by King, R. L.
He sighed. “I’m calling you because I need information about your group. I can’t explain it all right now—it would take too long, and we need to move fast if we’ve any hope of preventing more murders. The short version is, absurd as it might sound, it appears that one of the members of your group has a—connection—to something that caused a lot of trouble in this area many years ago. That connection allowed your group to bring it back, almost certainly accidentally, but now that it’s back it’s causing trouble again. Deadly trouble.”
Silence. Stone was used to it by now; he simply waited while she digested everything he’d told her. He tried to remind himself that, unlike himself and his friends who had been immersed in the situation for days, this was her first taste of any of it. It was a lot to drop on a mundane all at once. If the stakes hadn’t been so high, he’d have given her more time to get used to the idea, but time was something they didn’t have.
After nearly a minute, she said, “You’re telling me that a bunch of kids playing at being witches actually summoned something real? Come on, Dr. Stone: that sounds like a bad horror movie.”
“Tell that to the eight people who are dead now,” he said, his voice cold sober. “Including the little girl you minded. Not to mention the ones who died twenty-seven years ago the first time this happened.”
This time when the silence came, Stone didn’t wait for her to speak. If shock was what it took to motivate her, then so be it. “I need the names of the other people in the group, Dr. Isaka,” he said. “It might be that you don’t have to be involved further. I need to talk to all of them—or at least all of those who attended the ritual you conducted two weeks ago.”
He could hear her breathing hard. “Okay,” she said at last, her voice shaking. “I don’t believe this...”
“Believe it,” he said. “Please—you must help me. I’m not working alone—I’ve got friends helping me, including a police officer. If you can make it easier for us, you might prevent more deaths.”
“Okay,” she said again. She sounded reluctant. “There—there were five of us. Me, Debbie Margolis, Carly Rosales, Karen Butler, and Suzanne Proust. Karen is Karen Blanco now, and Suzanne is Suzanne Washburn.” She paused. “Karen and Suzanne still live in Ojai. Debbie’s in Colorado somewhere, and Carly’s in—Santa Maria, I think.”
“Do you know how to contact the out-of-town members?” he asked, inwardly trying to decide if he was pleased or dismayed that it was looking like his next step was going to be Suzanne Washburn after all.
“No, not really. We all kind of lost touch with each other after we left school. Suzanne has everybody’s information, I think. She was the group’s leader. She was the one who suggested we get back together for one last ritual. I can give you her address.” She did so, then sighed. “It all seems so stupid now. We were just kids. We each had a ‘magical’ name in the group. Mine was ‘Tsukiko,’ which meant ‘Child of the Moon.’ Suzanne’s was ‘Elinaria.’ Since the whole thing was her idea originally, we called ourselves ‘The Sisterhood of Elinaria.’ You know, this is embarrassing to even be telling you. I didn’t even want to do it after a while, but they were my friends, so I went along. You know how kids are. I was pretty shy in those days, and I wanted them to like me. You know?”
“I understand,” he said, his voice gentle as he jotted down the things she’d told him. “All right. Thank you for this. I think you’re right: I need to talk to Suzanne. Fortunately, I’ve already met her, so it might be a bit easier. Would you mind if I asked you to be available should I need to contact you again?”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t.”
“I said I might not need to,” he said. “It depends on what I find out.”
“What do you expect to find out, Dr. Stone? We’re not witches. We didn’t know how to summon anything. We were just a bunch of teenage girls messing around with pretty robes and magic wands. Is that wrong?”
“Of course not. I’m sure whatever happened, no one intended it. And I know you don’t believe me. I understand that. Most people don’t.”
Another pause, and when she spoke again her voice was a little stronger. “I’ve grown up, Dr. Stone. I have a successful dental practice. I have a partner, and we have two young children. Please—don’t get me involved in this. You’re right: I don’t believe any of what you’re telling me. I’m only answering your questions because it seems like you do believe it, and your story checks out. But I really don’t want to be involved.”
“I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t have to be, Dr. Isaka. Again, thank you for your help. Even if this ends your involvement, you might well have already helped save lives.”
This time when Stone came out of the back room, he moved slowly. Once again he sank onto the couch.
“You okay?” Lopez asked. “Did she tell you what you needed to know?”
“She told me,” he said. “She gave me the names of the rest of the group. We were right: they did get together and do rituals and ceremonies as part of their little club. And they did another one around the time of the reunion, for old time’s sake.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Jason asked. “Isn’t that what you were hoping for? It means we’re on the right track, right?”
“We are,” Stone confirmed. “But I’m not liking what I have to do next.”
“Which is—?”
He glanced over at Edna, who was watching him as she idly leafed through an old copy of Sports Illustrated. “Only two of the group still live in Ojai. And one of them is Suzanne Washburn.”
Edna tossed the magazine aside with a snort. “I told you before: that one’s about as magical as a rock. I’d bet everything I own that she’s not our descendant.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Stone said. “But the fact remains, she wasn’t only in the group, she was its instigator. And that means we’re going to have to talk to her.”
