Authors: Maralee Lowder
In
all the
world there was only the two of them, this man,
a total stranger, and herself.
Not a word was spoken
between
them, yet she knew his heart.
His ga
ze spoke directly to her soul.
The message was simple, yet at that moment
it meant everything to her.
He cared.
Relief swept through h
er as she realized who he was. Yes, he was the one.
Her Goddess had not failed her.
The experience lasted bu
t a moment, yet it calmed her.
The man’s gaze
had warmed and comforted her.
If her special gift had not forsaken her, and she prayed that it had not, the man in the crowd was destined to become very impo
rtant to her and to her coven.
She doubted if he was aware of it, but she was certain that through him their innocence would be proven.
For one brief, fearful moment
she doubted.
The horrible reality of her cove
n’s situation overwhelmed her.
Could she have only imagined what she saw in his eyes, seeing in them what she had so desperately prayed for?
She forced herself to put aside all thoughts
of the stranger in the crowd.
If he was to
be their salvation, wonderful.
If not, so be it.
Whichever, she and the rest of her coven
would survive, no matter what.
She would see to that herself.
Squaring her shoulders, she tossed her flami
ng tresses back from her face.
They were innocent, every single one of
them.
No matter what it took, she would never allow ignorant superstitions to condemn her or those she loved.
Mac was the only one in the crowd who remained silent throughou
t Cassie’s ordeal.
The questions he
had prepared remained unasked.
His camera hung forgotten f
rom its strap around his neck.
For the very first time in his professional career he had let his emotions come between himself and a story.
He couldn’t believe he had allowed those golden eye
s to have held him spellbound.
He had been only dimly aware of Cassie’s fiery hair, seeing only the halo of its glow as it accented eyes that burned with intensity.
A stab of shock raced through him at the thought that no human being co
uld possibly have golden eyes.
An
d yet he knew what he had seen.
Cassie Adams’ eyes
were the purest gold possible. The word ‘impossible’
had been his last conscious thought before he had been captured by her gaze and drawn into her inner being.
In that instant jus
t the two of them had existed.
He had seen past the brittle shell of her bravado and experienced the very essence of
her, her confusion, her fear.
He had felt h
er strength and her innocence.
In that instant he had known
to the very depths of his soul that the hard face she was so determined to show to her tormentors hid a vulnerability that threatened to destroy her.
In that moment he had no longer been a jaded, world-weary reporter, someone who had seen and done things he
could never forget or forgive. He had suddenly beco
me someone,
no something
, so much better.
He had felt his soul touch hers
, creating a mystical oneness.
Something magi
cal had happened between them.
He might never fully understand it, but in that brief instant she had reached inside him and touched his very soul.
The spell was broken as her escorts unceremoniously swept her past him an
d into the waiting
automobile
.
Once again he was one with the crowd, one more hungry reporter hanging around outside a small town sheriff’s office, trying to dig up that one story that would help him regain the career
he had once taken for granted.
He stood on the steps of the courthouse and watched the car drive down Main Street, too shocked at his own reaction to the young witch to pay much attention to the angry people who shoved him from all sides.
“Some service,
heh
?
It’s a fine day when her kind gets chauffeure
d around town by our so-
called
finest,” an old man standing directly behind Mac complained.
“Yeah, well, I guess they figured if they didn’t, we’d get our hands on her and give her a good old fashioned neck-tie party,” the woman standing next to him replied.
“No better than any of them deserves, if you ask me.
It’d be a damned sight more humane than what they did to Reverend Elkins,” the old man grumbled.
A murmur of assent rose from those who stood nearby.
The news of the Presbyterian minister’s brutal murder, coupled with tales of modern day witchcraft, had been the magnet that had drawn Mac and his fellow reporters to the
remote town of Port
Bellmont
.
Perched on the very edge of the Pacific Ocean and surrounded by forests of huge redwoods, the citizens of the tiny city had thought their town to be impervious to th
e evils of modern day society.
Yet the brutal murder proved that just the opposite was true.
The
victim,
highly respected and beloved by everyone in Port
Bellmont
, had been found late the previous night in a nearby meadow ritualist
ically tortured and mutilated.
Word had quickly spread through the town that after finding the
mutilated corpse the sheriff believed he was dealing
with more than a mere murder.
Such a vicious crime could only be committed by a particularly fiendish mind, he had commented, perhaps a mind warped by some sort of religious fanaticism.
Compounding the evidence that pointed to a ritualistic rite was the fact that the body had been found lying in the center o
f a circle of burning candles.
The scent of incense still hung in the air, mingling with the acrid aroma of burning candles and the coppery odor of fresh blood when the sheriff and his men came upon the gory scene after receiving an anonymous telephone tip.
