Circle of Blood: A Witch Hunt Novel

by Debbie Viguié

  “I only get glimpses of it, images in my nightmares. I have no idea what really happened; why?”

  Desdemona dropped her eyes to the floor beneath them. “Neither do I,” she whispered.

  “What! How is that possible?” Samantha demanded, shaken out of her calm.

  Desdemona lifted her head again. “I, too, only get glimpses, brief images that I can’t really put together.”

  There was a long silence, which Samantha finally broke. “You mean neither of us truly knows what happened on the most pivotal day of our lives?”

  “I guess not.”

  It seemed incredible. Desdemona had always assumed that had been the day she’d lost control, really lost it, and Samantha had been born. Maybe that wasn’t true, though. It didn’t matter. She was the one in charge now.

  Freaky growled nearby, snapping Desdemona back into the real world and out of her own mind. She glanced around, disoriented, trying to figure out what had set off the panther.

  Then she could sense it, a disruption in the flow of energy around her that told her there was another nearby who had power.

  She launched herself to a standing position and ran down the stairs. The sensation was fading. Whoever was nearby was leaving. She burst out the front door and looked around. At the rate the energy ripple was fading, the person was trying to get away quickly.

  She could give chase, but why wear herself down like that? Besides, the person might be trying to lead her into a trap. She headed back inside and grabbed a bag of supplies she had acquired before arriving in the city. She removed a white candle, a yellow candle, and a red candle and placed them on the kitchen table, the yellow candle next to the white and the red a distance away.

  “I am the white candle. I am fixed. I seek truth, movement. The red candle is the one with power, who was here, who is now running away. You will come to me.”

  She waved her hands and all three candles lit, flames stretching for the sky. She snapped her fingers and the red candle began to slide across the table toward the white one. It was moving fast. The runner was not far away.

  Desdemona turned and went back to the front door. Energy rippled in the air. She waited a moment and then opened the door to see a frightened and confused-looking child racing up the steps. She stood back and let the girl run inside.

  Once she was in, her running ceased and over her shoulder Desdemona could see the three candles on the table go out. Spell accomplished.

  “Who are you? How did you do that?” the girl, who looked about fourteen, demanded.

  “I think you already know how, at least, in the most general sense,” Desdemona said. “As for the rest, I’ll be asking the questions. Who are you?”

  “Nala,” the girl said sullenly, shoving her hands into the pockets of an overly large man’s trench coat. Underneath, her clothes were a bit ragged, but the coat was fairly new.

  “Are you a witch, Nala?”

  “No! I’m not, okay! I wish everyone would stop asking me if I’m a witch!”

  “What are you, then?”

  “I’m nothing, nobody, just a street kid.”

  “With powers,” Desdemona noted.

  Nala hunched her shoulders. “I don’t even really know how to use them. There’s some stuff, but it’s like it just sort of happens. Like an accident or something.”

  “With powers like that, there’s no reason you have to live on the streets.”

  “I told you, I don’t understand them. I don’t know how they work. The only thing I can do well is beg for food and sometimes money to buy food.”

  “You could use those powers of persuasion to get bigger things.”

  “Yeah, well, if it’s so easy, let’s see you do it,” Nala said.

  “Do jumping jacks. Don’t stop until I tell you,” Desdemona said, letting her words, her intention wash over Nala.

  The girl gasped and then began to do the jumping jacks.

  “No fair!” Nala said.

  “Life isn’t fair.”

  “I want to stop.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll keep going until I’m done with you. Tell me, Nala, where are you from?”

  “Here.”

  “A native. How refreshing. Where are your parents?”

  “Dead. They were killed in Katrina, okay?”

  “And I’m guessing no other family, hence the reason you’re on the street,” Desdemona mused. “Which one of your parents had powers?”

  “I don’t know. Neither. They never talked about it if they did.”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed a lot of people with power have been arriving in the city recently.”

  “Of course I have,” Nala said, starting to pant a little. “Can I stop?”

  “Not yet. Be grateful. I could always make you do them faster,” Desdemona said.

  “You’re a terrible person!”

  “Back to the matter at hand. Why were you here?”

  “I was looking for you, but then when I got close . . . I got scared. Something is wrong with you. I could feel it.”

  Desdemona’s temper flared. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” she hissed. “Why were you looking for me?”

  “I thought you might be able to tell me . . . ,” Nala started, then took a few gasping breaths as she continued her jumping jacks. “What happened to my friends.”

  “What friends?”

  “At the theme park.”

  “Stop.”

  Nala collapsed on the floor, groaning and clutching her side.

  “You had friends at the theme park?”

  “Yeah, some people in the same boat as me. Some of us had been living there awhile. I went out to get food. I’m the best at it. When I got back there—”

  Nala bit her lip and turned away, but not before Desdemona saw the tears forming in the girl’s eyes. “Something killed them all.”

  “And what makes you think I can tell you anything about that?” she asked.

