Witching Moon

by Rebecca York

  “Stop it,” he ordered again, this time speaking the words aloud because he needed to hear them, as he plunged into the swamp.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  SARA HESITATED FOR a few moments. She needed to lie down, but she wanted to be ready to leave the moment she found out Adam was safe.

  So she kicked off her shoes, then folded back the spread on the double bed and lay down. As she closed her eyes, she told herself she had to relax, despite the pain pounding in her head.

  Adam had come back to her safe and sound when he’d gone into town to look for the witches. But now he had marched off into danger again and she’d wanted to beg him to stay out of the line of fire. Especially when he was risking his life for a man who might not be worth it.

  Unable to lie still, she sat up and fluffed the pillows behind her head. Her eyes stared unfocused at the striped wallpaper on the wall.

  She hadn’t liked Austen Barnette when she’d met him. Despite how she felt about him, she knew he was in a horrible situation. Unfortunately, that situation had put Adam in danger.

  Pressing her fist to her mouth, she struggled not to scream out her fear and frustration.

  She had to stop thinking about Adam, had to stop worrying about him.

  So she focused again on her father. She still hadn’t gotten over the shock of finding out his identity. And she still didn’t know how she felt about him. He’d abandoned her all those years ago.

  Well, not abandoned, exactly. But it had felt like that to the little girl he’d left to the kindness of strangers.

  She’d grown to love those strangers. They had given her a warm, supportive home. A good foundation in life. But she’d always known a piece of her heritage was missing.

  She’d met her father tonight, and she’d walked away from him because she’d been in shock. Could she forgive him? She didn’t know. But he had brought her back to Wayland. He had made contact with her, although he hadn’t said who he was.

  Maybe he’d been afraid she’d reject him, which was what it looked like she had done. But when she thought about it more objectively, she could see it would be a terrible shame if she never got to know him as an adult.

  Her mind made another leap back to the Olakompa. Adam and the sheriff were out there somewhere. She kept picturing the vast wilderness area. The trees blocking out the light. An alligator sliding into dark water.

  Then she was seeing a group of naked men and women, their bodies painted with bright slashes and circles, dancing wildly. This time the campfire wasn’t the only focus. This time, as they gyrated, they also circled around a tree. And tied to the trunk was a naked man, his face a mask of terror.

  She gasped when she saw it was Barnette.

  There was no way to know if the image was real or if she had made it up. But it stayed firmly in her brain like a piece of festering shrapnel.

  THE dancing stopped, and a hush fell over the group. Falcon stepped up to the old man who was sagging against the bonds that held him.

  He struggled to stand up straighter as the leader of the clan approached him. Falcon counted that as a mark of respect—for all the good it would do the old bastard.

  “Listen up,” he said.

  Barnette tried to focus on him. The smoke had whacked him out some, but not completely.

  “You didn’t give Jenna Foster a chance,” Falcon said. “But we’re going to give you one. We’re going to let you loose. We’ll give you a head start. And if you can keep us from finding you until it gets dark, we’ll let you go.”

  Barnette struggled to keep his eyes in focus.

  With the delicacy of a surgeon, Falcon cut the old man’s bonds and pulled the rope away.

  “Go on. Git!” he ordered.

  Barnette wavered on his feet as he looked around at the circle of faces.

  Then he made a moaning sound and staggered off into the underbrush.

  “How long do we give him?” Copperhead asked.

  “It won’t be any fun if we go after him right away.”

  “We could lose him,” Razorback muttered.

  “You think so? I think he’s going to leave a trail an elephant would envy.”

  The rest of the clan snickered. Razorback flushed and clamped his teeth together.

  PAUL Delacorte kicked at the cold ashes of the campfire. He had been sure the witches would be here again. But he had been wrong. And now he had no idea where to look for them.

  He removed the phone from the holder on his belt and dialed the private line that would connect him to Adam.

  After several rings, the park ranger answered. “I can’t stay on long,” he said.

  “What’s up?”

  “I had to take my gas mask off to talk to you. And I have to put it back on pretty soon.”

  “You’re using it?”

  “Yeah. There’s drugged smoke here.”

  “Where?”

  “Near that cabin where Sara was living. You’ll know by the fumes. Gotta go.”

  The line went dead.

  Paul sucked in a deep breath. He smelled something strange. Something evil. He remembered Adam’s description of the stuff. It was nasty.

  Unpacking his gas mask, he pulled it over his head.

  ADAM wavered on his feet and shot out a hand to steady himself against a tree trunk. He’d had the mask partially off for less than a minute, and his head was swimming.

  Shit. He shouldn’t have answered the phone. But he’d had to do it in case Delacorte had some important information.

  Now his brain felt like cottage cheese. He sat down heavily, staring off into the distance, trying to remember where he was and why he was here. And the damn Halloween mask over his face was choking off his breath. What he needed was air.

  He reached up to free his nose and mouth. Then he stayed his hand.

