Ancient Forces Collection (17 page)

Scott wiped his hands on his pants. “I just need a minute to see if Z is online.”

Darryl adjusted his glasses. “I’m kinda surprised Z even talks to you after what we did to find him.” Several months ago and at Darryl’s suggestion, Scott, with the help of Darryl’s computer-hack cousin Hubert, had tried unsuccessfully to trace Z’s identity.

Scott shrugged. “Can he blame us for being a little curious? I mean, like, he knows stuff about us that only someone in the family would know, you know?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Let’s see if he’s online,” Scott said. “Maybe he knows what’s up with Becka and all that Wicca garbage.”

Sarina finished her reading. She placed her book on the table and brushed her fingers through her hair. “I’d be happy to take a few questions, if that’s all right with you all.”

Several hands shot up. Becka had plenty of questions burning inside her, but she was more than a little frightened to speak up.

Sarina pointed to a girl two rows behind Becka. “Let’s start with you. What’s your name?”

“Um . . . it’s Jamie.”

“Hey, Jamie. What’s your question?”

“Yes, like, well, I’m a really, really, big fan — ”

“Thank you,” Sarina said with a soft smile.

“I’m wondering how you had time to write a whole book when you’re on the set so much.”

Sarina tilted her head to one side. “When something is as important to you as Wicca is to me, you just make time, you know?” she said. “You may laugh, but a lot of the time I’d have to scribble bits and pieces on scraps of paper . . . or even a napkin . . . whenever the spirit gives me inspiration, I have to get it down. It’s almost like I’m channeling and taking dictation from the spirit world. Next question?”

“I’m Ami, and I love your show too. In your reading, you used the word
esbats
. What’s that?”

“Good question, Ami,” Sarina said. “Much of our power, as Wiccans, is associated with the movements and rhythms of the cosmos. We witches coordinate Esbats, which is a ritual of divination, with the thirteen full moons of the year. These moon phases contain sacred energies that flow from the Great Goddess through us to do good.”

Becka worked to collect her courage. She was about to raise her hand when Sarina pointed to a fiftyish-looking woman in the back corner.

“Thank you. My name is Trisha. To be honest, I’ve never watched your show. Mind you, it’s nothing personal — ”

“No offense taken,” Sarina said with a wink.

“Yes, well, I am favorably impressed with your presentation and positive outlook on life. I think you make an excellent role model for today’s young people.”

“Thank you. Was there something I could help you with?”

“What would you say to parents who might be tempted to deny their children the chance to explore what Wicca has to offer?”

Sarina took a deep breath. “I’d have to ask them what they’re so afraid of. What’s wrong with a teen seeking to be empowered, to get the most out of this life? There’s nothing evil here. Remember, it’s the intolerant, oppressive Christian faith that murdered millions of people with their Crusades in the Middle Ages.”

Several people clapped their agreement.

Becka was stunned that nobody took issue with anything Sarina said. She had tons of questions. At the same time, she didn’t want to embarrass Julie or the other friends who had come with her. As she wrestled with the decision whether or not to ask a question, her heart raced so fast inside her chest she thought it might just explode.

“Who’s next?” Sarina asked. She surveyed the crowd and settled on a woman in a stylish red dress. “Let’s go with the lady in red.”

“My name is Stacey,” she said confidently, as if interviewing for a job. “Thank you for taking my comment.”

“My pleasure,” Sarina said with a tilt of her head.

“To be candid, I have been on what you might call a spiritual quest of sorts,” Stacey said. “And, thanks to your TV show, Sarina, I was recently introduced to the benefits of Wicca.”

“I’m glad to know that,” Sarina said, obviously pleased with herself.

Stacey returned a smile. “I can only speak for myself, but in the months that I’ve opened myself to the Wicca faith, I’ve been amazed to watch my career soar. I’ve felt my sense of inner well-being increase. And I’m in a great new relationship.”

“I’m happy for you. Those are just some of the benefits awaiting those who would give Wicca a chance to transform their life.” Sarina shifted her stance. Smiling, she asked, “Was there a question I could answer for you?”

“Actually, no,” Stacey said, bringing a hand to her expensive-looking necklace. “I just wanted to say I’m indebted to you for your inspiration. Thank you for having the courage to point us down this pathway of enlightenment. I look forward to reading your book!”

Priscilla stepped to the mike amidst a smattering of applause. Sarina took one step backward. Priscilla said, “I can see that we have time for just one more question. Who wants to have the last word?”

Sarina returned to the microphone.

Becka figured it was now or never. She slipped up her hand barely above her waist. She stopped breathing. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Laura staring at her. Becka couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Laura wasn’t too happy that Becka was about to ask a question.

Sarina cleared her throat. “How about right here in the front row.”

Becka looked to her left and then to the right. She was the only one in the front row with a hand raised. With her left hand, she pointed to her chest and mouthed the word,
Me?

“Yes, what’s on your mind?”

Becka swallowed hard. “Um, I’m wondering how you can say there are many ways to God.”

Sarina raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. What was your name?”

“Oh, right, it’s Becka.” She felt her face flush. How could she be so dumb as to forget her own name?

“Becka . . . why don’t
you tell me what’s behind your question.” Sarina offered a thin smile.

“Well . . . for example . . . in the Bible, Jesus said, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.’ ” Becka felt a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.

