It Takes a Coven

by Carol J. Perry

  Everything worked. It was amazing. The bird did his part and didn’t make any inappropriate remarks. The rings slid onto the individual fingers smoothly. The kiss at the altar was romantic without being slushy. The bride was radiant, the groom ecstatic. The only problem for me were the dozens of shiny, black, smooth-sided vases I had to pass as we retraced our steps back toward the house.

  I’d just started back up the aisle, my hand resting lightly, politely, in the crook of Sean Madigan’s elbow, when the pinpoints of light and the swirling colors seemed to bounce from the vases into my line of vision. It was a really brilliant display, impossible to ignore. I tightened my grip on Sean’s arm. He looked down at me, curiosity in his glance, but kept on walking. “You okay, Lee?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.” I wanted to get away from the vases, but couldn’t. Our little procession along the narrow aisle moved slowly, as Shannon and Dakota paused every few steps to acknowledge a guest, speak to a friend. These visions were uncommonly clear. No clouds or mists. The pictures were as sharply defined as a high-definition motion picture would be.

  First, I saw the young girls. There was no sound, but open mouths and contorted features showed me their screams as they writhed and rolled on a rough wooden floor. They wore drab-colored long dresses, grays and browns, and each of them pointed at me with accusing fingers.

  The pictures moved from one vase to the next, distorting slightly at curved sides and coming into clear focus on the surface of the next one. I saw a group of women. They stared at me, faces sullen. With my free hand, I gestured to them. Help me. They turned their backs.

  I saw a man wearing a white wig with long curls. How strange. The girls appeared again, more of them this time, more tortured and terrified than before. The girls pointed once again, and the man banged a gavel on his tall desk. Then I was in a dark place with a dirt floor and a small, barred window. There were other women there with me. Strangers. All of them wept.

  I knew I was on a beach in Marblehead. I knew I was holding the arm of a man beside me, yet at the same time I was in those pictures on the vases.

  I stood in a wagon, grasping the sides to keep from falling. The sun shone so brightly I closed my eyes against it. The wagon lurched to a stop beside a tree. There were people gathered around me now, the sullen women, leering men, a few wide-eyed children. Dear God, don’t let the children watch this. I looked up to heaven.

  I saw the noose above my head.

  CHAPTER 48

  We’d reached the last row of folding chairs and Sean’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Pete,” he said. “Something’s wrong with Lee.”

  Pete slipped his arm around my waist. “It’s okay. Thanks, Sean. I’ve got her.” He fell into step beside me and the three of us continued along the aisle as though we’d planned it that way. I felt myself smiling, nodding to guests, returning to the real world, away from whatever dark place I’d just visited. “You saw something,” Pete whispered. “Something bad?”

  “Yes,” I whispered back. “It was in the black vases. All of them.”

  “You all right now? Want to go home?”

  “Oh, no. I’ll be fine.” I turned to Sean. “I felt a little faint for a minute. I hope I didn’t scare you, Sean.”

  “You turned pale and squeezed my arm. I thought you said, ‘Help me.’ You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said again. “Probably shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.”

  Sean looked relieved, smiled, and shook his head. “Why do women do that?”

  “Excitement of the day, I guess.” We’d reached the tent, where a row of white-jacketed servers stood behind long tables laden with silver dome–covered food. A reception line was taking shape: Shannon and Dakota, flanked by bridesmaids, groomsmen, Shannon’s dad, Maureen’s mother, and Dakota’s grandmother. Poe was on Dakota’s shoulder doing that head-bobbing thing. Shannon beckoned for Sean and me to join them.

  “Guess we have to go shake hands with everyone,” I said, reluctantly moving away from Pete and once again taking Sean’s arm. For the next twenty minutes we smiled and shook hands, posed for pictures, and greeted friends and strangers. Again, everything went precisely as planned. There really is something to this wedding-planning business. Might be a good show topic after all.

