Prophecy (Soul of the Witch Book 2)

by C. Marie Bowen

  Katy set the tray on the table and hurried outside.

  Cookie filled her satchel, reciting Psalms, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want—”

  Bernard picked up another satchel, tightened it and began the circle again. “Lord and Lady, be welcome in this home—”

  It took an hour to fill the satchels. Once Bayard had knotted the last white bag, he went to the barn and asked Tom for small nails and hammers, so they could hang the satchels.

  Soon, Lloyd, Tom, and Kelly were in the house nailing satchels above each door and window. Cookie reminded them each hearth would require one too, and they devised a way to hang them from the wooden mantels.

  While the men hung satchels, Bay took the ladies outside to collect white sage leaves to make smudges. They made three, one each for Cookie, Jeanne, and Lawna.

  After a quick walk-through to be sure each satchel was in place, Bay sent the men to hang satchels in the barn and the bunkhouse. He reminded them to keep all the animals inside the barn and to give some thought as to how they would be housed, fed and watered.

  Beginning at sundown tonight, and through the day tomorrow, all people and animals would need to remain inside the protection of the buildings.

  After the men left the house, Bayard lit a candle on the dining room table and instructed the ladies on smudging. He held his bundle of sage to the candle until it caught fire. “Extinguish the flame from your smudge, leaving the ember at the end to smoke.” He blew out the flame, and a curl of fragrant smoke lifted toward the ceiling.

  “We will pass through the home and pray for protection at each window or opening where we have placed a satchel.” He stood before the front door and etched the rune of protection in the air. “Any symbol which provides both strength and comfort will suffice.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled at the women. “If not my rune, then perhaps the sign of the cross—and recite your prayer.”

  Cookie and Lawna began their circuit, but Jeanne waited until the other women had left the room.

  “You wanted to ask me something?” Bay inquired softly, aware of Jeanne's hesitation.

  Jeanne bit her lip, then looked up at Bayard. “This protection ritual feels like witchcraft, yet you let us participate. We aren't witches. I didn't think you would let us use the crosses, but you did. You encouraged us to pray to our God.” Jeanne blushed and hung her head. “I'm confused.”

  Bayard leaned against the table and pressed his lips. These people had been helpful and open.

  She deserves an honest answer.

  He tipped his head and looked at Jeanne. “The magic in the satchels has been put there by each of us. Everyone who helped make them or hang them has put their faith into them. Your belief that God heard your prayers strengthens the protection.”

  He sniffed the air and smiled at Jeanne. “You can smell it. You can see it.” He indicated the satchel above the door and the smoke hanging low in the room from the smudges. “If you close your eyes and open your heart, can you not feel it?”

  Jeanne closed her eyes, sniffed and sighed, then looked at Bayard and said, “No. Not really.”

  Bay laughed at her honesty. “That’s all right Miss Jeanne. I assure you, no evil would dare cross this threshold. I believe this is the most secure house I’ve ever known.” He indicated her smudge. “Would you check on Tom and Lloyd? If they’ve finished in the barn, your prayers will help protect the animals they shelter there.”

  Once Cookie and Lawna finished smudging the house, Lawna left to check on Hope-Anne, who napped in the family bunk. Cookie returned to the kitchen to attend to dinner.

  Bayard walked through the house. He touched each satchel and added an extra prayer to the God and Goddess to protect such good people and to allow the evil to pass their door, just as Katy had said.

  He paused in the kitchen and exchanged one of Cookie’s fluffy biscuits for a smile and a wink, then headed for the barn.

  As he crossed the yard, Merril, Sam, and Cat rode in and dismounted.

  Lloyd stepped from the barn, greeted them, and gathered the horses’ reins.

  “Mr. James,” Merril said, and shook Bayard's hand.

  “Call me Bayard or Bay, please.” Bayard grinned and released Merril’s hand.

