Bones of a Witch (20 page)

“Oh?”

“Sure, you know: rack, pillory, thumbscrew
board, maybe an iron boot or the stocks.”

He laughed sickly. “Those are all
downstairs.”

“Ah, a dungeon. How medieval.”

I heard him click back the hammer on the
revolver as he started towards me. “You know, Miss Adams, we’ve
never had a witch give us as much trouble before a hanging as you
have.”

I backed away a couple of steps. “Maybe that’s
because you’ve never found yourselves a real witch to hang until
now.”

“Yes, that’s possible.” His advance quickened,
though I could tell his leg was making things difficult for him. I
took another few steps backwards and my heels brushed the riser on
the stairs leading up to the baptismal pool.

“So, you’re saying you believe you’ve killed
innocent mortals before?” I said.

“Of course, I….” A twinge of pain bit his leg
and I thought he might accidentally shoot me there and then. But he
swallowed back the burn and pressed forward. “I suspect most of
them were, as was the case back in 1692. But you have to kill a lot
of worker ants to get to the queen; now don’t you?”

“Apparently.”

Hilton had reached the base of the altar and
was crossing in front of the candle racking when I realized he had
picked up the witch’s stone I dropped by the door, for its broken
chain dangled from his patch pocket. I glanced behind me briefly
and started up the five steps leading to the narrow pool decking.
“You know you’ll have to shoot me here,” I said, “because I’m not
letting you drag me back up to Gallows Hill alive.”

That made him smile. “I suppose we’ll see about
that.” he set his walking stick down on the candle rack and reached
into the lining pocket of his suit coat, removing the medallion he
had robbed from Ursula Bishop’s grave, “Tell me the secrets of the
gate key and I’ll shoot you here, sparing you the
gallows.”

I crossed the narrow ledge along the front of
the pool and pressed my back against the far wall, exhausting all
further avenues of escape. Already I could feel the witch’s stone
siphoning my powers, its effects growing stronger as he inched
closer. “I told you already; it’s just a medallion. It has no
secrets.”

“Oh?” He started up the stairs, his leg clearly
in more pain now than before, as he displayed considerable effort
negotiating them without the stick. “That’s a shame. I’m afraid I
have no motivation to work with you then.” Upon reaching the
platform, he set the pistol down on the top step and produced the
stun gun that he had used on me earlier in the limo. “You will go
to Gallows Hill one way or the other, Miss Adams,” and he pulled
the trigger, discharging a riot of sparks, tripping in excited
clicks between horned electrodes. “It’s your call.”

As scary as that seemed, in the few seconds the
stun gun was ignited, I noticed something utterly remarkable
happening down deep in my bones. It had something to do with the
witch’s stone. For some inexplicable reason, in that subtle instant
the powers of the stone were magnified by a factor of ten; only its
electric boost seemed to work in reverse. The usual negative
effects of the dolomite became positive. I felt as though I could
do anything in the realm of witchcraft I desired, just so long as
that stun gun was engaged. Hilton may have sensed something, too,
as he seemed to waver a moment, or perhaps he merely picked up
intuitively the reaction on my face and assimilated through
conjecture that something was amiss. I dared not hesitate longer
and so I egged him on with a coaxing finger to come get
me.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s have it your way. Bring
it on, Lard Ass.”

He started toward me. “All right, but I warn
you; if you fall into the pool after I shock you, you’ll be too
numb to do anything, and I shouldn’t think I can get you out before
you drown. That’s a considerably harder way to go.”

“At least I’ll have cheated the gallows, now
wouldn’t I?”

