Wicked Witch Murder (24 page)

She was thinking about this and hoping Sara and Zoe were having a good time with their friends when the town gradually dwindled down to scattered houses and small strip malls and then to nothing but fields and woods. The old aquarium wasn't in Tinker's Cove but a couple of towns over, beyond Shiloh, and the unlit two-lane road wandered and wound its way over hill and dale and around the mountain. Nemo was a good traveler, however, and Lucy soon sensed he had fallen asleep. The trip seemed endless, but finally she spotted the green neon fish sign that still stood in the old parking lot. Most of the letters were out, however, with only a
Q, U,
and
R
remaining. She tapped the horn, and a figure emerged from one of the buildings and ran to the car just as Nemo woke up. He sat for a minute, rubbing his eyes and blinking under the dome light; then the door was yanked open and a thirtyish woman with a shaved head and numerous piercings stuck her head inside.

“Hi, honey, did you have a good time?”

Nemo blinked and nodded, popping his thumb in his mouth.

“Thank you soooo much,” she said as she unfastened the seat belt. “That old car, I keep telling my husband we need a new one but…” She shrugged, then scooped up Nemo, blanket and all. “Thanks again,” she said, slamming the door shut and running, carrying the child, back toward the lighted building. Lucy got a glimpse of them as they passed an outside light; then they were inside and a moment later the big neon sign flickered out, leaving her in the dark.

At least she said thank you, thought Lucy, shifting into drive and turning back onto the road for the long, lonely trip home. No offer of coffee or a bathroom, not even a glass of water. This was exactly the sort of behavior that really ticked her off. Nemo's mother hadn't shown the least bit of consideration for her. She was one of those who took it for granted that other people, conscientious people like herself, were only too happy to take care of their children. A thank-you was nice, thought Lucy, but a tenner for gas would have been nicer, considering the price at the pump. Much nicer, she thought, checking the gauge and seeing with a shock that the needle was hovering on E. But where on earth was she going to find a gas station out here on this lonely stretch of highway? The nearest was at least twenty miles back, in Gideon.

There was nothing to do but keep driving, hoping that the gas held out until she returned to civilization, but it was nerve-wracking to say the least. She tried to be optimistic, but each flutter of the needle sent her into a panic. And when the engine finally started to sputter, she was just able to glide to the side of the road before it died. She got the emergency flasher going. It ran off the battery, so she knew it wouldn't last very long. She wasn't really expecting her cell phone to work—the area was notorious for poor reception—and it didn't. There was nothing to do but wait and hope that help would arrive.

Lucy hadn't sat there for very long when she remembered she wasn't far at all from Peter Symonds's place, on River Road. He had a big yard; she figured he must have a gas can around for the mower. And she didn't need much gas—even a gallon would be more than enough to get her back to the all-night station she'd passed. Or maybe he'd let her use his phone; she remembered he had a landline. Either was preferable to sitting in the car, especially since she'd promised Diana that she would lead the reporters who were, indeed, camped outside her store on a wild-goose chase. And it was getting late. She'd promised Diana she would be there by ten, and it was already almost nine.

So she turned off the flasher and got out of the car, crossing the road to walk facing traffic, if any should come along. None did, however, and she had the highway to herself all the way to the intersection with River Road. It was a brilliant moonlit evening, with the full moon actually casting shadows of the tree branches on the road. There was enough wind to make the trees moan as they were bent this way and that, and she thought she heard an owl hoot from time to time.

A dark and deserted road, she thought to herself, maybe not the best place to be on Halloween night. But then she caught a glimpse of light shining through the trees and knew she was closer than she thought to Symonds's place. She had just turned up the driveway when the front door opened and two figures came out: Symonds and Lady Sybil. Even in the dark, Lucy knew she would recognize that rotund figure.

“Hi!” she called. “I need some help.”

Lady Sybil stationed herself by the front door, waiting for her, while Symonds continued on to his pickup truck. Amazingly enough, he was carrying a gas can.

“Hey, hey,” she called, running up to him. “Can I have some of that gas? I've run out. My car's just a little ways down the road.”

Symonds set the gas can in the bed of his pickup and turned to face her. “Sorry, but I need it,” he told her.

“Can't I just have a little?” asked Lucy, begging. “My car gets really good mileage, and I only need to get to the all-night gas station.”

Symonds was looking uncomfortable, but Lucy wasn't about to give up. “You could follow me and I'll fill the can right up for you—I'll fill it to the top, and fill up your truck too.”

Lucy was confident this was a deal no sane person would refuse. In fact, if she wasn't so desperate, she'd never make such an extravagant offer that would cost her so much money. But she needed to get back to town to help Diana.

Lady Sybil was sailing down the lawn, her loose ritual garments billowing behind her. “He told you he doesn't have any gasoline to spare,” she said, staring at Lucy with those popping frog eyes.

“Okay, I understand,” she said, casting her eyes longingly on the red plastic can in the truck bed, resting among the usual clutter of tools and equipment that invariably accumulated back there. “Can I just use your phone to call my husband?” she asked.

