See No Evil

by B. A. Shapiro

  Drew didn’t move, his eyes locked on Dan’s gun.

  “Go,” Lauren said, gently turning Drew toward his room.

  Drew reluctantly went back to his Legos.

  “I’ve got to get going too,” Dan said. “But I wanted to let you know I finally got a copy of the autopsy report.” He flipped quickly through his notebook. “It didn’t show much. Jackie died from ‘respiratory arrest secondary to a fracture of the cervical spine.’ In other words”—Dan stuffed his book into an inside pocket of his jacket—”the fall broke her neck, which in turn cut the nerves telling her brain to keep her lungs going.”

  Lauren closed her eyes against the pictures and pain Dan’s words evoked. “I’ve got something to tell you too,” she said softly. “Something weird that happened at the ritual the other night.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Lauren took a deep breath and recounted the story of Nigel Hawkes. When she was finished, Dan didn’t comment, but his lips were thin and his eyes cold.

  He slammed his hat on his head. “If that locksmith doesn’t show up within the hour, call him and tell him it’s a police emergency. If he doesn’t come right after that, call me and I’ll come stay with you until he—”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Lauren interrupted, although she was far from comfortable being alone in the apartment while some crazed maniac ran around the city with her key.

  Dan held up his hands to stop her protests. “I’ll do what I need to do—and I want you to do the same.” At Lauren’s quizzical look, he explained. “You need to stay away from RavenWing. If you insist on writing that damn book, and I wish like hell you wouldn’t, then write it Phipps’s way—without the witches and their chronicle.”

  Dan opened the door and started down the stairs, then he stopped and turned around. “You may think you need the money from this book to take care of Drew,” he said, “but what Drew really needs is a mother who isn’t dead.”

  To Lauren’s relief, the locksmith arrived soon after Dan left. She and Drew made Drew’s second favorite dinner—after Peking ravioli—hot-dogs slit in the middle, filled with American cheese, and wrapped in puff pastry. They read a whole Goosebumps book together before she put him to bed.

  Lauren went to bed soon after Drew, but she was unable to sleep. Even with the new locks, the knowledge that someone had been in her apartment made her hypervigilant and edgy. She cruised the rooms in the empty hours of the night, checking and rechecking under every bed and couch, in every closet and cabinet. She looked in on Drew at least a dozen times. The thought crossed her mind that maybe no one had broken in, that the voodoo warning was another of Drew’s misdirected bids for attention. But the episode was too bizarre and smacked of the occult. Drew could never have thought of it.

  She wandered into the shadowy living room and flipped on the desk lamp, sending a cone of intense white light over the mess of papers on her desk. Lauren leafed through a pile of Jackie’s files and pulled out a slim folder labeled: “Coven Members: Biographies.” She sat down and opened it.

  There was a page on each member of the lost coven. The approximate year of each person’s birth was recorded, as were siblings, marriages, and children. After Rebeka’s, Foster Lacy’s biography was the longest, for he had been a doctor and therefore an especially well educated and revered member of the colony. Lauren glanced down Foster’s page. A Puritan minister, he had studied medicine in England in anticipation of his removal to America. He followed the teachings of the Greek physician Galen, and was known to prescribe vegetable substances and use “the lancet freely.”

  She slipped the page back into the folder and pulled out Faith Osborne’s sheet. Jackie hadn’t discovered much information, and the biography was short.

  Born: circa 1665. No surviving siblings. Married Ezekiel Hoar (year?). Ezekiel died: circa 1688. Daughter, Dorcas: 1685. Married Oliver Osborne, important magistrate: 1690. Dorcas hung as witch: 1692. Faith disappeared: 1692.

  Lauren stared at the page before her and thought of the pain Faith must have endured. Losing her only child in such a horrid and senseless way. Born in 1685. Dead in 1692. Seven years old. If anything happened to Drew, Lauren didn’t think she could survive it. Maybe that’s what happened to Faith, she thought. Maybe she died of a broken heart.

  Lauren tried to imagine herself as Faith. There would have been no lights in Faith’s home to cut through the darkness; she leaned over and turned off the lamp. It would be cold; she took the afghan from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she stood, her hand resting on the edge of the desk, and closed her eyes.

