“It could be very dangerous for both of us.”
He laughed. “I think you already pointed out that I tend to rush in where angels fear to tread. Come on. Let me help you.”
Samantha leaned across the table and touched his hand with hers. “All right. I too am looking for a witch.”
His lips parted in surprise. A moment passed, then another as he took in what she’d said. Finally he asked, “And you’re looking for this witch here?”
“I am.”
“Listen to me,” he said, gripping her hand tight. “Witches—real witches—are bad news. They don’t live by a code, they don’t respect life, law, anything. You don’t want to get mixed up with that.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“But I don’t have a choice. And I at least know something about them.”
“Yes, but do you know enough?” she countered. “Can you tell a witch from a Wiccan?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ve met hundreds of Wiccans. There’s thousands of Wiccans for every witch. And they tend to be nice, respectful people.” He looked at her suspiciously. “How do you know there’s a witch in Salem?”
“Haven’t you been watching the news? Those women who were killed in Boston?”
He relaxed visibly. “I saw the news. Those women were killed by occultists, maybe a serial killer or a sick college student with a penchant for murder. That’s why the pentagrams. No real witch would use that symbol. It used to be a Christian symbol representing the five wounds of Christ—head, hands, feet; the point draws the eye upward toward God. Those worshipping Satan profane the pentagram by instead turning it upside down. It’s not a witch symbol. Try telling that to the media, though. They scream witch at the first opportunity regardless of the truth. It’s dangerous and irresponsible.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more about the press. I want you to be careful, though, and keep your eyes open. Because, as improbable as it seems, witches are behind those murders.”
“How do you know all this?” he asked.
His mind was working on the problem and it would be only a matter of minutes before he came to the conclusion that she was a cop. And that knowledge was too dangerous for him to have. He might accidentally tell someone or unwittingly out her in front of the wrong person. For all she knew, he was working with one of the witches. Better for him to hate her and keep her cover intact than risk blowing it. She made a swift decision.
“How do I know witches are behind it?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
She wrapped her hand around his water glass. Moments later the water began to boil. She let go and it stopped.
His lips moved and he mouthed the word “witch.” Then he bolted from the table and out of the restaurant. She got up to chase after him, but when she reached the sidewalk he was nowhere to be seen.
“Anthony!” she shouted.
There was no response. She could tell that he had turned to the left, so she followed. Three more swift turns and she was in an alley. He was hiding, but every instinct she had told her it would be bad to flush him out. Instead she stood in the middle of the space and spoke out loud.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you or frighten you. I’m not going to do anything to you, but I could use your help. Please believe me—I’m not your enemy.”
There was no response. She waited for a minute and then said softly, “Okay, but I hope you change your mind.”
She left and walked slowly back to her hotel, hoping he would catch up to her. When he didn’t she was mostly relieved but also somewhat disappointed. She got to her room and sat down with a sigh. She’d made a mistake, revealed herself too fast. But it was better if he steered clear of her, fearing her, than if he knew that she was a police officer. That was the awful thing about deep cover. Nobody aside from the officer’s handlers was supposed to know the truth.
She cleared away the candles from the top of the dresser. The flames had automatically snuffed out when the three witches had found her. Autumn, Jace, and Karen. Each of them was going to be useful in her own way. Unfortunately, none of them was highly placed enough to be privy to what was going on in the coven. She had briefly thought of arresting the three of them, but even if they could be made to talk, none of them knew enough to help her stop the others. Especially Karen. She was still surprised that the former Wiccan was involved with the group. There had to be something specific she hoped to gain from the connection. Samantha had wanted to find someone with enough of a moral compass to doubt the rightness of what the witches were doing, and Karen more than met the requirement.
I might be able to reach her, make her see what’s happening, persuade her to leave before it’s too late.
She shook her head. She shouldn’t be so worried for Karen’s welfare. She was, after all, part of the coven that was killing girls and trying to raise the dead. Regardless of whether she had a hand in the killings, she was still involved. Still guilty. Like I was way back then.
She wanted to talk to Ed, tell him how things were going and see what he’d come up with on his end. Communication was dangerous, though, since it could lead to discovery. And since Ed was one of the officers guarding Katie, communication with the outside world was just as dangerous for him as it was for her. Until she knew how powerful and how connected the coven was, she couldn’t risk it for anything short of an emergency.
She prepped her hotel room in case of an unannounced visit from members of the coven. She placed several objects she could use as weapons strategically around the room. Then she carefully staged the rest to make it look like she was a constant, and dangerous, practitioner, right down to building an altar on top of the writing table. Witches occasionally played at mimicking the religious practices of others.
Which was something that worried her, since she could guess the kind of things she would be expected to do if the coven decided to accept her. In many ways it upset her more than the thought of them trying to kill her. She didn’t want to think about praying or sacrificing to any being other than God. It would be asked of her, though. She would have to perform dark magic or risk revealing herself and losing all chance of stopping them forever. She wasn’t sure which terrified her more—not stopping them or having to do the unthinkable to do so.
