac Stewart and his father Angus, both in plaid rain jackets and plaid rain boots dripping water all over my parquet floor. I remembered that Liz said the Stewarts were some kind of protectors of the forest … but that didn’t mean they couldn’t remember to wipe their feet.

  “I’ll get a mop – and some hot tea for you, Callie,” Bill said, following my glance and glaring at the Stewarts. When he was gone, I turned to Frank.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are the Stewarts here?”

  Mac Stewart puffed up his chest proudly. I noticed he was wearing the owl feather he’d gotten from me the night we met in the woods. “Our family are the stewards of the woods! I didn’t even know that until last night. We tracked that mean fish woman back to her hidey-hole and got her trapped there. See, I’ve got super powers just like you …”

  “Hush, boy,” Angus said, not unkindly. “All she needs to know is that Lura’s threatening to shoot anyone who steps onto her property.”

  “She says she won’t let us take her mother away the way we took away her fiancé …”

  “That’s enough, Mac,” Angus cautioned, more sternly now. “We don’t have to air all our business here.”

  “You do if you expect my help,” I replied, dropping my boots and folding my arms over my chest.

  Angus Stewart heaved an exasperated sigh. “Lura has it in her addled brain that the Stewarts did away with Quincy Morris.”

  “Why would she think that?” I asked.

  “Because he was our cousin,” Angus answered, “from the Morris clan over in Ulster County. He was supposed to be guarding the woods the summer he went courting Lura. Some of the elders didn’t like it on account of her having an undine mother. A few of them, my father included, spoke to Lura about it the night before the wedding – the night before Quincy disappeared. Lura thinks they scared him away or, worse, killed him so he couldn’t marry her and disgrace the family. But my father swears they didn’t do anything to Quincy. Told me Quincy wouldn’t have been the first to find a bride in those woods. They spoke to Quincy that night and he was bound and determined to marry Lura, despite her being half-fish.”

  “So what happened to him?”

  Angus shrugged. “We’ve never known. My father thinks he might have gotten cold feet after all, but it’s not like a Morris to run away. Any road, we must convince Lura to let go of Lorelei. It’s our job to protect the woods and Lorelei has proved herself dangerous.”

  “There’s more danger in those woods than Lorelei,” Frank said. “I don’t believe those murdered fishermen were the victims of undines – and I don’t think an incubus did this to you,” he said, touching my eye. “Explain exactly how it happened.”

  I told him about my attempt to unmask Duncan, embarrassed to be telling the story in front of the Stewarts. When I told him Duncan’s story about the bat-winged imp, he snorted.

  “What a load of bull hickey. This Duncan Laird is obviously not what he appears to be, but I don’t believe he’s your incubus. He only let you and Ann Chase believe that to deflect attention from what he really is.”

  “And what’s that?” Angus Stewart asked.

  “A nephilim,” Frank answered.

  “Can’t be!” Angus Stewart barked so loudly his son flinched. “The Stewarts fought those bastards back in the old country and killed every last one. They’re extinct.”

  “That’s what they wanted us to think,” Frank replied. “They went into hiding, marshalling their forces to gain allies among the witches …”

  “Of course!” I exclaimed. “The Seraphim Club in London is a nephilim organization.”

  “Exactly. I’ve long had my suspicions about them. The members might look like angels but there’s nothing angelic about them. They’ve created a legend that they’re fallen angels but they’re really elves who were thrown out of Faerie because of their treatment of human women. They persecuted witches who were friendly with the fey and recruited other
s with the promise of an endless supply of Aelvesgold. They’re one of the few species of fey that can produce Aelvesgold outside of Faerie.”

  “So they’ve bribed the Grove into working with them,” I said.

  “And the board members of IMP,” Frank said. “I should have seen this coming.”

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “There’s an ancient spell for banishing nephilim and one person in Fairwick who might know what it is.” Frank exchanged a look with Angus, who nodded. “I’m going to go see her. In the meantime, you should go with the Stewarts to Lura’s and see what you can do about getting Lorelei to go back to Faerie. Then go to the door and open it. The Grove won’t try to close the door until everyone has gone through it and I’ll be there before then with the means to destroy those bastards. Once they have been destroyed the Grove will realize they won’t have any Aelvesgold if the door is closed. They won’t dare close it then.”