He pulled the trigger again and a surge of
energy rushed through my body. I imagined a fine line delineating
invincible and superable existing between the microburst of
electric sensations leaping from that gun. If he managed to touch
me with the sparks before I could bewitch his ass then I would
surely end up knowing the curse of the hangman’s noose, or worse.
But I had a plan. I continued antagonizing Hilton until his anger
at me exceeded his discomfit; that is to say he was more pissed
than pained, sort of how I make Tony feel on any given day. I said
stuff to him like, ‘Your father sucks a witch’s tit’, and ‘Your
mother asked for an abortion and got her wish when she had you’.
Again, stuff I say to Tony all the time. It’s crazy how you could
just see the blood in his eyes rising. I guess it’s a guy
thing.

Old Hilty really poured on the steam then. He
came after me with that stun gun, zapping up a storm. I waited
until he was nearly on top of me before casting the spell. I’m sure
he thought I had disappeared. My clothes simply dropped to the
floor, covering me temporarily. But then he saw the lump moving
beneath them and he gave it a kick. I let out a screech and darted
off down the narrow ledge. Hilton, now startled beyond words,
stumbled backwards, shifting intolerable weight onto his bad leg,
which buckled instantly, sending him over the ledge. His fat ass
plunged like a stone, straight to the bottom of the baptismal pool.
At once the holy water began churning in a frantic boil, spewing
caustic green smoke into the air like an acid-based
geyser.

Still more scared than not, I scampered down
the steps and around the wall. I expected I might have to run for
cover under one of the pews when he got out of the pool, but he
never did. I waited until the bubbling settled and the smoke dimmed
before walking up the stairs and giving things a good sniff to
check it out. In a cat’s world, he would have been lucky; he would
still have eight more lives in which to torment me. And though
Emanuel J. Hilton was not of the feline persuasion, he apparently
was not of human origin either; and now he was most definitely
dead, dissolved to nothing, along with the witch’s
stone.

I backed away from the pool, still adjusting to
the cold after reversing the spell, when I heard someone at the
back of the church exclaim, “Jesus! Lilith!”

I turned abruptly to see Tony, Carlos and
Spinelli standing in the doorway; their mouths gaping, their
eyes—especially Dominic’s—wide as soupspoons and nearly as
polished. Tony hurried to me, removing his coat as he ran, and
wrapped me in it tighter than a witch’s knot. By then Carlos had
done the courteous thing and turned away; I suppose Spinelli would
have turned also, had he not been so stupefied. You know, I’m
beginning to think that kid’s got a thing for me. I really must
make it a point not to encourage him.

After putting my clothes on, I joined the guys
by the pool as they checked out Hilton’s only remains: his suit,
coat, shoes, some gold jewelry, which lay at the bottom of the
pool, and an old brown fedora that floated on top.

“Yup, he’s gone,” Carlos remarked, pointing out
the obvious. “There’s nothing left of him but his
clothes.”

“Weird,” said Dominic. “He simply melted away.
How do you suppose that happened?”

“I suppose he wasn’t human,” I said. “I’m not
sure any of them were now that I think of it.”

“Them?” Tony asked. “There are others besides
Hilton and Putnam involved in this?”

“Hell, only half the damn town.”

“What do you mean?”

I went on to tell them about Putnam and the old
magistrate at the witch’s trial, and all the seventeenth century
Puritan spectators clamoring to see me sent to the gallows. After
hearing quite enough, it was Carlos who took my hand and squeezed
it gently, saying, “You sure you’re okay, Lilith? That sounds
simply awful.”

I smiled up at him and winked. “Of course,
Carlos; I had everything under control the entire time, but thanks
for your concern.”

He then kissed my hand in that uniquely Cuban
amorous way of his, a soft sort of brush stroke in a broader
masterpiece that’s never quite finished. I often wish Tony would
kiss me like that, instead of laying it on me like so many sticky
notes in a tactician’s day planner. Don’t get me wrong. Tony’s a
good lover and all. He’s thoughtful and considerate of my feelings.
It’s just that sometimes his methodical approach to things can seem
a bit mechanical in the grips of passion. You would think that
after all the years he and Carlos worked together that just a
trifle of one would have rubbed off on the other. Man, what a
combination that would be.

