She pulled the body off her car, letting it slide to the ground. She stared intently at his face, but there was no recognition whatsoever. He was a stranger to her.
And now he was just another body to dispose of.
No, wait! her inner voice pleaded, but it was too late as Desdemona dropped a fireball on his body as she had on the one in the alley that morning. Her thoughts flashed to the man she had been following then, the one who claimed to be a Druid. What was his part in all of this? Why had this man attacked Nala?
She felt she could only see half a dozen pieces of a giant puzzle, and it was frustrating. She had once heard that if you put too many rats in a cage together, they would shortly turn on one another. Was the same thing happening here with people with powers?
If that was the case, though, how did that explain how the teens and homeless had been able to live together at the theme park before they’d been slaughtered? Maybe it was because they weren’t alpha types.
When the body had finished burning, she turned back to Nala, who was staring, openmouthed, in horror at her. “Why—why did you do that?” the girl stammered.
“I wasn’t in the mood to answer a bunch of questions for the police. Were you?” Desdemona asked.
Nala shook her head fiercely.
“All right, then.” She crossed back over to the girl and sat down again. “Did he say anything else to you?”
“No.”
“Were his movements natural or more jerky?”
Nala frowned, as if concentrating. “I think they were natural. Why?”
“Just making sure he wasn’t being controlled by someone.”
“What do you mean?”
Desdemona sighed. “It’s possible for a very powerful witch to puppeteer another, even from a distance.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’ve seen it.”
Or, at least, her other self had, and the images had been horrific enough that Desdemona had had a couple of nightmares about them. It seemed like a strange attack, especially given that it had happened to Nala and so close to Desdemona’s home. Then there was the fact that her other self kept insisting that Nala was lying about what had really happened.
The girl seemed sincere enough, though, and given the burst of power she’d accidentally shown when panicked, Desdemona didn’t want to risk terrorizing her more or triggering that power again by taking a walk through her memories of the event.
The sun was starting to set. It had been a long, crazy day and it was nowhere near over yet. She still needed time to focus and recharge before heading to the cemetery. She struggled with trying to decide what to do.
With Claudia it had been simple. Once she’d decided to let her live, she just needed to scare her. With Nala it was more complicated, though, and she had a feeling if she tried to scare the girl she would just make things worse. She couldn’t just ignore her, though, not until she got to the bottom of everything. That guy going after her on the same day that the witch had killed everyone else who was part of Nala’s group couldn’t be a coincidence.
It was possible that the witch wanted Nala or her powers.
“We need to talk tomorrow. Do you have someplace you can go tonight?” Desdemona asked. Just because she wanted to keep an eye on the girl didn’t mean she wanted her in her home, particularly with what the night might hold. If she was lucky, she’d kill the witch tonight and she’d never have to see Nala again.
Nala wiped her eyes and nose on the back of her sleeve. “Yeah, I know a place.”
“Good,” she said, feeling relieved. “Do you need help getting there?”
Nala shook her head. “It’s not that far.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, all right?”
Nala nodded and stood shakily. “Thanks for . . . everything,” she said.
Desdemona couldn’t help noticing that Nala was avoiding looking at her car or the pile of ash on the ground next to it.
Watch her, the inner voice urged.
Desdemona shook her head. She didn’t have the time. She had bigger goals in mind for the evening than babysitting some kid who had just contributed to killing some guy.
“Okay, then. Be safe,” she told Nala.
She waited until Nala turned and began walking down the street. Then she moved around to her car, opened the door, and moved her hand in a sweeping motion. All the broken glass flew outside and deposited itself on the ground. After a moment’s thought she blew the remaining glass out of the windshield and it made a tinkling sound as it, too, fell to the ground.
She got into the car, grateful that she didn’t have far to go. She held her hands up to where the windshield had been and pushed energy out of them, creating a simple ward that would block the wind from coming through and stinging her eyes. It wouldn’t last at freeway speeds, but fortunately she didn’t need it to at the moment.
She made it into the house and Freaky leaped toward her. He planted his back paws on the floor, stood, and put his front ones on her shoulders and licked her.
“Down,” she said, wincing as his razorlike claws dug into her skin. He was bored. He needed to be let out so he could run, maybe hunt and kill something he’d never eat. That was the one problem with a big cat in a house, not enough space to really stretch his legs.
“Should I take you with me tonight, boy?” she asked.
The panther made a rumbling sound deep in his throat.
She looked down and realized there was dried blood on her clothes that must have splattered there when the guy crashed into the windshield. She headed upstairs and took a shower, trying to let the hot water soothe her as she attempted to clear her mind of all the distraction and clutter. It wasn’t as easy as she would have liked.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, she was still keyed up. She was going to have to do some serious work to get herself centered. The last thing she needed when going up against that witch was to be thinking about Claudia or Nala or Martin or the Druid. They were all distractions she needed to be able to free herself from. She glanced into the mirror over the sink and froze.
