Kiss the Witch

by Dana E. Donovan

  “Of course they did.”

  “But the coroner’s report––”

  “The coroner’s report stated he died of blunt force trauma to the head resulting from a fall, which is true. What the report does not state is that someone tossed him over the balcony that night.”

  “With all due respect, ma'am, from what I understand, the report also put his blood alcohol level at twice the––”

  “Legal limit, I know. But I’m telling you. My husband could hold his liquor. There is no way he fell over the railing of that balcony on his own. If you ask me, it was those men who came to see him the night before.”

  “Men?”

  “Government men.” She took another drag of her cigarette before crushing it out in an ashtray on the coffee table. “The night before his death, two men came to the house to talk to Mark. They met in the kitchen. Spoke in hushed tones so I couldn’t hear their conversation.”

  “How long did they stay?”

  She raised her left shoulder and dropped it lightly. “Not long. Ten minutes.”

  “Then what?”

  “They left, and Mark seemed different after that.”

  “How so?”

  “He seemed nervous. Paranoid even. He didn’t go to work the next day. Said he didn’t feel well. I asked him to talk about it, but he wouldn’t. He went upstairs to his office and didn’t come out after that.”

  “Tell me about his death. Who found him?”

  She grabbed the pack of smokes, coaxed another cigarette out of the pack and lit it up. “I found him. I went to his room around six o’clock to bring him something to eat. I knocked on the door. Got no answer. So I went in.”

  “And?”

  “He wasn’t there. I noticed the French doors opened to the balcony, which seemed strange because it was raining. The wind was blowing, pushing rainwater in through the curtains. I went over to shut the doors. I don’t know why, but instead of shutting them, I walked out onto the balcony and looked down over the railing. That’s when I saw him.”

  I turned around and looked out beyond the sliders onto the patio. “There?”

  She blew a trail of smoke that seemed to point at the very spot. “Yes, Detective. There. Of course, the sliders down here were closed. As I said, it was raining, so I didn’t hear him fall.”

  “Did you let anyone in the house that night?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see or hear anyone else in the house?”

  “No.”

  “Then how could someone have gotten to your husband to kill him?”

  “Someone could have climbed the outside stairs.”

  “The outside….”

  I stepped out onto the patio. Carlos followed. Around the corner, we found a wrought-iron spiral staircase leading up to the balcony outside Williams’ office. “Did you tell the police about your theory, Mrs. Williams?”

  “I told the investigating officer. A pig with an overblown ego and the manners of a baboon.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He blew me off.”

  “Did you get his name?”

  She didn’t have to think about it. “Sergeant Powell.”

  I looked at Carlos. He shook his head and turned his eyes to the ground. I handed her my card. “Again, Mrs. Williams, we are sorry for your loss. We will look into this. I promise. In the meantime, if you remember anything else about the men who came to see your husband, please let me know.”

  “I remember their car,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “After they left, I looked out the window. I saw a dark-colored sedan pulling out of my driveway. It had blacked-out windows, half-moon hubcaps, a riveted gas lid and dual antenna on the trunk.”

  “Wow,” said Carlos. “Sounds like a G-car to me.”

  Williams added, “The plates read CARE-1.”

  That got our attention.

  “CARE-I?” I said. “Are you sure?”

  “You think I’m mistaken?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not. Thank you for your time.”

  Back in the car, I asked Carlos what he thought of the widow Williams. He said he thought the old girl seemed sharp enough, but doubted her suspicions about the spiral staircase intruder.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Come on. You saw those pictures on the bookcase and mantle. Every one of them showed Williams holding a drink. I believe someone came to talk to him. Maybe upset him enough to drive him to binge drink. But if it were raining, Williams would have had those French doors shut. No one could have gotten in from the outside.”

  “What if he let someone in?”

  “Why would he do that if he was frightened and upset?”

  “Hmm, good point. Maybe we should have gone upstairs to look for signs of forced entry through the French doors.”

  “You want to turn back?”

  I checked my watch, remembering Lilith wanted me home by six o’clock in time for dinner. “Better not. We can do that tomorrow. I need to get home. Fact, I should call Lilith now and––” My phone rang just as I was reaching for it. “See? That’s probably her now.”

  I heard Carlos making light whipping noises as I answered it.

  “Hello?”

  It was Spinelli. “Tony. Got it.”

  “Got what?”

  “A run on the tags you asked me about. They are not Massachusetts tags. They are U.S. government tags registered to the Department of Agriculture.”

  “Department of Agriculture? I guess that makes sense. The DOA would have an interest in Biocrynetix Laboratories if they were working on a corn syrup substitute.”

  “Yes, but listen. Because it is registered to DOA, does not necessarily mean it is a DOA car.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s the oldest shell game in government. The Department of Agriculture is the department the government uses for clandestine operations without going underground. By simply cloaking themselves in the fog of the DOA, they appear legit while staying below the radar of Congressional budget and oversight committees.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Could be anyone: CIA, NSA, DoD, Homeland Security. Pick one.”

  “Which one of those agencies is known for assassinating American citizens?”

