by Raven Snow
“But there are more interesting things than cults around Lainswich,” said Reginald. He tapped his finger on the page he had turned to. “But since we’re talking about cults now…” He trailed off and flipped a couple of pages before continuing. “Ah. Here. See?”
Rowen peered down at the page again. She squinted her eyes. It was like trying to read a doctor’s cursive. “Not really,” she admitted. “It’s kind of… The handwriting is hard to make out.”
Reginald looked down at the page. “Ah, well, here he has collected some theories about the origins of the cult. Personally, he believes that they were involved in the founding of Lainswich. He believes they are the reason why news never really seems to go beyond this area. Few raised outside of Lainswich ever even learn of its existence.”
“We only found out because of the book,” Peter added.
“How does a cult manage something like that?” asked Rowen. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them. She knew good and well that Lainswich news stayed in Lainswich. It was its own strange microcosm.
“He has a few theories for that as well,” said Reginald. “I think this is the part you’ll find especially interesting. He believed the founding of this place may have had something to do with witchcraft.”
Reginald hadn’t been wrong. That did get Rowen’s attention. She wasn’t sure if she liked where it was going. “You’re not implying what I think you’re implying, are you? The last thing I need is for this town to think we’re witches and cultists.”
Reginald chuckled at that even though Rowen hadn’t meant it as a joke. “I don’t believe that was what the author was getting at,” he assured her. “Actually, it seems much more likely that the town was founded around its magic-using inhabitants.”
“So, what? They treated us like gods?” Now it was Rowen’s turn to laugh.
“Not you necessarily.” Reginald flipped a page. He scanned the text and pointed to a word even Rowen recognized. “See there? The Stonewall name shows up a few times. Their earlier generations helped to found this place, though I’m sure you were already aware of that.”
Rowen nodded. She kept her eyes on the Stonewall name, like the ink would reveal more secrets to her somehow. “So did they worship the Stonewalls, or were the Stonewalls part of this cult?”
“Another very good question,” said Reginald without answering it.
Peter reached out and flipped a few more pages. The cramped, black writing soon gave way to blank pages. “As you can see, it sort of just… stops.”
“Do you know why?”
“Your guess is as good as ours, honestly. The book’s journey to us is a bit of a mystery. The furthest we’ve been able to trace it back is to an estate sale,” Reginald explained. “Before that, who knows? The author didn’t put their name in the book anywhere. We gave discovering the author a bit of work back when we first acquired this, but gave up rather fast when it proved to be slow going.”
“Kinda spooky,” Rowen muttered, looking down at how the last paragraph ended suddenly, mid-page. “Anything else in there that I should know?”
“I can’t think of anything that would be immediately useful to you,” Reginald explained. “The text here does allude to the cult being violent. Though, that stems more around rumors of people missing and being presumed dead. We didn’t find mention of anything like what they’re talking about on the news.”
Rowen nodded. “Well, thanks for the help.” At least she had an idea of where to get started now. There were a few avenues open to her.
“We would be happy to help more,” Reginald added quickly.
“If we have time,” said Peter, giving his brother a look that said they had other obligations today.
“Thanks, but you should probably keep my aunts company.”
“I’m sure they would agree that this is important.” Reginald looked from Rowen to Peter for support. When he didn’t get it, he rolled his eyes. “Well, someone should look through old records and see if they can find anything.”
“Peony can help there. She’s already looking through the library archives for the tricentennial.” Rowen motioned back to the door. “I’ll go in there and talk to her about it.”
“We can still help,” said Reginald.
“Let us know if you need us.” Peter closed the book and gave Reginald a nudge toward the door.
Reginald sagged, breathing a low sigh like he was finally giving up. He looked like he very much wanted to accompany Rowen in these upcoming investigations of hers. Realizing that was out of the question, he instead fixed her with a very serious look. “Be careful out there,” he warned. “Keep in regular contact. You’ve got our numbers, don’t you? Don’t travel anywhere alone. We don’t want you to go missing, too.”
