by Sandy Wright
"Right," Nicholas said softly. "Did he recognize you?"
"Do you?"
"I know of your family, of course," Nicholas said.
"Then you know more than most," she said, "And I'd advise you to keep it to yourself." She straightened again and peered up at him. "The fresh grave's on the west side of the graveyard. Mind you leave a coin of thanks if ya take anything."
Nicholas dropped the bone he'd been examining, turned on his heel and left the old witch. As he drove away, he glanced in his rear view mirror.
Mistress Nutter watched him through the dirty window, a thoughtful expression on her face.
Chapter 35: Trial by Swords
I scooped grounds into the coffee pot and watched the snow fall outside the kitchen window. Snuggled under Bella's down comforter, I had slept a full eight hours, waking to find nature's own fluffy white blanket covering the yard. The bare tree branches sparkled like quartz in the early morning light.
The unblemished white scene outside renewed my resolve which had lagged the night before. I put the Book of Shadows in front of me, placed both hands on its top and put a single, clear question in my mind: Where is the hidden compartment in your desk? I concentrated on the question, repeating it like a mantra, blocking out my surroundings. The lock didn't budge. I opened my eyes in surprise. I had been so sure my idea would work.
I pulled Jaco Hunsley's business card from my purse and stuck it back in the grimoire where I had found it. As I did, I heard a faint click from the desk behind me.
I opened the roll-top and peeked inside. The little compartment in the back of the desk was open. A corner of paper stuck out the top. I tried to pull it out, but the page was wedged securely in the hollow door.
Pulling a knife from the silverware drawer, I wedged open the false back of the little door. The folded paper felt thin and brittle. I put the yellowed sheet on the kitchen table and flattened it with care.
The missing page, torn from the Book of Shadows, was covered in the same unreadable language. The lines were broken and short, like verse. Or perhaps a spell?
On the back was a hand-drawn map, showing landmarks around Sedona. In the bottom corner, a tiny drawing had been sketched in red ink, the same zig-zag lightning bolt I'd seen etched into my cloak. Below, scribbled in Renard's spiky hand, was a single word: Key?
I went over the page again, looking for any further clues. But other than Renard's single notation, the map looked like every tourist map taped in the window of every souvenir shop in town. I held the paper up to the light, but could find nothing more. Feeling slightly foolish, I lit a match and waved the page carefully over the flame. No hidden messages. Obviously, this map had significance. I would take it to Kamaria, see if she could find any research material to help me decipher it all. With a yawn, I folded the little map and put it back in the desk. First coffee, then research.
* * * * *
I was reaching for the cream when Shadow launched himself onto the kitchen table, sliding across the polished surface in a furry frenzy. I grabbed the scalding coffee in one hand and whatever else I could keep from toppling in the other – in this case, the tarot deck and Book of Shadows. "Bad cat!" I scolded, picking him up and dropping him unceremoniously back onto the floor before grabbing a roll of paper towels to soak up the spilt cream.
The tarot deck was damp. I did my best to clean it off, studying the pictures as I sopped. Without warning, a question popped into my head, posing itself so strongly my hands froze in midair. This was the question I was supposed to ask the cards. Briefly, I considered getting a reference book from the library, to help me decipher meanings, but decided against it. I wanted to ask my question. Needed to ask it. I'd worry about book definitions later if I needed them.
I cleared off a space on the table and shuffled the worn deck, holding the question firmly in my mind: How do I prevent my death?
When I was sure the cards had absorbed my question, I spread them out in a long line across the table. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I drew a single card and flipped it over on the desk. What did Bella's gothic-looking deck have to say about the matter? I looked down.
A joker figure, sitting on a throne, surrounded by five swords. The card oozed deception. So things are not as they seem. Events are transpiring behind the scenes, things I don't know about. But the big question is what? Or who?
