Never Burn A Witch: A Rowan Gant Investigation (4 page)

“So what time is it now?” she cooed, rubbing
cat-like against me and nibbling lightly at my earlobe.

“About eight.”

“I don’t have any clients scheduled this
morning...” she whispered, referring to her profession as a
freelance photographer.

“Good for you.”

I was feigning ignorance of what she implied,
but she continued undaunted. When Felicity had set her mind to
something, there was little I knew of that could stand in her
way.

“...And you’ve got some free time,” she
breathed.

“Uh-huh.” I was rapidly starting to melt.

“I’m loving you a whole bunch right
now...”

I wasn’t exactly late, but it was close. I didn’t
arrive at the Saint Louis city police headquarters until five
minutes to ten.

“R
eally. Trust me on
this,” I said in a calm but very firm tone. “Witches DO NOT have
lurid orgies by the light of the full moon for the purpose of
spawning demon children. I don’t care WHAT that newsletter
says.”

The bulk of the lecture was finished
and by all accounts had gone very well. For the better part of
ninety minutes, I had outlined the philosophy of WitchCraft and the
Wiccan religion. Taking great pains to stress their benevolence, I
recited the
Wiccan Rede
and
focused on its most important covenant—
An
it Harm None, do what ye will
. I had covered the
rituals and the symbols of the two, most especially, the Pentacle
and Pentagram. For centuries, negative connotations had been placed
on the five-pointed star hemmed by a circle. It had obviously come
as a shock to the group that the true meaning of the symbol, no
matter how you turned it, was that it represented man and his
relationship to the elements. Nothing evil. Nothing Satanic. Of
further distress to their preconceived notions was the fact that
Witches don’t even believe in Satan. They weren’t entirely sure
what to do when I informed them that Lucifer wasn’t our boy, but
theirs and theirs alone. That fallen angel was simply a deity more
closely associated with Judeo-Christian practices and held no place
in the Wiccan faith. Even so, there was still at least one of them
who remained unconvinced. Because of him, I was now explaining to a
room full of blue-uniformed police officers why a particular
right-wing publication he flaunted like a shield was factually
incorrect.

“My best guess on this would be that
they are drawing an incorrect conclusion from two basic facts. One,
that Witches and Wiccans often hold their ritual circles on the
full moon... And two, that there are certain groups which hold
their meetings in a manner known as
skyclad
. And yes, that very simply means that
they are ‘in the buff’ so to speak.”

“So you are confirming what the article says
then.”

The cocky challenge issued from the young
buzz-cut-sporting officer who was responsible for bringing the
literature in question. He had made it obvious from the beginning
that he intended to discredit me in some fashion consistent with
his own beliefs. His momentary false impression of victory told me
that he sincerely believed he had just caught me in a lie. Thick,
red anger was seeping through from his comments, and I was certain
that I wasn’t the only one aware of the obvious chip on his
shoulder. In the back of my mind, it frightened me that someone as
prejudiced as he was allowed to wander the streets with a loaded
gun on his hip.

“No, I am not,” I returned, biting back
my own rising impatience. “
Skyclad
means just what I said. They aren’t wearing any clothes.
Being nude does not presuppose sexual activity.”

“So you’re saying you are completely nude
when you practice this religion?” Another officer interjected her
question. “Doesn’t it get a little cold for that this time of
year?”

A light-hearted chuckle hopscotched through
the room, rending a hole in the balloon of tension and deflating it
to a much less explosive level. I added my own laugh to that of the
group.

