No Rest for the Wicca

by Toni LoTempio

  “For pity’s sake, why are you wimping out? It’s not your ass on the firing line, after all.”

  He looked at me, and something, some emotion, flickered in those opaque eyes. “True,” he said. “Perhaps I just want to avoid having to give your cousin the horrible news of your demise, should something go wrong.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not it. You’re not a coward.”

  His lips parted, revealing those perfect, white teeth. “No, I’m just a supercilious, cocky bastard. I believe those were the exact words?”

  I lowered my gaze. “Well, I didn’t know you then. What can I say? It was a wrong first impression.”

  His gaze softened. “Ah, so you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Partly,” I grinned. “I still think you’re cocky as all hell.”

  He balled his hand into a fist, beat it against his chest. “And I still think you don’t give yourself enough credit. If you were in the desert, Morgan, trust me, you’d manage to survive on your motor skills alone.”

  I propped my hip against the edge of the desk. “You said there was another reason you wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes. Remember the paper in the packet we thought might be a code? Cryptology thinks they’ve unraveled it. Here, have a look.”

  I took the paper and spread it out on the podium. “Goodness—it’s dates.”

  “Yes—dates with a number assigned to each one. And do you notice anything else significant?”

  I studied the paper, looked up at last. “They’re all dates on which different phases of the moon occur.”

  He gave me an appraising look. “Very good. There’s something else, as well.”

  I turned back to the paper, finally handed it back to him. “Sorry—I can’t see it.”

  He tapped the page. “The number after each of the dates. June 10th is the first date, and there’s a one after it. The next is June 18th, and there’s a two. June 26th, a three. Now July 10th—there’s a four, and—“

  “It’s the day Florrie disappeared,” I cut in. Holy Wiccan Moon! Do you think this could be a timetable of when each killing is to occur!”

  He nodded. “It possible. If it is, the next one should occur on July 18th.”

  I stared at him. “Tomorrow. Say, maybe that’s why Erdos begged off his lecture. Maybe he had to get ready to go and off another witch?”

  “It’s nothing to joke about. Which brings me to the next thing I have to speak with you about. We can cross Erdos off our suspect list.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “He’s got ironclad alibis for the dates of the murders, for one. He was diagnosed recently with rheumatoid arthritis. At the time of the murders he was seeing his doctor in Whitewood, a good fifty miles away. Unless he used astral projection, there’s no way he could have taken part.”

  “True,” I agreed. “He still could be involved, though. He could be a member of that society.”

  “He could be, but the chances are slim. According to information we received, the Sevites of Marinette require their members to be in top-notch health.”

  “Makes sense.” I nodded. “One’s got to be in top physical form to perform ritual killings. I take it Graft and Morrow can run a tri-athalon?”

  Cole slid me a look that plainly said he didn’t appreciate my sarcasm. “As far as we can tell, the others are in perfect health. Erdos’ is taking a leave of absence to have treatment at a clinic in Switzerland,” he continued. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be filling in for him until they get a replacement.”

  “I’m sure the female portion of his classes will be thrilled,” I grumbled. “Too bad. I was looking forward to getting an insight into his psyche, too. Getting his take on Odic force, maybe bandying around some thoughts on Marinette.”

  “You shouldn’t have such a careless attitude about this, Morgan. You know, you could be in danger as well.” Cole lifted his eyes. “If whoever’s doing this senses you’ve got the blood…”

  “Half-blood,” I amended. “It’s not like I wear a sign, ‘I’m half-Wiccan, choose me as your next victim. Maybe whoever it is will be attracted to my ethnic good looks.”

  A smile curved his lips. “Well, I can’t fault him there.”

  As Cole pinned me with his magnetic stare, I felt my cheeks start to redden and my bones turn to liquid mush.

  Oh, come on, get a grip. There’s no attraction here. He’s just playing with you.

  I started as he reached out, ran a finger down the side of my face, skimmed over the dimple in my chin. “How do you know?” he breathed.

