by Shara Lanel
“I found that your tools don’t match each other or those found at the murder scenes.”
“I’d be a pretty stupid murderer if they did. Well, come back downstairs. It’s quite chilly up here.”
Gabe hadn’t noticed the temperature until she mentioned it. Yeah, going back downstairs sounded like good idea. Did he dare tuck the journal in his pants out of sight?
“I’m coming down,” he said, and waited for her to step down the stairs, taking her out of his line of sight. Then he tucked the journal in the back of his jeans and pulled out his shirt to cover it. Maybe closer examination of this journal would tell him how or if Shylah was involved in Wanda Nance’s murder. If her coven dealt with dark magic, perhaps she knew or suspected the guilty person…if she was innocent.
Downstairs he decided a quick getaway was in order. He said goodbye and backed out the door before she had the chance to say anything else. Good thing his mind wasn’t on romance, because he wasn’t treating Shylah with the respect he would treat any other lover.
* * * * *
Okay, that had been weird. Gabe had come out of the attic looking guilty and then practically run out of the house. She’d expected him to at least want to warm up in front of the fire. She’d known better than to hope for a kiss, like a lover saying goodbye. She’d wanted to slap herself for giving in to her desires once again. At least he would eventually leave Virginia, and she wouldn’t be caught up in a complicated relationship. And he’d left her body sated, so she would be grateful for the physical pleasure and not dwell on the fact that she shouldn’t be having sex with the enemy.
But he had looked guilty, so Shylah decided to go back up to the attic and see if anything was missing. Not that she remembered what was up here exactly.
She pawed through the trunk and smiled at the Halloween costume. She’d deconsecrated her old tools, so she didn’t get any vibrations from them. She shut the trunk again and peered into the shadows created by all the junk up here. She was getting vibrations from something. Ah, the boxes with her Books of Shadows.
The idea of having a thick, yellowed BOS, with vellum pages and a leather cover like her parents’, had appealed but had been impractical. Instead, she’d bought cheap, blank books as she needed them. Maybe when she was older, she’d neatly copy the important spells and notations into a pretty book with archival pages, make it into something she could hand down to her children, but so far she hadn’t gotten up the gumption to follow through with that plan.
As soon as she touched the top of the open box that held the notebooks, she knew why Gabe had looked so guilty. He’d taken one. Had to be the one with the dates around Wanda Nance’s murder.
“Damn him!”
She trailed her fingers over the other books, trying to remember what she’d written about the murder. The books contained explicit descriptions of coven activities and spells, her way of working out what had occurred and how she felt. Had she mentioned being interviewed by the cops? She couldn’t remember. She certainly hadn’t mentioned researching human sacrifice, but had she talked about blood magick?
She sat down with her back against the box, her cheeks warming with sudden embarrassment. She probably hadn’t written about Alain’s talk of blood magick, but she most certainly had gone into detail about the sex magick. She wasn’t ashamed about the magick or the pleasure and would have no problem talking to another witch about it, but Gabe wasn’t another witch. He’d probably think she’d been having orgies.
“What’s another nail in the relationship coffin?” she mused as she got up and made her way back to the ladder. She tugged the string to turn off the light and climbed back down, feeling instantly warmer once she shoved the steps and trapdoor back in place.
So, she was officially mad at him and planned to never have sex with him again.
No matter how badly she wanted it.
Chapter Six
Gabe sat in a corner chair at Starbucks, sipping his coffee and fingering the pages of Shylah’s BOS, as he’d gathered these books were nicknamed. He hadn’t read anything yet. He was still feeling a bit of guilt over stealing something so personal from her, especially in light of them just having sex, even if he “borrowed” it in the name of truth. He glanced at the bustling line at the counter and the chattering folks who filled the chairs around the coffee shop, as he pulled out his wallet and a picture of Lalia with his cousin Angie’s arm wrapped around her. He recognized the bit of house and yard he could see in the picture as the old one, pre-divorce. Lalia’s dress was pastel pink and poofy, and she wore white patent leather shoes. They were both laughing, probably at the photographer, Lalia’s father. The back of the frayed photo read “Easter” in Angie’s neat script.
Even if he doubted Shylah could hurt a fly, Lalia deserved a thorough investigation with every possibility exhausted, no matter how unlikely. The likeliest paths had already been explored by the first detectives. He now had to think of new ones, as well as new ways to approach those that seemed dead ends. For this reason, he would read Shylah’s journal. He doubted she’d shown it to any of the previous detectives. He flipped the book open, flipping past the pages he’d glanced at in the attic. The important dates were in the center of the spiral-bound notebook, but he might need some context to understand what was going on. A quarter of the way through he started reading.
“We did it! I wasn’t sure it would work. But we all focused the cone of power on repairing Leslie’s leg, and what looked like a full break healed to a hairline fracture just like that. The doctor changed his mind about her needing a cast and said she just needed to stay off the leg for a couple of weeks. Outsiders might call it coincidence, but if they believe in the power of prayer, how is this harder to believe? And I felt it the minute the leg reset—I swear I did!