I concentrated on those questions and drew a second card, laying it across the first. The man in knight's armor, holding a rod and the reins of a white horse on first glance looked innocent enough. But he was upside down, and from my angle his smile looked cruel and manipulative. I have the unsettling feeling I know this man. The knight's blonde hair curled below his helmet.
I looked around for Shadow and patted my lap for him to join me. Nuzzling his soft fur, I whispered, "You won't let anything happen to me, will you, fella?" He purred and touched my cheek with his cold nose. I decided if Bella didn't return, I was adopting him.
How do I prevent my death? I flipped over a third card and stared at it. A beautiful white-robed woman stood stroking an obedient lion, gently opening his mouth. Not forcing the mouth open, but offering a loving hand to the beast and receiving gentle compliance in return. The top of the card read "Strength." This magical woman is using loving strength and understanding to achieve her goal. The lion is choosing to comply.
I put my head on the desk, resting my cheek against the Strength card, tears filling my eyes. I still didn't know how my enemy intended to manipulate me to take my power. But I felt certain now they would not succeed. I just had to keep my wits about me, use my magickal skills, like the woman on the Strength card.
* * * * *
I lay in bed making a list of all the new information I wanted to cover with Nicholas, feeling calmer than I had in months.
As my breathing deepened, a shimmering web of mist curled, rolled, and swirled against my eyes. Although it felt real, I knew I was dreaming, as if I were out of my body and watching my sleeping form from above. I could hear my own even breaths, but someone else's voice whispered in my ear.
"Samantha. Come to me Samantha. Feel me Samantha."
A shadow bent over the bedpost, moving nearer to touch my sleeping body. The knight from my tarot reading. His eyes, glowing like heated coals, stared at me hungrily, glinting with suppressed triumph. He reached for me, burying his hands into my chest to rip out my heart, rip out my soul.
"No!" The word cracked out of me and I sat upright in bed, swinging my arms to fling the creature away. Don't panic, my floating ethereal form comforted the body in the bed. A nightmare, that's all.
Awake now, I pulled the blanket around me and pressed the soft fabric to my teary eyes.
Both cats sat at the foot of the bed. Shadow watched me, his tawny eyes glittering in the winter moonlight. Magic faced outward, standing guard. A growl reverberated deep in his throat and his teeth were bared. "Take it easy boy," I whispered. "It was just a bad dream." I gathered them both into my arms and pulled up the covers, their purrs drowsing me back to sleep.
Chapter 36: Graveyard Dirt
Nicholas pulled off the gravel road in the dwindling twilight, stopping at the rickety barbed-wire fence blocking the cemetery entrance. He unlatched the post, scraping the gate across the snowy ground and dropping it where the road's edge fell off into the ice-crusted ditch.
He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of pennies, scattering them in the snow. "Alms for the dead," he muttered. Somewhere behind him, a coyote howled a solitary note, answered by a chorus of voices from the dark woods.
Ahead, dull gray tombstones poked up from the earth at odd angles like rows of crooked teeth. Halfway into the cemetery a dark mound protruded above the snow.
Opening the trunk, Nicholas removed a flashlight, shovel, crowbar, and a small hatchet, dropping them into a burlap sack. He tucked the sack under his arm and headed to the new grave, his boots crunching to the ground as they br
oke through the icy film on the top of the snow.
The burial mound was still soft and the digging went quickly. While he pitched shovel after shovel of dirt over his shoulder, his mind returned to the idea of bonding with Samantha. A blood bond would be the strongest, although any bodily fluid would work. Blood would have the added benefit of tying them telepathically. Of course submitting freely, of her own will, would allow him to avoid resorting to dark magic and help keep his soul intact. Oops, too late, he thought, looking at the growing pile of dirt.
Why would someone sneak into a cemetery and bury a body? He could think of a number of mundane reasons, but why would a witch do so? Unless he defiled the body and didn't want anyone to know. His hole grew deeper and his unease increased.