“As Lord Peter—I mean, Peter—told you, we're in a bit of a hurry ourselves, so I'm very sorry but—”

“Oh, I understand,” said Lucy with a wink. “It's Halloween, or Samhain, and you have, um, commitments. There's no need for you to stay—just let me use the phone and I'll lock up the house. You can trust me. One quick phone call and I'll be out in no time at all.”

“Why should I help you?” demanded Peter, but Lady Sybil interrupted him.

“Remember the rule of three,” she said in a school-marmish voice. “We really can't afford for anything to go wrong tonight.”

“Oh, all right,” he agreed resentfully. “You'll find the key under the doormat. But make sure you do lock the door.”

“I will,” said Lucy. “And thank you, thank you, so much.”

“No problem,” said Symonds grudgingly as he got in the truck. Lucy heard the engine start with a cough when she slipped the key into the lock and turned it.

Entering the ramshackle house, Lucy was almost overcome by the stale scent of dust and mildew. The faded and torn 1930s wallpaper had been stained by the floodwater; the ruined carpet had been removed, revealing scuffed wood planks thickly layered with dirt and leaves carried in from outside on shoes and boots. Lucy hurried down the hall to the kitchen, where she figured the phone would be, and found a dated 1980's wall model hanging beneath a calendar.

The phone itself was so grimy that the buttons on the keypad stuck when she began to dial home. She'd punched in only the first three numbers when she sensed someone behind her. She was turning to see who it was when she was knocked to the floor by a terrific blow to the head. The pain was overwhelming, and she was trying to struggle to her feet when everything went black.

S
omething vile and nauseatingly sweet was in her mouth, and she retched, spitting it out. Her head hurt like hell, and she couldn't see straight—shapes and colors were whirling around her. The trees were dancing against the sky, orange flames were leaping upward, and figures dressed in purple and green and yellow came and went, circling around her. She wanted to lie down but she couldn't move; she was uncomfortably upright. She tried to stretch and found her hands were fastened to her sides. Shaking her head and blinking once or twice, she realized she was tied back-to-back with someone else.

“Wha…?” she managed before slumping forward.

“Lucy! Wake up! It's me, Diana!”

Lucy raised her head; it felt like it was full of lead. “Unh?”

“We've got to get out of here!” hissed Diana, and Lucy felt her wriggling and pulling at the ropes that bound them together. “They're going to sacrifice us.”

Lucy was suddenly alert, energized by adrenaline. This was no dream, no nightmare. She was really out in the woods, tied to Diana. She could feel the chilly night air and the dampness on her chest. She smelled bile and wood smoke. Members of the coven were standing in a circle around them, some with drums, and everyone was chanting. Even Abby was there, pale in the firelight. Lady Sybil was standing at a crude altar, lighting a candle.

 

“Now the tired year comes to its close,

We remember our dying King,

His light is faded and weak,

The birds themselves take wing.”

 

The group responded together, repeating the phrase “So mote it be” three times. Then Lady Sybil lit another candle.

 

“Well we know this eternal truth

Without death there is no birth.

At Samhain comes the Death Crone

Renewing life upon the earth.”

 

That bit about the Death Crone didn't sound good, and Lucy felt Diana renew her squirming efforts to loosen the ropes. Her vision was clearer now, and she saw they were in the same clearing where she found Malebranche's burned body. Her gaze turned to the charred tree and she flinched at the sight. Firewood had been piled at its base, and Symonds's red gas can stood alongside.

“C'mon, Lucy,” coaxed Diana. “We have to free ourselves NOW.”

Lady Sybil now assumed the goddess pose, planting her legs apart and raising her arms to the full moon with the wand in one hand and the athame in the other, as Peter went around the circle, offering a goblet to each member of the coven to sip in turn.

“Who do you think you are? I'm the leader of this coven, a high priestess, and I demand to be released!” declared Diana, her eyes flashing in the firelight as she strained against the rope.

“I am acting for the coven,” said Lady Sybil.

“Is this true?” demanded Diana, looking from one member to another and receiving nods. Only Abby seemed to hesitate, looking away and avoiding Diana's gaze before giving her chin a quick jerk.

“We have agreed that we desire a change in leadership,” said Symonds, stepping forward.

“All right,” said Diana. “I certainly understand. I was away too long. I may have erred. But I demand a trial—”

“We have prepared an indictment,” said Symonds, producing a rolled-up sheet of parchment with a flourish. “We believe you and Lord Malebranche have violated the ordains and must be punished.”

“That's absurd,” scoffed Diana. “And as you well know, the ordains specify that I must be allowed to defend myself.”

“Of course,” said Lady Sybil, giving Symonds a nod. “Read the first accusation.”

Symonds unrolled the parchment and cleared his voice. “The first charge is failing to consult all members before instituting a change in ritual, to wit, the policy of encouraging members to participate in ritual ceremonies skyclad.”

“But that was optional,” protested Diana.

“It made some members uncomfortable,” said Symonds.

“And many of us abhorred the decision to bring sexual practices into the sacred rituals,” added Lady Sybil.

“That was Lord Malebranche's idea—”

“For which he was punished.”