“We accomplished all this during the esbat circle, where we tried sex magick for the first time. Yeah, I was worried. Alain and Claire have performed the Great Rite before us several times, and I have to admit concentrating on the God and Goddess was harder with the arousal I was feeling. I hate to admit it, but every time I watched them, I wanted to touch myself. Then Alain broached the subject of sex magick, reading from several sources about its power. It was most often used alone by consenting couples, but he’d found two obscure sources denoting the power of the whole coven participating, building magick through arousal. We all flipped out at that idea, but he broached it month after month, saying he was casting a circle every week on his own, hoping that we would come to understand the need to branch into new magick.
“Well, I’d left Mom and Dad’s coven, the witches who had raised me after they died, for just this reason, to branch out in magick. I talked to the other conveners one by one to get their thoughts and discovered there were only two holdouts. Mindy admitted to me in confidence that she had been raped by three men at a party, and she would leave the coven before consenting to participate in this. And Astrid, the oldest member of the coven at forty-five, was uncomfortable going skyclad in circle. She did, however, feel going skyclad was part of worshiping the earth and sky. She confided in me that she was starting to go through menopause, and she was uncomfortable with sex even with her own husband, much less with many others. These reasons made total sense to me, so I explained them to Alain in private.
“At the next circle Alain said most of us seemed interested in trying the new method of magick, but asked that those uncomfortable with the idea stay in the circle and hold hands to complete the power. He asked folks to speak with him alone if they had a problem with that.
“At first Astrid and Mindy did as he suggested to keep the power balance in the circle, but I know they won’t stay for it the next time. I only hope they don’t drop out of the coven.
“Gotta get to work. More details later.”
Gabe didn’t know what aggravated him more, the idea of group sex or the more basic idea that an intelligent woman like Shylah could believe this bunk. He admitted to himself, just barely, that reading t
he details of this sex magic would turn him on, something he didn’t want to happen while at a coffee house. But he felt shame for Shylah that she would participate in something like that. However, she had been in her early twenties, a time for experimentation in many people’s lives. He’d done some seriously stupid things himself when he was that age. He shook his head as he walked down the sidewalk to his car. Seriously stupid things, like winding up in the hospital getting his stomach pumped from taking strange drugs given to him by a hooker.
Gabe smiled to himself, not about that particular memory but about the time he’d picked up two ladies, best friends, at a bar and wound up in bed with them both at the same time.
Okay, he needed to be a little less judgmental of Shylah’s exploits in light of his own.
He had an appointment to speak to the principal of Lalia’s school next. It had taken some convincing since Gabe was only one of many detectives to tackle this case. He finally won out by admitting he was Lalia’s cousin. He also managed to get the teachers gathered into two groups or shifts, rather than taking them all out of class at once. That was fine with Gabe. He’d track down the cleaning staff after school. He wanted to speak to Lalia’s and Matthew’s classmates and friends, but he would need parental permission since he had no official standing.
“So what can I tell you that could possibly shed more light on this than I already have?” The principal had a very deep voice and an expression that immediately engendered trust. Gabe needed to look beyond the façade to see if there was a hidden personality that could commit murder.
“I’m sorry to take you over the same ground again. I want Angela to know I’ve turned over every rock before giving up. You understand?”
“Of course. I’m just glad she’s not spending money to beat a dead horse, if you know what I mean.”
“I would’ve come out sooner, but my job kept me away.” Gabe paused to gather his thoughts. “So, let’s start with how much contact you had with Lalia and Matthew in school, and if there was any contact outside school—same church or whatever?”
“I didn’t see the children outside of school unless it was for a school-related activity, like Field Day or if I was chaperoning a field trip, but I do that rarely and I can’t remember a situation where I was with Lalia or Matthew. This is a small-town school, so I knew them and their parents by sight, but that was all.”
“What is your impression of their parents?”
“Very attentive to their education.”
“That sounds like a platitude to me. Let’s get deep here.”
“Well, Matthew’s parents Lisa and Michael Horton went to school here, prom queen and star quarterback. Everyone expected them to hook up, and they did. Michael is a hard worker for VDOT, but Lisa has a bit of a reputation…”
“As?”
“I hate to say this, but she seems to have dated at least half the men in town. Michael is her third husband, you would think the last, but I’ve been hearing rumors that she’s been cheating with someone else.”
“Any idea who?”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m not really in the loop on that sort of thing. I hear gossip in the break room usually, from other teachers.”
“Any teacher in particular?”
“Sadly, it usually seems to come from Candice Self. She’s a very judgmental woman.”
“I see. So have you lived in Smith Creek all your life? Did you teach here?”
“No, I’m from Richmond, got my degree at VCU as did Eva Hector. I taught in Henrico County for a few years before applying for the job of principal here.”
“So it was an upward move for you?”
“Definitely.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes, met my wife at college. She works in an office in Goochland.”
“Any trouble with the law or fired for any reason? Keep in mind I can look this stuff up.”