  “Is everything secure then? Are you prepared to meet this demon?” Sam asked

  With an easy smile, Bay nodded at Sam and his sister. “I think so. If the demon comes here, he’ll find the buildings secured against him. I believe he’ll pass this ranch and move to his targets, which are my nieces.” Bay turned from Sam to Merril. “Your wife asked me to tell you they will return here this afternoon. After supper, they’ll go back to The Shilo. We expect the demon to find us sometime tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  “What is the demon waiting for?” Cat asked, pulling her riding gloves from her hands.

  “It apparently travels distance in much the same way we do.” Bay tipped his head to acknowledge Catherine. “We came to that realization after Amy told us of the animal possessions. At the time she had the vision, she saw the demon a day and a half behind us.”

  “Does this thing track you by scent?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know.” Bay shook his head.

  “What type of power does it have?” Cat asked.

  “I’m not sure. Possession is all we’ve seen.”

  “For a demon hunter, you’re critically short on information,” Sam commented.

  Bayard drew on his deep well of patience and gifted Sam with a pleasant smile. “In this instance, sir, we are most certainly not the hunter, but the hunted. None of us have faced a demon.” He shrugged. “We can only prepare as best we know how, and try to keep the people here as safe as possible once the contest has begun. Please, excuse me.” Bayard touched his hat and continued on his way to check the preparations in the barn. He heard their voices as he walked away.

  “Sam, you’re rude,” Cat told her brother.

  “They don't know what they’re facing,” Sam replied.

  Merril responded, “And yet, he’s here to make sure these people, who he doesn't know, are safe, rather than with his family at The Shilo, preparing to defend their lives. I don’t know about you, but he gets the benefit of my doubt.”

  Bayard entered the barn, and the voices were lost.

  Chapter 32

  Morago

  Morago paused from the long run at the crest of a small rise. Nearly spent, the body the demon inhabited raised its head above the tall grass and looked toward the valley. The animal panted and coughed, in need of water and rest. Still a day’s run from its destination, the sight and scent of the human settlement hung foul in the air and burned the animal’s nose. His whiskered maw curled in disgust as the coyote turned and slunk away, parallel to the town at the base of the mountains. Soon, they would arrive at the second location burned into Morago’s consciousness at the moment of the twyning.

  Wise enough to know its present form could not move unnoticed in the city, the animal perked its ears and moved south toward a rocky outcrop. Nose to the ground, the scents were alive and led Morago to a nest of rattlers. The warning rattle sent the demons tittering in Morago’s mind.

  Yes.

  Another step forward and searing pain rocked the coyote as envenomed fangs sunk deep into its snout. With a yelp, the coyote fell, and a diamondback slithered away from its den with new purpose.

  In the deep summer grass, near the edge of the road, the snake coiled.

  Wait.

  This far from the human settlement, traffic appeared sporadic.

  Patience.

  Morago required a particular type of vessel. A lone traveler, in good physical condition, would be the choice. Patience, a necessity.

  A wheeled conveyance passed his hiding spot. A family. Then another wagon, this one populated by a group of women. The snake’s tail rattled in frustration. Any human will do. Morago silenced his demonic horde with a hiss. He refused to ride, unnoticed, behind the eyes of these mewli
ng creatures. Not this time. Only a specific type of body would be acceptable.

  A young male with an older female approached his hiding spot. A chorus went up from the demon horde. Take them now. But Morago chose to wait. A better choice approached.

  A lone man on a horse, head down, almost asleep in the saddle. With no more than a thought, Morago jumped from the snake to the man. The man's head came up violently, knocking the hat from his head.

  One of Morago’s demons took control of the animal, and their pace quickened.

  Traffic increased as they drew closer to town. They had been about to pass the wagon ahead when the woman's bitter hatred brushed against Morago’s mind. Once she caught the demon’s attention, the resentful loathing that radiated from her aura filled his blackened soul with glee. Morago slowed his pace and remained behind the wagon. He absorbed her rancor with each breath, her venom titillated his soul. Morago followed the woman into town. When the wagon stopped, Morago halted across the road from the woman and observed her with baleful eyes.

