Some Like It Witchy

by Ani Gonzalez

  Caine listened to the dispatcher's instruction then turned toward his group. "Someone's sick and they're bringing the ambulance around. Crowd control, guys. Get busy."

  The PRoVE members spread out, calming and reassuring the attendees.

  "What happened?" Fiona asked.

  "Don't know for sure," Caine replied, his voice tight. "Some people collapsed."

  "They may have fainted from the smoke," Kat said, rational as always. "A lot of people fast before the ritual, so this happens with some regularity."

  "No!"

  The shout made them turn. Gwen was standing between the trees, eyes wide and glassy, her robe torn and covered in soot.

  "She's dead. She's dead," she wailed.

  They stared at her, shocked.

  "The god has had his vengeance," Gwen screamed.

  Then she collapsed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GAVIN STOOD at the entrance of the makeshift tent set up by the Banshee Creek Urgent Care Clinic staff and surveyed the damage.

  Five robed victims laid up on cots, two of them with oxygen masks. A young woman sat in the corner, gagging into a bright blue disposable bag. Other robed figures milled outside the tent, waiting for word on their comrades' condition.

  Dr. Lebensburg, the town physician, examined patients with quiet efficiency, her cool, gray eyes calm and precise. Dr. Lebensburg had left a busy trauma practice in Anacostia to run the clinic. She was a consummate professional and they were lucky to have her.

  Sheriff Stickely entered the tent, hat in hand. DeShawn followed him.

  "The ambulance took two victims to the hospital, Chief," DeShawn said. "We should be hearing from the emergency room soon."

  "Good," Gavin replied. "How's the crowd taking it?"

  "The party is still going on," Sean Stickely replied. "Rumor is that the Salem folks put something 'special' in their bonfire and it backfired on them. Caine sent his guys around to warn people about adding unknown substances to the fires and to remind them to visit the clinic tent if they start feeling woozy or ill."

  "Excellent."

  Caine Magnusson was no fool. The PRoVE leader was firmly committed to the town and his group included many retired military and off-duty law enforcement types. They knew how to calm a crowd.

  "Whatever they used," Dr. Lebensburg approached them, her mouth set in a tight line, "was very strong. The symptoms are acute."

  "What are we looking at?" Sheriff Stickely asked.

  Dr. Lebensburg peered at her computer tablet. "Blurred vision, queasiness, dizziness, disorientation, confusion, nausea, vomiting, irregular heartbeat, low blood pressure, and vision disturbances."

  "What's in the last category?" the sheriff asked.

  "Brightness around objects," Dr. Lebensburg answered. "Halos and such."

  "Are those symptoms consistent with toxic smoke exposure?" Sean asked, glancing at the prone figures on the cots.

  "Depends on the substance. Mild symptoms would be consistent, but these are quite severe." She nodded toward her patients. "These guys are no longer exposed and they remain symptomatic. Two of them are still vomiting." She tapped her tablet. "You think there was something in the wood?"

  Gavin shook his head. "Negative. We checked all the wood."

  Dr. Lebensburg raised a brow. "You thought they might bring in something?"

  "They can't bring in out-of-state logs," Gavin explained. "It's part of the Virginia invasive species plan. We made sure all the wood was purchased in the state. They could also use town-supplied wood, which we've already inspected."

  "Most groups used the town wood," DeShawn added. "But they were all adding stuff to their fires. Incense cones, herb bundles, you name it. Some even had firecrackers, which we confiscated. Most additives were not explosive, so we let then through."

  "We can't strip search every attendee," Gavin said, regretfully. "They can also pick up sticks and leaves from the ground and use them as kindling. We can't control that."

  "Do we have anything in the park that could account for these symptoms?" Sheriff Stickely asked.

  "We don't have jimsom weed, senesio, panic grass, or wild cherry," DeShawn answered. "We would have noticed those. We have oaks and black walnuts, but they're not toxic when burnt."

  "Virginia creeper?" the sheriff asked.

  "If you burn a metric ton of berries, maybe," Gavin answered. "Or if you torch a gallon of sap. But the leaves and stems aren't very dangerous."

  The sheriff nodded, digesting the information.

