No Rest for the Wicca (16 page)

He put his finger under my chin, tilted my face up to his.  His eyes were soft, almost tender as he looked at me.
I pulled away abruptly, pointed toward our table. “Look,” I said quickly, “there’s our food.
Finally!
Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

A different waiter set down oversized plates laden with sizzling meat, and roasted red potatoes. We returned to our seats and once the waiter had seen to it our water and wine was refilled, I popped some meat into my mouth, chewed deliberately.

“My god,” I breathed, “It’s like butter.”

“Like the surroundings,” Cole remarked. “Only the best.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes before I asked, “How about you? How was your first day subbing?”

“Actually, I didn’t teach today. I spent the day with the Dean. Fascinating man. He’s aware of our cover, of course, and he promised to cooperate in every way possible.”

I reached for the fresh glass of ice water. “He’s supposed to be pretty tight with Graft
and Morrow
. Cole, what if
one of them do turn out to be involved in this society, and are
behind some dark, sinister plot? You think we can count on the Dean’s cooperation?”

Cole shrugged. “We’ll have to see how it shakes down, won’t we?”

I resumed cutting my meat. “It’s one way to look at it.”

We ate dinner, discussed a few more case details. Although the band played on, Cole didn’t ask me to dance again. It was nearly eleven when we walked outside into the restaurant’s brightly lit parking lot.

“How gallant of you to walk me to my car,” I said, pausing beside my little blue convertible. “Afraid I might be prey for the witch killer and won’t report to work tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “Actually, in a one on one, I’d fear more for the killer than you. On your mouth alone, you’d no doubt win.”

“I’ve either been complimented or insulted. I believe I’ll take the former.” I opened my purse, withdrew my keys. As I shifted them to my other hand, Cole reached out to touch my keychain.

“A rather unusual charm,” he murmured.

I held it up. “Like it. It’s supposed to be a likeness of Simbi.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“Simbi. The Master Magician, the
lwa
voodoo god of all fresh waters. He’s sort of a patron of magic. I saw it in a little shop in
Louisiana
and bought it. I take it with me everywhere.”

His brow rose. “Everywhere?”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks and looked down. “Yeah. I keep thinking he’ll change my luck.”

“I see.” Cole’s gaze was inscrutable. “And has he?”

I shrugged. “Not so far.”

“Ah, too bad. I rather hoped you’d say yes. After all, you have gotten to know me. Many women would consider it a ridiculous amount of good luck.”

“Blazing Hades, you have to be the most conceited—“

I stopped speaking as his arm encircled my shoulders, he pulled me to him, and his lips were on mine. The kiss was gentle, almost sweet, and lasted less than ten seconds before he gently pushed me back.

I looked at him. “What—what did you do that for?”

He took his finger, pressed it against my lips. “Many reasons, actually. To help change your luck, of course. For looking so fabulous in your outfit. And, perhaps, I’m testing out my motivations. Good night, Morgan.”

And then he vanished, leaving me alone on my porch, as I tried unsuccessfully to balance the fluttering sensation in my stomach with the lingering tingle of his lips on mine.

I sat in the back of the classroom and listened to the woman drone on about a subject I knew practically by heart. Well, what did I expect? There had to be a downside to being an undercover agent, and this certainly qualified.

The lecture was called
The Wiccan Year
and the Professor, Adina Jerrold, was a short, pot-bellied woman who reminded me a little of Aunt Bea in those old Andy Griffith reruns on Nick at Nite. She even had her iron-gray hair done up in the same kind of bun. She adjusted her glasses on the edge of her beak-shaped nose and continued to drone.

“Wicca is actually a modern religion, based on ancient tradition. The original practitioners used the stars to mark events tied to worship of the gods. For example, lunar eclipses were considered to be caused by the god’s actions. In this course, we will examine the eight seasons that make up the Wiccan year.”

I thanked my lucky stars I sat next to the window, and I turned my head, gave a casual glance outside. The classroom was located just north of the main entrance, and I had an excellent view of the front steps. I saw a girl sitting on the top flight, her back to me, and as she turned her head slightly I recognized the flame-haired girl from my other class. She had a well-worn book on her lap, flipping through the pages, pausing every now and then to peruse one. It seemed to me she might be looking for something. After a few minutes she closed the book and stood up. As she turned to go up the steps, she suddenly froze. A moment later I saw Drucilla stride toward her. The two of them spoke, and I wished with all my might I could be a fly or a bee or an ant, something small, so I could squat on those steps and listen, because judging from the expression on their faces, they weren’t talking about the weather. Drucilla shook her fist in the other’s face, and the girl took a few steps backward. Dru lunged forward, and with the speed of a jungle cat snatched the book from her hand and started to flip through it. The other girl tried to take it back, but Dru sidestepped her, shouting something over her shoulder at her. She took the book and flung it against the steps. The redhead lifted her hand as if to slap Dru, but Dru caught her wrist and bent it off to the side.

