by Sharon Joss
“Those women,” he grunted. “They were looking for me.” He opened his fist. A blackened and battered coin lay in his palm. It was surrounded by a golden aura. “Take it. Keep it with you”
The coin gleamed brighter when I touched it.
He winced. “Ah, crap. I was afraid of that.”
“What is it?” The ambulance squealed to a stop behind Rhys’s truck, lights flashing.
“Detects black magic. We’ve been cursed.”
CHAPTER 7
BY THE TIME the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance, Lou was unconscious. The sheriff’s deputy arrived at the same time. We had to wait until he took statements from all the witnesses—more than a dozen of us. We all said pretty much the same thing—the limo had come out of nowhere. It happened so fast, no one got a license plate number on the vehicle, but hey, how many white stretch limos could there be in Penfield?
“It’s not the limo I’m worried about,” said the deputy. “It’s probably stolen. The driver has probably dumped it already. We’ll find it in a couple of days—in a barn or a canal somewhere, stripped for parts. Unless we catch them in the vehicle, finding the driver is going to be tough.”
Kevin, the bartender, described the two women who’d come into the bar. “It was those witches, dammit. They said they were looking for someone, but I wasn’t having any of it. I told them to clear out.”
“Do you know them?”
“No, but they all have a distinctive smell. These two reeked of it. Set the whole bar on edge.”
The deputy paled when he realized he was speaking to a were-guy. To his credit, he kept on going.
“Who were they looking for?”
“They didn’t mention any names, and I didn’t ask.” Kevin answered, with more than a little heat.
The deputy took careful notes of everything the witnesses said, except the part about the witches. He addressed the crowd of witnesses. “Anyone recognize these ah, women?”
No one said a word.
“Anyone know of any connections between the victim and these women?”
Again, silence from the crowd.
I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket, feeling for the coin Lou had given me for safekeeping. He wanted me to have it—I wasn’t about to hand it over.
After making sure he had all our contact information, the deputy told us we were free to go.
I managed to maintain my cool until Rhys started up the truck. “Did you notice Deputy Weber’s eyes glaze over when Kevin mentioned the witches?”
“Aye. But to be fair, most of the witnesses were all werewolves and vampires. He might have been a bit overwhelmed.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “Lou says the sheriff’s department has a hands-off stance when it comes to the Penfield witches. He says they’re a cult. I’ll bet no one lifts a finger to find out who did this.”
“That’s why the paranormal community has to stick together. I think it’s great that you and Lou have teamed up.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Rhys say that. We pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Yeah, but it’s not right. Lou said those women in Growlers were looking for us.” I showed Rhys the glowing coin that Lou had given me. As soon as I dropped it into Rhys’s hand, it turned dark.
“Interesting.” Rhys switched on the cab light to examine the bit of blackened metal more closely. He turned it over in his palm. “It’s a coin, all right. Silver. Couple thousand years old, I’d guess. I’d need to examine it under magnification to be sure.”
He held it out to me,
At my touch, the glow returned. “Lou said it detects the presence of black magic.” I shoved the coin into the pocket of my jeans. “What do you know about curses?”
“That’s not really my area of study. I’ve run into more than a few artifacts that were said to have been cursed or blessed in some way. I suspect a lot of them were fakes.”
“What about witches?
“I’ve been accused of being a witch myself more than once. It’s just a label, Mattie. Times past, any female healer, even a midwife, could be considered a witch. I don’t have much experience with modern witches. What many would describe as black magic is merely the aspects of focused power used for unnatural purposes. Humans have always been fascinated by the occult.”
I wanted to ask him more, but we’d reached the waiting area. Honey Briscoe was there, sitting alone on one of the orange leatherette couches. Her eyes were red and puffy.
I sat beside her. “What happened? Is it one of the boys?”
She shook her head. “No, they’re fine. It’s Lou--.”
“Yeah, we know.” I put my arm around her. We saw it happen.”
Rhys took a chair opposite. “Is he going to be okay?”
“You just missed the surgeon.” She began. “He said Lou’s got head trauma with brain swelling, a badly broken leg, crushed ribs, and who knows what else. He’s in bad shape. They’ve put him in an induced coma until the swelling comes down,” Her lovely brown eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t believe it when they called me. It was like Nate all over again.”
She blew her nose on a crumpled tissue. “He is the boy’s godfather and he’s got no one else. I’m listed as his next of kin. They said he’d been hit by a car?”
We told her about the hit and run. I didn’t mention the witches or the coin or the curse thing. No point in making things worse. Rhys caught my eye and I knew he agreed with me.
But Honey wasn’t fooled. “Growlers Pub? That’s in Penfield. What was he doing over there?”
Rhys explained about Henri’s going away party.
She made a face. “Well, Growlers is neutral ground. But Penfield isn’t safe for him.”
“Why, what’s wrong with Penfield?”
“There’s a coven there—a cult, really. They used to be called the Penfield witches, but that’s misnomer. The sorcerer who leads it now is obsessed with the dark arts and arcane knowledge. They’re not above using physical violence to get what they want. They’ve sworn to kill Lou if he ever sets foot in Penfield again”
“Kevin told the deputy it was witches,” Rhys said.
