Circle of Blood: A Witch Hunt Novel

by Debbie Viguié

  The inside looked like the outside, only much more so. A tree was actually growing up through the center of the building, alive and twisted, its branches stretching in all directions. Candles were perched on the edges of the branches, their wax having pooled and created stalactites that dripped down and formed corresponding pillars of twisted wax on the floor beneath that spiraled upward.

  The furniture that was scattered around the various rooms, which were growing at crazy angles as though offshoots of the tree, was also crooked and formed of twisted pieces of wood, some of it petrified. A twisted staircase led to a second floor.

  Hanging from the ceiling were an assortment of small, dead animals, hex bags, and handmade objects of twine and bones and feathers that resembled Native American dreamcatchers in the most rudimentary way.

  The place smelled of the swamp but also a few herbs and something spicy that she suspected was some sort of stew cooking. At least, she hoped it was.

  “Have a seat, dearie.” An old woman’s voice shimmered in the air, impossible to tell which direction it was coming from.

  Samantha turned and saw that what passed as a kitchen table had two chairs. There was a hearth with an open fire and a cast-iron pot above it.

  She sat down at one of the chairs, which creaked beneath her weight but held. She kept her guard up, expecting anything at any moment.

  There was a swish of fabric and then she heard the groaning of the stairs and footfalls on them. She looked up. A wizened old woman with stringy white hair was shuffling down the steps, clawlike hands clutching the banisters. The entire thing shook under her weight, emitting a small cloud of dust with every step.

  Samantha forced herself to sit still even though she felt an intense urge to go and help her, or at least to make sure that the staircase didn’t collapse beneath her. Instead she sat perfectly still, waiting, letting the old woman come to her. That, after all, was the position of power.

  The old lady’s right foot appeared to slip on one of the lowest steps and Samantha forced herself to remain still even as it seemed as though the old woman was about to fall. Everything in her mind screamed at her to go and help, to use her power to lift the old lady up and deposit her safely on the floor.

  But the old lady was powerful and she could do that herself if she wanted to. No, the more intensely Samantha wanted to help her, the more convinced she was that the answer was to do nothing.

  At last the old lady reached the ground floor. She let go of the banisters and tottered on her feet. She did not have a cane and she was dressed in an old dress with an ancient black lace shawl. She took one tentative step away from the stairs and lifted her arms as if trying to balance herself.

  She looked as if she was going to fall down. Samantha’s leg muscles tightened as if they were going to compel her to stand and walk over to offer an arm for assistance. She placed her hands firmly on her knees, though.

  It was all a front; it had to be. How many visitors would fall for her helpless old lady routine? Too many, Samantha guessed.

  She turned and stared at the fire, watching the pot that was hanging over it. What had smelled like stew to her earlier was surely what was boiling in that pot. She wasn’t about to take a look and she wouldn’t touch it if her life depended on it, but she focused on it.

  The old lady was alone here in the house. Samantha could tell that. Which meant the old lady was more than capable of taking care of herself if she was cooking stew in that heavy pot over that fire.

  And there was all the power that was crackling around her still. Samantha heard a soft cry and turned her head back, as slowly as she could. The old lady was leaning her hand against the tree, a look of deep distress on her face.

  She stretched out a hand toward Samantha. “Please, help an old woman.”

  Samantha looked her dead in the eye. “Help yourself.”

  The woman gave her a pitiful stare, took one more step, and then fell, hard, onto the floor.

  Still Samantha forced herself to stay still.

  The woman looked up at her. “How can you sit there and not help an old woman?”

  “Because you’re not as frail as you want people to think. And if you can really see the future, you would have known enough to get yourself a walking stick before you fell trying to walk across your own floor.”

  The woman began to chuckle.

  Samantha didn’t move, didn’t even crack a smile.

  The old woman stood up as easily as though she were a young girl. She walked the rest of the way with a spring in her step. She stirred whatever was in the pot and then took the seat across from Samantha, her eyes twinkling.

  “You’re a strong one, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Samantha said. Humility would be of no use here.

  “You have questions.”

  “Yes.”

  “About your past.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your future, I think.”

  “You are correct.”

  “Why have you come to me?” the old woman asked.

  “A demon suggested I do so.”

  “Nasty things, demons. Not to be trusted. They lie, you know.”

  “He was right about one thing,” Samantha said.

  “And what is that?”

  “You can see the past and the future.”

  “Sometimes. When the time is right. When the person is right.”

  “Am I?”

  “The right person?”

  “Yes,” Samantha said.

  “You are the right person. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  The old woman snapped her head up, a look of alarm crossing her face.

  “This is not the right time,” she whispered.

  14

  A moment later Samantha heard what the other woman clearly had, a high-pitched sirenlike sound that seemed to be a woman singing. It moved through her, and she found it compelling beyond anything she had ever heard. She felt a sudden need to leave, far beyond the need she had felt to help the old woman.

  She turned and saw that her companion had risen half out of her chair, her head cocked to the side as she listened.

  “It’s her, Lilith, isn’t it?” Samantha asked.