  I started to tell Frank that they wouldn’t be able to close it even if they wanted to because of the link I’d made with my heart, but before I could I heard Bill’s voice behind me.

  “Let me help you.”

  He was standing in the doorway to the library with a mop in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. I was about to object – Bill had no idea what he would be getting himself into – but Frank was already extending his hand to shake Bill’s. Bill leaned the mop against the wall, put the teacup down on the foyer table and grasped Frank’s hand in his. A secret understanding seemed to pass between the two men but I was damned if I knew what it was. For all I knew, they rooted for the same baseball team.

  “Glad to have you on board, Bill,” Frank said. “I could use your help.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything I could say except a hurried goodbye to Bill. “There might be some things you’ll want explained,” I said.

  “Let’s leave the explanations for later,” he said, kissing me hard on the lips. Then he was gone, leaving me to wonder what explanations he might have for me.

  I went with the Stewarts to their truck – an enormous vehicle with jacked-up tires. Mac gave me a hand up into the high cab and then squeezed in beside me. The two Stewart men took up so much room I practically had to sit on Mac’s lap, which made him grin until a scowl from his father wiped the smile from his face.

  We drove down Elm Street and onto Main, which looked like it was under a foot or two of water. The only thing open was the Village Diner. As we passed, I saw a tired-looking Darla through the window filling sugar canisters. We passed Mama Esta’s Pizza and Browne’s Realty. Was Dory with Brock now? I wondered. I hoped so. Would they both leave? Were they saying goodbye to their human friends and neighbors?

  A bitter tasting grief was rising in my throat as fast as the flood water. “We can’t let them get away with it,” I said. “The town would never be the same.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be,” Angus agreed somberly. “The town’s barely been hanging on with the economic downturn. This latest blow might destroy it totally.”

  We rode the rest of the way in grim silence, the rain and the slap of the windshield wipers the only sounds. We had to take a detour around the low water crossing on Trask Road, onto Butt’s Corners Road, which cut through the woods. As we came around a sharp turn, the headlights picked up dark shapes in the road. Angus slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting the deer. The lead stag turned to regard us, his eyes glowing gold in the headlights. He stood facing us while the rest of the herd crossed the road in safety, his gold eyes seeming to look directly into mine. Even the enchanted deer were choosing to leave.

  Back on Trask Road we passed the Olsen farm. All the lights were on at the big house on the hill.

  “They’ll be keeping vigil over the woods,” Angus said, “maintaining the wards until the door is closed. All this water disrupts the flow of energy. I imagine they’re having a hard time of it.”

  “What about the Norns? Are they leaving?”

  Angus shook his head. “The Norns are creatures outside of this world and the world of Faerie. They say that when the first fey came to this world the Norns and certain other creatures were already here.”

  We drove on in silence for another few minutes, and then I asked, “What other creatures?”

  Before Angus could answer, Lura’s house came into view.

  “Holy cow!” Mac swore.

  “Language, son,” Angus admonished, but then muttered something in Gaelic, which sounded far worse than what Mac had said.

  Lura’s house was bathed in flickering blue and green light. A multi-hued wall of light surrounded the house. A dozen men, all dressed in plaid shirts, stood in a circle around the house, their arms extended, their broad faces stolid in the pouring rain.

  “What are they doing?” I asked.

  “They’re holding up the plaid,” Angus said proudly. “That’s what we Stewarts do. It’s an ancient power handed down from our ancestors in Scotland. We can use the plaid to protect the innocent and banish the evil.”

  I noticed now that the wall of light was indeed woven of glowing strands of red, gold, blue and green – like a luminescent tartan. But I also noticed that water from the rising creek was seeping through it.

  “The house looks like it’s going to float away,” I said. “Surely Lura and Lorelei will see they have to get out of there now.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Mac said, pointing to the porch.

