All fidgeting and nervousness stopped. “I don’t want you to get hurt. This guy’s hurt way too many civilians already.”
“Not me,” Endora stated. Not again, anyway. She buttoned her jacket at the waist and shot her wrists out the sleeves. “Last time he caught me by surprise. This time, he won’t have that advantage.”
Jamison hunched his shoulders in a sign of resignation. “I’m just trying to do my job.”
“I know.” Endora smiled with real warmth. “And I’m trying to do mine.”
“Let’s get to it, then.”
With a saucy look, she tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Lead on, oh Fearless Leader.”
Jamison’s glare at the technician dared the woman to make a comment. She refrained.
AS PLANNED, THE tour’s authors met the local book sellers at a grand reception. The hotel where they were lodged hosted the elegant event which boasted a Mardi Gras theme. It coincided with the sting operation miles away at Lake Pontchartrain.
“Well, that’s the last time I’ll ever do that,” Mick commented as he squired Cassie back to his suite.
“You mean, you won’t come to any of my book seller receptions?” she teased.
He laughed. “Of course. I meant the last one where I’m the bug under glass.”
“Yuk.” Cassie screwed up her face in mock horror.
Mick laughed again and planted a quick kiss on her nose. “I love you.”
If she hadn’t so completely shared Mick’s sentiment, she might have been forewarned. But, intent on her love as they walked hand-in-hand, she failed to notice that no FBI agents guarded the penthouse elevator lobby. Or the ends of the corridor. Completely missed the aura of evil tainting the hallway air, so poisonous it had a dark color of its own.
As it was, she never even sensed the blow that caught her behind the right ear and smashed her head in. Suddenly boneless, she fell to the hallway carpet so quickly and silently, Mick took another step before he realized she’d let go of his hand.
“Cass—” He turned to look over his right shoulder and saw a man dressed like an FBI agent raising a ball bat to strike again. Mick had only a split second to register the blood in Cassie’s dark hair before he leaped over her inert body and charged her attacker. “You sonuvabitch!”
Using his lean two-hundred fifteen pounds like a battering ram, he hit his enemy with a cross-body block that drove him into the wall. The force sent the bat flying. Both men dove for it. Grunting and swearing, they rolled on the carpet, grappling for possession of the weapon. Mick had a definite size advantage, but his opponent fought as if literally possessed, negating Mick’s physical edge.
They thrashed down the hallway back toward the elevator, neither gaining the upper hand. Then Mick decided to use his bare hands rather than a club. Straddling Cassie’s attacker, he grabbed him by the shirt collar and cocked back his fist, ready to break every bone in the bastard’s face.
He never threw the punch.
Searing heat suddenly raced up his thigh from just above his knee, and he looked down to see a hypodermic needle the size of a B-horror movie prop sticking out of his leg. Just that quickly, he felt himself losing all muscle control. “You mother-fu . . .”
The killer rolled away before Mick crashed down on top of him. Rising slowly, he straightened his very official-looking, government issue suit coat and adjusted his tie. Then he meticulously checked each piece of clothing to assure no blood had soiled them when he’d struck M. S. Kazimer’s whore girlfriend. Skull fractures inflicted by baseball bats were rarely neat. He glanced over to see a widening pool of blood beneath the woman’s head.
Pity he’d killed her. It might have been amusing to torture her in front of Kazimer, to prolong that faithless swine’s horrified anticipation as he was given a graphic preview of his own fate. But two unconscious people would have proved far too problematical. He’d have to sacrifice the amount of enjoyment to be derived from making her last hours on earth agonizing in the extreme. Of course, M. S. Kazimer would suffer unspeakably before being allowed to die. Thus was the fate of those who betrayed their faithful worshipers.
He bent to lift his victim in a fireman’s carry. Then he disappeared into the nearest service elevator to begin their descent into hell.
“MEDUSA, SHE’S coming to.”
A voice Cassie didn’t recognize penetrated the wall of pain substituting for her skull, reverberating—though likely a mere whisper—like a launch pad at liftoff. She couldn’t help it. She groaned. Loudly.
