The Thirteenth Sacrifice

by Debbie Viguié

  He jerked and rolled over abruptly, eyes wide and disoriented. He turned and looked at her.

  “They’re gone. It’s safe for now,” she said.

  “What just happened?” he asked, his voice eerily quiet.

  “I think the witch I was looking for just found me,” she said.

  “Lady, I don’t know what you’re mixed up in, but count me out,” he said, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed.

  “I wish I could, Anthony. Unfortunately, your timing is as bad as theirs. I can’t risk them waiting to pounce on you once you set foot outside. You’re going to have to stay here for a while.”

  “How long?” he ground out.

  “The rest of the night.”

  “That is unacceptable,” he said, his face turning red.

  “So is your getting killed for sport or tortured to death for information.”

  “Do they know who I am?” he asked.

  “No, and I’d like to keep it that way. I can sneak you out easily enough in the morning. No harm, no foul.”

  “You can’t seriously expect me to stay here… with you?”

  She smiled grimly at him. “A little while ago that idea didn’t seem so unappealing to you.”

  “I don’t know what kind of spell you put on me, but I’m warning you, take it off.”

  “As I told you before, I haven’t done anything to you. That’s not my style, not who I am.”

  “You’ll forgive me, but all I know is that you’re a witch.”

  “And what about all those things you said in the restaurant?” she asked, growing irritated. “Funny, smart, searching for something?”

  “That was when I thought you were a normal woman.”

  “Witches aren’t made, you know,” she snapped. “They’re born.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I was born with these powers. And I was unlucky enough to be born into a family who practiced. I could no more help that than you could help your mother being killed.”

  She had crossed a line—she could tell it by the way the color drained completely from his face and he began to shake uncontrollably.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m still freaked out from what just happened, what could have happened. And you seem to bring out the fire in me in all forms.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stood up, taking the sheet with him, wrapping it around himself. He retrieved his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, and she took the opportunity to put on sweats. There was no doubt about it—Anthony Charles had complicated her life, her job, everything.

  Her phone rang and she snatched it up. “Hello?”

  “Hey.” It was Ed and he sounded tired. “Any progress?”

  She lowered her voice. “I just had a close encounter with the recruiter. Bridget.”

  “I remember the name. Is she as scary as Katie seemed to think?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, perfect. Are you in?”

  “Not yet, but I think I acquitted myself pretty well. I’ll know more tomorrow.”

  She glanced at the closed bathroom door anxiously.

  “Any chance you got something we can move on?”

  “Not yet. No proof. Not even the name of the person in charge.” She hesitated. They hadn’t ever had a chance to discuss what the endgame would be. Even if she found all the coven members, that didn’t mean that any jail on earth could hold them or any jury could remain unswayed long enough to convict them.

  “Great.” Ed sighed.

  “You shouldn’t have risked calling. Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “What happened?”

  “If you’re asking, then I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news yet.”

  “No,” she said, a chill dancing up her spine. “Why? Has another girl turned up dead?”

  “Not in the way you think. Turn it on,” he said.

  She picked up the remote and turned the television on, skipping quickly to the network news. A man with a bushy beard was being interviewed.

  “—these are very troubled young women and we should offer them help.”

  There was a crawl at the bottom of the screen and as she read it her heart plummeted: THREE WOMEN ACCUSED OF WITCHCRAFT KILLED BY OUT-OF-CONTROL MOBS.

  “This can’t be happening,” she whispered.

  “But it is,” Ed replied. “The first girl was an openly practicing Wiccan. The second was just a Goth.”

  “And the third?” she asked, her throat constricting.

  “Killed at a supermarket where she stopped to buy a few things on her way home from a funeral. Customers saw the black dress, shoes, hat… That was all it took.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do we. The guy who threw the first punch was Lopez.”

  “Sergeant Lopez?” she asked.

  “The same.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I wouldn’t either if I hadn’t talked to a dozen witnesses and seen the security camera footage. Something’s happening. It’s making people crazy.”

  “Like the people in the hotel who came after Katie,” she mused.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sure the witch who came after Katie incited the crowd.”

  “But what do they possibly have to gain by these killings?” he asked. “This whole thing makes no sense. I mean, it’s like they want witches to get killed.”

  “No, just people that others mistake for witches,” she said, correcting him.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, if you’ve got any theories, we’d love to hear them. Roberts is going crazy. Frankly, so am I. What’s worse is I’ve got guard duty so I’m not even out there trying to solve this thing. Please tell me there’s good news on your end soon.”

  “I at least passed the first hurdle.”

  “Oh, so the hard part’s over,” he said drily.

  “Don’t I wish.”

  “You holding up okay?”

  “I—” She stopped, suddenly feeling eyes on her. “It’s complicated. Look, I’ve got to go.”

  “What, you got a guy in your room?” he asked.

