09 - Return Of The Witch Page 11

  “I know not, yet I see now by the banners what for the colors stand.”

  “Colors of what?”

  “The dust. Red for fire, blue for water, white––”

  “White for air and brown for earth,” I finished. “You’re right. I can’t believe it. The evidence has been staring us in the face all along. You know, maybe there is something to this Pendle Prophecy thing after all.”

  “We should call my Dominic.”

  “No, let’s not. I’d rather give him a chance to get those chalk samples analyzed down at the lab. I have a feeling it’s not carpenter’s marking chalk like Detective Chandler thinks.”

  “What shall we do then?”

  I patted my stomach and soured my face. “I’ll tell you. That little bite of sandwich I ate didn’t quite hit the spot. What do you say we go out for some real food? Fancy a juicy steak burger down at the Perc?”

  “Aye, if I am buying.”

  “You have money?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm…how `bout if I buy?”

  “If thee insists.”

  It was well past sunset when we left the house. The moon hung in the trees, but bright enough to rival the streetlight further down the block.

  I let Ursula drive, even though she doesn’t have a license. Just the fact that Dominic wouldn’t let her get one provided ample motivation for her little act of defiance. Besides that, she thoroughly enjoys driving. She gets a kick out of yelling ‘Giddy-up’ before punching the gas. What scares me is the way she yells ‘Whoa!’ before braking, as though one of these times the car wouldn’t hear her.

  I was still piecing together the day’s events in my head when a pair of headlights behind us lit up the inside of our car. They moved in on us so fast, I thought Ursula had switched on the dome lamp.

  “What’s his problem?” I said, turning in my seat to get a better look. That’s when I realized who it was. “Son-of-a-bitch. Ursula. That’s the Escalade that tried to run me down in my front yard yesterday.”

  Ursula, who’d been maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the wheel asked, “You want I should slam on the brake?”

  “No, I don’t want you should slam on the brake. I just washed the car six months ago. He might scratch the paint.”

  “I should pull over?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe. You know what? Just give him the sign to go around.”

  Ursula rolled down the window and flipped him a bird. “Go around!”

  “No, Ursula. Not that sign.” I demonstrated the universal windmill sweep of the arm. “Tell him to pass.”

  “Aye, `tis a better sign.” She did the windmill thing out the window. The driver behind us responded by gunning his engine and ramming our bumper.

  “Okay, that’s it,” I said. “He is so going to get it now. Ursula, get ready to pull over. I’m going to—”

  Before I could finish that thought, the Escalade swerved out from behind us and pulled alongside our rear quarter panel.

  “Damnit! He’s going to pit us,” I said, knowing that Ursula had no idea what that was. I tried to tell her to hit the break, but I couldn’t get the words out quickly enough.

  In a jarring instant, the two cars made contact. Our ass end fishtailed out from under us. Ursula, too new a driver to know anything but what instincts told her to do, cranked the wheel hard to the right. The back half of the car responded to the over-correction, pointing the front half toward the steep drop-off on the side of the road.

  “Brace!” I yelled, just before we tumbled over the side.

  The car rolled several times and then came to rest on its roof. The front bumper and wheels lay partially submerged in muddy water, but for the angle of the incline, no water seeped into the passenger compartment.

  Also fortunate was that the airbags had all deployed: the two up front, the ones on the sides and possibly even a few in the back I didn’t even know I had.

  I looked over at Ursula. She was still clutching the wheel as if bracing for further impact. “You okay?” I reached out and patted her arm.

  She appeared in shock.

  “Ursula?”

  “Aye,” she said, finally. “Methinks I am fine as frog hair.”

  “Funny you should say that, because I think I feel one crawling up my leg now.”

  “We are down side up.”

  “Yeah, or upside down, whichever way you care to look at it.”

  “`Tis my fault. I know. Forgive me.”

  “No. It’s not your fault. Why would you think that?”

  She looked at me, blinking back her disbelief. Blood was rushing to her head, flushing her face and causing the veins at her temples to bulge. “I did not say whoa.”

  I unhooked my seatbelt and dropped onto the roof. “You didn’t have to. The car was out of your control. That asshole up there did it. Here….” I unclipped her belt and eased her to the ceiling. “Now let’s get out of here and fry that bastard with the biggest damn zip balls this side of the Mystic River.”

  I crawled out the side window and got to my feet as quickly as I could. Ursula managed to get out right behind me. The car was toast. Windows broken. Tires pigeon-toed. Steam from the ruptured radiator escaped in ghostly vapors through the shattered grill, hissing in protest as it snaked a hasty retreat into the trees.

  We looked up at the hilltop. The Escalade was there, its headlights shining out over the drop, illuminating the gully beyond.

  A shadowed figure stood in front of it, silhouetted against the lights, legs spread, hands on hips as if surveying a conquest. I thought I could hit him with a zip from where I stood, but worried that a miss might bring a tree trunk down on top of us. I looked at Ursula. She seemed to know what I was thinking.

  “Do it,” is all she said.

  I assumed the stance, held my hand out and sparked a starter zip in the pit of my palm. I was just beginning to spin it to life when I heard the distant squall of sirens.