Instantly, a hand caressed her forehead. She knew without looking it was her mother’s. As Medusa chanted in a low voice, Cassie’s pain subsided dramatically. She opened her eyes a crack. The small room was typical of an older house in The Quarter—high-ceilinged, with elegant French doors that led to a balcony—and the pleasant hum of positive paranormal energy. She heard the low background sound of New Age music along with a bubbling water fountain. But ambiance was the least of her concerns as her head began to clear.
“Where’s Mick?”
The four strangers standing around what appeared to be some type of examination table all looked at Medusa.
Her mother’s expression told Cassie the news was bad. “Abducted. About an hour ago.” When Cassie made to sit up, Medusa gently restrained her. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere right now.” Cassie’s dark look had her mother quickly relating how they’d found her very near death in the corridor outside Mick’s suite. The obvious traces of a struggle had indicated he had been drugged and carried off. “You were too badly injured for me to leave you, so Mandrake volunteered to search for Mick’s aura. But he’s never met him . . .”
Heart hammering with dread, Cassie couldn’t manage any volume in her voice. “You must have arrived just in time to save my life,” she whispered. “How’d you know we needed help?”
If anyone in the room noted that she’d used “we” instead of “I” no one commented.
Medusa sat beside her daughter on the examination table and gently smoothed her hair back from her face. “I had two very trusted friends watching of you. The moment they heard your telepathic cry, they moved in.” With a sad shake of her head, Medusa added, “If they hadn’t been respecting your privacy and were closer when that beast attacked, they’d likely have prevented Mick’s kidnaping.”
Cassie was startled to see tears well in Medusa’s eyes. “Mother, stop!” She grasped her mother’s hand then looked around at the circle standing attendance. “None of you are to blame here. I thank the Goddess you rescued me as quickly as you did. Otherwise . . .” She had to swallow hard to continue. “Otherwise, I doubt I’d have survived that blow.”
“You have Trish to thank for that.” Medusa nodded to a dark-haired, pale-skinned woman of average height standing at the foot of the examination table. “As soon as we got to you we stopped the bleeding. But your survival wasn’t assured until we brought you here. Trish is the South’s best energy healer and graciously treated you on short notice and at this late hour.”
“I was glad I could help,” Trish quietly stated.
Cassie nodded her thanks as Medusa silently gathered her in her arms and hugged her. Before her mother shut the telepathic connection between them, Cassie caught a gruesome image. A skull crumpled like a crushed aluminum can, and a pool of blood three feet across. The flood of parental horror and grief at the death of a child. Cassie knew she’d seen herself as Medusa had—lying in the hotel corridor, mere seconds from death. She also knew Medusa would never describe that scene to her, or tell her how very close she’d come to crossing over.
“Thank the Goddess for all of you.” Drawing strength from her mother’s embrace, she very soon pulled back. “What time is it?”
“Close to midnight,” Trish stated in a calming tone.
Cassie’s heart di
d a flip. “Mick’s been gone nearly ninety minutes.” She sat up gingerly, waving off Medusa’s supporting hands. “All right, I survived that maniac. He’s not going to kill Mick.” She swung her legs off the bed, woozy but determined. “I’m going after him.”
“Not alone,” Medusa stated, her hand steadying on Cassie’s shoulder. “You’ve been badly injured. I’m coming with you.”
“So are we,” the other witches chorused as if they’d been auditioning for the parts of the three weird sisters in Macbeth.
Trish smiled wryly. “Midnight. The witching hour. A bit out of my area of expertise.” She handed Cassie her jacket. “I’ll stay here and see if I can locate your friend and perform a long-distance healing. He’ll need the drugs he was given cleared from his field.”
“It might be better if you rested up, Trish. In case we need your healing skills after we locate Mick,” Medusa pointed out. “The amount of energy you expended on Cassie’s behalf has likely left you very drained.”
After seeing herself in Medusa’s memory, Cassie had an inkling of the tremendous effort Trish had made.
