The Witch Cave

by Sara Clancy

  Mina perked up, took in a deep breath, and continued. “Once I tracked down Christina’s personal correspondence, it became clear that the undertaker had refused to put the Bell Witch in holy ground. Instead, he and his assistant disposed of her in a cave. There are only a few caves in the area. Mostly small ones that are often used by hunters.”

  “I told her that one,” Basheba cut in. “So I helped and deserve half the credit.”

  “So acknowledged,” Mina said. “Plenty of unaccounted-for skeletons show up in the Witch Woods, but none of them could have been Katrina.”

  “How would you know that?” Ha-Yun asked.

  “The documentation of her death recorded her height and that she died at the drop, basically of a broken neck. None of the Jane Does have matched on both accounts,” Mina dismissed. “They must have hidden her in the underground catacombs. The Witch Caves are the easiest entrance point.”

  Percival gaped at her for a moment.

  “Admittedly, I’m not that great of a witch hunter, but research is my jam,” Mina said.

  “It’s been two-hundred years. There won’t be anything of her left.” Percival protested.

  Mina faltered for the first time. “There are numerous stories of witch’s corpses refusing to rot. I don’t know if there’s any truth to that, but something’s tethering her to the cave.”

  Ha-Yun choked on her words while searching for the best way to finish her sentence. “All of this hinges on the theory that, centuries ago, two men refused to do their job.”

  “The Winthrops have a few traditions we brought over from our tiny town in the old country. One is that you always bury a witch with a silver crucifix in her mouth.” Arching in his seat, Cadwyn sought out Percival’s eyes. “It wasn’t in either grave.”

  “And how would you know that?” Ethan asked.

  Basheba snorted, “Because I have a shovel and determination.”

  “You dug up her grave?” Percival’s nose scrunched up with disgust.

  “Graves,” Basheba stressed the plural while Cadwyn shook his head in bemusement.

  “It was a weird honeymoon,” he noted.

  Chapter 7

  Cadwyn ran his thumb across the smooth gold of his wedding ring before twisting it around his finger. Not willing to reveal any personal information to his patients, there were few occasions when he got to wear it. So few that it still felt a novelty months into his marriage. He liked the way the gold warmed to his body like a second skin, the constant weight of it, and the way it allowed him to indulge in a rather subtle nervous habit.

  The conversation continued in the back of the car. Once it had shifted from the overall plan, he decided that it didn’t need his input anymore. Mina and Ozzie could handle the finer points on their own. It gave him time to dwell on their marriage reveal. It hadn’t been as bad as he had expected. Even Percival had taken it in stride. Keeping the ring in motion, he watched Basheba from the corner of his eyes. She waved through the forest more by muscle memory than by sight. Completely undisturbed by both the fog and the chaos they had left behind.

  While he had been prepared for a few of his relatives to treat the marriage like he had somehow secured the queen from Isaac’s chessboard, he hadn’t been ready to see them revel in it. He knew that look. He had seen it in Isaac’s eyes the night Katrina’s cult came for them. Isaac had stood boldly beside the mob, demanding Basheba’s surrender without a hint of hesitation or shame. Because he’s done it all before. And people knew. Mina’s father had confessed as much, not only that he knew Isaac had been making deals with Katrina for his own safety, but that the Crane elders approved of it. What had cut Cadwyn the deepest was the man’s implication that they weren’t the only ones who knew and turned a blind eye.

  The families were supposed to rely on one another. It was a belief so ingrained within them that the Sewalls used it as their unofficial motto. And no one said a word, Cadwyn thought with bile rising in his throat. They saw the Bell line being carved down to nothing. They saw Basheba being selected twice for the Harvest while Isaac and his daughter remained blissfully safe. They saw him eroding the bloodline, and they said nothing. It was enough to leave a thick sludge of dread coating his stomach.