Lucy could feel a deep shudder run through Diana's body.

“Which brings us to your next offense,” said Lady Sybil. “Read it.”

Symonds obeyed, reading from the scroll. “You have violated the sacred trust of the coven by sharing secrets about rites, beliefs, and practices with outsiders.”

Lady Sybil narrowed her eyes and pointed the athame at Lucy. “She presented herself to us tonight, a sacrifice sent by the Horned One to complete our atonement.”

There was a murmur of assent from the other members of the coven.

“I was only trying to convince the community that they had nothing to fear from us,” cried Diana. “And Lucy was helping me. Helping us.”

“So you admit your guilt,” crowed Lady Sybil.

“No, no. Absolutely not,” protested Diana.

Lucy had to speak up for herself. “I only wrote good—” she whispered.

“Silence!” ordered Lady Sybil, turning toward Symonds. “And the final charge?”

“Abandoning the practices that our forefathers established as the very foundation of the craft, to wit, the requirement that blood must be shed and sacrifices presented to the Horned One to perpetuate the cycle of rebirth and renewal. Life brings death and death brings life.”

Suddenly Lucy understood it all. She and Diana were to be sacrificed in some ridiculous parody of an ancient fertility ritual. It was crazy, but it seemed as if her life was going to end here in these woods where she'd walked so often, in a nonsensical ritual. She couldn't believe people could be so cruel, and her gaze darted from face to face. No one made eye contact with her. They were all staring at Lady Sybil, as if in a trance.

“That's insane!” shrieked Diana, desperation in her voice. “It's wrong. You're forgetting the first rule: an ye harm none!”

“She's right!” declared a small voice, and Abby Stoughton stepped forward, into the center of the circle. “This is all wrong.”

“Quiet, child,” snapped Lady Sybil. “You don't know the ways of the craft.”

“Oh, yes, I do,” retorted Abby. “I'm a powerful witch. I cursed my mother and she died!”

“That's as may be or not,” said Lady Sybil, her small eyes glittering in the firelight. “Seize her!” she ordered Symonds, and he quickly grabbed the girl. She struggled weakly to free herself, but he soon subdued her and bound her hands behind her back.

“Blessed be,” declared Lady Sybil as Abby was brought before her and forced to kneel. “Thrice one is three, so may our fortune be.”

“You'll never get away with this!” shouted Lucy, looking from one blank face to another. “You'll be caught. You'll all go to jail!”

Lady Sybil raised her staff and looked skyward. “The moon is rising. Now is the time.”

The chanting and drumming began anew as Lucy and the two others were dragged, kicking and struggling, to the burned tree trunk where Malebranche had died. There they were held firmly by several brawny members of the coven while Symonds unrolled the fence wire and bound them fast. Other members of the coven began bringing more bundles of wood and piling them at their feet.

It was happening, really happening, but Lucy could hardly believe it when Symonds approached, holding the athame before him. The drumming and chanting was growing louder and more intense. Beside her, she could feel Abby's shoulders trembling and could hear her sobs. On her other side, Diana was standing defiant, muscles tensed. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and her breaths came quick and shallow. She'd never known terror like this. There was no possible escape; Lucy knew that. There was only one thing to do, and she gave herself up to it entirely, closing her eyes and praying for a miracle with every fiber of her being. Symonds was now in front of Diana. He was raising the knife, about to plunge it into Diana's breast when a dark shadow fell over the moon. The drummers skipped a beat and the chanting faded, and in that moment of pause, something came hurtling silently from the sky, knocking the athame from his hand.

“It's a sign,” said someone.

In the distance, they heard the howl of a wolf.

“That's enough for me,” said a woman, dropping her drum.

A gentle breeze wafted through the clearing, causing the fire to flare briefly.

“When the West Wind doth blow, witches all best lie low,” said another as the members of the coven melted away into the dark woods, leaving Lady Sybil and Symonds standing by the fire.

Lady Sybil fixed her eyes on Symonds, rooting him in place, then stooped down to pick up the knife. “Do it,” she hissed, pressing the athame into his hand. “There's time. There's still time.”

His hands hung limply, and he refused to take the knife. He stood mutely, his head bowed. Realizing she had lost power over him, Lady Sybil turned and raised the knife over Diana. She was preparing to strike when she was suddenly blinded by a bright light.

Lucy twisted her head, hardly knowing what to expect. An angel, perhaps, or a good witch. Maybe even the Virgin Mary, illuminated in celestial fire. What she didn't expect to see was Ike Stoughton striding into the clearing carrying an enormous flashlight, accompanied by Thomas and Mather.

“Don't move!” he ordered. “The police are coming.”

Mather quickly seized the knife from Lady Sybil, who sank to her knees in defeat, muttering curses. Symonds attempted to dart away but was brought down by Thomas, who kept him firmly in place by planting a knee in the middle of his back.

Ike quickly got to work clipping the wires that bound Abby to Lucy and Diana, and suddenly the clearing was bathed once again in moonlight. Lucy heard a soft “whoo,” and caught a glimpse of a small owl gliding silently past and disappearing into the trees.