“I could certainly use a nap,” Trish said with a nod.
“And a strong cup of green tea.”
This brief exchange bemused Cassie slightly. Trish, obviously, was outside the Craft, yet Medusa spoke to her with the tone of long acquaintance and great mutual respect. Another human her mother regarded highly. But Cassie had no time to ponder this latest revelation. Mick was in danger. Saving him took priority over all else.
She glanced around, smiling grimly. “Thank you for the help, but understand one thing. None of you are to interfere with my right to take the first crack at this bastard.” She met each gaze with steel-eyed determination. “He kidnaped my fiancé and almost killed both my familiar and me. This is personal.”
Medusa could hardly contain a proud smile. “Tell us what to do, Cassandra.”
MICK AWOKE WITH the severe case of cotton mouth typical of the anaesthetized. He fought the drug, but it kept hauling his eyelids down. And when they closed, all he could see was Cassie lying in a steadily-widening pool of her own blood. That image snapped his eyes open, and he silently prayed that help would arrive before her life drained away into the motel’s carpet. He’d just found her. Losing her now would kill him.
If the lunatic who’d abducted him didn’t manage that first.
He couldn’t fight the reflex to swallow, but doing so was agony. When had his throat been lined with sandpaper? Clamping his lips shut proved the only way to stifle the groan that desperately sought escape.
Things went downhill from there.
“Shit!”
He’d tried to raise his hand only to find himself immobilized on a type of operating table. His heart skipped a beat, and he had to force his breathing to deepen. To calm. As long as he didn’t panic, he had a chance. He refused to calculate the odds, but someone always won the lottery, right?
Although he could move his head, it was difficult to see much of the room he lay in. He used his other senses. The unnatural silence seemed to indicate he was alone for the time being. Dampness and the smell of mildew indicated water, perhaps somewhere below sea level. Lake Pontchartrain? No. It was unlikely his attacker had taken him there. The killer had broken pattern—if he hadn’t, Endora and Jamison would have caught him in the sting they’d set up based on the climactic murder in Mick’s last book.
Instead of going after a lone woman in a back water bar near a Louisiana state park, he’d ignored the lure and gone after Mick and Cassie at the hotel.
Cassie. His throat tightened. Tears burned the backs of his eyes. God, what if he’d gotten her killed? And even if she’d survived a baseball bat to the skull, she’d likely be in some emergency room right now, fighting for life. He said a prayer that that was the case. Even if he didn’t get out of this alive, at least she would.
As for the others—Endora, Jamison and most of his Feds were at the sting site. Most likely, Medusa and her colleagues were also near Lake Pontchartrain. Help was miles away, meaning Mick was completely on his own. No comfort there, considering he didn’t think well on his feet. Then his rather macabre sense of the absurd kicked in, and he wryly thought that, since he wasn’t exactly standing, he shouldn’t have a problem.
Either he had gone completely insane from terror, or had found some kind of courage he’d always hoped he had but never had the opportunity to discover. Either way, he began smiling stupidly over his mental joke.
Then suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore. A slight noise had his pulse kicking into overdrive and a cold sweat breaking over his body in a clammy wash.
Off to his right, a door had opened.
DORA, GET BACK to the hotel immediately.
Endora jerked as Cassie’s voice filled her head, the urgency in her tone nearly overwhelming. Even though she knew her friend wasn’t physically there, she glanced around the bar anyway. Just as she suspected, the smoke-filled room revealed no members of The Craft, known to her or otherwise. No, Cassie hadn’t come in person to drag her back. But she’d summoned her just the same. Endora hissed in anger. Cassie had no idea how important doing this was to her. Of if she did understand, for some reason she didn’t care.
I’m working here, Cass, she retorted. Call me back later.
I need you back here now, Endora.
Although Cassie couldn’t see her gesture, Endora slammed her shot glass down on the bar, sending a double-shot geyser of whiskey into the air. By the Goddess, Cass, this is the lowest you’ve ever sunk. I can’t believe you’re so set against my working this sting that you’d—
The killer attacked Mick and me. He nearly took my head off with a ball bat, then abducted Mick.
