by Shara Lanel
Was he going to mention the condom issue? Had he thought of it?
“Shylah,” he said in a tone that said he was going to say more, but then he clamped his mouth shut. He closed his eyes, opened them to focus on her, and tried again. “Shylah, this is all my fault.”
“You didn’t force me.”
“No, not that. I invited you to dinner, brought you here and seduced you.”
“Seduced me? It felt pretty mutual.”
She saw a flash of humor in his eyes and a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth, but that immediately leveled out again. “It’s that we…we didn’t use a condom. You’re on the pill, right?”
He looked so hopeful, even though not using a condom opened them both up to venereal diseases. Funny, that didn’t bother her anywhere nearly as much as pregnancy did. She wanted her own family, but not with a PI from California who thought she was evil enough to kill two children. She was so mad at herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She put the towel down and shook her head.
“You’re not on the pill?” Another headshake. “Why the hell not?”
It was embarrassing to tell him, but embarrassment seemed unimportant on top of her other worries. “I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time, so why waste the money and keep feeding something artificial into my body?” She’d actually been on the pill while she was teaching, but when she’d lost her job, she’d lost her insurance. She hadn’t gotten around to finding a clinic where she might be able to get the pill at a reduced price. She’d just figured it was better for her body to stay off it. It wasn’t as if anyone in town would dare have a relationship with the local witch.
“Because some things are worth spending money on!” His tone had risen higher and his anger was becoming palpable. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop if you knew you weren’t on the pill?” He jumped to his feet to pace. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Shylah tried to ground herself so she could get in touch with her body’s intuition. She should get some sort of vibration if a new life had been formed, right? But Gabe kept pacing and swearing. Combine that with lack of sleep and a bit of a hangover, and she couldn’t concentrate at all. She couldn’t even think what to do next. She needed sleep to survive the day at her shop. She was hoping the Festival of the Book would bring a lot of traffic into the New Age store as an author of a book on crystals was doing a signing. As much as she needed sleep, she needed to get away from Gabe so she could think straight. She rose to her feet, which got Gabe to stop pacing. She found her purse and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning, and your car’s still in the parking garage.”
“I can walk. The night air will help clear my head.”
“No, you stay here, I’ll go. I don’t want you wandering around after dark.”
“I’m not a child. If I shouldn’t be out walking this late then neither should you.”
“I’m a man and a trained PI.”
She stood her ground in front of the door and stared at him. The trained PI part made sense. He’d probably had some self-defense training. But the “I’m a man” part was ludicrous. “I want to go home. I never sleep deeply in hotel rooms.”
“If you go home, I go home with you. I can follow you in my car now that you seem to be safe to drive.”
God, she just wanted to get away from him. Her stomach was a ball of churning butter, her head hurt, her eyes stung, and she was so tired. And all of a sudden her body rejected the churning butter. It came up her throat, so she covered her mouth and dashed into the restroom, not even taking the time to shut the door. Sitting at the foot of the toilet, she would’ve died of embarrassment if she wasn’t so busy puking up everything she’d eaten and drunk a few hours earlier.
A hand lifted her hair away from her face and placed a cool wet washcloth on her neck, which immediately calmed the nausea. She stopped heaving so she lifted her head, but still didn’t feel up to moving. And now her mouth tasted nasty. The hand returned with a cup of water for her. She couldn’t believe that Gabe had followed her in here when she was so disgusting.
He sat down on the floor next to her and pulled her against his shoulder. “Feeling better?”
She nodded then sipped more water. She really needed to brush her teeth…as soon as she could stand without wobbling.
“Look, it’s silly for either of us to go anywhere at this time of the morning. We’re both tired and you’re obviously not feeling good, so you take the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor or in a chair or something.”
“If we both stay, then we might as well share the bed. It’s not like we haven’t done it already.”
“True.”
“But keep your hands and other body parts to yourself.”
“Yes ma’am.” He helped her stand before leaving the bathroom while she combed her hair again. She would give anything for a toothbrush, but would have to settle for gargling more water. Her eyes were totally bloodshot and she was suddenly craving OJ. Well, that would have to wait for the real morning. She thought about wearing her pants in bed, but she opted for comfort, her shirt and undies. She was going to have to wear these same clothes in the morning. Ew! There were a few clothing shops on the mall where she could buy a fresh shirt, so that would have to do.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw that Gabe was already under the covers and had turned off all the lights except one on the nightstand. Shylah walked to the closest side of the bed, slipped off her pants and quickly got under the covers.
“Ready?” Gabe reached for the light switch.
“Yup.” And the room fell into darkness, as dark as a hotel room got anyway. There was always some sliver of light from the brightly lit outside that would reflect on the wall of the room and there was the red dot on the fire alarm. Shylah squeezed her eyes shut. She heard a muffled TV from a nearby room. Who the hell was watching TV at this time of the morning? And she heard Gabe breathing. The rhythm didn’t sound quite steady enough for sleep. She’d wait. Maybe she’d fall asleep first, but she doubted it. She needed to talk to Alain more than ever now. Maybe he could tell her a spell to undo what had been done, but she knew better than to use magick for personal gain. He’d taught her that in the beginning, before things had changed in the coven. So even if she could convince him to give her a spell, the universe may not want it to work.