  Tapping his nail against the ring, he made a mental list of the relatives he’d seen with that same glint in their eyes. Each one undoubtedly saw Basheba as Isaac did. More a war dog than a young woman. Something dangerous to send charging at your enemies. Something useful and, ultimately, disposable. The list was longer than he was comfortable with. Anger bubbled through his veins as he resolved to pull each one aside and clearly explain the situation to them. Basheba wasn’t their weapon, nor their collateral damage. She was his wife. No one else had a claim to her. The thought made him jolt. He wasn’t exactly sure how well Basheba would take to him running around snarling that at people. I might need a phrase that sounds a little less possessive.

  “What?”

  Basheba’s whisper pulled him from his thoughts.

  “Sorry?” he asked.

  “You’re the one that’s staring.”

  “I’m just thinking,” Pulling a hand through his hair, he worked his bangs off of his forehead. Not wanting to deal with the topic seriously, but sure he couldn’t avoid it entirely, he added with a smile, “I feel like you only married me to infuriate people.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” Reaching over, she patted him on his knee. “You’re a great trophy husband.”

  “I’m pretty sure you have that the wrong way around.”

  “Nah, I don’t.”

  “You’re a pretty, younger woman with no money to speak of.”

  Basheba opened her mouth, froze for a moment, then ended her thoughts with a ‘huh.’

  Leaving the town proper thinned the ash once more into something akin to a snowstorm. Cadwyn fell into silence, still restlessly spinning the ring. Katrina’s desperate, and we’re going into a giant underground water pit. The idea played on the edges of his awareness, refusing to leave him entirely. This is going to hurt.

  He spun the ring again and ordered himself not to think about it anymore. Worrying wasn’t going to change the situation. Basheba and Mina were stubbornly set on their course of action. Nothing short of an act of God was going to stop them. He smirked, Basheba would just take that as a personal challenge.

  There was a chance that he could keep Ozzie from coming. He’ll try and catch up with us, Cadwyn reasoned. It’s better that he’s with us from the start rather than alone for most of it. The notion didn’t sit well with him. Nothing in this situation did. They were better prepared this time, yet it still felt as much like a suicide mission as Mina’s first idea.

  You know you’re not going to leave them to face it alone, his internal voice taunted him. Lost once more in thought, he was stunned by how short the trip was. Soon enough, Basheba was pulling into the gravel parking lot that served both for a hiking trail and the Witch Cave tours. A few scattered cars speckled the parking lot, all of them gathered haphazardly around the small tour bus. The thick layer of ash hadn’t fully covered the bright purple paint job or logo.

  Haunted Black River Tours was sprawled under their logo of a witch riding a broomstick. Cadwyn hated that logo. Not because it was stereotypical. He just didn’t want to think of the woman who brutally murdered generations of his family as a voluptuous, sexualized, or any way attractive individual.

  Basheba followed his gaze to see the bus. “Ugh, not that company. They hate me.”

  “What did you do to them?” he asked, a smile curling his lips despite himself.

  Basheba smirked and slipped out of the car. “Nothing they can prove.”

  While he’d never admit it out loud, he did get a vicarious thrill out of hearing about her outbursts. It was almost charming, in its way. The raw honesty of her reactions. The completely unashamed way that she wore her emotions on her sleeve. Sometimes, he could convince himself that he had once had the potential to be like her.
If it hadn’t been for… He cut the thought off before it could fully form. Nothing good ever came from dwelling on that year.

  The time came to hand over the car keys, and Cadwyn made sure to linger a little closer to Basheba’s side. It had taken him far too long to realize why the crappy old vehicle meant so much to her. It had belonged to her parents. The whole family had traveled the country in it. It was all she had left of them. After long contemplation, she grudgingly handed the keys to Percival.

  “You’ll need to head off soon,” Cadwyn said as gently as he could. “People will be wondering where Jeremiah is.”

  For a moment, everyone eyed the music box. No one mentioned it.

  Seeking out Mina’s gaze, Percival vowed to take good care of the terrified teenager. He added with a smile, “And Buck, too.”

  Basheba jolted, blinked, then broke into a fit of giggles.

  “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

  Ethan’s brow furrowed. “You intend to take a dog into flooded caves with you?”

