No Rest for the Wicca

by Toni LoTempio

  I slid out of the car and pounded up the front steps, into the house. I tossed my purse and keys on the hall table and stood for a minute, just listening to the abject silence.

  Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.

  I moved forward into the kitchen area. Xia sat at the small table near the window, absently swirling a tea bag in a large ceramic mug. I took a breath, walked over, pulled out the chair next to her, and sat down.

  “Feeling better?”

  She glanced up, held out the mug. “A little. Want some tea? It’s Orange Blossom Chai.”

  I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  She continued sipping from the mug. I traced lazy circles on the gingham checked tablecloth with my index finger. “I’m sorry,” I said at last.

  She looked at me over the rim of her mug. “You are? For what?”

  “For getting you involved. I know what happened down at Special Forces hit you hard, and—“

  “You don’t get it, do you, Morgan?” She set the mug down, reached out and covered my hand with her own. “I’m fine,” she said. “And you don’t owe me an apology. It’s I who should be sorry.”

  The remark made me sit up straighter. “What? Why?”

  “Because I failed. I couldn’t get a bead on what you wanted me to.”

  I nodded, didn’t pull my hand away as I usually did. I rubbed at her thumb with my forefinger. “Not at all. Frankly, you were more of a help than you think.”

  Her eyes widened. “I was?”

  “Yeah.” I let go of her hand and leaned back, stretched my legs out in front of me. “I think you did hone in on something—it just wasn’t the future victim. I think you found our missing number four.”

  She frowned. “Number four?”

  I licked at my lip self-consciously. “There’s something else you should know. We think the killer mistook Florrie for a pureblood. I think the victim you honed in on was her.”

  Xia’s lips went pale. “Oh, God. Florrie Alban? Are you sure?”

  “Relatively certain, yes.”

  She clenched her hand into a fist, so tight the knuckles bled white, and pressed it against her lips. “She was such a sweet girl—why on earth—“

  “A sweet girl, true, but unfortunately one with an interest in something she’d have best left alone. She liked to pass herself off as one with the blood. It might well have proved her undoing.”

  Xia’s blue eyes turned flat as stones. “There are plenty of humans and half-bloods who like to act as if they’re pure. It’s not a crime is it? Surely something one couldn’t die for?” She passed a hand across her eyes. “Why is this person killing witches, Morgan?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Oh, I think you have an idea, don’t you? Has it got something to do with voodoo?”

  My neck snapped up. “What makes you say so?”

  “Cole—Agent St. John told me they selected you because of your heritage, and the chance you might recall something helpful. He told me about those strange dolls.”

  I clucked my tongue in annoyance. “Seems you and Senior Special Agent St. John had quite the discussion.”

  “He wanted my help, so he thought it best if I knew all the facts.” She paused. “But I don’t, do I? Not even Agent St. John knows. There’s something you’re holding back.”

  Pinned under Xia’s accusing stare, the best I could do was muster up a choked, “What makes you say that?”

  She wagged her finger under my nose. “Don’t try to kid me, Morgan. You know full well my senses are more in tune than yours, and I’ve felt for a while now you’ve held back something. Don’t you think it’s about time you unburdened yourself?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I—I’m not even sure if it’s real, or just my overactive imagination.”

  “Might help to talk about it.” Xia pushed the mug off to the side and cupped her chin in her palms. “I’m here for you. I’m a good listener, as you well know.”

  I recalled all the times she’d sat up with me, listening to me sob and babble incoherently after April’s death, and I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

  “So. Spill. What details are you keeping to yourself?”

  I hesitated, nodded. Perhaps talking about it, saying it out loud, I could break through the fog that seemed to veil my progress. I expelled a deep breath. “Your attack is one of the reasons I decided to work with Cole—Agent St. John. They said witches were the target, and I couldn’t live with myself if you were selected as one of them.”

  “You’ve already made your feelings known, and it’s still very sweet,” said Xia. “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  “Yes.” I nibbled at my bottom lip. “It was also the voices.”