  "If the culprit is in our forest, someone else would have used it. They've been burning stuff since late afternoon." Sheriff Stickely turned to the doctor. "Have any other groups come in with symptoms?"

  "Just allergies and asthma," Dr. Lebensburg replied. "Nothing toxic."

  The sheriff scanned the cots. "That seems to indicate that they brought it with them."

  "True," Gavin said. "But you can't be too careful. I have a friend in the Virginia Tech forestry department. I'll ask him to send his students over to check the park."

  The sheriff nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "'Too careful' is your middle name, Gavin."

  Dr. Lebensburg stifled a chuckled. DeShawn coughed, covering up a laugh.

  "You're a riot, Sean," Gavin said. "Why are you standing around cracking jokes? Don't you have witnesses to question or something?"

  Sheriff Stickely laughed. "Good point. Is anyone ready to talk?"

  "The group leader, Morgana—no, Alicia— Alicia LeFay is in the hospital. Her son, however, is outside. He wasn't affected."

  The sheriff put his hat back on. "Let's go see him then." He turned to DeShawn. "Go check the site. See if there are any suspicious items around. Take one of my guys with you."

  The firefighter nodded. "I'll go get Olivia. She has a good eye."

  Gavin hid a smirk. DeShawn, it seemed, always seemed to pick the attractive policewoman as a partner.

  "She's already there, securing the perimeter." The sheriff exited the tent and Gavin and DeShawn followed.

  Once outside, DeShawn hurried toward the grove.

  "I think your boy is sweet on my girl, Chief," Sheriff Stickely said.

  "They're adults," Gavin replied. "We can't do anything about it." He paused. "Or so I'm told."

  "Olivia's quite a handful."

  "Well, DeShawn's used to, er, explosive situations."

  The sheriff laughed and headed for the group of robed figures standing outside. A tall, brown-haired man in a yellow robe with a button that read "Kiss Me, I'm A Warlock" greeted them.

  "Have you heard anything about my mother?" he asked anxiously. "Her name is Alicia LeFay."

  "She's in the hospital," Sheriff Stickely said. "I can have someone drive you there. What's your name?"

  "Richard West." The young man shook his head. "I wish I could go, but I can't leave the rest of the group alone. I'm in charge when mother is out."

  A red-haired woman frowned. "I just don't understand why everyone got sick. We've done fire rituals before and everything has gone well."

  "You three weren't affected?" the sheriff asked.

  Richard shook his head. "Sandy," he pointed to the red-haired woman, "and I are asthmatic, so we usually stay in the back. Manny," he nodded toward the tow-headed man next to him, "has allergies."

  "Good precaution," the sheriff noted. "How far away were you from the fire?"

  "About ten yards. On the north side because the wind was blowing south."

  "Was everyone standing on the north side?"

  Richard frowned. "South is the cardinal point for the element of fire. The point of the pentagram we drew on the dirt faced in that direction. Mother and Gwen were leading the ritual, so they were standing on the south side."

  The sheriff raised a brow. "Is Gwen here?"

  "No," Sandy replied, looking worried. "She was taken in the ambulance."

  Sean Stickely was good at his job, and the picture grew clearer as his questions were answered. T
he coven had made a circle around the north side of the fire. Richard, Sandy, and Manny had stood in the back, far away from the smoke. Manny, who seemed to be the most paranoid in the group, had been wearing a surgical mask for added protection. Gwen and Alicia had stood on the south side, leading the ritual.

  "Did you bring your own wood?" the sheriff asked.

  "No, we paid extra so we could use the stuff here," Richard said. "Maybe there was something in the woodpile?"

  "The Boston and Philly groups also used the local supplies," Sandy noted. "They didn't have any problems."

  "We used hawthorn branches as wands during the ritual," Richard added. "But no one burnt those."

  Sandy shook her head. "Those were so expensive. No one in their right mind would damage them."

  "I know," Richard agreed.

  "Were the wands specially treated?" Gavin asked. "Waxed or maybe polished?"

  Chemical residue could become toxic when set aflame. It sounded unlikely, but, then again, everything about this incident seemed strange.