  Our phantom driver apparently heard it too. I watched him twist his body and pitch an ear to the sound. He turned and looked down at us, hesitated for a second and then hurried back to his car.

  “You better run!” I shouted, shaking my fist.

  After he backed out and drove off, I lobbed the un-needed starter zip over my shoulder. It hit the water in a splash of electric blue sparks and static webs of white-hot light. Seconds later, a half-dozen bullfrogs turned belly-up on the water’s surface.

  Ursula laughed at that. “Look there,” she said, pointing at them. “They must be choir frogs.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She giggled. “They all croaked at once.”

  I took her by the hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before the mosquitoes carry us off.”

  We were halfway up the hill when a pair of fire trucks rolled by at top speed, sirens wailing, lights flashing. We realized then they had not come to save us. Apparently, they didn’t even know we were there and instead, were responding to someone else’s emergency.

  The thought of that made my blood boil, because had Ursula and I been seriously injured in the crash, it’s likely no one would have known about it for days, weeks, maybe longer.

  After reaching the top of the hill and checking ourselves for cuts, nicks and scratches, we used my cell phone to call the boys.

  In hindsight, we should have just called a cab, because the grief Dominic gave us simply wasn’t worth the drama, especially after I told him about the episode I had the day before with that same phantom driver.

  “What do you mean he tried to kill you earlier?”

  The little shit got toe-to-toe with me the way Tony sometimes did when he was exceptionally angry. The big difference was that Dominic was too short to get right in my face, so instead of looking down at me, he was looking at my tits, which just made it seem funny.

  “I didn’t know he wanted to kill me,” I told him, palming his forehead and pushing him out of my comfort zone. “I thought it was some punk kid messing with m
e.”

  “Even after four other witches turned up missing, it didn’t occur to you that maybe you should have mentioned it to us.”

  I shrugged with indifference. “Sure, now that I have the benefit of hindsight it probably would have been worth mentioning.”

  Carlos asked, “What were you two doing out here anyway?”

  “We were going to get a bite to eat.”

  “You should have called us. I like to eat.”

  “I know you do, Carlos, but we didn’t want to take you from your work, which reminds me. Dominic, did you get those chalk samples down to the lab?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And what? They haven’t even had it an hour. Besides, it’s not as if they’re all just sitting around waiting for you to give them something to do.”

  “So how long before we know anything?”

  “I don’t know, a few days maybe.”

  “Days? I can’t wait days. Dominic, we have to know sooner than that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think it’s marking chalk.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I think it’s…. I’d rather not say just yet. Let’s hope I’m wrong. That’s all.”

  Carlos walked up to the edge of the road and peered down into the gully. “Guess we should call a tow truck, huh?”

  “No, leave it for morning,” I said. “I need to get home right away.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s something I have to do.”

  “What?”

  “I left the oven on. What does it matter? Can you take me home now or not?”

  Dominic answered, “Fine, but Ursula goes home with me. I think you put her in enough danger for one night.”

  What could I do but agree?

  The boys dropped me off in front of my house and waited until I was safely inside before pulling away. The second they were gone, I got right down to business.

  Chapter 14

  Most people know that the Grimoire is the sacred text of witchcraft, often handed down from mother to daughter through successive generations of witches. Few, however, understand that it is not an object of possession, rather a symbiotic partner. The Grimoire is spellbound. It chooses its host as much as the host chooses it. When separated by misdeed or misfortune, the Grimoire will always find its way home.

  Three times in my life, most recently after my last Rite of Passage, my Grimoire and I became separated for days on end. Each time it found its way back to me on its own, our reunion cemented in a time-honored bond that will never break.

  I tell you this so that you’ll understand what I did next and how, for some people, I know, would not believe it if they did not see it with their own eyes.

  I retrieved my Grimoire from its perch on the top shelf of my closet and returned it to the living room. There, eight scented candles marked the perimeter of the chalked circle I made on the floor the night before. I placed the Grimoire within the circle and sat Indian style in front of it.

  Beside me lay a thimble of safflower oil, my athame and a sugar cube sized chunk of selenite, the latter of which I acquired during my recent trip to the Eighth Sphere. As selenite goes, that chunk was exceptionally pure and free of inclusions. Though I would have preferred a witch’s key to direct the energy I needed, crystals of such pristine caliber often make for suitable stand-ins.

  After turning off the house lights and opening the windows to a stirring breeze outside, I was finally set. The scented candles poured out wisps of sweet jasmine, a personal favorite of mine for getting in the proper mood for such things. Outside, the roll of thunder hinted at an approaching storm, another mood enhancer. It felt good to be in the moment of magick.

  I opened the hardcover binder to the first page, an otherwise blank sheet now spotted brown with drops of blood from previous articulations. Some were mine, others from witches of generations past. All of it blood from a single lineage.

  I began by raking the selenite across the athame, stroking the blade until the edge of it glistened in glints of silver and white. The essence of magick awoke.

  Jasmine whispered in the wind stealing through the window. The candles fluttered. The hum of electric energy excited the hairs on my arms. I welcomed it. The door blew open. Anticipation wandered in and shut it again. It smiled at me. I wet my lips and smiled back, allowing the bitter taste of safflower a place upon my tongue.

