At first she was afraid that Molly would not heed her words. Then she looked up from the bag and what she saw in Molly’s face reassured her. “A medicine bag,” Molly said. “I’ve heard of these.”
Aquene was satisfied that Molly understood the importance of her gift. Molly had her magic and Aquene hers. Perhaps together it would prove to be enough. “Let us finish this,” Aquene said as she turned and began the final trek toward the cabin.
* * *
The nearer she came to him, the more Matthew could sense her. It was always that way as a hunt neared its conclusion, which was the main reason he was the only official Witch-Finder. No one else had ever come close to matching his unique ability to track witches. His only regret about his life-long calling was that Parliament had refused to officially bestow his title upon him. Oh, they were grateful enough for his fine work, but the bastards had denied him his due. After his death, his chance for validation from Parliament was lost. No matter. The remunerations were plenty and had served him well. Vindication was his in the end. Over the years, his fortune had grown even larger, ultimately far surpassing the wealth of those who had refused to bestow upon him his rightful title.
He would receive no pay for this one and was not sorry. This was personal. The witch who had hung by her neck from this very tree had defied him, even in death, and that could not be allowed to stand. Rest would not come until he had rectified that oversight. He was unable to return to the softer, gentler life that he was due until he put this witch down. He could not go to his heavenly father’s side until then. She was the key to stopping this family once and for all, and that prospect held a great deal of satisfaction.
He slipped between the branches of several small evergreens so that he was out of sight yet still could see the tree where his noose awaited her slim, white neck. He knew many ways to catch witches, many ways to prove they were the devil’s daughters. He had no need of proof in this case, for he was certain of what she was. He did not need to coax a confession. All he required was to get the rope around her neck and build a fire at her feet.
It would be glorious.
Faintly, sounds began to drift his way. No longer did just a feeling let him know she was coming. Now he could hear her footsteps as well. Good. The sun was beginning to set, and the sky would soon grow dark. He wanted her suspended from his rope with the fire blazing before the sun dropped behind the mountains. That she was so near let him know his plans would be fulfilled.
Just in case, he had his pistol in one hand. He hoped to be able to capture her without need of the gun. Using it could take away from him his greatest pleasure: witnessing a witch succumb to the flames while knowing he was the one who had ended her evil life. Or him, though in his experience, primarily women consorted with the devil. With the exception of a few, men had more sense.
A sound near the cabin made him turn his head. It didn’t seem likely that the man inside would rouse himself. In fact, it did not seem likely that the man inside would ever stand again, for death was whispering in his ear. He was not wrong. No one stood in the open doorway, though a rabbit bounced by the cabin, to shortly thereafter disappear into the underbrush. Later, he might very well go in search of that rabbit or its friends. He could use a good, hot meal.
He turned his gaze back toward the tree and smiled. Coming through the trees and into the clearing was the one he had been waiting for. He had no doubt she was the witch, for her face was one he knew well. It was the same face he had watched burn as the woman hung from this very tree a year ago.
Chapter Thirty-one
Molly had never been so glad to see a building, as clichéd as that sounded. Seeing the cabin was like setting eyes on the Davenport Hotel in downtown Spokane. Though the Davenport was a gorgeous piece of Spokane history with its marble lobby, flowing fountains, and luxurious rooms, this rough little cabin represented something safe and familiar in a world gone decidedly wonky. Four walls and a roof were comforts from God or, as Aquene would insist, the Great Spirit.
The only problem? Her nerves started screaming so bad she wanted to jump and run in the opposite direction. Like literally want to jump and run. Or throw up. She reached back where Aquene was standing directly behind her and took her hand. Throughout this whole ordeal, Aquene had been steady and pretty damned calm. The hand she held now was shaking just like her own. She should be surprised by that, but she wasn’t. The more time they spent together, the more in tune with each other they became. In other words, Aquene was picking up the same thing she was.
“He’s here.” She wasn’t posing a question. Aquene might not have eyes-on, but Molly knew she was as aware of his proximity as she was. He was nearby, a presence so palpable it was like the thick air of a New Orleans summer afternoon. Not seen but felt nonetheless.
Aquene pulled her back several steps so they stood behind a couple of close-together trees. “He is waiting to harm us.” Her voice was calm, even though Molly still felt the tremors in her hand.
Aquene was partly right. “I think he’s waiting to harm me.” Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She had no intention of letting some creep get the drop on her. “We have to stop him.” Today was not the day she wished to die.
“We must stop him,” Aquene echoed.
Now that they were finally coming face-to-face, she felt the pressing weight of her responsibility. As Hannah had written, she had to be a warrior. But how? He was hiding somewhere, just as they were now using the pines as cover. How could she go on the offensive if she didn’t know where he was? Then it hit her. Use what she’d been blessed with.
She closed her eyes and could swear the odor of unwashed skin, sweat, and hatred overcame her. It was the first time she’d ever believed hatred could manifest in a tangible sense, but there it was, real enough to touch. Keeping her eyes closed, she told herself to relax and silently called on the Old Ways to help guide her. She prayed for the strength of her mother, her grandmother, her aunts…Hannah, to bolster her. It worked.