* * * * *
Gabe had walked her to the vintage clothing shop then said a quick goodbye before hustling to his car. He needed to get away from her. She had seemed so fragile last night, defenseless as she’d hugged the toilet. And in bed, he’d listened to her sleep for a long time before he lost consciousness himself. She’d seemed better when they woke up. He’d ordered the “everything” breakfast and it arrived while she was in the bathroom. She’d scarfed down all the scrambled eggs and most of the orange juice before showing any sign of slowing down and sharing with him. She spoke only to tell him her intention of buying a shirt. And here he was, walking across the cobblestones much faster than necessary, so that he could get to the privacy of his car.
He popped an audio book into the player and tried to concentrate as he drove. Ten minutes later, he had no idea what the book was about, so he gave up and turned on the radio. His hotel in Smith Creek had put out a small continental breakfast spread, so he picked up a cup of coffee on the way to his room, a room much downgraded from the Omni. He tossed his keys and cell phone on the laminate table, set down his coffee and opened up his contact book. He was trying to trace Shylah’s past. She’d moved around a lot before coming to Virginia. That in itself was suspicious. What was she running from? And if she was running, why hadn’t she changed her name?
He’d found her birth certificate through a database. She’d come into this world in Atlanta, Georgia. Her parents died when she was ten—he’d found their death certificates and obits—in Kentucky. Car crash. From there, he couldn’t trace where Shylah ha
d lived out her teens. He suspected the mother’s surviving sister mentioned in the obit. He tracked down her current address in Georgia through DMV records, but he still found no paper trail for Shylah. Until age seventeen, when she’d been arrested in Alabama, but those records were sealed.
Gabe picked up his cell phone and dialed his contact in Birmingham. “Hey, bud. I need a favor.”
“Hey, what’s new? Isn’t it your turn to do a favor for me?” Levi Adkins had a gruff, cigarette-induced voice. He was a PI with contacts in the DA’s office as well as other law enforcement. Oddly enough, Gabe had never met him, but then he’d never met most of his contacts.
“I need you to see if you can get any info on the sealed juvie record of Shylah Lewis.”
“Sealed generally means sealed, you know. It’s illegal to get into those records.”
“When has that ever stopped you?”
The man chuckled. “True. Look, I’ll check into it, but there are some things that my contacts just won’t do for anyone and looking into a sealed record may be one of them.”
“Well, call me back if you find out anything. Maybe you can at least get a handle on where she was living, what school, who she was living with. Anything like that.”
“Not wanting much, are you?”
“I guess I owe you a couple times over. Feel free to ask me for a favor anytime.”
“Oh you can count on it.”
After clicking off his call with Levi, Gabe opened his laptop and dove into the trail of Shylah’s past residences. He got back about three years and discovered she’d been in New Orleans. He did a quick search on the town and the year, as he’d done for each residence prior, and that’s when something popped. It was an archived article on the Times-Picayune website about a murder that took place in St. Vincent de Paul Cemetery in the Ninth Ward. It mentioned the names of several covens that were being questioned, but more damning was the unsolved murder itself. Pentagrams drawn on the hands and forehead in blood. It was an adult female, Wanda Nance. The article had the name of the lead investigator, so he’d get in touch with him to ask a few more questions.
He discovered that his coffee was cold and undrinkable after one offhanded sip as he listened to the information recording so he could get the number he needed. Why had everything gone to these recorded phone trees? It was such a pain in the ass. Finally he was writing down the number then dialing. “May I speak to Detective Sampson, please?” He heard a mumble then was put on hold.
“This is Sampson, can I help you?”
“This is Gabriel Niguel. I’m a private investigator looking into the murder of two children in central Virginia.”
“Yes?”
“The person of interest is Shylah Lewis. She lived in…”
The detective was saying “Aha” before he’d finished his sentence. “Yes, I know Shylah.”
“Can you tell me about her involvement, if any, in the murder of Wanda Nance?”
“She was considered a suspect at one point.”
“But something cleared her?”
“Lack of evidence. We were looking at a trio of her coven members. I’ve come across self-proclaimed witches before, but they’re usually New Age flakes who get together for beer and cakes. But Shylah’s coven practiced darker stuff, pulling from other religions such as Voodoo and Santeria. When we raided Shylah’s apartment we found a pentagram drawn on the floor with chalk and similar incense as the traces we found at the scene.”
“But what enabled you to get that warrant in the first place?”
“Shylah worked with Wanda at a restaurant, and Wanda had gone to one of the coven meetings. She’d told all the employees at the restaurant about the weird ritual they’d done. This resulted in Shylah being fired. She still hadn’t found a job by the time of the murder.”
“Anything else?”
