The Witch's Grave

by Shirley Damsgaard

  Craning my head back, I peeked at the strip of sky overhead, and a sense of being closed in hit me. I took longer steps.

  I heard the sound of heels clicking on the sidewalk behind me. Another office worker anxious to get home? But the parking ramp was in the other direction. I snuck a look over my shoulder, and as I did, the man behind me did a little side step, as if he didn’t want me to spot him.

  Strange. I upped my pace.

  So did the steps in back of me.

  I whirled around, and recognition slammed me. It was the man from Stephen’s condo. The one I’d glimpsed leaving the elevator.

  I took off at a dead run and didn’t look back. From the sounds echoing off the building, I knew he followed. Suddenly, a man popped out of a doorway. I dodged him and kept running. From behind me, I heard an angry “Hey” and the sounds of scuffling, but I didn’t turn.

  At the end of the block, I made a sharp turn to my left. More people now, thank God. I caught their surprised looks as I sprinted past them. My side hurt and my breath came in short pants, but I was almost there.

  I finally slowed my steps as I approached the hotel and peeked over my shoulder.

  The man had disappeared.

  Twenty-One

  With my head down, I quickly crossed the hotel lobby and entered the elevator. I felt relieved that no other guests joined me. Right now I couldn’t stand the idea of a crowded elevator. I needed space—and to get the hell out of there.

  Once inside my room, I hurried to the connecting door and pounded. “Abby, Abby,” I hollered.

  The door abruptly swung as I was about to pound on it again.

  Her eyes wide, Abby’s hands shot out and gripped my arms. “Ophelia, what’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed.

  I shook off her hands and spun around. “Come on,” I said, heading toward the bathroom. “They’ve found us. We’re getting out of here.”

  “Who’s found us?” she called after me.

  “The guy from Stephen’s condo,” I replied over my shoulder.

  Abby followed. “Wait a minute…what man?” She sounded baffled.

  “There was a man getting off the elevator on Stephen’s floor as we were leaving.” My words poured out. “I only caught a glimpse, but I know he’s followed us here.”

  Yanking my carry-on out from underneath the sink, I began cramming my stuff into the deep pockets. As I did, I caught my reflection in the mirror—hair straggling around my face, my brown eyes holding a half-crazed look. I appeared afraid.

  I was.

  My gaze slid to Abby’s reflection. She stood leaning against the door frame, frowning at me.

  “Ophelia, slow down. Tell me what happened? I thought you went for a walk?”

  “I did…to a park.” I tossed my toothbrush in the bag. “A man followed me. Chased me.”

  She pushed away from the door frame. “You’re positive it was the same man from the condo?”

  Whirling around, I leaned against the sink. “Yes, I’m positive. And I’m positive he chased me. I ran…he ran. That’s being chased, isn’t it?” I asked with sarcasm.

  She crossed her arms and gave me a chilly look. “Don’t get in a snit. You’re not making much sense, you know.”

  “Well, excuse me for rambling.” I spun around and pitched my toothpaste in the bag. “I just did a ten block sprint trying to get away from some stranger.”

  Abby crossed the tiled floor and placed a hand on my arm. “Should we call the police?”

  “And tell them what? I didn’t get a good enough look at the guy to give a description.” Taking a deep breath, I laid my palms on the counter and exhaled slowly. “Abby, it’s fight or flight…and if I’m going to fight, I’d rather it be on my own turf, not in some strange city.”

  Silently, she nodded and left the bathroom to go pack.

  Twenty minutes later we were barreling north out of St. Louis. Knots of stress tightened my shoulder, and I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles were white.

  What if they follow us? I tried to recall the roads we’d be driving. Did Highway 61 turn into a two-lane road at any spot along the way? A deserted stretch of highway…in the middle of the night…two women alone.

  The knots in my shoulders pinched. Maybe fleeing St. Louis hadn’t been such a hot idea after all?

  “Ophelia,” Abby said in a calm voice. “You need to simmer down…you’re speeding.”