Before her eyes, a kind of movie played in slow motion. In it she saw the man in his wool pants and overcoat, black hat on his head and an antique gun in his hand. He crouched behind thick shrubs, his eyes on the tree with the burned branches. His face was narrow and, most prominently, mean. His eyes were dark, as if they had absolutely no life in them. She suspected that was true. A slight smile crossed his lips as he watched her step out of the trees and then step back into them. His entire posture changed, and it reminded her of a cougar getting ready to attack. He’d been anxiously waiting for her, and now his wait was over. His excitement smelled acrid.
Molly opened her eyes and knew what she had to do. Taking Aquene’s face between her hands, she kissed her quickly. The sweetness of her lips was all she needed for the last ounce of courage. “We have to surprise him if we have any hope of ending this. He’s in the group of bushes near the tree. Can you move around that way,” she pointed to her right, “while I draw him out from this direction.”
Aquene nodded, and Molly couldn’t believe how something so simple as a nod could make her feel hopeful. “I will move silently.”
“Great. It’s going to take both of us to get him down. He’s stronger than he looks, especially for a small guy.”
In the vision, she’d seen clearly that he was like most men of his era, slight and short. This size was a cover for the monster that unquestionably lay beneath the facade. Seeing his face put everything in the grimoire into focus. It all made sense at a deeply spiritual level. Or was that at a deeply familial level? She suspected it was most assuredly the latter.
Aquene moved away from her and, as promised, didn’t make a sound. Molly gave her a couple of minutes to get around so that she was coming at small, dark, and dangerous from the side. When she felt relatively certain Aquene was positioned well, she threw her shoulders back and walked out from behind the cover in the trees and into the open space with her head held high.
She had only one thing to do once she knew she
was in his sights. She thought of her mom and knew that if she were standing beside her now, she’d be proud. Lifting her hands into the air, she said, “Come all together inside this circle, and the secrets that are as yet unknown shall be revealed. True to my belief and as keeper of the Old Ways, I remove all obstacles, for here lies the key to end the cycle of rebirth that has opened the way for evil. I am the spirit of the great ones, and I call upon their wisdom to reveal the truth and the way.”
* * *
Winnie felt the pressure. Her arms were screaming from the weight of the full kettle, and her legs were objecting to the speed she was trying to coax out of them. She was accustomed to being on her feet for hours in the kitchen. She was not, however, one of those women who aspired to ninja-warrior-type endeavors, so trying to run with a heavy kettle through unfamiliar and uneven ground was totally out of her wheelhouse. It weighed a ton, and that handle was killing her hands. At least she didn’t have any more tripping mishaps. The little things made her happy.
The sky overhead was growing darker by the minute. If she didn’t haul ass, the sun would set before she got back to Angus. That was not an option. Not at all. So she pulled up her big-girl panties and moved as fast as she could. If only she hadn’t had that first crash. Going back to fill the kettle a second time had cost her precious time she didn’t have. No sense obsessing over spilt milk…or water…It was time to simply get back to Angus.
God, she hoped Molly was on her way to the cabin as well. She had to be. Where else could she go? It was the only common denominator in this twisted world they’d discovered themselves in. Molly had to show up soon. It scared her to think otherwise, and she had enough other scary things going on to add one more to the mix. If ever she needed Molly and the wicked magic she knew Molly had inside her, it was now. Besides bringing the cool water to Angus, she pinned her hopes on Molly’s powers to get them home. She was no nurse and had very basic first-aid skills. She could wrap up a cut with the best of them. A snake bite? Not quite in her skill set. Still, she knew enough to realize that Angus was in trouble. That snake bite would kill him if they didn’t get him back to advanced medical care, and soon. As in very soon.
After running and jumping over fallen trees and protruding rocks for at least fifteen minutes, she had to stop even though she knew it was a pretty bad idea. Winnie swore her arms were about to pop right out of their sockets if she didn’t give them a rest. Sinking to a fallen tree, she managed to gently set the kettle on the ground despite her shaking arms. Her whole body relaxed once the weight was off, and she closed her eyes. Weariness made her shoulders droop. What she wouldn’t do for a bed. The respite was incredible. She could sit here for hours. Throw in a glass of wine and it would be a nice long sit. She wouldn’t, of course, but oh how she could. In the distance, a scream cut through the air. Her eyes snapped open, and she jumped up as though she’d been shot. Her heart pounded because the scream came from the direction of the cabin. Angus? God, no. What had she been thinking? She never should have stopped. She started to run again and then stopped herself. After turning, she raced back to where she’d left the kettle on the ground. The water was as precious as gold to her right now. As she picked up the cast-iron container and once more began to run, her muscles protested again. This time she didn’t even worry if some of the water splashed out. Her feet flew over the branches and fallen trees, and she ignored the pain in her quads. None of it mattered—not the bodily pain or the protection of the life-saving water. The time to be careful had passed like a flash of lightning.
Chapter Thirty-two
Aquene was grateful for the lessons both the men and women of her people had passed down to her. The teachings all had their place, and right now she embraced the role of careful hunter. Molly was right in her thought that they must come at the man from two different directions. She was as sneaky as a predator.