  When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Are you kidding me? You? You play witch for like a day and you go totally crazy.” He chuckled slightly. “I’m not sure if I should be proud or disappointed.”

  “It’s… complicated,” she reiterated, fighting the irritation that she was feeling.

  “Okay, I hear you. Just be careful, okay?”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  She disconnected the call and turned to see Anthony staring at her. His eyes then shifted slightly and she could tell he was staring at the newscast.

  Everything is spinning out of control and I’m not even in the coven yet. I’ve used magic to harm someone else, I lost my head kissing someone who I should be steering clear of, and now innocents are being hunted down and killed. And this is just the beginning. How much worse is it going to get?

  “Three witches killed?” He raised an eyebrow and looked at her. “Friends of yours?”

  “No!” she snapped. She shut off the television. “They weren’t even witches.”

  “You want to tell me what’s really happening here?”

  “I wish I knew,” she said grimly. “All I know is something is backward. Seriously, seriously wrong.”

  He sat down on the chair by the desk, grimacing at her makeshift altar. “I’ve been thinking the same thing about you.”

  “Look, I told you, no spell, no nothing. Obviously there’s some sort of freaky chemistry between us. So I’ll stay out of your way if you’ll stay out of mine.”

  He regarded her for a minute and then shook his head. “Not good enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the look in your eyes when you realized witches were coming here. Now you claim to be a witch—”

  She snapped her fingers and all the candles lit again. He j
umped and his eyes grew round, but he clenched his jaw and continued. “And maybe that’s what you are. But you hate witches.”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at,” she said. She was torn, struggling with how she felt. It was wrong to endanger him, but she was terrified and didn’t want to face everything that was coming alone.

  “My point is, if you’re on some kind of witch hunt, count me in.”

  “I thought you wanted to get as far away from me as possible.”

  “I do, but… It’s complicated,” he said at last with a sigh. “Earlier you mentioned the girls being killed in Boston. Look, I don’t like what you are, but something tells me you’ve got an endgame here that I can get behind. I don’t even know why I think that. Just something in my gut, I guess.”

  “This isn’t about revenge or righting old wrongs. This is here and now and very dangerous.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve been waiting my whole life to stop a witch. Maybe you’re right. I might never meet the witch I’ve sworn to kill. But that doesn’t mean I can’t stop another witch from taking away some other little boy’s mother. Let me do this. I need to help. There was no one to help me and I wish there had been.”

  Her throat tightened and she felt tears stinging her eyes. She’d been lucky. She’d been raised by adoptive parents who had worked hard to help her overcome the wounds of the past and put them in perspective. If they hadn’t been there for her, there was no telling what would have happened, who she would have become. And Anthony didn’t have anyone to help him make the same journey.

  She swallowed hard and looked away from him so he wouldn’t see the emotions she was struggling to suppress.

  “Okay, you’re in,” she whispered.

  God help us both.

  14

  The stench of blood filled the air, along with a thicker, more sulfurous scent. Abigail stood next to an altar inside a ring of fire. On the altar a variety of animals lay dead, lifeless eyes staring right at her. Each member of the coven had brought an animal for the sacrifice. She had been supposed to bring a squirrel, but she couldn’t bring herself to harm one. Sometimes she would watch them from her bedroom window, admiring their daring and wishing she could pet their bushy tails. Instead she had brought a rat. Her mother had been furious with her, but had believed her when she lied and said she couldn’t trap a squirrel.

  At last Abigail picked up the rat and she held her breath. Abigail slit its throat and dumped its body on the pile with the rest. Just as she started to exhale, the old witch spun around and pinned her with her eyes.

  “You! Come here!”

  And suddenly she was running forward, against her will. It felt like a hand was tightening around her throat, yanking her step by step.

  “Do you know why I sacrifice these animals?” Abigail leered down into her face.

  She shook her head, terror filling her.

  “So that I may be as feared in death as I am in life. Now, I need just one more thing.”

  Abigail brought her athame up, dripping blood, and tapped it against Samantha’s cheek. “The blood of a witch.”

  And then the blade cut deep, ripping into her face. She screamed and cried, but Abigail kept going. She slashed cheeks and forehead and nose and lips. When she was done, she shoved Samantha back into the circle.

  “Next time don’t lie,” the witch hissed.

  Samantha couldn’t see through the blood that had dripped into her eyes and she whimpered in fear. She reached out her hand. “Mommy?”

  And because she had lied about the squirrel, her mother slapped her so hard she fell to her knees. And in her heart she cried out for someone to save her.

  Even though no one could.

  Morning dawned and this time it didn’t chase the nightmares away. Samantha woke Anthony, who stared up at her groggily. “What happened?” he asked. “The last thing I remember is you had agreed I could help.”

  “You fell asleep,” she said shortly.

  She didn’t tell him it was because she had put him back to sleep. She had spent hours pacing the room, thinking about what was coming next before finally falling asleep herself.