  All of us in the wedding party were seated at a long banquet table overlooking clusters of smaller tables placed around the enclosure. The centerpieces we’d slaved over looked lovely and there were fresh flowers everywhere. Thankfully, they were arranged in baskets, not black vases.

  Mr. Dumas, who still had Poe on his shoulder, stood. “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, folks,” he said. “I think I’ll put this good boy back in his aviary. All this food in plain sight might make him forget his manners.”

  “Bye, Poe,” I said.

  “Bye, honey,” he said. “See you later.”

  When the father of the bride returned, the congratulatory speeches began in earnest. Sean Madigan did a credible job of toasting the happy couple, and by the time the food was served it was evident that Shannon’s black and white wedding was a resounding success.

  The guests were invited to adjourn to the “summer house,” where the cutting of the wedding cake was to take place. We dutifully trooped out single file behind the bride and groom. Pete was able to sneak into line behind me, making me feel more comfortable as we approached the gazebo. “Looks like Fabio is going to perform for us,” Pete said. The baker had exchanged his puffy tall chef’s hat for the tall black magician’s version. He stood at the entrance of the gazebo, bowing and smiling at the crowd. Shannon and Dakota took their spots beside the cake, posed for the still photographer, then cut the first two pieces and fed them ever so gently to one another. Dakota’s grandmother took over the cake cutting, passing the slices of chocolate and vanilla deliciousness to waiting guests.

  Fabio moved to the grassy area in front of the structure and began creating fanciful animals from black and white balloons, then moved on to card tricks. He pulled an amazing number of black and white silk scarves from an astonished young man’s ear, and produced paper roses like the one he’d given me in rapid succession, handing one to each woman guest in the crowd. I’d just joined the applause as Fabio took a well-deserved bow when I noticed the man sitting on the bench behind the wedding cake. He wore a tuxedo. I tugged on Pete’s sleeve.

  “What’s Christopher Rich doing here?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Pete said. “I’ll ask him.”

  I watched as Pete walked around the hexagonal structure, reached across the rail, and tapped Christopher Rich on the shoulder. They talked for a few seconds, nodded to one another, then Pete returned to my side.

  “What’s up with that?” I asked. “He looked the way he did in my vision. Dead.”

  “Rich is apparently The Fabulous Fabio’s mentor. At least he sells him all his magic equipment. So he’s here to supervise. He wore the tux because he wants to blend in with the wedding crowd. Wasn’t invited, apparently.”

  “Sounds like Chris,” I said. “He likes to be where the action is, invited or not. Are you about ready to leave?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “I want to tell Aunt Ibby we’re going,” I said, looking around for my aunt. “With everybody dressed in black or white, it’s hard to tell who’s who.”

  “Like one of those islands full of penguins,” Pete said. “I’ll wait for you right here near the cake. Wouldn’t want you to go off with another penguin by mistake.”

  “Never happen,” I promised and headed back to the white tent, where Aunt Ibby was in deep conversation with one of the chefs, trying to wheedle the recipe for the butternut squash soup everyone had raved about, while Mr. Pennington stood by patiently.

  “Maralee,” she called as soon as she saw me. “I was worried about you. You looked a bit under the weather. Are you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little headache. Pete and I are going
to go along now.”

  “Rupert and I will be right behind you. It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it?”

  “Just about perfect. We’re going to say good-bye to Shannon and Dakota. I’ll see you at home.”

  I hurried back to where Pete waited. We wished the couple happiness, I whispered a thank-you to Shannon for leaving the key under the conch, and we headed for our cars. Mine was closest to the house and Pete had parked the Crown Vic across the street. “I’ll follow you home. I don’t have to go to work for a couple of hours yet. Want to tell me about what you saw in those visions?”

  “I do, Pete. I want to tell Aunt Ibby and River too. I know why Bridget Bishop is so angry about whoever is killing witches.”

