Ancient Forces Collection

by Bill Myers

  “Never mind. Let’s see if he’s online,” Scott said. “Maybe he knows what’s up with Becka and all that Wicca garbage.”

  Sarina finished her reading. She placed her book on the table and brushed her fingers through her hair. “I’d be happy to take a few questions, if that’s all right with you all.”

  Several hands shot up. Becka had plenty of questions burning inside her, but she was more than a little frightened to speak up.

  Sarina pointed to a girl two rows behind Becka. “Let’s start with you. What’s your name?”

  “Um . . . it’s Jamie.”

  “Hey, Jamie. What’s your question?”

  “Yes, like, well, I’m a really, really, big fan — ”

  “Thank you,” Sarina said with a soft smile.

  “I’m wondering how you had time to write a whole book when you’re on the set so much.”

  Sarina tilted her head to one side. “When something is as important to you as Wicca is to me, you just make time, you know?” she said. “You may laugh, but a lot of the time I’d have to scribble bits and pieces on scraps of paper . . . or even a napkin . . . whenever the spirit gives me inspiration, I have to get it down. It’s almost like I’m channeling and taking dictation from the spirit world. Next question?”

  “I’m Ami, and I love your show too. In your reading, you used the word esbats. What’s that?”

  “Good question, Ami,” Sarina said. “Much of our power, as Wiccans, is associated with the movements and rhythms of the cosmos. We witches coordinate Esbats, which is a ritual of divination, with the thirteen full moons of the year. These moon phases contain sacred energies that flow from the Great Goddess through us to do good.”

  Becka worked to collect her courage. She was about to raise her hand when Sarina pointed to a fiftyish-looking woman in the back corner.

  “Thank you. My name is Trisha. To be honest, I’ve never watched your show. Mind you, it’s nothing personal — ”

  “No offense taken,” Sarina said with a wink.

  “Yes, well, I am favorably impressed with your presentation and positive outlook on life. I think you make an excellent role model for today’s young people.”

  “Thank you. Was there something I could help you with?”

  “What would you say to parents who might be tempted to deny their children the chance to explore what Wicca has to offer?”

  Sarina took a deep breath. “I’d have to ask them what they’re so afraid of. What’s wrong with a teen seeking to be empowered, to get the most out of this life? There’s nothing evil here. Remember, it’s the intolerant, oppressive Christian faith that murdered millions of people with their Crusades in the Middle Ages.”

  Several people clapped their agreement.

  Becka was stunned that nobody took issue with anything Sarina said. She had tons of questions. At the same time, she didn’t want to embarrass Julie or the other friends who had come with her. As she wrestled with the decision whether or not to ask a question, her heart raced so fast inside her chest she thought it might just explode.

  “Who’s next?” Sarina asked. She surveyed the crowd and settled on a woman in a stylish red dress. “Let’s go with the lady in red.”

  “My name is Stacey,” she said confidently, as if interviewing for a job. “Thank you for taking my comment.”

  “My pleasure,” Sarina said with a tilt of her head.

  “To be candid, I have been on what you might call a spiritual quest of sorts,” Stacey said. “And, thanks to your TV show, Sarina, I was recently introduced to the benefits of Wicca.”

  “I’m glad to know that,” Sarina said, obviously pleased with herself.

  Stacey returned a smile. “I can only speak for myself, but in the months that I’ve opened myself to the Wicca faith, I’ve been amazed to watch my career soar. I’ve felt my sense of inner well-being increase. And I’m in a great new relationship.”

  “I’m happy for you. Those are just some of the benefits awaiting those who would give Wicca a chance to transform their life.” Sarina shifted her stance. Smiling, she asked, “Was there a question I could answer for you?”

  “Actually, no,” Stacey said, bringing a hand to her expensive-looking necklace. “I just wanted to say I’m indebted to you for your inspiration. Thank you for having the courage to point us down this pathway of enlightenment. I look forward to reading your book!”

  Priscilla stepped to the mike amidst a smattering of applause. Sarina took one step backward. Priscilla said, “I can see that we have time for just one more question. Who wants to have the last word?”