  I stared at his face, all angles and expression, my mouth open. “Know what?”

  “That there’s no attraction. How do you know?”

  It was as if someone had thrown a jug of cold water over my face. I took a step back. “You and your mind-meld. You said you wouldn’t pry.”

  He lifted those broad shoulders in a careless shrug. “Sorry. Sometimes I just forget myself.”

  “Well, try and remember in the future. The way to a girl’s heart is not prying into her deep, innermost thoughts.”

  “No?” He rose, took a step toward me. As he placed his hands on my shoulders, I felt light-headed, as if I couldn’t’ breathe. He leaned down, and his breath brushed my cheek. “What is the way to your heart, Morgan?”

  I hoped he couldn’t hear the way my heart hammered in my chest, as if it wanted to break free. I’d been embarrassed enough for one day. I placed my hand on his chest and pushed away with an effort.

  “Let’s stop the games, shall we, and get back to the business at hand?” I tried to make my voice sound cool, detached. I must have succeeded because the light went out of those black eyes and he moved a step backward.

  “You’re right, of course,” he murmured. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to play games.”

  “Fine,” I muttered. “We have a real problem, here. Someone else could be killed tomorrow and we haven’t the least idea how to stop it.”

  “I have a few ideas,” Cole said.

  I wanted to slap that smug half-smile off his oh-so-handsome face. “Well, great, Sherlock. Let’s hear ‘em.”

  “Not here. Let’s meet back at SF Headquarters at oh-four hundred.”

  I took a deep breath. “Fine.”

  “In the meantime, what do you plan to do about the position?”

  “Well, if we’re successful tonight perhaps there will be no need for any action. If not—I spread my hands. “I’ve no choice but to accept.”

  “Honestly, Morgan. It almost seems as if you want to get yourself killed,” Cole burst out.

  I pressed my hand to my throbbing temple.

  You have to help us.

  “I know you probably can’t understand, but—trust me. It’s something I have to do.”

  He looked at me a long moment, nodded. “Fine. Oh-four hundred. Don’t be late.” He picked up his briefcase, started for the door. “Oh, and Morgan,” he flung over his shoulder. “Oh-four hundred means four o’clock. Try and be prompt, won’t you?”

  Reading my mind again. I’ve changed my mind. He is a supercilious bastard.

  ***

  The man, his face in shadow, walked down the darkened corridor, to an oaken door. After making sure there was no one else around to observe him, he opened the door and entered a dark room, lit only by the candles gleaming from the tripods at either end of the massive slab in the center. He walked swiftly over to the north end of the wall, rapped twice.

  A middle section of wall groaned open and the man slipped into a more brightly lit room, walked directly to a massive carved chair in its center and knelt before the figure seated there. .

  “You wished to see me, Mighty One?”

  “Yes,” the figure intoned. “You’ve made many mistakes. You must be more careful.”

  The man licked at his dry, cracked lips. “Yes, I realize that. That woman was not the original target, I know, but—it had to be done. She would have talked.”

  A han
d shot out,palm upraised. “You should have gotten the book from her first.”

  The man lowered his head. “You are right. I should have made her confesss before I killed her.”

  “It would have saved us much work. And the other was an impure sacrifice. I told you, she was not a pure witch.”

  The man frowned. “The other? You can’t mean—Florrie? But she was a witch. I’m certain of it. I heard her chant, saw her perform spells—she was a witch, all right.”

  “Wrong.” The figure put its lips against the man’s ear. “She could perform the art, true, but she did not have pure blood. And you know as well as I in order for our little enterprise to be successful, all the sacrifices must be pure.” The whisper came in his ear, reed-thin, filled with menace, even as nails sharp as talons dug into his flesh. “You were foolish, you did not research your subject enough. In any event, you should not have killed her until she turned the book over to you.

  So, now, because of your ineptitude, not only do we not have the spell we need, we still need three sacrifices.”

  The man pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, swiped at his cheeks. “Well, there are others. We—I—will find them.”