  Bridget frightened her. But she wasn’t the high priestess for the coven. The very thought of confronting the witch who held that distinction made her blood run cold.

  She also thought about what was happening back in Boston with the murders of the women accused of being witches. It seemed insane. She could hardly believe that the witch hysteria was beginning all over again in the twenty-first century. But Ed had confirmed that the news reports were accurate.

  And I saw the mob that tried to kill Katie with my own eyes, she remembered. They had been unhinged, and they had turned so swiftly and so violently.

  Almost like magic.

  The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that the witch—Naomi, she had learned her name was—must have incited the crowd to riot to help cover her own attack.

  “So what now?”

  She jumped, startled, and turned to look at Anthony as he exited the bathroom. His hair was slicked back and his face freshly scrubbed. He looked so intent, so earnest. She felt herself softening toward him.

  And a moment later she silently rebuked herself for it. He was a civilian. One who had already lost far too much to witches.

  “Now we get you out of here without anyone noticing,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “You said I could help and I’m holding you to it,” he replied, staring into her eyes.

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she admitted.

  “Either way, I’m not letting this go. So if you want to protect me, you’re going to have to keep an eye on me. Seems like at that point it would just be easier to work together.”

  “I can’t fault your logic. I just don’t like it,” she admitted.

  “So, what are you? A cop?”

  “All you need to know right now is I’m someone who wants the killing—all of the killing—stopped.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I could use your help figuring out where the witches are meeting, who they are, anything and everything. But you need to be subtle. If they suspect what you’re doing, they won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  He grinned. “I own the Museum of the Occult. People get suspicious if I’m not snooping around and asking about supernatural things.”

  “Point taken.”

  “So, how do I get in contact with you? I mean, besides just showing up at your door again,” he asked, looking a little sheepish.

  “It’s better if I contact you. I have a lot to do today, so let’s say sometime tomorrow.”

  “Nice and ambiguous,” he said suspiciously.

  “It’s the best I can do. But I will be in contact. Besides, as you pointed out, you know where I live.”

  “Okay, so how do we get out of here?”

  “Through the front door. But quietly.”

  She walked him down the hall and they stood as far from each other as they could in the elevator. She could still feel a connection with him, energy arcing back and forth between them, and she clenched her fists, struggling to control the feelings that he was bringing out in her.

  Once they’d stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, she took his arm and they walked swiftly to the front door. She didn’t have to worry about the older man at the front desk; he was busy sorting through bills for departing guests and didn’t even see them.

  At the door she hesitated, stretching out and feeling the air around her. She couldn’t sense anything. She touched Anthony’s face and the light seemed to bend around it for a moment. It was the closest thing to temporary invisibility she could give him.

  “Go quickly and don’t stop for anything until you’re safe at home,” she said.

  He nodded, the fear in her voice reflected in his eyes.

  Then he slipped outside and, hands in his pockets, made his way quickly up Essex Street.

  She watched him until he
was out of sight and then closed her eyes and kept track of him for another few moments before his energy was lost to her.

  She turned and headed back to her room. She just prayed that no one had connected her with Anthony yet. It had been stupid and sloppy to let him get so close. She was in no mood for breakfast, especially not when she planned on returning to the Witchery in a couple of hours.

  She wasn’t sure if Bridget would approach her there or not, but it was where she had told Karen, Autumn, and Jace she would be.

  She managed to nap for another hour before getting up and preparing for the rest of her day. She was nervous, frightened for herself, for Anthony, and for the unknown girls who might already be on the coven’s radar. It was for them that she was doing this and she reminded herself of the girls who had already died.

  Finally ready to face whatever was coming, she left her hotel and walked slowly to the microbrewery. She stayed on the opposite side of the street from the Museum of the Occult but was intensely grateful to see that it was open for business. Unless Anthony had employees, that meant he had made it home safe.

  The same guy was working at the front of the Witchery when she went in, but this time he didn’t even glance at her as she walked past, heading for the back room.

  She took the same seat she’d been in the day before and settled down to wait. But within moments waves of energy were rippling through the air, causing her hair to stand on end. The amount of energy they were putting out guaranteed that it wasn’t coming from any of the three girls she’d met with the day before.

  Something was wrong. Before she could make a move, though, four cloaked figures flowed into the room, fanning out around the perimeter. Studying them, Samantha realized that Bridget had sent some of the fiercest, most powerful witches she had ever encountered. The door to the room slammed shut and locked itself. Samantha forced herself to sit still, passive, struggling not to betray any signs of the terror she was feeling.

  Black swirls of mist wrapped around the witches, spreading out into the room. The lights dimmed and dark shapes blocked the windows until there was barely enough illumination to see the hooded figures. Shadows slid across the floor toward her and she forced herself not to shudder. Suddenly they were wrapping around her ankles, binding them to the chair.