  “He’ll drown,” Ha-Yun added as if her husband hadn’t made the point clear enough.

  Pushing past them, Basheba unlatched the hidden compartment under the mattress and pulled free an oddly shaped glass dome.

  “Doggy scuba gear,” she declared with a grin.

  Percival was the first of them to recover, mumbling, “That can’t be a thing.”

  “It works surprisingly well,” Cadwyn said. “He can go down just as deep as I can.”

  “How?” Percival asked.

  “There’s a place in the Florida Keys that makes them and offers a training course,” Basheba explained while gathering up the rest of her belongings.

  “Of course, Florida,” Percival mumbled.

  Cadwyn chuckled as he took the emergency medical kit Basheba passed to him. After their last few trips into the Witch Woods, he had had to replace the outer pack. The new strap still felt strange against his shoulder.

  “He loves to chase turtles.” Basheba’s delicate brow scrunched up, and she leaned her hip against the car frame. “Although, I’ve got no idea what he thinks he’s going to do if he catches one. Oh, Jerry, I left you guys a pair of spiked collars in the back. Necks and wrists. For the record, I just sharpened them and take no responsibility if you end up impaling yourself or others.”

  Buck excitedly nosed at each new item Basheba pulled from the numerous hidden compartments that she had squirreled about the car’s innards. It was a vast amount given her tendency to live out of a single tattered backpack. A tense stillness settled upon them, allowing their group to disperse somewhat.

  Percival and the Davis couple circled Ozzie, alternating between building up his self-confidence and trying to get him to come back with them. Mina and Jeremiah slinked to the far end of the bus. Just far enough away to make their whispers inaudible.

  On reflex, Cadwyn glanced over his shoulder, instinctively seeking out whoever was vying for his attention. It took him half a heartbeat to realize that no one was. A few stray people hurried to catch the tour group, stirring the ash and autumn leaves. None of them so much as glanced in his direction. It’s different without the family around.

  He shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his leather biker’s jacket, and absently shifted his weight between his feet. Traveling with his new wife for a month had been an eye-opening experience. They had bred independence into her, and she guarded it with particular ferocity. When it came to setting up campsites or preparing for a hunt, it was better to stay out of her way.

  Left to idle, his thoughts rippled to the forefront of his mind. Having lunch with the family. That’s what Basheba had called eating in the graveyard, surrounded by her relatives’ headstones. It was one of the few times he had ever seen her completely serene. Sitting in the sunlight, Buck’s head on her lap, in a field of death and loss. Alone. Cadwyn clenched his jaw hard enough to feel his partial dentures shift against the scarred ridges of his gums. She’s a Winthrop now. She’s got me.

  It was a small comfort. Just enough for him to realize that this was possibly the last moment of peace he was ever going to have. Suddenly, he really wanted a cigarette. A bit of shuffling and he found the mangled remains of a pack in his inner coat pocket. His training snarled in the back of his head as he pried open the box, but it counted for little. Cancer seemed like a distant mirage when the Bell Witch was lurking so close. The Harvest brings out your best and worst. It seemed almost pitiful that his worst was smoking.

  He had one pinched between his lips and was in the course of lighting it when he recalled that Basheba hated the smell. Catching Ozzie’s gaze, Cadwyn tipped his head to the side, signaling that he was going to the edge of the parking lot.

  While it only took him a few strides to cross the gravel, the falling ash had already gathered over his cigarette and Zippo by the time he made it to the bin. He tossed the cigarette, retrieved a new one, and wiped his lighter off on his biker pants. Should have changed earlier.

  The glow of the steady flame glistened off of his Zippo’s siding. Taking his first draw, he rubbed the last of the ash off of the mother-of-pearl version of Guido Reni’s painting, The Archangel Michael. He studied the lines of the stoic angel poised to slay the monster crushed under his foot. If he had been expecting a gift from Basheba, it wouldn’t have been this. Although, the fact that it makes fire wasn’t a shock.

  It had become a tradition to contemplate her reasoning each time he used it. Archangel Michael protects from evil, he reasoned. Is she trying to offer comfort? Honestly thinks it will keep me safe? Just wanted me to have a lighter on hand? Does she believe in angels?