  “The taximan said so.”

  Desdemona yanked Nala to her feet and stared into her eyes. “The taximan?”

  “Yeah, big dude with dreadlocks, weird, low voice. He said you would know what happened. He said if I found you that you could tell me the truth. He also said I might not want to find you. Boy, was he right!”

  Desdemona dropped Nala back onto the floor. “And he told you how to find me?”

  “Yes, described the house real good, even gave me a ride and dropped me off a few blocks away.”

  “And just how did he know that?” Desdemona mused. She’d gotten into his taxi downtown and had never told him her name or where she was living. He couldn’t have followed her home; she would have sensed something.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. I didn’t ask. He didn’t say. Please, can you tell me what happened at that place, though?”

  “Were there any of the others missing, out hunting for food, perhaps?”

  “No, just me.”

  The tears were flowing freely down the girl’s cheeks now.

  “A witch ripped their power from them. When she did, it killed them.”

  The girl sobbed. “Why? Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Desdemona asked, blinking down at her. “To get more power.”

  “I hate the power! I hate what it does to people!” Nala shouted.

  “Only some,” Desdemona mused.

  “You’re a witch.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you the one who killed them?”

  “No, but I’ve been hunting for the one who did. Maybe you’ve seen her somewhere around town? Long black hair. One of the younger boys at the theme park told me before he died that she’d come around before. He said her hair was black as the night.”

  Nala shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen her. But I’m gone a lot during the day, so if she came then . . .”

  “So now I have two mysteries to solve. The identity of this woman and just how it was that the taximan knew where to find m
e.”

  “Don’t hurt him. He seemed creepy, but I think he’s basically an okay guy. He didn’t charge me anything for giving me a ride way out here.”

  Desdemona looked at the girl. A street kid like her, native to the city, would make an excellent spy. “It’s very important that I find the witch who killed your friends,” she said.

  “Did she kill your friends, too?” Nala asked.

  “In a manner of speaking. I know that she’s here, but I have been unable to locate her.”

  “So you want my help finding her?”

  “Yes. I’d be willing to pay you for it.”

  Nala shook her head. “I just want to make sure she gets what’s coming to her. She killed my friends. A bunch of homeless people—cops won’t try too hard to solve that one.”

  “I can guarantee you that when I find her, she will get everything that’s coming to her,” Desdemona said through gritted teeth.

  “Count me in.” Nala wiped a hand across her nose. “Since we’re going to be working together, could I . . . um . . . use your bathroom?”

  “Down the hall to the right.”

  The girl took off and Desdemona went into the kitchen. She removed the red candle in her bag and substituted it for an orange one to symbolize the taxi driver.

  “I am fixed. The driver is not. He must come to me.” She waved her hand, and the candles lit up. She snapped her fingers.

  Nothing happened.

  A moment later the flames snuffed themselves out and she cursed under her breath. There was some form of magic protecting the driver, even though he had no power of his own. Since she couldn’t compel him to come to her, she would have to go to him.

  A couple of minutes later Nala was back and her face and hands were scrubbed clean. The girl was rail thin, her cheeks pinched.

  “Did the driver give you anything of his, a card by any chance?” Desdemona asked.

  The girl nodded, reached into her pocket, and pulled it out. She handed it to Desdemona, who read it over.

  “I’ve got to leave for a little while. Help yourself to some food in the refrigerator, but be gone by the time I get back.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t go upstairs. Trust me, you would not like what you’d find up there,” she said, thinking about Freaky.

  Nala nodded. If the girl listened, great. If not and she violated his space, Freaky would have a new chew toy.

  Desdemona left the house and decided to take her car. She didn’t know how far she would be going. She didn’t dare try to call the number on the card; the driver was probably already leery of her. Her best bet was to surprise him.

  She drew an arrow on the back of the card with a pen from her glove compartment. Then she placed the card on her dashboard. With her hand on it she said, “Take me to the man who gave the child this card. Let the arrow point the way.”

  Energy flowed out of her and into the card, which began to vibrate. A moment later, it spun slowly to the east. Samantha started the car and headed out. The card turned out to be trickier to follow than she would have liked. It was pointing the literal direction as the crow would fly to the man she sought, but she was constrained to drive on the existing streets.

  At one point she worried that the driver might still be working for the day, on the move, but the card consistently seemed to point to the east. After several miles and a hundred course corrections, she finally pulled onto a residential street. The card held true, the arrow pointing straight down the street.

  She drove slowly, sensing that she was close, and the arrow started to angle toward the right. She slowed even further. At last the card swiveled and pointed directly at a house as she was passing it. She pulled over to the curb, parked, and got out of the car.

  Martin had been the name on the front of the card. This must be his house and he should be home. She walked slowly up the drive, reaching out with her senses. She couldn’t feel anyone of power anywhere nearby. She extended her reach, trying to sense the people in their houses, see how many were actually home. It seemed most were vacant for the moment, but there was definitely one person present in Martin’s house.