On silent feet, she had moved through the tree cover until she crouched a short distance from him. He had not heard her, as she had known he would not. Her abilities as a hunter equaled those of most men, and of that she was proud, as was her father. Little did she understand that, as she had learned from the most accomplished, she would one day use those skills to hunt a man. She wondered now if the Great Spirit had spoken to her father, for throughout her life he had shared with her the same lessons he would have had she been a male. It seemed to her on this day that all the lessons her father taught and the skills he shared had brought her to this moment and to this man.
In her heart, she sensed that he was no ordinary man, not only a man. All her teachers, her father included, had talked of spirits that breached the worlds of both the living and the dead and embraced the essence of either good or evil. As she peered through the brush that separated them, she could see his face. So serene and ordinary on the surface, his expression was designed to trick the unwary. She was not fooled. He was far from ordinary. The blackness that he held inside him was as clear to her as if she could actually see inside his body. He embodied the evil that she had been warned of all her life.
The air around her was charged, as if a storm was on its way, and indeed, it was a storm in its own way. This was the moment she had been waiting for since she had pulled herself onto Tilla’s back and ridden away from her friends and family. It was the end of the journey that had been set for her. She did not yet know exactly how it would end, only that on this day, this night, it would.
From the sheath at her waist she pulled the knife she always wore. It was an exceptionally fine knife that she had traded many pelts to obtain, one of her most treasured possessions. A bow would be a more efficient weapon in this instance, but hers was wherever Tilla was now, and that, she felt certain, was back with Alumpum. She could use the knife as well as anyone, and thus not having a bow did not distress her. The knife was effective, and she was comfortable with it.
In their time together, she knew that Molly carried little that would gain her advantage in a fight. Anything of physical strength, that is, for Molly possessed something otherworldly that had its own great power. It could very well be the only weapon that could defeat the monster she could see peering out from the cover of the brush in the exact direction of where Molly hid behind some large pines.
As much as Aquene wanted to charge and take the man by surprise, she also worried that the element of surprise was a false belief. Somewhere inside her was a whisper telling her that he knew she was here, and should she charge him, he would kill her as though she were little more than a deer for slaughter. Molly must head the attack. In every hunt, one warrior would lead the others. Aquene had to be patient and wait, for on this night, that warrior was Molly.
The twilight was charged as though lightning was ready to explode across the sky. The scent of the charred wood of the tree was bitter on the air, making her eyes sting. Overhead, the hoot of an owl sent a chill through her body, for it brought with it the promise of death. His, she prayed. Aquene forced herself to still and wait.
She did not have to wait long. While she expected Molly to come into the clearing with a mighty charge, she was surprised when instead she walked out slowly and raised her arms to the sky. The words she spoke were calm and measured, yet with each word, power gathered around her like a thick, warm cloak. It became so thick and alive that Aquene was surprised she could not see it. It was the most impressive sight she had ever seen.
She continued to remain motionless and hidden, her eyes on Molly. She understood what she was doing. She was calling on the strength of the Old Ones, and they were answering. When her words trailed off, she waited still. Something whispered in her ear: he must make the first move, and then he did. He was smiling as he revealed himself, stepping, as Molly had done mere minutes earlier, into the clearing. He walked like a man who believed himself to be better than others. She had come to know more than one like him.
“At last we meet,” he said with a voice that held no fear.
“Now,” the wind whispered, and it was the si
gn Aquene waited for. Her knife held tight in her hand, she moved from the cover of the trees and into the clearing steps behind the man. She focused on her prey and nothing else.
The sound registered in her ears only moments before pain seared through her body. The hand holding the knife dropped to her side and she stopped to stare down at a spreading red stain at her middle. It was not right. How could this be? He was not close enough to touch her, but her body told her differently. It was if he had pierced her body with the blade of a knife, and yet he was many steps away. When she looked up, he was smiling at her, an unknown object in his hand and pointed at her.
“One must appreciate new weapons,” he said as he turned it this way and that. “They call it a revolver. Take another step, squaw, and I will demonstrate why.” He once again held it steady and pointed at her.
“Aquene!” Molly started to race toward her.
The pain in her body was red-hot. She ignored it as she focused her gaze on Molly. She had to make her understand that Aquene’s life was of no importance. It was Molly who must win this battle. “No!” Aquene’s harsh word halted Molly. “You must stop him.” Darkness began to settle over her vision, but before it went completely black she saw something that made her want to cry. Moving with the speed of big cat, the man had used the moments that Molly was looking toward her and not at him to put a rope around her neck.
* * *
It never failed. They were, simply put, not smart enough to escape him. They always made an attempt. They were always disastrous. She came out of the woods with her little spell on her lips, and all it took to disorient her was a single shot right to the middle of a native woman. The ease of it made him laugh. Despite all the time it had taken to ride around the countryside to track the witch, it had been over in a matter of seconds. Oh, there was no doubt, he was the best for a reason. No one escaped the Witch-Finder, despite their continual efforts to do so.
Walking Through Shadows Page 22