BURY THE WITCH: Book 10 (Detective Marcella Witch's Series)

by Dana E. Donovan

  I unfolded my hands and slapped my knees as I stood. “Oscar. You’ve been very helpful. I want to thank you for your time.”

  He stood likewise and offered his hand. “You’re welcome, Detective. If I can do any more just—”

  “I’ll call first.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that, but yes, I like my naps. I suppose it would be nice.”

  “No problem. I’ll see myself out.”

  It was just after five o’clock when I left Oscar Shaul’s place. My mid-afternoon detour to find Jerome had put a serious crimp in my schedule. I had hoped to meet up with Carlos and Dominic before the evening was out so that we might compare notes, but without interviewing Daniel Cohen first, I didn’t see the point in that. I phoned Carlos from the car and asked him how his day was going.

  “Not so good,” he complained. “Someone in the parking lot opened their car door and scratched the paint on my Vette. You know it never fails. I just washed it two days ago and—”

  “I don’t give a shit about your car. I meant how’s the investigation going?”

  “Oh. Well, I looked into the history of the Chubb Sovereign like you asked.”

  “And”

  “It’s a mechanical fortress, just like Swan said. No one’s ever broken into one, and there has never been a substantiated report of the lock mechanism malfunctioning. The only way to open one on site without destroying the building it’s in is to use the key and combination.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Hey, I wonder if I should get one.”

  “Why, you don’t trust the banks with your money?”

  “No, not for my money, for my Playboys.”

  “Carlos.”

  “I have every issue, starting with December ‘53’. Do you know how rare a collection that is?”

  “No, but I know what a collection of rears it is.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a joke.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Never mind. Where’s Dominic? Has he had any luck?”

  “He’s not back yet. Tony, that was a nice thing you did, giving him a field assignment and all. You know he’s come a long way since—”

  “Yeah, yeah, listen. I have another call coming in. It might be Lilith. Let me get it. Why don’t we forget about meeting tonight. We’ll get together first thing in the morning, say eight o’clock?”

  “Works for me. I have to get my car down to the paint shop tonight anyway. I have to get an estimate on—”

  “Hello?” I said to the new caller.

  “Detective Marcella?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “This is Dan Cohen from the jewelry store.”

  “Of course, Mister Cohen. I was just about to call. I was hoping I might stop by in a little while to see you.”

  “Yes, I understand you’ve been out to see Rachel and Eric already.”

  “And Oscar Shaul. I just left his place a few minutes ago.”

  “Wonderful, but listen, don’t waste any time getting here. I have something I need to tell you. It’s about the diamonds.”

  “What is it?”

  “Not over the phone, please. Do you know where I live?”

  “I have your address in my GPS.”

  “Good, then hurry. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  I turned down Madison and headed for the Jefferson Street Bridge. Big mistake. I hadn’t thought about the time, and consequently found myself smack in the middle of rush hour traffic. I thought of running the lights, but technically my destination was a non-emergency, non-dispatched call. The last time Carlos ran hot for a code one, the captain came down on him hard. I decided to bide my time and move as traffic allowed.

  I pulled up in front of Daniel Cohen’s town house some thirty-eight minutes later. A windswept sky dressed in purple-bottomed clouds had already begun fading with the sun. Shadows cast by neighboring town houses imprisoned the street in blocks of shade stretching from one end to the other. Very low in the sky, a pale moon struggled to rise through the tangled branches of an American elm.

  As picturesque as it seemed, something inside me stirred, a feeling that told me something wasn’t right.

  I walked up to Cohen’s door and rang the bell. The lights inside were off. No one answered. I noticed the shade on the window next to the door was up, so I went over, cupped my hands to the glass and peeked inside.

  “Hello?” I gave the pane a sharp rap. “Mister Cohen?”

  I was about to take out my phone and call him, when I thought I heard a noise like someone moaning. I looked again through the glass and saw a body lying at the bottom of the stairs. I hurried back to the door, tried the knob and found it unlocked. I rushed inside, stopped and knelt alongside the body.