She shot him a cynical look. “That won’t matter. They’ve got people on the sheriff’s payroll who will make sure that the witness statements get misplaced or misfiled or trashed. It happens all the time. They’re evil and know perfectly well that no one dares to stop them.
Rhys and I exchanged a glance. “You really think the Penfield witches that did this,” I said, softly.
She clenched her fists. “Don’t call them witches! It’s an insult to--.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Call them whatever you like.” She sighed. “It’s been a long day and I need to get home to my boys. I can let you know if Lou’s condition changes.” She picked up her purse and stood to leave.
Rhys and I walked her out to the parking lot and made sure she got to her car.
“It’s not right.” I climbed into the truck and scooted over to sit next to Rhys. “Honey knows the sheriff isn’t going to do anything to find that limo driver. I’m going to find out who did this, and make sure Sheriff Reynolds does his job. He likes, me, Rhys. I know he does. He’ll listen to me.”
Rhys drove through the quiet streets of Shore Haven. Not even the bars were open at this hour. “This could be a real can of worms. If Frank were still around, I’d say we talk to him, but I don’t feel the same way about the new guy.” Agent Frank Porter had been the FBI’s local supernatural investigator until last year, when he took a new assignment in New Orleans. Rhys and Frank had been partners in a lot of special investigations that weren’t necessarily within the purview of the FBI’s authority. They trusted each other.
“Ted Roper,” I prompted. Frank had been a lot more approachable than Roper, who seemed more of a by-the-book kind of guy. “The only time I asked him for help, he made me feel like an idiot.”
Rhys parked the truck in front of the big old Queen Anne. Tonigh
t was supposed to be our first night alone in the house. “What are you talking about? He saved your life in that fire.” He ran his hand over my still-short hair and helped me out of the truck.
“That’s not what I meant.” We walked up the path to the front porch. A sudden swarm of will-o-the-wisps filled the air, like a cloud above our heads. They completely surrounded us—dozens of them, swirling around our heads, pinging off our hair and clothes like demonic fireflies. In the quiet calm of the night air, I could hear them whisper:
Loosa, loosa, loose…Loosa, loosa, loose!
I grinned at Rhys, who looked just as astonished as I felt. “Can you hear them?”
He cocked his head for a moment. “Nope. I got nothing.” He shook his head.
“This is what happened to Charlie and me a while back,” I said. The lights bombarded us for another few moments, then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, they were gone.
“That was pretty cool,” he admitted. “I’ve never known fairy fire to behave like that. What did they say?”
I unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Same as before. It sounds like, ‘loosa loose’. Charlie thinks it’s a warning.”
Rhys took my jacket and hung it up next to his on the coat rack. The house seemed to echo in Henri’s absence. “Some folks believe they’re messengers of an impending death.
My throat went dry. “You think Lou is going to die?”
He caressed my cheek. “No, I meant that it’s a Senequois legend. Honey could tell you more.”
I led the way upstairs to my room. “Honey Briscoe?”
“Yeah. Her grandmother was a storyteller. Honey knows all the old stories. Maybe she knows about the Loosa thing.”
Rhys wrapped me in his arms. For awhile, my thoughts were focused on delving into the deeper territories of intimacy and naked delight that we shared whenever we were alone together. And snuggling up together on a chilly night after such a grueling day wasn’t bad, either.
But even with Rhys sleeping peacefully beside me, I couldn’t relax. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lou crumpled beneath the wheels of that limo. He was a good man. How could someone have purposely run him down like that?
I hated bullies. So what if Lou and I had found out where they held their rituals? No reason to hex him, or whatever they’d done to us. Or run him down like that. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that the deputy who had taken our statements tonight didn’t believe any of the Growlers witnesses. Lou didn’t deserve this. At the very least, law enforcement should be looking after their own. The deputy acted like he didn’t care whether they found the driver or not.
But I did. I made a silent promise to Lou that I would find out who had done this horrible thing to him and bring them to justice. There had to be a way to find this guy. I picked up the coin Lou had given me from the bedside table. It glowed in the dark room like a beacon. I wondered if the black magic it detected in me was Morta’s, or if Lou had been right about the curse.
What did it mean?
I had an uneasy feeling that if Lou was right, I was about to find out.
CHAPTER 8
ALL DAY AT work, my mind kept wandering. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lou. Sheriff Reynolds wouldn’t do anything. The coin Lou had given me was dimmer today, but stilled flared whenever I picked it up. If there really was a dark sorcerer operating a cult in Monroe County, maybe there was something the FBI could do. The only person I knew in the local field office was Ted Roper, so I called him and asked him to meet me for lunch.
I figured it might be better to speak to him informally, so I suggested Rudy’s Red Hots, a lunch-wagon vendor who worked just a block from the FBI offices in downtown Rochester. The good weather was still holding, so we ate outside at the mini-tables Rudy had set up for his customers.
Both of us were on our lunch hour, so there wasn’t a lot of time for chit-chat. I got directly to the point. “What is the FBI’s position on witchcraft?”
