Plague Cult (10 page)

“Could you tell it was Whitney who was evil? I know it doesn’t seem likely, but Zach entered the diner with her.” The question had been bothering Ruth while she bought cookies and cake at the supermarket. Now that they were alone, she needed an answer.

Shawn’s attention was elsewhere. Apparently it was on the three shopping bags on the back seat. “Do you really think your dad’s friends are going to descend on Rose House? You’ve got enough to feed an army.”

She stared at him. “You said you were from a small town.”

“So?”

“I live in a haunted house, Shawn. People haven’t been inside it in decades. Now that Dad’s coming over and we’ve told everyone you’re renovating it, this’ll be their excuse to come and check things out under the guise of offering help and advice. They’ll poke around.”

“Ah. And check me out, that I’m good enough for you.” Now, he comprehended the situation, and seemed amused.

“Yeah.” Her breath huffed out. “Even though we told people we’re not involved—”

“We’re not?”

Memory of last night’s kiss burned through her. “We…I…” She sneaked a peek at him.

He was watching the road, edging right as another truck barreled towards them.

She waved at its driver, Mr. Rodriguez. Her hand flopped back into her lap. “Getting involved during a mission is one of those risks we’re told not to take.”

“At least you didn’t say ‘mistake’.” Shawn’s tone was unexpectedly grim.

It jerked Ruth out of her self-conscious, self-protective worry. She was desperately afraid that she was falling hard for Shawn, and as she always did when scared, she’d tried to withdraw and hide inside herself.

But Shawn didn’t sound as if he was playing around. He wasn’t fooling with flirtation to pass the time while he was stuck in Bideer.

“You’re not a mistake,” Ruth said. “I’m not brave about relationships…”

He took a hand off the steering wheel and covered hers, which were gripped tightly together. “It’s okay, Ruth. You’re right. The Collegium guidelines are clear. We should wait till the mission is over.
Then
I’ll ask you on a date.” He smiled at her.

She smiled back, feeling ridiculously teary, and tangled her fingers with his. “Maybe some rules are made to be broken.”

He stopped the truck on the side of the road, leaned across and kissed her. His hazel eyes were intense, a trick of the light seeming to turn them the yellow-gold of the surrounding trees. “You’ll always be safe with me.” He pulled back onto the road. “Now, not to be unromantic, but in case your dad is already at the house, we need to talk about next steps regarding the cult before we get home.”

“Zach doesn’t have an aura,” Ruth blurted. “Or rather, he must have. He’s not a ghost. I saw his reflection. But I can’t see his aura. I don’t know if that means he’s got such strong protections around him to hide evil that even his aura is locked in. Or if it’s a sign that Whitney is feeding off his aura. Or if it’s something else entirely. That’s why I asked if you’re sure it was Whitney who is evil.”

“Huh. My fault. I made an assumption. Email the Collegium your questions,” Shawn said. “I couldn’t get an individual read on the couple. They came in together so I couldn’t separate their presences. I would have thought the evil was Whitney since she initiated the curse, but if you can’t read Zach’s aura, that’s odd.

“It bothers me,” she admitted, tapping a quick email on her phone, and adding a request for holiday leave at the end of the mission. She wanted to stay in Bideer a while longer.

They arrived home as she sent the email. She hesitated, but she needed to be open with Shawn if she wanted this possibility between them to strengthen into a true relationship. And even if it didn’t, even if their attraction was wrong and didn’t go anywhere, she owed it to her self-respect to be strong enough to be an equal partner in exploring it.

“Shawn, I’ve asked William for a week’s leave at the end of the mission. I’d like to stay in Bideer a bit longer, and…you’re very welcome to stay, too.” She winced at how formal that last bit sounded, but at least she’d said it. She’d invited Shawn to stay with her.

He parked the truck. “I have leave owing. I’ll ask for the same.”

Her smile burst out.

“You’re killing me,” he said. “So damn beautiful. When you smile, it’s like a kick to my heart.”

“Shawn.”

