In the Air Tonight (26 page)

Chief Johnson and Dr. Christiansen sat alone in the single office, a half-empty bottle of Jameson on the desk, coffee cups that didn’t hold coffee between their hands. Bobby found a cup, filled it, took a sip, then a seat.

“Where you been?” Johnson asked.

“Madison.”

The man’s brows shot up. Before he could ask why, Bobby told him.

The two older men lifted their cups and together they drank. The clicks when they set them back down were indistinguishable from each other.

“Some of the kids called Mrs. Noita a witch,” Johnson said. “I never considered she was one.”

“You believe that?” Bobby asked.

“Doesn’t matter if I do, only matters if the killer does.”

“Do you know if Noita was her real name?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“
Noita
means witch in Finnish.”

“Huh,” both Johnson and Christiansen said at the same time.

Bobby wasn’t sure her name even mattered any more. “You know anything about a coven near here?”

“A coven,” Johnson repeated, then shoved his hands through what was left of his hair. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

That was more like it. Sure, there were people who practiced Wicca. That was probably less weird than some of the things others practiced. But covens and witches and spells—oh my—those Bobby had a hard time getting his mind around. And he was glad Johnson felt the same. He was tried of being the only skeptic.

“What about that call you had last month?” Christiansen asked.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, Doc.”

“Full moon, bonfire in the woods. Naked people fleeing when the cops showed up.”

Bobby lifted his eyebrows. “Seems like that might have been something you would have shared.”

The chief snorted. “Stuff like that happens all the time.”

“How often?”

“’Bout once a month.” Johnson frowned. “It’s just kids. Drinkin’ beer, makin’ out.”

“Is it always around the full moon?”

Johnson thought a minute then muttered, “Hell.” His gaze flicked to Bobby’s. “Any of your vics involved in witchcraft?”

Bobby shook his head. That he’d remember. Then again, in New Orleans something like that might not even be worth mentioning. He pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna call Franklin.”

He’d asked the FBI agent to check on other brandings and burnings. He hadn’t heard back, which made Bobby think maybe there weren’t any except …

He wasn’t that lucky.

The man answered on the third ring. Bobby identified himself.

“I’ve been meaning to call,” Franklin said. “It’s been a little nuts here.”

Despite the agent’s words, wherever he was didn’t sound busy. Bobby couldn’t hear anything from the other end at all—no doors slamming, no phones ringing, no FBI agents murmuring. If he were in the field, wouldn’t there be sounds of traffic, music, dishes rattling in a restaurant? Now that Bobby thought about it, he’d never heard anything on the other end of the phone but Franklin. However, the man’s next words made him forget his suspicions. Whatever they were.

“There have been other bodies burned in other locations.”

“How many?”

The agent paused a beat. “Dozens.”

“Dozens?” Bobby repeated, and the chief and the doc sat up straighter, both reaching for, then finishing their whiskey.

“So far,” Franklin allowed.

“And you didn’t connect them?”

“Burned bodies? No. They were in different places, different methods of death, different means of burning.”

“What about the brand?”

“Once I started asking, the brand turned up. Some thought it was a tattoo. Or some new fad. I’ve seen similar marks on a lot of professional athletes lately. Not the wolf brand, but brands. I don’t get why kids would mark themselves that way, which my wife says makes me old.”

The guy must be beyond tired to ramble like that. Bobby could relate.

“Anyway, the brand was in the reports—at least for those bodies where there was enough left of a body to find one.”

“Did you get anything off Wellsprung’s ring?” Bobby asked.

“No.”

Figured.

“Was he obsessed with witches?”

Silence loomed. “How’d you know that?”

“Wild guess. What about the victims? Any of them practice Wicca, belong to a coven?”

Papers rustled. Franklin cursed, and Bobby knew.

The
Venatores Mali
had been busy.

*   *   *

“‘The Raising of Spirits-Both Good and Evil,’” I read
.
“Why would anyone want to raise an evil spirit?”