  The Grimoire waited.

  I drizzled oil over the athame and ran it through the flame. The oil ignited in shades of cobalt and danced in nervous skips along the blade.

  “Vade mecum, my trusted friend,” I began, positioning my left hand over the Grimoire. “Let thy wisdom be thy guide.”

  I blew the fire out and dragged the red-hot athame across my palm, spilling blood upon the spotted page. “Show me what I need to know to stem the evil tide.”

  With that, the Grimoire’s pages began to turn, slowly at first, but soon much faster, fluttering through its chapters at a blurring pace too quickly to count. It stopped on page two-hundred, and with a clever twist of firelight, highlighted the words Merry meet. It then flipped another six pages forward and drew the light upon the word, Lilith.

  “Oh my,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t even know my name was in this book. Well then, merry meet to you, too, Grimoire.”

  The book zipped backward some forty pages, highlighting only the words, how-may-Grimoire-help-thee, in a sentence that actually read, “No matter how ye may use the Grimoire for help, know thee thy limits.

  “Ah, cute,” I said. “Double meaning. I get it.”

  Fast forward one hundred pages. The Grimoire highlighted three words, just-kid-ding, within the sentence that read, `Tis just the thing to use kid gloves that thee not ding thy finish.

  Nice, I thought. My Grimoire has a sense of humor. I’ll spare you the reading-between-the-lines bullshit, for literally that’s what it was, and instead I’ll try to convey the articulation directly as best I remember.

  “Grimoire,” I asked, “do you know anything about the Pendle Prophecy?”

  It is written, yet not within these pages, the Grimoire answered.

  “I know that, but have you heard of it?”

  Aye.

  “Any truth to it?”

  Mayhap so.

  “What about the quintessential? Is it possible one might possess it in force, control it I mean?”

  The fifth essential, energy, lies within the beholder.

  “What do you mean, someone already possess it?”

  Aye.

  “Me, Grimoire? Do I possess the quintessential?”

  Mayhap so, thou doth and not know.

  “That’s because I don’t know. Grimoire, tell me. Is that what’s been happening to me at night? Have I been traveling via the energy of the quintessential and killing innocent witches?”

  I know naught of this.

  “Then how do I find out? If I possess the quintessential, how am I to know?”

  Use it.

  “How?”

  It doth come by instinct if thou shalt will it.

  “No.” I shook my head and thumped my fist to my chest. “I don’t think so, Grimoire. I know magick. I know how it feels inside. It’s not in me. If it comes to me in my sleep, then it leaves me when I awake. That doesn’t seem right. I want another explanation.”

  I have none for thee.

  “Then you’re no help, are you?”

  The Grimoire flipped its pages back, then forward and back again as if searching for answers. Finding none, it referred to the front cover. I reopened it. It closed again.

  I blew the candles out, shut the windows and returned the Grimoire to its shelf in the closet. Still dressed in jeans, shirt and shoes, I dropped onto my bed and fell fast asleep.

  I expected that any dream I had would likely involve another witch dying or disappearing, but that didn’t happen. Instead, I dreamt of Tony, only it didn’t feel so much like a
dream, as it did a passage through another dimension.

  I remember drifting toward a light, unencumbered by gravity, my body treading on a cushion of air in a soundless vacuum. A hand reached out from the blinding center. I took it, fearing nothing of the consequences. It was Tony; I knew it. He reeled me in and held me tightly, his strong arms folding me into his body as if we were one. I slid my hands around his waist and across his back. He was naked; I was naked, and our skin touching each other felt so good that I never wanted to let him go.

  I closed my eyes and basked in the warmth of his breath beading down my neck. I smiled at the way he whispered so gently in my ear, trembled at the touch of his warm lips upon my breasts.

  “Tony,” I said. His broad hands slid off my hips and swept across my bottom. “Tony, you have to tell me. Is this real?”

  “Shhh,” he cooed, and kissed me softly. He cupped the rounds of my cheeks and pulled me in closer. I could feel how much he wanted me, how hard he ached. I slipped my hand between us and squeezed him tightly. He lurched back and then forward, pressing against me in a shuddered breath.

  “Tony, please. This seems so real. I have to know. Am I really here with you?”

  “You can’t ask,” he said. “You’ll spoil it. We have this moment. You asked for it. It’s yours.”

  “Am I dead?”

  He looked at me strangely, as though unsure of my question. Then I saw it in his eyes, a sudden realization that seemed to frighten him like nothing else on earth. He pulled back, holding me at arm’s length, examining me head to toe.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You know I love you. I always will. But I can’t let you do this.”

  “Do what? I don’t under—”

  “Remember, Lilith. I will always love you.”

  He turned and started away. I started after him, or tried, but my feet wouldn’t move. “Tony! Wait! Please don’t leave me again!”

  He melted into a light so bright I had to turn my eyes away, but his voice returned, fading in echoes. “I will always love you.”

  I dropped my head and buried my face into my open palms. “And I will always love you,” I said in a whisper so soft that even my hands wouldn’t have heard it.