Rowen had a history of charging head first into things without a thought as to her safety. Here, she was genuinely given pause. There was something about the idea of a secret, magical cult that gripped something vital deep inside of her. It made her skin prickle and her heart beat faster in her chest. “I’ll be sure to bring someone with me,” she promised. Instead of going back into the house, she went around it, making a straight line for Margo’s trailer.
As far as Rowen knew, Margo had yet to show herself. With how close she lived to the Greensmith house, there was really no excuse for that. Rowen probably would have gone to bang on her door even if she wasn’t about to ask for her help.
Rowen made a fist and pounded a couple of times on the door. “Hey!” she called without giving Margo a chance to answer. She pounded another three times on the door immediately after that.
It was Jasper Stonewall who eased the door open. He had a pained expression on his face. His hair was unkempt and he had a throw blanket wrapped around himself. It was entirely likely that he was naked underneath. “H-hey, Rowen, what… uh… What’s up?”
“Hey, Jasper.” Rowen planted a hand on the door and forced it open some more. She stepped inside. “I’m here to talk to my cousin.”
Margo swore from the direction of the bedroom. A moment later, she was storming out in a robe. She pushed her sleeping mask back like a headband. “What?” she demanded.
“Some reason you weren’t answering your phone?” asked Rowen.
“Maybe because the sun isn’t even up?” Margo threw a bleary glance to the window. “Or at least it wasn’t when it rang. I silenced it after that.”
“Well, if you had actually bothered to answer your phone the first time, you would know that Odds & Ends got robbed.”
That seemed to wake Margo up a bit. She stood up straighter. The anger drained from her face. “What?”
Rowen put her own anger on hold. There was no point in picking a fight. “Someone busted the front door, went in, and stole a whole bunch of stuff. It sounds like they even took some of the things they had on display for the tricentennial.”
“That’s awful,” said Jasper. “Have they caught who did it?”
Rowen shook her head. “They got away.” She looked at Margo. “And you know they didn’t have a camera. We kept telling them to get one, but they never did. I doubt this stuff will ever be found.”
Margo bit her bottom lip. She looked back toward the bedroom. With the door open, Rowen could see her cell phone still sitting on the nightstand. “Are they all right? Are they at the store? Should I--”
“They’re at home. Your dad is dealing with the cops right now.”
“So why are you here?”
There was that mild anger bubbling up inside of Rowen again. “I’m enlisting your help.” She pointed to Margo. “You’re coming with me.” She pointed to Jasper next. “I didn’t think about you being here, but you can help too.”
“How?” asked Jasper.
“You can’t just decide I’m going with you,” grumbled Margo. “What do you even need help with?”
“I’m looking into this cult stuff, and you were the only other person who saw the scene. I don’t want to be alone in investigating this.
” Rowen trusted Margo. She might be selfish and narcissistic, but she still loved her family.
“I’ll go get dressed,” Margo said with a sigh. She headed for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
“What about me?” asked Jasper, looking from the closed door to Rowen. “What was that about a cult?”
What Reginald had said about the Stonewalls returned to Rowen’s thoughts. “Lainswich has its own cult, apparently. Maybe you saw it on the news?”
“I don’t really watch the news.”
“Well, there’s a cult in Lainswich. Probably. The police are still investigating. Have you ever heard about anything like that?”
“A cult?”
“Yeah, in Lainswhich. Have you ever heard of one?”
Jasper didn’t answer at first. He fell silent and his eyes grew unfocused as he gave the question what appeared to be some genuine thought. “I don’t think so,” he said at last.
Rowen felt one of her eyebrows raise. She couldn’t help it. That was an odd answer to a fairly straightforward question. “You don’t think so?”
“I don’t really know what qualifies as a cult,” said Jasper. “I mean, I’ve seen some weird things around here. A lot of weird things. I’m sure you have too. Not sure I’d know a cult if I did see it.”