  “Mister Cohen, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  The unnatural twist to his body told me he wasn’t. I called 911. Not wanting to move him for fear of hurting him further, I drew my weapon and set about the house, making sure it was secure. There appeared no signs of struggle, no forced entry. Except for the unlocked front door, I found nothing unusual or suspicious.

  Sirens were rounding the block when Daniel Cohen appeared to regain an uneasy consciousness. I kneeled by his side again and lowered my ear to him.

  “Mister Cohen, can you hear me? Can you speak?”

  He garbled something incoherently and then coughed up a wad of foamy spit.

  “Who did this to you? Was this an accident?”

  He attempted a reply. I heard “Fah…”

  “I can’t hear you. What happened?”

  He labored a second breath and uttered the words, “Fell down….”

  I looked over my shoulder to the top of the stairs, noticing a small throw rug draping the first step. I looked at Cohen again. His eyes were open, though his pupils no longer responded to light. I pressed my index and middle fingers to the side of his neck and checked for a pulse.

  The next thing I did was check my watch. It was exactly 5:51. The EMTs might work on him; try to resuscitate, fail and then transport. The ER doctor would have his or her say in the matter and eventually declare. But 5:51p.m., for those whom it really mattered, that was the moment Daniel Cohen, age 48, five-four, balding, overweight and a Massachusetts native that had, some say, a jovial personality, died.

  Chapter 21

  I headed home after giving my statement to the responding authorities, taking the long way and driving in circles until darkness had completely seized the last stitch of daylight and ushered in the stars. The moon, which had struggled among the tangled branches in the trees, now took predominance in the open sky.

  Night was in control. Hail the night, I thought, as all things do. Colors surrender to it. Shadows bow in its presence. Night levels the field and favors none. We are all its subjects. We all bend to its will, the weak, the strong and the indifferent. We are all equal in the realm of darkness.

  I cracked my window and wondered about Jerome out there in the cold; wondered how he was doing by himself, alone in his made up world, surrounded by dangerous creatures, real and imaginary. Did he think I abandoned him?

  I almost decided to go to him, to spend the night in the warmth of his company and his fire. But Lilith read my mind. She called to plant the seed in my head that something warmer awaited me back home. I answered the phone with a manufactured smile designed to mask my sullen mood.

  “Hi, Lilith. What’s up?”

  “Tony? Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Did you go look for Jerome after we spoke?”

  “No. I mean, I was going to, but I couldn’t. It’s this case, it’s getting so crazy you know.”

  Yeah, she knew, I thought. She knew I was lying. Yet her perception went deeper than that. It wasn’t about the lie or about finding Jerome. It was about finding me, my head, my very soul. She paused her breath and then let it out softly.

  “It’s okay,” she said, on
ly it came out so velvety smooth, I thought she had whispered it directly into my ear. “Come on home. It’s all right now. I’ll fix you something to eat, set out some candles, turn the lights out and maybe umm,” I heard the subtle parting of her lips as she added, “give you a rub down?”

  “Sure, I’m actually heading home now.” I wasn’t, but I swung the car around as I said it. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  And she was, too. She greeted me at the door wearing only a shirt, one of my old long sleeve blues, buttoned at the navel, cuffs rolled, collar pulled up around the back of her neck. Her hair laid split over her shoulders, most of it spilling down the front.

  She laced her arms around my neck and hugged me, standing on tiptoes to kiss my lips. Through the mirror behind her, I could see her shirttail riding up the back of her legs, exposing the curves of her bottom. I cupped her cheeks and pulled her in tighter, my cold hands causing her to clench involuntarily.

  After kissing me, she eased herself back onto her heels, raked her fingers through my hair and stole passage into my eyes. “You’re not hungry,” she said, “are you?”

  I shook my head.

  She pressed her thumbs to my temples and stroked them lightly. “Do you need to shower?”

  “I will later,” I said.