He got out of the truck, came around and opened her door so that she stepped out into his embrace. He kissed her tenderly, a sweet kiss. Old-fashioned, if kisses could be that. It wasn’t like last night’s wildfire. This was a courting kiss; desire leashed with awe.

She nestled close, reveling in the joy of it.

“Visitors,” Shawn warned softly.

She heard the sound he’d caught first, that of a truck engine slowing to turn in the driveway. “That’ll be Dad.”

“I’ll take the groceries in.” Shawn reached past her for the shopping.

Ruth moved a bit away, gathering her composure. Happiness bubbled in her, but it was a private emotion; one she wasn’t ready to share. “Hi, Dad,” she said as Joe parked near them.

“Morning, Ruthie. Shawn.”

“Morning, Joe.”

“Thought I’d bring a few things over to help with the kitchen demolition. See what else needs doing. A few friends might drop by, if that’s okay?”

“That’s great, Dad.” Ruth smiled at him, and Shawn.

Shawn grinned. “Helen said you’d be stopping by, so Ruth stocked up with cookies.”

“Women.” Joe smiled at his daughter. “You always know what we’re up to.”

“Of course.” Ruth linked her arm with his, glad to be relaxed and easy with her dad, again. “I know Shawn’s removed a lot of the kitchen, but the old lino is fighting back.”

“Stuck, is it?” Joe was interested.

They went in to inspect the kitchen, and ten minutes later had their first visitor, old Mr. Rodriguez who carried a coffee and an egg’n’bacon muffin he’d picked up at the diner. “Helen said as how you’d be out here. Always wanted to look inside the old house. You seen the ghost yet, Ruth?”

“Yes.”

Joe straightened from his crouched inspection of the floor. “Ghosts aren’t real, honey.”

She winced. “That’s what I thought, Dad. But I saw a woman in a 1920s dress in the parlor, and then, she was gone.”

“Hot damn.” Mr. Rodriguez dashed for the front room.

Joe looked at Shawn, who nodded. “I saw her, too.”

“She’s not scary, Dad, so why worry?”

Out of Joe’s sight, Shawn raised an amused eyebrow. He was right. Last night, she definitely hadn’t been so blasé at her introduction to Carla. But that was last night. Now it was daylight.

From the front room came two new voices. More visitors.

Shawn lowered his voice. “Joe, what time is today’s Chamber of Commerce meeting?”

“Two o’clock.”

Which meant that at two o’clock, unless Whitney accompanied Zach to the meeting, they had a chance to talk to her alone.

The advice Ruth had requested from the Collegium came through before she and Shawn set off for the Moonlit Hearts Club’s Healing Hearts Ranch. William, the Chief Healer, phoned. “Excuse me,” Ruth excused herself from the small group of neighbors lingering on her front porch. “My boss. I have to take this.”

“We’ve got to being going anyway.” The last of the stragglers, those who’d stayed even after her dad returned to the farm, finally departed.

Ruth watched their cars travel slowly down the driveway as she listened to William.

His news was good and bad. The good news was that he approved of her and Shawn’s actions so far, and their plans. He’d also approved her request for leave. The bad news was that he had no clearer idea of the reason for Zach’s hidden aura than she did, although he could add a few more possible causes.

“Demonic possession, a physical block from a crystal, or incipient zombie-ism,” Ruth repeated to Shawn after the call had ended. “Although I think the last one was William’s idea of a joke, something to make me feel better.”

“Huh. Why would you need to feel better?” Shawn asked warily.

Ruth picked up dirty coffee mugs and stooped for an empty cookie packet. She wanted to keep busy. “Because the other reason for Zach’s masked aura could be that the curse has seized him. The curse—or it could have already made the leap and become a plague.” She held three mugs, looped by their handles from her fingers. They rattled as her fingers trembled. “The victim we already know about…his heart ruptured. If the curse turns a person’s energy inward, sucks the aura inside, theoretically it could lead to a broken heart.”

She put the mugs in the laundry sink. “If that’s happening to Zach, he could die at any moment. And if the curse is strengthening, if it’s about to become a plague—”

“We’ll stop it,” Shawn said.

