Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  RJ’s mouth was open in preparation to say something, but I never gave him the chance.

  Words were spewing from my own mouth automatically; the three word sentence came as a guttural bellow. “WHERE IS SHE?!”

  CHAPTER 12:

  RJ didn’t even try to compete verbally with my frantic shouts. He simply gestured for me to follow him as he turned and raced back down the stairs and then continued across the front yard. He was only just barely ahead of me when we hit the curb. In a quick motion, he unlatched the side door of the still running mini-van.

  In the recently fallen dusk, soft blue shadows ran in oblique lines through the back of the vehicle, muting the interior. A streetlight just up from us painted a harsh glare across the tinted pane of glass to obscure it even more. Still, beyond the swath of reflected brilliance, I thought I could see movement in the back seat.

  As RJ wrenched the sliding door back, dim, yellow-white light flooded the inside of the van, emanating from the dome light. The shrouded incandescent bulb struggled to chase away the darkness, while my eyes fought to adjust to the rapid changes in illumination they had been subjected to between the front door and here.

  At first, I saw only Cally sitting near the door. When she looked up, I could see the same fear creasing her face that RJ had—and still was— displaying. I could see that she was rocking gently, and when she looked back down, I followed her gaze with my own. Felicity was lying beside her in the seat, body curled into a loose semblance of a fetal position. Her head was resting in Cally’s lap, and the young woman had an arm wrapped around my wife’s shoulders, holding her fast.

  I knelt into the side door of the van and carefully brushed a tangle of hair back from Felicity’s face. Even in the dimness, I could see red froth on her lips and a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth, evidence that she’d been gnashing her teeth against her tongue during a violent seizure. The crimson trail smeared across her pale skin in an opaque blemish, but other than that, I could see no obvious injuries.

  I watched her, my eyes following the rise and fall of her chest as she took slow, even breaths. I relaxed a bit and took in a deep breath of my own. In my throat, I could feel the thump of my heart and imagined that it was only now starting to beat again; although, it didn’t seem to be in any hurry to drop back down into my chest where it belonged.

  I knew just by looking at her that at least part of my earlier fear had been realized. Still, my mind was already heading in more directions than I could count, so I blurted the first, most obvious, thing that came to mind.

  “What happened?” I demanded, shooting quick glances at both Cally and RJ.

  “It was just all of a sudden like,” RJ answered, voice almost shaking. “We had just gotten started. She was talking to us about Dark Moon spells, and just like that she stopped saying anything. When I looked up, she was staring off into space, all blank ya’know.” He waved his hand in front of his face wildly as if trying to illustrate what he meant. “The next thing we knew, she was on the floor shaking and flailing her arms and stuff.”

  “Gods Rowan, it was like déjà vu or something,” Cally added, shaking her head slowly. Her own voice tensed with anguish.

  “Yeah, Rowan,” RJ agreed. “It was just like what happened to you at Nancy’s house a few months ago.”

  “Dammit.” I muttered the word at first, but my voice grew more forceful with each successive utterance. “DAMmit, DAMMIT!”

  “Oh man!” RJ suddenly exclaimed. “That’s where we were tonight, Nancy’s! Is that what it is, Rowan? Is it the house? Is it Randy’s spirit or something?”

  RJ fired the questions in rapid succession, focusing the last one on Nancy’s murdered husband— a victim of Eldon Porter and the very same Randy I had referred to when Felicity had pressed me to go with her earlier.

  “No,” I replied, still stroking my wife’s forehead. “It’s not the house, and it’s not Randy’s spirit. It’s probably a spirit, but not Randy’s.”

  “Whose then?” Cally interjected.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Tamara Linwood,” I answered flatly.

  “Oh Gods,” she moaned. “You mean the missing schoolteacher that’s been on the news?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I think so, but she’s not missing anymore. She was murdered.”

  “But why is this happening to Felicity all of a sudden?” RJ implored.

  “I wish I knew,” I said. “How long ago did the seizure start?”

  “About forty-five minutes I guess,” Cally replied. “Maybe an hour. We tried to call you but the phone was busy.”

  “Cats knocked bedroom phone off hook,” I explained simply. “I just noticed it a few minutes before you pulled up.”

  “The first one really didn’t last long,” RJ offered.

  “What do you mean ‘first one’?” I demanded. “She had more than one?”

  “Yeah, she had two,” he continued. “The first one just lasted a minute or so. Once she stopped shaking and could talk, we got her up in a chair. We all wanted to call nine-one-one, but she kept saying no, we should call you.”

  “When we couldn’t reach you on the phone, she tried to leave,” Cally added. “But we weren’t about to let her drive.”

  “Yeah,” RJ echoed. “Good thing too, ‘cause we were halfway here when she started shaking all over again.”

  “Then she just went limp and passed out,” Cally said.

  My hand was on automatic pilot, still stroking Felicity’s cool skin. I felt her jerk slightly, and we all turned our attention back to her when we heard movement against the upholstery. As she began to stir, she let out a low, pitiful sounding moan.

  “It’s okay, honey,” I told her softly. “I’m here.”

