A Witch's Tale (19 page)

A myriad of emotions pa
ssed through him as he stood
guard beside her, emotions which had never before touched him.
He had never loved so deeply.
He had never felt so protective of another.
And he had never felt so completely vulnerable.
The vulnerability left him feeling weak and helpless.

“Damn!
I didn’t want to do this,” she said as she headed to the bathroom to get a tissue.
“We don’t have time for me to start acting like a weakling.”

Wiping her eyes, she took a couple of deep but shaky breaths.
Before Mac could think of an appropriate reply, she
had filled two watering cans with water from the tap and handed one to him.

“Come on,” she i
nstructed him, “A
s long as we’re here we might as well see if we can’t save at least a few of her plants.
If we don’t water them now, who knows when we’ll get another chance?
As you and Father Mike so eloquently warned me, I don’t dare come back when someo
ne might see me, n
ot if we’re really going to go through with his crazy scheme.”

Mac obediently took the watering can she offered and began to tend to Myra’s neglected plants.
He knew zip about plants
but suspected that they were the source of many of the dried herbs she sold downstairs in her shop.

When they had finished the job to Cassie’s satisfaction, they retraced their steps down the stairs, this time turning to enter the shop. Although it was unlikely that anyone in town would be out and about at this time of night, they both were careful to shield the light from their tiny flashlights.
If anyone even suspected what they were up to, all of
their plans would be destroyed, n
ot to mention the fact that they might be brought up on charges themselves.

Mac’s natural curiosity took over as he glanced around the small shop.
In some w
ays it was what he had expected;
in others it was far different.
One whole wall was covered with bookshelves filled with a wide assortment of books.
Off to one side was an arrangement of comfortable chairs and a small table, inviting Myra’s customers to browse through the books at leisure.

Along
the opposite wall, behind glass-
enclosed shelves filled with an assortment of crystals, polished stones, crystal balls and variously colored candles, were shelves lined with glass jars filled with God only knew what.
It was to these jars that Cassie went, taking down several and placing them on the counter.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Mac asked, eyeing the huge display of peculiar looking paraphernalia.

“Don’t worry.
I’ve been around this stuff all my life.
In fact, I used to help Mom out in the shop we had in Berkeley.
I know exactly which herbs will do the trick.
I’ll just take what I need now and mix them up later.
It’s important to get the proportions and dosage correct to get the effect Father Mike is looking for.”

Mac could only stand back and let Cassie do her thing.
He had never felt so out of his element in his life.
Never in his wildest dreams could he have pictured himself breaking into a witch’s shop, waiting patiently while another witch gath
ered the ingredients to make a witch’s brew.
And to top
it all off, he was head over hee
ls in
love with the witch in question.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Cassie whispered from across the darkened room.
“I just hope we’re doing the right thing.”

Mac wished with all his heart that he could reassure her that they were, but the words stuck in his throat.
What they were planning was a crime that could blow up in all of their faces.
But, as Father Sullivan had said, they had no choice.
Try as he might, he couldn’t think of any other way to accomplish their purpose.

As hair-brained as the scheme was, the good priest’s plan was the only one they had.

Chapter 10

When Father Michael Sullivan turned on his
Irish charm, even the most hard-
hearted found it difficult to resist him.
The desk sergeant
, veteran law enforcer
that he was, capitulated to the priest’s request with barely a struggle.

“
But Father, the woman’s a witch.
Even if I were to let you visit her, what makes you think she’d want to see you?
I strongly doubt that she’s ever seen the inside of a church
,
much less had any desire to speak with a priest.
There’s nothing in the books says a prisoner has to see a visitor if they don’t want to.”

“But surely you know that all who live in Port
Bellmont
are part of my flock.
What kind of priest would I be if I were to turn my back on the lady?”

Secretly
the officer suspected that the priest was more curious about the witch than anything else, but then who could blame him?
Witchcraft was something you had seen in the movies when you were a kid, read about in scary books, but never expected to experience in real life.
He figured the old priest was j
ust as curious as everyone else, more so
maybe, since he had devoted his
entire life to the spiritual side of mankind.

“If you think all this trouble she’s in will bring Myra Adams to the Church, Father, I’m afraid you’re deluding yourself.
There’s nothing going to change that woman’s mind about her so called religion.
She’s a hard one, she is.”

“Ah, just the same, I’d not be doing my Christian duty if I didn’t give it a try, now would I?
It’s as you say, I can’t be forcing my ideas on
the woman, but at the same time
I mustn’t deny her
her
chance at salvation, don’t you know.”
Father Sullivan could see that
,
though the sergeant still had his doubts, he was weakening.
Skilled at dealing with people, the old priest pressed home his advantage.
“A person’s immortal soul is no trivial thing, my son.
I’d hate to be the one to have to face my maker knowing that I’d stood in the way of someone else’s salvation, wouldn’t you?
Now, why don’t we just ask the lady if she would
be wanting
to meet with me?
There’d be nothing lost if she turns me down flat, and you and I will know that we did our Christian duty.
Now, what do you say to that?”