It wasn’t her reflection that was staring back at her. It looked like her, but it wasn’t. She was wearing a towel, her wet hair hanging free down her back. The image in the mirror was wearing a white dress, hair braided. Then she realized she was staring at Samantha as she had seen her earlier in her mind.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped. The lips in the mirror remained still.
“Nala was lying.” The lips in the mirror finally moved, forming the words that Desdemona heard as a breathy whisper.
“So what?”
“It’s important.”
“What was she lying about? And why would she?” Desdemona demanded.
“I don’t know why, but he did not attack her, not in the way she described.”
“Oh, expert on perverts, are you?”
“If he was attacking her sexually, and they both had powers, he would not have come at her with brute force. He would have tried to overpower her with magic. Or more realistically he would have tried to manipulate her mind and seduce her,” Samantha’s voice whispered.
“It makes no sense for her to lie about that.”
“She did not want you to know.”
“Didn’t want me to know what?” Desdemona asked. “What really happened?”
The image in the mirror nodded.
“But why? What could have really happened that she would want to hide?”
“Much,” came the whispered reply.
Desdemona could feel her frustration building. Samantha was the better detective, but how could she really use her without giving her more power? It wasn’t good that she already had enough to make herself seen in the reflection. That was more than Desdemona had ever been able to do all those years she’d been trapped, ignored, and forgotten.
“I can’t deal with this right now. I have to prepare. Hopefully, after tonight, I won’t have to care what
did or did not happen to Nala and whether or not she’s a liar.”
“You should not go to the cemetery,” Samantha whispered to her.
Desdemona laughed. “Oh, I’m going, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
She turned her back on the mirror and left the room. Inside the bedroom she glanced at the mirror and was relieved to see that Samantha hadn’t been able to follow.
As she contemplated the work ahead, she dressed in black clothing that would move easily with her. When she was done she went downstairs and opened her bag of supplies. She took out her athame and sharpened it. She probably wouldn’t need it, but she didn’t want to be without it in case she did. Next she removed a long black cloak that she could wear to help her blend even more into the shadows.
Regretfully she closed the bag, realizing that nothing else in it would likely be able to be used quickly enough to help. Growing up, she had learned a lot about sympathetic magic—the use of candles and poppets—but the time it would take to put those items into play would likely find her dead.
Then she went and sat down cross-legged in the living room and closed her eyes. She could hear Freaky patrolling the perimeter of the room, protecting her from any unwanted intruders. She slowly and deeply breathed in and out. With each breath she exhaled she envisioned exhaling fear, confusion, uncertainty, exhaustion, and chaos. With each breath she inhaled, she envisioned breathing in energy and power and fresh air, which cleared the cobwebs from her mind and helped her to focus only on what was actually true and important.
After about half an hour she could feel herself achieving a sense of calm and strength. She felt centered, focused, ready for the task at hand. She stood up slowly and Freaky padded over to her side.
She put a hand on his head. “You and me, boy, we’re going to finish this witch tonight,” she whispered.
She pulled up a map of the cemetery on her phone and was able to locate the tomb that she was looking for. The Voodoo Queen was supposedly interred in the Glapion family tomb, number 347.
When the time came, she and Freaky walked outside. Freaky jumped into the backseat and dutifully lay down. Desdemona created a new windshield for the car out of energy, similar to how she had created Freaky but simpler because it was an inanimate object. They arrived at the cemetery a little before eleven and parked where the car was likely to go unnoticed.
Saint Louis Cemetery Number One was the oldest of three Catholic cemeteries bearing similar names. The cemetery was only one square block, but it was crammed with tombs.
Desdemona stepped out of her car and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. Freaky leaped out on silent paws and the two walked together into the cemetery. As they passed down a row of tombs, she listened carefully but could hear no sounds. She was early, as she’d wanted to be.
Even as she drifted between the grisly monuments to death and decay, she couldn’t help wondering if the spirit had indeed been telling her the truth or instead luring her into some sort of trap.
She was on edge, despite her preparations. The cemetery was a desolate place at night, and there was something that just felt wrong about the entire thing. She stopped frequently to stretch out with her senses and see if she could hear or feel anything out of the ordinary.
Every time, though, it felt as though she couldn’t sense much of anything more than a few feet beyond herself. It almost felt as if a wet blanket had been draped over the entire place, which deadened and hampered the energy from flowing freely as it should. She wondered if it was some strange effect caused by the tombs or if there was magic at work that she just couldn’t sense.
Freaky seemed uneasy as well, looking over his shoulder every time she paused as though checking to make sure they weren’t being followed. His doing so added to her own sense of unease.
The tombs were all different heights, some much lower to the ground than she would have anticipated and others towering. It made it hard to see and also cast weird shapes, thanks to the moon gleaming above. She would almost rather have it be pitch-black than have to deal with the strange patterns of light and dark.
