Witches (9 page)

A shadow wafted across the sun. A bad omen. Though no matter how hard she stared, she couldn’t see anything out there among the trees that could’ve upset Amadeus so. She couldn’t sense anything, either.

What spooked him? Why had he run off like that, disobeying her? That wasn’t like him at all. He must have been really upset.

She called for him, even went outside in the bright afternoon light and looked for him. She cast a spell out. Something, she didn’t know who or what, blocked it.

She mulled over Amadeus’s strange behavior. He could take care of himself, she wasn’t worried. He had powers of his own, but it bothered her more that her magic didn’t seem to be working. It sent a flutter of disquiet through her.

Amanda stood listening for him by the window for a long time, but there was only silence. She assumed he was all right. At least, she didn’t feel anything was wrong and she’d always trusted her instincts before, so she had no cause to start doubting them now.

Outside, half the day was over.

In the house, she tried to go on as if nothing was wrong.

Maybe, she was thinking, she’d take that meatloaf from last week out of the freezer and make sandwiches out of it, take them over to Mabel’s...and look for Amadeus along the way.

Soon, she packed the supper and headed for Mabel’s. She avoided Witch’s Pond.

Although she looked for Amadeus, she didn’t find him.

She hoped he’d be back at the cabin when she returned.

Chapter Three

Amadeus was gone until midnight, which wasn’t unusual, although Amanda looked for him before and after her visit with Mabel, and was concerned. She was relieved when she opened the door before going to bed to see him sitting there.

“Am I glad to see you. I was just about to unleash a minor demon to track you down.”

The cat threw her an ugly look.

“I’m kidding. Can’t you take a joke?” She tossed up her hands and let him in.

“Well?” she asked him in the dark kitchen as the wind chased itself through the trees and around the house. She was standing in her robe, her arms crossed, her foot tapping.

Something bad out there...something bad coming...couldn’t catch it. It was fast.

“Was it the cult?”

Could be. Tried. Sorry.

Amanda sighed, held out her arms, and her familiar jumped into them. He was shivering. “Thanks for trying, Amadeus,” she whispered into his ear. “Just don’t go running off like that on me anymore. You scared the heck out of me.

“Let me handle the cult.” Her voice was stern. “I have some homework to do before I can attempt it.”

Be careful.
He must have been thinking of the last renegade cult.

“I will.” She laid out some leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes for him and went off to bed.

Sleep was elusive. She had to find that cult and stop them. Usually it was a group of people who thought they had powers, but didn’t. Then there were always those rare exceptions: the cults that possessed true witches or warlocks and could hurt her or any other white witch.

That time in Boston had almost done her in. She’d been careless, under protected, and the Satanic cult had called forth a midlevel demon from hell. She shuddered remembering. Oh, she’d won, but had had to spend three weeks in bed healing and she had the physical scars to show for it.

Closing her eyes, she could still see that abomination hunkering before her. As tall as two bears, with a head and jaws like a spider and spikes covering its slimy blood-red body. Eight arm like appendages with razor-sharp claws at the ends. It had thrown acidy venom and breathed fire. The stench of the monster had been enough to make any witch faint dead away.

Amanda shuddered again as she snuggled down into her covers that night, remembering. It’d been such a close call. Too damn close. The only thing that’d saved her was her quick thinking and pure dumb luck. She ran faster than the thing could move and it’d bought her the precious time she’d needed to conjure up a shield for herself until she’d woven a stronger spell with which to destroy the fiend.

She wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.

The spells she’d need to arm herself with would take days and drain her of every ounce of strength—but she’d be prepared for whatever she came up against.

Amadeus believed it was bad, and Amadeus was always right.

In the next few days, she prepared her spells and tried to find out more about her adversaries. She couldn’t discover anything. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t locate the cult. There was an invisible wall up, protecting and hiding them.

There were no more incidents, though, and as the days went by Amanda began to hope that they’d left the area, or better yet, that they’d never existed in the first place. After all, there was no absolute proof that Satanists were responsible for the killings.

Still, what Amadeus had told her needled her.

She wrote back to her sisters, the usual trivial chitchat, and wondered when Rebecca would show up. She kept busy.

Her newest batch of pots was coming along beautifully and she found that the work made all the difference in her. She looked forward to getting up every morning and found herself smiling at things again.

Ernie started stopping by some mornings for coffee, to talk, and to see how her work was progressing. Amanda began to look forward to his visits.

Saturday morning, the morning of All Hallow’s Eve, Amanda went into town.

Canaan wasn’t big as towns went, with its gently sloping land dotted with old-fashioned houses, and tree-lined streets. It was as picturesque as a quaint postcard. A peaceful anachronism.

The people were clannish and stayed to themselves. Amanda had never fit in. Never tried to.

Although she’d lived in the cabin on the edge of town a long time, she was still an outsider to them. They didn’t treat outsiders kindly.

They rarely smiled at her as she passed them on the narrow streets, even in the beginning, and especially since that unfortunate incident two years ago. After that she’d virtually become a pariah.

I couldn’t have just stood by and let that man beat that young woman any longer...no one else was doing a damn thing...I had to help. I just wish I hadn’t used my magic in front of so many people. Foolish. Broke the rules.

The talk, the gossip, had originated then. It made no difference that she’d helped someone, only that she’d done something no one who saw it could explain. Magic. The townies were a very superstitious lot. Always had been.

Eventually Jake had to be the one to go into town for supplies. The minute Amanda showed her face, some of the townspeople would stare, cross to the other side of any street she walked down, or whisper behind her back. Some even made the sign of the cross silently over their chests. It hurt.

