Her thoughts drifted to Anthony. He was different from any man she had ever met. Was she attracted to him because the darkness had also touched his life? He could truly understand her past, her pain. She wished he were with her now, even though he was little more than a stranger.
She drifted in and out of consciousness, battling through the pain and fear. When there was a sound at her door she barely had the ability to turn her head to look at it. A minute later Anthony was sitting on the bed beside her. When had he gotten there? He was saying something and she struggled to focus. Finally she made out the word “hospital.”
“No,” she forced herself to say, though the voice didn’t sound like hers. He was picking her up, holding her in his arms. His body was so warm. She clung to him, trying to feel just a little of that warmth herself. And then, finally, she fell asleep.
“You’re lazy,” the man accused her.
She whimpered in her throat. She wasn’t lazy—she was afraid.
When Samantha woke it was nighttime. She blinked sleepily, the room slowly coming into focus. She heard a sound and managed to lift her head a couple of inches. Anthony was sitting on the foot of the bed, munching away on a burger, a take-out container next to him.
“Hello?”
He turned, a look of relief spreading across his face. “You’re awake.”
“What are you doing in my hotel room?”
“Watching over you.”
“Why?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because you clearly need it, at least from what I’ve seen.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to summon the strength of will to talk to him. “We agreed I’d see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, about that—I got a feeling you needed me today. When I got here I could see that I was right. What happened to you?”
“Fight.”
“Ouch. Sorry.”
“I won.”
He gave a low whistle. “I’d hate to see your idea of losing.”
She struggled to sit up, wincing. Her muscles felt completely weak, as though she had been sick for days. “I got an entrée to the coven.”
“Good, I think. Though from the looks of you I’m not sure that’s what I should be saying.”
She propped herself up and fought to stem the tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. “How about you? Did you find anything?”
He smiled.
“I saw you walking with a woman earlier, name of Bridget.”
“Yeah?”
“Moved here a year ago from somewhere on the West Coast. And she was already plugged in before she got here.”
“So she was handpicked by the high priestess to be here.”
“Sounds as though.”
“Did you get a last name?”
He shook his head. “No one seemed to have ever heard one.”
“Anthony, you need to be careful talking to people.”
“It’s okay. Like I said, people are used to my being nosy. Just wait until you hear what I heard about you.”
Terror shot through her. Anthony couldn’t know about her past. If he did know the truth, it might well destroy both of them. She forced herself to take a deep breath. He wasn’t trying to kill her, so that must mean that he didn’t know.
“What did you hear?” she forced herself to ask.
“That you’re the head of the biggest coven in the south, based out of New Orleans.”
Her shoulders slumped as she relaxed. “That’s a good one. I’ve never even been to New Orleans.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you get the facts, sometimes you get the fiction.”
“So how do you know which is which?” she asked.
“You don’t, not always. But the one thing I’ve learned is that the truth always reveals itself in time.”
She smiled at him even as she was praying that it wouldn’t.
He handed her a bag. “I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I just grabbed you a burger too.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve got to get going,” he said, standing up and tossing the remains of his dinner in the trash can.
“Thanks for checking up on me.”
“No problem. I just got a weird feeling when I saw you walking by my museum with blondie. You didn’t look okay.”
“I wasn’t. You’ve got good instincts.”
“So, Samantha, what’s your last name?” he asked.
She looked away. She didn’t dare give him Ryan in case someone else might get it out of him. She couldn’t give him Castor because then he might connect her to the coven that killed his mother. “It’s Hofferman,” she said, silently apologizing to Ed for appropriating his last name.
“Hofferman—okay. Well, it’s been a pleasure, Samantha Hofferman.”
“Please, don’t use my last name. If witches discover it, they could have power over me.”
“I understand. Now, you get some rest. My number’s next to the phone. Call if you need anything.”
As soon as he had gone, Samantha grabbed her cell phone and called Ed. He picked up immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“They nearly killed me today,” she said, trying her best not to lose it completely.
“Are you hurt?”
“I was. I’m better now.”
“Do you need me to pull you out of there?” he asked.
“No, I’m finally in. I’m joining the coven tomorrow night for some rituals.”
“Great. Tell me where and I’ll have a team standing by.”
“Not yet. I need to know if the high priestess is there first. And besides, these people can never be taken as a group. Our best shot is to learn their identities and pick them off one by one.”
“Sounds dangerous to me. Both to us and their intended victims.”
“It’s the only way, though. We send in a team after them and they’ll just get killed and my cover will be blown. We’re going to have one shot at doing this right.”
“Okay, you’re the one on the inside. It’s your call,” he said, sounding very unhappy about it.
“You should know—I had to use your last name today.”
“Excuse me?”
“An asset needed a last name and there were reasons why I couldn’t give him Castor.”
