BONES OF A WITCH (Detective Marcella Witch's Series. Book 4)

by Dana Donovan

  We had just started for the car when I spotted Carlos together with another gentleman walking toward us. Right away I knew the other guy was a cop. The first give-away was his manner of dress. We plainclothesmen all have the same street smart sense of fashion, only it’s always at least two years out of date. But the biggest give-away was Carlos, or more accurately his walk: shoulders back, chest out. You see, anytime he’s with one or more cops he always tries to be the tallest in the group. With anyone else he slouches, usually with his hands in his pockets. It’s a small thing, I know, but it’s one of the little quirks that endear him to me.

  “Tony,” he said, after meeting up with the girls and me half way. “This is Detective Dave Chandler of the Salem PD. He has a few questions for you.”

  “Oh?” I put my hand out. “Detective, pleasure to meet you.”

  “Same here,” he said, and he shook my hand with a quick but firm grip. “Actually, it’s these young ladies I need to chat with.”

  Lilith stepped between us. “We’ve already given full statements to the lead investigating officer, Detective. I’m not sure if there is anything else we can add to it.”

  “Yes, I understand, but we have a new development and I just need to ask you a couple of questions about it.”

  “New development?” I looked to Carlos and could tell from the expression on his face that he knew what it was and that it was a biggie. “Have you apprehended Putnam?”

  “We have,” the detective answered. “That is to say, we found him. He’s dead.”

  “Ha!” said Lilith. “Good riddance to him.”

  I inserted my arm between Lilith and Detective Chandler and eased her out of the circle. “I don’t understand. How did he die? Did Spinelli shoot him?”

  I looked at Carlos again; his face lit up like a neon sign. I knew it was killing him that he couldn’t be the one to tell me.

  “No, it wasn’t your detective. It looks like an animal got him; tore him apart something awful. That’s what I wanted to ask these ladies about.” He stepped around me to gain direct access to both Lilith and Ursula. “Either of you see anything prowling around these parts tonight?”

  “Prowling?” said Lilith. I knew she knew something.

  “Yes, you know, like a wolf or a bear?”

  “How `bout a big cat?”

  “Sure, maybe a big cat. You see such a thing?”

  She pursed her lips momentarily and broke them apart with a tisk noise. “Nope, nothing like that.”

  He looked to Ursula. “Miss?”

  Ursula shook her head slowly, seemingly giving more consideration to her response than Lilith had given to hers. “For certain I have not, kind sir,” she answered, her voice sounding soft and fragile. “But forgive me my thoughts, for I could suffer no longer Mister Putnam’s cruelty and I pray he hath found solace with the devil.”

  Chandler looked at her strangely, thinned his lips and dropped a subtle nod. “I see.”

  We stood there then, the four of us looking at Ursula staring down at the ground in solemn reflection. Detective Chandler could not know the horrors she had experienced at the hands of Putnam and those like him back in seventeenth-century Salem, but it seemed his capacity for intimate cognition allowed him a connection of vicarious existence with others. And I sensed this connection he had with Ursula. In some ways I felt that he, too, may have journeyed through stagnant glitches in time, only to find himself standing right back where he started. I suppose stranger things have happened.

  “Well, if there is nothing else,” said Lilith, clapping her hands clean. “It’s a long ride home. Detective?”

  Chandler shook Lilith’s hand. “Miss. Adams, thank you.” He then shook mine, Carlos’ and Ursula’s, and stepped aside for us to pass. We walked off together, but as we began piling into the car, I noticed Chandler talking to the young paramedic who had given Lilith such a hard time; or she him.

  He told me when we walked off together that he heard what Lilith said. I supposed he meant he heard what she said about her blood pressure. If he believed it, or worse, if Chandler believed it, then I guessed we might not have heard the last of the Putnam/Hilton story. Lilith seemed none too worried, though, and neither did Carlos. The first thing out of his mouth after we hit the road was when do we eat? Some things never change, and I find that strangely comforting.

  Lilith Adams:

  Tony seemed grumpier than usual for the first week or so after we got back from Salem. He blamed it on me because I asked him to sleep on the couch so that Ursula could have his bedroom.

  “Why can’t I just sleep with you?” he asked. Sure, like I was going to let that happen. “It’s not as though we haven’t slept together all night before.”

  “Tony, if I let you sleep with me every night, then you’re going to want to…you know, every night.”

  “No I won’t. I’ll just be glad to have a soft bed to sleep on so that I can go to work in the morning without being all stiff and sore.”

  “Yeah, well it’s you getting all stiff and sore at night that I’m worried about.”

  “Lilith.”

  All right, so the following weekend I let him sleep in my bed. And just as I suspected (okay, maybe planned) he wanted to fool around all night. But I’m an understanding girl; I figured what could it hurt? I also didn’t see any harm in understanding again the next morning. After all, he was all stiff and sore. Afterwards, we were just lying there catching our breaths, when he said to me, “Man that was wild. I hope we didn’t wake Ursula.”