  “Thou would do well to keep the child away from Rebeka Hibbens!”

  Faith looked up from the table board she was readying. She carefully placed the linen napkins she held in her hand on the board cloth and drew her lace shawl more tightly around her. She pulled nervously at the cuffs of her dress. Her husband, Oliver Osborne, stood in the narrow doorway, his arms folded and his face red with fury.

  “Rebeka Hibbens ’tis my cousin, sir,” Faith said timidly, still slightly in awe of her husband, although they had been married almost two years. “She was most kind after Ezekiel was taken.”

  “Rebeka Hibbens is a witch doing the devil’s work!” Oliver cried. “I’ve come to warn you off before it is too late to save your child’s soul. I have it on good authority that Rebeka has taught Dorcas to cast spells with dead pit vipers stuffed with boar bristles.”

  Faith busied herself setting the saltcellar in the middle of the narrow table and placing the wood trencher from which she and Oliver would eat in front of their chairs. “Rebeka is the soul of kindness, and Dorcas has great fear of snakes,” she finally said.

  “Can thou not see the evil hand is upon her? Upon our colony?” Oliver demanded. “The smallpox. The failed wheat. We must unearth Satan’s handmaidens before it is too late!”

  Faith kept her eyes down, as she did not want Oliver to see the fear within them. Faith knew Dorcas was mischievous and troublesome, with a spirit both wild and wondrous. She also knew her daughter had been spending many hours with Rebeka at Millicent Glover’s farm. “I’m sure it is nothing but idle gossip.”

  “Thou must tell me where the black magic is being done!” Oliver ordered. ’“Tis the only way to stop the evil Goody Hibbens and Goody Glover bring upon your daughter and this house!”

  “There is no black magic, sir,” Faith said, her eyes on the table. “Of this I am certain.”

  “It matters not that you are my wife, nor that Dorcas is your daughter. If the child is not separated from those who do witchcraft, she too shall be punished!”

  “Thou would not protect us?” Faith gasped, unable to believe her husband would not keep them from harm.

  “There is no protection from Satan,” Oliver said as he turned and walked from the room.

  “Sir!” Faith cried, lifting her hands beseechingly toward her husband. But instead of a lace shawl and white cuffs, she saw a ratty afghan covering the terry cloth sleeves of a bathrobe. And instead of the retreating back of Oliver Osborne, Lauren saw the first rays of morning sun hitting the dark screen of her computer.

  Lauren parked her car next to the portico of Gabe’s Victorian house. It was one of an impressive queue of mansions that lined Brattle Street as the road ran out of Harvard Square toward Watertown. She had been here before for Gabe’s annual department picnics. Looking up at the towering roofline, at what appeared to be hundreds of windows staring down at her, her stomach clenched.

  She jerked the car door open, climbed out, and slammed it closed with her foot. Swinging her purse to her shoulder, she marched up the wide stairs of the veranda to Gabe’s front door. She raised her finger to the doorbell, then dropped her hand to her side and stood staring at the intricate carving on the huge oak door. Was she doing the right thing? She had been so caught up in her infatuation with Gabe, and admittedly with his position and prestige, that she hadn’t carefully considered her actions.
Technically, she was still a married woman.

  No, Lauren thought, she was not a married woman. She and Todd had been separated for more than a year, and just last month she had filed for divorce. They had lawyers and papers and temporary child custody arrangements. Despite Todd’s sweetness on Sunday and her own disappointment over her failed marriage, she was single and free and thirty-eight years old. She could go out with whomever she pleased. Lauren jabbed the doorbell.

  As soon as Gabe opened the door and ushered her into the house, Lauren knew something was wrong. He kissed her hello and took her coat and offered her a drink, but he seemed distracted, slightly distant. Lines of worry were etched deeply around his eyes.

  She followed him through the large foyer, past the sweeping front staircase and the narrow back one and into the kitchen. He handed her a glass of wine, a bright smile on his face. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Is something wrong, Gabe? Should we do this some other time?” she asked, half hoping he would agree.