  The shadow ignored him and continued, “No matter. The next one has already been selected. It’s all set for tonight. You’ll receive your instructions in the usual manner. Remember--we’ve not much time. The ritual must be completed by midnight of August 1st. That is the date—and it will only happen if all seven points are delivered.”

  The man pressed his palm to his forehead, hoping the thin sheen of sweat wasn’t visible.

  “Do not worry,” he whispered as he backed toward the door. “It will all be accomplished. We will achieve our goal.”

  He exited the chamber, his hands clammy, his breath hot and fast. He had no doubt the Mighty One would destroy him if he failed to live up to his end of the bargain. He drew a breath.

  Failure now, when they’d come so far, was unacceptable. He knew what he had to do.

  If their plan were to succeed, three more witches had to die by August 1st. He had no doubt of the fate awaiting him if he failed.

  Chapter 14

  My last class, Herbs and their Magical Properties, ended at two forty-five. I packed up my books, eager to get the hell out of there. I was halfway down the hall when I heard running footsteps behind me. I turned and looked into Dru’s serious eyes.

  “Hey. How’d you like the last class,” she began conversationally. “Isn’t Bergerman a drone?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “She kinda reminds me of one of the teachers in Harry Potter, but I can’t think of the name.”

  “McGonagall, probably,” Dru shrugged. “Although I if she shape shifted into a cat it’d no doubt be a pretty plump one.” She dropped her tone to an almost-whisper. “I hate her lectures. It’s the same thing, over and over and over.”

  “I noticed the same thing,” I shifted my books to my other arm and glanced casually at my watch. “Honest, Dru, I’ve got to—“

  “I mean,” Dru continued, “how many times can you tell someone the easiest way to obtain bergamot is from Earl Gray tea bags? Or Benzion can be sprinkled on any potion to make its power longer lasting. Sheesh.”

  “I’m sure someone, somewhere, cares,” I said, “but I’ve really got to run.”

  “Oh?” Her perfectly arched brows lifted. “Are you going to see Graft about the position?”

  “No.” Then, because I figured most likely half the school knew anyway, I added, “There’s no need. I’ve already been hired.”

  Her lips formed a perfect O of surprise. “No kidding! Wow, he sure didn’t waste any time. But that’s great. I mean, you’ll do fine. So much better than you know who.”

  “One can only hope.”

  “When do you start? Today?”

  “I’m not sure. Tomorrow, probably,” I said.

  “Oh,well.” Dru shrugged, then asked, “Did you hear about Erdos?”

  “That he’s taking a medical LOA? Yeah.”

  “He hadn’t looked too well lately. It’s a shame you won’t get to hear him lecture now. I actually thought he had more on the ball than Graft and Morrow—oh, well.” Her eyes lit up. “Maybe we’ll get that dreamy Professor St. John back in class. Say, maybe they’ll even give him Erdos’ job permanently—wouldn’t that be a gas?”

  “Sure would .” I started to edge away. “I really have to run. I—I promised my boss I’d try to go into the office. They—they need something typed up.”

  Dru twirled a brown lock of hair absently around one finger. “They didn’t hire a temp while you took your courses? How odd.”

  I shrugged. “What can I say? They’re cheap—plus, I’m the best typist within a hundred mile radius of Central City.”

  She laughed. “It’ll come in handy when we have to do our term reports. Okay,” she started to swing off in the other direction. “See you tomorrow. Oh, look—there’s Margit. She’s giving you a dagger look. Think she knows you got the job she wanted?”

  I looked up and saw Margit Culhane near a water fountain and a group of girls. She faced right at us, her burning stare fixed on me.

  God, if looks could kill.

  A chill nicked the base of my spine and I turned on my heel, walked briskly in the other direction. Something about Margit made me uneasy. I had no doubt the girl could be a formidable opponent, if crossed. But right now, my job was to keep her—and any other witch—safe.

