Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (13 page)

I knelt into the side door of the van and
carefully brushed a tangle of hair back from Felicity’s face. Even
in the dimness, I could see red froth on her lips and a trickle of
blood running from the corner of her mouth, evidence that she’d
been gnashing her teeth against her tongue during a violent
seizure. The crimson trail smeared across her pale skin in an
opaque blemish, but other than that, I could see no obvious
injuries.

I watched her, my eyes following the rise and
fall of her chest as she took slow, even breaths. I relaxed a bit
and took in a deep breath of my own. In my throat, I could feel the
thump of my heart and imagined that it was only now starting to
beat again; although, it didn’t seem to be in any hurry to drop
back down into my chest where it belonged.

I knew just by looking at her that at least
part of my earlier fear had been realized. Still, my mind was
already heading in more directions than I could count, so I blurted
the first, most obvious, thing that came to mind.

“What happened?” I demanded, shooting quick
glances at both Cally and RJ.

“It was just all of a sudden like,” RJ
answered, voice almost shaking. “We had just gotten started. She
was talking to us about Dark Moon spells, and just like that she
stopped saying anything. When I looked up, she was staring off into
space, all blank ya’know.” He waved his hand in front of his face
wildly as if trying to illustrate what he meant. “The next thing we
knew, she was on the floor shaking and flailing her arms and
stuff.”

“Gods Rowan, it was like déjà vu or
something,” Cally added, shaking her head slowly. Her own voice
tensed with anguish.

“Yeah, Rowan,” RJ agreed. “It was just like
what happened to you at Nancy’s house a few months ago.”

“Dammit.” I muttered the word at first, but
my voice grew more forceful with each successive utterance.
“DAMmit, DAMMIT!”

“Oh man!” RJ suddenly exclaimed. “That’s
where we were tonight, Nancy’s! Is that what it is, Rowan? Is it
the house? Is it Randy’s spirit or something?”

RJ fired the questions in rapid succession,
focusing the last one on Nancy’s murdered husband— a victim of
Eldon Porter and the very same Randy I had referred to when
Felicity had pressed me to go with her earlier.

“No,” I replied, still stroking my wife’s
forehead. “It’s not the house, and it’s not Randy’s spirit. It’s
probably a spirit, but not Randy’s.”

“Whose then?” Cally interjected.

“I’m pretty sure it’s Tamara Linwood,” I
answered flatly.

“Oh Gods,” she moaned. “You mean the missing
schoolteacher that’s been on the news?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I think so, but she’s not
missing anymore. She was murdered.”

“But why is this happening to Felicity all of
a sudden?” RJ implored.

“I wish I knew,” I said. “How long ago did
the seizure start?”

“About forty-five minutes I guess,” Cally
replied. “Maybe an hour. We tried to call you but the phone was
busy.”

“Cats knocked bedroom phone off hook,” I
explained simply. “I just noticed it a few minutes before you
pulled up.”

“The first one really didn’t last long,” RJ
offered.

“What do you mean ‘first one’?” I demanded.
“She had more than one?”

“Yeah, she had two,” he continued. “The first
one just lasted a minute or so. Once she stopped shaking and could
talk, we got her up in a chair. We all wanted to call nine-one-one,
but she kept saying no, we should call you.”

“When we couldn’t reach you on the phone, she
tried to leave,” Cally added. “But we weren’t about to let her
drive.”

“Yeah,” RJ echoed. “Good thing too, ‘cause we
were halfway here when she started shaking all over again.”

“Then she just went limp and passed out,”
Cally said.

My hand was on automatic pilot, still
stroking Felicity’s cool skin. I felt her jerk slightly, and we all
turned our attention back to her when we heard movement against the
upholstery. As she began to stir, she let out a low, pitiful
sounding moan.

“It’s okay, honey,” I told her softly. “I’m
here.”

“Caorthann
?”
The thin whisper of Felicity’s voice met my ears as she called my
name in Gaelic.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she was
slowly starting to unfurl from her tight posture.

“Yes, I’m right here,” I soothed, brushing
the back of my hand lightly against her cheek.

“I’m dead,” she whispered again.