  “Yes,” the hoodoo woman replied.

  “How do I defeat her?” Samantha said.

  “I don’t know,” the woman said, her eyes fixed on the front door.

  Samantha reached across the table and slapped her hard.

  The hoodoo woman turned startled eyes on her.

  “Don’t listen. It’s your trick, only worse. Did you teach her how to do this?”

  “I don’t know,” the other woman said, real fear dancing in her eyes.

  “But you’ve met her, haven’t you? She’s come to you, hasn’t she?” Samantha demanded.

  “Yes,” the woman whispered, now on her feet.

  Samantha lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “What did she come to you for?”

  “She had a question.”

  “About the future?”

  “The past,” the woman said, trying to pull her arm loose.

  “What did she want to know about her past?”

  “I can’t . . . I have to go,” the woman said, trying to move toward the door.

  Samantha could feel the call as well. She’d heard stories about sirens from mythology, women who could lure men to their deaths, get them to crash their ships on the rocks. To hear them was to go willingly to your death.

  Somehow that must be true and Lilith had found a way to do the same thing, calling to those with power. First she had called them all to New Orleans, but that had been just the opening salvo, taking her time, gathering people. This was different. The desperation was building in Samantha, the need to go wherever the voice called her, no matter what she found, no matter what it cost her, no matter if it lured her to her death.

  But she wouldn’t let it.

  “You have to let me go,” the woman sobbed.

  She wa
s trying to break free, but Samantha knew she was trying to fight it. She knew because she could feel the woman’s internal struggle, the movement of her muscles. Even the very fact that she hadn’t tried to use magic on Samantha to force her to let her go was a sign that she was trying to resist.

  “Don’t listen to her. Listen to me!” Samantha shouted, loud enough that the woman actually turned and looked at her.

  “That’s right, only my voice,” Samantha said, putting force in the words, letting her conviction, her energy wash over the woman, trying to mesmerize her, even as she had her river guide.

  “She’s too strong. I can’t fight her,” the other woman sobbed.

  “Then let me help you,” Samantha said, still fighting herself. But the more she focused on the other woman, the more she focused on controlling her, the more she helped herself.

  She wrapped her arms around the other woman, embracing her, holding her tight. “Only my voice, only my will, you will obey me, you will listen to me,” Samantha said, repeating the words over and over again. She felt as if she was babbling as she wondered how long she could continue to do so, how long she would have to. How long would Lilith keep it up? How long could she?

  As long as she needs to, Samantha realized in despair.

  She had to find a way to block the signal, keep them from hearing it or at least keep it from affecting them. She racked her brain, trying to think of what kind of spell she could do. The sound seemed to be both inside her mind and outside at the same time.

  But sound just traveled through the air. It was just energy being passed from particle to particle. After a moment’s thought she put up a barrier around them, a wall of sound that she hoped would actually cancel out the noise trying to reach them.

  It lessened it, and she tweaked it some more until the sound was only coming from inside her mind now.

  The hoodoo woman seemed to notice the difference. She glanced at Samantha. “I can still hear her in my mind.”

  “You have to fight. You have to help me,” Samantha said.

  The woman’s eyes were glazing over, though. “Too strong,” she muttered.

  “Hey!” Samantha shouted, and the woman’s eyes snapped to her. “She’s not too strong. You just have to focus.”

  The woman was trying, but Samantha knew she wasn’t going to be able to do it, and she couldn’t figure out a way to block the voice inside her head. Had she been a normal human, she knew what she would have done, but then again, this song wasn’t meant for normal humans to hear.

  She was going to lose her, but she had to learn what she could.

  “When did Lilith come to see you?” she demanded.

  “It was a couple of years ago,” the woman said, struggling with her to get away.

  Samantha held tight to her shoulders. “What is it she wanted to know about her past?” She was losing the woman and she had to at least know the answer before that happened.

  The woman turned haunted eyes on her. “There was a tragedy . . . She wanted to know what became of someone she cared for. She was angry, troubled by what I told her.”

  “What did you tell her?” Samantha asked. Had this woman seen the events of the massacre? Did she know the truth about what had really happen?

  But she had lost the battle; the woman had ceased listening to her at all and was fighting her hard.

  Samantha dropped her hands and the woman turned and left.

  Samantha just stared into space. Lilith’s visit to this woman had set so many things in motion. So many lives had been lost, so much death and chaos. Did she blame Samantha somehow for what had happened to her father and the others? And why, when she found her, hadn’t she approached her, attacked her, killed her? Why all the games? Why all the elaborate plots and schemes? It made no sense.

  Only Lilith knew the answer to that.

  And luckily for Samantha, right now she knew how to find her.

  She took a deep breath, walked to the door, and went out onto the porch. She saw the hoodoo woman in the rickety old rowboat, heading up the river at a good clip. There was nothing Samantha could do for her now.

  Samantha got into her own rowboat, cast off, and moments later was following behind. She was moving at a slower pace through the water, and the other woman’s boat was soon out of sight. That was okay, though, since she could still hear the siren call and it was all the direction she needed.