  She smiled. “Me, too,” and she led me by the hand to the bedroom.

  There was no talk of the Eighth Sphere then, no talk of Jerome, whether I’d seen him, whether I hadn’t. Nor did we speak of Ursula driving across the golf course, leading one of New Castle’s finest into a sand trap or a water hazard, or whatever the hell it was. There was just Lilith and me; her soft breath in my ear, her warm body chasing the chill from my bones. I thought her kiss was the work of magick, so tender was its touch, but it wasn’t. I knew no spell could move me in such a way. It was her love, the very thing that kept me alive through so many cold and lonely nights. The very thing I hoped would save me from myself when the time came to choose between two destinies.

  Afterward, we fell asleep to the whisper of wind beneath the ceiling fan, too tired to shower, too content with the press of skin against skin to bother. The sheet and blankets gathered in a wad at our feet, plowed into the footboard in the early moments of foreplay.

  At three in the morning, I started to stir. My eyes opened lazily to the orange glow of a shellfish nightlight plugged into a wall socket across the room. The light was something I had insisted upon. I found it useful in the wee hours when I needed to get up and visit the john. It’s what I intended to do when I first woke to Lilith’s gentle nudge and the sound she made as she rolled onto her side and cooed.

  As I lay there a moment, staring at the fuzzy shadows on the ceiling, imagining their movements caused by the flicker of candlelight across the room, I realized something strange. Lilith hadn’t lit any candles.

  It’s the nightlight, I reasoned next, deducing the only possible explanation remaining. The nightlight playing off the fan blades gave life to shadows that looked remarkably like human figures milling about.

  I might have closed my eyes after that, convincing myself I was too tired to get up and go to the bathroom and didn’t need to anyway, when fuzzy logic gave way to a cognitive reality.

  “Lilith?” I sat up and covered my privates with my pillow.

  She did that adorable coo thing again and turned the other cheek. Literally.

  “Lillllith….” I shook her gently, all the while smiling nervously at the thousand or so guests crowded into our bedroom.

  “What is it?” she moaned.

  “We have company.”

  She rolled over and sat up. “Tony, you better…what the fuck!”

  “Told you.”

  We stared out at the faces of the coven, thousands, perhaps tens of thousands. They gathered as far as I could see, mostly women, but some men and children, all naked, starting from the footboard to the furthest reaches of the endless, dark halls that used to be our house.

  “What is this?” Lilith demanded. “I didn’t call for the coven.”

  I gave her my pillow in case she wanted to cover herself from the eyes of the men and children standing before us. She took the pillow by the corner and flung it sideways across the room.

  “Lilith of New Castle?” said one woman, clearly the matriarch, old as dirt with white, tumbleweed hair and yellow teeth like a picket fence. Her sunken eyes, dark and cold, peered through hooded sockets unblinking. Weathered wrinkles carved deep erosion lines in her face. They seemed to run the entire length of her body, from her grossly sagging breasts to her spider-veined knees and beyond.

  By contrast, other women there looked like Lilith and Ursula, perfect bodies, firm, slender and beautiful. Some were black, Asian and Latina, though most were white Anglo-Saxon, and all had long dark hair, dark eyes and impeccably smooth skin, except for the obvious rope burns around their necks.

  “Yes, I’m Lilith of New Castle. What is it you seek?”

  The old woman pointed a knotted finger at me. “Be he thy husband, Anthony of New Castle?”

  “Of course, do you think I’d sleep around with just anyone?”

  She returned her beady glare to Lilith. “Thou hath upset thy nature’s balance.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so.” She looked at me as if appraising my general physique. “He’s just a little cold because of the fan. He warms up nicely after a quick rub down.”

  The younger witches giggled at that, but the old matriarch seemed unimpressed. She rocked her head back and regarded Lilith through a squint as she peered down the length of her nose. “Doth thou mock me? I speaketh not of he, but of the essentials. What say thee, hath thy not endowed the prime to a non-witch?”

  “Oh, that. Yeah see, that was an accident.”

