by Terri Reid
“Unleashed it?” Joseph asked.
“Opened a portal from wherever it had been into our world,” Hazel said. “Where it could destroy the people of Whitewater and then move on from there.”
“It had to be defeated,” Henry continued. “But the only way to defeat it was for three sisters, The Willoughby sisters, to work together and cast a spell on the creature that would bind it for one hundred and twenty years. They knew in order for the spell to work, there would have to be a sacrifice. In this case, the sacrifice was their lives.”
“Before the sisters placed the spell on the demon, they had their family move away from the city,” Agnes said. “Not only to escape the repercussions if something went wrong with the spell, but also to escape the hard feelings from the other coven in the area.”
“There were two covens in Whitewater?” Joseph asked.
“Well, it used to be one,” Cat replied. “Until many of the members thought they could control the demon and use its power to influence the world around them.”
“What happened to the other coven?” Joseph asked.
“It’s alive and well in Whitewater,” Hazel said. “Alive and well and busy moving pickup trucks.”
“So, this feud has been going on for a hundred years?” he asked.
Hazel shook her head. “No, actually, we’ve lived side-by-side for a long time with no problems,” she replied. “Well, little problems, but nothing we couldn’t handle. The stakes have been upped recently.”
“What do you mean by that? Upped?” Joseph asked.
“One of the members shot Henry,” Rowan said. “Because they found out he was a part of this.”
“Shot?” Joseph repeated, incredulous.
“In the chest,” Hazel added. “It wasn’t a warning shot.”
“Did you call the police?” Joseph asked.
“Did you know that the former police chief was actually the uncle of the man who shot Henry?” Rowan asked. “And when he came to the hospital, he told us he had witnesses that saw Henry shoot himself.”
Joseph looked at Henry. “It’s pretty damn hard to shoot yourself in the chest,” he said sarcastically.
“Tell me about it,” Henry replied.
“I do know that the old police chief ended up in prison,” he said. “But it was for drugs, not…”
“Being a member of a coven who wants to unleash a demon?” Hazel inserted.
Nodding, Joseph smiled. “I could see how that would be a hard offense to prosecute.” Then he began to feel a pit in his stomach, as if he knew the answer but was loath to ask the question. “But, why all of a sudden? If things were quiet, why are they bringing this up now?”
“The one hundred and twenty years are over,” Agnes said. “And my daughters are the chosen ones destined to fight the demon.”
Fear increased the pit in his stomach, he looked across the room and met Hazel’s eyes. “Tell me it’s a lie,” he pleaded.
Her eyes filled with sadness and she barely shook her head, but he knew that everything they’d told him was the truth.
Chapter Seventeen
“So, tell me about the explosion,” Joseph insisted. “And don’t leave anything out.”
“Explosion?” Henry exclaimed, looking around the room at all of the Willoughbys. “Explosion?”
“The store exploded,” Cat said, trying for a casual shrug, but still quaking on the inside. “But Hazel was able to protect me and undo the damage.”
“We’re fine,” Rowan said, placing her hand on Henry’s arm. “Really. We’re all fine.”
“Fine? You’re all fine?” Henry raged. “Cat was nearly killed. Your store blown up. And just because no one died you think you’re fine?” He turned to Joseph. “This is attempted murder, isn’t it?”
“Well, it depends on if it happened or not,” he said slowly. “So, let’s start from the beginning.”
“Okay, that would be me,” Hazel said. “You called me and asked me about the fire.”
Joseph nodded. “I heard over dispatch that there was a fire at the Willoughby store, so I called you.”
“And then the store exploded,” Hazel said.
“Wait,” Henry interrupted. “Someone called the fire in before it happened?”
“Yeah, that’s more than a little suspicious,” Joseph said to Henry. “Which is why I called dispatch to have them check on the caller i.d. on that call.” He turned to back to Hazel. “Okay, so the last thing I knew was I heard an explosion and then you must have dropped your phone.”