Samhain, who had just crept out from beneath the bed and into the living room, made a gurgling-purring sound and scooted back where she’d been.

One spell required the breath of a witch, the other the blood of one. I’ll let you guess which was which. Witch.

“Black candles. Sage.” I moved into the kitchen holding the book, opened the corner cabinet. Bizarrely, I had both.

I had gone shopping with Jenn on State Street, right after Halloween last year. I’d bought a deeply discounted bag of votive candles in black and orange. I snatched up the bag, started extracting the black. “Is four enough for a circle?”

Samhain yowled once from the bedroom.

“Five?”

She yowled twice, and I pulled another candle free.

The spell called for a sage stick, but I only had flakes in a jar, which I pulled from my spice rack. It would have to do.

I used chalk to draw a pentagram on the table. I erased and redid it twice before I got the thing right. My hands were a little unsteady. Then I set the candles at each of the five points, which formed a circle.

After dropping the sage into a glass bowl, I went over the spell one more time, then lit everything and chanted the words written there. As instructed, I allowed my breath to cast over the flames so that they flickered but didn’t go out.

“I call the spirit Henry. Come in peace or not at all. As I will so mote it be.”

My gaze flitted around the room. Nothing. The book said this was a spell to call good spirits, burning the sage would ensure no evil ones slipped through. But what if I really needed a sage stick instead of just sage? Would that difference keep Henry from coming? Would it allow evil to arrive instead? What if Henry was evil?

Was there a spell to determine evil?

I closed my eyes and recited the spell again. Chanting
did
indicate more than once. Probably more than twice. I continued to say the words, the scent of the sage and the candles, the sound of my own voice, the lethargy left by the long day, several long nights, and—I admit it—the great sex made me trancelike. For an instant, I saw Henry—I saw Pru—in another town, with another woman who looked a lot like me, except for her hair, which was as red as flame.

“Henry,” I said, and he glanced over his shoulder, right into my eyes. His mouth formed my name, then,
No!
and then …

He flickered.

Pru howled so loudly the sound trilled along my skin like an ill wind. Outside my door, Larry cursed. Had he heard it too? That was impossible. However, so many things I’d once thought impossible no longer were.

The air stirred. My eyes opened. I held my breath.

And the candles went out.

Chapter 20

“Raye?” Larry knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”

“Fine.” I kept my gaze on the man-shaped shadow in the corner. “Thanks.”

“You hear that wolf?”

Henry stepped forward, and I held up my hand. “You’d better check that out, Larry.”

“I’m not as dumb as Brad. Your new boyfriend would kick my ass if I moved an inch away from this door.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot toward his eternally black hair.

“All right. I’m headed to bed.”

“It’s seven-thirty.”

“Good night.” I went into my room. I didn’t bother to wait for Henry before I shut the door. He walked right through.

“Why did you summon me like that?” he demanded.

“That’s the way the book told me to.”

“I didn’t mean—” He frowned. “What book?”

I held up Anne’s
Book of Shadows,
and his frown deepened. “Where did you get that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

I sighed and told him.

“All right,” he said. “That could be helpful.”

“It brought you here so I’d say it was very helpful.”

“You can’t just summon me like that, Raye.”

“Apparently, I can.”

“You shouldn’t. I didn’t come when you called because I was in the middle of something very important. I need to—” He flickered.

“Don’t you dare!”

My voice was too loud. I listened for the sound of Larry crashing through the door, but silence reigned.

“I’ll just call you back,” I warned.

He let out a breath. “It’s too late now anyway. I’m sure your…” His lips tightened. “I’m sure Pru was able to handle things.”

“Who was that woman who looked like me?”

“You saw her?” he asked, and I nodded. “It’s a long story.”

“Then you’d better get started. You can begin with what happened to your daughters.”

“How do you know about them?”

“Three people can’t disappear into thin air without someone talking about it. Even though McHugh’s followers were terrified of him, some of them still wrote things down.” I lifted the
Book of Shadows.
“Books last longer than memories.”

