Hex Marks the Spot

by Madelyn Alt

  “Why do you suppose she’s been popping up so much lately?” I wondered aloud. “Or do you suppose—”

  “I think she’s been there all along…but that maybe part of the activity we’ve always attributed to Bertie washer. Or maybe, as Marcus says, things really are stirring up to new levels. Who know for sure?”

  I nodded. Who indeed? “So, what will you do about them? Bertie and Helen, I mean.”

  “I’m going to have a talk with her.” I could hear the authority in Marion’s voice, and it made me smile. This was her library now, hers and the community’s. Not just Helen’s. “I’m going to tell her that she’s stuck there because of her own actions and her own decision to remain. That if she wants to stay, fine; but she needs to stop trying to scare people, and she needs to coexist peacefully with Bertie.”

  “Liss could help you send them on their way, if that’s what you want.”

  “I don’t want to chase them away. I’m not afraid of them, and there’s room in the library for them, too. But I’ll keep it in mind, if things get worse. We all just need to get along.”

  When Marion hung up, I thought about what she had said, about everyone just needing to get along. That was the trouble when it came right down to it, wasn’t it? Personalities getting in the way. Arrogance and conceit and disdain. Greed and ambition and lust. Lust for money. Lust for pleasure. Lust for power.

  Control.

  Hatred.

  Sin.

  Not enough good to balance the bad.

  I sighed. Where had the balance gone out of whack between Luc and Hester?

  I couldn’t ask Hester, not without alarming her. But Marion’s insistence that she was going to talk to Helen and Bertie triggered something. I suddenly knew who I could ask. I could ask Luc.

  I took a deep, deep breath and smoothed my hands over the crinkled edges of the drawing again, closing my eyes. Centering myself. Relaxing. This was the first time I had ever linked with a spirit intentionally.

  Think, Maggie. Think.

  The first blip of information came faster than I had expected.

  Strength.

  My eyes flared open as fear of the unknown sluiced through me. There was still time to stop. Was I sure I wanted to do this? What if I didn’t do it right? Was I opening myself up for things I didn’t want in my life?

  Did I have a choice?

  Yes, I did. I did have a choice. And God help me, I was making it.

  I closed my eyes. Let my mind open up. Reached out.

  Purposely. With intent.

  Black. Binding. Protection. Harsher. Heavier.

  Rougher.

  Where are you, Luc? What can you tell me?

  My phone rang again. My eyes flared open.

  “Hello.” A bit more terse than necessary, perhaps, but I was in the middle of something.

  “Maggie? This is Louisa Murray. I hope you don’t mind, but your mother gave me your number.”

  Thank you, Mom. “Not a problem, Louisa. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I was wondering. I was just sitting here, thinking about those boys that you brought with you to help move the armoire. They seemed to be strong, capable, nice boys.”

  “Yes, they are. Very helpful.”

  “I was wondering…would it be possible for you to pass along their names and numbers? I’d like to get in touch with at least one of them. I have some chores around the house and barn that will be too much for me to take care of on my own. Sometimes a woman needs a man’s touch around the home.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Murray. Listen, why don’t I take your number, and I’ll pass it along to them.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  The tone bothered me, more than anything. “It’s not a question of trust, honest. I don’t have their numbers. I’ll have to get them from a friend, and it just seems easier to do it this way.”

  “Oh. Very well, then. As I said, I have a ‘Honey Do’ list a mile long since Frank died, and it just keeps getting longer. The roof on the barn needs work, the woods need to be cut back, yard work, detailing the car, fixing the cement on the sidewalk and driveway. And then there are things in the house, too, like painting and—”

  “Oh, I know, things do stack up, don’t they?” I asked, getting antsy to get back to my work.

  “They do. Well, thank you for passing the information along. Do what you can do to entice them to contact me. I could really use the manly presence.”

  “Will do. Good night, Mrs. Murray.”

  I rang off, feeling relieved, and hoped no one else remembered my phone number tonight.

  Now, where was I?

  Centering self, reaching out, yada yada. I just hoped I hadn’t lost the connection. I mean, I wasn’t very good at this. I needed all the concentration I could get.