She found the Voodoo Queen’s tomb and she could see X’s marked on the side where people had indeed come hoping that the spirit would grant their wish. She wondered if that was why the witch she sought would be making a visit here tonight.
The entity that possessed Martin had told her the witch was coming to pay her respects to the Voodoo Queen. That seemed odd and Desdemona had assumed that she would be performing some kind of ritual here. Whatever it was, she’d have to be ready for her.
After having looked around for a few moments, Desdemona chose the tomb she was going to hide behind. It seemed rather futile, since the other witch was likely to feel her presence the moment she stepped into the cemetery. If she wasn’t coming alone, though, perhaps she would just assume it was one of her followers or intended victims.
You should leave. You don’t know enough, the voice whispered inside, and she would have given anything to still it forever.
Freaky lay down beside her, fading into a shadow so that all that could be seen of him were his glowing eyes.
As she crouched in the darkness and waited, Desdemona thought of all the other things she should have done before coming here. She could have checked in with Claudia, seen if the girl had heard anything. She could reach out now and touch her mind, but she was afraid of doing anything that would distract her even a fraction.
The minutes ticked by and slowly she became aware that she was not alone. The dead inside the tombs were whispering to her, telling her things about their lives and deaths that she’d rather not know. If anything she would have liked to know if Marie truly was buried in the tomb that she had seen. Apparently there was some dispute about whether that was her final resting place.
The bones or whatever was left at this point probably would have spoken to her and told her had she just stopped to listen. Had the other witch been here before? If so, she probably knew the truth. And if that was the case, then the bones were probably Marie’s, because who else would the witch care about?
Desdemona bared her teeth. It was fitting that the two of them should meet at last in a graveyard, given that the witch had left the picture for her in the graveyard in Salem. In the empty grave that had Desdemona’s name on it.
She could feel Freaky tensing. Something must be near. A moment later she sensed a change in the energy around her, a disturbance that only another with power could cause. She held her breath, wondering what would happen when the witch felt her presence.
The disturbance grew stronger. Desdemona was reasonably certain the witch wasn’t alone. That meant more to fight, but hopefully she could hide her presence longer.
She strained her senses and heard the barest whisper of movement. Her muscles were so tense, they were beginning to vibrate. She was not used to waiting like this, and the strain was beginning to take a toll.
Then she saw a flash of movement through the tombs. Freaky rose off the ground into a crouch, and she placed a hand on his head to restrain him. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring him.
Then she saw clearly in a shaft of moonlight three women walking. The first was shrouded in a black cloak and her movements were effortless, graceful. Desdemona was sure this was the witch she sought. Behind her trailed two others, girls who were clearly under her power. They moved stiffly, their movements not quite their own. Their heads were bowed and there were gags in their mouths. The first had pale hair that shimmered in the moonlight.
The second was Claudia.
7
Desdemona scowled, wondering how Claudia had been captured and what, if anything, she had told the witch about her. Her presence did solidify one thing in her mind. The witch had either known or suspected that Desdemona would be coming.
So far, though, she’d given no indication that she’d sensed Desdemona’s presence, so she stayed still in her hiding place, her hand on Freaky’s head, and watched to see what the w
itch would do next.
The small procession stopped in front of the Voodoo Queen’s crypt. Desdemona had a perfect vantage point from where she crouched in the darkness. The witch produced an athame from beneath her cloak.
“Give me your hand,” she said to the blond girl.
The girl held out her hand with the same jerky movements that proved she was being controlled. The witch sliced open her finger with the tip of the athame and then pulled the girl up next to the outside of the tomb and, grasping her hand, drew three large X’s with the girl’s blood.
She was making a petition after all, though something about the entire scene seemed false to Desdemona. Still, she watched, hoping to learn more about her enemy before she struck.
“O Marie Laveau, dark priestess, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, we come here tonight seeking your favor and asking that you grant us this boon,” the witch said in a high-pitched voice.
Run.
Desdemona didn’t have time for Samantha’s cowardice. She just wanted her to keep still so she could focus all her attention on the witch.
The witch knelt down in front of the tomb and lifted slender white arms skyward. “Listen to me, and answer the cry of one of the daughters of the darkness who has come before you in all humility to ask that your spirit move on my behalf.”
Run now.
Freaky began to stir and she willed him to be quiet. Maybe she should dispel his energy for the moment since he might give away their position.
“I ask that you restore to me everything that I have lost, and most important, O great Queen, I ask that you deliver my enemy into my hand.”
The witch rose and spun around. “Oh, look,” she said almost conversationally, “you already have.”
Before Desdemona could move, the doors on the crypts behind her exploded in a shower of debris, which rained down upon her. Freaky jumped out of the way with a growl and slunk away into the darkness. Desdemona stood, lunged forward, and then fell flat on her face. Something was gripping her ankles like a vise and had tripped her. She glanced over her shoulder, and what she saw sent a wave of terror through her.
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