“An altar tool found at the crime scene, a silver chalice, matched the set used by the coven and was missing. But there was also Wanda’s boyfriend, other strange members of Shylah’s coven, as well as two other covens with matching tools, a Satanist group who liked to sacrifice animals and our abundance of Voodoo practitioners. Shylah’s connection was too circumstantial for the DA, so he decided not to press charges. Soon after, Shylah left with no forwarding address. You’re telling me she’s in Virginia?”
“Yeah, small town named Smith Creek. Why? Is there an arrest warrant for her now?”
“No, but this is the first time I’ve had a handle on her location. I’d like to keep track of her in case we catch a break. There’s been another murder involving Shylah?”
“Well, her involvement is unclear, but it’s an occult murder in her town. Two teens this time. Detective Hain never contacted you?”
“No.”
Gabe wondered why. She must’ve done a background on Shylah, but maybe she’d just checked for a criminal background and didn’t look further.
“Their hands had pentagrams painted in blood. They also found Shylah’s DNA in the form of a strand of hair on the girl. The prosecutor hasn’t brought charges because Shylah was a teacher at the girl’s school and the hair would’ve been easy to explain away as contact at the school.”
“If none of the other Nance murder suspects are in Virginia, then that’s quite a coincidence. What about a matching altar tool?”
“They found a chalice at the scene, but I don’t know that they tried to match it up with anything in Shylah’s home. They dusted it for prints, of course, but it was clean.”
“You might want to see if you can get a picture of the chalice they found. I can send a snap of ours to your cell. Then try to search her house for matches.”
Gabe nodded, though the detective couldn’t see him do so. “That’s a good place to go from here. Thanks.”
“Keep me informed, okay? It might help us re-open the case here.”
After hanging up, Gabe waited for the picture to arrive on his cell phone. As soon as he saw it he recognized the similarities to the picture of the chalice he’d seen in Detective Hain’s case notes. He needed to talk to the detective again, find out if she’d researched Shylah’s background at all and take a look at the actual chalice for himself.
* * * * *
Shylah’s hand shook as she lifted the phone receiver. She’d never get over that feeling of desire mixed with fear that her mentor caused in her, no matter how many states stood between them. When he’d stood in the center of circle, his naked body decorated in tattoos, his short black hair damp with sweat, his arms outstretched, holding a staff in one hand and an athame in the other, he’d seemed so powerful and sexy. Shylah had longed to replace Claire as high priestess so she could feel his lips on her body as he pressed the five-fold kiss. And when she had become his lover as well as his student, she’d reveled in the sinewy contours of his muscles during sex and the danger and challenge of his magick teachings.
He’d been the coven’s rock during the murder investigation, keeping them steady in the face of probing and prejudice. But he’d also been the one, as high priest, to steer them into darker, more dangerous magic. Instead of an athame dipped into the chalice to symbolize the Great Rite, he’d acted it out with Claire in front of them all. After the ritual was over and cakes and wine were spread and shared, no one could say no to the other coven members if they wanted to touch or have sex. She supposed those times would be called orgies, though she never thought of them that way, since each coven member was an individual, a friend.
She remembered the frenzied eroticism as she lay back on a thousand pillows and each female coven member, including Claire the high priestess, touched and tasted her all at once, her mouth, each breast, her hips, her forehead. She remembered the men watching, but it was Alain’s eyes that seared her. She’d held his gaze as tongues flicked at her nipples, her clit, willing him to experience her ecstasy. Fingers teased at her ass and pushed into her vagina, fingers turning into a fist. Claire’s soft, long hair cascaded over Shylah’s hips as she’d sucked her
clit. The others tasted and bit her nipples, and as they busied their mouths with their asses in the air, a couple of the men took that as invitation, pushing into them from behind. Their hums of pleasure vibrated along Shylah’s nerve endings. Alain never broke eye contact as her body arched and shook with orgasm.
And now, after all this time, she would pull up that memory when she touched herself, would get flushed, wet and sensitized. Somehow, that time, without Alain even touching her as he did many times later, turned her on the most.
But it wasn’t that old memory keeping her perpetually turned on today; it was Gabe’s face above her as he lost himself inside her. His cock filling her, pounding her. His mouth, his touches and later, his tenderness when he could’ve just left her alone in the bathroom.
She hadn’t called Alain since she’d moved to Virginia, since she’d felt his palpable disappointment the last time they’d talked, when she’d told him she was moving again because the local folk didn’t like her Wiccan ways. He’d asked her if she was a witch or a poser and told her to grow a backbone. She still winced at the memory.
She dialed the phone, trying to focus on what she wanted to ask him. Keep it simple, this was about tarot cards, nothing else.
But things were never simple with Alain.
Chapter Five
Instead of “hello” Shylah got a greeting of, “Where the hell have you been? Every time I scry, I see your face with a dark cloud behind it.” Alain’s low voice sent shivers to her toes, making her think of his muscled chest visible through an open black robe as he’d called to the Horned God.