“No sweetheart, you’re fine. You just had a
seizure,” I replied softly.

“No,” she spoke again, her voice still a thin
whisper, then she tried to shake her head but quickly gave up. I
could see a tear beginning to glisten in the corner of her closed
eyelid. “No, you don’t understand. I’m… I’m… Ohhhh….” She
moaned.

“Shhhhh.” I soothed. “You’re okay.”

“Rowan… I’m… She’s… I’m dead.”

“It’s okay,” I repeated, realizing now what
she meant. “Ben just told me that they officially identified the
remains.”

“No,” she insisted, quiet but adamant
nonetheless. “No, they haven’t found me yet.”

I had naturally assumed she was referring to
Tamara Linwood, but her objection set my mind racing in yet another
direction. It was suddenly apparent to me that she had seen
something on the other side; or to be more accurate, this time
around she remembered what she had seen.

I could feel my entire face tense as my lips
hardened into a frown at the horrific thoughts now invading my
already overloaded grey matter.

“Who’s dead, Felicity?” I asked.

I was afraid I already knew the name she was
going to speak, and I desperately hoped I was wrong.

“Me. I’m dead.”

“No, tell me your name.” I nudged.

“Brittany,” she whispered. “My name was
Brittany.”

I wasn’t wrong.

* * * * *

The episode ended quicker than it began, with
Felicity snapping suddenly back into our world without warning or
ceremony. She was weak but fully conscious of her surroundings, and
that was a good sign.

As soon as she was ready to move, we
retreated back into the house. Even though the sun was down, the
heat and humidity were still lingering in a suffocating blanket. RJ
shut off the van and locked it up while Cally and I tried to help
Felicity make the short journey across the yard. I say tried
because she was having none of it. The most she would allow was for
us to walk alongside her as she slowly trudged. To her credit, she
made it into the house under her own power. While I had objected
strenuously to her defiant need to go it alone, in the end she won
out, mainly because I didn’t want to argue with her.

Ben hadn’t even changed positions that I
could tell, but Dickens had abandoned him— most likely having gone
in search of a quieter place to sleep as my friend had begun to
snore at a level louder than most gasoline-powered lawnmowers.

In our own bid to escape the noise, after
Felicity had cleaned up, we retreated to the kitchen. At least the
distance and walls managed to dull the cacophony enough for us to
talk.

“Anyone else want coffee?” I asked, holding
up the carafe. “It’s fresh.”

“I’m good,” RJ answered.

He had his small frame perched up on one end
of our kitchen counter where it ran below the back window. His back
was against the frame, and he was in the perfect spot to see
anything and everything that was going on. In a way, I guess it was
his designated spot and always would be.

Following the murder of their Priestess— a
former student of mine— Felicity and I had adopted this young
Coven. Our intent had been to point them in the right direction,
send them out on their own, and then return to our solitary
practice. But, as with all best laid plans, things just didn’t work
out that way. Unfortunately, I wasn’t entirely sure that it had
been for the best. Looking back, I wondered if they were doomed by
my presence from the very beginning as my involvement with them was
born of violence on day one. And, it was a motif that had continued
throughout the years.

Until the past few months, we had held almost
all of the meetings here. Each time, be it a class, ritual, or
Sabbat, for whatever reason, the entire group had invariably
migrated to the kitchen. And, every single time, RJ had ended up
parked in the exact spot he was now, sitting in the very same
half-lotus position while watching with curious eyes and drinking
it all in.

It had been five months now since I’d seen
him, or anyone else from the Coven besides Felicity for that
matter; something that was my own choice as my wife had been so
intent on pointing out. But I didn’t regret it. At least, I didn’t
think that I did.

As time wore on, I had once again grown used
to practicing The Craft with Felicity alone. I had even managed to
get my energies under control and re-focus myself on some of the
basics I had seemed to forget in the wake of everything I’d been
subjected to, both ethereal and physical.

But, standing here now, there was something
oddly comfortable about the sight of RJ and Cally making themselves
at home in the kitchen as they’d done so many times before.
Felicity was correct. These people were family, and in some small
way, even considering the negative circumstances, this was a
homecoming.

