Shifting Silence

by Laura Bickle

  “Bristol, my friend. Tell me more about where you found this item.”

  The campground was in the woods. Past the creek. Turn left at the owl tree and right at the rotting log. And it was there, smelling like a whole bunch of people and food and burned stuff. Like a barbecue.

  “Yeah, I’m thinking you should not have been there.” I didn’t like this whole situation.

  So what now, Doc? Can I go home?

  I shook my head sadly. “Bristol, my dude, I’m gonna have to unzip you to get that rock out.”

  Bristol lowered his ears. I was told there would be treats.

  “Maybe later.”

  I was lied to. He sighed. There’s no more pathetic sound in the world than a dog’s sigh when he realizes he’s been lied to.

  “HOW’S BRISTOL AFTER his surgery?”

  I had scrubbed down and was cleaning my little operating area. Celeste had come in, crystals in her fist, to tuck them away in the corners of the house.

  “He did great. He’ll be right as rain in no time,” I said. “But we’re going to keep him overnight to monitor him.”

  “That’s a relief. Poor guy.”

  “But I have to talk to you about something,” I said. “About what I pulled out of his belly.”

  I lifted a plastic bag. It was a little gooey on the inside, but the bag held a ring set with a large black stone. Even through the bag, it fairly buzzed with magic.

  Celeste’s forehead creased. “Let me see that.” She plucked it out of my hands and turned it around in her perfectly polished fingernails. She fished into her hair for her reading glasses.

  “There’s a mark on the interior band of the ring,” I said. “The same mark as on the knife. A lemniscate.”

  Celeste’s mouth flattened. “I see.”

  “You agree that it came from the Casimir?”

  “Yes. Where did Bristol find it?”

  “At what he called a campground not far from his owner’s property.” I crossed my arms. “I’ve called Dalton.”

  Her hand tightened on the bag. “You called Dalton.”

  “Yeah. It’s entirely possible that we can get these folks for trespassing and animal cruelty. That might be our best chance,” I said. “And at the very least, Dalton might be able to find out where they are, how many there are...”

  Celeste shook her head. “Mortal laws aren’t capable of holding the Casimir.”

  I felt guilty at not being one hundred percent straight with Dalton. I told him partial truths: What I’d found in Bristol’s belly, and pointed out that it matched the symbol on the athame.

  “Celeste thinks that they could belong to a cult. Dangerous people,” I warned him, handing him the plastic bag of evidence when he arrived.

  “I’m not liking this. Not at all.”

  I went with Dalton to pay Aaron a friendly visit. Bristol’s family lived at the end of a dirt road, in a trailer that had seen better days, speckled with rust. An ancient barn stood in the back. The police cruiser bounced over ruts in the road before coming to rest before the trailer.

  I followed Dalton up the steps of the trailer, where he knocked at the door. Aaron answered, holding a toddler in his arms. His brow creased with concern.

  “Doc...what’s going on?”

  Dalton extended his hand. “I’m Deputy Boyce. I’m really sorry to bother you, but something strange has come up about your dog.”

  Aaron’s eyes grew wide. “Is Bristol okay?”

  “Bristol’s just fine,” I said. “But I found something weird in his belly.” I described the ring.

  “Have you seen anything like that before?” Dalton asked.

  Aaron shook his head. “No. I mean, we don’t do much with fancy jewelry here.” He frowned. “You don’t think that it was stolen or something?”

  “No, no.” Dalton shook his head. “We think the ring is connected to an open investigation. We’re just trying to figure out where the ring came from.”

  “When I unzipped Bristol, the ring had some leaf debris on it,” I said. “So I think it’s something he picked up outside. Have you noticed anybody hanging around your property who shouldn’t be?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been having some problems with trespassers. I caught a guy the other day hunting with his dog near the creek. It wasn’t like any dog I’d ever seen, though—huge.” Aaron held his free hand out to waist level. “I thought it might have been one of those wolf hybrids. I told the guy to get lost. I don’t want a bunch of unknown dogs and people with live ammo around Bristol, my horse, and my kid.” Aaron looked down at his son, who was busy gurgling and sticking his fingers in his mouth.