The sergeant’s answer was to pick up the phone and relay the message that Father Sullivan was there to visit Myra
Adams, being certain that the request would be rejected.
Consummate actor that he was, the old priest managed to hide his delight at the officer’s shocked expression when he hung up the phone a few moments later and stated that Mrs. Adams had agreed to the priest’s visit.

“Thank you, my son,” Father Sullivan said, the words sounding like a benediction.
“We’re all here to do God’s work, don’t you know.
You in your
way,
me in mine.”

The seasoned police officer’s heart softened in the glow of the old man’s sweet smile.
It wasn’t often that he felt he had contributed to something as noble as the priest’s dreams, no matter how far-fetched they were.
A smile touched his lip
s as he caught himself humming ‘When Irish Eyes are
Smiling
’.
It never occurred to him that he had just been played like a fine violin by one of the best con artists
around
.

“We’ve got to stop him.
We should never have let him talk us into this.”
Cassie whirled around to face Mac mid-stride as she desperately paced the rectory’s parlor.
“When do you think he’ll be back?”

Mac searched his mind for words of comfort, but being nearly as worried as she, found nothing adequate.
What kind of a fool had he been to let that crazy old man talk him into participating in such an idiotic scheme?

“Maybe they won’t even let him in to see her.
That would be best, don’t you think?
Yes, that’s it.
Everything will be fine if they just won’t let Father Sullivan in to see Mom.”

The hopeful expression in her eyes tore at his heart.
Sure
,
everything would be all right.
Myra would still be sitting in her jail cell, waiting to be tried for two unspeakably grisly murders without one shred of evidence to prove her innocence.
If you ruled that little bit of fact out of the equation, sure,
everything was just hunky dory.

“It’s going to be okay, kid.
You’ve got to stop driving yourself crazy like this.”

He reached for her and wrapped her in his protective arms.
Holding her
tight, he rocked her gently
as one would a troubled child.
Luckily she couldn’t see his eyes at that moment.
One glance would have told her that he was as worried as she.

She snuggled deeper into the embrace, absorbing the comfort he offered.
She closed her eyes with a sigh, grateful
for the moment of respite.
It was amazing that in all this ugliness she had found something so beautiful, so pure.
For just a few moments she let herself draw on the love that poured from Mac’s heart to hers.
How could she have endured all of this without his strength and support?

He held her close, willing his body to conceal how worried he actually was.
If anyone ever discovered what they had done
,
they would all be facing jail terms.
His active imagination placed Cassie sitting beside her mother, facing twelve of Port
Bellmont’s
good citizens, all eager to condemn both women to the electric chair.

“
Shhh
, don’t worry, sweetheart, don’t worry,” he gently rocked her in his arms.
“Father Michael’s a wily old codger.
If anyone can pull this off, he can.”

“But what if the dosage was wrong?
What if she gets really sick?”

He felt his stomach clench.
Cassie was supposed to know about that stuff.
He hadn’t even allowed himself to think she could have made a mistake.
He hadn’t doubted her expertise for a moment.
Had he been wrong in trusting her judgment?

“You told me yourself that the
results would only be temporary
and that the symptoms would do nothing more
than
cause
your mom a little discomfort.
If it was true then, it’s still true, right?”

“Yes,” her voice quavered a bit, though she realized that what he said was true.
She had been absolutely certain the concoction she had sent with the priest would do no harm, only cause the appearance of illness.
She had known what she had been doing.
She would never, ever, put her mother or anyone else at risk, not even to help save a life.

Damn!
What if Cassie had made a mistake?
What if Myra had an allergic reaction to the herbs the priest was slipping to her at this very moment?
Mac fought the urge to turn from Cassie and stop the madness.
Would he be in time if he raced down to the jail?
Should he call and ask to speak to Father Sullivan?

He tightened his arms around Cassie, more to steady
himself
than her.
They had chosen a desperate means to alleviate an even more desperate situation.
All three of them had been fully aware of the dangers,
both to themselves and to Myra, b
ut they had agreed that the risks must be faced.
He prayed to God that they had made the right decision.

Myra sat on the edge of the bunk and let the crystal beads slip through her fingers.
A bemused smile touched her lips, replacing for a moment the worried expression that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her lovely face.

“Read the instructions,” Father Mike had urged as he handed her the velvet pouch that contained the rosary and a tiny booklet explaining its use.
“You might be surprised at the healing you’ll find there.”

The guard at the door of the small interview room had stepped forward, reaching out his hand to take the rosary.

“Sorry, Father.
The prisoner is not allowed gifts unless they’re checked out first.”

“Of course, of course.
I understand, son.
But a rosary is more than a gift, don’t you know.
You wouldn’t want to be standing in the way of this woman’s salvation, now would you?”