“I don’t see the problem yet,” Lopez said. “Yeah, maybe she’s not your favorite person, but if she can help—”
“It’s more that I’m not her favorite person,” Stone pointed out. “Remember, she thinks I’m a murderer? Also, she strikes me as quite the busybody type—both she and that friend of hers who runs the Third Eye. If we talk to her, we’ll probably end up having to tell her more than I want to. And if we do tell her, she’ll tell her friend. Before the day’s out it will likely be all over the town. Which, aside from making things potentially very uncomfortable for me, will probably cause Casner to run us all out of town on a rail for impeding his investigation. That is, if he doesn’t arrest me again.”
“True,” Lopez said soberly. “Though if I go along, show her my badge, and tell her you’ve been cleared of any suspicion, at least she won’t think you’re a murderer anymore. I hope.”
“There’s no helping it, I suppose. I can try playing up my credentials as an occult expert without letting her in on the existence of magic, but I doubt that will work once we actually have to start doing something, as opposed to just talking.” He stood. “We’d best get going, then, before I change my mind.”
Edna rolled her eyes. “You’re a piece of work, Stone, I’ll say that. You’ll stand up to ancient spirits that try to rip you to pieces without even flinching, but a middle-aged lady scares the crap out of you.”
He smiled tightly at her. “Guilty as charged.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Suzanne Washburn’s address was—as so many other things related to their current situation seemed to be—in the Arbolada, on a quiet, winding street peppered with venerable old oak trees. When she appeared at the door of her large, rambling home set back from the street, and saw Stone standing on her front porch, her eyes widened and she gasped.
“D—Dr. Stone,” she stammered, her gaze darting nervously between him and Lopez. “How—uh—nice to see you again!” She didn’t say how did you find out where
I live? but Stone could see it right there on her face as clearly as if she were holding up a sign. He could also see that she was fighting very hard against a temptation to slam the door in his face and hide until he went away.
“Mrs. Washburn,” he said, inclining his head in greeting. He held up her ley-line map, carefully rolled and secured with a wide rubber band. “I’m returning your map—thank you very much, by the way, it was quite helpful. And we’d like to talk with you briefly, if we may.” He indicated Lopez. “This is Sergeant Stan Lopez of the Ventura Sheriff’s Department.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Lopez said. He pulled out his wallet and showed her his badge and official identification.
She looked at it, then back up at him, a different sort of fear settling over her features. “Am I in some kind of trouble, officer?” She glanced sideways at Stone in suspicion, as if expecting him to be Lopez’s prisoner or something.
“You’re not in any trouble with the police, Mrs. Washburn,” Stone said. “In fact, I asked Sergeant Lopez to accompany me today to prove to you that I’m not, either. I need to talk with you about something very important, and I couldn’t do that if you were afraid I was still under some sort of suspicion for the murders.”
“I didn’t—” she began to protest.
“Yes, you did,” Stone said gently. “I could see it in your face the other day. And I don’t blame you—things have been rather chaotic for me the past couple of days. But I assure you, I’ve been cleared of any suspicion.”
“It’s true,” Lopez confirmed. “He was questioned and released. Just routine. He’s not wanted for anything at this time.”
She swallowed, considered, and nodded once, her hand’s death grip on the door loosening infinitesimally. “Well—all right, then. You can’t blame me for being concerned. And thank you for returning my map. What else can I do for you, Dr. Stone?”
“May we come in?” he asked.
She looked back and forth between him and Lopez again, but finally nodded. “Yes, of course.” She swung the door wide and motioned them inside.
Suzanne Washburn or her husband obviously had money: Stone and Lopez followed her down a tiled hallway lined with paintings and fine sculptures and into a large, elegant but comfortable living room. “Let’s chat in the back yard,” she said, moving through the living room to a set of French doors leading out to an equally elegant patio. “It’s a lovely day.” She motioned toward a group of chairs arranged around an umbrella-topped table next to a sparkling kidney-shaped pool. “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll bring us some refreshments.”
They sat down and she hurried off. “She doesn’t want us inside her home,” Stone said.
“Sure looks that way,” Lopez agreed. He glanced around at the large yard, which was surrounded by oak trees. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna hear us out here, though.”
Suzanne returned a few minutes later bearing a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, three glasses, and a plate with a hunk of brie, assorted crackers, a knife, and some napkins. After pouring each of them a glass and settling herself down, she looked between Stone and Lopez. “Now—what can I help you with?”
Stone met her gaze and held it. “We’d like to talk to you about the Sisterhood of Elinaria, Mrs. Washburn,” he said softly.
She nearly dropped her glass. “What did you say?” she whispered, setting it down with a shaking hand.
“The Sisterhood,” he repeated. “We’d like you to tell us about it.”
“Why? How did you find out about—”
“Michiko Isaka told us,” he said. “Please don’t hold it against her—she had good reason.” He paused a moment, deciding how to proceed. “Mrs. Washburn—how long have you had your interest in the occult?”
She looked like she wasn’t going to answer, but finally sighed. “Since I was a little girl, I guess. I’ve been interested in witches and fairies and astrology and that kind of thing since grade school.” Her eyes came up. “What’s this about, Dr. Stone?”