  "We get them from Premium Ritual Supplies in Vermont," Manny explained. "They remove the thorns and polish the wood. Some of us are allergic to the toxic thorns."

  "And everyone else has to pay the price," Sandy muttered. "Literally."

  Manny glared at them. "If you knew what those welts felt like, you wouldn't be complaining. It's like acid burning your skin."

  Richard silenced them with a gesture. "C'mon, guys, we're getting sidetracked. The important thing is that no one would be crazy enough to put the insanely pricey, allergy-treated wands in the fire, okay?"

  Gavin made a mental note to check the supplier in Vermont. Even if the wands didn't touch the flames, the heat may have been enough to activate a toxic agent.

  "Was anything else burned in the fire?" Sheriff Stickely asked.

  Sandy grimaced. "Lots of stuff. Richard lit the fire, then stepped back. Alicia started with a prayer, then she mixed the ritual wine. Gwen led us in a chant and passed out herb bundles with paper tags. We all wrote down our intentions on the tags and threw them in the fire. Before she could pass out the wine, Alicia started coughing."

  "Gwen too," Manny said.

  "We thought it was just the smoke, so we didn't pay much attention," Richard explained. "Mother kept chanting through her coughs."

  "She sounded weird," Sandy said. "What she was saying didn't make any sense. She always changes the ritual a little bit, so we didn't think much of it, but..."

  "It was incoherent," Richard agreed. "We should have known something was up."

  "Then Gwen started screaming," Manny noted. "That should have been a clue."

  "The screaming didn't alarm you?" the sheriff asked.

  "Gwen is a big drama queen," Richard explained, with some distaste. "She sometimes gets carried away."

  "She always gets carried away," Sandy muttered.

  "But then she ran off," Richard said. "That, we knew, was unusual. Then Mom fainted, and Miranda started throwing up. Other members were complaining of dizziness and nausea, and that's when we shouted for help."

  "Shouted, shmouted," Manny said. "I dialed nine-one-one."

  "Very smart," Gavin said, assessing the chronology of the events. "Do you know what was in the herb bundles?"

  Sandy and Manny turned to Richard, who shook his head.

  "It's a secret recipe," he said. "We're the premier witchcraft group in the country and Mother wants to keep it that way. The materials and spells are closely guarded secrets."

  "There was probably sage in it," Sandy said. "Maybe some calendula or St. John's wort."

  "I think she used myrrh last year," Manny noted. "I had a very strong reaction to it."

  Richard frowned. "Mother's an expert herbalist and she has a doctorate in botany. I find it hard to believe that she would burn something poisonous by mistake."

  "Wait," Sandy exclaimed. "She also used those fire starters. She got those in town."

  Gavin turned toward her. "Where?"

  "The candle store," Richard said. "Wicked Wicks. She loved their ritual candles and wanted to try other products."

  "Did she just throw them in?" Gavin asked.

  "No," Sandy said. "They went under the wood. Gwen and I helped her. We did a little prayer for group unity and peace over them. A spell before the spell, so to speak."

  "Really?" Richard asked. "I didn't know that."

  Sandy nodded. "She was worried about some, er, group conflicts. We were hoping this ritual would help bring everyone together."

  Sheriff Stickely checked his phone, then waved to a deputy standing near the tent. "Richard," he said to the young man. "The kids in the tent are stable and will probably be released shortly. You don't need to stay here. I'll have one of my guys take you over to the hospital so you can check on your mom and Gwen."

  Richard looked uncertain. Sandy patted his arm sympathetically.

  "We'll be fine," she said. "Go."

  Richard followed the deputy to the parking lot. Sandy turned toward the sheriff.

  "Can we go check on Miranda and the others?" she asked. "I want to make sure they're all right."

  "Go in," Sheriff Stickely said with a kind smile. "Tell Dr. Lebensburg I said it was okay."

  "Thanks."

  The coven members left to check on their brethren, leaving Gavin and Sean alone.

  The sheriff shook his head. "I'd better go see if Olivia and DeShawn have found anything." He sighed, his face suddenly drawn and haggard.