Now Jake was gone and the town had things she needed. Things she couldn’t grow or make herself. The stores were in Canaan. The shop that sold her pots and candy was in Canaan. Jane was in Canaan.

She’d better learn to fend for herself. It was only a shame that the trouble with the cult, the murders, had come now.

First thing in the morning, Amanda collected the four glazed earthenware pots and packed them carefully in a straw-filled box for the trip. There were two large ones, including Ernie’s, with slip designs, and two smaller ones. She’d decided to preglaze them all and the two bigger ones she’d bring back home to reglaze for another firing later. The smaller ones would be ready to sell after the first firing and she’d leave them with Jane.

Jake had fashioned a simple wooden wagon for her to attach behind the motor scooter so she could take her wares to town or pick up groceries when he wasn’t around. He hadn’t given up hope that she’d start going into town by herself. She’d never had to use it when he was alive.

Perhaps he’d had a premonition even back then that he wouldn’t always be around.

Starting the scooter, a blue Honda Passport, she checked her pots one last time and headed off down the road at fifteen miles an hour. In Canaan, it’d draw less attention if she blended in with the rest of them, so she wore blue jeans and a heavy sweater under a blue jean jacket that had once been Jake’s. She’d woven her waist-long hair into a thick braid that trailed, out of her way, down her back.

The morning was cool, the sun dappling brightly on the road before her as a fresh breeze caressed her face. She drove slowly, watching for cars coming up behind, or unexpected bumps; inhaling deeply the heady forest scents and enjoying the morning. She tried not to be nervous.

It’d been months since she’d been in town and she dreaded facing the townspeople. The town. Without Jake.

It would be good to see Jane, though, she mused.

As she parked before Jane’s Gift Shop, Jane waved frantically at her through the large glass window, and ran out to greet her with a hug. Jane’s pretty heart-shaped face with soothing, brown eyes framed by curly red hair was a welcome sight.

“I don’t believe it. Amanda, you really came. I’d just about thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth, the way you’ve been hibernating,” Jane declared, pushing Amanda away to get a better look at her.

“Why, Jane. It’s good to see you, too.” Amanda replied, sliding off the scooter. She started to unpack the pots.

Jane’s hands reached out to help her, cradling the received pots in her arms tenderly. Jane wouldn’t chastise her for staying away so long; theirs wasn’t that kind of friendship. Jane never badgered.

Jane knew what being a widow was like. She understood. Eddie, Jane’s late husband, had been dead for over four years and she still missed him. Still grieved. However, she had dated another artist steadily for the last year and seemed happy enough with him, her three rowdy kids, and a gift shop to take care of. She had no plans to remarry, wasn’t in any hurry, as much as she’d adored Eddie. She was the kind of person you loved to be around. So optimistic, so alive and giving.

Jane examined the pots in her arms and remarked, “Good to see you getting off your butt and back to work. Best thing for you.” Jane should know, she was an artist as well.

She brushed her fingers lightly over Amanda’s creations. “These aren’t half bad.” That was high praise coming from her.

“I’ve saved you the whole kiln this morning for ’em. I had a feeling that you’d have a bunch. In fact, in honor of the occasion, I’ve closed the shop for the rest of the day and thought we’d have a nice visit.”

“Thanks.” Amanda looked sideways at her friend and caught her smiling. “You didn’t need to do all that on my account. You’ll lose business.” Amanda shook her head in mock disapproval.

“I wanted to. It’s only a few hours. I needed the rest, anyway. Business has been great. So come on in.” Jane shushed her, and ushered her into the building.

They passed through a shop full of ceramics, crafts, and exquisite figurines and into a small space at the rear where the kiln, unfinished earthenware, and Jane’s potter’s wheel sat. Jane was basically a painter, but dabbled in everything. About ten years before, Jane and her husband had bought the store and Jane had fought every step of the way to make it work, even after he had gone. The store and her three young boys were her life.

“We’ll put them here for now and place them in the
kiln right after we get a mug of coffee. I’ve only had three so far this morning.

“Oh, I’ve got donuts, too,” Jane announced, setting down her armful of pots on a cart close to the kiln.

“I told you not to go to any trouble.”

“What’s a couple of donuts? I get them discount in bulk and freeze them. The kids love ’em in their lunches.”

They made their way farther back and into the rooms where Jane and her children lived. Three rooms. The largest one was a cozy, but compact kitchen/living area with a television on the counter and a brightly colored couch at the other end.

The other two rooms were bedrooms. The smallest one was Jane’s, and the largest one belonged to her boys. She’d fixed her living quarters up so cute, every inch of space cleverly utilized. Her original paintings covered the walls and added a touch of beauty to the rooms. Jane kept saying that if the boys got much bigger, though, she’d have to either build or find a larger place. It was already a tight fit.

Amanda helped herself to a mug of coffee from the always-perking coffee pot and after Jane also got herself one and grabbed a couple of donuts, trailed her back to the kiln.

“When are you going to bring in some more of that famous fudge of yours?” Jane queried. “My customers have been asking for it.”

“Give me a break, Jane. One thing at a time. They’ve been asking for it?” She couldn’t help but feel a little flattered.

“All the time. Your homemade cookies and candies are addictive. I should know.” She grinned widely, stuffing a donut into her mouth. Jane had a well-rounded figure, but it looked good on her.

“
Well
,
maybe,” Amanda reflected
thoughtfully, “I’ll whip up a couple pans next week and bring them in.”

“Good,” Jane
said with her mouth full.

They munched on powdered sugar donuts and brought each other up to date on things as they loaded Amanda’s earthenware into the kiln. Jane had to show her the new merchandise in the shop, and talk about the boys and what they’d been up to.