No Rest for the Wicca (20 page)

Cole bent over the body. “The killer certainly hacked away at her throat.” Black eyes met mine. “Her tongue’s gone.”

“What is this guy doing?” I cried. “A finger, a toe, an ear, a tongue—it’s as if he’s Dr. Frankenstein—stealing parts from the dead to build a monster.”

“Perhaps you’re not so far off the mark with your assumption.”

Suddenly I heard them, all at once, all babbling at once, the voices reverberating, beating through my brain.

Seven.

The power of Seven

Seven points
to
release,
to
free.

You have to help us.

You have to stop it.

Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh

I staggered backward, hands over my ears. My vision blurred—I could barely see Cole’s face, pale, anxious, as he looked at me, could barely hear him over the cacophony in my head.

“Morgan? Are you allright?”

“I want to help you,” I cried out. “Truly, I do. But I don’t know how. Tell me how.”

And then I fainted.

I
floated
on a
fluffy, pink-tinted
cloud—
directly in front of
me, I could see large, silver gates.
As I drew nearer, the gates opened.
Five figures slowly materialized—three were women I’d never seen, one with a missing ear, another with a missing toe, the last a missing
hand
.
I
cut
my glance over to the left and saw Darla, pale, arms akimbo, one eye gone.
And then
Florrie joined them.
They
linked arms
and formed a circle around me.
I reached out to touch one, and my hand went right through
them
—
they were
transparent.
They hovered close, and
changed in sweet, lyrical tones:

Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.

I covered my ears with my hands in a futile attempt to drown out the sound.
Darla loomed
large,
staring me down with her one good eye.

Think.
Use your brain, Morgan.
Xia always said you were good at it.
Think.
You can make the connection.

“Connection to what?’ I wailed. “You want me to help you, you have to help me. Tell me who’s behind this.”

We
can’t.  The forces will not let us.
We’ve given you all the help we can.

“I don’t believe you. You can tell me.  You must.

We’re not permitted to do any more, but y
ou can do it, Morgan.

You
alone can
help us.

“For great Hades’ sake,” I screamed, “I can’t.
I can’t unless you give me more to go on.”

Florrie appeared at my elbow
.
She held out a piece of paper.
I took it, unfolded it.

There were three symbols on it.
A
triangle inside a circle.
Another looked like two giant tears next to a squiggly line.

I held my breath as I looked at the last--
a seven pointed star.

I looked at Florrie.
“What does this mean?”

Her lips were pale, her skin translucent.
She gestured with her hand toward the paper. She opened her mouth, and I saw no tongue, just pale pink gums and teeth, white and needle sharp. She tapped the paper, made a circle with her hands.

Darla appeared behind me. “You’ll figure it out,” she said. “It’s inflection, that’s all.
You’ll know, and you’ll stop
it. It’s the only way.
”

My body began to rock back and forth suddenly, as if someone were shaking me. From a distance, I heard a voice:

“Morgan. Are you okay? You’re crying out in your sleep.”

My eyes snapped open and I sat up, breathing heavily. I shook my head and looked around. I lay spread out on a large, very comfortable leather sofa in a very elegantly appointed room, a light blanket over me.

And, crouched next to me on an oaken coffee table, sat Cole.

I frowned at him. “What in hell—where am I?”

He gently pushed me back against a soft pillow. “Don’t you remember? The park?”

“Yeah, by the lake. Florrie’s body.” I pressed my hand against my throbbing temples, remembering the cacophony of voices. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” he said. “And since it started to rain, I brought you here.”

I cleared my throat. “You could have called Xia. Or taken me home.”

He chuckled. “I rather thought your cousin endured enough excitement for one evening. I phoned her, told her we’d be working late. So she wouldn’t worry.”

“How…good of you.” I swung my legs off the couch, pushed the blanket off to one side. “I’m okay.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “Are you? You were thrashing about pretty good there. Did you have a bad dream?”

I rubbed the side of my head, felt the muscle above my right eye begin to twitch. “One might say so, yes.”