“Yes, I suppose it is a bit chilly on a
day like this. But I, personally, am not nude when I perform a
ritual or practice my religion. There are some groups who do
worship
skyclad
, and there are
many others who don’t. I happen to be one of the
don’t
crowd.” I smiled back at her.
Though we were still on the subject of nudity, her query was of
great relief to me. “Like I told you earlier, there are several
traditions of The Craft and Wicca, as well as many other Pagan
and/or alternative religions.” I made quote symbols in the air with
my fingers to punctuate the word
alternative
. “To assume that they are all exactly
the same would be as ludicrous as saying that Catholicism and
Judaism are exactly the same thing. You all know, and accept I
might add, that there are numerous facets of Christian and
mainstream religions... There are the Catholics, the Baptists, the
Lutherans, and the Jewish... just to name a few. It is the same for
other faiths as well. The whole reason behind this lecture is to
show you that just because someone doesn’t follow what is
considered by the masses as a mainstream religion, it doesn’t make
them evil. Being a Druid, Buddhist, or even an atheist doesn’t mean
that you have any more proclivities toward violence than anyone
else. This seminar could be given by any open-minded individual of
any religion. It just so happens that I am a Witch.”

“I still think you’re hiding something,” the
young rookie in the front row spat.

A deeper, coarser voice issued from the back
of the room, “Then ya’ obviously didn’t pay attention, did
ya’?”

Heads quickly swiveled at the sound of the
unfamiliar voice and were greeted by a six-foot-six column of
muscle. Clad in casual tan slacks and knit sweater with a gold
shield clipped to his belt, the classically angular features of the
Native American were carved from dusty red granite. His hardened
face was framed by jet-black hair worn at a length just barely
within tolerance of his superiors. Dark eyes that had already
witnessed far too much suffering for one lifetime focused tightly
on the crew-cut patrolman. Detective Benjamin Storm pressed the
door shut behind himself and ventured farther into the room.

“Sorry for the interruption.” He nodded at me
and slid into the first empty chair he spotted. Even seated, he
towered over the rest of the group. “Please continue.”

Gnawing sensations tickling my lower abdomen
prompted me to glance at my watch. The fact that Ben was here
joined in to tell me that lunchtime was just the other side of
now.

“Well, that pretty much concludes the
lecture...unless there are any more questions?”

I can only assume that fear of retribution
from the large man in the back row kept the
heretofore-argumentative patrolman from continuing his verbal
attack. As for the rest of the officers, I was certain that their
minds were just as occupied by the thought of filling their
stomachs as mine was. The room remained silent, and not a single
hand moved to rise.

“...Then you all have my number on the
handout I gave you. If something comes to mind, don’t hesitate to
call me. I’ll be glad to answer any questions.”

Low-pitched squeals of rubber-footed, metal
chairs against unwaxed linoleum joined with the quiet mumblings and
shuffle of footsteps. As the sea of dark blue funneled through the
now-open doorway, a few of the officers took a moment to shake my
hand and thank me for the presentation. The literature-bearing
heckler, however, maintained a wide berth and held his gaze
elsewhere. As he made his way out, Ben stood and motioned him to
the side. There followed a short private exchange between the two,
and he let out what appeared to be a nervous laugh. Ben’s face bore
a wide grin as he clapped the young patrolman on the back with a
meaty paw and sent him to join his fellow officers.

“What did you say to that guy?” I asked when
the room was finally clear and my friend sauntered to the
front.

“Who? The jerkoff?” He angled his thumb over
his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “I told him if I found out
about him harassing you on the phone or anything, that I’d shove
his night-stick so far up his ass it’d take a team of proctologists
a week just to find it.”

“You know, Ben, intimidation isn’t exactly
the message I was trying to get across to these people today.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He brought a hand up to
smooth back his hair and left it resting on the back of his neck, a
mannerism I’d long ago learned to be a blatant signal that my
friend had something of import going on in the back of his mind.
“Sorry ‘bout that. It just pisses me off when assholes like that
won’t listen.”

“Yeah, Ben,” I sympathized. “Remember, I deal
with it all the time. Not all that long ago, even from you to some
extent “

“Yeah, well, I got over it.”

“Yes, you did. Now just give them a chance to
do the same.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right… So, anyway, white
man. Enough with that. You ready to grab somethin’ to eat?”

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

“There’s a great Chinese place not too far
from the morgue. Just gotta make a real quick stop first.”

“Why do I get the feeling that the stop you
are referring to and the morgue are one and the same?”

“You tell me. You’re the Witch.”