  “Totally understandable. Did the guy leave?”

  “He didn’t say a word, just turned around and headed south. I asked my neighbors if they were having visitors, but they said they weren’t. They saw some trucks they didn’t know heading down their road three days ago. They said the trucks had out of state plates.”

  “Do you mind if we go take a look out that way?” Dalton asked. “If these guys are trespassing and leaving behind things that could hurt your dog, we want to root ‘em out and get some charges on them.”

  “Sure,” Aaron said. “You think that they’re trying to find a spot to grow some weed or something?”

  It was a common, if irritating, annoyance in the county. Every so often, a farmer or hunter would be on his own property and notice that someone else was cultivating marijuana there. The landowner would call the sheriff, and the sheriff would send someone out to collect the evidence and destroy it.

  “We’re not sure what they’re up to,” Dalton said. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  We turned to leave, but Aaron said: “Doc. Thank you for helping Bristol,” he said. “I’m sorry it turned into a hassle.”

  “No hassle,” I said cheerfully. “He’s a great dog, and I’ll get him back to you soon. He’s just a little embarrassed of his shaved tummy. He’ll get over it.”

  I followed Dalton out to the car. He opened the trunk and rummaged through it. The trunk was full of duffel bags that made curious clanging noises when he moved them. He picked up a shotgun and handed it to me.

  “Just in case we find some trouble,” he said, opening a box of shells.

  I lifted a brow. “Are you deputizing me?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of how much trouble you’d cause if I deputized you,” he said. “You get in enough all on your own.” His eyes glinted, and I almost fell into that easy flirting that we’d enjoyed back when we were together.

  Almost.

  We circled around the back of the trailer. I paused at the barn, where a horse leaned, a dappled mare with wise eyes.

  Be careful, she called. There are things with teeth in the forest.

  My hair stood on end. I deliberately chose not to heed her warning and headed south. If these were the Casimir on Aaron’s land... I worried about what would happen if we confronted them. The right thing to do was to catch them and get them the hell off of Aaron’s land. But if they were really as powerful as Celeste said, I could be leading Dalton into a trap. That knowledge gnawed at me.

  We found the creek Bristol described. I stopped at its banks and reached for Dalton’s hand.

  “Dalton, before we go any further, I have something to tell you.”

  His brow creased. “What’s wrong?”

  “I...” I swallowed. “I haven’t been entirely straight with you about a lot of things.”

  His grey eyes took me in. “I always got the impression that you had secrets. Things that were none of my business.”

  “They’re becoming your business,” I said. “I told you that Celeste thinks that the athame and the ring came from a cult. But it’s one she knows...one my family knows.”

  “Is your family involved in some weird business?” he said softly.

  “Yeah,” I said. “But these people are apparently our enemies, from centuries back. You see...my family is a family of witches.”

&
nbsp; There. I’d said it. Dalton blinked, but his poker face didn’t slip. Not one iota.

  “Witches plural,” he repeated. “Not just your flaky aunt?”

  “Witches plural.”

  “Like...what kind of witches? Like...worshipping Satan type witches? Witches that get together and dance on full moons and drink a lot of tea? What kind of witches are we talking here?” His brow creased, and I could tell he was trying hard to wrap his noodle around this.

  “More the latter,” I confessed. “We’re not into Satan.”

  “This is Celeste, you...your sisters?”

  “Yeah. There’s a reason we called ourselves the Weird Sisters in high school.”

  Dalton took a deep breath. “So you girls think you can do magic and stuff.”

  I felt defensive when he said that. “Yes.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okaaay. Anybody conjured up any winning lotto numbers?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. We each have our...our thing.” My cheeks were burning, and I was regretting having told him. “I talk to animals.”

  He rubbed his face then, perhaps smothering a laugh. “Right. Of course.”