She winced and nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t even think of that,” she said. “I heard the explosion and immediately put a shield around Cat to protect her.”
“Put a shield?” Joseph asked.
Henry sent Joseph a sympathetic smile. “Been there, felt that,” he said. “Let me give you a little advice here, you need to suspend disbelief and open yourself up to possibilities that you’d never imagined.”
“Thank you,” Joseph replied, with a thoughtful nod. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned back to Hazel. “A shield?”
She shrugged. “A picture is worth a thousand words,” she muttered and then she waved her arm in his direction. “Bacainn!”
As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she picked up a pillow and whipped it in his direction. Joseph ducked, but then stared wide-eyed when the pillow stopped six-inches from his face and slid to the ground. “Do that again,” he insisted.
Smiling, she threw another pillow at him and once again, it hit an invisible barrier and slid down.
“That’s amazing,” he said.
Secretly waving her arm and dispelling the shield, she grinned at Joseph, “How about one more for good luck?” she asked sweetly.
Joseph shrugged. “Lay it on me,” he encouraged.
Like a fabric football, Hazel hiked a bolster pillow over her shoulder at Joseph. Smiling confidently, he watched it sail through the air towards him and finally, at the last moment, his eyes widened in surprise when he realized it wasn’t going to stop. The pillow caught him right in the middle of his face and knocked him backwards in the chair.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, pushing the pillow off his lap.
Hazel’s grin widened. “Oh, sorry, I guess I forgot to tell you that I ended the spell,” she said, biting back the laughter.
“I guess you did,” he replied, then, quick as a wink, he threw the pillow back at her.
She caught it before it hit her and laughed delightedly. “How did I know you were going to do that?” she asked.
“Because you would have done the exact same thing?” he asked.
She nodded. “Exactly,” she said and then her smiled lessened. “So, do you believe that we are unique?”
He met her eyes. “I knew you were unique the moment I saw you,” he said softly, and Hazel felt a thrill shoot through her. Then he turned to the rest of the family. “But, yes, I believe you and the rest of your family have special powers that go beyond usual capabilities.”
Hazel took a deep breath and then continued, “Once I sent the shield, I started to run towards the store,” she said. “I pass Mom and Rowan who are running from the house. I tell Rowan to call Henry and get him back home.”
“Why?” Joseph asked.
Hazel shook her head. “What?”
“Why did you want Rowan to call Henry?” he asked.
“Because I didn’t know what I was going to find once I entered the store,” she explained. “And they’re both healers. In case…” She paused, glanced over at Cat and her eyes filled with tears. “In case…”
She stopped, closed her eyes, and shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she placed her hand over her mouth.
Cat walked over to her sister, sat down next to her and hugged her. “What she’s trying to say is that she didn’t know if her shield was fast enough,” Cat explained. “But it was. It was perfect.”
Hazel looked up at her sister, tears streaming down h
er face. “I was so afraid,” she admitted. “So afraid that I was too late. And I would have been if you hadn’t been under your desk.”
“Why were you under your desk?” Agnes asked.
“I heard a voice telling me to run and hide,” she replied.
“Whose voice?” Joseph asked.
Cat took a deep breath. “I think it was Donovan,” she replied. “I nearly didn’t do it because of spite, but I could sense the urgency and it frightened me.”
“Donovan?” Joseph asked.
“Donovan Farrington,” Cat said.
Joseph cocked his head to the side and nodded slowly. “Well, isn’t that interesting,” he said. “Because Donovan Farrington was the name of the person who called 9-1-1 about the fire.”
Chapter Eighteen
Donovan stared at the name etched into the gold plate on the heavy oak door with a feeling of trepidation. Mayor Edgar Bates. He’d received a succinct text “Come to my office now,” from the mayor only a few minutes ago and, although it went against every fiber of his being to respond to an order, he knew he had no choice. City Hall was deserted, as it was well after business hours, so he knew that he and the mayor were the only witnesses to the clandestine meeting.
