by Leslie Meier
Without death there is no birth.
At Samhain comes the Death Crone
Renewing life upon the earth.”
That bit about the Death Crone didn’t sound good, and Lucy felt Diana renew her squirming efforts to loosen the ropes. Her vision was clearer now, and she saw they were in the same clearing where she found Malebranche’s burned body. Her gaze turned to the charred tree and she flinched at the sight. Firewood had been piled at its base, and Symonds’s red gas can stood alongside.
“C’mon, Lucy,” coaxed Diana. “We have to free ourselves NOW.”
Lady Sybil now assumed the goddess pose, planting her legs apart and raising her arms to the full moon with the wand in one hand and the athame in the other, as Peter went around the circle, offering a goblet to each member of the coven to sip in turn.
“Who do you think you are? I’m the leader of this coven, a high priestess, and I demand to be released!” declared Diana, her eyes flashing in the firelight as she strained against the rope.
“I am acting for the coven,” said Lady Sybil.
“Is this true?” demanded Diana, looking from one member to another and receiving nods. Only Abby seemed to hesitate, looking away and avoiding Diana’s gaze before giving her chin a quick jerk.
“We have agreed that we desire a change in leadership,” said Symonds, stepping forward.
“All right,” said Diana. “I certainly understand. I was away too long. I may have erred. But I demand a trial—”
“We have prepared an indictment,” said Symonds, producing a rolled-up sheet of parchment with a flourish. “We believe you and Lord Malebranche have violated the ordains and must be punished.”
“That’s absurd,” scoffed Diana. “And as you well know, the ordains specify that I must be allowed to defend myself.”
“Of course,” said Lady Sybil, giving Symonds a nod. “Read the first accusation.”
Symonds unrolled the parchment and cleared his voice. “The first charge is failing to consult all members before instituting a change in ritual, to wit, the policy of encouraging members to participate in ritual ceremonies skyclad.”
“But that was optional,” protested Diana.
“It made some members uncomfortable,” said Symonds.
“And many of us abhorred the decision to bring sexual practices into the sacred rituals,” added Lady Sybil.
“That was Lord Malebranche’s idea—”
“For which he was punished.”
Lucy could feel a deep shudder run through Diana’s body.
“Which brings us to your next offense,” said Lady Sybil. “Read it.”
Symonds obeyed, reading from the scroll. “You have violated the sacred trust of the coven by sharing secrets about rites, beliefs, and practices with outsiders.”
Lady Sybil narrowed her eyes and pointed the athame at Lucy. “She presented herself to us tonight, a sacrifice sent by the Horned One to complete our atonement.”
There was a murmur of assent from the other members of the coven.
“I was only trying to convince the community that they had nothing to fear from us,” cried Diana. “And Lucy was helping me. Helping us.”
“So you admit your guilt,” crowed Lady Sybil.
“No, no. Absolutely not,” protested Diana.
Lucy had to speak up for herself. “I only wrote good—” she whispered.
“Silence!” ordered Lady Sybil, turning toward Symonds. “And the final charge?”
“Abandoning the practices that our forefathers established as the very foundation of the craft, to wit, the requirement that blood must be shed and sacrifices presented to the Horned One to perpetuate the cycle of rebirth and renewal. Life brings death and death brings life.”
Suddenly Lucy understood it all. She and Diana were to be sacrificed in some ridiculous parody of an ancient fertility ritual. It was crazy, but it seemed as if her life was going to end here in these woods where she’d walked so often, in a nonsensical ritual. She couldn’t believe people could be so cruel, and her gaze darted from face to face. No one made eye contact with her. They were all staring at Lady Sybil, as if in a trance.
“That’s insane!” shrieked Diana, desperation in her voice. “It’s wrong. You’re forgetting the first rule: an ye harm none!”
“She’s right!” declared a small voice, and Abby Stoughton stepped forward, into the center of the circle. “This is all wrong.”
“Quiet, child,” snapped Lady Sybil. “You don’t know the ways of the craft.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” retorted Abby. “I’m a powerful witch. I cursed my mother and she died!”
“That’s as may be or not,” said Lady Sybil, her small eyes glittering in the firelight. “Seize her!” she ordered Symonds, and he quickly grabbed the girl. She struggled weakly to free herself, but he soon subdued her and bound her hands behind her back.
“Blessed be,” declared Lady Sybil as Abby was brought before her and forced to kneel. “Thrice one is three, so may our fortune be.”
“You’ll never get away with this!” shouted Lucy, looking from one blank face to another. “You’ll be caught. You’ll all go to jail!”
Lady Sybil raised her staff and looked skyward. “The moon is rising. Now is the time.”
The chanting and drumming began anew as Lucy and the two others were dragged, kicking and struggling, to the burned tree trunk where Malebranche had died. There they were held firmly by several brawny members of the coven while Symonds unrolled the fence wire and bound them fast. Other members of the coven began bringing more bundles of wood and piling them at their feet.