  Sarina returned to the microphone.

  Becka figured it was now or never. She slipped up her hand barely above her waist. She stopped breathing. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Laura staring at her. Becka couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Laura wasn’t too happy that Becka was about to ask a question.

  Sarina cleared her throat. “How about right here in the front row.”

  Becka looked to her left and then to the right. She was the only one in the front row with a hand raised. With her left hand, she pointed to her chest and mouthed the word, Me?

  “Yes, what’s on your mind?”

  Becka swallowed hard. “Um, I’m wondering how you can say there are many ways to God.”

  Sarina raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. What was your name?”

  “Oh, right, it’s Becka.” She felt her face flush. How could she be so dumb as to forget her own name?

  “Becka . . . why don’t you tell me what’s behind your question.” Sarina offered a thin smile.

  “Well . . . for example . . . in the Bible, Jesus said, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.’ ” Becka felt a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.

  Sarina folded her arms together.

  Becka continued. “He didn’t say ‘a way’ but ‘the way.’ And he also said, ‘No one can come to the Father except through me.’ ”

  Someone in the back of the room groaned. Someone else said just above a whisper — but loud enough for everyone to hear — “Give me a break.”

  Sarina fidgeted with a ring. “Uh-huh.”

  Becka pressed the point. “So that seems to me to kinda rule out your theory that there are many ways to God.” She felt as if every eye in the room was riveted to the back of her head. “I’m just wanting to . . . well, to get your take on that.”

  Becka could see Krissi leaning away from her.

  Sarina remained motionless for several seconds of silence. She unfolded her arms. “What you just said is . . . well, it’s a perfect example of intolerance.” Sarina placed her right hand on her hip, then said, “You want to know something, Becka? The goddess has revealed to me that you are an angry young lady . . . with hatred in your heart.”

  “But — ,” Becka started to say.

  A hollow darkness filled Sarina’s eyes. Her voice went cold. “As to what your Jesus says . . . I’ll just have to disagree. To me, all religious pathways are right in how they pursue the great Universal Spirit — as long as they respect the rights of everyone to seek the goddess in their own way.”

  Every inch of Becka’s skin tingled. Not only did she strike a raw nerve with Sarina, she did a perfect job of alienating just about everyone in the entire room.

  Priscilla took the mike from Sarina. “Well, I believe our time is up. Thank you for enlightening us, Sarina.” The audience erupted in hearty applause. Priscilla gave Sarina a sideways hug and added, “In spite of the lone dissenter, you were a real hit. Thanks, everyone, for coming tonight.”

  More applause. Sarina took a seat at the table and prepared to autograph copies of her book. As she reached for the pen, Sarina glared at Becka.

  If looks could kill, Becka would be dead.

  5

  Les Henderson, Laura’s dad, inched his chair forward. He and the mystery woman, the one whose voice Laura had heard on the answering machine, sat at a quiet table in the back of an Italian rest
aurant, relaxing on a Friday night. The flame of a solitary candle danced between them. Off to their left, a wood-burning fireplace crackled. Les loosened his tie and sent a smile sailing across the table. She blushed.

  “What looks good tonight?” Les said, glancing at the menu.

  “Besides you?” she said, her tone as warm as the fire.

  Les looked up. “You’re only saying that because it’s true,” he said with a playful wink. “I hear the gnocchi is great.”

  “Ooh. You are positively intoxicating, Les,” she said.

  Their eyes lingered together. After a long moment, she looked away, carefully placed her napkin on her lap, and then picked up and scanned the menu. She stole a look over the top, where once again she met his gaze.

  She raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” she said, fiddling with a diamond earring he had purchased for her twenty-ninth birthday several weeks ago.

  Les placed his left elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”

  “Well, if you don’t, I may just melt right here.”

  A waiter approached the table with a loaf of warm, sliced garlic bread drizzled with olive oil and spices. He placed the wooden cutting board on the table, disappeared for several seconds, and returned with two full glasses.