Hey, nice move
.
Not bad, not bad at all.

The redhead, rubbing her wrist, suddenly pushed herself up close to Dru and whispered something in her ear. Dru pulled away, jaw set, turned on her heel and stomped in the opposite direction. The redhead watched with a sort of self-satisfied smirk on her face, and then she turned too and started back into the University. As I debated slipping out of the lecture hall and try to find her, the professor uttered some words commanded my full attention.

“We’ll also discuss in detail Season Seven of the Wiccan Year, known as Lughnasad. Celebrated on August 1, it represents the first day of the Celtic autumn and the last of the four great fire festivals, or Sabbats, of the Celtic year. It’s named for Lugh, Sun-God of the ending summer. Now, can anyone here tell me who Lugh’s father was?”

A boy sitting in the front raised his hand. “Dagda, I believe.”

She nodded. “Correct, Aaron. Dagda, for those of you not up on your Celtic gods, has often been called “Mighty One of Great Knowledge”. It’s believed Dagda controls the weather and is responsible for the harvest’s life. His attributes include the cauldron of transformation, among other symbols.”

Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh
.

“Lughnasad is a time for uncertainty and for embracing the unknown,” Professor Jerrold went on. “On the positive side, its aspects embody the anticipation and rewards of success. However, as we know from our life lessons, even the best plans can be thwarted, no matter how careful the planning.”

Yes,
t
hat is what I have to do.
Thwart this killer’s carefully laid plan.
But first I have to figure out just what
it
is.

The lecture over, I gathered up my books and headed straight for the main entrance. I smoothed out my tunic top and glanced at my watch. I had a good hour before my next class, which
was a lecture by Professor Erdos.
I needed to find a quiet corner, write down some of the thoughts and ideas making a jumble in my brain. I’d always found, particularly when I’d worked Homicide, writing down notes and details helped my concentration.  I retraced my steps into the main hall and found myself looking straight at a massive bulletin board where at least a dozen other students stood, all laughing, talking and pointing. I looked in the same direction and there it was, larger than life, right on top where no one could miss it.

RESEARCH ASSISTANT WANTED. GOOD PAY, TERRIBLE HOURS. SEE PROFESSOR A
TTICUS
GRAFT,
ROOM 999
, OR PROFESSOR GENE  MORROW, ROOM 869

The
y seemed to have a sense of humor, at least.  Still, it struck me as kind of odd they’d rushed to post the opening now, when Graft had said the end of the week.  To my mind, that could only  mean they knew Florrie would not be coming back.

The pricking at the base of my neck made me look up and my eyes locked with Drucilla’s. She’d just finished taking a drink at the water fountain, and she raised her hand, a gesture for me to approach. Up close, her appearance startled me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks damp. My hand shot out, grabbed her arm.

“Drucilla—you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

She shook her head as she fumbled in her bag, pulled out a Kleenex, and dabbed at her eyes. “The Dean got news of Florrie. She’s gone.”

The pricking sensation was lower now, inching along the base of my spine. “Gone? You mean—“

“I mean she left, she’s gone. As in gonzo, goodbye. Flown the coop. She’s quit the University program.”

“Quit? How do you know?”

“The Dean got a letter and a phonecall from her mother. Seems she’s taken off to find herself. Can you imagine? It’s usually what a guy says to a gal when he wants out of a relationship.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “I mean, I know she’s been confused of late, but to just take off—and not say anything to me—“

I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs in a sigh of relief. “Is that why you were crying? Because she didn’t contact you directly?”

“Yes, and I’m just upset she’s gone. Why?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you thought she—“

“I thought maybe something happened, yes,” I admitted. “Frankly, I’m glad she’s just left and not anything more…sinister.” I took a step backward. “So, I take it you spoke with the Dean?”

“No, with Margit Culhane. Her aunt works in Admissions. You’ve probably seen her around. She
takes a lot of the Supernatural Science
classes.”

Now I thought I understood the little scene on the steps. “Not the shapely redhead?”

Dru nodded. “Yeah, her. She’s a damned busybody, always nosing where she doesn’t belong.” She hung her head. “I—I had words with her outside, just a bit ago. Said she’s applying for Florrie’s job, and she’ll get it, too. I told her it’d be a cold day in Hell before a slimy Satanist like her snagged the post, and she shouldn’t think just because she pushed her nose up Graft’s behind she had a lock on it. I know I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but—she just pushes my buttons.” She threw me a look. “She’s always so smug. And a thief, besides.”

“A thief?”

Dru dragged one hand through her brown curls. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that—she tried to take something from Florrie, something Florrie thought to be very valuable. Florrie hid it in our dorm room. I looked the other day and couldn’t find it, so I accused Margit of stealing it.” She let out a breath. “Turns out I was wrong, but I still don’t trust her. Anyway, it’s neither here nor there.”

