A Witch's Tale

by Lowder, Maralee

  “I thought I’d choke when I saw her come out of that room and walk, bold as brass, across the hallway and into that closet,” Mac added, breaking into laughter.

  “I’ll be telling you, I was that happy to have the good Sheriff bawling me out at that very minute. With him ranting and raving as he was, no one was of a mind to pay a bit of attention to a little old gray-haired maid going about her business.” Father Sullivan joined Mac in good natured laughter.

  “Not that I want to spoil all the fun you two seem to be having, but may I remind you that we still have a long way to go to prove mother’s innocence? Somewhere out there is a monster and he’s more than likely planning his next murder at this very minute. Now, unless you don’t mind being his next victim, Father Mike, I suggest we get back to the business at hand.”

  “Right you are, Cassie girl, right you are. It’s time to get our heads together and figure out how we’re going to let our murderer make me his next victim, without me truly being the victim, right?”

  “Right,” Mac replied, his expression completely devoid of humor. “Let’s see if we can’t make him the victim for a change, shall we?”

  Chapter 12

  “He’s in,” Mac said as he replaced the phone on its cradle. “Alan said he’d meet us here in half an hour so we can fill him in on our plan for tonight.”

  Though the kitchen where they stood was not large, Cassie suddenly felt the need to be closer to Mac, to feel his arms surround her. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt the need for his warmth, his protection, more than at this moment. As she approached him, his arms encircled her, pulling him close to his chest.

  “Sometimes I feel as if this is all a crazy dream, that any moment I’ll wake up and everything will be the way it was before. Why can’t I just be dreaming, Mac?” her voice pleaded.

  His arms tightened around her, giving her comfort in the only way he could. Words of reassurance sprang to his mind, yet he remained silent. He cared too deeply for her to offer her false hope.

  Father Sullivan’s plan was a long shot, and they all knew it - a desperate, possibly impossible, scheme. And yet it was all they had. That and the love they shared for each other.

  “At least one beautiful thing has come out of all this ugliness,” Cassie whispered, apparently reading his thoughts once again. “If none of this had happened, I would never have met you.”

  “I can’t think of anything sadder than the thought of us never meeting,” Mac’s voice cracked with emotion. His arms tightened around her even more as he allowed himself to consider for a moment just how very much the young witch had come to mean to him.

  And with that realization came an almost paralyzing fear of losing her. What had he been thinking of, his agonized brain taunted him. How could he even consider allowing her to get involved in Father Mike’s crazy scheme? He must have been insane.

  “Don’t even think it.” Cassie’s voice, low yet firm, broke into his thoughts.

  “Don’t even think what?” But without asking, Mac knew what she would say.

  “Don’t even think of trying to get me to stay home tonight while you three men are out there saving my mother and the world.”

  “Were you doing your mind reading thing again? No, don’t tell me, I should be used to it by now.” He smiled down into her eyes. “But like it or not, it would make me feel a whole lot better if I knew you were safely tucked away here.”

  “And what makes you think I’d be safe here? If our murderer changed his habit of killing preachers and decided to turn to me instead, wouldn’t it be better if I were near you?”

  She was right and he knew it. No, what he really knew was that no matter where she was tonight, she would still be in danger and there was absolutely no way he could prevent it. Damn! He’d be crazy before this was finished.

  “Don’t worry, my darling,” she whispered as she stretched up on her tiptoes to reach for a kiss. “The Goddess hasn’t given us to each other just to tear us apart, at least not so soon. She’s a good and loving Goddess and I trust her to see us through this.”

  If only he had a little of her faith, Mac thought as he gratefully accepted her offered kiss. He relaxed for a moment, allowing himself to become lost in the soft warmth of her lips. Although the time was not right for a sharing of their emotions, he realized he needed it more than he had ever needed loving before.

  But not just the physical coupling. His body, no, his whole being, craved the coupling of their souls. He wanted to draw her into himself, to hold her so close they would become one. He needed to delve deep into her, experiencing everything about her, to touch her where she had never been touched before, and to allow her to touch him just as intimately. He wanted to open himself to her and to let her enter him as he had never allowed another human being.

  She clung to him, savoring the feel of his lips on hers. She gloried in the strength of his arms as they held her tight. But more powerful than the physical reality of him were the sensations of love she felt coming from him. She sensed far more than his thoughts as she snuggled close to his body; she felt his desires, his dreams, and yes, his soul. And what she felt filled her with awe.

  The crunch of automobile wheels on the graveled drive outside her home brought them both back to reality with a crushing start. Cassie darted to the window, hoping to see Alan’s car and not the Sheriff’s. Relief filled her when she saw Alan walking quickly to the front door.

  For some reason she couldn’t explain, she had been reluctant to bring him into their scheme, but she was relieved now that she had listened to Father Mike and Mac, and agreed to include him. They needed all the help they could get and they sure weren’t going to be getting it from the Sheriff’s office.