Roper shrugged and took a sip of his soda. “In the ‘80s, the Supreme Court ruled that Witchcraft is a legitimate religion. People who practice witchcraft as a religion are entitled to the same rights and constitutional protections as followers of any other recognized belief system. I’m guessing that’s not what you wanted to know, is it?”
“Rats. No, not really.” I tried again. “What is the FBI’s supernatural taskforce stance on witchcraft? I know you guys hunt down, um, unlicensed demon masters, but what about Sorcerers? Black magic, that kind of thing.” Being an unlicensed demon master myself, I could end up in a whole lot of trouble if Roper ever found out about Blix.
He put down his half-eaten hot dog. “Not really a lunch topic, but okay. Some people try to claim their criminal activity is actually part of their religious practice. But criminal acts, such as human sacrifice, are not recognized as part of any religious practice. Murder, extortion, theft; these are all crimes, regardless of the killer’s religious affiliation or purpose. Just to be clear, the FBI is interested in the apprehension of criminals and the prosecution of criminal acts and criminal organizations, not the persecution of personal religious beliefs or religions.”
“What about sorcery? Satanic cults?”
He gave me a hard look. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want to know, Mattie?”
I explained how Lou Scali had been run down by a hit and run driver. “Everyone keeps telling me that Sheriff Reynolds won’t touch a case involving witchcraft.”
“A hit and run is outside FBI jurisdiction. Even if it was attempted murder, it’s not something we would get called in on.”
“Suppose it was the member of a witch cult who was driving? People are afraid of the Penfield witches. Lou Scali and I saw them performing a ritual last week. And now Lou is in a coma and no one is going to do anything about it.”
“What kind of ritual? Did you observe any criminal activity?”
“No.” I could see where this was going. “Lou said it was some kind of preparation for something bigger. Layering, he called it. Someone saw us when we were leaving.”
“Where was this ritual performed?”
“It didn’t exactly have an address. It was dark, and we hiked in. I could find it, though.”
“Private property? “
I remembered the bullet-pocked signs posted around the barn and fences. I sighed. “Yeah, probably. Look I know what you’re going to say--.”
“Damn right. You were trespassing.”
“Sheesh.” I chugged the last of my iced tea and chucked the remains of my lunch into the nearest trash bin. “I should have known better. Forget it.”
If I wanted action, I was going to have to do it myself. Dollars to donuts that private investigator book Lou had given me would have the answers I was looking for. This was the last time I’d ever ask for Roper’s help.
“It’s nothing personal. I’m just doing my job.” Roper wadded up his trash and disposed of it as well. “Let me do a little research on the cult and sorcery angle. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I didn’t plan on holding my breath waiting for him. I should have known I couldn’t count on him. Unlike his predecessor, Roper’s stint as a supernatural investigator wasn’t a personal calling; it was just another step on the ladder.
Four months ago, when he’d arrived in Rochester with his demon-sniffing dog, every alternate individual in town had been terrified they’d be exposed as non—human. He probably expected to eliminate the demon problem and get a big promotion. Roper pooh-poohed my reports of dreamspiders, only to see me go up against an angry six-foot tall female and her hatchlings. Sure, he’d dragged me out of the flames and saved my life, but not before I’d saved a dozen innocent teenagers. He’d accomplished exactly nothing since he’d arrived here. And now he was acting as if he was doing me a favor. I would have respected him more if he’d just said fuggedaboutit.
Fool me twice, shame on me. Next time, well, there just wouldn’t be a next time.
* * *
After my shift, I headed over to the hospital to check on Lou.
I met Honey as she was coming out of the building. “You can’t see him,” she told me. “He’s still in a coma. They’re saying it’s a miracle that he lasted through the night. I still don’t understand why they went after him like that. Why?”
I swallowed the hard lump of emotion which had welled up in my throat. Lou couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.
Honey looked terrible. Dark circles ringed her eyes; her beautiful caramel skin looked sallow. I felt bad for her. I told her about working a stakeout with Lou. “We followed the husband to a cemetery in Penfield. We found the coven performing a layering ritual. Once he realized who they were, Lou got me out of there pretty fast, but one of them saw us as we were leaving. They probably tracked him through the license plate on his car. And last night, two women came into the bar, looking for someone, but they didn’t say who. It must have been Lou.”
“Oh God.” She closed her eyes. “I thought this was over.” Her body swayed.
I thought she was going to faint. I helped her down the steps and we sat on a warm bench in the dappled shade of a scarlet maple.
“I guess I just wanted it to be.” She chewed her lower lip. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you’ve been dragged into this, Mattie.”
“Dragged into what, exactly? I’m not even sure what’s going on. Until last week, I’d never heard of the Penfield witch—um, cult.”
“No reason you should have. Ten years ago, before the FBI had a supernatural bureau, Nate and Lou were investigating the disappearance of a Picston City employee. As they tracked down leads in the case, they discovered other disappearances as well. They became convinced that someone was targeting long-time members of the Penfield coven. They were close to an arrest when Nate was killed.”
“I remember that,” I said. “Nate took a bullet meant for Lou.”
She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That was the official story, but not what happened. Nate was poisoned.”