Bones of the Witch

by A. L. Knorr

  “It’s enough to bring the dead to life,” Gavin shuddered from behind the wheel. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  The laird slowed the car to a crawl as we peered out the windows, looking for anything amiss. People could be seen looking out of upper floor windows, and trying to comfort their dogs in their yards. Gavin stopped the car when an elderly man on the sidewalk lifted a hand to him. The man came slowly to the driver’s side window and Gavin rolled the window down.

  “Ernest,” Gavin said, “yeh were out communing with the dead again? Or perhaps the local wolf pack just moved through town.”

  I gave Jasher a look of alarm and he mouthed, “He’s kidding.”

  Ernest gave a raspy chuckle. “Mighty strange, isna?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the dogs. He bent at the waist and peered in at Jasher and me, giving us a friendly nod. “All of Blackmouth’ll be complaining of a poor sleep tomorrow. I wouldna worry about it. They’ll wear themselves out in short order, I should think.”

  Gavin nodded. “I hope so. G’night, Ernie.”

  “Night.” Ernest gave the hood a tap and we drove on.

  “No fires, no wild animals, just a bunch of frightened pooches.” Gavin turned us down another narrow street where we witnessed and heard more of the same. “Nothing to be done.”

  “Ernie is right, they’ll get tired soon,” Jasher said, his jaw cracking wide with a yawn.

  “Aye.”

  Gavin piloted the car down a narrow alley and the town graveyard came into view on the left-hand side. Crooked, worn headstones scattered across the gentle hills like bad teeth.

  “Is this where they’ll bury the body we found?” I asked Gavin, watching the wrought iron fencing go by.

  “Aye. Already dug the hole, I b’lieve.”

  “Will there be any…ceremony, or anything?” I asked, feeling a little foolish.

  Gavin laughed. “Why, you want to pay your respects?”

  “Sort of,” I mumbled.

  Gavin stopped smiling and he shot me a look of what might have been respect. “That’s sweet of ye, Georjie.”

  My face flushed with heat. “I just think it’s sad. I mean, her family never knew what happened to her. She died all alone.” I added silently that there was a possibility she’d been the creator of a very special and exquisite kind of rose.

  “There won’t be anything official.” Gavin raised his voice to be heard over a fresh wave of howls and yelps. “But there’s nothing wrong with going to visit the graves of the nameless dead. There’ll be more than one of them in this here graveyard.”

  But she wasn’t nameless. In my gut, I felt that the young woman had to be Daracha. I wondered if there was a way it could be proven, and if so, whether they might consider making a proper headstone for her.

  The dogs finally did quiet down, but it wasn’t until well after we’d retired to our rooms to salvage what was left of the night.

  Lunch hour the next day found me drooping over a bowl of soup in the kitchen and listening to Ainslie and Bonnie plan Bonnie’s business trip to Edinburgh for a hospitality conference. The kids had already come and gone.

  “You look like death warmed over,” Ainslie said as my chin slipped off my hand and my head bobbed for the third time. “Why don’t ye take an afternoon nap?”

  “I have an art history exam to study for,” I replied.

  “Twenty minutes’ll do you a wonder.” She reached over to pat my hand. “I plan to catch a few winks myself before tackling the laundry. Those dogs were a terror last night.”

  “At least the whole village will be feeling it,” I mumbled. “I went down to the cafe to work this morning and the staff and patrons had all been replaced with zombies.”

  “For my part,” added Bonnie, looking far too sprightly as her spine straightened, “I find a stroll and some fresh air does me more good than a nap.”

  “I like that idea.” I set down my spoon and picked up my soup bowl. “I’ll take my textbook and sit in the park. At least it’s not raining.” I tilted the bowl and drained it.

  “I like a girl who’s not afraid to show she likes my cooking,” Ainslie said with a chuckle.

  I swallowed the last of the soup and set the bowl down. “Sorry, that was rude.”

  Bonnie tsked. “This is the highlands, missy, not the queen’s parlor.”

  I washed my dishes and said goodbye to Bonnie and Ainslie. Grabbing my textbook, I layered up with a rain jacket, hat, and scarf and left the castle through the front door.