It was happening, really happening, but Lucy could hardly believe it when Symonds approached, holding the athame before him. The drumming and chanting was growing louder and more intense. Beside her, she could feel Abby’s shoulders trembling and could hear her sobs. On her other side, Diana was standing defiant, muscles tensed. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and her breaths came quick and shallow. She’d never known terror like this. There was no possible escape; Lucy knew that. There was only one thing to do, and she gave herself up to it entirely, closing her eyes and praying for a miracle with every fiber of her being. Symonds was now in front of Diana. He was raising the knife, about to plunge it into Diana’s breast when a dark shadow fell over the moon. The drummers skipped a beat and the chanting faded, and in that moment of pause, something came hurtling silently from the sky, knocking the athame from his hand.
“It’s a sign,” said someone.
In the distance, they heard the howl of a wolf.
“That’s enough for me,” said a woman, dropping her drum.
A gentle breeze wafted through the clearing, causing the fire to flare briefly.
“When the West Wind doth blow, witches all best lie low,” said another as the members of the coven melted away into the dark woods, leaving Lady Sybil and Symonds standing by the fire.
Lady Sybil fixed her eyes on Symonds, rooting him in place, then stooped down to pick up the knife. “Do it,” she hissed, pressing the athame into his hand. “There’s time. There’s still time.”
His hands hung limply, and he refused to take the knife. He stood mutely, his head bowed. Realizing she had lost power over him, Lady Sybil turned and raised the knife over Diana. She was preparing to strike when she was suddenly blinded by a bright light.
Lucy twisted her head, hardly knowing what to expect. An angel, perhaps, or a good witch. Maybe even the Virgin Mary, illuminated in celestial fire. What she didn’t expect to see was Ike Stoughton striding into the clearing carrying an enormous flashlight, accompanied by Thomas and Mather.
“Don’t move!” he ordered. “The police are coming.”
Mather quickly seized the knife from Lady Sybil, who sank to her knees in defeat, muttering curses. Symonds attempted to dart away but was brought down by Thomas, who kept him firmly in place by planting a knee in the middle of his back.
Ike quickly got to work cli
pping the wires that bound Abby to Lucy and Diana, and suddenly the clearing was bathed once again in moonlight. Lucy heard a soft “whoo,” and caught a glimpse of a small owl gliding silently past and disappearing into the trees.
Chapter Twenty-five
“It was thanks to you that we weren’t all burned to a crisp,” said Lucy, speaking to Rebecca Wardwell. “You sent Oz and he got Ike Stoughton’s attention, banging at a window until he came out of the house and heard the drumming and smelled the smoke. He discovered Abby wasn’t in her room and came looking for her.”
Lucy and Rebecca were seated on Miss Tilley’s camelback sofa, sipping smoky cups of Lapsang souchong tea. Diana was there also, seated in a fine antique Windsor chair, on the opposite side of the fireplace from Miss Tilley’s Boston rocker. Rachel was passing the cucumber sandwiches.
“I had nothing to do with it,” said Rebecca, fingering the large cameo that was fastened to the lace collar of her dress. It was made of plum-colored silk, with leg-o’-mutton sleeves and a full skirt that reached all the way down to the black satin slippers she was wearing, signaling this was truly a special occasion that demanded footwear. “Oz does what he wishes. He follows his own inclinations.”
“Well, I wish there was some way I could thank him,” said Lucy.
“No need, he is entirely self-sufficient,” said Rebecca, biting into a molasses cookie.
“It must have been absolutely terrifying,” said Miss Tilley, with a quaver in her voice.
“Oh, it was,” said Lucy. “There was nothing we could do except pray for help. I never expected Ike would be the answer to my prayer.” She lowered her head. “I really thought he had murdered Malcolm, making it look like he was the victim of a satanic ritual.” She turned to Diana. “And you had no idea that the coven killed Malcolm?”
Diana shook her head. “No. He always went to England every summer for a few weeks. Nobody seemed concerned, and since he’d made me high priestess, I thought it was my responsibility to fill in while he was gone. Then when I learned he was dead, I carried on with the practices he taught me. Little did I know the coven were just tolerating me, grooming me to be their next sacrifice. I was never in charge. Lady Sybil was calling the shots, convincing the others to revive some ancient version of the craft.”
Rebecca nodded. “There are a lot of different traditions in the craft. They were practicing a much older, much darker druidic religion that involves human sacrifice.”
“Like in The Wicker Man,” said Rachel, refilling their eggshell-thin cups from a fresh pot of tea.
“A most interesting film,” said Miss Tilley. “I’d read The Golden Bough, of course, but it was quite amazing to see how these wicker giants were really constructed and used.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Lucy.
Rachel set down the teapot. “It’s a film. They did a re-make lately. It’s about a cop who goes to a remote British island to investigate a disappearance and discovers the people there are practicing witchcraft. They build a giant figure of a man out of wood and vines, sort of like a cage, and they put sacrificial victims inside and burn the whole thing to ensure an abundant harvest.”
Lucy wasn’t convinced. “Are you saying my ancestors, your ancestors, did this?”
“Maybe, if they lived in the British Isles. They painted themselves blue, too, and the Romans found them to be fierce opponents in battle,” said Miss Tilley. “The women fought alongside the men, bare-breasted.”
Lucy bit into a cookie. “Okay, but this was all a very long time ago, right? How come the coven wanted to bring it back?”