Only three feet down his shovel hit something firmer than the soft soil, connecting with a muffled thud. Digging carefully down one side, he cleared a space to stand beside the box. He removed the crowbar from his sack and pried the coffin nails from one side, muttering softly, "Coffin nail, familiars of maggot and works and unsavory creatures of the kind. Do my bidding, my evil works, when I so command." Blowing on the nails, he pocketed them and opened the lid.
He held his breath and shone the flashlight on the body, a young woman, barely past her teens. Her hands had been folded on her chest. He ran the flashlight further down, illuminating several places on her right arm where jagged chunks of flesh were missing.
Burning bile rose in his throat, making him gag and cough. Something chewed on this girl. Oh, Goddess, tell me she died first.
Nicholas scrambled out of the hole, swallowing to get the ac-rid taste out of his mouth, and brushing the soil off his shirt and pants with shaky hands. The girl's injuries were similar to those he had seen on his mother's body when he had viewed it at the morgue the previous year. His mother's wounds had confused him. Now suspicion sloshed in his gut. He closed his eyes for a moment. Swallowed again. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he picked up the hatchet and the burlap sack, and dropped back into the grave.
Working quickly, he lopped off the corpse's left hand and dropped it into the bag. Then he dug his fingers into the soil adjacent to the box, scooping out a handful, then another of dirt and dropped it into his pants pocket. There were spells to catch a perpetrator using graveyard dirt from a victim's grave. He was pretty sure who had killed this girl and defiled her body, but a confirmation spell working would provide magickal evidence for the Council.
Closing the lid on the casket quietly, he gathered his tools and climbed out of the grave.
Nicholas gave one quick look around to be sure no prying eyes were watching before shoveling the dirt back onto the coffin.
For one moment longer he stood by the mound. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver Mercury dime and dropped the on the grave.
Satisfied, he ran his fingers over the mound to erase his footprints and scattered a few dry leaves on top. He looked around one last time to be sure he'd forgotten nothing, then hurried back to the car, holding the sack at arm's length.
Dumping everything into the trunk, he drove out the gate without stopping.
* * * * *
Nicholas returned home just after sunrise. In the pale light he pulled the corpse hand out of the car trunk, still in its burlap sack. He wound a sheet around the vile prize and squeezed the last of the blood from it, grimacing in disgust. Then he buried the hand in a large clay pot, adding saltpeter, minerals and herbs, and de-posited the pot on a shelf along the back wall.
Slipping into the silent house, He fought to focus his eyes through the first stabbing pain of a monstrous migraine. A nose-bleed would be next. He felt a weariness in his body much deeper than simple lack of sleep. The psychic toll he would pay for tonight's deeds would be much worse.
Tarot cards lay across the kitchen table, and he glanced at them briefly, wondering what answers Samantha had been able to glean from their images. He noticed a sword in the pile, but the Strength card on top. Had Samantha been pleased by her reading?
Sitting for a moment in utter weariness at the kitchen table, he wondered what it would be like to have a magical partner. Someone he could work with in perfect love and trust.
Love. He had never allowed himself to feel the emotion, not with the work he must do. It would make him vulnerable and make her a target to be manipulated by enemies hoping to bend his will to theirs. Trust. It was foreign to him for the same rea-sons. As he aged, however, he found himself more and more often longing for a companion with whom he could share himself completely. Someone he could have children with, continue his lineage, and feel the love and pride of family. Someone who might, just might, keep him from flinging himself headlong into the darkness he was facing. Impossible, he knew, but still the longing was there. Although, he mused, if she were a witch, strong enough on her own, it just might work.
Massaging his temples to ease his throbbing head, Nicholas stumbled to the desk in the corner and lifted the lid. He pulled out the grimoire, sensing immediately his wards had been breached.
She's been snooping again. But more important, he felt a new layer of magic on the book. It had not just been handled, it had been used. He ran his hands over the cover and felt it warm under his scrutiny. "What did you tell her, old one?" he whispered. "Will you also tell me?" He moved his fingers clockwise in a stirring motion and chanted in a singsong voice. "Libri aperio. Open to me. So mote it be."