  The thing that felt like it was cutting off his oxygen was a gas mask. He’d put it on because of the drugged smoke. And he’d gotten a couple breaths of the stuff just then. Only a few breaths, and his brain had gone mushy. Because it was worse for him than for other people. It took only a little bit to turn him into a space cadet.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, thinking of Sara. Thinking about how much he wanted to be with her. To be holding her in his arms.

  She should be here with him. She’d like the smoke. It made him feel really good. She would feel good, too. The witches had used it for sex. That sounded like fun.

  He blinked. Not good. Bad. This stuff was bad, and he wasn’t responding normally.

  He hadn’t gotten too much of it. Just a little. He was going to be okay if he just sat here for a few minutes.

  SARA’S body jerked, then went rigid. Another picture leaped into her mind. Once again she saw the wild, natural landscape of the Olakompa. But the dancers were gone.

  The scene was calm. Still.

  She recognized the location because it was right near her cabin. Well, not the cabin where she was living now. The cabin that belonged to Austen Barnette.

  In the center of the mental picture was a figure sitting with his back propped against a tree trunk. A man, wearing a camouflage shirt and pants. But his face…his face was so strange: elongated like an animal’s muzzle, but with the features obscured.

  She made a small, strangled noise. Her head pounded as if someone were using it for a drum set. Her vision blurred, but she struggled to understand what she was seeing.

  Was it Adam—his face turning to that of a wolf? No. That was no wolf. As she tried to take in more details, she focused on the man’s hair. Black hair. Cut just a little too long.

  It was Adam. Or someone who looked just like him from the forehead up.

  And there was something over his face. Something she’d seen before in a movie or on television.

  She wasn’t sure what it was. Some kind of protection? Then the answer leaped into her mind. It was a gas mask, attached by straps that went over the top and sides of his
head.

  She watched another figure appear in the scene. A naked man staggering out of the swamp, staggering toward Adam, screaming something she couldn’t hear.

  Mud coated his feet and legs. Long scratches ran down his thighs and across his chest. His gray hair was matted to his head. His features were contorted with terror and pain. But she knew who it was: Austen Barnette.

  She had seen him with the witches. Now he was fleeing through the swamp. Naked as the day he was born. Had he somehow gotten away?

  He ran up to Adam, clutching at him, clawing at the mask that obscured his face.

  Adam raised his hands, but they seemed to move in slow motion. She watched as the mask came off his face so that she could see his reddened skin and the wide, vacant look in his eyes.

  She was out of bed and pulling on her shoes before she knew what she was going to do.

  RAZORBACK poured water on the fire.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Falcon demanded.

  “Getting rid of the damn smoke.”

  “Why?” the leader of the clan demanded.

  “’Cause I was thinkin’ we need to be on top of the situation here. People could be looking for Barnette. What if they find us, and we’re all wasted?”

  “There’s no they. There’s only Marshall.”

  “He could have figured out we don’t give a shit about the money. He could have gotten help.”

  Some of the clan murmured their agreement. Falcon’s eyes narrowed. Razorback was challenging his authority. And that was bad. Bad for him. Bad for the group. But maybe the guy was right. Maybe they’d had enough of the smoke.

  “Come on, we’ve given Barnette enough time. Let’s go find out if a gator’s got him. Or if we need to finish him off ourselves.”

  There were shouts of agreement from the clan. Falcon had them back in hand. But over Starflower’s head, his gaze met Razorback’s eyes, and he knew this wasn’t the end of the rebellion.

  SARA came pounding down the stairs and into the kitchen, her eyes wide. Tyreen must have been keeping a lookout for her, or maybe she’d simply heard the heavy footsteps, because she came running toward the back of the house.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

  Sara dragged in a shuddering breath. “Adam is in trouble!”

  “I didn’t hear the phone ring. Did you get a call on your cell phone?”

  Sara swallowed, thinking about what she could possibly say that wasn’t going to sound completely crazy. “I…I had a dream…” she said.

  “You dreamed something bad?”

  “Yes. But I know it’s true! Adam is in trouble. I have to go to him.”

  When the woman only stared at her, Sara blurted, “My…my dreams can be about things that are really happening.”

  Tyreen spoke gently. “Honey, you need to calm yourself. You’re under a lot of pressure right now. And your imagination is working overtime.”

  Sara clenched her hands at her sides. She knew that Adam was in terrible danger. She also knew with absolute certainty that there wasn’t going to be any way to convince Tyreen of that.

  Sara’s gaze flicked to the black purse sitting on the kitchen counter—and the key ring next to it—before she brought her attention back to Tyreen. “I…I’m really worried…” she murmured. “Could you call Sheriff Delacorte and find out what’s happening?”

  “We don’t want to bother him when he’s out on a kidnapping investigation.”

  “Please. Call him!”

  Sara waited with her heart pounding, waited to see if the other woman would do what she asked.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  TYREEN GAVE A small nod. “All right. I know you have to be jumpin’ out of your skin. If it will make you feel better, I’ll call the sheriff. But I left his card in the den.”

  Sara spoke around the knot in her throat. “Okay.”

  Waiting until Tyreen had disappeared from sight, Sara grabbed the keys and exited the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind her. She’d never stolen anything in her life. And she wouldn’t be starting now. But she needed the woman’s car. Because she had to get to Adam before it was too late.

