Witch Hunt (12 page)

Leigh found her children in their room. Adrian, exhausted from the ordeal of the funeral, was asleep on his bed, his thumb securely tucked away in his mouth.
Dangerous-looking witch there
, she thought as she took his shoes off and tucked the blankets around him. Kamelia was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Can we talk?” Leigh asked.

“Sure.”

Leigh sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a stray wisp of hair out of her daughter’s face. “So, tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Like a lot of the pieces of my life were finally put in place today. You know, there’ve been things about myself that I’ve never understood; things that just never fit anywhere.”

“Such as?”

Kamelia took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes in a manner characteristic of her father. “I … I’ve never had much interest in religion. I mean, you and Dad didn’t raise us with it, but you never stopped me from doing it, either. And when the Incredible Hunk hit the air, boy, did I try. Most of my friends managed to find religion real quick, but it just didn’t feel right, you know?”

Leigh nodded.

“On the other hand, I always felt that something — something powerful — was there taking care of me and that everything was just fine, that I was protected and safe. It was like I
knew
God, or whatever, without having to go looking.”

Leigh had never known that her daughter entertained such thoughts. She wanted to ask questions, but thought it best to just let her talk.

“And so often I just know things. Things I shouldn’t know. Like, I can walk into your bedroom and know you’re not doing sex, not because I listen at the door — I just made that up — but because I
know
you’re not. And,” she rubbed her palms together, “my hands get so hot, and I touch things and stuff happens. Like Cindy’s cat. You remember Cindy’s cat?”

Leigh nodded.

“Well, stuff like that happens with my friends, too. Like, Tara and Heather and I would be doing something we shouldn’t, and Tara — the klutzoid — would get hurt.” She rubbed her hands together again. “I could make it better so her mom and dad wouldn’t know.”

“Did you ever tell Dad?”

“Yeah. And all he would say is that it was a gift I inherited from him. That it was cool and not to worry.”

Leigh felt a twinge of resentment. Why hadn’t anyone told her?

“Why didn’t Dad tell me about the witch thing?”

“I don’t know, honey.” Leigh’s anger returned, but she pushed it back. “Tell me, Kammi, do you believe you’re a witch?”

A look of wonderment crossed Kamelia’s face. “Yeah. It doesn’t seem weird, or space-cadet time, or anything. I sort of understand, and it feels okay.”

“What about Adrian? Has he said anything?”

“Not really. Well, before he fell asleep he looked at me and said, ‘I didn’t like preachers in my last life either.’”

Leigh experienced a wave of gooseflesh. She felt like a stranger to her family, an outsider. “I’m not … a witch. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Did you know Dad was?”

Leigh shook her head.

“That wasn’t real fair of him, was it? Kinda like poor Darrin on
Bewitched
.”

Leigh forced a smile. “Kinda like.”

Kamelia sat up and hugged her mother. “Well, for a mortal, you’re real cool by me.”

Leigh was grateful for Kamelia’s love. “This isn’t a sitcom. Your Incredible Hunk’s going to cause trouble.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Your dad thinks it’ll be real bad trouble.”

“Are we going to fight or run?”

Leigh didn’t like the concept of fighting. “We’re going to stay here and try to stop Preacher Cody.”

Kamelia nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Leigh tousled her daughter’s hair affectionately. “You sound more like your father every day.”

Kamelia shrugged. “Well, I am a Hawthorne, after all.”

Diane Fox picked up her three-year-old daughter, Tiffany, at the Montvue Heights Preschool on her way home from Preacher Cody’s ranch.

Tiffany was the result of an affair Diane had with a married coworker at her previous job as a reporter for
The Denver Post
. When she discovered her pregnancy, Diane quit the man, quit the job, and quit Denver.

Determined career woman that she was, the power of her maternal instincts shocked her. Even though a child was unexpected, she discovered that she wanted the baby more than she would ever have imagined possible. Diane, big-city born and raised, wanted her child to grow up in a world that was more gentle than the one she had known, and so she chose Montvue as their new home.

“Momma’s got a hard decision to make,” Diane told Tiffany as she strapped her into her car seat. “There’s this crazy man who believes in witches. Like in ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ You remember Hansel and Gretel?”

Tiffany nodded, her eyes wide.

“Well,” Diane slid in behind the wheel and strapped herself into her own seat, “this crazy man wants me to tell everyone that these certain people are witches and that witches are bad because this book he has says they are.” Diane started the engine and pulled out into the flow of late-afternoon traffic.

“Now, this man, a regular gospel shouter he is, is planning to do some shouting at these witch people and wants lots of other people to be there to back him up. He wants — you want a burger, honey?”

Tiffany giggled. “Want a burger.”