“Thanks, but if people talk, you’re the one that gets to explain it to my wife,” he said sarcastically.
“She loves me,” Samantha said with a smile.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No. Have there been any more developments?”
“Today has been mercifully quiet, as far as I can tell. But I hate babysitting. I want to go home.”
“Someone has to babysit and there’s no one I would trust more,” she said.
“If Roberts asks, don’t tell him that. Tell him to send me home.”
She laughed. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
After she hung up she managed to drag herself to the bathroom and take a shower.
She thought about the magic she had seen performed that day. Some of it had been new to her, the rest hauntingly familiar. She still had huge gaps in her memories from childhood and it was starting to make her nervous. The trick Bridget had done with the invisible snake—should she have known how to do that? Had she known at one time?
She wondered what rituals they were going to do the next night and what they might involve. She had been setting herself up as a seasoned witch, not one with partial memories a decade and a half old. What if they asked her to do something simple and she just couldn’t remember how? It wasn’t just likely that it could happen—given the gaps in her memory it was probable.
After showering she put on her pajamas and sat down on the bed. What she couldn’t remember could get her killed. She dug her fingernails into her palm.
She didn’t want to remember. Once that door was open it could never be closed. And if she remembered too much too fast it might turn her into a babbling, incoherent mess.
She
crossed her legs and said a brief prayer before she began. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She pictured a hallway with a dozen closed doors in it.
“My memories are locked behind these doors,” she said out loud. “A childhood lost and forgotten. But the time for remembering is now.”
She focused on the door nearest her and imagined herself reaching out, turning the doorknob. She took a deep breath, twisted the knob, and flung the door open.
16
The door in Samantha’s mind opened wide. A howling wind came out of it, engulfing her. She tried to take a step forward, but the wind pushed her back. And then it suddenly stopped. Before she could move, a girl walked through the doorway and Samantha recognized herself at about five years of age.
Samantha didn’t want to look at the child. She was terrified of what she would see, what she would remember. She could feel herself crying freely.
“Why are you crying?” the child asked.
“I’m afraid of you,” Samantha said.
The child shook her head. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. You should be afraid of her.” She pointed to a door across the hall. The number 12 was printed on it and Samantha’s skin crawled just looking at it. She turned away quickly.
The child took her hand. “I can help you,” she said. “I can teach you about the snakes.”
Samantha knelt so she was on eye level with the child. “Tell me how.”
The girl waved her hand and then touched Samantha’s forehead. A snake appeared on Samantha’s shoulder and she forced herself to stay still. “A person’s own fear makes the snake have weight and texture and color. You use their fear to create the snake.”
Like making the tattoo artist feel like he was on fire when he wasn’t, Samantha thought. She shook her head. “The snake wasn’t just a manifestation of my fear. It was there. It was real.”
“Of course it was.” The girl put her hands together. “You create the energy. The energy is real. It has substance. Then you can mold it into whatever form you want.”
As Samantha watched in amazement, the space between the girl’s hands turned into a small ball of black fur. It stretched, revealing itself to be a tiny kitten. It hopped onto the girl’s shoulder and began to purr, kneading her shoulder.
And Samantha remembered. “Mother wouldn’t let us have a pet.”
“No matter how much we asked,” the girl affirmed.
“So we made ourselves a pet.”
“And we listen to the kitty purr. And when Mother is near…”
Samantha waved her hand through the kitten, dispersing the energy, and the creature vanished.
“But he’s always here in our mind and our heart,” she said at the same time as her five-year-old self.
The little girl reached out and dispersed the energy of the snake and it too vanished.
“And he seems real,” Samantha mused.
“He is real,” the little girl insisted.
“Thank you,” Samantha said. “What else do I need to know?”
“All magic is the working of energy, fields, magnets, electricity. You know this, but you forget. I can electrocute you or make the iron in your blood react as though it’s being pulled by a magnet.”
“You know a lot for one so young.”
“And you know little for one so old.”
They talked together for a while and little by little memories of being that age came back to her. They practiced some magic and when it was time Samantha said good-bye.
The little girl clung to her hand. “I have to tell you a secret.”
“What?” Samantha asked.
The little girl glanced fearfully at the door marked 12. “It took all of us to lock her up. And to do it we had to go away too.”
A shiver went up Samantha’s spine. “Why did you have to lock her up?”
“So that you could be okay.”
The little girl let go of her and began to back into the darkness beyond her open door.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” Samantha said.
“You won’t,” the girl said with a smile. “This door will be open now. I’ll be here when you need me.”
Samantha pulled herself out of her mind and slumped, exhausted. There was much that she had forgotten, but it had been such a relief to see that a part of herself still seemed innocent. It was well past midnight when she crawled under the covers and shut her eyes, hoping that there would be no nightmares, just dreams.
