No Rest for the Wicca

by Toni LoTempio

  I wasn’t getting the right inflection on the message the departed was sending me. I had the first word wrong. It wasn’t ago, they weren’t trying to get my attention. I mean, they were but—“

  Cole’s hand shot out, grabbed my wrist. “Get to the point,” he growled. “Or I’m going to let Xia hurt you. Terribly.”

  I made a face at him. “No, you won’t. Anyway, they were telling me Agau—he’s the lwa god of storms.”

  “Oh? Oh!” Xia’s expression cleared. “One of the symbols, right?”

  “Right. Now, if I remember the story right—and I’m pretty sure I do—“ I ran my finger down the cramped page, nodded. “Yes. Yes. It’s here. Just as he told it to me.”

  “Fine.” The glimmer of red simmered just beneath the black of Cole’s eyes. “Then tell it to us—fast.”

  I let out a nervous giggle. “I forgot how impatient you are, Cole. Well, Agau is one of those lwa gods who is also co-worshipped by select Satanists as the daemon Ogau. As a matter of fact, he’s one of the few who transcend both—“

  “So you’re telling us Agau and Ogau are one and the same?”

  “Pretty much. As the legend goes, Ogau is summoned on nights when the moon is in power, by sacrifice. The blood of seven carnal witches must be spilled, certain body parts offered to enable his spirit to live through one of his disciples, or his familiar. Ogau is known in those select devil circles as a blood god. They’re usually summoned by a bokor.”

  I stared straight into Cole’s fathomless eyes. “Someone is a bokor, looking to perform the spell used to release Ogau, to have the power of his alter-ego, Agau, flow into him. According to the legend, whomever commands the spirit of Agau also commands the forces of nature. Think of what he could do with that power—unleash tornadoes, hurricanes, blizzards at will. He could cripple humanity.”

  “That’s his connection—his prana. The sacrifices are intended to amplify the spell,” Cole snapped his fingers. “Of course.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with Marinette at all,” I said. “And since that’s the case, it might not be either of them—perhaps it’s someone else. Zeus! Where do we begin looking now?”

  “It’s still got to do with voodoo,” Cole protested. “Even though it’s not their lwa god of choice, they could still be involved, in some way.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But perhaps they’re not the driving force behind this quest. And with only four days left until August 1st, it’s for damn sure we can’t throw a dragnet over every witch in Central City to keep them safe. The blood of seven. Seven sacrifices. What’s missing?”

  “The breast…and the heart,” Cole answered. He finished stuffing the books into the box, tucked it under one arm. With his free hand, he grabbed my wrist and pushed me toward the door. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to lay this out to Commander Stone, get her input. This is too big for the two of us to handle on our own.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “Maybe you’re right—only does it have to be Stone? She’s such a granite-face.”

  “She is in charge.”

  “Yeah, don’t remind me. Well, maybe she’ll lighten up after we show her our irrefutable evidence.”

  Cole’s lips quirked upward. “Don’t bet on it.”

  Xia padded to the door after us. “Hurry back,” she called after us, as we tripped down the walkway to Cole’s sedan. “I’ll save the Baked Alaska. And I think there’s a bottle of champagne around here somewhere. Maybe we’ll have something to celebrate.”

  Chapter 21

  “So, you’ve come to the conclusion there might be another lwa-worshipping society involved?”

  Cole and I were seated in Commander Stone’s office. The boxes were on the floor, the books spread out across the top of her polished desk. We’d spent the last hour explaining everything, waited another half-hour while she sifted through the notes and journals on her own. Now, she pushed her wire-rimmed glasses all the way down on the bridge of her nose and looked at us over the rims.

  “Not necessarily,” Cole said. “They might just have decided to branch out a little.”

  “Yes, well,” the Commander leaned back in her chair. “You’re still no further along, are you? You still have no concrete proof that Graft or Morrow could be involved in any of this.”