  Jasher was standing on the gravel at the top of the steps leading to the back yard, work phone to his ear. He gave me a nod but didn’t smile.

  I began to head across the driveway when he called to me. “Have you spoken to Evelyn today, Georjie?”

  I turned. “No, why?”

  “She’s usually quick with her replies, but I haven’t gotten any response back yet today. Just wondering if you’d heard from her.”

  “I haven’t seen her since the hiking fiasco, sorry.” Come to think of it, it was weird she hadn’t popped into the cafe this morning.

  Jasher nodded. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Sure.” Carrying on, I began to walk down the hill and into Blackmouth, headed for one of the larger parks. It would be easy to stop by Evelyn’s house on my way. I noted and appreciated the lack of barking dogs as I turned down Evelyn’s street. Her house was the only thatched roof cottage on her road. I crossed the road and opened her front gate.

  Her cottage was everything you’d want an old Scottish home to be. Winding wisteria trunks, old and gnarled, curled up both sides of the rounded door and arched overtop. Most of the leaves had fallen off, but there were remnants of the dangling blooms still hanging on. Two large windows with small diamond-shaped panes hugged the front porch, and within the door sat a round, stained glass window depicting a red rose.

  I reached for the knocker, a black wrought-iron greyhound, but my hand paused. The door was ajar. Just barely, with an inch of space between the door and the jamb. With a fingertip, I pushed on the door. It swung open silently, revealing a cozy and welcoming hallway.

  “Evelyn?” I called. “Are you here?”

  No answer.

  The hall was lined with a carpet runner decorated with the same rose motif as the stained-glass window. An antique table sat to one side and a round mirror with key hooks was fixed just above. The key hooks held several sets, one of which I recognized as the keys to her little Fiat. So, her car was still in the garage.

  Taking a step on the mat, I called out, “The door is open, I’m coming in.”

  I felt dumb talking to no one. The house had an empty feel, but what if it wasn’t empty? What if Evelyn had fallen and hit her head? She said she lived alone since her last roommate had moved out and she hadn’t yet advertised for a new one.

  After toeing off my sneakers, I padded down the hall, poking my head into the living room and the small kitchen at the back of the cottage. A quick glance through a window over the sink showed no one in the back yard. I left the kitchen and took the short hallway leading to the two bedrooms and bathroom. Everything was neat and tidy, no signs of an accident, or of leaving the house quickly. The only thing that was messed up was her bed. The duvet was thrown back and there was a dent on the pillow. A pair of slippers poked out from beneath the bed like a pair of bunny noses. A dark red robe was draped over the footboard.

  Feeling a little guilty, I backed out of the room and returned to my shoes. As I slipped my sneakers on, I noted the full shoe rack. Boots, galoshes, two pairs of sneakers, a pair of ballet flats. I’d seen Evelyn wear the boots and both pairs of sneakers. But the fact that they were neatly lined up on the shoe rack wasn’t necessarily a sign of anything weird, right? I mean, who knew how many pairs of shoes she had, and where she kept them all?

  I put on my shoes and went to close the door when I heard a buzzing sound coming from the coatrack. Fishing in the jacket pocket of Evelyn’s raincoat, the same on
e she’d worn to Inverness, I retrieved her phone. My blood cooled and slowed as I recognized Blackmouth Castle’s number. I knew who it was instinctively.

  I pressed the talk button. “Jasher?”

  “Oh, thank God…” he started, then stopped. “Georjie?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’m at Evelyn’s place.”

  “Is she with you?” I could hear his breath speed up.

  “No. She’s not here. Her door was unlocked and open. All her shoes and outdoor stuff is here. Her car keys, too. I didn’t get freaked out until I heard her phone buzzing.”

  Jasher let out a quick breath. “I’m going to call the police.”

  He hung up the phone before I could reply, leaving me standing in Evelyn’s hallway staring at her phone and wondering what to do. Finally, I pocketed her phone, closed her door, and headed up the hill to the castle as fast as I could manage.

