Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (31 page)

“I’ll be right back,” Ben grunted.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “They just don’t
understand.”

“I ain’t worried,” he replied. “And, I’m gonna make
‘em understand.” With that he turned and strode away in the
direction of the cop who’d made the comment.

“Just ignore them, Ben,” my wife instructed, but she
was too late. With his long stride he was already a quarter of the
way to the boundary tape and didn’t hear her. Of course, even if he
had he wouldn’t have listened. I could tell he was on a mission;
I’d seen the look before.

I watched on as he gestured in our direction and
engaged the officer in what appeared to be a deeply earnest
conversation. At one point he held his right hand over his heart
for a second then held it up palm outward as if taking an oath. A
minute or two later he was purposefully striding back toward us.
Looking past him I could see that the cop he had just spoken to was
staring at my wife with a quizzical and maybe even slightly fearful
expression in his eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Ben said as he reached down into
one of the bags then withdrew a container of salt and broke the
seal. “You ready for another one yet?”

“What did you just say to him?” Felicity looked up
and asked.

“I just gave ‘im some friendly advice.”

“Did you threaten him?”

“Not exactly.”

“What then?” she pressed.

“Don’t worry, nothin’ bad… Well,
not too bad I don’t guess… I just told ‘im that one time I saw you
do some kinda evil eye thing on a copper I worked with who was
givin’ ya’ shit. Then the next day all his hair fell out real
sudden like,” he replied in a low voice. “And, I made sure he
understood I meant
all of it
fell out.”

“You didn’t…” she replied.

He gave her a half shrug. “Yeah, well, actually I
did. I mean, I didn’t figure he’d believe the turnin’ ‘im into a
cockroach bullshit ya’ threatened me with, so I hadda tell him
something.”

My wife shook her head as she gave him an empty
carton then took the new one out of his hand. “You’re
incorrigible.”

“Yeah, I know,” he grunted. “But
I’m bettin’ that copper would piss himself if you leaned over and
gave ‘im
the look
.”

“The look?”

“Ya’know… The one ya’ always use when you’re pissed
at me.”

“Oh. That look,” she said in a flat tone. “Maybe
some other time. I’m almost finished and we have more important
things to do. How much salt do we have left?”

“Another whole bag,” he replied. “Looks like ten…
maybe twelve containers.”

“Good, that’s more than enough,” she announced as
she bent back down and continued scribing the salt circle on the
parking lot. “This should be the last one I need for the
moment.”

“Then what?” Ben asked.

“Then you get your wish,” she told him.

“What wish?”

“As you put it, I say a poem.”

“Yeah,” he replied, starting to nod. “See, I knew I
was…”

Felicity cut him off quickly, “Don’t push me, Ben.
I’ll still hurt you.”

“Yeah, I keep forgettin’ that’s your thing.”

She stood up and handed him the empty salt
container. “Yes, but since we’ve seen that you don’t take pain all
that well, it probably wouldn’t be much fun for me.”

He snorted out a light chuckle. “So that’d mean I’m
safe.”

“Oh no,” she told him. “I’ll do it just for
spite.”

“Jeez… You’re a friggin’ piece of work.” He shook
his head then diverted the topic by glancing around at the circle.
“Wait a sec, I think ya’ missed a spot. Don’tcha need to fill this
in over here?” he asked as he pointed toward a void in the salt
that measured almost three feet in width on the side nearest the
car.

“No,” Felicity replied as she turned slowly in place
while surveying the circle herself. “That would be the door.”

“The door?”

“Aye.”

“Okay… Whatever you say,” he muttered.

“Stand over here,” my wife told him as she took his
arm and led him into the center with me.

“Don’t you want me ta’ go over there or somethin’
while ya’ do the hocus-pocus?” he asked, pointing toward the tape
line.

“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I want
you to stand right here so you can help.”

“Whaddaya mean help? I ain’t
a
Twilight Zone
freakazoid like you two. What am I gonna be able ta’
do?”