  “Officially? None of them.”

  “Unofficially?”

  “Unofficially, it could be the Boy Scouts of America. I don’t know, Tony.”

  “Okay. I get it. Listen. Before you go home tonight, can you dig up the medical examiner’s reports on McSweeney, Gerardi and Brookfield? Look for anything out of the ordinary. Drugs in their systems, alcohol, anti-depressants. We’ll get together on it tomorrow.”

  “Roger that Kemosabe.”

  I hung up. “Nice,” I said to Carlos. “He called me Kemosabe. Do you believe that?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I call you.”

  “So?”

  “So, what now I’m his Kemosabe?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s not very respectful.”

  “Oh, but it’s okay when you call me Kemosabe.”

  “That’s not the same.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s just a kid. I’m forty years his senior.”

  “Not any more. You’re about the same age now.”

  “On the outside maybe.”

  “On the inside, too.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s not it.”

  “Oh really? Then what is it?”

  “He meant it as a term of endearment, a gesture of camaraderie between good friends. That is something you can’t reconcile right now because of what you did with his fiancée last night.”

  “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything with his fiancée. It’s what she did to me.”

  “Oh, so now you’re the victim.”

  “Yes. No. I mean there is no victim. Nothing happened last ni
ght that anyone needs to be ashamed of.”

  “Good, then you should tell Dominic everything.”

  “I will do no such thing, and neither will you.”

  “Okay, but I think––”

  “I don’t care what you think. This is between me, Dominic and Ursula. If my fiancée wants to tell him herself, that’s between him and her.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said if his fiancée wants to––”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “What?”

  “You said if your fiancée wants to tell him. You called Ursula your fiancée.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “You most certainly did.”

  “Why would I say that? She’s not my fiancée.”

  “You tell me. A Freudian slip maybe?”

  “Why don’t you just shut up and drive? Take me home.”

  He signaled left and turned on Broadway. I rooted myself into my seat and crossed my arms at my chest. I spent the rest of the ride wondering if I really called Ursula my fiancée, or if Carlos was just screwing with me. I decided it was Carlos screwing me. I had to. Otherwise, I would have to submit to his armchair psychoanalyses. And frankly, he is better at it than I care to admit.

  TEN

  Lilith and Ursula made a great dinner that night: baked lasagna, garlic bread and tossed salad with red wine. Of course, the lasagna came from the frozen foods aisle, the garlic bread from a poppin` fresh can and the salad from a plastic bag of ready-mix assorted veggies. And though the wine came in a box, it was crisp, bright and refreshing. Overall, a delicious meal.

  Lilith set the mood by placing a dozen white candles about the room, all representing the purity of our new coven. The unusual thing about them was how the wicks burned blue with a white-hot tip on the flames. She said it was an indication that our unity was strong, as the flames fed off the aura of the coven. I have to admit, I could feel the energy around me like never before. I told her so, and when she touched me, a tiny spark shot from her fingertip to the back of my hand.

  Ursula took care of the incense, blending a delicate mix or jasmine and cinnamon with a hint of musk for a natural outdoorsy scent, reminiscent of a summer’s night in a cool forest. Echoes of nature murmured in the background, the sounds lifting like whispers off the CD Lilith used in our coven ceremony.

  After dinner, we retreated to the living room. There, we sipped more wine, toyed with some level one spells for the fun of it, and talked about the old days.

  For me, of course, the old days were my rookie years, memories stretching back a mere forty years or so. Lilith’s memories reached back further. She recounted a time in the mid 1800`s when she helped a band of runaway slaves make safe passage along the underground railroad all the way to New Castle.

  “They knew I was a witch,” she told us, laughing some, perhaps remembering the antics she played on them along the way. “And I know they were afraid of me.” Her smile waned and her gaze grew distant. “I was so much younger then,” she said. “Fifteen maybe. A real fifteen. I guess I didn’t truly understand what they were running from. Then at some point I realized, as afraid as they were of me, they were more afraid of their masters catching up with them. Can you imagine that?”

  She looked at me, sorrow welling in her eyes. For the first time I understood what it meant to live a lifetime of do-over’s, what a second and third lifetime can do to a soul. I started to reach for her hand, but she shook it off like a pup shedding water from her coat.

  “Wow,” she said. “Crazy stuff, huh?”

  I smiled thinly. “Yeah. Crazy stuff.”

  When I asked Ursula to share her thoughts about the old days, she simply lowered her head and gestured unease over the question. I watch her black bangs spill into her eyes and upon her face.

  “I have no days of old,” she said softly. “Save for those long passed what seem recent to me now. And what memories they are, I cannot bear: the Indians, the cold winters, the persecutions and the hangings.” She turned her head to me, parting her bangs with her fingertips. “Art these the days of old ye wish me to share?”

  “No,” I said, feeling stupid for not thinking her situation through. “They are not. I’m sorry.”

  I looked into her eyes, reading her pain, connecting with her for as long as I could before she dropped her hand again, spilling her bangs once more to veil her face.