  Xia’s eyes bulged. “Voices? You heard voices?”

  My hand flew to my temple, rubbed. “I still hear them. They’re always there, fluttering in my subconscious. I think—no, I know--they were the voices of the witches who were killed.”

  She considered this a moment, then nodded. “It makes sense. You can commune with the spirits of those who cannot find rest, who are trapped between planes. These witches taken before their time would surely qualify. Well, what did they say to you?”

  “They said I had to help them.”

  She gave me a look. “And something else, as well. I’m right, aren’t I? Don’t hold back. What?”

  I laced my hands behind my head. “It was a sort of…warning? Riddle? I’m not sure which. They used voodoo and Wiccan terms, a mix. I thought I’d interpreted what they were trying to say correctly, but now…now I’m not so sure. I feel as if there’s something I’m missing.”

  “Well?” Xia demanded as I fell silent. “What did they say?”

  I repeated the phrase. “Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.”

  She stared at me. “Huh?” After I repeated it again, she said, “Okay, I get the Lughnasadh. The rest you’re gonna have to interpret.”

  “Ago is a voodoo ritual exclamation meaning ‘Attention’. Angajan usually refers to a transaction consummated between a person and an lwa.”

  Xia made a face. “A transaction? It’s not like making a deposit at a bank, is it?”

  “Hardly. It’s usually some black magic deed in exchange for a service to a certain god. And asogwe is a title, usually given to the highest rank of the Voodoo priesthood.”

  “I see.”

  I laughed. “No, you don’t.”

  She grinned back. “You’re right. I don’t. How did you interpret those words?”

  My fingers traced the gingham checks as I spoke. “Well, I took it as they were calling for my attention. Someone is killing these witches as a service to an lwa, hoping to get something in exchange. I figured the asogwe referred to the fact the person doing this is pretty high ranking in voodoo circles. Lugh, as we’ve deduced, refers to the date it all comes down.”

  “Makes sense—I guess,” Xia frowned. “Are you sure about the first word?”

  “There’s only one meaning for the word ago in voodoo.”

  “I’m sure, but—are you absolutely certain that was the word? Couldn’t it have been something else, maybe?”

  I puckered my brow in thought. “Why—I’m not sure. I don’t know of any close to it, offhand, but—maybe. Maybe they’re trying to tell me something else.” I put my head in my hands. “It’d be great if they could give me more than just cryptic tidbits.”

  “Why can’t they?”

  I shrugged. “Something’s blocking them, preventing them. The asogwe might have put a curtailing spell on them. Dammit.” I balled my hand into a fist. “There’s something I’m missing. Something important…” Suddenly I snapped my fingers. “Prana.”

  Xia looked up. “What?”

  “In my research. Odic Force is a project Graft and Morrow were working on, and Florrie disagreed with. It’s called prana in voodoo. Human sacrifices increase the effectiveness of the spell.” I reached for Xia’s mug, brought it to my lips, then set it
down with a grimace. “Cold. Anyway, if Graft and Morrow are involved with the society, these sacrifices for could well be Marinette. She’s one of the most dreaded members of the Petro nation, powerful, violent. It would fit, and yet…dammit, I’m still getting the sense I’m missing something here.”

  The phone rang, and Xia, who was nearest it, picked it up.

  “Hello. Yes, she is.” She held it out to me and mouthed Agent St. John. I snatched the receiver with a trembling hand.

  “Cole? What’s up?”

  “I think you might want to get down here,” Cole’s voice was steady, but there was an edge to it that made my spine tingle.

  “Are you at Dark River Lake?”

  “Yes.”

  I felt a chill invade my body, permeate my bones. “And did—did you find Florrie?”

  “Like I said, you’ll want to get down here right away,” Cole said. His tone was clipped, impersonal, betraying nothing. I had the feeling he wasn’t alone. “And whatever you do, come alone. Don’t bring Xia.”