  As soon as she was out of the house, the dogs ran toward her, and she stopped to speak to them in a soothing voice. Then she ran to the car. Climbing in, she locked the door behind her and inspected the keys. When she found a standard ignition key, she jammed it into the slot and turned. The car shuddered, but finally the engine caught, sending a puff of black smoke shooting from the exhaust pipe.

  Sara was backing out of the driveway when she heard Tyreen shouting at her. “Wait! Come back. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Sara stepped on the brake, needs and emotions warring inside her. Then she rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “I’m sorry. I need the car. Tell Sheriff Delacorte that I’ve gone to my old house. That’s where they are. In the swamp near my old house.”

  She thrust her head back. Then, teeth clenched, she pulled onto the road, hearing the tires squeal as she reversed direction and sped away. She hated what she was doing. But she saw no other option. Adam was in trouble and she had to go to him.

  But now it was hard to drive, hard to see what she was doing, because of the phantom scenes flashing before her eyes, scenes of what was happening in the swamp.

  THERE was no problem following the old man’s trail. As Falcon had predicted, he had crashed through the underbrush with the grace of a wounded ox.

  They splashed through shallow water, then came out onto a wide, dry stretch of ground. Across the clearing, the old man’s skinny white body was crouched beside a tree trunk.

  It took several moments for Falcon to figure out what he was seeing. Another man dressed in fatigue pants and a shirt sat propped against the tree.

  He must have caught a flicker of movement from their direction because he looked up.

  Falcon and the clan stared at him.

  “It’s Adam Marshall,” Starflower crowed. “I told you he’d come looking for the old bastard. Kill him.”

  “Wait.” Falcon pointed toward the seated figure. “Look at him. He’s not moving. I think he’s in no shape to fight us.”

  “You’re taking a chance,” Razorback muttered.

  “I want to do the old man first. Give him what he deserves for leading that gang of townspeople against Jenna Foster because he branded her a witch, then running my uncle out of town and grabbing his land for that damn park. When we’re through with him, we can take care of Marshall.” He glanced at the figure slumped against the tree. “He’s not going anywhere.”

  Barnette must have heard them because he turned and screamed, then staggered away. Falcon captured Starflower’s hand. The others saw what he was doing and reached for the hand of someone next to them.

  He waited until they were centered, until the clan was working together in harmony. Then he stretched out his free arm toward Barnette. The group’s power flowed through him, through his mind as he hurled an invisible thunderbolt at the pitiful, naked figure.

  He felt like the god Thor, raining destruction down from heaven. Barnette cried out and fell to his side, then lay still.

  “Make sure he’s dead,” Falcon said to Water Buffalo. The other man loped over to the huddled body while Falcon strode toward Marshall.

  The ranger raised his head and blinked, staring at them with dull eyes.

  PAUL was in the pickup speeding toward the back entrance to the park when his cell phone rang.

  “Delacorte here,” he answered as he pressed the Receive button.

  “This is Tyreen. That crazy woman you left here stole my car.”

  Paul’s hands clenched on the wheel. “Why? What happened?”

  “She came tear-assing downstairs, saying that she knew her man was in trouble. I asked her how she knew, and she said she’d dreamed it. Sure! Then she tricked me into going and calling you. While I was looking for your number, I heard my car start.” Tyreen stopped and ma
de a huffing sound. “She yelled a message out the window before she took off.”

  “What message?”

  “She said to tell Sheriff Delacorte, ‘I’ve gone to my old house. That’s where they are. In the swamp near my old house.’”

  “Okay. Thanks!”

  “Paul what the hell is going on?”

  “Tell you later.” He hung up and tried to get Adam on the line.

  FALCON walked toward Adam Marshall. “Good of you to join the party,” he said to the ranger in a conversational tone. Before he could say anything else, a ringing noise made him start. A cell phone. Marshall tipped his head to one side, listening. Then, slowly he reached into his pocket and brought it out.

  Falcon snatched it away from him and threw it into a pool of water where the ringing cut off as it sank from view.

  “Any other toys on you that we ought to know about?” he asked.

  Marshall’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

  “Like the smoke, do you?” Falcon asked.

  Razorback stooped and picked up something black and rubbery on the ground. “He was wearing a gas mask. Lucky for us he took it off.”

  Falcon lifted the mask from the other man’s hand and tossed it away before turning his attention back to Marshall. “He’s overdressed for the party. Strip him.”

  “I want him dead,” another voice rose from behind him. The speaker was Starflower. “Once he’s dead, we can get Weston, too.”

  “Not yet. I want to know what he knows.” He turned to Razorback. “Go back and get the rope. I want him secured.”

  Marshall said something, but it sounded like gibberish.

  “Send one of the women!” Razorback challenged.

  “I told you to do it.”

  There was a moment of silence while the two men stared at each other. Then Razorback shrugged and started back to the campfire.

  Falcon bent over the ranger. “I’m the leader of this clan. You can call me Falcon,” he said. “If you can talk. You can beg me for mercy.”