“You’re more than welcome,” I granted. “I’m just glad that you’re all right.”
“I’m getting there,” she expressed with a nervous sigh. “The nightmares were bad at first, but I’ve been okay the past couple of nights. I’m not afraid to go to sleep any more. With a little luck, I should be off administrative leave by the end of next week.”
“Just don’t push yourself,” I advised. “Go back when you’re ready. Not before.”
“I know.”
Timid silence filled the room around us, broken only by the sound of Salinger as he leapt heavily onto the coffee table and studied the new human in the room.
“So, how do you like your steak?” I posed, adding my words to the void.
“Excuse me?”
“How do you like your steak?” I repeated. “They’ll be going on the grill in just a few minutes, and I’ll need to know how you want it cooked.”
“No. I couldn’t stay,” she protested. “I’m sure Deckert and Storm would just as soon I fall off the face of the earth after the way I acted. Especially Storm.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve known Ben for...”
“Hey, paleface!” We heard Ben’s jovial voice booming from the kitchen and growing closer as he ambled through the house in our direction. “What happened to those beers?”
Ben came to a sudden halt as he rounded the corner into the dining room and noticed Agent Mandalay standing across from me. Their eyes locked for a moment, and I could easily sense the fluid apprehension that flowed between them. The only sounds to be heard were the distant voices of Allison and Felicity drifting in from the kitchen.
“I was just asking Constance how she wanted her steak done,” I expressed calmly.
Their gazes remained fixed a moment longer, faces expressionless. As if on cue, the heavy tension whirlpooled down an unseen drain, and Ben’s face spread into a welcoming smile.
“Hey, Allison,” he called over his shoulder, “better wrap up another one of those potatoes.” He turned his gaze back to us before continuing. “Another friend just showed up.”
Agent Mandalay’s face broke into a relieved grin, and she glanced back to me. “Medium rare,” she answered in an easy, comfortable tone. “I like my steak medium rare.”
EPILOGUE
Eight robed figures stood somberly in the large clearing, bluish light illuminating them from the rotund globe of the full moon. Surrounding the small circle were five freshly planted trees, straight and carefully spaced. Even to a casual onlooker, it was obvious that great care had been taken in the placement and rooting of the saplings. To a brother or sister of The Craft, it would be readily apparent that walking a particular, familiar path between the five trees would form a large Pentacle.
An auburn-tressed woman, long hair spiraling in a brilliant cascade down her back, moved lithely about the group carefully touching a flame to colorful candles appointed at four stations of the circle—yellow to the East, red to the South, blue to the West, and green to the North. She moved as if floating, adding her low, solemn voice to the rest as each of the four towers was hailed.
The woman moved fluidly back to the center of the small gathering, taking a position next to a bearded man, his own long, brown hair flowing loosely about his shoulders. The man lifted a brightly polished athamè to the sky and scribed a perfect Pentacle in the still air. As he lowered the ceremonial knife, the coven members joined in a thrice-repeated chant.
The red-haired priestess once again touched flame to a candle—this time white—in the center of the circle then turned and placed a gentle kiss on the lips of the priest. As they parted, a young man with long, dark hair raised a small horn to his own lips and blew hard into the end, sending a single wailing note to resound from the hillsides. As the note faded on the still, night air, the young man lowered the horn and announced to the gathering, “The horn is sounded for Ariel.”
The other members answered him in unison, “So be it.”
The priestess looked about the solemn group and closed her bright green eyes. “That today, Ariel is not with us, here in the Circle, saddens us all. Yet, we should try not to feel sadness but joy, for is this not a sign that she has fulfilled this life’s work? She is now free to move on, and we should not fear, for we shall meet again. That will be our time for further celebration.”
“Let us send forth our love and good wishes to bear her across The Bridge,” the priest proceeded on from the last words of the priestess. “May she return at any time she wishes and be here with us. May she also guide the unfortunate victims who shared her death as they move along their new paths. I ask the God and Goddess to bless these five trees we have planted in honor of the lives that have ended and the new lives that will begin. Blessed Be!”
“So mote it be!” The chorus rang out from the coven members, sedate but strong.
In the shadows, unnoticed by choice, a translucent glimmer of a young strawberry-blonde woman clad in a white lace gown stood watching the group. Her hair wafted gently about on an ethereal breeze, a sparkling halo hovering around her petite figure. She smiled as she felt their energy join and rise into a powerful cone. Still, a small teardrop escaped her eye. The coven’s mellifluous chant filled her ears as she turned and crossed over The Bridge.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An active member of the HWA (Horror Writers Association), M. R. Sellars is a relatively unassuming homebody who considers himself just a “guy with a lot of nightmares and a word processing program.” His first full-length novel, Harm None, hit bookstore shelves in 2000 and he hasn’t stopped writing since. He says that the biggest adjustment he has had to make with his writing career is coping with the time spent away from his family while traveling on promotional tours. Still, he approaches it with the same humorously deadpan and occasionally acerbic wit that he applies to life in general.
All of the current novels in Sellars’ continuing Rowan Gant Investigations saga have spent several consecutive weeks on numerous bookstore bestseller lists as well as a consistent showing on the Amazon.com Horror/Occult top 100.
Sellars currently resides in the Midwest with his wife, daughter, and a host of what he describes as “rescued, geriatric, special-needs felines.” At home, when not writing or taking care of the household, he indulges his passions for cooking and hanging out with friends.
M. R. Sellars can be found on the web at:
www.mrsellars.com
Brainpan Leakage the M. R. Sellars Satire Blog
www.brainpanleakage.com
OTHER BOOKS BY M. R. SELLARS
The Rowan Gant Investigations
HARM NONE
NEVER BURN A WITCH
PERFECT TRUST
THE LAW OF THREE
CRONE’S MOON
LOVE IS THE BOND
ALL ACTS OF PLEASURE
THE END OF DESIRE
BLOOD MOON
MIRANDA
(Available in both print and e-book editions)
Other
YOU’RE GONNA THINK I’M NUTS…
(Novelette included in Courting Morpheus Horror Anthology)
MERRIE AXEMAS: A KILLER HOLIDAY TALE
(Special Edition E-Novella)
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
&nbs
p; CHAPTER 28
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 35