He moved to the end of the couch, folded his arms across his chest. “Well, if you’d care to share, I’m a good listener.”

I resisted the urge to laugh. “You’re the second person to say that to me tonight. What am I, a basket case?”

He regarded me with a measured stare. “No, merely a woman who needs to unburden herself.”

I rose. My knees wobbled and I thought I might plop right back down, but I took a deep breath, carefully put one foot out in front of the other. “Sorry to disappoint, but see! Good as new.”

He shook his black mane of hair. “I doubt it.” He reached for a glass, pressed it into my hand. “Apple juice. Drink up.”

“I love apple juice. How did—never mind.” I downed the contents of the glass, set it down on the table. He still regarded me with that look in his eye. I flushed. “Quit staring at me as if I’m some sort of lab experiment. Or your dinner.”

He stepped closer to me, skimmed his fingers through my unruly hair. “I don’t know why you resist someone’s aid so.”

“Giving me the evil eye is helping me?”

“You know what I mean,” he bit out. “I realize the meat of our relationship is trading dull-edged barbs, but—you were having a serious nightmare there. I heard you call out.”

I felt a sense of unease trickle along my spine. “You did? What’d I say?”

“You mumbled some strange words. You called out Darla’s name, and Florrie’s as you bolted up.”

I swallowed. “Oh, well, you know what they say about dreams.”

“Yes, many of them are precognitive. Especially when a psychic witch has them.”

“Well, a psychic witch didn’t have them. I’m only—“

He held up his hand. “I know, I know. You’re half-Wiccan. Raised by a bokor. Don’t worry, the voodoo didn’t rub off on you.”

“I know,” I muttered.

“I meant bad voodoo,” Cole amended. “You beat yourself up over what happened, but have you ever considered why it might have? There’s too much good in you, Morgan, to invoke evil spells.”

I raised my gaze to meet his. “Even when the evil spell would have stopped a madman?”

“Even then.”

I took a breath. “Well, I paid the price, didn’t I? I thought I could entrap Zeke Chowling—or the Zombie Master, as he liked to be called. I thought I could take a page from my father’s book, thought I could master the gris-gris, throw Zeke’s own spells back at him. It backfired, all right. Who paid the price? April, caught in the crossfire. April, ended up turned into the very monster we sought to destroy. And in the ensuing melee she ended up getting burned to death, while Zeke got away to lick his wounds and fight another day. Bastard still hasn’t been caught.”

“The gris-gris combines black and white magic. You thought you could harness them both, turn the forces against Zeke. But you forgot the main rule of Wicca, Morgan. The reason you failed.”

“Harm no one,” I choked out. “You’re right. I did. I harmed April.”

“No,” Cole put his finger against my lips. “You didn’t. You told her what you were going to do, and April could have backed down, let you go it alone. She wouldn’t desert her partner. Zeke harmed her. Zeke used the backlash from your spell to turn April into a zombie, not you.”

My eyes filed with tears, threatened to overflow. “Can’t you understand?” I cried. “It’s still my fault. If I hadn’t thought I could master the gris-gris, If I hadn’t been so cocky, she’d still be alive.”

“Would she? Zeke could have just as easily gotten both of you. The gris-gris protected you, at least.”

“Yeah. Harm no one. I’m a disgrace to my badge, to my heritage, to myself.”

“Only because you think you are. You’re not.”

“And what do you know!” I exploded. “You weren’t there.”

“No,” he said quietly. “But I have eyes. I can see. And what I see is a tormented girl, who’s trying to shoulder a burden and bring another killer to justice to atone for the life she believes she cost her partner and her friend.” He pulled me closer. “Your mixed spell didn’t work because that type of voodoo went against the very core of Wiccan belief. You see, I don’t believe there can be a happy medium between them.”

I stared at him, into his black eyes shining ever darker now, with apparent desire. “How can you know me so well? How do you know what to say to make me feel better?”

His arm shot out, encircled my waist. “I think you’re a person worth knowing, Morgan Hawkes. And if you’d dispense with all the banter and view me seriously for a moment, you’d realize I am too.”