  The young man unloaded the trunks and helped the woman from the vehicle. As soon as she stood on the boardwalk, the man climbed back into his seat and shook the reins.

  The hate-filled female glared from the walkway at the man in the retreating wagon. Disgust, malignant with vindictive thoughts, and self-absorption flowed from her self-righteous rage.

  Morago’s soul inhaled deeply and reveled in her hatred. She was ripe with loathing, through and through—like old wood filled with worm, rank and ready to burst wide with rot.

  A man at the boarding house opened the door and spoke to her. Immediately, her countenance changed. She became a poor old woman, betrayed by those she’d spent her life serving. Abandoned by the ones she trusted the most. Pitifully, she begged for a room.

  Morago snickered and noted the house she entered. After she went inside, the horse and rider moved ahead with one mind, ever forward, toward the beacon.

  Two wagons ahead of Morago, the young man who had helped the bitter woman caught his attention. The lad had only thoughts of a wife and young daughter who waited for his safe return. When the wagon stopped beside a livery, Morago and the horse turned right, off the diagonal and onto a residential street. The beacon lay just up ahead.

  The horde gibbered in Morago’s mind, filled with excitement as they moved closer to the landmark. The child would not be there, of course. Too much time had passed since the twyning. But the search must begin somewhere, and the beacon where the prophecy freed him might offer a clue.

  Horse and man stopped in the road before a house with a large 'H' on the door. The man’s bloodshot gaze rose to the second-floor window. The pair sat motionless for quite some time.

  With a thought from the master, the horse moved toward the house, along the narrow side, and into the back yard. No longer did he feel a stranger’s eyes upon him.

  Morago turned to contemplate the empty building while his horde chattered maniacally inside his head.

  * * *

  Hunter

  Hunter had spent every waking moment since Sam and Cat departed surveying Denver and researching the surrounding area. He’d rented a mount from the livery, and rode the main arteries of the city, sketch book in hand.

  He’d asked for, and been granted, access to Denver’s General Land Office records. He made a sketch of the eastern plains using homestead entries, Commissioners’ letters, and land grants. The various rail lines that served Denver provided a scale based on towns along their route—one roughly every ten miles. The piecemeal map of Eastern Colorado included the Shilo and Harris family ranches. The drawing wasn’t as complete as he would have liked, but it did show train lines, small towns, and plots of lands filed with the Land Office. He’d made do with less.

  He unfolded the map of the plains east of the mountains, each sketch carefully tied to the next with string. He spread the map on his bed, slid the pendulum from its silk bag into his hand, and gripped it in his fist. He checked the location of his bounty several times each day. Once they ceased to move, he could make plans to approach them.

  Eyes closed, he exhaled through pressed lips.

  Seeress, again I beseech you. Show me the location of those foretold in your prophecy.

  The voice in the back of his mind, never completely silent, erupted with urgent warnings. Be careful. Be cautious.

  “Mon Dieu, be silent,” he muttered, and ran his free hand through his hair. “I’ve come too far to stop now.”

  With the rose quartz held tight, he let the arrowhead slide between his fingers and swing freely over the map. The pendulum circled wide, spiraling oblong until it swung side to side in a straight line. The easternmost point was over The Shilo Ranch, north of Kiowa Crossing; the western point, somewhere in Denver.

  The same as this afternoon.

  Hunter rubbed his face and rested a hand on his hip.

  They may have stopped moving.

  He spread the Denver map on the bed and swung the pendulum again. He hadn’t bothered with the Denver map earlier. When the bob slowed, he opened his eyes. The arrowhead curled in one direction. He moved the pendulum until the arrowhead became still, and he let the tip touch the map.

  “Huh.” Hunter rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb, then pushed his hair from his face.

  An incredible coincidence, perhaps?