“If I’m following her logic, I think you just became
an honorary signpost,” I groaned out between waves of pain.

“Pretty much,” she acknowledged.

“What’s that s’posed ta’ mean?”

“It means that you’re now Rowan’s anchor,” she
replied. “Obviously you have more physical strength than I do, so
if this starts to go bad, I’ll tell you to pull him into the
circle. Once you do that I’ll handle closing the door.”

He made a sweeping motion toward the salt with one
of his hands. “So I just grab ‘im and pull ‘im in here?”

“More or less.”

“Uh-huh, so what’s the more part, or do I not wanna
know?”

“Well, if you have to pull him in, he’s likely to
start grounding through you as soon as you touch him. Initially,
anyway, until I can take over.”

“Yeah, okay, but now you’re talkin’ la-la land stuff
and I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s kind of like having electricity pass through
you,” she explained. “But different.”

“Yeah, wunnerful, now I understand
perfectly,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “So how’s
the
Twilight Zone
shit gonna affect me since I ain’t like you?”

“It probably won’t.”

“Whaddaya mean prob’ly?”

She shrugged. “I can’t be sure. I’ve never actually
done it this way before.”

“But you’ve done it this way with other Witches
before, and it worked okay, right?”

“Actually, no,” she said. “If you must know, I’m
making this up as I go along.”

“Fuck me…” he grumbled as he shook his head.

“Don’t worry, then,” she told him. “I know what I’m
doing. It shouldn’t hurt too much. Besides, he’d do the same for
you.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “That’s the only reason
why I’m still standin’ here.”

“It’s okay, Ben,” I grunted through a hard grimace.
“It’s a basic principle. Just trust her and let’s get on with
this.”

“Yeah, well if my hair falls out or somethin’, I
ain’t gonna be real friggin’ happy, ya’know,” he replied
sternly.

“Don’t worry,” Felicity quipped. “I’ll make sure
only part of it falls out.”

“Who’s bein’ a fuckin’ comedian now?” he
grumbled.

“Aye, Row, are you ready?” my wife asked, ignoring
his complaint.

“Yeah…” I told her. “I’ve been ready.”

“Just another minute or so,” she said. “This is down
and dirty. Nothing fancy.”

“Felicity…” I started.

“What is it?”

I pulled her close and whispered in hopes that Ben
wouldn’t overhear. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You’ve had
your own grounding troubles since… Well, you know…”

“Miranda?” she replied, speaking the name I’d chosen
not to utter. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

She gave my arm a squeeze for reassurance then moved
around behind us. I didn’t turn to watch her, but I knew she was
most likely standing at the edge of the circle, facing toward the
east. After a short pause I heard her make a shuffling turn and
take a step as she began walking slowly along the inner arc. In
that same moment her singsong voice floated on the air as she began
to rhyme aloud.

“In this space I do create, a haven safe where we
await. A gate I leave now open wide, but through it comes who I
decide.”

Her voice rose and fell in volume as she carefully
skirted counterclockwise along the inside edge of the salt, passing
by first on my right, then in front of me, and finally to my left.
The last word of the verse was fading on the night air as she
reached her original starting point once again.

“Judith is who we now seek, she must soon be allowed
to speak. As Rowan travels through the veil, in search of her he
will prevail.”

For a second time, my wife stepped lightly around
the full circumference of the somewhat unfinished circle, chanting
out another verse of her off-the-cuff spell and uttering the ending
syllable at the east, just as before.

“Harm to him it will not come, nor to fear will he
succumb. He will return through the gate, to a haven safe where we
await.”

On her third and what turned out to be her final
pass, she glanced up when she crossed in front of me. I caught her
eye and would have smiled were it not for the preoccupying thump in
the back of my head. When she finally came to rest behind us once
again, she paused, and from the lack of sound I assumed she simply
stood in place.

Apparently, Ben’s story about the sudden hair
shedding effects of the redhead with the evil eye had been passed
around, as no jeering or offhanded remarks came from the watchers
on. Except for the swish of the slight, but cold, breeze and the
hum of the highway traffic, everything was quiet.