  "That was the hospital," he explained to Gavin as he put away his phone. "Gwen Sanders is getting better, but they don't think Alicia LeFay is going to make it. In an hour or two this could turn into a suspicious death investigation."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FIONA CLICKED her computer mouse angrily, but the town's Facebook page refused to reload. Desperate for information about last night's events, she brought up the PRoVE page.

  And found nada, just a devil monkey activity update and the perennial petition to declare Stuckeyville Parkway the Most Haunted Road in America.

  Nothing about last night.

  She got up from her desk and grabbed her bag. The Internet may be unhelpful, but in this town there was always a way to be informed, and it was only a few steps away.

  Her studio apartment was a second-story space on Main Street, right over the tattoo shop. The loft-like space was small, cheap, and as local real estate agent Elizabeth Hunt put it, "only slightly haunted." There was barely enough space for her desk, the wrought-iron bed that was her most prized possession, and a shabby-not-chic armchair she'd found at the Salvation Army. A small counter near the entrance doubled as a kitchenette. It had a two-burner stove, a microwave, and, wonder of wonders, a new, bright white SMEG fridge. Banshee Creek, it appeared, had hipsters as well as ghosts.

  The apartment was rather bare, with exposed brick walls and plain white bedding, but it had everything she needed. She'd found a pink and green pillow to match the flowery upholstery on her second-hand chair. That, and the mint green throw she'd bought when she realized that the apartment's heating system was unable to cope with even the slightest spring chill, were her only attempts at decorating. Using her powers to keep warm was out of the question, so when winter came she planned to buy a thick down comforter and a wool blanket. For now, however, this was it. She'd spent all her money refurbishing the shop.

  She exited the room, stopping to examine the built-in shelf on the wall. It held a statue of a fat canine-looking raccoon with a big smile and a straw hat, a bowl full of wasabi-flavored soynut mix, and several small toys, including a half-finished Rubik's Cube, a solitaire pegboard, and a magnetic puzzle.

  This makeshift shrine had come with the "slightly haunted" apartment. Her paranormal roommate wasn't, strictly speaking, a ghost. It was a tanuki, a mischievous raccoon-dog spirit that had supposedly arrived in Banshee Creek disguised as a tattoo machine. The owner of the tattoo studio downstairs had been quite upset when he'd found out that
his new piece of equipment was not only nonfunctional, but also extremely annoying. It liked to mimic voices and people, and was particularly fond of playing drum solos at night. "Bohemian Rhapsody" was its current favorite.

  Cassie Jones, PRoVE's resident folklorist, had come up with the shrine. They tried a number of offerings—the beer ones were a complete disaster—but finally decided that the creature liked wasabi-flavored junk food and puzzles. The Rubik's Cube, Fiona noted, would be solved soon. She would have to find a new puzzle to keep the spirit occupied. She was happy to do so because, according to Cassie, there was an upside to the tanuki. The raccoon-dog brought good fortune to commercial enterprises.

  And I need all the luck I can get.

  Proximity to her own power would make the tanuki stronger, she knew. Hopefully that would manifest in increased candle sales and not a twelve-hour, orchestral version of "We Are The Champions."

  With a final look around to make sure her meager possessions were in their proper place, she walked down the steep but, thanks to Fire & Rescue's exacting regulations, sturdy staircase, onto the tiny landing with its colorful mosaic floor, and out the door.

  The morning was bright and clear, but somewhat cool, a reminder that summer was still several weeks away. Fiona gathered her thick wool cardigan around her and walked quickly down Main Street to the Banshee Creek Bakery. Her Guaranteed Winks sleep-aid diffuser had failed her last night, and she'd barely had any sleep. The incident at the Beltane Festival still bothered her and she'd spent the night tossing and turning.

  She needed caffeine and news, and the bakery was the place to get both.

  The Banshee Creek Bakery had a cheerful awning with pink and orange stripes, and a cute cartoon ghost logo. Even at this early hour, the place was packed with tourists, locals, and sundry Beltane attendees. The daily special was a perfectly-themed Belenos Beignet with powdered sugar and a lemon drizzle. There was also an Aten's Sunny-Side-Gulp coffee with ginseng extract and lemon peel. The drink sounded delicious even if Fiona couldn't quite remember who Aten was. An Egyptian sun deity of some kind?