  “And the Quintessential?”

  “All right, that wasn’t an accident, but I had every intention of—”

  “Silence!”

  I don’t generally think of Lilith as someone who’s easily spooked. For that matter, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen an instance where she’s even been startled. Yet, that old witch at the foot of our bed did it.

  We both sat up straight and pressed our backs to the headboard until further retreat was impossible. The old woman wagged a crooked finger at Lilith. “Doth thou knoweth what scourge thy acts hath placed upon this coven? What knave is he this Pentacle Prodigy, born of darkness outside our world?”

  “He’s not a knave. His name is Jerome and he’s a good kid, a lizard I think, but a good one nevertheless.”

  “Why, pray tell, endow him with the power of absolute?”

  “Like I said, it was an accident. I understand it’s a big deal. It’s not as though I’m not trying to find him.”

  “Thy misdeeds art done. Find the one ye call Jerome and bring him hither.”

  “I would. That’s what I’m saying, but we don’t know where is. Do we, Tony?”

  “No, but we might have a lead on that.”

  “We might?”

  I gave Lilith a single shoulder shrug. “I’m thinking of some places he might be.”

  “Oh, well then. There, you see?” she said, swiping her palms. “It’s practically a done deal.”

  “`Tis better done,” the old woman huffed, “than practically so.”

  “I know, it’s a bitch, but what can you do, right?”

  “I can strip thee of thy powers. Might that not convince thee thy troubles art great?”

  “Yeah it would.”

  “Deliver us this day the prodigy one. Bring him through the mirror, that we may absolve him of the prime and entrust them to the guardians of kindred spirits. Fail thee in this, Lilith of New Castle, and thou wilt knoweth what wrath of thine own coven might bring.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do when the little shit up and ran away.”

  “Deliver him!”

  With that, the old hag waved her hands before her face and disappeared in a fog. Th
e crowd behind her parted. Those witches closest to the bed turned and walked the newly opened aisle toward a vanishing point impossibly far away. The ones behind them followed, and so on, filing out of the bedroom like a congregation emptying pews from the front of the church on back.

  I watched until the last of them faded from view, which was long before the endless crowd could have walked out in physical succession.

  Before I knew it, the house was back to normal. The hall outside the bedroom led to the living room and not to some place in the vast reaches of emptiness.

  I turned to Lilith, who seemed more perplexed than worried. “Well,” I said. “That was interesting.”

  She returned a tight-lipped smile. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “What exactly was all that about?”

  “You didn’t get it?”

  “Well, I know it was about Jerome, but did I hear her correctly? Did she threaten to strip you of your witchcraft powers?”

  “Yup, unless I deliver Jerome to her before the day is out.”

  “She won’t hurt him, will she?”

  “Tony, the coven is not about hurting souls. They’re about protecting them. She simply wants to get the prime essentials back into the hands of the guardian spirits where they belong.”

  “What about the Quintessential?”

  I watched Lilith turn her eyes down and away, as if the answer to that one was not so easy. Turns out it wasn’t.

  She scooted her butt down the mattress and dropped her head onto her pillow. With her arms out at her side and her toes pointing straight up in the air, she turned her head to me and smiled.

  “Well?” she said.

  “Well what?”

  “This time tomorrow I might not have my powers of witchcraft anymore. I still have a couple of things I haven’t shown you yet.”

  I smiled back like a child anticipating a tickle. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shook her head and grinned. “Mount up, cowboy. You’re going for a ride.”

  I awoke later that morning to a sunrise battling the blinds to work its way into the room. Lilith was up already and out in the kitchen. This I knew because I could smell the fresh breath of coffee permeating the air. Overhead, the ceiling fan still turned in lazy loops. I stretched out straight and thought of the night before, the coven coming to visit, the things Lilith showed me afterward. It all seemed like a dream, but I knew it wasn’t. I could feel the strain in my legs, back and shoulders. What impossible things had I done? What super impossible things had Lilith done?