  “Okay, babe. I’ll see you there in a few minutes. Oops. Hold on.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s the chief. Gotta take this.” He turned partly away from me but I could still hear his part of the conversation. “Yes, sir,” he said in his cop voice. I watched his face as he listened to Chief Whaley. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Be right there.”

  He leaned into my open window. “Sorry, Lee. Something came up sooner than I thought it would. Chief has a search warrant for the Bagenstose place. I’ll call you as soon as I can. Love you. Bye.” He crossed the road at a dead run and I heard the siren as he sped away toward Salem. I noticed that the green Toyota was still there and wondered if Sean knew about the warrant.

  I drove home slowly, carefully, thoughtfully. The haunting pictures I’d seen on the vases were engraved on my mind. I hoped River could help me sort them out, and Aunt Ibby’s always wise council would be welcome too.

  I parked in the garage and decided that I’d ask to borrow the Buick for my planned midnight ride. The Vette is much too recognizable. I knew that O’Ryan, who always figures out which door I’ll use, waited just inside the back hall. Aunt Ibby and Rupert Pennington had gone to the wedding in his car, so I didn’t know whether or not my aunt was home yet. Unlocking the door and resetting the alarm system, I listened for sounds of activity from her rooms. All was silent. O’Ryan and I climbed the stairs to my apartment. It was good to be home. There was a real sense of relief that my maid of honor duties had been fulfilled, that I’d contributed to what had turned out to be a picture-perfect wedding—except for the pictures no one but me had seen.

  CHAPTER 49

  I changed from gown to jeans and T-shirt, silver sandals to well-worn sneakers and called River. In honor of Megan’s funeral Mr. Doan had given her a rare night off. They’d show a “Best of Tarot Time” rerun in her time slot, so she was probably awake. I needed to see what she thought about the vision. Besides that, I wanted to be sure she approved of my viewing Megan’s ceremony from a distance. More important, how did she feel about my watching the return of Bridget Bishop’s spell book?

  My friend was wide awake. “How was the wedding? I’ll bet it was beautiful, huh?”

  “It was and the weather was wonderful too. You never know about that when you plan an outdoor wedding. But, River, I had a vision while I was there.”

  “While you were at the wedding? With all those people around? What happened?”

  I told her in as much detail as I could remember—and I was pretty sure I remembered every terrifying second of it.

  When I finished she was silent for a long minute. “Are you there, River?” I asked.

  “I’m here,” she said, and I realized that she was crying. “I’m here, but you were there. With her. With Bridget during those awful days before they killed her.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I told her. “I saw through her eyes. I saw the girls who claimed she’d bewitched them. I even saw the judge who sentenced her. I saw the people who watched her die. No wonder she’s angry. No wonder she sent the crows.”

  “I don’t think she’s angry at me after all,” River said. “She’s not even angry at Salem. She’s angry at whoever is killing witches. Someone in Salem is acting as judge, jury, and executioner and it’s got to stop.”

  “I’m glad you’re not blaming yourself anymore,” I said. “I felt terrible about that.”

  “I know. I’m glad too. Did you tell Pete about what you saw in the vision? What does he think about it?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell Pete. He was going to follow me home from the wedding and try to help me figure it out. But he got a call from Chief Whaley to go right over to the Bagenstose mansion right after we left. Pete said the chief has a warrant.”

  “A warrant? To search someplace or to arrest somebody?”

  “I don’t know. There wasn’t time to ask questions. By the way, your friend Christopher Rich was there.”

  “Huh. Some friend he turned out to be. I worry about him, you know, because of that phone call, but he’s still a big jerk. I didn’t realize he knew Shannon and Dakota that well.”

  “As far as I know, he doesn’t,” I said. “He told Pete he was there to help the Fabulous Fabio with his magic act. All dressed up in a tux too, so he’d blend in with all the other guests.”

  “He doesn’t want to blend. He likes to be the center of attention,” she said. “He’s all upset now because he thinks he should be the one to carry Megan’s ashes instead of me.”

  “What makes him think that? You and Megan were so close.”