  Drawing in a deep breath, the hot smoke mingled with the gathering winter chill. Autumns in Black River always gave way to early, bitter winters. He let his thoughts swirl without answers as the smoke slipped from his lips. Once he had safely tucked the Zippo back into his zippered pocket, he turned to study the mouth of the cave. A low fence of hanging chains set up across it acted as a makeshift massing point for the tourists. They milled about, chatting amongst themselves or taking snapshots of the falling ash.

  Tipping his head back to release the lungful of smoke, Cadwyn froze. The teenager’s image entered his head as broken segments rather than a singular whole.

  Soft brunette hair flopped across the edges of the boy’s forehead. A slight stir of wind was enough to force it to slip down and catch on the corner of the boy’s familiar blue eyes. A simple motion that forced a thousand memories to surge forward with physical strength. Breathless, Cadwyn studied the long straight nose that hovered over thin, wide lips. The strong jawline and high cheekbones. The shoulders that, had he lived long enough to grow into them, would have become as broad as Cadwyn’s own. He had forgotten how much he looked like his older brother.

  “Abraham?”

  Cigarette forgotten, it slipped from his fingers to burn the top of his boot. Abraham, forever frozen as a teenager, cocked one corner of his mouth into a smirk. Reason fled Cadwyn on a broken breath. He started up the small incline. Abraham shrunk back, disappearing within the crowd. Static filled Cadwyn’s head as he broke into a jog. He craned his neck, searching the people around him with growing desperation, unable to catch sight of the Winthrop features.

  “Abraham!”

  People turned to glare at him when he jostled them aside in his search. A few of the bolder and more irritable shoved him in retaliation. None of it mattered. Not when his brother re-emerged. Lingering at the entrance of the caves, Abraham tipped his head in a silent invitation to follow.

  “Cadwyn?”

  He didn’t know who called for him. All that registered was that it wasn’t Abraham. Abraham. Cadwyn broke into a run, unceremoniously shoving his way free of the group and easily hurdling the low chain-link fence.

  “Hey, steady on, big guy.” With a wide, forced smile, the tour guide blocked Cadwyn’s way.

  Frustration clawed at the inside of Cadwyn’s chest while the tour guide pressed
a hand against his sternum, forcing him back a step.

  “Relax, we’re not set to go in for another fifteen minutes. Oh! Hey, I know you.”

  “Let go,” Cadwyn snarled between his clenched teeth, his eyes locked on his brother.

  Abraham turned on his heel and started into the depths of the cave, leaving Cadwyn behind and forcing him to watch as his brother entered the darkness alone. Cadwyn surged forward only to have the prattling tour guide shove him back once more.

  “Cadwyn!”

  The small part of his mind that responded to Basheba’s call was quickly squashed. Destroyed and dismissed by the knowledge that it wasn’t Abraham’s voice. In that moment, only his brother mattered. Shadows swallowed his retreating figure like a wall of oil. Trembling with manic energy, Cadwyn staggered forward a step.

  “Abraham!”

  A static roar filled his ears. An almost physical force that hollowed him out and destroyed all thought and reason. It left him with nothing but the desperate need to join his brother. Cadwyn pushed forward again. The guide shoved him back.

  Pain sparked along Cadwyn’s arm, the only proof his brain would accept that he had swung at the man. Echoes of startled cries worked on the edges of his awareness, along with the vague image of ash-speckled dust billowing out from around the guide's sprawled body. A slender cut split the man’s lower lip, allowing blood to seep from his mouth. The sight struck something within Cadwyn, churning his stomach as the haze began to lift from his mind.

  “Cadwyn!”

  Not Abraham, a dark voice whispered within his skull. He shook his head, fighting against the haze that had consumed his thoughts. His reality had narrowed down to his brother so swiftly that the idea of anyone else being important baffled him.

  “Cadwyn! Stop!”

  Basheba? Blinking rapidly, he started to turn, intending to go back.