“Do you believe in spirits?”
She nodded. “I do. I’ve seen them. I think the spirit of my husband is still in this house. That’s why I won’t sell it, even though it’s really too big for me now that the children are away at college.”
“Tell us about the Sisterhood, Mrs. Washburn, please.” Stone kept his voice soft and soothing. He didn’t know if his powers of persuasion would overshadow the fact that he was still making her nervous, but he gave it his best shot. “When did you start it?”
“Junior high,” she said. “Eighth grade.” She plucked up a cracker and examined it before taking an experimental nibble. “It was just me and a couple of friends to start with. Like I said, I’d been interested for a long time, and I kind of rubbed off on them eventually. We’d go out to a quiet area of campus during lunchtime and have our little rituals. Another girl noticed, and she was interested, so she joined shortly after that.”
“Where did you get these little rituals?” Stone asked.
“We—well, I, at least to start with—just made them up. I’d write them in my notebook during class, when I was supposed to be listening to the teacher.” She giggled, but it was more an uneasy sound than a happy one. Then her expression clouded. “You’re leading to something, Dr. Stone. I can tell. What is it?”
“I’ll tell you, I promise. But first I’d very much like for you to continue.”
She glanced at Lopez. “Are you sure I’m not in trouble, Sergeant Lopez? I don’t need a lawyer, do I? He’s not trying to get me to incriminate myself in anything, is he?”
Lopez shook his head. “No, ma’am. None of this is official. The only reason I’m here is because I’ve been working with Dr. Stone on this, and we figured you’d be more comfortable if a police officer could assure you that he’s not wanted for anything.”
Her eyes stayed on him for a long time, as if she were trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Then she nodded again. “We—kept it up for years. All through high school, too. It got more elaborate as we got older—Debbie liked to sew, so she made us all lovely satin robes. We’d collect pretty bottles to use for our ‘potions,’ and we each had a wand. Each of us also picked a special name that we used—I guess you know something about that, since you referred to the Sisterhood. I was Elinaria. Karen was Belladonna, Michiko was Tsukiko, and Debbie was Ariadne.”
Stone frowned a little. “I thought there were five of you.”
“Oh, there were, later. Carly didn’t join until after we were in high school. She overheard us discussing getting together one evening, and asked if she could join. We thought she was making fun of us, since she was kind of an ‘other side of the tracks’ kind of girl and always seemed to be in trouble, but she seemed sincere so we let her come to one of the rituals. She loved it, and turned out to be very nice, so she joined us then. Her magical name was ‘Tansy.’”
Lopez looked troubled. “So you’re saying you got together all through high school and put on robes and waved wands around and did magic spells? That seems—well, let’s just say I’ve dealt with a lot of high-school girls, and it doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that would survive that long after you all started dating.”
She smiled wistfully. “Oh, we didn’t do it all the time. By the time we got to high school our meetings were only once every couple of months, usually at my house since it was the biggest. They were as much about talking and laughing and eating pizza as they were about the rituals. But we were all good friends, Sergeant. We had a special bond, and we didn’t want to lose that. I think the Sisterhood really got to just be a way for us to reconnect, as we all went our separate ways socially.” She looked at Stone. “Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Stone said gently. “I’m going to ask you what seems an odd question now, but if you could try to remember, it would be very helpful.”
She looked worried. “All r
ight...”
“Can you recall any rituals you did in your second year in high school—”
“Sophomore year,” Lopez supplied with a grin. “Dr. Stone’s not from around here, if you hadn’t guessed.”
Stone gave him a look, but didn’t contradict him. “Sophomore year,” he agreed. “Anything that might have been out of the ordinary in some way? Perhaps you got the source of the ritual from somewhere different, or it was for a different purpose than usual?”
“Why is this important?” she asked, frowning. “Why do you want to know?” She looked back and forth between them, her gaze sharpening. “Before I answer your question, Dr. Stone, I think you owe me an explanation about why you want it. I think I’ve told you quite a bit on faith so far, but now you need to give me something.”
Stone was hoping to get a bit further along before arriving at this point, but it couldn’t be helped. In truth, his grudging respect for Suzanne Washburn was increasing. She might be a magical fraud, but it wasn’t a crime to be interested in the supernatural without having any talent for it.
“All right,” he said. “Fair enough. You have a right to know.” He took a deep breath, then spoke with care: “I have reason to believe that something in your rituals might be related to the recent murders, as well as a smaller number that occurred twenty-seven years ago.”
She gaped at him, eyes wide, mouth open. Her hand closed convulsively around her iced-tea glass, making it rattle the table’s glass top. She swallowed a couple of times. Clearly, whatever she’d been thinking he might say, this wasn’t even in the same time zone. “You—think we had something to do with the murders?” Her gaze cut to Lopez and then back to Stone. “That’s—that’s horrible, Dr. Stone. How could you think we—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t believe it was intentional,” he said. “Not at all. You said you believed in spirits—I think what happened is that something in one of your rituals might have accidentally called a spirit. And that spirit is what’s been doing the killing.”