  “He’s more famous than I am. I’m just a little card reader and he’s a witch, a magician, a psychic, a shop owner. There’ve been magazine articles written about him, he’s been interviewed on national TV, he was once king of the Witches Ball, blah blah blah. He says if he can’t carry her ashes, he’s just going to sit that part of the ceremony out.”

  “Seems kind of childish, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep. And he doesn’t even know about my returning the book to Bridget. That’ll really frost him.”

  “I want to talk to you about that, River,” I said. “About your returning the book, I mean. I know I can’t be with you and the witches tonight because I’m not Wiccan. But if I can be in a place where I can see the ceremony from a distance, where I can’t be seen by anyone else, is that okay with you?”

  “You won’t intrude in any way? We won’t even see you?”

  “Right.”

  “No cameras of any kind? No recordings?”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t see any reason why not then. Just don’t tell anyone I said so.”

  “Thank you, River,” I said. “Maybe when this is over Bridget can be at peace and move on to the Summerland with Megan.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “With all my heart I hope so.” Then she added, “I hope she takes all those crows with her.”

  “They’ll go away,” I promised. “I’m sure of it. Megan showed me.”

  “And let me know about what’s going on at that Bagenstose house, will you? I always wondered what was in there.” I told her that I’d call when I learned anything and said goodbye. I wondered too what was in there that had caused Chief Whaley to move so fast.

  O’Ryan darted suddenly through the cat door and out into the upstairs hall, so I knew that Aunt Ibby had come home. I followed the cat down the stairs and we greeted her together.

  “What a nice welcome home,” she said. “Go on out to the kitchen, my dears, while I go upstairs and slip into something more comfortable. Then I want you to tell me more about what you saw at Claudine’s house. All the details.”

  “I have a few pictures on my phone,” I said. “I didn’t take many, but it’ll give you an idea of the clothes and hats and furniture I got to see. I’ll run back upstairs and get it.”

  I stopped in the downstairs hall to pick up my mail, and my aunt and I walked up the front stairs together, she and the cat to the second floor, me to the third. My phone was on the kitchen table, where I’d left it after my talk with River. I slipped it into my jeans pocket, looked over the mail, flipped through the new issue of Motor Trend, and hurried back downstairs. My amazing aunt had already changed into a polka-dotted cotton dress an
d white Crocs and started a pot of tea.

  Side by side at the kitchen counter, we looked at the photos I’d managed to take, one by one. “Here’s what the closet looks like. A real walk-in with a state-of-the-art closet system. Track lighting, hanging rods, pull-out shelves, lingerie drawers, the whole deal,” I said, pleased with the good quality of the picture, taken so hurriedly.

  “Isn’t that an old-fashioned dress form?” she asked, pointing. “My grandmother had one. Remember? It was in our attic before the fire.”

  “I remember,” I said. “Look, I took a close-up of it. The two-piece suit on it fascinated me. Claudine’s great grandmother’s waistline must have been about eighteen inches.”

  “It was the corsets,” my aunt said. “Cruel things. Women fainted a lot in those bad old days.” She leaned forward, peering closely at the photo. “Is that the secret panel behind the form? See? It’s open just a crack.”

  “That’s it,” I said. “Sean had just pressed the button to open it when I took the shot.”

  “Send these over to my computer, will you? I’d like to blow them up. See more detail.”

  “Don’t you want to see the hats?” I asked.

  “Later. Come on down to my office. I think I see something interesting here.” She was already across the kitchen, on her way to her first-floor room full of the high-tech gadgets she loves.

  I did as she asked, sent the photos, and hurried to catch up with her. “What are we looking for?” I asked.

  “Details, my dear. There’s something interesting just inside that panel. I’m not sure. But it may be important. Did Pete see these pictures?”

  “Just this one. I thought he might need to see where it’s located in the house. Sean wouldn’t let me photograph the guns behind it.”

  “A person is allowed to have a gun collection,” she said, “as long as it’s safely secured.”