  A figure was sitting in a rocking chair. Waves of blue-green light reflected off the barrel of a shotgun laid across her lap. Lura was so still she might have been a statue of ash, but when the light caught her eyes, the hate in them was very much alive.

  “You two stay here,” I said, “I’ll go talk to her.”

  I slid out of the truck into calf-deep water. I waded through it, my feet squelching in the mud. When I reached the tartan ward, two of the Stewart men parted it for me to pass. I kept my eyes on Lura the whole time, afraid she’d dart away or shoot me, but she remained perfectly still. When I got to the porch steps – the bottom two of which were under water – I held out my hands to show her I didn’t have a weapon.

  “Can I come up?”

  “Come aboard,” she said, “I ain’t gonna bite.” She grinned, her white teeth ghoulishly shining in the watery light. They weren’t as sharp looking as her mother’s, but they weren’t exactly human looking either. I walked slowly up the steps, their wooden slats groaning under my weight. When I stepped onto the porch the whole house swayed as though coming unmoored from its foundation. I glanced toward the stream and saw that even in the few minutes since I’d arrived it had risen higher. Strange shapes bobbed on its swollen surface – branches, glass bottles, dead animals. There were live things, too. A whiskered nose poked out of the water and tried to climb onto the bank but the current snatched it back into the water.

  “Strange things have been moving through the woods all night,” said Lura. “Creatures heading to the door.” She scowled at me. “I guess you didn’t have much luck convincing the Grove not to close it.”

  “No,” I admitted. “But I’ve found a way to keep it open. Lorelei still needs to go back, though. She’s a danger to folks here.”

  Lura’s gaze moved toward the woods. “You know I’ve sat here for close on eighty years watching these woods, hoping Quincy would walk out of them again. Then a few days ago my mother walks out instead. And now you want to take her away, too. This town won’t be happy until they take everything away from me.”

  “Lorelei’s killed men.”

  “She tells me she hasn’t.” Lura looked up at me and raised the shotgun slightly. “And I believe her.”

  I sighed. I remembered the brief time I’d spent with my mother in the labyrinth. For a moment, I’d been willing to stay with her there. Would I have listened to anyone who told me she was bad? Would I have let anyone take her away?

  “Can I talk to Lorelei?” I asked.

  Lura looked up at me, su
rprised. “You’re either braver or stupider than I thought. She’s not too fond of you. She might eat you.”

  “I know, but is she inside?” I looked worriedly at the water, which had risen to the top of the porch and was now lapping against the front door.

  “She’s upstairs in the bathtub,” Lura said. “She’s got to stay hydrated. Go on. I don’t think she’s modest, but if you hurt her …” the shotgun was still pointed at me, “I won’t let you out of here alive. Understand?”

  I nodded and walked to the front door. Flickering water reflections circled the doorknob. When I pushed open the door water lapped over the threshold like a cat that had been waiting to get in. The glass and tin wind chimes floated in the wavy light like fish. The ceiling, too, was soaked through, water dripping from bulging blisters of plaster and streaming down the walls. It looked as if the creek was rising to take back this house. I just hoped it waited until I got out of here.

  I climbed the narrow staircase, my feet sinking into spongy damp floral carpet. Old photographs hung framed on the walls: sepia colored prints of stern, square jawed men and women standing in stiff, formal rows in front of this house. A livelier picture was a group shot of men in fishing waders, each holding a huge fish up to the camera. I looked closer and noticed that some of the men wore the Stewart plaid and had the Stewart family features. So the Trasks and the Stewarts had been friends once. At the top of the stairs was a picture of a seated woman with a baby on her lap, a man standing behind her. I looked closer at this cozy domestic scene. The woman wore a high-necked white blouse and her blonde hair was gathered on her head in a puffy Gibson girl up-do. One hand cradled the baby’s head; the other grasped the man’s hand resting on her shoulder. Her smile somehow seemed to be for both of them, her eyes full of love. I almost didn’t recognize Lorelei, but that’s who it was.