She kept her back to him, and turned on the hot water tap.

He reached over her shoulder and switched if off. “Forget the mugs.”

“What if Zach’s contagious?” Ruth shared her real fear. “What if he’s a danger to everyone, a carrier of the plague, and I can’t see it?”

“What-ifs drive a person mad.”

“That’s not an answer, Shawn.” She was angry with herself and her helplessness. It rang in her voice, and echoed sharp and high off the empty laundry walls. She heard the note of hysteria and closed her eyes. “Sorry.”

“You’re emotionally involved. It makes things harder.” Shawn massaged her shoulders. “I can’t see William teasing you about zombies if he truly thought a plague was an imminent threat to your family.”

“No, but…William’s not infallible and he’s not here.”

“Enough.” Shawn spun her around to face him. “We need to eat something other than those cookies. A sandwich or something. Then we’ll drive out to talk to Whitney. One way or another, we’ll get some answers.”

She nodded. “Too much sugar makes people nervy. I should have remembered. I had
four
cookies.”

“Wicked!”

“Now, you’re mocking me.”

“Just a little.” He squeezed her shoulders and let her go, opening the fridge door to rummage inside. “Peanut butter sandwiches?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Ruth felt steadier after peanut butter sandwiches, a banana and a cup of chamomile tea.

“I’d like you to cast a protective circle,” Shawn said. “My magic is justice-related. Yours, as a healer, has a stronger affinity to defensive measures. I’d like to keep out ill-wishes.”

“I agree. It’s something I should have done last night after we encountered the death magic. I should have smudged us with sage.”

“No need.” Carla popped into view. Even in daylight, she looked solid, but now she wore a stylized, 1930s cowgirl shirt and skirt rather than the glamorous outfit of last night. Fringes dangled from the seams of her sleeves and the hem of her tan skirt. “I told you. I won’t let evil into Rose House.”

“It clung to us?” Shawn asked acutely.

Carla wrinkled her nose. “A nasty taint. Not harmful, but unpleasant.” She looked at Ruth. “There’s sage growing wild in the south corner of the garden. You should burn one of the old plants on your return.”

“I have a smudge stick,” Ruth said. “But thank you.”

“Be careful.” Carla vanished.

Ruth leaned towards Shawn. “That did not reassure me.”

He grinned. “Grab your smudge stick, partner, and let’s saddle up.”

The cult’s compound looked different in daylight, closer to the holiday resort Ruth remembered from her childhood. Today, they weren’t bothering with cover stories or excuses to visit Whitney. Shawn parked in the graveled parking area by the main building, and knocked perfunctorily at the front door before opening it and gesturing Ruth in.

“Good afternoon? Are we expecting you? Welcome to the Healing Hearts Ranch.” The middle-aged man who’d run last night’s “affirmation” session in Whitney’s absence, hurried from an office into the foyer that doubled as a lounge room; one that was currently empty.

“We have an appointment with Whitney,” Ruth said. It was true, even if Whitney wasn’t aware of it.

“Whitney didn’t tell me—where are you going?”

Shawn walked to the right, the wing furthest from where the death magic had been centered. He ignored the cult member’s sharp question and flustered attempt to dart in front of him.

Given Shawn’s hollerider ability to sense evil, Ruth wondered if he’d detected Whitney’s presence or was using common sense. The death magic rituals had been held in the large conference room in one wing, so logically, any private rooms would be in the other wing. She followed him, and the cult member followed her, still talking.

“You can’t come here. These are Whitney and Zach’s quarters.”

The rooms had been substantially renovated since Ruth’s teenage visits to the family-focused resort. There were hardwood floors, sleek blinds on the windows and expensive embossed wallpaper in a pale green. Whitney sat at a French provincial-style desk in front of a laptop in the living room. She looked around at their entrance.

Ruth felt a weak push of magic as if Whitney attempted to repel them.

Then the woman stood. “Thank you for escorting my visitors, Vince.” It was a clear dismissal.

The man shifted his weight uneasily, reluctant to leave.