* * * * *

“Brianna Louise Walker,” Ben was
reading to me with quick glances from his ever-present notebook as
he drove. In reality, the Saint Louis city morgue was right next
door to the police headquarters, but Ben had expressed extreme
disdain at the thought of walking the short block in the cold only
to have to walk back to get his vehicle. “Twenty-eight years old,
single. AKA
Mistress
Bree, AKA
The Wicked Witch of the West End. One a’ those dominatrixes.
Regular bondage queen. Charged five bills an hour to use ya’ and
abuse ya’.” He spared a quick glance at me before swinging the van
around a tight arc into the parking lot of the morgue. “Coupl’a
nights ago she took a nosedive off a sixth story balcony at the
Riverfront Hilton wearin’ nothin’ but a studded collar and too much
makeup.”

“Suicide?” I queried.

“Don’t think so...”

Ben urged the van into a snow-packed space,
making a judgment call as to where the yellow demarcation lines
might be and nosed it up against a pile of the freshly plowed white
stuff. The fan on the heater shut down as he switched off the
engine, and we were left in a sudden pounding quiet.

“...Cause she was also handcuffed. Probably
her own. Best guess at first,” he continued, turning in his seat to
face me while stuffing the notebook back into a pocket. “Maybe she
spanked one of her johns too hard or something. Maybe a dispute
over payment, dunno.”

“Okay,” I paused, waiting for the other shoe
to drop.

Ben reached up and smoothed his hair
then began massaging the back of his neck. He looked past me out
the corner of the windshield and let out a troubled sigh. I turned
my eyes from him and looked out across the lot. The snow had begun
to taper off to small flurries, leaving the final accumulation
total somewhere around seven inches. Bitter northern winds sliced
down the frozen streets, kicking up miniature tornados of the icy
white crystals. It just plain
looked
cold.

The thump of the other shoe still not
forthcoming, I pressed my friend further. “Come on, Ben. You’ve
been telling me all this for a reason. What is it?”

Ben exhaled loudly, puffing out his cheeks,
and returned his reticent gaze to me before pressing ahead, “Okay,
white man, it’s like this. She’s got marks all over her body that
obviously didn’t come from the double gainer she took.
Lacerations... Burns... Looks like the sick bastard that chucked
her out the window took time to torture her first.”

“Go on.”

“One of the marks appears to be a symbol, and
I was kinda wonderin’...”

“...If I would have a look at it for you.” I
finished his sentence for him.

“If it makes any difference, the request for
you came from higher up the line,” he said.

“All you had to do was ask, Ben.” I told him.
“You didn’t have to get all anxious about it and drag me down here
under the pretense of going to lunch. Did you really think I’d say
no?”

“Look, Row,” his hand continued working on
the self-induced tension in his neck, “I talked to Felicity the
other day. She said you’ve started havin’ nightmares again...
Ya’know, about Ariel Tanner and all that...”

“A few. So?”

“So I don’t wanna drag you into somethin’
that’s gonna fuck you up, man.” He forced out another exasperated
breath and turned away, once again avoiding eye contact with me.
The windows of the van had fogged from our breath as we talked, and
the winter landscape was all but completely obscured from view.
Chilled silence filled the van for a long moment before Ben finally
spoke in a near whisper. “I did that once already.”

“Dammit, Ben!” I snapped. “I’m telling
you this for the last time. You didn’t drag me into anything.
I
volunteered
to help you with
that case. Any “demons” that I’m dealing with because of it are my
own and, very simply, are
not your
fault
!”

I felt like grabbing my friend and
shaking him as hard as I could. I didn’t know if I would ever be
able to convince him that he wasn’t to blame for everything that
had occurred during that investigation—my brush with death, my
nightmares, and even Felicity’s miscarriage. Each of those things
had come about directly because of my involvement in the search for
a sadistic serial murderer. Ben’s loyalty as a friend caused him to
cling to that blame like a security blanket, as if by taking
responsibility he could protect me from an evil that he himself did
not understand. In
his
mind,
he thought all of this was because he’d asked me to decipher a
symbol left behind at a crime scene. In
my
mind, I
knew
it was because my destiny was to square off with that unseen
evil and face it down.