Diana tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I’m not sure they all did. I think Lady Sybil was the instigator, for reasons of her own. She worked on Peter and the others, convincing them that this was the one and only true religion. Peter was easy—he’d built up a lot of resentment against Malcolm while he worked for him all those years. Malcolm didn’t pay him enough. He couldn’t make his mortgage payments and was losing his house. Malcolm wouldn’t teach him the secret of his magic tricks and treated him like a subordinate instead of an equal. Sybil’s a smart lady, crazy smart, and she knew just how to play him,” said Diana, shrugging. “As for the others, I think they were carried along by the thrill of it all, but they were watchers, not doers.”
“What kind of people would take part in something like that?” demanded Rachel.
This was the very question that Lucy was struggling to answer, and she leaned forward, eager to hear what Diana had to say.
“It’s easy to think of them as demons, but they’re not,” she said. “Not at all. Just regular folks looking for a little excitement in their lives. And remember, they all drank that potion that Lady Sybil cooked up….”
Rebecca leaned forward to interrupt. “The police said it was belladonna, which has hallucinogenic qualities.”
“And once Abby spoke up, the others began to leave. But even so, they’re all being charged as accessories to murder and attempted murder,” said Lucy. “There’s plenty of evidence, since they left a trail of e-mails, and those things never go away. Some members complained that burning Malcolm took too long and that’s why they were going to stab us first.” She paused, remembering tht dreadful night and how she’d feared she’d never see her family again. “Personally, I hope they all rot in jail for a very long time.”
“Not Abby, I hope,” said Rachel. “The poor child needs psychological care, but since she confessed to killing her mother…”
“Tut-tut,” clucked Miss Tilley. “Is it true?”
“Not at all,” said Diana. “She did give her tea made from belladonna, but that’s not actually lethal. Of course, it probably didn’t help, considering the woman was ill to begin with.”
“Why ever did she do it?” asked Miss Tilley.
“She was very angry with her mother for not sticking up for her against her father,” said Diana. “She wanted to see a dermatologist about her acne, and she wanted a cell phone—she wanted to be like the other girls, and they wouldn’t let her. She felt like a prisoner.”
“Oh, dear,” exclaimed Miss Tilley.
“Exactly,” continued Diana. “And then she felt so guilty about it she started drinking the stuff herself and refusing to eat. Rachel’s right—Abby does need psychological help. She’s struggling with a lot of issues. I hope she gets it.”
“Well, looking on the bright side, I think her father is beginning to understand the situation,” said Rachel. “He’s spoken to Bob about taking her case.”
“I know I owe him a huge debt since he saved my life, but I still think he’s abusive and controlling,” said Lucy.
“He’s getting help,” said Rachel. “Bob says he’s really devastated by his wife’s death and totally confused about how to handle a teenage daughter.”
“He’s not the only one,” said Lucy. “Sara’s driving me nuts.”
“I have some relaxing herbal tea I can give you,” said Rebecca.
“I can give you a reading,” offered Diana. “Give you an idea what to expect in the future.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think so,” said Lucy. “I’m taking life one day at a time.”
“It’s the only way,” said Miss Tilley. “I find that the older I get, the more exciting life becomes, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.”
They sat for a moment; then Diana turned to Lucy. “Remember that first day, when you came to my shop and you said you didn’t believe in witchcraft?”
Lucy nodded.
“I wonder,” continued Diana, “do you still feel that way?”
Lucy considered, thinking over the past few months. “Everything you said came true, didn’t it?”
Diana nodded.
Lucy smiled ruefully. “Let’s say I’m open to the possibility.”
“So mote it be,” said Diana, raising her cup.
“So mote it be,” they all said, joining in.
Witch’s Brew
2 rubb
er gloves
One 16-ounce envelope unsweetened grape drink mix
One 16-ounce envelope unsweetened orange drink mix
2 cups white sugar
3 quarts cold water
1 liter ginger ale
1 liter cola
Fill the gloves 3/4 full with cold water and tie the open end in a knot. Lie one flat in a small baking pan. Arrange the other palm down on a freeze-safe container, allowing the fingers to hang down the side. Freeze overnight.
Combine the drink mixes, sugar, and water in a large punch bowl and stir until completely dissolved. Add the ginger ale and cola.
Briefly run the ice hands under cool water, then cut away the glove. Add the hands to the punch, floating one inside the bowl and placing the other over the side. Serve immediately, as the fingers melt quickly. Makes about 20 servings.
Witch’s Cauldron
1 750 ml bottle Midori
63 ounces orange juice
12 ounces vodka
32 ounces club soda
Mix all ingredients in a large bowl with ice. Makes 15–20 servings. (Recipe from Midori.)
Beastly Bugs
For these cookies, use your favorite sugar cookie recipe, cutting the dough into 2-inch rounds and baking. Frost when cool with your favorite butter cream icing, which you have tinted with food coloring. Cut licorice laces into 1-inch pieces and place three pieces on either side of the cookie for legs. Add a gumdrop for the head. You can decorate further with small chocolate chips, candies, or colored sugar.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2010 by Leslie Meier
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.