He lifted his hand and rapped on the oak door.
“Enter,” came the terse reply from inside.
Donovan opened the door and looked over at the mayor sitting behind his large desk. Edgar Bates, a stout man with graying temples, slowly looked up and met Donovan’s eyes. There was little in the mayor’s appearance to intimidate, he was about five feet ten inches, much shorter than Donovan. His portly physique might have at one time been muscular, but now it was flaccid and soft. His hairline had receded to the back of his head and his eyes were hidden behind a thick pair of dark-rimmed glasses. No, there was nothing that was intimidating unless you looked behind those glasses and into his eyes. There, lurking within the calm, placid deportment of a small-town politician was madness. Madness, Donovan was sure, that was put there by the influence of the Master.
“Mr. Mayor,” Donovan said respectfully. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Donovan,” the mayor replied pleasantly. “Do come in and close the door behind you.”
Donovan closed the door and was startled when the deadbolt slipped into place without his help. He looked over his shoulder at the mayor.
“I just wanted to make sure we weren’t disturbed,” the mayor remarked, templing his fingers as he waited for Donovan to walk across the room. “Please sit down. We have much to discuss.”
Donovan approached the desk, but before he could sit, the mayor spoke again.
“I heard something that disappointed me, Donovan,” the mayor said, slowly standing. “And you know how I hate to be disappointed.”
Stopping, his hands resting on the back of the chair, Donovan replied, “Yes, sir, I do.”
The mayor’s face darkened, and his lips tightened in rage. “Then why the hell do you continue to disappoint me?” he shouted. With a wave of the mayor’s hand, Donovan was thrown against the wall on the side of the office and held there forcefully. His cheek was crushed against the exposed brick wall and his arms and legs were immobilized.
“I don’t like when people lie to me!” the mayor screamed.
Suddenly Donovan felt the searing pan of whips lashing against his back underneath his clothing. He bit back a groan and clenched his jaw as a second strike slashed his skin.
“I didn’t lie to you,” he spit out through clenched teeth.
“You called 9-1-1 about the fire at the Willoughbys,” the mayor accused.
“Yes, I did,” Donovan said, bracing for another hit.
“You admit to it?” the mayor asked, surprised.
“Of course, I do,” Donovan said. “I had to do it. You forced my hand.”
“What are you talking about, Donovan?” the mayor exclaimed. “And don’t try lying, I don’t have any patience left.”
“You told me to retain my relationship with the Willoughbys,” he gasped. “I was out at the store today, trying to get Cat to tell me what they were planning to do. When I heard about the plan, I realized that I would be the number one suspect. So, I called 9-1-1 in order to be able to verify where I was before the explosion.”
“Who told you about the plan?” the mayor asked.
Donovan felt himself released from the hold against the wall. He turned around and faced the mayor. “That’s not information I’m going to share,” he said. “The question is, why didn’t you tell me about the plan?”
“I don’t have any obligation to tell you anything, young man,” the mayor snapped.
“No, you don’t,” Donovan agreed. “But if you want this plan to work, we’d better be working as a team.”
The mayor eyed him suspiciously. “Are we on the same team, Donovan?”
“Haven’t I proved my loyalty to you yet?’ Donovan replied. “I took care of Stoughton and the Abbotts, and I gave you the credit.”
The mayor nodded. “Yes. Yes, you did,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “And you showed a great deal of wisdom and refinement in the handling of that situation.”
“Even though Buck Abbott told me that the Master had chosen him for his first in command,” Donovan said, watching the mayor’s eyes narrow in reaction. “I still did what I thought was right for the good of our coven.”
“I didn’t realize young Abbott had those kinds of aspirations,” the mayor replied. “Wanda never mentioned that to me during our tete -tetes.”