  And, as Father Mike had pointed out, Alan had a place in the local society that none of the original three could duplicate. His credibility stretched not only to the Sheriff’s Department but he even had Samuel Hicks’ ear. And they all agreed that it was ultimately important to find some way to get the radical preacher to follow their instructions. They were all fairly certain that only Alan could persuade Hicks to do as they suggested, even if it was for his own protection.

  Cassie stepped out on the porch, a smile of welcome and relief on her face. She had missed seeing him since all this mess had begun. She hadn’t realized how much a part of the family he had become in the past years, more like a father than a friend. She opened her arms to him, welcoming him in a warm embrace. Alan, his expression filled with compassion, gathered her into his arms and held her close.

  “My poor baby,” he crooned soothingly. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through all of this.”

  She had expected to feel comfort in his embrace, but as he spoke, a strange, sickening sensation swept through her, her stomach clenched and her head began reeling. For a moment she felt as if she would either faint or become violently ill. But then, as suddenly as it had come on, the sickness passed, and all she felt was the cool breeze from the sea touching her face and the warmth radiating from Alan’s body.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Mac reached out for her. “Your face is as white as snow.”

  “No, I’m fine, just fine. I did feel a little sick there for a minute, but I’m okay now.”

  Even though she felt better, she allowed Mac to lead her to the couch, sinking down onto the cushion with a sigh of relief.

  “Maybe I’m more nervous about tonight than I realized,” she offered as an explanation to her odd reaction.

  “I’m going to make you a strong brew of herb tea,” Alan stated as he turned towards Cassie’s kitchen. “I’ll make enough for all three of us. From what Father Mike told me on the phone, we’re all going to need it.”

  Cassie nestled back into the comfort of the sofa, forcing herself to relax. It was good that Alan was here. She couldn’t imagine why they hadn’t thought to include him in their plans from the very first. Who else could they depend on more than Alan Boatright?

  Once more, although
fainter than before, she felt a quivering sensation race through her, but she threw it off. She was just upset, that was all. After all, who wouldn’t be under the circumstances? She reached for her cup of tea gratefully, breathing deeply of the rising steam, willing its healing herbs to soothe her nerves.

  “So, how do I fit into this scheme you three have cooked up?” Alan asked, his tone surprisingly lighthearted, given the circumstances.

  “Well, I think the first order of business would be to find some way to keep that Hicks character out of harm’s way tonight,” Mac said. “If Father Sullivan is correct in his assumption that the murderer is only interested in killing clergymen, then Hicks is as much at risk as the priest.”

  “My thought was that if he were to lead an all-night prayer vigil, his being surrounded by his followers would be a deterrent to the murderer,” Cassie added. “The only problem is, how do we get him to do what we want? He sure isn’t about to listen to me or even Father Sullivan. And I don’t believe Mac’s suggestions would carry much weight with him either.”

  “You don’t figure the Sheriff will have guards put on both men? Okay, I’m fully aware of his prejudice against anyone who is even slightly involved with religion,” Alan responded to Cassie’s derisive expression before she’d had a chance to voice her opinion, “but still, it’s his job to protect all of the town’s citizens, not just the ones he likes.”

  “Let’s just say that Father Sullivan would rather have no protection at all than the kind he fears Sheriff Whitaker would offer. And as I understand it, Samuel Hicks has expressed similar sentiments,” Mac replied.

  “Then leave Hicks to me,” Alan said, rising from his chair. “I’ll get my phone from the car right now and give him a call. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind and had a phone put in here?”

  “I know you think I’m crazy, but no, I haven’t come to that yet.” Cassie grinned at him. “Although I have been tempted in the last couple of weeks.”

  It hurt Mac to see the pain suddenly fill Cassie’s eyes as she allowed herself to contemplate the events of the past few days. He said a silent prayer that all the ugliness would soon be over for her and that she could finally get back to the serene life she had once known.

  Neither Cassie nor Mac were surprised when Alan hung up the phone a few minutes later, having convinced the radical preacher that the only way to save Port Bellmont would be if Hicks himself led an all-night prayer vigil that night in the town square. The preacher had embraced the idea as his own. A prayer meeting. Perfect! With him the center of it, the entire town surrounding him, listening to his message.

  Within the hour, followers and non-followers alike were seen walking to the park. As dusk fell, it appeared as if the entire populace of Port Bellmont had gathered together in the small park, ready to do the only thing they could think of to stop the madness that had taken over their city - pray.

  Cassie followed the three men into Father Mike’s lovely old church. She watched as the priest dipped his fingers into a small bowl of water and crossed himself before entering the main sanctuary. Mac, directly behind him, did the same. Was she expected to do it too, she wondered. When Alan stepped past the water, not bothering to dip his fingers, she realized that, like her, he was not of the priest’s faith. Apparently etiquette did not expect non-believers to participate, she decided, somewhat relieved.