  ***

  There wasn’t a crowd. I was grateful for that. Overhead the moon waxed toward its last quarter, the clouds thick and dark against a starless sky. I scanned the dark sheltering trees and made my way up the steep incline leading to the edge of Dark River Lake. As I reached the crest of the hill, I looked down. I saw boats, a small gathering of yellow-coated personage I determined were Special Forces—and lying at the lake’s edge, a white-sheeted body.

  I fairly flew down the incline, tumbled into a waiting Cole. He helped me pick myself up, gave me a quick once over.

  “You look like hell,” he said simply.

  “Thanks for the news flash.” I wrapped my jacket more tightly about me. Even though it was almost the end of July, a light breeze had sprung up, blowing in off the water. “I’m fine.”

  His gaze flicked over me. “How’s Xia?”

  “She felt bad she couldn’t be of more help,” I gritted my teeth, inclined my head toward the white-sheeted body. “Florrie?”

  He nodded. “Want a look? It’s not a pretty sight.”

  I squared my shoulders. “I can handle it.”

  As we moved toward where the body lay, an imposing figure in yellow slicker blocked our path. I held back a grimace as I recognized the granite hard features of Commander Delia Stone.

  “Commander,” I nodded.

  She gave me a quick once-over. “Hawkes. Surprised to see me, I’m sure.”

  “I didn’t think Commanders came to crime scenes.”

  “They do when it’s necessary. Here’s your missing body,” her words gunned out, short, crisp. “Do try and ensure there are no additional deaths, you two. Time is running out. I want this bastard caught.”

  “So do we, Commander,” I said, gritting my teeth. I pushed past her, over to the body. I bent, slowly pulled down the sheet.

  Florrie had never been particularly pretty, and her face, bloated and swollen from what must have been at least three days in the murky river, was not a pleasant sight. There were patches on her neck where fish had started nibbling—the mix of flesh and bone would definitely have upset Xia. The middle of her throat yawned wide, a gaping hole. I turned my head slightly, saw Cole just behind me.

  “She was at the bottom of the lake, dead center, “he said. “We’ve spent the better part of the evening dragging it. Can’t seem to find one of those dolls.”

  “There wouldn’t be,” I said thoughtfully. “Killer must have realized his mistake, but too late to save her.” I took another long, hard look at the face. “I see why you didn’t want me to bring Xia. I hate even for her mother to see her like this.”

  Cole bent over the body. “The killer certainly hacked away at her throat.” Black eyes met mine. “Her tongue’s gone.”

  “What is this guy doing?” I cried. “A finger, a toe, an ear, a tongue—it’s as if he’s Dr. Frankenstein—stealing parts from the dead to build a monster.”

  “Perhaps you’re not so far off the mark with your assumption.”

  Suddenly I heard them, all at once, all babbling at once, the voices reverberating, beating through my brain.

  Seven.

  The power of Seven

  Seven points to release, to free.

  You have to help us.

  You have to stop it.

  Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh

  I staggered backward, hands over my ears. My vision blurred—I could barely see Cole’s face, pale, anxious, as he looked at me, could barely hear him over the cacophony in my head.

  “Morgan? Are you allright?”

  “I want to help you,” I cried out. “Truly, I do. But I don’t know how. Tell me how.”

  And then I fainted.

  Chapter 16

  I floated on a fluffy, pink-tinted cloud—directly in front of me, I could see large, silver gates. As I drew nearer, the gates opened. Five figures slowly materialized—three were women I’d never seen, one with a missing ear, another with a missing toe, the last a missing hand. I cut my glance over to the left and saw Darla, pale, arms akimbo, one eye gone. And then Florrie joined them. They linked arms and formed a circle around me. I reached out to touch one, and my hand went right through them—they were transparent. They hovered close, and changed in sweet, lyrical tones:

  Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.

  I covered my ears with my hands in a futile attempt to drown out the sound. Darla loomed large, staring me down with her one good eye.