  The mist was just as thick as it had been earlier and it grew thicker the farther she went. When she came to the fork, she turned down the river away from where the boat captain was waiting for her. Given the fog, there was no way he could see her, which was just as well.

  She continued to steer the boat, a tiny nudge here and there. Slowly all other sounds ceased; all the animals and insects fell quiet. It was like floating through emptiness as the mist socked in more and more.

  And then, in the silence, she heard the tiniest splashing sound and felt a wave of power wash over her. She turned her head. There, behind her, bobbing up and down, a light appeared in the mist. It drew closer and she heard something moving through the water and it was coming fast.

  She moved her boat slightly to the side and a moment later a boat moved past, a man inside staring fixedly ahead, a lantern clutched in his upraised fist. Like her he was steering and propelling the small boat using his powers. Unlike her he was completely mesmerized by the siren song.

  She continued to drift along for several more minutes before she could tell that she was close to her destination. She slowed down, wanting to get a sense of what she was about to walk into before she did.

  That’s when she heard more sounds in the water behind her, very soft, like the gentle lapping of water. She didn’t turn, focusing instead on what was ahead of her. She couldn’t see through the mist, so she stretched out with her senses, trying to figure out what was in front of her.

  And then she saw bits of light in the corners of her eyes. She turned her head slightly.

  Dozens of tiny boats were drifting through the water, nearly silent. The mist hung about them and it was an eerie sight to behold. Inside the boats were people of all ages and races, people of power. Their eyes were fixed straight ahead, their destination consuming them completely.

  And then in a boat that drifted by she saw a figure she recognized. It was Robin Lightfoot, the girl from Santa Cruz she’d tried to help weeks before.

  Samantha bit back a shout and forced herself to remain still in her boat. Tears stung the back of her eyes. She’d asked Trina to check on her, see if she had come to New Orleans. No need to wonder anymore. Clearly she had.

  Samantha wished there was something she could do now to help her, to stop her. But even if she sank the girl’s boat, she’d just start swimming. There was nothing she could do to stop or restrain her that wouldn’t cause a massive amount of noise and draw too much attention to herself.

  Then inspiration hit her. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it with the hoodoo woman. She propelled her boat close to Robin’s. Robin didn’t even notice, so fixated on her goal.

  Samantha reached out, grabbed the girl’s shoulder, and sent a mighty jolt of electricity through her, more than enough to knock her out for a few hours while her body healed itself.

  Robin fell backward into the bottom of her boat. Samantha sent the boat into reverse, floating back the way it had come. It was the best she could do for now. She just hoped it was enough.

  She watched for a moment as it wound its way backward through the flotilla of small watercraft that seemed to still be coming. She couldn’t help wondering if somewhere back there were Connor and some of his agents. They had wanted to be nearby when she visited the hoodoo woman, something she’d fought him on. She suspected that they were close, but were they close enough to hear and fall victim to the call?

  Just how far did it extend? Could all those with power in New Orleans hear it? Would they all be coming in droves?

  From the numbers of people she was already seei
ng, she guessed it had to be true. All the more reason why she needed to stop Lilith, and fast. She had no idea how many like her were in the city. Dozens? Hundreds? The implications were staggering.

  She moved her boat a little faster through the water. Now was not the time for caution. There was too much at stake; she felt it.

  Fortunately she didn’t have too much farther to go. She saw more and more lights appearing through the mist. Then a few moments later, a small island rose out of the swamp straight ahead. People were abandoning their boats as they reached its shore. Soon there were too many boats floating in the water. The others climbed out of their boats and held candles and lanterns high and waded through the water to get to the island.

  A hundred lights bobbed on the water, sickening Samantha at the sight. She turned. There were other lights coming through the mist, too many to count. She had to end this.

  She lifted her hands and pushed boats out of the way so she could get close enough to the island. At last she was able to step out onto its spongy surface. Here, too, all sounds of animal and insect life were absent.

  At the top of the small island, a rudimentary altar was set up. A woman stood before it who had to be Lilith. As Samantha strained to see what was happening, she saw Lilith seize a man, push him down onto the altar, and then strip his power and life from him before letting him fall to the ground.

  She would drain every last one of them unless she was stopped.

  “Lilith!” Samantha boomed, making sure her voice could be heard above all else. She was unwilling to see Lilith kill even one more person. “Enough, let these people go!”

  Instantly the siren song stopped. Then, one by one, the people surrounding her crumpled in a faint, leaving Samantha standing, exposed. She sent up a quick prayer that people weren’t drowning even now in the swamp behind her, but she couldn’t turn to look, let alone help.

  “So you remember me?” Lilith said. During their last encounter she had sounded twisted, amused, lecturing. Now her voice was filled with anger, hatred.

  Samantha walked forward, stepping around bodies when she could and on them when she couldn’t avoid them. She wondered where in the tangled heap of humanity the hoodoo woman was and if there was anyone else she would recognize: the Druid, Trina, or Connor? As much as she wanted to know, the whole time she kept her eyes locked on Lilith, waiting for the witch to make a move.