Then she dipped her fingers into the water and sprinkled the sculpture. “All malignancy I wash away by the powers of Water.”
She picked up the salt—he was sure it was salt now that he’d tasted it on his fingers—and dusted the sculpture with it. “By the powers of Earth, be you cleansed, purified.”
She lowered the sculpture into the cauldron, then held her hands over it. “By the power of Spirit I…” And there she faltered. “I…I’m sorry.”
Frowning, Jason moved closer to her.
She dropped to her knees, her hands still over the cauldron; trembling now, she said, “I’m so sorry. I remove every negative emotion I sent to you. I cleanse you of my anger. Of my fears. Of my doubts. I…”
Tears slid silently down her cheeks. This was a powerful thing that was happening here, he thought. More powerful, maybe, than even Dori realized.
Jason lowered himself to his knees behind her. He folded his arms around her, stretching them out alongside her arms, his hands sliding over hers above the cauldron. His fingers extended the length of hers, his thumbs bending around to her palms.
“I cleanse myself in you,” she whispered. “Goddess, take this darkness from my soul. I so want to live in the light again.” Her head bowed, and she cried softly.
Moved beyond words, and unsure what to do, Jason felt her relax back against him as she wept. He wrapped her in his arms, held her there. Then, without knowing why, he reached for the incense. He brought it close to her and used his hand to waft the smoke over her. He couldn’t quite remember her words. “Cleansed by Air,” he said softly. “Let it blow away the darkness, Dori.”
He saw her head rise, her brows bend. Sitting on the floor with her legs folded under her, she slid around to face him, searching his eyes. He set the incense down and picked up the candle, moved it under her chin, up and around her body. “Cleansed by Fire, everything bad is burned away.”
She closed her eyes, and more tears spilled over. Her shoulders trembled. He put the candle down, dipped his fingers into the water, then drew them out, dripping, to her face and wiped the hot tears from her cheeks. “Cleansed by water, everything sad is washed away.”
Then he reached for the bowl of salt, gathered a bit in his palm. “Cleansed by…” He hesitated. “Salt?”
“Earth,” she told him.
“Right. Earth. Cleansed by Earth—solid, dependable Earth—everything that hurt you in the past is gone. And you’re starting over, right here, tonight.” He grinned as he sprinkled some of the salt over her head.
“You’re amazing, Jason.”
“Yeah, we’ll get to that.” He sat down, glad to see the tears had stopped welling up in her eyes. “Finish this first.”
She nodded, and then she got to her knees again to remove the sculpture from the cauldron and bring it to her lips. She whispered thanks to the powers of the Universe, and then walked around her circle, in the opposite direction this time. When she finished, she knelt and pressed her palms to the floor, eyes closed, and sat silent for a moment.
Finally, with a deep breath, she lifted her head, opened her eyes. “It’s done.”
“It was something,” he said. “No eye of newt or testicles of a righteous man.”
She smiled slowly. “I’m saving those things for your second ritual.”
“Right.”
Her smile died. “What you did for me, that was—”
“That was nothing. I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. I’m not even sure what made me try.”
“It was perfect. It was…wonderful.” She leaned closer and pressed her lips softly against his, for just a moment.
Jason thought his insides were going to shake themselves apart. Somewhere deep down a little voice was warning him not to let himself fall too hard, too fast. She could easily walk away and destroy him again.
“Thank you for that, Jason.”
He drew a deep breath. “It was the least I could do.” He reached for the cooling cocoa and handed it to her, just to put some distance and perspective between them. Otherwise, he was going to sweep her into his arms and—
Best not to think about that.
“Are you feeling better?”
She nodded. “A little.”
And now he had to tell her what he had come here to tell her. “I hate to bring you down,” he said. “I can’t believe how much I hate it. I felt like we…oh, hell.” He closed his eyes.
“Jason, what’s wrong?”
“I have to be honest with you, Dori.” He opened his eyes, gazed into hers. “That research I did on your background?”
“Yeah.” She looked worried now.
“The secretary found it on my desk and took it to hers to file it. She was looking through it, and some other people read over her shoulder. Including the good town supervisor, Thomas Kemp.”
She blinked. “You mean everyone in the police department knows I’m a Witch?”
“Yeah. And pretty soon everyone else in town will, too. Kemp called the newspaper, and one of our local ministers, Reverend Mackey.” He prayed she wouldn’t hate him for this. “I’m sorry, Dori. I’m so sorry. I never meant to spread your secret like this. I…if I could undo it…”
“But you can’t. Oh, Jason, what’s going to happen now?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t believe people are as narrow-minded as you think they are. Give Crescent Cove some credit. Have a little faith.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re telling me this today and not yesterday.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“’Cause yesterday I didn’t think I had any faith left.”
He sighed in relief. She hadn’t thrown him out. Yet. And if she was feeling she had a little faith left after all, then hope wasn’t lost. He reached for the sculpture they had just cleansed. “Can I hang her up for you?”
“You’d better. I’m going to need her.”