  “Absolutely not,” he declared, pointing to a cast iron pot on the stove. “I’ve cooked up a huge batch of paella, and if you don’t help me eat it, I’ll be stuck with it for months. And anyway,” he walked over and put his arms around her, “this is all I’ve been thinking about since Saturday night.” He gave her a long, slow kiss, and Lauren was glad he hadn’t sent her home. Then he pulled away.

  Lauren wanted to believe him—and part of her knew that on one level he was being sincere—but it was also clear that Gabe was thinking about something else. She remembered how nice her hands had felt in Todd’s and realized that she was thinking about something else too. No, she told herself, Gabe was trying to overcome his worries. She would also.

  She leaned over the stove. “Smells wonderful.”

  “I decided against gourmet,” Gabe said as he squeezed water out of three different kinds of lettuce. “Somehow you didn’t seem the heavy sauce, artful presentation type.”

  Lauren lifted the cover off the pot and the most wonderful aroma filled the air. “Good guess,” she said. “This—whatever this is—is my kind of food.”

  “It’s the saffron that makes it smell so good.” He held up a tiny glass jar filled with fine red, ribbony strands. “Pound for pound, this stuff is more valuable than gold. Wars have been fought over it.”

  “I’ve smelled worse reasons for war.”

  Gabe’s laughter filled the room, and for the first time that evening he looked like himself. “I knew there was a reason I was looking forward to your company,” he said, raising his wineglass.

  Lauren touched her glass to his. Noticing the plants overflowing the window ledge over his sink, she asked, “Do you grow your own herbs?”

  He nodded. “More in the summer. These are the hearty ones that survive my benign neglect.”

  She looked more closely at the neat triple rows of small pots. She recognized basil, mint, and parsley, but the others were a mystery. Leaning over, she took a deep breath. The fresh smell that rose from the herbs was reminiscent of spring and meadows and the place by Hubbard Lake where she had played as a child. “They look pretty well tended to me.”

  “One of the few positive remnants of my marriage,” Gabe said as he chopped mushrooms. “Deborah taught me all about herbs—how to use them, how to grow them—and for that I’ll be forever grateful to her.”

  “But not for much else?” Lauren teased.

  Gabe raised an eyebrow. “You know how it is.”

  Lauren found herself thinking of the many things for which she was grateful to Todd. The appreciation he had imbued in her for the visual beauty that surrounded her every day. The way he had taught her to turn the world on its side and laugh at its absurdity. And, of course, she was grateful for Drew. But she said, “Oh yeah, I know exactly how it is.”

  They had dinner in the dining room, a formal but surprisingly intimate room, with a circular mural depicting a nineteenth-century fox hunt in deep forest greens and russet earth tones that covered all four walls. The food was as good as any Lauren had had in the finest restaurant, and she marveled at Gabe’s many talents.

  “So, how’d it go with Deborah on Sunday?” he asked. “Did you get anything worthwhile for Rebeka Hibbens?”

  “It was pretty much just as you predicted,” Lauren said slowly, figuring she’d start with RavenWing and work her way up to Nigel Hawkes and the break-in. “Deborah definitely lives in a world of her own.”

  Gabe shook his head in bewilderment when she described what Deborah had said about the Immortalis. “It’s hard to imagine they could fear life so much that they would be willing to kill themselves to avoid living another one.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened. “Deborah stressed the Immortalis is a reenactment,” she said. “I can’t believe they’d really kill themselves.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Gabe replied, staring off into the fox hunt. “I saw that lancet once. I should have destroyed it when I had the chance. That thing’s their holy grail—the symbol of Deborah’s misguided evil.”

  Lauren looked at him in surprise, reminded of how Deborah had referred to Gabe as evil also. Perhaps divorce was the real evil here. “Don’t you think that’s taking it all a bit too seriously?”

  “Those people believe everything Deborah tells them. They think if the lancet is destroyed they will be too.” Gabe stabbed his fork into the paella. “Once those poor people realized the lancet was destroyed and that they were still alive, they would be thrown into disarray. That would break down their misguided belief system and end the coven.” Gabe’s voice had risen and his face was slightly flushed.

  Lauren figured it was time to change the subject. “Anyway, after about an hour of listening to Deborah’s stories of magic and sages, I had had enough.”