Her stomach tightened and twisted. Her hand reached for the cross that wasn’t around her neck and she touched the moon instead. She didn’t like the way that made her feel.
She looked around the room, working out what more she should do to prepare.
I should put a circle of blood around the bed to guard me while I sleep, she realized. She didn’t want to use too much blood and weaken herself, but it was a good idea. She grabbed her pocketknife, sliced open her left hand, and began to draw the circle of blood, being careful to keep it unbroken.
When at last she finished, she cleaned and bandaged the wound and surveyed the room. Everything looked right to her and there wasn’t anything else she could think of to do at the moment.
As if on cue there was a knock on her door. It couldn’t be a member of the coven—she would have felt the changes in energy if one had gotten that close. She opened the door and was surprised to see Anthony standing there, his features twisted in anger. He pushed past her into the room and she quickly closed the door and turned to face him.
“What the hell did you do to me?” he fumed.
“Excuse me?” she asked, crossing her arms and staring at him.
“You heard me,” he said. “I—” He stopped suddenly as his eyes fell on her makeshift altar. Then he turned and took in the other magic tools she had staged around the room. The color drained completely from his face. “It’s true. You are a witch.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything in response.
“Why?”
“Why what?” she asked.
“From the moment I saw you I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”
“Wow, and it’s been a whole fourteen ho
urs,” she said, letting the sarcasm drip from her voice.
“It’s been a lifetime,” he flashed, the anger back. “For sixteen years I’ve had one goal, one purpose. And then you come along and have me thinking thoughts… You’ve bewitched me.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” she denied heatedly.
“You have,” he insisted.
“If anything, you’re the one who’s been trying to bewitch me, seduce me,” she accused. “Inviting me to your museum, telling me about your childhood so I’d feel sorry for you, taking me out to a romantic restaurant. What was your next move, Romeo?”
Anger poured off him. But something else was there as well, burning inside him. Maybe she could see it because the same fire was burning inside her.
He took a quick step forward and kissed her.
She should have pulled away, but something wouldn’t let her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him back. She knew it was crazy, but there was a connection with him. She could feel it, and she knew he felt it too.
He pulled her to his chest, holding her close. Heat flashed through her body. He let his lips drift down to her jaw and then he was kissing her throat. She tilted her head back, reveling in the sensation. Suddenly he let her go and took a step backward.
“What have you done to me?” he moaned.
“Nothing yet,” she whispered.
And then he was kissing her again, hard. She lifted her hands and placed them on his cheeks and sent small electrical impulses through her fingers, stimulating the nerve endings. He jerked and looked at her with wide eyes.
“It’s just a little electricity,” she said. “It won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.” She leaned forward and kissed him, his lips tingling against hers. She moved her hands to his arms and could feel the hairs there stand on end as she stroked them.
He kissed her harder, deeper, and she matched him in passion, his desire flooding her senses, and she echoed it back to him until she was tearing at his shirt, trying to get it off so she could touch his chest. He responded by grasping her hips and pulling her even closer. She could feel his heart rate accelerating, matching hers. She began to breathe in rhythm with him as their bodies came into tune.
She closed her eyes, wanting to feel more of him, to breathe the air he breathed. She had never felt this way. She was losing herself in him and it felt so right.
And then, suddenly, she felt energy ripple through the building. She pushed him away with a gasp, staggering as she tried to regain her footing. He was staring at her, confused and panting. The color was slowly draining from his face and he looked as lost as she had felt a moment before. But there was no time to explain, no time to apologize or make things right.
Witches had just entered the hotel and they were coming for her.
13
“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked.
“They’re coming,” Samantha said.
“Who?”
“The witches I’m looking for. There’s no time to hide you. Take off your clothes.”
“What? No way.”
“Do it or I’ll do it for you,” she snapped. “Dump your clothes at the foot of the bed and get under the covers,” she ordered.
She peeled off her own shirt and dropped it on the floor before running to the closet. She grabbed the bathrobe hanging there and put it on. She removed her jeans and threw them on the growing pile.
Clad only in briefs, Anthony was climbing into the bed. She felt her cheeks burning as she moved over to him. He stared up at her. “What next?”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised. And then she touched his forehead and put him to sleep. For a moment she considered doing a glamour on him to disguise his appearance and protect him. But if they sensed that she had done that, they’d know she cared if he got hurt.
She shoved hard, rolling him over onto his stomach so that most of his face was obscured by the pillow. It was the best she could do for him besides pretending she didn’t care about him at all. Which would be nearly impossible.
Choking down her fear, she stepped around the bed and positioned herself halfway between it and the door and waited. She didn’t have to feign her irritation.
Moments later the door opened and three cloaked figures glided into the room, the door swinging shut on its own behind them.