  “Have we decided?” the waiter asked. He cupped his hands together in anticipation.

  “I’d like for this night not to end,” she said, “but that’s not on the menu.” She pursed her red lips, pretending to pout.

  “Ah, I see,” said the waiter. “Very well, then. May I suggest the Passion Pasta for two? It’s exquisite.” With a gloved hand, he pointed to the Chef ’s Specials.

  Without taking his eyes off his date, Les said, “I believe that will be perfect.”

  “I’ll see right to it.” The waiter gathered the menus and slipped away.

  “Tell me,” she said, tapping Les on the hand. “Where’s your wife tonight?”

  It was Les’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Not to worry. She went out of town for the weekend.”

  Her face lit up. She reached across the table and touched him on the back of the hand. “Oh, Les, that’s just fantastic. We can stay out and dance the night away . . . and no one will ever know.”

  “You were absolutely golden tonight,” Demi said as she slid into the limo next to Sarina. The chauffeur closed the door and circled round the front to take his place behind the wheel. Within seconds, the limousine eased away from the curb and merged into the flow of traffic.

  Demi pushed the intercom button on the overhead console. “James?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  She consulted her Palm handheld. “Caesar’s . . . on Third and Main.”

  “My pleasure.”

  For three years, the slender, forty-two-year-old redhead had served as Sarina’s personal manager and literary agent. Having landed Sarina a lucrative, six-figure book deal, which she quickly farmed out to a ghostwriter, Demi was determined to push Sarina into as many personal appearances as possible. Tonight marked the tenth out of thirty in-store signings.

  Sarina dug her hand into the leather seat between them. “Did you see what that . . . that little witch in the front row did to me?”

  “Coming from you, Sarina, I’d say that’s an interesting choice of words,” Demi said with a look over the edge of her designer glasses.

  “You know what I mean,” Sarina snapped. “The nerve. I’d love to pull out her stringy brown hair . . . one strand at a time. WITCH!”

  Demi squeezed her hand. “Definitely, without question, this was your best performance so far,” she said, trying to smooth things over. “You know something, kiddo? You almost converted me to become a Wiccan.”

  “Who does she think she is?” Sarina fumed, ignoring the compliment. “Don’t you get it, Demi? She embarrassed me in front of the crowd. I’m so mad, I could spit nails.”

  “You handled her perfectly.”

  Sarina continued as if she hadn’t heard the affirmation. “But no . . . the twerp had to challenge me. And, in case you forgot, that cameraman even got the whole thing on tape. Urrggg!” Sarina jabbed a finger in the air. “I could just kill her for that . . .”

  Demi cleared her throat. “You might just have your chance tonight.”

  Sarina froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re scheduled to have dessert with her and some of her friends in — ” she consulted her watch — “fifteen minutes.”

  Sarina’s eyes blazed. “No way. I’m not doing it.”

  “Yes you are, Sarina,” Demi said. “We’re doing this as a favor, remember?”

  “Enlighten me,” Sarina said.

  “For the lawyer . . . for the guy who handled my divorce.”

  A puzzled look crossed Sarina’s face.

  “Let me refresh your memory,” Demi said. She turned slightly in her seat toward Sarina. “Les Henderson was my divorce attorney. He saved me a ton of money too. As a favor, I promised we’d do dessert with his daughter, Laura, and a couple of her buddies when we came through town.”

  Sarina released a slow breath like a leaking tire.

  “We’ve already been over this,” Demi added, “and you agreed to do it, remember?”

  Sarina rolled her eyes. “Tell ’em I’m sick. I’m losing my voice. I can’t make it. Regrets. Done.”

  Demi removed her glasses. “Sarina, I gave him my word. All I’m asking is for you to hold yourself together long enough to eat a scoop of spumoni with a group of teenagers. Come now, babe, do it for Demi.”

  Sarina crossed her legs and then folded her arms together. “I don’t even like hanging out with the fans,” she said, looking out the window at the passing streetlights.