The metal corner pieces glowed bright for an instant as the book sighed, "Orenda, welcome," and the latch clicked open, opening to a spot toward the back. A page had been torn out, he noted. Did Samantha deface his family grimoire? He ran his finger along the torn edge. It didn't feel new.
Nicholas nodded in satisfaction and fanned his fingers through the parchment pages, stopping at a notation headed, "Hand of Glory" and copied the list of ingredients. Where he was going, anything that gave him the element of surprise would come in handy. He patted the book's cover and closed the lock. He would investigate its contents more thoroughly once Samantha left.
In the meantime, he intended to find how she, a non-Orenda, had also managed to open his family grimoire. Obviously, she had a key and was withholding information from him. Not acceptable. Not at all.
He headed upstairs, tired beyond belief. His migraine was full-blown now, sending daggers of pain into both eye sockets and causing his stomach to roil.
The bathroom was empty, but steam from the running bath billowed onto the mirror, masking his image. He started to swipe his sleeve across the mirror but stopped, having no desire to see the haunted expression on his face confirmed. Instead he turned on the brass and ivory tap and bent over the sink to wash off the evidence of the previous night.
Muddy, blood-tinted water swirled around the basin and down the drain. Nicholas stared for a long moment at the rust-colored stains still lodged in cracks of his hands and under his fingernails, then closed his eyes. He applied soap and picked up the scrub brush, scouring his hands until they were raw and ten-der. His body felt limp with exhaustion. He needed a shower but would wait until he'd had a few hours' rest.
The door opened abruptly, and his eyes met Samantha's through the fog in the oval sink mirror, red-rimmed black locking with gold-flecked green. He nodded to her, and realized the tub was half-full.
"I didn't know you were home," she murmured. "I went for bath oil."
She wore his bathrobe. The jolt of recognition flowed straight to his groin.
She slipped past him to turn off the water. As she bent over the claw-footed tub, the loose folds of the robe revealed a sliver of bare leg. He watched her squeeze a drop of golden liquid into the water in the steaming tub. She swirled her fingers through the bath and the smoky-sweet scent of sandalwood rose up his nostrils with the steam, nearly doing him in. He took a step toward the tub's edge where she sat. Then he stopped, willing himself to turn and leave.
Samantha held out the bottle of oil. "I was
working on my Materia Magicka and decided to try making an oil blend." Her smile seemed innocent enough. "The formula is Isis oil, but I tweaked it a bit. Would you mind checking my work and let me know if you approve?"
Isis, the goddess of seduction and sexual prowess. The little vamp knew exactly the effect she had on him.
Nicholas closed his fingers around the bottle and retreated from the room. He closed the door behind him with a soft snick. Resting his throbbing forehead on the smooth wood, he willed himself not to walk back into the bathroom, step into the steaming water covering her naked body, and sink into the arms willing to clean the darkness from his soul.
Chapter 37: The Black Truck
When I came downstairs with my suitcase a few hours later, Nicholas was already up. "I'd like to try some hypnotic work with you before you leave." The poor man sounded exhausted.
I dropped my belongings by the front door and followed him into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. He had left my tarot spread on the table. I reached to gather it up.
"Leave it if you don't mind. I'd like to look it over. Did you take notes from any of the book interpretations?"
"No. Well, I took notes, but I didn't use the books much. I just touched the cards and looked at the images, and wrote down what came to me."
"How one reads the tarot is a personal preference," he said. "If you want me to read your notes and supplement your reading with my own interpretation, let me know."
"If you wouldn't mind." I pulled my folded sheet of notes out of my purse and put it on the table. "Why do you want to hypnotize me?"
"The night when you saw the accident. Did you see the driver?"
I paused, my coffee cup partway to my mouth. I could recall the old woman's face in painful detail. But the driver of the truck? I pursed my lips and pictured the scene in my mind. "It was a black pickup, but I don't remember anything about the driver."