Sheriff Whitaker had stood amidst the gore, the expression on his weathered face reflecting his horror
.
The solution to the case app
eared to be glaringly obvious.
It had to have been those damned witches.
The ring of burning candles reminded him of his first reaction to the arrival of Port
Bellmont’s
res
ident coven two years earlier.
He’d known even th
en that they would be trouble.
Heathens, all of them, a
s bad
as any damned religious cult.
But, even feeling as he
had, he had kept his silence.
Until they committed a crime they were free to live
wherever they pleased.
After all, the Constitution guaranteed them religious freedom and there were no laws prohibiting them from living wherever they chose.
In the months prior to the witches arrival, the sheriff had found himself knee deep in
the midst of a mini-crime wave.
Looking for a semi-retirement job after working fifteen years with the Houston Police Department, Port
Bellmont
had been a sweet answer to his prayers.
But within three years of his arrival the idyllic city had undergone
some very unpleasant changes.
Something had taken hold of the younger generation, turning sweet kids into punks, law abiding youngsters into graffiti wri
ting, drug using gang members.
Considering the problems the kids were causing him, Sheriff Whitaker considered a bunch of loony women who thought they were witches t
o be the least of his worries.
As long as they kept their religion to themselves, he had made it a point to give them a wide berth.
And
,
to be fair, the women had settled in with barely a ripple of resistance, quickly becoming integral contributors to t
he community.
Each one, using her own unique talents, had managed to bring something special to the town, enriching it
until Port
Bellmont
was once again the sort of town in which people dreamed of raising their families in safety.
Within a few weeks of their arrival, go
od things had begun to happen.
The local kids had found better things to do with their time than to jo
in gangs and get into trouble.
Before the year was over dru
g arrests had dropped to an all-time low.
Perhaps reflecting the absence of crime, the local economy had taken on a new life, gradually becoming healthier than it had been in years.
The atmosphere in town ch
anged, returning to its former ‘down home’ feel.
It had become a local joke that the town’s good fortune had come with
the witches.
Perhaps, some of the local citizens quipped
,
all Port
Bellmont
had needed all along wa
s a few good spells cast for it.
And so the coven had gradually become an a
ccepted part of the community.
Some members of the local clergy had actually welcomed the women, most
specifically Reverend Elkins.
While not espousing their form of religion, he had become one of the greatest supporters of their right to be include
d as members of the community.
But all of this had ended abruptly when the minister’s corpse had been discovered.
A roar of bloodthirsty anticipation rose from the crowd, drawing Mac’s attention once again to the main door of the sheriff’s office.
“Give Myra to us!”
“We know how to take care of her kind!”
“She ought to get what she gave!”
“The evil must be cast out, trampled and stoned until it lives no more,” the minister’s voice rang out above the others.
The ugly threats subsided when, instead of the coven’s high priestess, Myra Adams, Sheriff Walt Whitaker strode purposefully
through the door.
The sheriff was an imposing ma
n who wore his authority well.
His brown Stetson hat added several inches to his already impressive six foot four, sturdily built body.
One voice rang
out from the rear of the mob.
“Give her to us, Whi
t!
We’ll give h
er all the justice she deserves.”
The comment was welcomed by a raucous roar that echoed agreement to the man’s sentiment.
“Now, now,
now, there’ll be none of that.
You folks know me
better’n
that
,”
Walt drawled in his rich West Texas accent.
A low rumble of displea
sure spread through the crowd.
They wanted vengeance and they wanted it now.
Mac noted a slight narrowing of the sheriff’s gaze and a tightening of his jaw as his eyes rested momentarily upon two men who stood at the rear of
the crowd.
A quick glance was all it took for the reporter to see that both men wore clerical garb, one the turned collar of a Roman Catholic pries
t.
Another glance at the glowering expression on the sheriff’s face suggested to Mac that the man held nothing b
ut contempt for the men of God.
Interesting
, Mac thought as the sheriff began to once again address the crowd.
“You folks just go on about
your business.
There
ain’t
nothin
’
gonna
happen ‘round here that’s any concern of yours.
Myra Adams is upstairs being questioned at this time.
I don’t look for us to be through with her for a good long time.
In the meantime, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to order y’all to break up this here unlawful assembly.”
He raised both arms, hands spread, as if he could silence the crowd with them.
Surprisingly, the gesture, coupled with his no-nonsense attitude, had the desired effect.
Though not particularly happy, the local citizens
began
to disperse.
However, the media was not so ready to quit their posts.
“And all you newsmen, and ladies too, y’all might as well get on about your business too.
There
ain’t
nothin
’
gonna
happening around here for quite a spell.”