  “Considering their backgrounds, they’re still good prospects,” I spoke up. “Each of the dead witches had a connection to them, and Florrie especially so. Either one or both could be involved—or there could be someone else.”

  “My point,” Stone said. “We have nothing concrete here, just supposition. And we’re running out of time.”

  “Short of catching one of them in the act, chances of getting concrete proof are pretty nil,” I agreed. “Unless—“

  Cole shook his head. “I won’t hear of you putting yourself out as bait, Morgan. It’s going a bit too far, I think.”

  I swung around in my chair to look at him. “Hey, I was going to suggest putting them under surveillance—you know, a tail—but I like your idea so much better.”

  “What makes you think we don’t already have them under surveillance?” Stone shook her head. “Your offer, generous as it is, is out of the question.”

  I turned to glare at her. “And why not? Witch’s blood runs through my veins.”

  “Why deliberately put yourself in danger?” Cole cut in. “What if something went wrong?”

  Stone nodded. “I agree. It’s too risky.” She glanced again at the book she held in her hands. “I could always arrange to have both brought in for questioning—see how much they do know about this legend.” She eyed me. “You commune with the spirits. Can’t you talk to this Ogo, or whatever his name is? Get at the truth?”

  “For one thing, the spirits of the dead witches have tried to commune with me, but it’s minimal at best. Something is blocking their communication to me. For another, no one, psychic nor witch, can call up something that hasn’t existed already in this plane. Daemons are not of our world, so a verbal heart to heart with one of them is out of the question.”

  “So,” she leaned back in her chair, “just how would one commune with one of these daemons—or lwa’s, same difference?”

  “By an offering—a ritual. By making a sacrifice and reciting the ancient words, the spirit of the daemon, or lwa, can be called forth and possess the beholder, or offeror, disciple, whatever you want to call him. And, according to the legend of Ogau, his powers will flow through. That means our perp would be able to control virtually all of the weather patterns. He would be, in effect, invincible.”

  “I see.” She sat up straight again, repositioned her glasses. “I agree, whoever’s responsible must be stopped, but—there has to be a way within the law to do it.”

  “Don’t forget,” I pushed myself to the edge of my seat, “whoever’s behind this must also be a bokor—one with enough pull to perform the ceremony. He’s got power behind him, and we don’t have the luxury of time.” I balled my hand into a fist. “We’ve got four days until August 1—when everything will be in perfect sync for Ogau’s spirit to be released. Four days to prevent another blood witch killing and unleashing a supreme horror on mankind. I’d say this calls for drastic measures.”

  “Fine.” She flicked some lint off her sleeve. “What makes you think he’d hone in on you? It seems the victims are chosen in advance.”

  I leaned forward. “I could meet with each of them, and go in for the kill. I’ll tell them I’ve figured out what they’re doing, and I want in on the power. We can have a backup squad waiting for my signal.”

  “A brilliantly foolhardy plan,” said Cole.

  “Why?” I demanded. “What’s wrong with it?”

  He stared at me as if I were Cerberus, the many-headed dog. “What’s wrong with it? It’s got more holes than Swiss Cheese, for one thing. You’re relying on the assumption that one—or both—will be so afraid of exposure they’ll immediately want
to kill you so as not to risk exposure. It won’t wash.” He shook his head. “They’re not sloppy nor stupid. They’d most likely figure out they’re being set up. Besides, if the man is a high ranking voodoo official, he’ll not be afraid, because he’ll have the power of the gods behind him, so to speak.”

  “We won’t know that unless we try.”

  “True, but here’s another flaw. Two more witches are needed. Who’s to say he’d make you number six? One more witch might have to die before he even went for you.”

  I frowned. I had no answer for that one.

  “We’ve had them under surveillance for quite a while. They’ve done nothing out of the ordinary. That’s why we went undercover,” Cole continued. “And, while I agree with the methodology, we just have no proof Graft or Morrow are involved, let alone Voodoo priests. And without that—we can’t go off half-cocked.”

  “So we just sit back and let two more witches die.”