Shawn closed the door on him.

“I recognize you from the diner, but apart from that, I’m afraid I don’t know you.” Whitney spoke first in a poor attempt at commanding the situation.

“You recognize that we have magic,” Shawn began.

Whitney’s make-up was exquisite, but now her carefully painted lips thinned. “I see the healers magic around the woman.”

“We see the death magic around you,” Shawn said.

The blood vanished from Whitney’s face, leaving her cosmetics standing out cruelly as the mask they were. “You can’t.”

Ruth sensed panic and horror, and shame. “Shawn, is she evil?”

He shook his head, his gaze staying on Whitney. “The death magic stinks, and it clings to her, but
she’s
not evil.”

Which meant Zach was. One of the husband and wife pair had brought evil into the diner that morning.

“I’m not. Oh, God.” Whitney stumbled back and sat on her desk chair. She buried her face in her hands. Her carefully manicured nails had a subtle apricot-pink shine. “I’m a witch, barely. I can see that Helen’s daughter has magic, and I’ve always been a bit psychic. I would know things before they happened. But that was it. Until I found the book.”

She turned away, opening a drawer.

Beside Ruth, Shawn tensed.

Whitney pulled out a grimoire and held it out to him. “This. Take it. I…it had a spell.”

“A few spells,” he said unhelpfully as he accepted the book.

“Minor things. Silly things like ensuring a fine day or discovering who you’ll marry. Except this one spell…it is written at the back. It called for a death. I shouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have, but…” She inhaled, exhaled. Repeated the action, but didn’t grow any calmer. The words burst out of her. “Zach had just taken everyone for a meditation session out in the woods, somewhere along the river. I hate hiking and I stayed here. Then I heard a sound, not even that…I’d been uneasy. I went looking and outside the main conference room I found a jay.”

She stared at her hands and shuddered. “It lay on the ground. Its wings were broken and a leg twisted. It didn’t even try to peck me when I picked it up. It couldn’t be healed. It was just suffering. I wanted to call Zach or someone, but they don’t carry their phones to a meditation session. I thought of driving it in to the vet’s, and then, I thought of it dying there in the car beside me.”

Her eyes had a glazed, shocky expression. “If it was going to die…I suddenly thought of the book. I’d only found it a week ago, in a used bookstore, would you believe? In Dallas. I’d been browsing at the dollar stand, waiting for Zach. I remembered the last spell in the book. It promised to grant dreams, but a sacrifice had to power the spell.

“I knew it was wrong.” She focused on Shawn. “Even if ending the bird’s suffering was a kindness, I knew it was wrong to use its death for magic. But I did. I recited the spell and I killed the bird and I buried it in the dirt under the cabin, under the main conference room—and I’ve kept the spell going by having everyone chant it. I called it an affirmation.” She hiccupped a sob.

“I just wanted to be a bit more, and I wanted it for the others. And for Zach. It would help him if people recommend the Moonlit Hearts Club. He really does heal broken hearts here. It’s not just about relationships, but also about helping people recover from destroyed dreams.”

“Whitney.” Ruth kept her tone soothing, even sympathetic. The woman was clearly traumatized, but she was also delusional. “You did more than ask for help to achieve people’s dreams. A man died.”

Whitney stared at her, swallowing convulsively. “I didn’t mean that to happen. I swear. I saw him in town. It was so random. I knew him, before. He married my friend Lissa. Lissa was beautiful, so beautiful. We’d been models together, years ago. She was stunning. She married him, believing his lies, and he pimped her out. He told her the events were swingers’ parties, but really he was using her to advance his career. He had her sleep with men and women to win him a contract or a promotion. He used her up, abused her, till she killed herself. Lovely Lissa.

“After I saw him in town, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. But I didn’t know the spell would be affected or I wouldn’t have repeated the chant that night. We were chanting the affirmation and I was thinking about him. About how rich he looked, how respectable. I felt something wrench out of me.” A pause. “The next day, he was dead.”

She looked at them with haunted eyes. “I think it’s happened again. I think I’ve killed someone else.”