Autumn removed her hood first, looking both excited and nervous. It was a big moment for her, leading the others to the interloper. A second witch removed his hood to expose a sandy-haired man in his forties. She turned her gaze to the third figure, who stood flanked by the other two. Power flowed off her, and Samantha sensed that this was a witch to contend with.
She lowered her hood to reveal long, whitish blond hair. Her eyes were amber and seemed to glow from within. Bridget, the girl who had lured Katie in, Samantha realized.
To Bridget she said, “You have terrible timing.”
“Did we interrupt something?” Bridget asked, amusement in her voice. She was looking over Samantha’s shoulder at the bed and she could tell by the quickening thought in her eyes that Bridget saw not only Anthony but also the circle that Samantha had cast on the floor around the bed. She had drawn it for protection, not to work sex magic as the other guessed, but it worked well.
“Yes, you did interrupt.”
“Did you want to have this conversation in front of your lover?”
Samantha snorted. “Him? I don’t even know his name. I think sex magic works better that way, keeps things simple. And don’t worry, I put him on pause. He won’t remember a thing.”
The man smirked. “You do sex magic with a normal?”
Samantha turned a scathing gaze on him. “Like I said, it keeps it simple. No competing agendas to worry about.”
He looked like he was about to say something else, but Bridget held up a hand. “That’s enough, Calvin.”
He did as he was told, quickly and without hesitation. Clearly Bridget ran a tight ship and didn’t tolerate disobedience.
“Autumn tells me that she found you this morning downtown and you showed some interest in joining a real coven.”
“Is that what she told you?” Samantha asked, noting the inconsistencies, particularly the exclusion of the other two witches.
Bridget slid her gaze to Autumn. “Yes.”
“So, you’re the recruitment officer?”
“Yes, you could say that.”
“I want to talk to your high priestess.”
Bridget cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “In time, if you prove yourself… worthy.”
And even though the evil and the power coming off her intimidated and frightened Samantha, she forced herself to laugh.
“Actually, the real question is, are you worthy of me?”
Samantha flicked her wrist and ignited the candles along the perimeter of the room.
Bridget winked and snuffed them out.
The last thing Samantha needed was a pissing contest with Bridget. And Bridget knew she had already had contact with Autumn, so anything she did to the girl wouldn’t be as impressive.
But Calvin was another story. The sight of a spider crawling along the wall triggered a memory, something another witch had done to her when she was a child. Her gaze ticked to her male poppet on top of the dresser. I name thee Calvin, she thought. Then with a flick of her finger she dropped the spider onto the poppet’s face.
Calvin let out a shriek and fell to the floor, clawing at his face. She knew that in his own mind a giant spider was crawling over it.
“Get it off!” he shouted. “I can’t breathe!”
As he thrashed around on the floor, Autumn jumped back several feet, her face ashen. Bridget studied Samantha thoughtfully.
And then Calvin pulled out his athame and poised it to kill the imaginary spider. But the only one he would kill would be himself.
Samantha had not expected him to go that far, but she forced herself to stand immovable, unflinching, though she trembled ins
ide.
“Enough,” Bridget said quietly.
Samantha waited a beat, just long enough so that the others would be in doubt about what she would do. Then she shrugged and made a show of flicking her finger again.
The spider fell off the doll. Bridget grabbed Calvin’s hand and a moment later he was sobbing with relief.
The witch turned back to Samantha. “You would have let him kill himself?” she asked.
Samantha forced herself to meet the other’s stare. “If he’s that weak, he has no business in a coven connected to my family.”
Bridget’s gaze sharpened. “What are you talking about?”
Without moving, Samantha slapped Autumn across the face. The girl reeled in shock.
“She told you nothing of import. I’m not just some random witch who wandered into town on a sightseeing tour. Someone in this coven is using my mark. This mark belonged to my old coven and none other. Since I am all that is left of it, someone here summoned me.”
Samantha moved the bathrobe just enough to reveal the tattoo. Bridget turned on Autumn with an oath and the girl cringed. “Idiot! The lone survivor lives and you did not think to tell me?”
Bridget turned back to Samantha, struggling to regain her composure. “I’ll bring this matter to the immediate attention of my high priestess. I know she will be very interested to meet you. We’ll be in touch with you tomorrow.”
She bent her head slightly and after a moment Samantha did the same. “Pick him up,” Bridget ordered Autumn with a glance at Calvin, who was still on the floor.
Autumn hurried to do as she was told, and avoided looking at Samantha at all.
She realizes how badly she screwed up. And now she has both the stranger and the coven angry with her. It will make her more vulnerable, Samantha thought with satisfaction.
The three witches left and Samantha stood, waiting, until a couple of minutes later she felt them exit the building. Then she staggered backward and collapsed on the bed, her limbs shaking.
She buried her head in her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath. After a minute she looked over at Anthony’s still form. She reached out and tapped him, sending a mild shock through his system.
The Thirteenth Sacrifice Page 14