Sarina folded her arms together.

Becka continued. “He didn’t say
‘a
way’ but
‘the
way.’ And he also said, ‘No one can come to the Father
except through me
.
’
”

Someone in the back of the room groaned. Someone else said just above a whisper — but loud enough for everyone to hear — “Give me a break.”

Sarina fidgeted with a ring. “Uh-huh.”

Becka pressed the point. “So that seems to me to kinda rule out your theory that there are many ways to God.” She felt as if every eye in the room was riveted to the back of her head. “I’m just wanting to . . . well, to get your take on that.”

Becka could see Krissi leaning away from her.

Sarina remained motionless for several seconds of silence. She unfolded her arms. “What you just said is . . . well, it’s a perfect example of intolerance.” Sarina placed her right hand on her hip, then said, “You want to know something, Becka? The goddess has revealed to me that you are an angry young lady . . . with hatred in your heart.”

“But — ,” Becka started to say.

A hollow darkness filled Sarina’s eyes. Her voice went cold. “As to what your Jesus says . . . I’ll just have to disagree. To me, all religious pathways are right in how they pursue the great Universal Spirit — as long as they respect the rights of everyone to seek the goddess in their own way.”

Every inch of Becka’s skin tingled. Not only did she strike a raw nerve with Sarina, she did a perfect job of alienating just about everyone in the entire room.

Priscilla took the mike from Sarina. “Well, I believe our time is up. Thank you for enlightening us, Sarina.” The audience erupted in hearty applause. Priscilla gave Sarina a sideways hug and added, “In spite of the lone dissenter, you were a real hit. Thanks, everyone, for coming tonight.”

More applause. Sarina took a seat at the table and prepared to autograph copies of her book. As she reached for the pen, Sarina glared at Becka.

If looks could kill, Becka would be dead.

5

L
es Henderson, Laura’s dad, inched his chair forward. He and the mystery woman, the one whose voice Laura had heard on the answering machine, sat at a quiet table in the back of an Italian restaurant, relaxing on a Friday night. The flame of a solitary candle danced between them. Off to their left, a wood-burning fireplace crackled. Les loosened his tie and sent a smile sailing across the table. She blushed.

“What looks good tonight?” Les said, glancing at the menu.

“Besides you?” she said, her tone as warm as the fire.

Les looked up. “You’re only saying that because it’s true,” he said with a playful wink. “I hear the gnocchi is great.”

“Ooh. You are positively intoxicating, Les,” she said.

Their eyes lingered together. After a long moment, she looked away, carefully placed her napkin on her lap, and then picked up and scanned the menu. She stole a look over the top, where once again she met his gaze.

She raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” she said, fiddling with a diamond earring he had purchased for her twenty-ninth birthday several weeks ago.

Les placed his left elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“Well, if you don’t, I may just melt right here.”

A waiter approached the table with a loaf of warm, sliced garlic bread drizzled with olive oil and spices. He placed the wooden cutting board on the table, disappeared for several seconds, and returned with two full glasses.

“Have we decided?” the waiter asked. He cupped his hands together in anticipation.

“I’d like for this night not to end,” she said, “but that’s not on the menu.” She pursed her red lips, pretending to pout.

“Ah, I see,” said the waiter. “Very well, then. May I suggest the Passion Pasta for two? It’s exquisite.” With a gloved hand, he pointed to the Chef ’s Specials.

Without taking his eyes off his date, Les said, “I believe that will be perfect.”

“I’ll see right to it.” The waiter gathered the menus and slipped away.

“Tell me,” she said, tapping Les on the hand. “Where’s your wife tonight?”

It was Les’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Not to worry. She went out of town for the weekend.”

Her face lit up. She reached across the table and touched him on the back of the hand. “Oh, Les, that’s just fantastic. We can stay out and dance the night away . . . and no one will ever know.”

“You were absolutely golden tonight,” Demi said as she slid into the limo next to Sarina. The chauffeur closed the door and circled round the front to take his place behind the wheel. Within seconds, the limousine eased away from the curb and merged into the flow of traffic.

Demi pushed the intercom button on the overhead console. “James?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She consulted her Palm handheld. “Caesar’s . . . on Third and Main.”

“My pleasure.”

For three years, the slender, forty-two-year-old redhead had served as Sarina’s personal manager and literary agent. Having landed Sarina a lucrative, six-figure book deal, which she quickly farmed out to a ghostwriter, Demi was determined to push Sarina into as many personal appearances as possible. Tonight marked the tenth out of thirty in-store signings.

Sarina dug her hand into the leather seat between them. “Did you see what that . . . that little
witch
in the front row did to me?”

“Coming from you, Sarina, I’d say that’s an interesting choice of words,” Demi said with a look over the edge of her designer glasses.

“You know what I mean,” Sarina snapped. “The nerve. I’d love to pull out her stringy brown hair . . . one strand at a time.
WITCH!”

Demi squeezed her hand. “Definitely, without question, this was your best performance so far,” she said, trying to smooth things over. “You know something, kiddo? You almost converted me to become a Wiccan.”

“Who does she think she is?” Sarina fumed, ignoring the compliment. “Don’t you get it, Demi? She embarrassed me in front of the crowd. I’m so mad, I could spit nails.”