  Glancing down, I saw the needle of the speedometer quivering at 75 mph. Letting my foot up on the gas pedal, it slowly inched its way back to 60.

  “I know they’re after the disks,” I muttered, focusing on the road. My mind leapt backward to that afternoon at Stephen’s condo, and I tried to put the pieces together. “I bet the man on the elevator, the one who chased me, broke into Stephen’s condo.”

  “But the concierge? He—”

  “Was outside arguing with that cab driver,” I said, finishing for her. “The guy I saw slipped in and out while the cab driver kept the concierge busy.”

  “That’s a pretty big assumption.”

  “It makes sense, though.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw her shrug. “I suppose. But if that’s the case, it would indicate that there’s more than one person involved.”

  “There is—I haven’t had a chance to tell you this—I got a call from Bill. Someone tried to kill Chuck Krause Thursday night and got his aide instead.”

  “Oh dear!” she exclaimed, and shifted toward me. “Ophelia, turn those disks over to Bill when we get home…please?”

  “It won’t do any good,” I said shortly, then quickly filled her in on the rest of the conversation.

  “…the DCI won’t listen to me. They’ll think I’m just another crackpot.”

  “If you tell them about the man chasing you?”

  I pushed myself back against the seat. “I don’t have anything to tell them—I can’t give a description. All I remember is dark hair and jeans.”

  “Datolite,” she said firmly.

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly.

  “Datolite,” she repeated. “Do you have any?”

  I gave my head a quick shake. “What in the devil is datolite?”

  “It’s a crystal that helps with memory and recalling details.” Her voice sounded confident. “Hold the datolite and concentrate on the man you saw. It will come to you.”

  She sounded so sure of herself. “Abby,” I slid a glance her way, “is there anything a crystal won’t fix?”

  “Yes, that which can’t be remedied, but anything else…” Her voice faded as she lifted a hand.

  “Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Where can I find this datolite?”

  “Obviously, we don’t have time to go shopping, so I’ll lend you mine—” She cut herself off and wagged a finger at me. “But you’ll need to cleanse it first.”

  “Got it.”

  “And while you’re meditating, I’m laying a spell around your house.”

  I groaned. “Abby—”

  “Shh.” She held up her finger again. “I’ll not have any nonsense from you, Ophelia. You need all the protection you can get.”

  Abby settled back in her seat and fell silent. Soon I heard her even breathing.

  She had such faith, such confidence in her magick—and although I wouldn’t admit it to her, I envied her. Maybe if I felt that same assurance, all these loose threads would miraculously connect? Had she always been so certain of her gift? Had she ever felt as lost as I sometimes did? I didn’t know—she never spoke much about the training she’d received as a girl.

  At Hannibal, I pulled in for gas while Abby went inside the station. With one eye on passing cars, I filled the tank, then entered the building. I met her coming out of the restroom.

  “Next,” she said with a grin.

  I found her again, wandering up and down the aisles

  She handed me a cup. “Here.”

  I waved it away with a wince. “Nah, I’m jittery enough—th
e last thing I need is coffee.”

  “You need something to eat.” She turned and perused the junk food on the shelves. “Take this,” she said, grabbing a bag of trail mix. “Not the best, but it will have to do until we get back to Summerset.”

  At the counter, I paid for the coffee, gas, and trail mix. Steeling myself for another four hours on the road, we crossed the parking lot to the car. We were almost there when Abby stretched out her hand.

  “I’ll drive.”

  I made a fist around the keys. “No, you won’t.”

  She stopped short. “Yes, I will. My little nap did wonders, now you need to relax and get some rest.”

  Man, she’s stubborn. No sense arguing in the middle of the night, in the parking lot of a gas station.

  With reluctance, I handed her the keys. “Keep an eye out, okay? And if you see anything suspicious, wake me up.”

  Once in the car, I buckled up and tipped the seat back. Staring out the window, I watched the lights of Hannibal fly by as sleep claimed me.