Donovan suppressed a shudder at the thought of what those meetings between Wanda and the mayor would look like. He understood very well that Wanda had no qualms in using her very obvious charms to get what she wanted. And now, she wanted power and revenge.
He shrugged. “Perhaps she didn’t know,” he replied. “She wasn’t always at the meetings.”
The mayor stared at him and then shook his head. “Why such loyalty?” he asked. “You defend her when I mention that she hasn’t been honest with me and you protect her when I ask you to name the person who told you about the plan.”
Donovan kept his face expressionless. “I told you that I wasn’t going to mention anyone’s name,” he said, deciding that the mayor was fishing for information. “That’s not how I operate.”
The mayor chuckled softly. “You’re an honorable man, Donovan,” he finally said. Then the smile left his face and he met Donovan’s eyes. “And I hope your honor doesn’t eventually cost you your life.”
Chapter Nineteen
Donovan stepped out of the City Hall to find a very large police officer standing next to his car. Great! he thought, What now?
He hurried to the curb. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to tamp down the frustration in his voice. “But my car is parked legally. It was after 4 P.M. when I parked here and the no parking restrictions only last until four.”
Joseph turned and looked down at Donovan, an experience Donovan was unused to. “Are you Donovan Farrington?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” Donovan answered. “What do you…”
“I’d like to speak with you,” Joseph interrupted, glancing around the area. “Privately.” He paused and met Donovan’s eyes. “Very privately.”
“And you are?”
“Police Chief Joseph Norwalk,” Joseph answered quietly. “Where would you like to meet?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Donovan saw the curtain move in the mayor’s office on the second floor.
“Damn,” he whispered. The mayor was watching their encounter.
“Write me a ticket,” Donovan ordered quietly.
Joseph indiscernibly lifted his glance, then met Donovan’s eyes and then pulled out his pad and started writing a ticket. He walked to the back of the car, pointing to the license plate, intimating that it was expired. Donovan followed and shook his head.
“I’m arguing with you, so you can bring me in,” Donovan said, his actions and his face in direct
opposition to his words.
Joseph nodded slowly. “You want to take a swing at me?” he asked. “That would end it right away.”
Donovan choked back a laugh. “I may be stupid, but I’m not an idiot,” Donovan replied. “No one in their right mind would believe that I’d pick a fight with you.”
“What if I told you that I thought Cat Willoughby was a liar?” he asked.
Without thought, Donovan swung a fist at Joseph’s chin. Joseph caught it easily and twisted Donovan’s arm behind his back, pinning him to the side of his car. The pressure on his wounded back caused Donovan to grunt in pain and Joseph saw the welts through the thinness of Donovan’s white shirt.
“What the hell?” he asked, astonished.
“I’ll explain later,” Donovan said through clenched teeth. “Just put the cuffs on me and get me out of here.”
Joseph loosely put the cuffs on him, led him to his cruiser and put him in the back seat, then he climbed into the front seat and pulled away from the curb. “He saw it all,” Joseph said. “The curtain closed as we pulled away.”
Easily pulling his hands out of the cuffs, Donovan leaned forward and dropped them in the passenger’s seat. “How well do you trust the people in your command?” Donovan asked.
Joseph shook his head. “I don’t really know most of them,” he said. “They seem like good officers, but I’m not sure about loyalty yet.” He glanced back through his rearview. “I take it that I can’t take you to the hospital.”
Donovan shook his head. “No, that’s wouldn’t be wise,” he replied.
“Okay, well, then my hands are tied,” Joseph said and turned the vehicle onto the highway. “There’s only one place I know where I can’t get answers and you can get help.”
Donovan shook his head. “Don’t take me there,” he said. “It’s not safe for them.”
“Is the mayor following you?” Joseph asked.
Shaking his head, Donovan still glanced out the back window to be sure. “No, I don’t think he’s going that far,” he said.
“But he knew you were the one who called 9-1-1,” Joseph said.