  “Are you going back?”

  Lauren shrugged. “I’m torn,” she said. “On the one hand there doesn’t seem to be much point, but on the other …”

  “On the other?” Gabe prompted.

  Lauren looked at the laugh lines webbing Gabe’s dark eyes, at the interest and compassion on his face. “I’ve been having strange experiences lately,” she said slowly. “Weird dreams at night and even weirder ones during the day—and somehow I keep thinking that maybe Deborah can help me understand them.” She briefly told him about the girl in the cornfield and Oliver Osborne and being chained in a seventeenth-century dungeon.

  Gabe placed his hand over hers. “I’m sure the daydreams and nightmares are just the result of too much work and too much stress—although be careful you don’t get so lost in history that you lose your ability to separate fact from fantasy.” He raised an eyebrow. “Like someone we know.”

  “I’m nothing like Deborah,” Lauren said quickly.

  “I’m sure you’re not.”

  “Want to hear something else strange?” Lauren asked, encouraged by his response. At his nod, she told him about the break-in and Dan’s increased suspicions about Jackie’s death. “Dan thinks I should stay away from RavenWing,” Lauren said in conclusion. “He says if I have to do the book, I should do it your way—without Deborah’s chronicle.”

  Gabe had fallen silent and pale while she told her story. He cleared his throat. “This break-in sounds serious. Ling is absolutely right—you must stay away from Deborah and her crazies.” He picked up her hand and rubbed her knuckle against his cheek. “Please let me help you with the book,” he said, uncurling her fingers and kissing her palm. “Promise me you won’t go back to that store.”

  Lauren was amazed by the serious expression on his face, by the concern in his voice, by the pulse of electrical attraction that raced from her palm. “I promise,” she said.

  Although Gabe seemed pleased with her answer,’ Lauren could feel his attention slipping away. Not one to pry, she tried to keep the conversation going. They gossiped a bit about Terri and critiqued the plots of a few mysteries they had both read. She mentioned that Drew’s turtle had disappeared. Apparently, Herma
n had climbed out of his dish, but whether he was still in the apartment or had fallen from Drew’s open window, they didn’t know. She and Drew had looked everywhere, including the bushes and the yard, but Herman was nowhere to be found.

  “Is the little guy very upset?” Gabe asked.

  “He’s taking it pretty hard,” Lauren said, touched by Gabe’s interest. “But the tough part is that Herman’s irreplaceable—unless I take a trip to Spain.”

  Gabe nodded in sympathy and they struggled on with their conversation, but the cloud around Gabe seemed to darken and, as they drank their coffee, silence fell. She stared into her cup and wondered what consolation she could possibly offer him for a problem he wouldn’t share. Lauren decided it would be better for them both if she left. Looking up, she caught him watching her sadly. “Gabe,” she began.

  “Don’t say anything.” He took her hands and pressed them between his. “This has nothing to do with you—it’s something else entirely. Something I’m not free to discuss.” He regarded her with such pain and longing that Lauren’s heart went out to him. “I want what happens between us to be as good as it can be.”

  Lauren nodded. “I understand.”

  He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “I can’t give you all you deserve tonight.” They put their arms around each other’s waists and walked toward the door. Gabe picked up Lauren’s jacket and purse from the living room couch. He helped her on with her jacket, then pressed her close for a long moment. “I’ve got to go to Washington tomorrow, but I should be back by the end of the week.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll call you then.”

  Lauren nodded and, as if in a trance, walked out the door. She heard it click behind her and once again found herself standing alone on the veranda. She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved.

  Lauren called -Deborah first thing the next morning and canceled their meeting. “I appreciate all your help, but I’ve decided to give this book a go on my own,” she said. “Reincarnation and the supernatural just aren’t my areas of expertise, and I don’t see how I can write a book based on them.” Although Lauren knew Nat would be furious if he learned she was making this call, she consoled herself with the thought of Dan and Gabe’s approval. “I’m pretty sure I can come up with a way of handling Rebeka Hibbens that will keep my editor happy,” she added, hoping that somehow she and Gabe would be able to make her words come true.