  “I know,” Demi said. “But you’re a great actress. You can pull it off. You always do.”

  “And I only agreed to these in-store signings because you guys said it would boost sales.”

  “And it has.”

  “But now,” Sarina said, looking directly at Demi, “you want me to sit across the table from some kid who gets her kicks out of trying to make a fool out of me? Where does it end?”

  “Sarina, snap out of it,” Demi said. “I’m telling you, you handled the situation perfectly. And the crowd loved you. Didn’t you hear them? They were on your side the whole time. Just stick to the script. Go in there, smile, talk about the TV show. Kids love all of that behind-the-scenes stuff. Tonight will be over sooner than you think.”

  “I don’t know. There’s something about that girl . . . Becka,” Sarina said, staring into the night.

  “I need you to do this for me.”

  They rode in silence for a minute. The only sound came from the muted rotation of the tires against the pavement.

  “Demi . . . I’ll do this on two conditions.”

  “Name it.”

  “I want to sit as far away from her as possible,” Sarina said. “And I want you to bail me out after fifteen or twenty minutes tops.”

  “Done.”

  “What came over you, Becka?” Laura asked once they were seated in the Suburban. “Of all the dumb things to do. I wanted to crawl under my chair.”

  Becka winced. “Sorry.”

  “Here I got my dad to set stuff up and you — ”

  “Laura, I said I’m sorry,” Becka said, this time turning halfway around in her seat. It was going to be a long night, of that she was sure. Laura had avoided her during the book signing as if she had a contagious disease.

  “I don’t want to be mean,” Krissi said, “but Sarina’s only the hottest star on TV and you basically put her on the spot.” Her eyelashes fluttered as she said, “It might be a good idea for you to go easy on the spiritual stuff, you know, at dessert.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Julie said, turning her head to the side for a split second to face Becka.

  “Really?” Becka said, a bit surprised.

  “Yeah, I thought you were brave in ther
e,” Julie said.

  “Really?” Becka’s eyes widened.

  “Yup, brave . . . or do you mean stupid?” said Laura, cutting in with a laugh.

  Becka’s face flushed. Her heart sank to her feet.

  “Like I said, to cross Sarina like that in public probably wasn’t the best idea,” Krissi said.

  Rachael, who had been silent most of the night, spoke up. “Wow, I sure hope she doesn’t plan to cast a spell on you for that.”

  “Naw. My guess is that Sarina has more class than that,” Krissi said, her forehead wrinkled into a maze.

  Laura softened her tone. “Hey, what do I know, Becka? You felt you did what you needed to do. Fine. But, honestly? I think I’ll just die if you debate her at dinner.”

  “Okay, guys, how about we let it go,” Julie said. “Becka just made a mistake, right, Becka?”

  Becka looked out the window at the full moon. She bit her lip, trying to decide whether or not to defend herself. She hadn’t made a mistake. She knew exactly what she had been doing. She wanted to make it clear that all paths don’t lead to God. Some pathways are nothing more than counterfeits.

  Becka brushed away a hot tear forming at the edge of her eye. “Julie,” she said after a quick moment, “don’t you remember how that demon posed as an angel and ended up possessing you?”

  “Yeah, but Wicca is different,” Julie said.

  Becka studied her profile. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Didn’t you hear Sarina? She said so herself,” Laura said. “Wicca is all about goodness and healing and wellness and personal prosperity — ”

  “I disagree,” Becka said, cutting her off. “I believe that if we open ourselves to the spirit world through any kind of witchcraft, we’re asking for trouble. Big time.”

  Laura laughed. “Open your eyes, Becka. If you haven’t noticed, Sarina really has it together. I admire someone who’s so in touch with herself. I’d say that means Wicca must be working for her.”

  Julie gave Becka a look. “Makes sense to me.”

  The Suburban rolled to a stop outside Caesar’s restaurant, but Becka had lost her appetite a long time ago. It was bad enough that the others were on her case. But the thought of facing Sarina again, well, it felt as if a thousand panicked butterflies were flapping their wings inside her stomach.