“What did you think she’d taken?”

The other girl shook her head. “Sorry. I said too much already. I promised Florrie—you understand.”

I nodded. I thought I knew the answer anyway.

Dru continued, “I’m sure right now Margit thinks she has a lock on the assistant position, but fancy the look on her face when she doesn’t get it. Thinks she has an in because she’s interested in all that voodoo junk.”

Wow.
Satanism and voodoo.
Margit Culhane, you’
ve taken on quite a load, just as Florrie did. Is it more than you can handle?

Dru looked hopefully at me. “You are going to apply, aren’t you? He told you to, so you’ll most likely get the post.
I told you, Morrow will take whomever he recommends.
”

I shifted my books onto my other arm. “I’ve thought about it,” I admitted, “but I’m not sure I’m right for the job.”

“Oh, don’t let that stop you. You should go for it!” She grabbed my arm, dug her nails into my wrist. “I’d much rather see you have it than her. She’s so—so plastic and phony. She wouldn’t be a credit to it, take it seriously as Florrie did.” She looked hard at me. “I think you would.”

“Thanks.”

We fell into step and walked down the corridor to the Study Hall, paused in front of the massive double doors.

“I have an hour before my next class
.  Erdos’
Magic as a Tool
,”
I said. “I thought I’d read some of this material—I confess, I didn’t do a bit of studying last night.”

“Neither did I,” Dru admitted. “I have the same class. We could study together, if that’s okay.”

Well, there went my plans for a quiet hour of note writing. “Sure.”

A glint came into her eyes. “Or, we could go down to the Faculty Lounge. Graft is there, I know he is. You could talk to him about the position.”

I smiled. “A bit pushy, don’t you think?”

“Hey, the early bird gets the worm. I’m sure Margit will ambush him either before or after the next lecture. She’d seek him out now if she didn’t have a Metaphysics class.”

“Is Margit in the Entrée program?” I asked.

Dru shook her head. “Nope. She’s full time, like me.”

I cocked my head to one side. “You called her a Satanist.”

Dru chuckled. “No, I called her a slimy one, and I’m being kind.”

“She’s a witch? Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. She made no secret of the fact she’s got the blood. She’s even going for a degree in some sort of magic specialty—Metaphysics, maybe. She has an overload of classes in it. She made fun of Florrie, called her a Wicca Wannabe. But for all her so-called blood, Margit didn’t have half the talent Florrie did. Why, even though Florrie wasn’t a pureblood, she did cast a few minor spells—and they worked!”

“You don’t always have to be a blood witch to be successful at the craft,” I murmured.

“No, but they have a better success rate,” Dru nodded. “Anyway, Margit could give two figs about Graft
or Morrow’s projects
—she just wants something impressive on her resume. Florrie cared enough to point out some fallacies in his notes to him—of course, her opinions weren’t well received, but you get my point, don’t you?”

“You said you heard her on the phone, pointing out a flaw regarding Odic Force. Do you remember?”

Dru looked at me, her camel eyes wide. “Yeah. She got real mad about it. At the time I remember being really puzzled at her reaction, but now I think I understand. She liked to do everything right, it really upset her.”

“Yes, I can see it would.” I tried to make my tone casual. “You have no idea who she spoke to?”

Dru reached in her pocket, retrieved a mint. She unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth before she answered. “No. I thought maybe her mom, but later I found out her mom didn’t like her dabbling in the occult and such things. So I guess it had to be someone else. Florrie had a lot of friends.
”

I shifted my books into my other arm.  “Have you ever heard any  mention of a secret society around campus?” I asked.

Dru stared at me.  “A secret society?  What, like a sorority?”

I shook my head.  “No, this would be more in line with pagan practices. 
I believe it’s called
Sevites of Marinette.”

Dru tossed her head so her hair fell over one shoulder.  “Never heard of it,” she responded, “not that I’d know, anyway.
  Wh
at’s a sevite, and wh
o’s Marinette?
”

“
It’s voodoo for servant, and s
he’s a dark lwa.”

Dru gave a mock shudder.  “Sounds creepy, if you ask me.  What do they do, gather round a golden idol and offer up sacrifice?”

I gave her a small smile.
She might not be that far from the truth, at that.  “Well, it’s supposed to be a secret society, so who knows.  Maybe they wear long robes and dance around a fire at the full moon.”

Dru giggled.  “That would be quite a sight, and I can picture quite a few people here getting into that.  Unfortunately, I’m not one of the in crowd, so I’ve not heard a thing.  I’ll tell you who might, though. 
Margit or her aunt.  Nothing passes their eagle eye—or ear.”

We were at the classroom door now, and as we paused in the doorway I turned to smile at her.  “Thanks, Dru.  You’ve been a big help.
  I mean it.
”