“I think you’ll find my background a clean slate. My wife and children are my first priority, followed by administering to this school. I have no reason to screw that up.”
“Okay. Now tell me, what are your impressions of the teachers at this school? Don’t hold back. This isn’t about reputations; it’s about two murdered children.”
The principal nodded. “My impressions have to do with teaching and the break room. Oddly, I never socialize with the other teachers outside of school. I don’t live right in town and most of my extended family lives in Richmond.”
“I understand.”
“As I mentioned, Candice Self is a gossip, full of herself and very judgmental. She’s very involved with her church from what I understand and she tends to preach to anyone she can get her hands on. She’s especially attentive to Shylah since she’s Wiccan and therefore needs to be saved from the devil.”
“You know Wiccans don’t believe in the devil, right?”
“I read up on it as soon as I realized that Shylah practiced it, which was only a couple of months after she came to teach here.”
“She told you voluntarily?”
“It came up because of a parent comment about her holiday display.”
“Did she put up pentagrams or something?”
“No, no. She created a very cross-cultural display, but when she was explaining the history of the Yule log, she mentioned her religion. I’m completely satisfied knowing it is an earth-based religion, very focused on ecology, and that they believe in not harming others because of karma. Most Christians seem to have a hard time following that.”
“But you fired her?”
“Honestly, it was parental pressure. Candice made flyers to send home, informing the parents of Shylah’s religion. Not until after the murders, of course. From then on I got continuous phone calls from parents and finally from the school board. School politics—I had to give in.”
“So did you know anything about Shylah’s previous coven?”
“No. Detective Hain mentioned it during questioning, but I still know nothing about it.”
Gabe had closely watched Principal Acker’s face throughout the interview and he was satisfied that he was on the up and up. He offered his hand as he stood. “Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. I know you’ve been done to death with questions on this subject.”
He stood also and shook Gabe’s hand. “I really do want the murderer found, but, other than Shylah, the police seem to have no other suspects.”
“Do you think Shylah could’ve done such a thing?”
“Absolutely not. She was a conscientious teacher who wanted to broaden her students’ minds. I can’t imagine any reason why she would hurt any of them.”
“What about janitors or anyone else who works around the school, even contractors who were only here for a certain amount of time?”
“We only had two contractors in during the first half of the school year and the cops questioned both. I can write down their contact information if you want to talk to them too. Our head janitor is an older, semi-retired lady. She’s worked for us for fifteen years. Only complaints about her have been from students she’s caught smoking in the bathrooms. She’s got two younger guys working under her, both checked out by the police.”
“Do you think she’d have time to talk to me later today?”
“I’ll call her and let you know.” The principal pulled a sticky note off the stack and wrote himself a reminder.
“Thank you,” Gabe said, standing. “I’ll find the first group of teachers in the gym?”
“Yes, and I’ll send the second group in as soon as you need them.”
“Thank you.”
Gabe asked the receptionist out front to point him in the direction of the gym, but first she made him sign in officially and stick a nametag on his shirt. He wondered if security had been boosted since the murders. The gym was at the back of the school. Gabe stepped into the hall as the bell rang and was suddenly surrounded by a swirling mass of students. Several paused long enough to give him a curious glance. Locke
rs slammed, laughter and shouts bounced off the walls, and every kid seemed to be texting on a cell phone.
Just as Gabe reached the double doors leading into the gym, a second bell rang, and the classrooms sucked up the students in seconds. He opened the doors and entered, noting that the sound of whispers ended abruptly. Six teachers sat on the bottom bench of the bleachers. They watched him as he strode over. He introduced himself. One of the teachers did the same for the group.
“I’m Cat Mann and I teach science,” the redhead said. She was petite with pale skin sprinkled with freckles. A very pretty woman. She gestured to each of the others in turn. “This is Clement Wann—math, Eva Hector—social studies, Emily Donovan—music and art, Al Porter—English, and Candice Self.”
The short woman in a brightly flowered shirt butted in. “I teach Life Studies.”
“Life Studies?”
Candice lifted her chin in the air. “Yes, I teach the students how to become better people by learning to cook, do laundry and follow a budget.”
Hopefully not also teaching them to be superior and judgmental. Gabe tried to look interested as he noted the overly large cross on a gold chain around her neck. “You teach this for the whole year?”
“Students rotate by quarters, so I manage to see them all by summer.”
“Including Lalia and Matthew?”
“Not this year, but I did have them last year.” She crossed her arms and straightened her spine.
Gabe turned to the others. “Did any of you have Lalia or Matthew in your classes?”
Mr. Wann half lifted his hand. The man looked Chinese but had a slow Southern drawl. He was from farther south than Virginia, Gabe guessed. “This school year, I had them for math in different periods, and Al had them for English.” He glanced at Mr. Porter, a plump, balding man, who nodded.
Willowy Emily Donovan leaned forward. “I’ve had them both for art and music since fifth grade. Lalia paints beautifully and Matthew is in Glee Club.” Her blue eyes glistened and her lower lip trembled. Cat patted her hand. “I suppose I knew them the best.”