But she felt so alone. She wished she could share what had happened, what she’d learned, with someone else. Her mind drifted from memory to memory, some good, some bad, and it was like discovering herself.
She turned onto her side and then put her hands close together and created a ball of energy. “Kitty,” she whispered.
And a moment later a furry black kitten was snuggling against her side, yawning and purring as he kneaded the blanket beneath him.
When Samantha woke in the morning she could feel something swatting at her nose. She opened her eyes and saw the kitten batting at her.
“You’re still here, Freaky?” she asked in surprise.
The kitten mewed and jumped on top of her, making Samantha smile. Her phone rang and she reached for it. It was Ed.
“What’s happened?” she asked by way of answering.
“It’ll be all over the news in a minute,” he said, his voice grim. “Two more girls showed up dead this morning.”
She waved her hand through the energy kitten, dispersing it even as it tried to chew on the phone, and she sat up. “Where?”
“Both in Marblehead. One just across the city line, and the other close to Salem.”
Marblehead was a town between Salem and Boston. The locations of the other murders flashed through her mind and she suddenly realized that like the energy trail she had left for Autumn and the others to find, this was a trail of bodies, leading straight to Salem.
“Any connection to the others?”
“Not that we’ve found so far. I’m just finishing up here at the second scene. I’ll call you in a little bit.”
“Okay,” she said, but he had already disconnected.
She made her way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She took her time getting dressed. Every instinct in her wanted to head to the crime scenes, but she forced herself to stay put. After a few minutes she turned on the television and saw that reporters were indeed already at both scenes.
Samantha watched, feeling somewhat numb, as the two murder scenes were described. Reporters recklessly threw around the words “witch” and “sacrifice” until she felt like she was going to be ill. If this kept up, pretty soon any death in the area would be attributed to witches whether it was true or not.
Finally she’d had enough and she turned the TV off. She wasn’t doing anyone any good by letting herself dwell on it. Any real clues wouldn’t be broadcast on television anyway.
She left the hotel and headed up Essex Street, her mind churning with everything that was happening. She looked intently at every person who passed her, wondering whether they knew who was involved with the coven.
When she got to Red’s, she froze for a moment when she saw Ed sitting at one of the tables, staring at her. What is he doing there? His hand rested protectively on a manila envelope on the tabletop.
Samantha sat down at his table, glancing around quickly to see if anyone was paying attention. No one seemed to notice or care.
“I’m guessing this isn’t good news,” she said softly as she picked up her menu and pretended to peruse it.
“The pancakes are bigger than some countries,” he noted. Speaking more softly he said, “I brought you pictures from this morning. When you’ve looked them over you can destroy them.”
“It was a risk bringing them here.”
“Worth it. Besides, I hear they have great breakfast here.”
“What else is happening?”
“People were already going nuts when I left Marbleh
ead.”
“How nuts?”
“Looking to burn a witch nuts.”
“That’s not good,” she replied.
“No. No, it’s not. But that’s not all. Gus, one of the frat brothers of Katie’s ex, has gone missing.”
“Kidnapped?”
“Inconclusive. Although I have a hunch that wherever he is, he went of his own free will.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“Remember Gus? Remember what he said to you that day we went to examine the body? Gus told you that people like you, people with power, scared him.”
“I remember. It seemed very odd at the time.”
“To me too, although it’s starting to make a lot more sense than it did.”
“What about the other guy and the current girlfriend?”
“Accounted for. And they’ve already moved on with their lives,” he said, a look of disdain on his face. “Yeah, they got their fifteen minutes of fame and they used it to scream ‘witch’ to the whole world.”
“What else is going on in Boston?” she asked.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“You really do need to turn on the news every once in a while.”
“Spare me the lecture and just tell me.”
“Protests, riots. Two more women were killed late last night as they left a concert because people thought they were witches. Now activists on the other side are getting involved.”
“How?” she asked.
“There’ve been calls for people protesting the witch hunt to come here to Salem to do it.”
“Here?” she reiterated, the blood draining from her face.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“This weekend. They’re planning on using Salem and the upcoming Halloween parade as a forum to protest the mistreatment of witches and everyone else. Wiccans, pagans, humanists, Satanists. You name it, they’re invited.”
“But it’s going to be a disaster!”
“I know. That’s why I’ve come to warn you. I think you need to get out. We’ve been in contact with federal authorities to try to get their help. This thing is beyond all of us at this point.”
“There’s no reason for them to dump the bodies the way they’ve been doing,” she said. “It would have been easy to just kill them and either hide the bodies or make it look like something else. I can’t think of one good reason why they put them on display that way, risking exposure, almost welcoming it. They’ve been leaving the bodies like a trail of bread crumbs leading right here.”
The Thirteenth Sacrifice Page 17