  “Unfortunately, we might have to.”

  Stone set the notebooks off to one side. “I appreciate your zeal and dedication, Hawkes. Truly, I do. I know I’ve given you a rough time, and you’ve handled it well. However—I must agree with Special Agent St. John. We certainly do not want to deliberately risk someone’s life. Even yours.”

  I bit my lip. “But Commander—“

  Her hand shot up. “No buts, Hawkes. You’ve done a fine job, you and St. John.”

  I slumped back in my chair. Cole faced the Commander. “Should we still report to the University as usual tomorrow, Commander?”

  She hesitated, nodded. “Yes—we might as well play it out. Who knows, we might get lucky. But no grandstanding—no heroics. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Of course,” Cole said.

  They both looked at me.

  “Yes,” I blew out a breath, cut the both of them a disgusted look. “Do I have a choice? It seems I’m outvoted here.”

  “Good. This meeting is adjourned.”

  We left Special Forces Headquarters in silence. Once we were in the car and headed back to my house, Cole ventured a glance in my direction.

  “Say it. You’re pissed.”

  I turned my head to stare at him. “Of course I’m pissed, Cole. What on earth did you expect? My idea was good. It had a few flaws, sure, but if we’d put our heads together, we could have worked them out.”

  He took his eyes off the road briefly to roll them at me. “Morgan, come on. It was a stupid plan and you know it. What I can’t figure out is, why you have so much of a death wish. Here I thought you might be coming to grips with the ghosts of your past.”

  I slouched down in the seat. “My past has nothing to do with this, Cole. I’m trying to catch a killer here.”

  “Is this the same way you approached your cases at Homicide? If so, I’m surprised you didn’t cause someone’s death much sooner than you did.”

  I sucked in my breath. I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over me. My hand flew to my breast, and I pounded at it. “Twist the knife a little harder, why don’t you?”

  Abruptly he pulled over to the side of the road, stopped the car. He shut off the ignition and reached toward me. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

  I swatted his hand away. “You sure as hell did. And it hurts, Cole. It really hurts. I mean, I bared my soul to you. Dammit, I gave my entire body to you. And this is how I get treated.”

  He twisted in the seat, leaned closer to me. I moved away, pressed myself against the door. “Morgan,” he said softly. “You know I would never hurt you. I—I just got crazy, is all. The thought of possibly losing you—“

  “You’re not going to lose me, Cole.”

  “If that harebrained scheme of yours didn’t work, of course I could. Not to mention Xia. You know, there are a few people in this world who care about what happens to you.”

  “Are there?” I twisted my lips into a crooked smile. “I seriously doubt it. When I was twelve, I renounced both Wicca and Voodoo. I’d seen quite enough of the trauma it could cause from my father. My mother didn’t want to go against his wishes, even though he went against hers every day of her life. Harm no one—hah.”

  Cole’s arm went round me. “What did happen to your parents? You never said.”

  I licked at my lips. “My father just took off one day—to this day, no one knows if he’s dead or alive. He could be the victim of one of Zeke Norris’ zombie curses, for all I know—or care,” I spat. “Damn near broke my mother’s heart. She was never the same afterward.”

  “At least she had her Wiccan faith,” Cole ventured.

  I shook my head. “No, she didn’t. She’d allowed my father to practice his voodoo tenets for so long she felt disloyal to her own. Plus, no respectable Wiccan wanted anything to do with her. I found her one afternoon, curled up on the sofa, a jar of sleeping pills in one hand, his photograph in the other.” I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of one hand. “Shortly after, I packed up all this belongings. I was going to burn them, but some little voice told me not to. Maybe they’d come in handy for something some day. Well, they sure did now. My father did one good thing for me, anyway.

  “After Mom’s death, the rest of the family—her side, we had no one on his—wanted nothing to do with a half-breed like me. I had his blood running through my veins, so I had to be no good. The only people who thought I was worth a fig were my Aunt Esther and Uncle Zeke—Xia’s parents. They were older, and pretty sick, so I moved here to Central City, in with them, and helped Xia take care of them. They died four years ago, left us the property. And it was around then I decided I should do something with my life, so I left the University and entered the Police Academy.” I passed a hand over my eyes. “You know the rest.”