  I arrived to find Jasher, Ainslie, Bonnie, Gavin, and Lachlan standing in the front foyer with Inspector Hamilton. They all turned to look at me as I came in. No one was smiling.

  “Hi, Inspector Hamilton,” I said.

  He didn’t waste his breath with a greeting. “I need to know the last time you saw or spoke with Evelyn Munro.”

  “Saturday. I was with Lachlan and Jasher. We went into Inverness together.”

  Lachlan and Jasher both nodded in agreement.

  The inspector said grimly: “That’s what I thought.”

  “Tell him what you told me,” Jasher prompted, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

  “I went by her house and the door was unlocked and open.” I told him about her shoes and her jackets, her car keys, and I gave him her phone.

  He took it and woke it up, frowning at the locked screen.

  I said, “I wasn’t too worried until I found her phone. It looks like a…”

  “Kidnapping?” the inspector interrupted.

  I nodded. I felt Lachlan move to stand behind me. He put his hand gently on the small of my back and I felt grateful for the subtle support.

  “We won’t jump to that conclusion just yet,” Inspector Hamilton said. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours since she’s been seen, but her parents are worried because she hasn’t been answering her calls. She had dinner with them last night and was meant to drop by their house this morning to return something she’d borrowed. It’s too soon to file a formal missing persons report, but the sooner we act, the better.”

  Jasher was chewing a thumbnail now, and nodded. “She’s always been fast to reply. It’s out of character. I knew something was wrong. I could feel it.”

  “We’re forming a volunteer search party. Can I expect all of you to be part of it?” The inspector eyeballed the group.

  “Of course,” Gavin replied. “Just tell us where to meet and when.”

  “We’ll muster at the station in an hour.” The inspector finally found a reassuring smile, though it was more of a grimace than anything. “More than likely, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for where she is and why no one has heard from her. We haven’t had an actual missing persons case in…well, ever.”

  I didn’t mention Daracha Goithra, figuring he wouldn’t appreciate me bringing up a case that was centuries before our time.

  We said goodbye to the inspector and stood in the hallway chatting for a few more minutes.

  “It’s been exciting around here lately,” Gavin said, his eyes taking on that mischievous twinkle. “Bodies in the ruins, ladies galivanting about mysteriously.”

  Bonnie whacked him on the arm and I didn’t miss the daggers Jasher sent his way. Lachlan glanced at me with an apologetic look, embarrassed by Gavin’s cavalier words.

  “It’s not funny, Gavin,” Bonnie said. “What if something’s happened to the poor woman?”

  Gavin waved a big hand. “Nothing’s happened to her. Nothing ever happens around here. Blackmouth went to sleep after the Falklands incidents and never woke up again. We haven’t had a donkey’s fart o’ trouble. Mark my words, she’ll be sleeping in her own bed tonight.”

  Gavin, Bonnie, and Ainslie left the foyer to prepare to join the search party.

  I wrapped an arm around Jasher. “He doesn’t mean to be an arse,” I said. “She’ll turn up. You’ll see.”

  Lachlan spoke in a quiet tone. “Gavin is worried too. This is just how he handles it. I’ll run home and change. See you guys at the station.” He closed the door behind him.

  Jasher turned to me, clutching my hands tightly between his. “You can see what happened, Georjie.”

  “Only if it happened on soil. There’s no soil in her house or in her front yard. There’s pavement everywhere. Even the wisteria has gravel right up to its base. The closest dirt is well up the road. It’s too far away.”

  Jasher’s eyes closed but his hands tightened on mine, almost hurting me. The look on his face sliced my heart to ribbons.

  “You know I’ll do whatever it takes, but I need dirt to see, Jash.” I squeezed his hands back. “Listen to me. People are mobilizing as we speak. The inspector will have a search party out within the hour. If we don’t find Evelyn, we’re bound to find a clue, and that clue might be enough to tell me where to look next. Okay?”

  Jasher looked me in the eyes and the expectation I saw there frightened me. He was putting all of his hope and trust in me to find her.

  What if I couldn’t?