  Think. Use your brain, Morgan. Xia always said you were good at it. Think. You can make the connection.

  “Connection to what?’ I wailed. “You want me to help you, you have to help me. Tell me who’s behind this.”

  We can’t. The forces will not let us. We’ve given you all the help we can.

  “I don’t believe you. You can tell me. You must.

  We’re not permitted to do any more, but you can do it, Morgan.

  You alone can help us.

  “For great Hades’ sake,” I screamed, “I can’t. I can’t unless you give me more to go on.”

  Florrie appeared at my elbow. She held out a piece of paper. I took it, unfolded it.

  There were three symbols on it. A triangle inside a circle. Another looked like two giant tears next to a squiggly line.

  I held my breath as I looked at the last--a seven pointed star.

  I looked at Florrie. “What does this mean?”

  Her lips were pale, her skin translucent. She gestured with her hand toward the paper. She opened her mouth, and I saw no tongue, just pale pink gums and teeth, white and needle sharp. She tapped the paper, made a circle with her hands.

  Darla appeared behind me. “You’ll figure it out,” she said. “It’s inflection, that’s all. You’ll know, and you’ll stop it. It’s the only way.”

  My body began to rock back and forth suddenly, as if someone were shaking me. From a distance, I heard a voice:

  “Morgan. Are you okay? You’re crying out in your sleep.”

  My eyes snapped open and I sat up, breathing heavily. I shook my head and looked around. I lay spread out on a large, very comfortable leather sofa in a very elegantly appointed room, a light blanket over me.

  And, crouched next to me on an oaken coffee table, sat Cole.

  I frowned at him. “What in hell—where am I?”

  He gently pushed me back against a soft pillow. “Don’t you remember? The park?”

  “Yeah, by the lake. Florrie’s body.” I pressed my hand against my throbbing temples, remembering the cacophony of voices. “What happened?”

  “You fainted,” he said. “And since it started to rain, I brought you here.”

  I cleared my throat. “You could have called Xia. Or taken me home.”

  He chuckled. “I rather thought your cousin endured enough excitement for one evening. I phoned her, told her we’d be working late. So she wouldn’t worry.”

  “How…good of you.” I swung my legs off the couch, pushed the blanke
t off to one side. “I’m okay.”

  He cocked one eyebrow. “Are you? You were thrashing about pretty good there. Did you have a bad dream?”

  I rubbed the side of my head, felt the muscle above my right eye begin to twitch. “One might say so, yes.”

  He moved to the end of the couch, folded his arms across his chest. “Well, if you’d care to share, I’m a good listener.”

  I resisted the urge to laugh. “You’re the second person to say that to me tonight. What am I, a basket case?”

  He regarded me with a measured stare. “No, merely a woman who needs to unburden herself.”

  I rose. My knees wobbled and I thought I might plop right back down, but I took a deep breath, carefully put one foot out in front of the other. “Sorry to disappoint, but see! Good as new.”

  He shook his black mane of hair. “I doubt it.” He reached for a glass, pressed it into my hand. “Apple juice. Drink up.”

  “I love apple juice. How did—never mind.” I downed the contents of the glass, set it down on the table. He still regarded me with that look in his eye. I flushed. “Quit staring at me as if I’m some sort of lab experiment. Or your dinner.”

  He stepped closer to me, skimmed his fingers through my unruly hair. “I don’t know why you resist someone’s aid so.”

  “Giving me the evil eye is helping me?”

  “You know what I mean,” he bit out. “I realize the meat of our relationship is trading dull-edged barbs, but—you were having a serious nightmare there. I heard you call out.”

  I felt a sense of unease trickle along my spine. “You did? What’d I say?”

  “You mumbled some strange words. You called out Darla’s name, and Florrie’s as you bolted up.”

  I swallowed. “Oh, well, you know what they say about dreams.”

  “Yes, many of them are precognitive. Especially when a psychic witch has them.”