Diane pulled into Wendy’s and got their dinner at the drive-through window, then headed home to eat it.

“Burger!” Tiffany yelled, straining for the aromatic bag that was just out of her reach.

“You’re too messy an eater, honey. We’ll be home soon. Anyway, this crazy man — who’s this odd version of Rambo-gets-religion — wants me to write the story about the witch family and announce this rally at their home Sunday night. If I don’t do the report, he’ll get someone else to.”

“French fries?” Tiffany asked.

“In just a minute. However, I think if I keep the story, and write it in a manner that shows both sides, it would be better than giving it to Joe or Paula or some other twirpy reporter at the
Post
who’s gaga over this crazy man. I mean, they’d write whatever he wants them to, because they think he’s just so terrific. So, I think I’ll keep the story and do it with objectivity. What do you think?”

“Root beer,” Tiffany said.

Diane grinned. “Thanks for your input, honey. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The Sunday morning issue of the
Post-Dispatch
carried Diane’s story about Preacher Cody, the Hawthornes, and witchcraft.

The Hawthornes passed the newspaper around the breakfast table.

“It says they’ll be here at eight tonight,” Melanie said.

“What are we going to do, Craig?” Vivian’s composure had deteriorated in the few days since the funeral. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her voice quavered with fear.

“We could secure the gates and not let them in. Wish we had some alligators for the moat.”

“What’s a moat?” Adrian asked.

“A ditch dug all around a castle and filled with water,” Kamelia said.

“We got a moat?” Adrian asked.

Kamelia rolled her eyes. “No, silly.”

Adrian nodded and popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Okey-doke.”
Okey-doke
was his latest word.

“Maybe you should call and talk to the police,” Leigh suggested.

Craig nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Some protection magic wouldn’t hurt, either,” Jason said.

Melanie peeked over the top of the newspaper. “I’ll help you with that.”

“Can I come?” Kamelia asked.

Everyone looked at Leigh.

Leigh cleared her throat nervously. “I … I don’t know …”

“Go for it, Kammi,” Craig said. “Now the covers are pulled, you’d better not keep sleeping in the buff.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Dorian began to cough and couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

Glynis slapped his back a few times. “He’s not well today. I think it’s all the stress.”

“Put him to bed after chow time. Kammi and I will be by later to give him a look-see,” Craig said.

“Can’t eat,” Dorian said, his voice raw. “I’ll go now.”

Craig nodded.

Dorian maneuvered his electric wheelchair away from the table and out the terrace doors, to the small guest cottage he and Glynis shared.

“He’s scared,” Glynis said.

“We’re all scared,” Vivian said, giving more attention to chewing her fingernails than to the food on her plate.

“I’d like to discuss why everyone’s so scared,” Leigh said.

“What’s to discuss?” Jason asked.

Leigh ignored the harshness of his tone. “Well, I went online and did some research about modern witchcraft. I didn’t realize it before — guess I just never paid attention — but these days it seems to be pretty well accepted. Amazon has all kinds of how-to books on the subject. I ran down some major magazine articles that spoke of it as being a folk religion. There are people who claim to be witches doing the talk-show circuit, and they aren’t being persecuted. Why, besides Adrian’s vision, is everyone here so scared?”

“Most people consider talk-show witches and books on the subject as entertainment and aren’t threatened by it,” Craig said. “Some scholars and intellectuals understand the reality of it, and write wonderful articles in an attempt to dispel the myths, but they’re only going to appeal to other scholars and intellectuals. The problem lies with narrow-minded people who tend to be threatened by what doesn’t fit into their own specific niche, because if anything else is right, then they’ve got to be wrong. Add to all this a charismatic leader like the preacher man, his labeling of us as Satanists — a heady subject these days everywhere — small town mentality like Montvue’s, a seemingly respectable and powerful family such as ours, and you have a major
kaboom
waiting to happen.”

“And don’t forget about our ancestors who were killed for witchcraft,” Glynis said. “If for no other reason, we’re scared because it’s happened to us before.”

“Then there’s this,” Jason said, shaking the newspaper.

“Well, at least the killer dyke didn’t defend the enemy,” Melanie said. “She is actually making an attempt at reason in the article.”

“Killer dyke?” Leigh asked.

Melanie nodded. “Diane Fox, the reporter. As a reporter, she tends to go for the jugular, and, well, everyone knows she’s a dyke. I mean, she dresses like a guy, and she doesn’t date or anything. I think her kid must have been a case of rape or artificial insemination or something.”

Leigh sighed.

Helena came in with a fresh pot of coffee.

“What’s with the phone ringing off the hook this morning?” Jason asked her.

Helena shook her, head. “You don’t want to know.” She began to refill cups. “But I will say it’s amazing how well some of those Christians out there can swear.”