  “Caorthann?” The thin whisper of Felicity’s voice met my ears as she called my name in Gaelic.

  She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she was slowly starting to unfurl from her tight posture.

  “Yes, I’m right here,” I soothed, brushing the back of my hand lightly against her cheek.

  “I’m dead,” she whispered again.

  “No sweetheart, you’re fine. You just had a seizure,” I replied softly.

  “No,” she spoke again, her voice still a thin whisper, then she tried to shake her head but quickly gave up. I could see a tear beginning to glisten in the corner of her closed eyelid. “No, you don’t understand. I’m… I’m… Ohhhh….” She moaned.

  “Shhhhh.” I soothed. “You’re okay.”

  “Rowan… I’m… She’s… I’m dead.”

  “It’s okay,” I repeated, realizing now what she meant. “Ben just told me that they officially identified the remains.”

  “No,” she insisted, quiet but adamant nonetheless. “No, they haven’t found me yet.”

  I had naturally assumed she was referring to Tamara Linwood, but her objection set my mind racing in yet another direction. It was suddenly apparent to me that she had seen something on the other side; or to be more accurate, this time around she remembered what she had seen.

  I could feel my entire face tense as my lips hardened into a frown at the horrific thoughts now invading my already overloaded grey matter.

  “Who’s dead, Felicity?” I asked.

  I was afraid I already knew the name she was going to speak, and I desperately hoped I was wrong.

  “Me. I’m dead.”

  “No, tell me your name.” I nudged.

  “Brittany,” she whispered. “My name was Brittany.”

  I wasn’t wrong.

  * * * * *

  The episode ended quicker than it began, with Felicity snapping suddenly back into our world without warning or ceremony. She was weak but fully conscious of her surroundings, and that was a good sign.

  As soon as she was ready to move, we retreated back into the house. Even though the sun was down, the heat and humidity were still lingering in a suffocating blanket. RJ shut off the van and locked it up while Cally and I tried to help Fel
icity make the short journey across the yard. I say tried because she was having none of it. The most she would allow was for us to walk alongside her as she slowly trudged. To her credit, she made it into the house under her own power. While I had objected strenuously to her defiant need to go it alone, in the end she won out, mainly because I didn’t want to argue with her.

  Ben hadn’t even changed positions that I could tell, but Dickens had abandoned him— most likely having gone in search of a quieter place to sleep as my friend had begun to snore at a level louder than most gasoline-powered lawnmowers.

  In our own bid to escape the noise, after Felicity had cleaned up, we retreated to the kitchen. At least the distance and walls managed to dull the cacophony enough for us to talk.

  “Anyone else want coffee?” I asked, holding up the carafe. “It’s fresh.”

  “I’m good,” RJ answered.

  He had his small frame perched up on one end of our kitchen counter where it ran below the back window. His back was against the frame, and he was in the perfect spot to see anything and everything that was going on. In a way, I guess it was his designated spot and always would be.

  Following the murder of their Priestess— a former student of mine— Felicity and I had adopted this young Coven. Our intent had been to point them in the right direction, send them out on their own, and then return to our solitary practice. But, as with all best laid plans, things just didn’t work out that way. Unfortunately, I wasn’t entirely sure that it had been for the best. Looking back, I wondered if they were doomed by my presence from the very beginning as my involvement with them was born of violence on day one. And, it was a motif that had continued throughout the years.

  Until the past few months, we had held almost all of the meetings here. Each time, be it a class, ritual, or Sabbat, for whatever reason, the entire group had invariably migrated to the kitchen. And, every single time, RJ had ended up parked in the exact spot he was now, sitting in the very same half-lotus position while watching with curious eyes and drinking it all in.

  It had been five months now since I’d seen him, or anyone else from the Coven besides Felicity for that matter; something that was my own choice as my wife had been so intent on pointing out. But I didn’t regret it. At least, I didn’t think that I did.

  As time wore on, I had once again grown used to practicing The Craft with Felicity alone. I had even managed to get my energies under control and re-focus myself on some of the basics I had seemed to forget in the wake of everything I’d been subjected to, both ethereal and physical.

  But, standing here now, there was something oddly comfortable about the sight of RJ and Cally making themselves at home in the kitchen as they’d done so many times before. Felicity was correct. These people were family, and in some small way, even considering the negative circumstances, this was a homecoming.

  “I’m going to get some ice water if that’s okay,” Cally said.

  “Yeah, go for it,” I replied, breaking out of my introspective trance as her words met my ears. I turned and slid the pot back onto the base then nodded my head toward the cabinets. “Glasses are where they’ve always been.”

  “I’ll take a Jaim…” Felicity began.

  “…Not this time.” I cut her off.

  “Jaim…” she started again, adding a demanding note to her voice.

  “…I said no,” I interrupted her again, adopting my own stern tone as I stepped over to the breakfast nook and slid a cup of coffee in front of her. “Not this time. Now take the aspirin, drink the coffee, and try to relax. The caffeine will help, trust me.”

  “But…”

  “No but’s.” I shook my head. “I’ve already got Ben passed out on the couch. I’m not going to have you going in that direction too.”

  “I was gonna ask about that,” RJ said.