  I pedaled my bicycle down the shady side streets of Paris, sticking to those areas not frequented by the Germans. Taking a cab or the Metro would have been easier, faster, and my legs wouldn’t be shaking with exertion as they were now, but I needed to be anonymous.

  I wore pants and one of Henrick’s shirts bloused out around my waist. A vest hid the shirt’s bagginess. With a cap low on my forehead and covering my auburn hair, I believed I resembled every other Parisian on the street this summer’s day. Nothing about me that would make anyone take a second glance. Or so I hoped.

  Turning northwest, I headed toward Parc des Buttes Chaumont, and to a small apartment on Place de Danube. Once there, I pulled my cap lower and scanned the street in both directions. Only children playing catch at the end of the street. Good.

  After leaning my bicycle against a lamp post and entering the building, I walked swiftly to the apartment located at the rear. Walls, once bright with colored wallpaper, were now faded and dusty. The air smelled like a mixture of boiled potatoes and cabbages. I knocked twice followed by one short rap. The door opened a crack, and a tired woman with sad brown eyes peered at me.

  “Phoenix,” I whispered softly.

  She nodded, and without speaking, handed me a small package wrapped in string. With a furtive look toward the entrance of the building, I opened my shirt at the waist and tucked the parcel safely against my body, then rebuttoned the shirt.

  The door closed softly.

  Out of the building, I headed my bicycle away from the children and pedaled out onto the busy street. My destination was a quay located on Canal Saint Martin near the Hospital Saint Louis.

  I rode past cafés where soldiers sat sipping wine and enjoying the Parisian sunshine, butcher shops closed for lack of meat, and empty vegetable stands. At the corner of Boulevard de la Villette, I stopped to wait for a German truck to lumber by.

  A large black car pulled up alongside as I waited.

  “Madeleine? Is that you?” someone called from the car.

  Glancing over my left shoulder, I saw Colonel Vogel motioning me over from the back seat. Blood pounded in my ears and I instinctively tugged at the vest covering the illegal package. Schooling my face to show nothing, I walked my bicycle closer to Vogel.

  “Hello,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

  “You’re a long way from home.”

  “Oh, it’s such a beautiful day and I wanted to enjoy it.” I gave a little giggle. “And, Colonel, after the excellent meal you served at your dinner party, I needed the exercise. I’ve already been scolded for gaining weight.”

  Vogel’s eyes roamed my body and I tensed. A slow smile spread across his face. “You have nothing to fear—your figure is lovely, my dear,” he said condescendingly. “Is Henrick still in Sweden?”

  Relieved at the change in subject, I made myself relax as I bobbed my head. “Yes, but he’s back tonight.”

  The colonel raised an eyebrow. “Ahh, but when I saw you here, I had hoped I could persuade you to have a glass of wine with me at a nearby café?”

  “Oh, Colonel, I’m so sorry.” I tried to look crest-fallen at the thought of not being able to join him. “I haven’t seen Henrick in weeks, and I’ve a reunion planned for us.” I looked down at my watch. “In fact, I really must be going.”

  The colonel reached out and wrapped his hand around mine, startling me. “I understand your haste. I consider Henrick a friend, but I want you to know I don’t agree with him leaving you alone for such long periods. A woman like you deserves better treatment.”

  Squirming out of his grasp, I pasted a bright smile on my face. “But I love him, Colonel. Our time apart only makes our time together that much sweeter.”

  His jaw muscle twitched as he forced the corners of his mouth up in a parody of a grin. “Henrick is a lucky man.” Leaning forward, he tapped his driver on the shoulder, and the car slowly drove away.

  Twenty-Two

  I watched the car turn right and debated what to do. After the conversation with Vogel, did I dare proceed to the drop point at Quai de Valmy? So close—only a few more blocks—but what if Colonel Vogel decided to double back and follow me? If he caught me, it would be certain death not only for me, but the woman with the sad brown eyes, Brother Sebastian, and God knew who else. No, the drop would have to wait until tomorrow. Turning right, I pedaled down the Boulevard to Rue de Menilmontant and my apartment.