  His grip on my shoulders tightened. “I do.”

  I positioned my head in the crook of his shoulder. “Xia is the only one in my entire family I care about. She and her parents are the only ones who believed blood doesn’t always tell, and the person is what you make of yourself.” I smiled thinly. “Even though we fight like cats and dogs most of the time, I’d never deliberately do anything to hurt her, nor she me.”

  He squeezed my arm. “You’re like real sisters. It’s a good thing, Morgan. It’s nice to have family you can depend on.”

  I tilted my head to look into his eyes. “What about you? What about Cole St. John? What’s your family tree like? It’s got to be better than mine.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Want to bet?”

  “Oh, come on, now. I remember Gilley saying your great-grandfather founded Special Forces.”

  Cole shrugged. “He was one of the founding fathers, yes.”

  “Okay. Plus, you call the Commissioner by his first name. You’re a top agent, respected in your field. Your life is already ninety-nine percent better than mine.” I drew a breath. “Not to mention the fact you’re a beautiful man. You could have any woman you choose, with or without the glamour.”

  He arched one eyebrow. “Beautiful? I’ve been called many things in my lifetime, but I don’t recall that adjective among them.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “It suits you—that sculpted mouth, those intense eyes, that flowing hair. You could be a model for those statues of the Greek Gods they have in the museums.”

  “I take it you intended that as a compliment?”

  “Yes, of course it was. Seriously, how bad could your life be? I mean, at least if you have to be a vampire, your strain is one about as close to being totally human as one can get.”

  He frowned. “True, but make no mistake, Morgan. I’ve told you this before. We do all the things humans do, but deep down, we are predators. We are hunters. We will kill without a second thought.”

  I cocked my head. “And it’s so different from man—how, exactly?”

  He laughed. “You’re right. Point taken.” After a moment, he said, “My mother was Wiccan. My father didn’t intend to fall in love with her, but he did. He’d already lived for many hundreds of y
ears, and through the centuries, managed to escape romantic entanglements. They tied one down, he always said. Romance dulls the senses. He intended to break the record for an Inheritor lifespan—and then he met my mother.”

  “She must have been very special,” I said as he paused. “What was her name?”

  “Gisella. And she was special. Beautiful, really. She had finely chiseled lips, black hair, skin like cream.”

  “And you’re her mirror image,” I said softly. “I knew you got those good looks somewhere.”

  He reached out, and one long finger traced my jaw line. “It’s true, I do resemble her—all but the eyes. I have my father’s. Hers--her eyes were like yours, Morgan. Cat green, the green of finely cut emeralds.” He let out a long drawn out sigh. “She was beautiful.”

  “Yes,” I murmured, “I can see what she must have been like in you.”

  He stared off into space for a few moments. “Her people didn’t much care for the idea of her marrying a vampire, even though they knew the Inheritor strain wasn’t like the others. He still had killer instincts, still lusted after blood--he went against everything they believed in.”

  “Harm none.”

  “Yes. But my mother saw the good in him. Until—“

  “Until,” I prompted as he fell silent. “What happened?”

  He removed his arm from around me, laid it back on the steering wheel. “It’s not something I like to discuss,” he said tightly. “Suffice it to say, he committed a grievous wrong, a wrong that destroyed my mother and tore my family apart. I went to live with my great-grandfather and his third wife. They raised me. It was only natural I followed in his footsteps, became a Special Forces Agent. You see,” he took a deep breath, “sometimes we do not choose our paths in life. Sometimes they choose us.”

  I inched my hand up his arm. “We’re more alike than even you realize, Cole. Two drifters who’ve found each other.” I took his face between my hands, turned it to face me. “Make love to me,” I whispered.

  He looked startled. “Here? Now?”