  Chapter 11

  A group of forty-three volunteers convened at the muster station, where the police broke us up into eight parties, each responsible for searching their own section. Three of the groups––those with experience on the water––joined up with the Maritime and Coastguard Agency to search the North Sea. The rest of us were assigned a captain and issued a section.

  Lachlan, Jasher, Will, and I were shuffled into the group slated to search the queen’s parkland to the north. This was the least populated and most remote section of the ‘pie’ and meant we had to do much of our searching on foot.

  The North Sea edged the village to the east where rolling green hills boasted patches of thick old-growth forest. The queen’s park to the north and west played host to a myriad of deer, foxes, pheasants, and other highland animals. Farmland and a few large manors with extensive yards and forests of their own speckled the south. Royal land began just beyond the outermost suburb of Blackmouth, and it was there we were dropped off.

  Equipped with rubber boots and raingear, tactical flashlights, and small handheld radios, seven of us spread across the land in a line, each responsible for combing a width of fifteen meters.

  With Lachlan on my far left and Jasher on my far right, we began the long and arduous stalk across the park. The midafternoon light was pale and heavily filtered through a low bank of near impenetrable clouds. The ground was mossy, uneven, and saturated. Each step resulted in an unpleasant squelching sound. We’d been instructed to watch for footprints, telltale residue on trees and bushes like hair or fabric, and of course, any sign of Evelyn herself.

  The forest was a strange blend of huge old oaks, gnarled and twisting into the sky with their thick, furry arms, and thin, scrubby underbrush. Streams wound their way through the landscape like veins and arteries, adding their own trickling music to the occasional calls of Evelyn’s name.

  As I continuously scanned the semi-circle in front of me, I thought how unlikely it was that we’d be the group to find her. This land was reserved for wildlife. It was inhospitable to hikers unless you kept to the thin trails, which were mostly overgrown and mucky. Hikers preferred the trails along the sea or on higher ground where their hard work could be rewarded with beautiful views. Down here, it was a disorienting landscape of branches, undergrowth, mud, and moss-riddled rocks.

  We’d been instructed to search until we reached an old military road marked as B9012 on the map. We were to be picked up there by one of the constables. The search was projected to take us just until nightfall, but the going was agonizingly slow.

  Se
veral hours and a soggy tuna sandwich later, I was climbing over a bank of stones shot through with roots when something caught my ear. Pausing, my hand gripping at a wet root, I listened.

  Drums.

  It was a fast, almost celebratory rhythm, but very muted; it sounded far away. Like my first night in Blackmouth, the drums sounded like they were coming from everywhere and nowhere. Hauling myself up over the edge of the bank, I straightened, my ears straining. I was not imagining them. The drums were there, and I thought they were even punctuated sometimes by a cheerful flute.

  “Lachlan?” I called across my zone. “Jasher?”

  “Find something?” Lachlan called back.

  Jasher answered from somewhere in the trees. Neither of them was visible.

  “I haven’t found anything, but do you hear those drums?”

  No answer as they listened. The unmistakable sound of a primitive drumbeat came filtering through the trees. Anyone with decent hearing should have been able to detect it.

  Then, from Lachlan, “Nope, sorry.”

  “No drums for me either,” Jasher added.

  “Seriously? Are you both deaf?” I mumbled.

  “I heard that so, no.” Lachlan chuckled. “Beware the spunkies, Georjie. Maybe they’re trying to lure you into the swamp.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to banter in return. It was frustrating to be the only one to hear the music. Who would be banging on drums out here in the middle of the wilderness? Why could I hear it out here when I’d also heard it from my little room in Blackmouth Castle? And why wasn’t the music any louder out here than it was when I’d heard it from inside those thick stone walls? A screw of unease drilled itself lazily into my midsection and I couldn’t bring myself to move for a time. I stood there, listening, my every sense trying to pinpoint the origins of the drums.

  Determining finally that it was coming from the west, I took a step in that direction, then stopped. I was expected to monitor my section of the search area. I couldn’t just go running after some mysterious drum music and abandon my team. I let out a frustrated huff.

  “Torches on,” called one of the team members from far to my right.