  “Dalton. I’m being serious.”

  “I can see you are. Very serious.”

  “I’m telling you this because I think these people are serious danger. They’re magical scavengers. They’re into some dark shit. And I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  He held his hands in a placating gesture. “Nobody’s going to get hurt, all right?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Tell that to the pigs.”

  “Luna—”

  I walked away, finding some flat stones to use as stepping stones to cross the creek. “Bristol said that there was a camp this way. That was where he found the ring and ate it. I’m going to go look.”

  “Luna.”

  I kept walking. I didn’t want him to see how blurry my vision had become. I was embarrassed, deeply. I had never been ashamed of being a witch before. As much as I’d chafed against my heritage, feeling its constraints, this was the first time it had ever actually hurt me. Funny to think I’d always wanted to be a bigger witch. Now, I didn’t want any of it at all.

  Following Bristol’s instructions, I found the owl tree, easily identifiable by the owl droppings on the side of the pine. I turned left there, then right at the rotted log. The sun was dipping into late afternoon, drawing long shadows across the land.

  Behind me, Dalton followed, his footsteps soft. He was keeping his distance, perhaps grappling with what he thought were my delusions. He could stay back there. I didn’t want to face him. There wasn’t anything I could say that would make this better between us.

  A squirrel climbed up a tree, and I clicked my tongue at it.

  “Hey,” I said. “Have you seen any people go this way?”

  Not since this morning, she said, tail jerking. But they make a lot of noise at night. Past that stand of pine.

  “Thanks,” I said, not caring if Dalton heard me.

  I headed to a cluster of white pine trees up ahead. I suspected that Bristol had come here often for the pine needles.

  I pushed past pine branches and stepped into a clearing.

  “Oh, hell,” I murmured.

  A flat area had been swept clean of pine needles, revealing soft black dirt. In the dirt, a circle of glittering salt had been created. The circle was splashed in blood, with sigils carved into the ground. Those symbols were filled with congealed blood. I recognized them as alchemical symbols—symbols for the cardinal elements, mercury, and sulfur. Bones were scattered around the interior of the circle and beyond, in the shade of trees. The whole place stank like an abattoir.

  I heard Dalton come up behind me and exhale.

  “What the fuck is this?” he said.

  “Black magic.” I could feel it, cold and silent, seeping into the earth.

  Something rustled to my left, and before I could react, a dark shape launched itself at us. I swung the shotgun barrel down to my hip, but too late. I was knocked off my feet, sprawling in the pine needles. I twisted around, dragging the shotgun out from under me, staring...

  ...at Dalton wrestling with a grey wolf. All the wolves I’d seen before were the size of large dogs, but this one was much bigger, taller than a man’s waist. The wolf had Dalton rolled over on his back, snarling and snapping at his neck.

  “Get off him!” I yelled, pumping the shotgun for effect. I didn’t want to shoot the wolf, but if it came down to him or Dalton, I was picking my ex-boyfriend. He owed me a few beers over time, and I was not about to let that debt go unrepaid.

  The wolf turned its head toward me, as if it knew what that shotgun pump signified. It paused, its giant paw pressing on Dalton’s chest.

  Dalton had gotten his sidearm free. A bang echoed in the forest, loud enough to rattle birds and pine needles from the trees.

  The wolf yelped, and my heart lurched into my throat. Red blood splashed on his flank. The wolf tore away from Dalton, limping, and ran away into the forest.

  “Dalton.” I came to my knees beside him. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nggh,” he said. His uniform shirt was stained red. I ripped open the buttons, running my fingers over his intact bulletproof vest. The wolf’s nails had torn open his shirt and scarred the ballistic material, but it looked as if it held.

  What worried me was the bite in his neck. I pressed my hands over it, feeling his warm blood pulsing against my palm.

  “You’re going to be all right,” I told him.

  He looked at me with wide eyes.

  I reached for his radio. “Hello? Is anyone out there? I have an officer down.”