“I’m going to get some ice water if that’s
okay,” Cally said.

“Yeah, go for it,” I replied, breaking out of
my introspective trance as her words met my ears. I turned and slid
the pot back onto the base then nodded my head toward the cabinets.
“Glasses are where they’ve always been.”

“I’ll take a Jaim…” Felicity began.

“…
Not this time.” I cut her
off.

“Jaim…” she started again, adding a demanding
note to her voice.

“…
I said no,” I interrupted her again,
adopting my own stern tone as I stepped over to the breakfast nook
and slid a cup of coffee in front of her. “Not this time. Now take
the aspirin, drink the coffee, and try to relax. The caffeine will
help, trust me.”

“But…”

“No but’s.” I shook my head. “I’ve already
got Ben passed out on the couch. I’m not going to have you going in
that direction too.”

“I was gonna ask about that,” RJ said.

“What, Ben? Apparently he tied one on,” I
stated simply. There was no reason for them to know the impetus
behind his binge.

“So have you remembered anything else?” I
asked, turning my attention back to Felicity.

“Anything else?” she asked with more than a
hint of confusion in her voice. “I don’t remember anything at
all.”

“Well you just told me a few minutes ago that
Brittany Larson is dead,” I returned.

“I did what?”

“Yeah, Felicity,” RJ chimed in. “You said,
‘She’s dead. Brittany is dead.’”

“No…” she muttered, her voice trailing off,
not denying that she’d said it but still verbally rejecting that it
could be true.

Her hand was covering her mouth, and her head
pitched forward as her shoulders drooped.

“It’s okay, honey,” I told her, resting a
hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done better than me on this one so
far.”

“For all the good it’s done, then,” she
replied, her voice cracking slightly.

“Mind if I use your phone to call Nancy?”
Cally asked in a somber tone. “She and the twins are probably
worried sick.”

“Help yourself,” I replied. “Tell her I’ll
make arrangements to get Felicity’s Jeep as soon as I can.”

“Yeah,” RJ interjected. “While you got her on
the line, ask her if Moonpie Fairybunny bolted or what.”

“RJ!” Cally admonished.

“Well what would you call her?” he asked with
a shrug.

“Her name is Candee,” she replied as she
lifted the phone off the wall base and then disappeared around the
corner into the dining room.

“Yeah, Candee with two ‘e’s’, don’t forget,”
he called after her, holding up a pair of fingers. “So, I rest my
case.”

“Moonpie Fairybunny?” I asked.

“A seeker,” Felicity answered, speaking
toward the surface of the table as she held her head in her
hands.

“She’s been to the last couple of classes,”
RJ offered. “Real crystal crunching, cotton-tailed, white-lighter.
Enough to make you gag.”

“She probably won’t even ask to dedicate,
RJ,” Felicity told him.

“You’re probably right. You should have seen
her face when you hit the floor,” he returned. “I think you scared
the crap out of her.”

“So what are we going to do?” Felicity
asked.

“About Fluffy?” RJ asked rhetorically. “Tell
her not…”

“No,” Felicity shot back, cutting him off and
turning her face up to mine. “About Brittany Larson. What if she
really is dead? Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

For the first time I could recall, I found
myself standing on a very different side of the fence. It was a
viewpoint with which I had more than just a passing familiarity but
only when it was staring back at me. I had never seen the world
from this angle, or at least not in the past few years.

“Honey,” I began. “I hate to sound like Ben,
but right now we’ve got nothing to go on. On top of that, you don’t
even remember saying that she’s dead.”

“But we have to do something,” she
appealed.

“I’m not saying we don’t,” I told her. “But
at the moment, our best and only link to the investigation is
soused and passed out on our sofa.”

“Let’s wake him up, then,” she pressed.

“Waking up isn’t the issue, Felicity. I don’t
think you understand. He was trashed. And I mean trashed with the
proverbial capital T. He’s going to have to sleep it off before he
can even make a coherent sentence.”

“Foicheallan.
Drongair
,” she spat.

“What was that?” RJ asked.

“You’ve heard her speak Gaelic before,” I
told him.