So he hung the plaster image up for her. And he thought about kissing her before he left, but in the end, he didn’t. In fact, as she stood there at the door, saying good-night, it was all he could do not to. But the night had been an emotional one for her. He didn’t want to scare her off or send her into a panic, much less convince her that his motives were less than decent. And he was scared; he was still damn scared that the minute he let himself fall head over heels, she’d get the job offer she’d been waiting for and walk out on him again.
Because despite all that had happened—she still hadn’t told him she wanted to stay. And damn, he couldn’t risk his heart until she did. And then that little voice inside him asked him if he really believed it wasn’t already too late.
THE TELEPHONE WAS RINGING by the time Jason left, and Dori picked it up with a sigh.
“Doreen Stewart?”
“Yes.”
“This is Grace Merrill from the Crescent Cove Chronicle. I’m doing a story about you and I was wondering—”
“I don’t want a story done about me.”
There was a brief moment of silence. “You don’t understand. You see, I’m a—”
“This is my private business here, and I don’t want it spread all over the pages—”
“Some of it’s a matter of public record, Ms. Stewart.”
“Maybe I can’t stop you then, but I’m certainly not about to help you.” She hung up the phone, feeling just a bit guilty for having been mean. The reporter had seemed respectful enough, been decent on the phone. But she did not want this. And she knew the press well enough to know anything she said could be twisted around and used against her.
She cleaned up the living room, skipped dinner because her stomach was roiling, and went to bed early. But she barely slept. That morning paper might very well have the entire town talking and she did not want to deal with the gossip.
But she didn’t think she had much choice.
All those worries paled in comparison, though, to the big issue on her mind. And that was—she thought she just mi
ght be falling in love with Jason Farrar. All over again.
THE NEWSPAPERS WERE STACKED on the end of the counter for the customers, just as they were every morning, when Dori went in to work. She avoided looking at them as she tied on her apron, put on three pots of coffee, filled the sugar dispensers and cream pitchers and set them along the counters and on the tables.
The bells over the door jangled, and jangled again as the morning crowd came in. “’Morning, Dori. Got my coffee ready?”
“’Morning, Sam,” she said, not meeting the old fellow’s eyes, afraid of what she might see there. Instead, she filled four foam coffee cups, added fixings, snapped on the lids and stuck them into a cardboard carrier. “Here you go. Four large, two cream no sugar, one sugar no cream, one black. Three-fifty.”
He dropped a five on the counter. “Keep the change, hon. Have a good one.”
She looked up only as the man took his standing order and headed for the door. That was odd. He always read the paper before he came in, always knew about the day’s news.
Bill tapped his cup on the counter. “Hey, Dori, you gonna top this up with coffee, or just wiggle your nose?”
She frowned at him.
He grinned and sent her a wink. “Hell, I’ve done it now. I’ll be a toad before the day’s out.”
She carried the coffeepot over and refilled his cup. “You were a toad to begin with, Bill.”
“Yeah, but I’m still your favorite customer,” he said.
Then he went right back to work on his breakfast. Nothing negative, nothing dark. He didn’t seem the least bit upset about the newspaper’s revelations.
A throat cleared. She glanced up and saw the Reverend Mackey sitting at the counter. Great. He never came in here. Pasting a smile on her face, she walked up, grabbing a heavy mug and bringing the coffeepot. “Coffee, Reverend?”
“You bet,” he said. “I read your article in the paper this morning.”
“Wasn’t my article,” she said as she poured. “I didn’t really want my private life plastered all over the front page, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“Really?”
“Do you need a menu? Breakfast, or just coffee?”
“No, no breakfast. Mainly, I came in to talk to you.”
She met his eyes. They were kind and blue. He had a blond crew cut and looked more like a marine than a minister. “Please tell me you’re not here to try to convert me.”
His brows went up high. “I imagine you’re expecting that. Might get it, too, from some folks, including some clergy. Nasty mail, phone calls, a protester or two. Are you ready for all of that, Dori?”
“I guess I’ll have to be.”
He nodded, sighed. “I assumed you could handle it. You handled New York, after all. Besides, you’re clergy, according to the newspaper. Quite highly placed clergy at that.”
She stared at him, half expecting some kind of a trick. He reached a hand to hers, and she realized she was still pouring his coffee and damn close to flooding the cup. She stopped and took the pot back to the burner. “I used to be considered an elder,” she said. “But it’s hard to be highly placed when you’re one of a kind.”
He smiled slowly. “That’s why you were against the article? You think you’re the only Wiccan in town?”
She lifted her brows. “I am.”
“No, Dori, you’re not. You might be the only Wiccan clergy in town, though. Which is why I’m rather glad that article ran. There are people here who need you. Now, I admit I’d prefer they come to me, but my beliefs don’t fulfill the needs of every person in Crescent Cove, and I’ve learned to accept that and recognize there’s more than one way to find God.”
“I can hardly believe what I’m hearing,” she whispered.
“Aha!” he said, and pointed at her. “You, of all people, giving in to preconceived notions and expecting me to come in here threatening you with eternal damnation for your beliefs just because I’m a Christian minister?”