After Carlos’ little display of compassion,
Tony sent the guys out of the church to be alone with me for a
minute. He pulled me aside and sat me down in one of the pews. I
thought he wanted to scold me for getting on the train and fuckin`
everything up for him and his men, in which case I would have had
to seriously hurt him; but that wasn’t it. Instead he went rambling
on about how sorry he was for putting me in harm’s way like he did,
and how he never meant to let me down. I know, what a hoot, huh?
Naturally I played it up as much as I could.

“He was going to kill me,” I said, speaking of
Hilton particularly. “How could you have not done your homework on
him?”

“I know, again I’m sorry. How can I ever make
it up to you?”

“I don’t know if you can.”

“Try me. I’ll do anything.”

“Well I don’t know. You might…nah, forget
it.”

“What?”

“No, I said forget it.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe the next time we….” I leaned over
and whispered the rest in his ear. He pulled back as if zapped by
electric shock.

“Really? You’d like that?”

I smiled wickedly. “Maybe.”

He seemed to toss it around in his head for all
of three seconds before coming back with a shrug. “All right, sure,
why not? We can try it.”

I gave him a kiss on the lips to seal the deal.
Two seconds later the sound of approaching sirens brought Dominic
back into the church. “Cops are coming,” he said. “Do we want to be
here?”

Tony looked at me for the answer. I shook my
head. “What could we possibly tell`em?” I said, “that their pastor
dissolved to nothing in a pool of holy water?” I pointed at the
blood stains spotting the floor leading up the steps to the pool.
“If they find his blood and not his body, they’ll think we killed
him. I don’t know of any way to spin that tale so that they don’t
drag us downtown.”

“Then we don’t stick around,” he said. “Take us
to Gallows Hill where you say you left Putnam’s body. I want to see
for myself that he’s dead.”

“Okay, it’s right out back. Follow
me.”

“I will.” He pointed to the door. “You go on;
I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

“Why, what are you going to do?”

“I just want to look around real
quick.”

“The cops are almost here.”

“I know. Tell Spinelli to move the car out of
sight. I’ll catch up.”

Tony Marcella:

When I first got to the church and found
Lilith standing there, stripped of her clothes and looking dazed,
well I don’t mind saying I thought the worst. I felt a sickening
thud in the pit of my stomach, and all I could think about was
taking her in my arms and holding her like I might never let her
go. But as it was, Lilith handled herself well. She pointed to the
baptismal pool uttering something about him being dead. Right away
I thought she meant Putnam, but it turned out to be
Hilton.

Later, after putting her clothes on and
explaining what happened, I had her show the guys up to Gallows
Hill where she said she had stabbed Putnam in the back and neck and
left him for dead. In the meantime I had something I wanted to
check out. I caught up with them a few minutes later at the top of
the hill under the tree where the hangman’s noose still swung
lazily in the evening breeze.

“Hell, what happened to you?” Carlos asked upon
seeing me. “You’re soaking wet.”

“I fell in a puddle,” I said, shrugging off his
question. “So, where’s Putnam?”

“He’s gone," Lilith answered.

“What?"

“Yeah, he was right there. I know it. I’m sure
of it.” She pointed to an old wooden pail kicked off into the
brush. “That’s the bucket they had me stand on.”

Spinelli picked up the bucket and brought it
back. “Look, it says Ingersoll’s Tavern on the side.”

“What’s this all mean?” Carlos
asked.

“It means Putnam’s not dead,” I
said.

“Maybe Hilton’s not dead either,
then.”

Lilith shook her head. “No, he’s dead. Trust
me. I think Putnam’s dead, too. Someone’s come up here and taken
his body.”

“But who, and why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone from the trial:
someone who wants to keep all this a secret.”

“Someone from Ingersoll’s Witness,” said
Dominic. “You’ve got to know that if the cops aren’t involved, then
Ingersoll’s people wouldn’t want a dead body showing up around
here. A police investigation would only open up an ugly can of
worms.”