“What kind of weird things have you seen?”
“Rowen, stop hassling my boyfriend,” Margo snapped through the door.
“I’m not hassling him!” Rowen looked at Jasper. “Am I hassling you?”
Jasper shrugged. “I dunno… Kinda?”
“See!” Margo emerged from the bedroom in a big blue tunic and black leggings. She had her big makeup box dangling from one hand. “Leave him alone.”
“I should get back home anyway.” Jasper slipped past Margo and into the bedroom. Margo, meanwhile, flopped down onto the little sofa near where Rowen stood. She set her makeup box to one side and opened it up.
“No, no, no. I’m not waiting on you to do makeup.” Rowen reached to close the box and had her hand slapped away.
“If you want me coming with you, then you’re going to have to wait for me to put on makeup.” Margo pointed to the window. “Do you see how early it still is out there? I don’t know what you think we’re going to accomplish at this hour without making people really mad. You can afford to give me a minute or two here.” There wasn’t much room for discussion after that.
Jasper emerged from the bedroom a minute later. He gave Margo a kiss and said some awkward goodbyes to Rowen before leaving. Margo proceeded to use up her ‘minute or two.’ The abbreviated version of her morning ritual turned out to be a whole lot closer to two hours. Rowen spent that time on the sofa beside her. She texted Peony about looking in the library. After that, she watched some television. Even this early, talk on Channel Two only seemed to cycle between weather and the potential of cult activity in Lainswich.
Outside, the rest of the world started waking up. The sun came out. Engines revved like some residents of the Greensmith house were leaving for the day. “How much longer?” Rowen grumbled with a sidelong look at Margo curling her eyelashes.
Margo touched the tip of her lashes one last time with her mascara wand. “Fine. I’m ready to go now. I still think it’s silly to be in a hurry this early in the day.” She stood. “Where are we heading first anyway?”
“Somewhere we’ve already been,” said Rowen, getting to her feet and finally heading for the door.
Chapter Seven
The subdivision the Waite family house was in looked a lot different without all the cops there. It was a quaint little place with bright green lawns and kids playing tag. Rowen parked on the curb across from the Waite home.
Margo pulled down the mirror on the passenger side. “And you wanted me to rush through getting ready,” she scoffed. “At least one of us should look professional.”
Rowen didn’t want to admit Margo was right, but she did have a point. Checking her own reflection, she had definitely looked better. Some frizzy hairs had made it out of her ponytail and there were noticeable dark bags beneath her eyes. “You get us inside then.”
“Happy to.” Margo got out without hesitation and headed right on up to the front door.
Rowen snatched her purse up and hurried after her. She barely made it to the front steps before Margo went ahead and knocked. They hadn’t called ahead. Rowen wasn’t even sure that the Waite family was home. After what had happened in this house, they might not be. It was impossible to tell what cars were in the garage. “Knock again,” Rowen said after what felt like a good minute had passed.
Margo raised her fist. She managed to knock once before the door was thrown open wide. A teenage boy stood on the threshold. “Yeah?” He regarded the women with a dark expression. Everything about the kid was dark. Black nails, black clothes, dyed black hair. There were spikes in his face and gauges in his ears. Unmistakable distaste flickered across Margo’s face as she looked him up and down. She managed to regain her composure in the split second spent before responding.
“Hi there. I’m Margo and this is Rowen. We’re from the Lainswich Inquirer. Do you think we could have a moment? Is, ah, is your mother home?”
“Lucas?” came a woman’s voice from across the house. “Lucas! You didn’t answer that door, did you? I told you not to answer that door!”
Rowen sucked on her teeth. Margo took a calm step forward, putting a foot and shoulder between door and door frame. The kid, Lucas, rolled his eyes and pulled the cordless headphones around his neck back over his ears. He walked down a hallway as a woman who must have been his mother hurried up to the front door. “I’m sorry, we’re not interested,” she said all in one breath, reaching up to try and shut the door. This didn’t quite work out with Margo in the way. “Excuse me,” said the woman, frowning down at Margo’s feet.