  When she saw that Mac, like the priest, kneel briefly before the alter, making the sign of the cross, she realized that he too must be of the Catholic faith. Odd, she reflected, that she had never even considered what his religious convictions might be. She marveled that she had been so insensitive to such an important aspect in the life of the man she loved.

  She had never been in a Catholic church and couldn’t help but be impressed. Though she had been raised to revere nature and all of its simple pleasures, the rich-toned stained-glass windows, the scent of incense and burning candles, and the beauty of the paintings and statues of saints touched her. The sense of sanctuary pleased her as did the warmth of the silence that pervaded the building.

  The church was old, one of the oldest buildings in town, and had about it an air of what she expected might be that of a medieval sanctuary. Dark, richly-colored woods made up the long pews as well as the ornately carved arches overhead. The high pulpit was made of the same wood and was heavily carved, as were the winding steps that circled it.

  But most fascinating of all to Cassie was the altar. She had never seen such beautiful marble, pink-toned and glistening in the light of flickering candles. Draped across the altar was a pristine white cloth, embroidered in gold and white threads. Directly in the center of the cloth, laying on a stand and spread open, was a large bible. On both sides of the bible there were large white candles. To one side stood another, larger candle, its flickering light adding to the mellow glow of the others.

  “I suppose we’d best be getting this show on the road,” Father Sullivan spoke in a low tone, one that could not be heard beyond the first couple rows of church pews. “Let’s get the three of you positioned properly, then I’ll go outside like we planned and make a great show of coming in to spend the night at prayer.”

  Mac and Cassie exchanged glances. Though they had discussed each and every detail of the priest’s plan at length, each had misgivings about it. So much could go wrong. And they weren’t even guaranteed that the priest was the next victim on the murderer’s list.

  “You’re sure the word is out that Father Mike will be here alone tonight?” Mac asked Alan, his anxiety making his muted voice sound gruff.

  “Absolutely,” Alan answered. “I told Sheriff Whitaker personally, as well as everyone else I could possibly think of. I was especially careful to speak to each of the town’s most prolific gossips. If our killer doesn’t get the word, it will only be because he’s either dead or deaf.”

  “Right. You, Mac, I think I’d like to have you as close to me as possible and still be out of sight,” the priest directed, positioning Mac behind a marble pillar which stood a few feet to the left of the alter.

  “Now, Cassie and Alan, let’s have the two of you back by the front door, one on either side. It’s dark back there, so you shouldn’t have any trouble concealing yourselves nicely. I’ve locked all the other doors to the sanctuary, so there will be but the one entrance available to our visitor.”

  A shiver ran through Cassie that had nothing to do with the air temperature. This was all too real, she thought as she looked about, trying to find the best place to hide. For the first time in her life she wished that she had some kind of weapon. As a life-long pacifist, the idea of guns had always been abhorrent to her, but given tonight’s circumstances, having a gun might be more of a comfort than she had ever considered. She hadn’t asked, but would not have been surprised to learn that both Alan and Mac were armed. She hoped they were.

  She sat down in the pew nearest the door, to the left side of the center aisle. Alan took his place directly across the aisle from her. From their vantage points they could easily see and hear if anyone were to open the large front door and enter the building, giving them ample time to conceal themselves in the darkness.

  She listened to the scuffling of the priest’s feet as he exited the sanctuary from the same door they had entered. In just a few moments he would enter through the main door, making a great show of coming to the church to pray for the capture of the killer.

  Although she had expected it, Cassie still reacted with a start when she heard the door creak open less than five minutes later. She only began breathing again when she heard the pleasant sound of Father Mike’s voice singing an Irish folk tune. It was obvious to her that the singing was one of the ways he used to alert the murderer to his presence.

  Mac listened to the door opening and the priest’s tenor voice. The old man’s courage impressed him. It took a lot of guts to offer yourself up as a sacrifice like this.

  Mac’s fingers tightened around the Beretta he’d slipped into his p
ocket before coming to the church. The idea of actually shooting someone here, in the sanctuary of the church, was abhorrent to him, but if it came down to the priest’s life or breaking the sanctity of the church, there was no question that he would do what he must.

  The feel of the cold steel comforted him. They were only amateurs, the whole lot of them, pretty much helpless against someone as brutal as the killer, but the gun didn’t care if the person pulling the trigger was an amateur or not. He knew how to shoot it and was confident that nothing could stop him from doing what was necessary at the moment of need.

  It was cold and dark. Father Mike’s voice had long ago taken on a surrealistic quality as he said his prayers aloud, droning on and on into the night. How long had they been there, she wondered. Though it seemed like hours, she suspected it hadn’t really been that long. Trying not to make any noise, she shifted on the hard pew to find a more comfortable position.

  All was quiet once again except for the priest’s voice. Then she heard Alan moving about across the aisle. She expected him to settle down quickly, but instead his movements became more noticeable.