“You’re right,” she said. “Shame on me.”
“It takes all kinds to make a world, Dori. Now, here. Take this.”
She picked up what he slid across the counter to her. A card with his name, address, phone number. She flipped it and saw a date and time scrawled on the back. “What’s this?”
“Next meeting of the Crescent Cove Interfaith Council. Every pastor, priest and rabbi in town is a member.” He gave her a wink. “You’ll be our first priestess.”
“You really think they’ll let me in?”
“I’m the president and founder. If I let you in, they’ll let you in. Vermont is a very open-minded state. Now, don’t be offended if some are hesitant. They won’t be once you explain the difference between what your faith really teaches and the ever-popular misconceptions.”
“You say that as if you already know the differences.”
“That’s because I do. A man in my position can’t afford to be ignorant or uninformed.” He tapped the card in her hand. “We meet in the rec center out by the lake. Neutral ground.”
“That’s walking distance from my place.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Be there, okay?”
“Okay.”
He slugged down his coffee and reached for his wallet.
She held up a hand. “It’s on the house, Reverend Mackey.”
“Thanks, Lady Doreen.”
He headed out, and she felt herself smiling. It wasn’t the end of the world after all. People were not looking at her as if she’d grown another head. Maybe she’d underestimated the open-mindedness of Crescent Cove. Or overestimated the shock value of being Wiccan. Just because she’d run into a couple of narrow-minded bigots didn’t mean the whole town was that way. After all, there were Wiccans in every town these days. Why shouldn’t it begin being accepted as just another religion?
As she was serving a platter of sausage and eggs, Jason walked in and slid into a booth. She filled a fresh coffee mug and carried it to his table.
“Did you read it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. My day got off to a pleasant start and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”
“It won’t ruin it, hon. It’s good. Approaches the entire story from the angle of you having helped solve those seven missing-persons cases in New York, before giving up your high-powered job to move back home to Crescent Cove.” He laid a paper on the table, opened to the story. “Here.”
She picked it up, glancing nervously over her shoulder for any sign of her boss’s glower. There was a picture of her—she recognized it as one that had been used in a piece about her from a New Age magazine. The headline read: Hometown Heroine Back Where She Belongs. The story talked about her success in the big city, quoting other articles at length and crediting her with using her “uncanny skills” to help the police locate missing persons. It added that she was a High Priestess, elder and legal clergy of the Wiccan faith. And that was the only mention of her religion.
She sighed in relief.
“Not as bad as you thought, huh?” Jason asked.
“No. It’s not bad at all.”
“I’m relieved.”
“Me, too.”
He met her eyes. He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. She so longed for him to tell her he was feeling the same things she was. She could see the attraction in his eyes every time he looked at her. She could feel it every time he touched her. Why was he holding back?
Could it be that he was liberal enough to understand Witchcraft but still unwilling to get involved with a Witch? She searched his eyes, hoping—waiting.
“I should go,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you saw it. And that you were okay. No one’s given you any trouble, have they?”
“No. None at all.”
“Good. Call if you need me.”
But I do need you, she thought. I need you right now, to end this aching loneliness. I’m tired of it. Goddess, I can’t stand it much longer.
“Dor
i?” he asked.
She’d lapsed into staring at him again. “I’ll call if I need you,” she promised. “Thanks, Jason.”
He smiled a little. “See what I told you, Dori? Crescent Cove isn’t a bad place at all. Might even be worth sticking around, don’t you think?”
She frowned at him, but he left before she could analyze his words or the message that she sensed hiding beneath them.
Chapter Six
She was still mulling over every word Jason had said, trying to read between the lines, beyond the words, when she walked to the parking lot to find that for once, her car didn’t require brushing off. No snow today. However, the lack of snow gave her a clear view of the blotch of bright red splattered across her windshield. It looked like paint.
“No.” She didn’t want this.
“Now, that’s a real shame,” a voice said.
Turning, Dori saw the old woman from that strange little candle shop, standing on the sidewalk, staring at the car and shaking her head. She wore a cloak-style coat, with fur that lined its edges and its hood, and had a crooked walking stick in one hand.
“Still,” she said, “I suppose it’s also a good sign.”
“In what way?” Dori asked. Her words sounded clipped. She was angry, but she reminded herself she was not angry at Helen from Burning Bright, but at the idiot who had done this. And at Jason for exposing her secret and at this town in general.
“Well, when we met the other night I had the distinct impression you’d lost your faith.”
“So?”
“So you must have found it again. True faith—of any sort—tends to bring tests, trials. And this seems like one to me.”
Dori narrowed her eyes on the old woman. “My life has been nothing but a series of tests and trials for the past year,” she grumbled.
“Really? And have you passed them?”
She blinked, because the words had hit her right between the eyes. How had she responded to the tests of the past year? By complaining, whining, fighting against her fate and turning her back on her calling, her religion and her Goddess.
“I read about you in the paper today,” she said. “Tell me, what’s the significance of that star?” As she said it she pointed to the blotch on Dori’s vehicle.
12 Stocking Stuffers Page 40