After a handful of heartbeats had tapped out time in
my chest, I heard Felicity shuffle and walk toward the center of
the circle.

“Ben,” she said. “If I say the
word
now
, you grab
Rowan and bring him right here to this spot, no matter what.
Okay?”

“Got it.”

“
No matter
what
,” she stressed again.

“Yeah,” he repeated with a nod. “I got it.”

I heard the rustle of a plastic bag then the
unmistakable squeak of metal against pasteboard as my wife opened a
fresh container of salt. A few seconds later, she was at my
side.

“Okay, Rowan…” she said softly. “We’re ready. Go
ahead then.”

I stepped forward through the opening in the salt
circle then slowly and deliberately placed my hand on the Hyundai’s
driver’s side door handle.

At first, when my fingers made contact with the door
handle, nothing at all seemed to happen. Psychometry was fickle
like that sometimes. Given that reading the psychic residue from
inanimate objects through physical touch lent itself to all manner
of interference, there were even a good number of occasions when it
didn’t work at all.

Latent impressions of past events weren’t always
present. And if they were, for the most part they didn’t just
automatically form an immediate picture in my mind. Instead they
would come to me like water soaking into a too dry sponge. Seeping
slowly in around the edges at first then suddenly becoming a
thirsty swell to fill the void between then and now.

I certainly hadn’t expected a shower of sparks or a
choir of disembodied heads bellowing out an off key chorus. I knew
better than that. However, I had hoped that maybe the ethereal
voice in my brain would have become a bit clearer. Instead, all I
heard was the murmuring gibberish that had been rolling around
inside my head for the past two hours or so. If anything changed at
all it was the series of stabbing pains at the base of my skull.
Unfortunately, it was a change I could have done without since they
seemed to become worse, not better.

While I was fairly certain I wasn’t displaying it
outwardly, I had a feeling that I was just as disappointed by the
beginning of this process as were the spectators. I shifted my grip
on the handle and held tight, trying to increase the area of
object-to-skin contact for maximum effect.

I remained unmoving for one of the longest minutes I
could remember, hoping for at least a hint of something. A
tingle…some sensation other than the ramping undulation of pain
inside my skull. But there was still nothing. All I felt was cold
metal leaching the warmth from the palm of my hand, and the
sensation was definitely a product of elementary science on this
side of the veil.

“I’ve got nothing so far,” I said, forcing my voice
to be loud enough for Ben and Felicity to hear me. “I’m going to
open the door.”

“Just open it, that’s all,” my wife ordered. “Don’t
get in.”

I was beginning to feel like I was on a bomb squad
detail, slowly picking my way toward a ticking explosive with
Felicity as my guide. I suppose in a way that was as good an
analogy as any. The primary difference was that I wasn’t trying to
avoid an explosion. I fully intended to set off this ethereal
booby-trap so that I could see what it had to say.

I had just popped the latch and was starting to pull
the door toward me when Felicity called out again, “Aye, did you
hear me, Rowan? Don’t get in the car. That might be too much for
you to handle right now.”

“I’m not,” I answered verbally, which I hadn’t
bothered to do earlier, but it was apparently what she wanted.
However, I didn’t voice the addendum to the reply that flitted
through my head, which was “not yet.”

The interior of the car smelled like a familiar
perfume—cloyingly sweet but with a hint of earthiness and a
peculiar sharp note hidden somewhere in the center. It was
intermixed with the fresh odor of tobacco smoke. It took me a
moment to identify the olfactory mélange as all coming from the
same source, clove cigarettes. Whether or not any importance
resided in the scent, I had no idea just yet, but it was
prominent.

I pulled the door open wide then stepped forward,
bending down so that I could inspect the interior more closely.
Residue of fingerprint dusting powders coated the passenger side
dash and steering wheel, just as they had the door handle. Other
than that, however, the automobile appeared to have been all but
cleaned out by the crime scene technicians who had bagged and
tagged everything in sight.