  My little ranch house looked extremely quiet as I parked my convertible in the driveway and slid out of my convertible. Three-fifteen. I didn’t have much time to waste if I wanted to change and be at Special Forces Headquarters by oh-four hundred, as I’d been instructed to by Cole.

  A mental image of him rose in my mind’s eye, those finely chiseled features, sensual lips, the piercing black eyes. I wondered, just for a brief instant, how his rock-hard body would feel pressed up against mine.

  They say Vampires do it better. And Inheritors best of all.

  “Good God, get a grip, Morgan.” I chided myself as I ran up the steps and let myself in the front door. Heat washed my face, and I just knew my cheeks had to be a bright crimson. Great, just great. Conjure up one little image of that Inheritor Vamp, and I got as giddy as a schoolgirl. This would never do, not with the job I had ahead of me.

  “Focused,” I muttered, as I tossed my books and keys onto the nearest chair. “I have to stay focused.” I’d gone halfway up the stairs when I realized what was wrong.

  Xia wasn’t home.

  I paused, hand on the banister. If ever there was a creature of habit, it was my cousin. Xia always went to the market at the same time, always visited her friends at the same time, always cooked and ate at the same time. Normally, the house would be filled with some aromatic scent of a new dish she’d invariably find on the Cooking Channel, or with the potent fragrance of herbs integral to a new potion.

  The house would never be deserted at this time in the afternoon, not unless…

  “Great Balls of Hades,” I muttered. I didn’t even bother to continue upstairs to change. I snatched up my keys, ran out of the house, hopped back into my convertible, and hot-tailed it downtown to Special Forces Headquarters.

  I burst into Cole’s office, wild-eyed, at approximately two minutes past four. He sat hunched behind his desk, head bent over some papers, shirtsleeves rolled up to display his muscular arms to advantage. He looked at me as if I were a bug impaled on a stick.

  “You’re late,” he said flatly.

  I walked over to stand in front of his desk, and slammed my keys down in front of him. I splayed my hands across the immaculate desktop and pushed my nose to within scant inches of his. For once, his nearness didn’t have any sort of effect on me. I was too mad—and too worried to pay much mind to his clean, clear male Inheritor scent.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to upset your timetable,” I snarled. “But I have things on my mind.”

  “Apparently.” His gaze
flicked over me, over my worn jeans, my tight t-shirt, the battered quilted jacket I’d threatened to throw in the goodwill pile oh-so-many-times but never had the heart to. “I realize you were pressed for time, but I did hope you could have at least changed into something a tad more presentable. Commander Stone is rather a stickler on appearance, and if she should see you—“

  “Oh, hang Commander Stone,” I growled. “She can shape shift into a black panther for all I care. It would give me a good excuse to shoot her.”

  His lips twitched. “Maybe, except you don’t carry a gun anymore.”

  “Some people will never know how fortunate they are I don’t pack heat.” I strode right up to his desk, hands on hips. “If you’ve finished insulting my appearance, I’ve something important to tell you.”

  “Well?” he said as I hesitated. His patronizing tone only served to infuriate me more.

  “Xia’s missing,” I burst out. “I’m worried she might have been marked as the next victim.”

  He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers underneath his chin. “Why on earth would you think so?”

  I balled my hand into a fist and shot it up in the air. “For one thing, the house was empty when I got home, and Xia almost never leaves—if she does, she makes sure I know about it. Two, as you well know, tomorrow night is—“

  “She’s here,” he said abruptly, and I clamped my lips together and stared at him.

  “Pardon?”

  “Xia’s here.”

  I removed my hands from his desktop, stuffed them into the pockets of my beat-up denim jeans. “She’s here? Why—what in hell is she doing here?”

  “I sent for her,” he said simply, and looked at me as if I were some sort of Hydra monster with eight snarling heads.

  “Whoa,” I took a step back from his desk. “Let me get this straight. You had my cousin brought here? Why, for pity’s sake? There’s no reason to involve her, unless—“ my fist flew to my mouth, “Oh, God. You think her life is in danger, don’t you?”