  She walked up onto the porch. She noticed some symbols carved into the door. They were unfamiliar to her, but she had a suspicion they were used to ward off some sort of evil spirit. She couldn’t be sure, but it made logical sense.

  Superstition ran deep in this area, and given what she’d seen happen to Martin earlier, he had every reason to believe.

  She reached out and rang the doorbell. She could hear footsteps inside and a moment later the door opened wide. Martin was standing there, a smile on his face, which instantly changed to one of terror.

  “Get away from me, witch!” he screamed as he leaped back and tried to slam the door.

  She shoved the door, hard enough to send him flying backward. He landed on the floor and began to scrabble away from her. She closed the door behind her and leaned down.

  “Hello, Martin. It’s about time you and I had a little chat. You’ve got a lot of questions to answer. Start with how you knew where I lived and why you sent the girl there.”

  “Go, please, go. You have to get out of here,” Martin begged, fear contorting his features.

  “I don’t think so. Tell me what I want to know,” she threatened, a fireball forming on her fingertips without her even thinking about it.

  “You don’t understand. You must leave this place, quickly. I can’t be here. You can’t be here.”

  “Why, expecting company?” she asked. “How did you know something bad was going to happen at the amusement park? Are you in league with that witch?”

  “Please, go. Run!”

  “Answer me!” she screamed.

  His eyes flew open wide and she realized it wasn’t her that he was afraid of. “No, he’s coming. I can’t stop it. He’s coming.”

  “Who is coming?”

  She heard a soft thud and looked down. The little red bag had fallen from his pocket and onto the floor.

  He saw it, too, and he began to scream.

  “What is it?” Desdemona shouted.

  “You don’t understand. He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s—”

  “Here,” a deep, gravelly voice said from out of Martin’s body.

  5

  Desdemona stared warily. It was the same voice that had spoken to her, warned her in the parking lot of the theme park.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “One who knows more than you do, witch.”

  “Earlier today you warned me not to go into the theme park. Did you know what would happen? Did you know that the other witch was going to kill all those people by stripping them of their powers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you working with her or for her?”

  “No.”

  “Are you opposing her?”

  There was a deep laugh. “No.”

  “Do you know who she is, where she is now?”

  “These things are not for you to know,” the voice told her, growing even deeper and raspier.

  “I need to find her. I need to kill her.”

  “Someone needs to, but that is not for you to do. She will only kill you. You are weak.”

  Desdemona raised her chin defiantly. “I was strong enough to survive her attack today. That’s something you didn’t see.”

  “True, but I do not think it was you who saved yourself. There were others, yes, who gave their lives, and one who showed you the way.”

  He was talking about Samantha. It was all Desdemona could do not to fling herself at him and rip him to pieces. But it was clear that Martin was not the one speaking. The entity speaking through him would be unharmed by her attack on the driver.

  Her eyes drifted to the red packet that had fallen out of Martin’s pocket for the second time in one day.

  Pick it up, she heard a voice whisper inside.

  She ignored it. “What are you, a spirit of some sort?”

  I
t laughed and the sound was raw, sinister. It was enough to unnerve even her.

  “One could call me an eternal companion.”

  “You’re attached to Martin, correct?”

  “True.”

  Pick up the bag! the voice inside shouted.

  Still, she ignored it. “Why did you warn me today?” she asked.

  “There was no need for you to die there, not a pretty young witch like you, bursting with power, potential.”

  She felt something brush the back of her neck. She spun around, but there was nothing there. She turned back to stare at Martin, or rather, the creature talking through him. “Why not warn the others?”

  “Not important.”

  Something touched her cheek and she reached up to slap whatever it was, but there was nothing there.

  The bag! her inner voice was screaming.

  “But you, there are so many better uses for you,” the voice said, more gravelly than before.

  And she felt a shadow falling across her, even though she couldn’t see anything.

  Bag!

  She dropped to the floor and snatched up the bag and she heard a screaming sound in her ear and felt hot breath across the back of her neck.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, witch!” the entity hissed, anger in its voice.

  It had been trying to possess her. That’s what the inner voice had been warning her about. She stood slowly, the bag in her right hand, her eyes fixed on Martin’s face.

  “There’re enough of us in here already without adding another,” she said.

  The spirit chuckled. “You are both correct and incorrect.”

  She didn’t bother asking it for clarification. While she had its attention, she decided to jump right to the question that mattered most. “Tell me where to find the witch.”

  “I told you, that’s not for you to know.”

  “But I wish to know. I need to know. She will pay for what she has done to me.”

  “Why should I tell you?” the thing asked.

  “Because, if you don’t, I’ll kill your host. Then you’ll be stuck.”

  She was bluffing. She didn’t know if it was true or if he would just be able to find another body, another person to torment and possess. Something told her, though, that if it was that easy he would already have abandoned Martin.