  Storing my bicycle in a shed located in the small garden at the rear, I ran through the back door and up the stairs to my second floor apartment. Recalling the building at Place de Danube, I thought about how lucky I was to live here. I still faced the same shortages as my countrymen, but I didn’t live in poverty. My apartment was light and airy. No sour smell of cooked cabbage in my building.

  I inserted my key in the door to my apartment, but it was unlocked. I knew I’d locked it before leaving this afternoon. A moment of uncertainty rippled through my mind. Would Vogel have had the audacity to not only show up at my apartment, but convince the landlord to let him in? I cautiously turned the knob with one hand, and with the other pushed the door open a crack. Peering through the slit, I saw him.

  He stood on the other side of the room with his back to the door. His blond hair caught the light of the late afternoon sun pouring in the tall windows and making it look like spun gold—soft and fine.

  With a shriek, I flung the door wide and ran to him. “Henrick!”

  His arms grabbed me as I threw myself at him. Laughing, he lifted me off my feet and whirled me around. My hat flew off my head while I buried my face in his neck, just to inhale the scent of him. Pine—Henrick always smelled like fresh pine needles—cool and crisp.

  Still laughing, he set me on my feet, and taking my face in his hands, gave me a kiss that seemed to last forever.

  Lost in him, I was vaguely aware of his hands moving over my shoulders, down my back, and finally settling on my waist. Abruptly the kiss ended.

  “What’s this?” he asked, patting my side.

  Damn, the package had shifted.

  “It’s nothing,” I said as I stepped out of his embrace. I crossed to the kitchen and removed the bottle of wine I’d been saving for his homecoming. “Let’s toast your return, my love.”

  Henrick leaned carelessly against the counter. “Madeleine, what are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” I replied with an innocent smile as I uncorked the wine. “I went out for a bit, that’s all.” Pulling out the cork, I poured Henrick a glass of the pale pink wine and handed it to him. Laying my palm on his cheek, I gazed into his blue eyes. “I have such plans for us tonight,” I murmured softly.

  His fingers curled around my wrist. “What is underneath that shirt…I believe it’s one of mine, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I gave a little tug and pulled away from him. Pouring a glass for myself, I flounced into the living room and flopped down on my old couch. “I haven’t seen you for weeks and weeks, and
all you want to do is ask questions,” I pouted.

  “No, Madeleine, just one question,” he said, placing his wine on a small table and sitting next to me. “What’s under the shirt?”

  “Oh, all right,” I said with a frown. I loosened the vest, unbuttoned the shirt, then removed the package and laid it on the couch.

  Henrick picked it up and sniffed it. His eyes rounded in horror. “Madeleine, these are explosives!” he hissed. “You were riding around Paris with explosives! What if—”

  I jumped to my feet and grabbed the package. Holding it loosely in my hands, I stomped into the bedroom with Henrick at my heels.

  “Madeleine, talk to me,” he commanded.

  I put the package on the floor and moved a chair away from the window, where the fabric skirting it had hidden that part of the floor. “I’m not going to talk to you if you’re going to scold me,” I said indignantly.

  Henrick marched toward me and grabbed my arm. His fingers dug into my soft flesh. “Are you insane? This isn’t a game—”

  “I know it isn’t a game—people are starving, and my city is in the hands of invaders,” I interrupted in a hushed, angry voice as I twisted away from him and squatted on the floor. Removing a loose board, I stowed the package in a small hole, then replaced the board. Standing, I shoved the chair back over the board and dusted my hands. “There, the package is gone and you never saw it.” Pushing past him, I left the room.

  Henrick followed me, shaking his head.

  “And,” I rasped at him over my shoulder, “you’re a fine one to talk about games—what of the game you play with the Germans? You not only hate them as much as I do, you’re cheating them.” Picking up my glass of wine, I drained it in one gulp. “At the same time, you pretend to be their friend.”

  With a scowl, I tromped into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of wine. Returning to the living room, I smacked it down on the small table by the couch. “Here,” I said with a jerk of my hand. Spinning on my heel, I put my back to him.