  “What, Ben? Apparently he tied one on,” I stated simply. There was no reason for them to know the impetus behind his binge.

  “So have you remembered anything else?” I asked, turning my attention back to Felicity.

  “Anything else?” she asked with more than a hint of confusion in her voice. “I don’t remember anything at all.”

  “Well you just told me a few minutes ago that Brittany Larson is dead,” I returned.

  “I did what?”

  “Yeah, Felicity,” RJ chimed in. “You said, ‘She’s dead. Brittany is dead.’”

  “No…” she muttered, her voice trailing off, not denying that she’d said it but still verbally rejecting that it could be true.

  Her hand was covering her mouth, and her head pitched forward as her shoulders drooped.

  “It’s okay, honey,” I told her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done better than me on this one so far.”

  “For all the good it’s done, then,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly.

  “Mind if I use your phone to call Nancy?” Cally asked in a somber tone. “She and the twins are probably worried sick.”

  “Help yourself,” I replied. “Tell her I’ll make arrangements to get Felicity’s Jeep as soon as I can.”

  “Yeah,” RJ interjected. “While you got her on the line, ask her if Moonpie Fairybunny bolted or what.”

  “RJ!” Cally admonished.

  “Well what would you call her?” he asked with a shrug.

  “Her name is Candee,” she replied as she lifted the phone off the wall base and then disappeared around the corner into the dining room.

  “Yeah, Candee with two ‘e’s’, don’t forget,” he called after her, holding up a pair of fingers. “So, I rest my case.”

  “Moonpie Fairybunny?” I asked.

  “A seeker,” Felicity answered, speaking toward the surface of the table as she held her head in her hands.

  “She’s been to the last couple of classes,” RJ offered. “Real crystal crunching, cotton-tailed, white-lighter. Enough to make you gag.”

  “She probably won’t even ask to dedicate, RJ,” Felicity told him.

  “You’re probably right. You should have seen her face when you hit the floor,” he returned. “I think you scared the crap out of her.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Felicity asked.

  “About Fluffy?” RJ asked rhetorically. “Tell her not…”

  “No,” Felicity shot back, cutting him off and turning her face up to mine. “About Brittany Larson. What if she really is dead? Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

  For the first time I could recall, I found myself standing on a very different side of the fence. It was a viewpoint with which I had more than just a passing familiarity but only when it was staring back at me. I had never seen the world from this angle, or at least not in the past few years.

  “Honey,” I began. “I hate to sound like Ben, but right now we’ve got nothing to go on. On top of that, you don’t even remember saying that she’s dead.”

  “But we have to do something,” she appealed.

  “I’m not saying we don’t,” I told her. “But at the moment, our best and only link to the investigation is soused and passed out on our sofa.”

  “Let’s wake him up, then,” she pressed.

  “Waking up isn’t the issue, Felicity. I don’t think you understand. He was trashed. And I mean trashed with the proverbial capital T. He’s going to have to sleep it off before he can even make a coherent sentence.”

  “Foicheallan. Drongair,” she spat.

  “What was that?” RJ asked.

  “You’ve heard her speak Gaelic before,” I told him.

  “Yeah, but what did she just say?”

  “I don’t know. Those were a couple of new ones to me.”

  “He’s a useless drunkard” came her retort.

  “Settle down, Felicity,” I told her, realizing that she was as in the dark about Ben’s circumstances as I had been just an hour ago. “He’s got his reasons.”

  “They’d best be good,” she remarked with a hard edge to her voice, looking up at me with
anger flashing in her eyes.

  I certainly understood the turmoil and sense of urgency she was going through. It wasn’t like I had been guilty of it myself. However, I didn’t want to get into Ben’s personal life in front of Cally and RJ.

  I looked back at her without a word, hoping that the look on my face would get through to her and that she’d drop the subject for now. She glared back for a moment, and I simply held her stare. I don’t know if it was my expression or just the fact that her brain had to be swimming in an untold number of directions, but she moved on, or back as the case may be.

  “Fine. So what are we going to do?” she demanded. “Sit around and wait for him to come to?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” I returned, trying not to snap at her. I knew all too well how she felt.

  “What about Constance?” she declared. “Didn’t you say Ben told you she was assigned to the case?”

  With the turmoil of the evening, I had completely forgotten about the federal agent.

  I nodded assent. “You’re right. He did. I’ll try to get hold of her as soon as Cally’s off the phone. In the meantime, maybe we could try to jog your memory so we have something more to tell her.”

  She looked back at me and shuddered involuntarily. “I’m not so sure I’m ready for that.”

  I added, “I can understand that. Truth is I’m not so sure that I’m ready for you to do that either.

  “You know, something else we could do is put our heads together and try to figure out why this is happening to you instead of me.”

  Even as I was finishing the comment her face went blank. At first I thought she was about to have an episode, but instead of tensing up, she simply turned her face away from mine. In that instant, the thick ethereal walls she had constructed around herself palpably strengthened.

  My own psychic alarms began ringing in the back of my head as it became obvious that she was steeling herself not against the unknown but against me.

  “What’s going on, Felicity?” I asked.