  He stowed the maps and pendulum, slid his flat-brimmed hat on his head, and left his room with a familiar destination in mind. He hurried down the stairs and waved to the clerk behind the desk. Once outside, he rounded the building to the hotel’s small stable.

  He flipped the stable boy a penny to tack up his horse, and then checked the cinch strap before he mounted. He smiled at the wide-eyed lad. “Merci.”

  Hunter followed the same route as he and Sam had the other day. He turned on the diagonal and continued past the livery stable at Park and Pence. As he rode along Pence Street toward the Harris house, he realized the shadows stretched long across the street in front of him. The day had passed more quickly than he realized.

  He reined the horse to a stop in front of the house. No lights shone from the windows. Along the street ahead, the soft glow from neighbors’ windows made the Harris home appear empty.

  Perhaps they’ve already departed.

  The other point was close to the Harris Ranch. Tomorrow, he would check the telegraph office for a reply to his application as a field agent, and then he would ride east, toward Cat and Sam.

  The voice at the back of his mind repeated an unrelenting dialogue. Stop. Stop. Stop.

  He ran his hand behind his neck and looked back along the road. Stop what? He questioned the voice as a brief movement caught his eye. When he blinked, the road behind him was empty.

  There’s no one there. You play with my imagination and fray my nerves. Be silent.

  He urged his mount forward and approached the house. Curiosity compelled him to continue into the back yard despite the frantic warning to stop. He pulled back on the reins when he saw a rider near the back door.

  Is this one of the witches?

  In the deepening shadow, the man appeared to be a wrangler by his clothing. He must have heard Hunter approach, yet the man stared endlessly at the back of the house.

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Bonjour. My name is Hunter.” He looked from the wrangler to the house, then back.

  What is he staring at?

  “I’ve been contracted to find several individuals that are of interest to my client.”

  Could the man be ill?

  “I believe they may be in some danger.”

  The man turned his head as the voice in Hunter’s head erupted with a frantic plea.

  Run.

  The hair on Hunter’s neck rose, and his mount pranced as he involuntarily tightened the reins.

  Run.

  Not a cricket chirped. No bird sang nearby.

  Run.

  Adrenaline hit Hunter's heart like a sledgehammer, and he pulled har
d on the reins a moment too late.

  Ru—

  He watched the wrangler and the horse collapse to the ground in boneless heaps. The voice that had been inside his head, his companion, for as long as he could remember, went silent. Instead, he heard a cackling chorus at the back of his mind and the lonely sound of a woman weeping. Sainte Mère de Dieu, the demon had him.

  He heard his own laughter and felt his recent thoughts invaded and plundered.

  East of Denver, north of Kiowa Crossing. The sight of the pendulum’s swing, the arrowhead stopped above The Shilo Ranch.

  The horse turned to retrace its path along the side of the house without Hunter’s urging. Trapped inside his mind, panic overwhelmed him. There would be no escape. Forced to watch, he couldn’t even close his eyes.

  Someone stood in the shadow along the side of the house. A man Hunter didn’t recognize blocked their exit. Although Hunter didn’t know the man, he shared enough of the demon’s consciousness to realize the demon recognized the man.

  “What are you doing back here?” the young man demanded. “You can see no one is home—”

  With a flick of Hunter's wrist, the boy flew head first into the brick wall.

  The chorus of laughter intensified as the young man collapsed into a heap beside the building.

  They rode past the body and turned onto the street. “East it is, then.” Hunter heard himself murmur. “We should reach them by dawn.”

  Chapter 33

  Nichole Harris-Shilo

  Nichole and Bernard rode up The Highlands’ drive and drew back on their reins. In the middle of the wide dirt yard between the house and corral, two long tables covered in bright white spreads, blocked their path. Nichole recognized her dining room table. Someone, probably her husband, had brought it outside. The picnic bench from the kitchen yard had been placed end to end with another just like it.

  Cookie and Jeanne rushed to set place settings. Jeanne waved, then disappeared back inside the house.