He hung his head. “Your mother wanted to tell you.”

My heart took a hard, fast leap. “You know who she is?”

He coughed and, from beneath the bed, Samhain growled. “Since when do you have a cat?”

“She came with the book,” I said absently. “Is my mother alive?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

His gaze met mine. “With your sister.”

“I have a sister?”

“Mo leanabh.”
That dark gaze gentled. “You have two.”

*   *   *

Bobby ended his call with Agent Franklin. “He’s on his way.”

Johnson grunted. Though he might have called the feds for help, no local really wanted them in their town, even when they needed them. Christiansen poured the chief another drink.

“He’s bringing some sort of witch expert,” Bobby said.

A few seconds with his computer, clicking away while Bobby waited on the line, and Franklin had connected the burnings and brandings, and the
Venatores Mali.
He’d also used whatever resources he had, wherever he was, to check the backgrounds of Bobby’s victims. Several of them were involved in the occult—voodoo, hoodoo. Who knew? In truth, he wasn’t surprised.

“It might take them a few days to get here,” he continued. The witch expert was in high demand.

“What is a witch expert, and why do we need one?” Johnson asked.

“The
Venatores Mali
were witch hunters. They branded victims with their symbol—the snarling wolf. They also burned them. Mrs. Noita and her niece were witches who were branded and burned.”

The chief rubbed his forehead. “Is everyone crazy?”

Bobby figured that was rhetorical.

“Is there anyone in town who doesn’t belong?” he asked.

“You,” the chief answered.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry.” Johnson appeared contrite. “People drive through on their way north. They stop and gas up. None of them belong.”

“Whoever killed Mrs. Noita broke into Larsen’s house and killed Raye’s pillow. Wouldn’t crazy like that stand out?”

“You’d be surprised,” Christiansen murmured.

“Probably not. I stayed at Raye’s dad’s because there wasn’t a hotel.”

“What’s your point?” The chief drained his coffee cup.

“This killer, and the maniac too, were in town more than a day. Where did they stay?”

Johnson spread his hands and shrugged. So did Christiansen.

“There’s one question that’s been keeping me up at night,” Johnson said.

“Only one?” Bobby asked. Lucky man.

“Why are they trying to kill Raye?”

“A less likely witch was never born,” Christiansen agreed.

Bobby frowned. Both men sat up and asked, “What?”

“She’s adopted.”

“Point?” the chief repeated.

This time the doctor answered. “We don’t know
what
she was born.”

*   *   *

“Two?” I asked.

I understood the implication, but I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. Because the implication was insane.

“The young woman you saw is named Becca. She’s a veterinarian in Three Harbors.”

“That’s about a hundred and fifty miles from here.”

“Miles don’t matter to me.”

“Do miles matter to Pru?”

“Are you asking if she’s a supernatural wolf?”

Was I? Why not? I nodded.

“She can share her thoughts with those who have the ability to hear them. Does that mean she’s supernatural or that they are?”

“You’re making my head hurt,” I said.

“Wolves can run up to forty miles an hour. They can cover one hundred and twenty-five miles in a day, though forty is average. They’ve been known to follow their prey at a run for five or six miles and then accelerate.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Wolves that are merely wolves can travel much faster than humans.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

“It will take her longer to get here than it took me, but less time than it would take you.”

I gave up. “How do you know so much about them?”

“Even before my wife became one, her affinity for animals was so powerful that wolves flocked to her. They adored her, worshipped her. They would follow her anywhere, do anything for her.”

And the weird continued.

“The triplets in the legend,” I began, then chickened out. “They were witches too?”

His gaze held mine. “They are.”

Again, one and one was adding up to two. Despite my occupation, I was starting to hate when that happened.

“What does
mo leanabh
mean?”

He gave me that look again—the one that made me feel as though he’d put his arm around me. The one that made me want him to.

“My child,” he answered.

I let out a breath, drew in another, did it again. There were so many things I wanted to ask, and then again I didn’t.