  “Ursula?” I said. “I think she’s up and out already.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  “To the hospital to see Dominic. He’s getting out this morning.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yes. You know he’s asked to see her every day this week. I think he’s got a thing for her.”

  “I’m sure he does. She’s beautiful.”

  “Oh?” I rolled onto my side to give him the benefit of looking me in the eyes. “More beautiful than me?”

  He laughed nervously. “Lilith, she looks just like you.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “Yeah, but not exactly.”

  He sighed, which made me think it was time to kick his ass out of bed. But then he got wise and said, “Well, no. Not exactly.”

  “Go on.”

  He traced my brow with the tip of his finger. “She does have those high, thin eyebrows that make her look like she’s always scheming.”

  “And?”

  He slid his fingers down my cheek and skirted them over my mouth. “And when she smiles, her lips pinch a little tight at the dimples, and you can never be a hundred percent sure she isn’t secretly gritting her teeth.”

  Okay, I admit he can be charming sometimes. “What else?”

  “Her eyes.”

  “What about`em.”

  “They’re so big and black that at night you can’t tell if she’s looking at you or through you.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

  “And her nose….”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Ah, well there’s nothing about her nose. It’s perfectly beautiful.”

  “Perfectly?”

  “Yes, but not as perfect as yours, which leads me to the conclusion that you are by far more beautiful than Ursula in every respect.”

  “You’re damn straight.”

  I rolled over onto my pillow and laced my fingers up behind my head. As I lay there staring at the ceiling and watching the fan swirl in lazy loops, my mind drifted off in wonder of what might become of Ursula. I couldn’t imagine dropping out of one century like she did and popping up in another that had advanced exponentially over the previous three.

  Had she jumped from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century I doubt she would have noticed much difference. What must she think of twenty-first century’s astounding advances over hers? I thought the grimoire might have a spell or two in it that could possibly get Ursula back to her own place in time if sh
e wanted to go, but before I could finish that thought, Tony said, “I didn’t see anything.”

  I turned my head to find him staring up at the fan with that same look of wonder in his eyes. “What did you say?”

  He rocked his head back to look at me. “I said I didn’t see anything.”

  “Where?”

  “In the Grimoire.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You were wondering about a spell to send Ursula back to her own place in time.”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t see anything in the Grimoire about that.”

  “Tony, you realize I didn’t say that out loud.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Huh.”

  “Huh? That’s all you have to say?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know. How `bout saying, hey look at me. I was just reading your thoughts?”

  “Alright, hey look at me. I was—”

  “Not now, damnit. Tony, this is what I was talking about. You’ve got the power. The witchcraft is in you. Embrace it. Work with it.”

  “Like you did last week?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you did something, you turned yourself into a tiger, or a jaguar or whatever it was that killed Putnam.”

  “Oh, that’s just foolish.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “So, you don’t ever shape shift. Is that it?”

  “I said it’s foolish, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but you didn’t deny it.”

  “Go make some coffee.”

  “See, this is exactly my point. You want me to practice witchcraft, yet you deny its potential. You never even told me about the gate key.”

  “I told you about the gate key.”

  “Sure, last week, but you’ve been hounding me for over a year to try harder, practice more, focus my attention. Why didn’t you tell me about the key earlier?”

  “I didn’t tell you because….”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. The gate key was the biggest secret my family ever kept. I guess I just couldn’t bring myself to open up that door.”

  “Lilith, you know how hard I’ve been trying to manage this whole back to prime thing. Why would you let me struggle like that?”

  “I told you I don’t know. Cut me some slack.”

  “You cut me some slack. Haven’t we been through enough together to earn each other’s trust?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then.” He rolled his eyes back up at the fan. “You know I pulled off a level three spell last week.”

  “You?” I propped myself up on one elbow and looked at him to see if he was smiling. “I don’t believe it.”

  “No. Ask Carlos and Spinelli. I tried the cloaking spell out on Froggy and he never saw me. It’s like I disappeared entirely, like a ghost. Poof!”

  “Yeah, poof my ass. Like a ghost, huh? That figures.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, you know how it is. Every time I ask you to do something around the house you go off and disappear.”

  “Oh, do I?” He pushed me onto my back and rolled over on top of me. “Well what would you say if I told you that this ghost wants to go another round with you?”

  I tried to push him off but he wouldn’t let me. “I’d say forget it. Three times is enough.”

  “But ghosts never tire.”

  “Tony, I’m warning you.”

  “All right, fine.”

  He rolled off me and climbed out of bed. I sat up and watched him collect his pants off the floor; the morning sun streaming through the window caressing his buttocks in a warm candle-like glow. I began thinking that maybe I acted a little too hastily. I fluffed his pillow and patted the mattress beside me.

  “On second thought,” I said, sizzling the ‘S’ a little. “I guess it is still early. Why don’t you come back to bed and we’ll, you know—talk.”

  He turned around, allowing the sunbeam to spotlight his more indulgent attributes. “Talk?”

  I flopped back on the pillow, folded my arms up over my head and grabbed hold of the headboard. “Yeah, or whatever.”