I curled my hands in the lapels of his shirt. “Not good,” I shook my head.

“What’s not good?”

“Mixing business and pleasure. We work together. Not good.  It’s a line we shouldn’t cross.”

He laughed, a sound deep in his chest. “And just what do you think will happen if we step over the line?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. A bolt of lightning will come out of the sky, maybe, do us in?”

“Not bloody likely,” he muttered, and his mouth came crashing down on mine.

My arms went round him, involuntarily, as if they had a will of their own. My fingers dove into his thick black morass of hair, our bodies slammed together as the kiss grew hot, hotter, bordered on brutal. His hot, vicious mouth brought a delicious flare of warmth straight to my center.

His hands tugged at my shirt, pulled it from the waistband of my pants. His long fingers stroked at the sensitive flesh exposed. I twisted away, breath shuddering in my lungs, hands splayed across his chest.

“Cole,” I gasped. “We can’t. It’s only another day until he strikes again. We have to—“

“We have to do this. Now, right now,” he muttered. “Killers be damned.” With one fluid motion, he scooped me up, carried me the few yards into his bedroom, where he deposited me on his king-sized bed as if I weighed no more than a feather. In the pale lamplight, I saw the bed rested on a platform, facing a massive picture window. In a fireplace directly across, wood sizzled.

“Cole,” I said, and in the next instant he’d pulled my shirt over my head, flung it across the room. He fumbled with the straps on my bra and it followed the shirt. His dark head bent, he flicked his tongue across my nipples, already pink and swollen with desire. He lifted his head, and I caught a gleam of triumph in those black eyes.

“You want me,” he rasped. “Admit it.”

“I don—oh, hell, what’s the use.”

I wrapped my arms around him, rolled on top of him and fastened my mouth to his. My need for release was suddenly driving and fierce. He peeled my pants, flicked them across the room, and removed his own. A moment later we were both totally naked, entwined on top of his satin comforter.

“This,” I wheezed, “Is entirely against my better judgment.”

“Has anyone ever remarked on the fact you talk way too much?” he growled. “Judgment be damned.”  And he lowered his head again, took my breast into his mouth. I writhed against him as he suckled at it, my hands twining in his hair as shudder after shudder of exquisite pleasure coursed through me. My eyes glazed over. He pressed his palm against the mound between my legs. He slid his finger down, over me, into me. The sensation was liquid hot, and we both groaned together as he found me, hot, wet, and tight. His head came up, and I caught the look of surprise in his eyes.

“Never before,” he murmured.

“No,” I whispered against his shoulder. “You’re the first. First ever.”

“A virgin,” he murmured again. “You’re what? Twenty-one? Two?”

“You know full well I’m twenty-five,” I gasped. “Does it matter?”

He smiled. “Darling Morgan, no. Not to me.”

I fisted my hand in his hair. “Do it. Please. Please.”

He dragged me up so I knelt, my head on his shoulder. “Are you certain?”

I reared my head back. “Cole, if you stop now—dammit, you really are a bastard!”

He laughed again, and bent, his incisors lightly grazing my neck. “You’ve got to stop with all this sweet talk.” He tilted my face to his. “Don’t worry. It was just a nip. I would never—do that to you.”

I stared into his eyes, into what I saw there. “I know,” I murmured.

My hands raced over him, my body arched forward. He lifted my hips, ground himself against me. I felt a little pop! A giant wave of desire washed over me, and I thought I would drown, drown, in those black eyes, as Cole and I rode a wave of pleasure together…

***

At first Margit thought it all a bad dream. Her head spun, and when she tried to lift it, she found she couldn’t move. Panic rushed in. Her hands were bound. Feet too. A vague, faraway pain nipped her as the leather bit into her wrists and ankles. Breath sobbed out of her as she struggled.

She managed to turn her head. Shadows sifted through the room, which didn’t appear to be very big. She saw a tripod with gleaming candles at one end, and a door at the other. The door opened, and a figure stepped out. She gasped as it approached. It wore a mask, the head of a boar.