“We’re not actually selling anything,” Margo said, quickly. “We’re from the Lainswich Inquirer. We were wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving us a quick interview.”
That got a scowl from the widow. “Is this how journalists operate these days? You don’t even call ahead?”
There was a good reason Rowen never called ahead. It was always easier to get an interview on the spot like this. It was much easier to push your will on someone if they were right there in front of you. It was a considerably more difficult thing to accomplish if they were on the other end of a phone call. Rowen willed Mrs. Waite to let them in as hard as she could. She was certain that Margo was doing the same.
“We won’t take much of your time,” Margo assured her. “We’ll be in and out as quick as can be. We just want to hear your side of things.”
Mrs. Waite’s brow furrowed. She looked at the women on her doorstep then, still frowning, took a step back to allow them in. “Fine,” she relented. “But I don’t have long to chat. We’re very busy.” She turned and began down a hallway.
Rowen followed, taking stock of her surroundings as she went. The crime scene had been cleaned up. That was no surprise. Some of the shelves were quite a bit more bare than they had been, though. It was like entire sections of the home were missing.
“We’re packing up to go stay in a hotel,” Mrs. Waite explained. “I can’t stand to spend the night here after… after what happened.” She stopped in the den and looked down at the space where her husband had been discovered. The carpeting had been removed, revealing old wood floors below. “I’d like to just stay at my parent’s place in Tarricville until I figure out what to do next, but Lucas has school, and he doesn’t want to miss it. She laughed at that. “Can you imagine? It seems like only last week I was getting calls about how he was skipping school yet again. I think it was last week.” She went to an armchair and took a seat. “Now he likes going all of a sudden. Maybe it distracts him. Goodness knows, I could use a distraction right about now.”
“We’re very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Waite,” said Rowen, taking a seat on the sofa along with Margo. She did so a lit
tle haltingly. It did feel weird to sit down to chat in a room where you had last seen a murder victim sprawled out in his own blood.
“Janice,” said Mrs. Waite. “You can call me Janice.”
Rowen nodded. “Janice, do you mind if we record this conversation?” She pulled her tape recorder from her purse.
Janice shrugged. “That should be fine, I guess.”
Rowen pressed record and set the recorder on the table between them. “So, Channel 2 has already contacted you, I take it?”
Janice nodded. “Yes,” she said after a glance to the recorder, possibly realizing no one would be able to hear her head move. “But I’m really not sure about going on air. I certainly don’t want them interviewing my son.”
“That’s understandable,” said Margo. “I mean, any good parent wants to keep their kid safe. There’s no reason to push him into the spotlight. I’m sure he needs time to grieve.”
Rowen wasn’t sure that Lucas looked like someone grieving. Not that she was any kind of great authority on grieving. Different people grieved in their own ways… but still. She caught Janice’s eyes fixed on her expression. “He’s always been a little different,” said Janice, like she had been able to read Rowen’s mind. “He’s a sensitive kid, but he doesn’t always show it. There’s been a lot going on recently, and this was just the cherry on top. I swear.” Janice leaned against the arm of her chair. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Rowen could see a shiny wetness in her eyes.
“What sort of things have been going on?” asked Margo. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Janice shrugged. “I suppose not. I mean, it’s no great secret that Edward and I were… growing apart.” Her eyes moved to the place on the floor where he had been killed. “There was talk about a divorce, but I don’t think we would have gone through with it. We both loved each other. We both wanted to be there for Lucas. He’s going through this rebellious teen phase right now. I mean, you saw.” She sighed. “Anyway, I just wanted a weekend to get away. I wanted us to have some space. Then this happens and now they’re talking about cults and all sorts of nonsense. I mean, really. I think I would have noticed if my husband was in some sort of cult.”