  I could see him thinking about it, his sensuous stare bathing me in long, slow brush strokes as if wondering where to start. An electric rush shot through my body as his gaze glazed over me like honey. I stretched one leg out straight, and then the other, kicking the sheets to the floor and pointing my toes up in the air, wiggling them in anticipation.

  He smiled. I smiled. My eyes spilled down his chest, past his washboard stomach to his sunlit pride and the growing shadow it cast. I reached out to touch him there with my toe and he slipped back a step. Our eyes met again. He was still smiling, teasingly. I scooted down some; my back arched, my fingers splayed on outstretched hand coaxing him gently. Again he slipped back, and now his smile seemed perfectly wicked to me. I propped myself up on my elbows and scowled at him deeply. “What’s this?” I said. “Are you dissing me?”

  “Dissing you? No.” He stepped into his jeans, buttoned the top snap and pulled up his zipper. “I’m going to go make the coffee.”

  “Well excuse me, Mister. Horny witch here.”

  He shook his head lightly. “Nah, I think I’ll pass, but thanks.”

  “Pass? You think you’ll pass on this?”

  “Yeah. You want toast?”

  I grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him. “Screw your toast, and enjoy it, because this is the last time you screw me, buster.”

  “What? Lilith, come on. You’re the one who said no to me first. I was already out of bed and you—”

  “And I, like a fool, called you back. Remember this day, Tony.” I grabbed the other pillow and pitched it at his head. “Now get out of my room, and take a good look around on your way out; it’s the last time you’re ever going to see it.”

  “Lilith, please, don’t….”

  “Out!”

  He turned and scooted out the door, closing it only half way, but making a noticeable retreat with heavy footfalls down the hall on his way to the kitchen.

  I dropped back onto the mattress and laid there awhile, staring up at the fan and wondering what the hell had just happened. I never thought I’d see the day when Tony Marcella would pass up all this for a cup of coffee.

  My instincts told me he was up to something, but a small piece of me (a very small piece) wondered if maybe he was losing his attraction to me. I’m not usually prone to such bouts of insecurities, but come on, what was a girl to think?

  I waited until I could smell the coffee brewing before making up my mind to get up and get dressed. I had just sat up when the bedroom door suddenly shut tight. I turned to see if the window was open. It was not, which seemed strange, because a cross breeze coming from the hall would have blown the door open, not closed.

  Off in the corner, a chair moved, as if bumped into lightly. My heart began pounding. Something unnatural was happening and I couldn’t imagine what. I thought of calling for Tony, but my pride wouldn’t let me. After all, I had just told him that I’d never let him set foot in my bedroom ever again, and by ever I meant three days—a week max.

  After half a minute, I began to think that it was all in my head. Nothing happened since I thought I saw the chair move. I sat up straight, my back against the headboard; my knees bent to my chest. I could feel my heart settling down again, and the chill that had found its way up my spine was now gone.

  See, I thought, I didn’t need Tony after all. I took a deep breath and let it out with a pucker, feeling just a bit silly for letting myself get spooked in broad daylight. But just as I was ready to get out of bed, I felt a pair of hands seize my ankles and jerk my legs out from under me. I grabbed hold of the headboard and let out a scream loud enough for Tony to hear from a mile away.
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  The phantom force continuing pulling at my ankles until my body was stretched out straight and levitated over the mattress. Again I screamed, but still Tony didn’t come to my rescue. I remember thinking, I know what this is. It’s Hilton’s ghost seeking his revenge. His hands, stronger in death than in life, were going to work their way up to my neck and choke the life out of me.

  “TONY!” I screamed, my voice cracking in high-pitched syllables. “HELP ME!”

  But he didn’t come. I imagined it was because Hilton’s ghost had already laid waste to Tony’s bones out in the kitchen—probably took him by surprise as he took me. Poor Tony, he never had a chance. I wanted to kill Hilton all over again. I thought I might, too. There’s a spell in the grimoire for such a thing. It requires a dash of pebble dust from Wraith Mountain, a hilltop accessible only at night on a witch’s moon. And it just so happens I keep a stash of it handy in the nightstand. Coincidence, you might think, but I like to be prepared.

  I let go of the headboard with one hand and started reaching for the top drawer of the nightstand. That’s when I felt the grip around my ankles loosen. I froze, thinking he had given up, but then I felt the full weight of a man on top of me, weighing my naked body down on the mattress with absolutely no wiggle room.

  He grabbed my wrists and forced them back over my head; and the worst of it—he was naked, too. I could feel his…you know what probing about most rudely. I know. You wouldn’t expect that from a ghost. But you know the funny thing is…well, it wasn’t that bad.

  He felt warm and soft all over, except for that one special area, of course, which felt warm and hard. And even though he was pinning my arms up over my head, he seemed unusually gentle otherwise. I found myself relaxing, suspecting now that it wasn’t Hilton’s ghost on top of me, but someone very familiar. I closed my eyes and let him in, and when he let go of my hands I wrapped my arms and legs around his body and squeezed him tightly.

  “Mmm, I know it’s you,” I said softly in his ear. “That’s a pretty good trick: A level three, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Didn’t expect it, did you?” he said.