Endora suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. Great Mother Goddess! Are you all right?
Yes.
The strain in Cassie’s voice said it had been a near thing.
Dora, the sting won’t work. The killer somehow figured out Jamison’s plans, and he didn’t bite.
Instead, he tried to kill you.
And now he’s going to kill Mick if we can’t find them and stop him.
I’m on my way.
Pulling the front of her blouse away from her chest, Endora leaned down and spoke directly into the microphone. “Jamison, the killer hit the hotel.” She was off the bar stool and halfway to the back door as she added, “Take your team back to the city as fast as you can. I’m afraid you’ve likely got agents down.”
She tore the wire from her chest, tossed it away, and had transformed to her feline state in two strides.
Inside the FBI command post, Jamison was snapping orders to his stupefied officers. “Drake, Wilkins, O’Brien—pack the com equipment and meet us at the hotel ASAP. Garcia, get out of the bar and haul ass for base.” He checked his watch. “I want everyone but the com guys there in fifteen.” When they sat gaping at him, he snapped, “What the hell about ‘back at base in fifteen’ didn’t you geniuses understand? Move!”
The scramble behind him as he grabbed his coat and bolted from the command truck indicated his rant had roused them from their collective stupor. He didn’t look back, concentrating instead on covering the dark pavement between him and his car as quickly as possible.
BACK IN THE Quarter, Medusa and her three friends had joined Cassie in a circle to conjure Mick’s location.
Cassie swallowed hard, fighting sudden panic.
“Don’t waste energy in doubt,” Medusa murmured, giving Cassie’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll help if you need us. But the operative word is ‘if.’ You can do this without us, Cassandra.”
“Please don’t test that theory by leaving right this minute.” Cassie tried to make light of her fears, but was certain everyone in the room could sense her near-desperation.
“Cleansing br
eath, then clear your mind,” Medusa ordered. “Concentrate on Mick. Allow no distraction.”
Ignoring the dull throbbing behind her right ear, Cassie closed her eyes and followed her mother’s instructions. She pictured Mick in her mind’s eye as they’d walked toward his suite just before the attack. He was laughing at something she’d said. Holding her hand. Then, the blow to her head had rendered her unconscious. She fought through the darkness to keep Mick in her vision. He struggled with a man dressed like an FBI agent. He was winning the fight. Then a hypodermic needle flashed. Penetrated his thigh . . . Cassie’s vision faded, but just as quickly Mick reappeared in her mind. He was strapped to a table in a dank room.
Her eyes blinked open, and she looked around the circle. “I saw the ruins of an amusement park.”
“Lakeshore Drive,” the tallest witch answered immediately. “The old Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park. Near UNO.”
“That’s at least thirty miles from where the FBI set up their operation,” Medusa observed.
Dora, go to the old amusement park. Near the university on Lakeshore, Cassie relayed to her familiar. We’ll meet you there.
The wizened little witch who looked to be older than Medusa by fifty years shook her head. “This is a total departure. He’s completely broken the pattern of killings.”
“And now it’s up to us to make sure he never establishes another pattern,” Cassie said grimly. She looked at her mother. “Any suggestions?”
“A protection spell. Now that you know where Mick is, you can keep him safe until we arrive.” When Cassie’s brow shot up in disbelief, Medusa added, “You have the greatest power of all at your disposal, Cassandra. Love. Let your love for Mick strengthen your ability to protect him.”
It was all Cassie could do to keep from gaping. “You haven’t been reading Leo Buscaglia lately, have you Mother?”
Medusa actually laughed. “Goddess, no.”
“Because you’re sounding frighteningly hokey, and I don’t need that right now.”
Medusa broke the circle to grasp both of Cassie’s shoulders. “True love is pure white light, the most powerful form of energy at our disposal. Only light can drive out darkness. Use yours to protect your loved one.”
Some Practical Magic Page 21