  We found little else to talk about after that. So we finished the wine, blew out the candles and went to sleep in our separate rooms.

  Sometime in the night, Ursula came to me, riding on moonlight stealing through my window. She presented herself freely, naked, but for the witch’s key around her neck. Though the key was cold, her skin felt hot against my body. I kicked the covers to my feet. She laid her head on my pillow, caressed me with a teasing touch, drawing me to the brink and backing off before I came.

  I asked her what she wanted. She did not reply. She knew I knew. Her kisses dropped like rain upon my chin. They drizzled down my neck and chest and lower still to a point of bated anticipation. I traced my fingers along her cheek and across the back of her neck. She cooed softly before taking me. I gasped. My legs stiffened. My toes splayed. She pulled back slowly, disengaging with a kiss. I relaxed and she returned, repeating and continuing with variations, always withdrawing with that gentle kiss.

  Once more, she took me to the brink. I whimpered an audible sigh, wanting the warmth of her breath around me again. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, straddled and received me. Something inside me ignited. I cared not of the consequences. I let the heat of the moment melt all apprehensions. Defy all reason. I reached for her breasts, filled my hands and squeezed. She hissed, then smiled. I coaxed her down and she kissed me, the sweet taste of wine still lingering upon her lips, the smell of jasmine mingling in her hair.

  “Ready?” she said, the Devil’s smile in her eyes.

  “I am,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  And I was. I was ready to take her all the way. Ready to deliver. We fell into a steady rhythm, a balance of passion and fury synchronized to our quickening heartbeat.

  “Now.” I told her, and I closed my eyes as I neared climax. “I’m ready. I’m coming. I’m….”

  I opened my eyes and she was gone. I sprang from bed. My heart racing. Sweat rolling from every pore in my body. I looked across the room. The hanger on the back of the door remained undisturbed.

  She had not gone. She had never been there.

  I fell back onto my pillow and gazed up at the ceiling. “It seemed so real,” I said, whispering to convince myself I was indeed awake now. I laughed lightly, until a sinking feeling in my belly told me it was wrong. Wrong to have erotic dreams about Spinelli’s fiancée. Wrong to harbor subconscious feelings for Ursula that my conscience cannot accept. And wrong to think that Lilith is not the very essence that justifies my existence. Because that part I know is true.

  As my heartbeat returned to something resembling normal, I closed my eyes and tried to steer my thoughts to the case that Carlos, Spinelli and I were working on. I might have succeeded, had I not run my hand down my chest and over something wet. I smeared it across my stomach, lifting my hand and feeling it slip between my fingers.

  I got out of bed, took a shower and tried again ten minutes later. Better luck found me then. I fell asleep.

  The next morning over coffee, I told Lilith I had a dream as real as life itself. I did not tell her what that dream was about, but from the look on her face, I suspected she knew.

  “Your mind is in a heightened state of awareness,” she told me. “The power of the coven is with you always now. Everything you do from here on, you will do with greater exception. You will draw your energy from the coven when you need it most and contribute to it when you do not.”

  “But this dream,” I said, “it seemed so real. I could see, smell and taste everything as if I were experiencing the moment just as clearly as you and I are here now.”

&
nbsp; “I know. That’s how it works.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think I like that.”

  “Don’t worry. You will get used to it.”

  Ursula came into the kitchen then, turned the corner and stopped abruptly. I saw the surprise on her face as she regarded me from across the room. I forced a guilty smile.

  “Good morning, Ursula,” I said. “Sleep well?”

  She gathered her hands and folded them tightly to her chest. “Aye, and thee?” she said shyly.

  A sense of dread consumed me. She knew. I could not imagine how, but I just knew that every sordid detail of my dream came to her as our eyes locked and found focus on each other. I begged her silently not to let on, hoping our minds were as much in tune as my gut instincts told me they were. Lilith noticed the unusual exchange and commented, “Something wrong?”

  We both looked at her. “No,” I said. But I didn’t think she bought it.

  “Nay,” Ursula answered, shaking her head and smiling convincingly. “Naught but a cup of tea shan't fix.”

  She crossed the room in a gentle sweep, her eyes down, her hands still clutched above her breasts. I took that as my cue and announced my retreat, explaining that Carlos would be there soon to pick me up. Lilith kissed me on the lips, and in backing away, I noticed a curious look in her eyes.

  “What?” I asked. “Is something the matter?”

  She leaned in again and sniffed my hair. “Hmm, jasmine,” she said, and smiled. “Smells nice.”

  I smiled back, looked at Ursula and noticed her smiling, too. “Yeah, well….” I picked up my coffee and finished the last sip before taking the cup to the sink. “I guess I’ll see you.”

  She watched me out the door. Only God knows what the two of them talked about after I left. Knowing Lilith, she likely had a good laugh over it. And knowing Ursula, she likely did not.

  I sat out on the front stoop for maybe ten minutes before Carlos came by to pick me up in a company sedan. I asked him where his Vette was.

  “Getting rigged with dash lights and a siren,” he said.

  “You’re outfitting your Corvette for work?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  I dismissed it without cause. “No reason.”