  Static buzzed back at me, then a faint voice. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m with Deputy Dalton Boyce,” I said. “I need an ambulance.” I relayed our position as best I could, then put the radio down to place both hands on Dalton’s throat.

  “You’re going to be okay,” I insisted once more. I said it as if it were an incantation, over and over. And perhaps it was, that prayer moving over and over through my lips. I was not a powerful witch by any stretch of the imagination, but I could feel the power of the earth turning a bit, beneath us. It had been tainted and twisted by the dark power exerted here, but at its core, it was still pure as rain. I called it forth with every fiber of my being, summoning it to save Dalton. He was the man I’d loved once upon a time, and he didn’t deserve to die. Out here, it could take a half-hour, maybe even an hour for help to arrive.

  He passed out, but he was still breathing. The movement of blood between my fingers slowed. I kept my hands on him even as sheriff’s deputies and volunteer firefighters came crashing through the undergrowth, shouting for Dalton.

  “Here!” I waited, holding Dalton’s life in my hands. I didn’t let go, not even when the paramedics came with the stretcher. I kept my hands on his neck as they carried him through the woods to the ambulance at a dead run.

  I didn’t let go.

  CHAPTER 8

  “It was good that you were with him.”

  I sat in a plastic chair in the hospital waiting area with my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. I held the paper cup tightly so that my hands wouldn’t shake. The hospital staff had taken Dalton to surgery immediately upon arrival. I’d been forced to relinquish my grip on him then, and he’d immediately started bleeding like a fountain. They’d whisked him away, and I’d heard nothing about his condition for hours. I wasn’t next of kin, or anyone, really, to him anymore.

  I’d been alone in the waiting room, until Dalton’s boss, Sheriff Sandy Niemec, had come to sit with me about an hour ago. Sandy had taken my statement. I’d omitted any confessions of witches; if Dalton wanted to tell them about that, he could. If he survived.

  I stared down into my cup. Dalton’s blood was still under my fingernails. “I just want him to be okay, Sandy.”

  She patted my shoulder awkwardly, trying to be reassuring. Her blonde-grey ponytail bobbed as she spoke. �
�They’re doing all they can.”

  That might not be good enough.

  A man in blue surgical scrubs paused by the open door. “For Dalton Boyce?”

  “Yes,” Sandy and I said in unison.

  “I’m Dr. Phillips.” He extended his hand to each of us. “I operated on Dalton.”

  “How is he?” I demanded.

  “He’s doing as well as can be expected, after losing an incredible amount of blood,” the surgeon said. “We were able to give him transfusions and splice his jugular vein back together. He’s in recovery now.”

  Relief washed over me, and Sandy continued her awkward patting of my shoulder. “That’s great news, Doc.”

  “He was lucky. Incredibly lucky. With a wound like that, he should have bled out in minutes.” His gaze met mine. “One of the nurses said you performed first aid on him?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “She’s a veterinarian,” Sandy supplied.

  “You do small animals?” An eyebrow crawled up the surgeon’s forehead to his cap.

  “Small, large. Domestic, exotic. The whole shebang.”

  Dr. Phillips pointed at me with a finger gun. “Yeah. I’m taking our Pomeranians to you from now on.”

  “When will he be awake? Will he make a full recovery?” My questions tumbled over themselves.

  “He’s going to be unconscious for quite some time. We want to keep him still while he recovers. We’ll need to observe him for the next few days. He’s not out of the woods yet.”

  “I understand.” I nodded. “Thank you for all you did for him, Doctor.”

  “Thank you for bringing me a live man,” Dr. Phillips said.

  A commotion sounded in the hallway. A man was being wheeled to a room on a gurney, his leg covered in blood. He had grey hair and a sleeve of tattoos running under his hospital gown. He was arguing with a nurse, while another man barked at him from the other side of the gurney. I couldn’t see his face, but I got the impression he was tall.

  An ER doc trailed behind them in the hallway, then stuck her head into the waiting room. “Sheriff Niemec? I have something I need to talk to you about.”