  Black. Binding. Protection. Harsher. Heavier.

  Rougher strokes.

  Strength.

  I opened my eyes and stared down at the drawing of the hex I had copied from the tree until the lines blurred and then disappeared into the page, and I dropped into it, too. So to speak. It’s the only way to describe the sensation of what I experienced. The yielding. The surrender. The opening of mind. Of soul.

  Luc Metzger, come on down…

  Strength.

  Okay, strength. Got that.

  Protection.

  Against…

  What? Or who?

  Someone. A threat.

  A threat to…

  Something to hold dear.

  Family.

  Love.

  Both of these things?

  I came back into myself, staring down at the symbol and wondering how I could have been so mistaken. The sigil was to protect both love and family.

  There were two people from the Pennsylvania Ordnung of Amish that I knew of here in Stony Mill. One was Hester Metzger.

  The other was Luc Metzger himself.

  Chapter 18

  It was the same kind of mistake that Marion had made in her research that kept us from realizing sooner the truth behind the sigil’s creator.

  Preconceived notions. Misdirections.

  The lines of the markings gave it away more than anything. When compared against the hex on the tree, Hester’s drawings on the letter were finer, more precise, made meticulously and with great care. Everything she felt about her husband, she put into those symbols. All the love she felt for him—the passion, the wish for the two of them to be happy together. The eagle, strength. The smaller bird overflowing with hearts and flowers, Hester herself, sheltered beneath his protective wing. Flowing, rippling waves of blue surrounding them. Water? Water was a source of insight, inspiration, communication. Going with the flow.

  The sigil on the tree was made with bold strokes, strong, confrontational. Rough. Harsh. Fierce.

  Masculine energy.

  Luc’s energy.

  Hester didn’t make that sigil. Luc did.

  There was no telling how long it had been there, nor why it was there, on the edge of the woods so near their farm, facing town. Was it to keep some perceived evil away from the farm? Or was it to serve as a reminder to him that something in town was not for him?

  Moreover, what kind of coincidence was involved, that he was killed so close by?

  It was hidden from sight. If Liss’s nephew the scholar was to be believed, sigils were not hidden unless they served a dark purpose.

  No, it was not a personal reminder, and it was not to draw a blessing upon his family. It was a ward, placed in secret, that was meant to protect them from harm.

  But who was the threat?

  The million-dollar question.

  I settled against the hard wooden kitchen chair with a sigh and leaned my head against the high back, staring at the ceiling.

  It was a woman. It had to be. But who? Did he have an affair with someone in town that went too far? Did he try to break things off, only to have it come to this? To death and ruin?

  It was at least half a mile across tho
se woods to the outskirts of town. Half a mile of densely wooded acreage. If the sigil was for protection, why did he choose to hide it there, on the edge of this stretch of woods? Close to the farm, but not on it?

  Frowning, I went to the kitchen junk drawer and pulled my Uncle Henry’s map from the murky depths. It was something my father insisted I own, something I never thought I’d use in my lifetime. And yet here I was. Given my innate ability to put things away, never to be seen again, I should probably thank my lucky stars that I actually knew where it was.

  Uncle Henry maps were like a zoomed version of a regular map. They showed county roads, large tracts of forest, lakes, ponds, and other natural phenomena of interest. Originally created for the use of outdoorsmen, they could be vastly helpful in finding one’s way around tricky and sometimes twisty old county roads.

  I spread the map out over the kitchen table, sliding my fingertip along the main highway to get my bearings. Once you found your road, it was simple enough to find your way. Most Indiana counties are set up on north-south, east-west grids, with the old “trail” roads being the exceptions to the rules, just to keep things interesting. There it was, County Road 500. And there, right there, was the stretch of woods, just down the way from the Metzger farm.

  I followed the woods, colored green (what else?) on the map, toward town. There was one small break from the south, cutting into it, no doubt for one of the newer subdivisions, but other than that, the block of woods was pretty much intact. One half mile solid (nearly) of trees from there all the way over to…the Woodhaven subdivision.

  Okay, this was getting a little too coincidental for my tastes. The number of recurring themes in my life of late was starting to make me a little nervous.

  Something was not adding up. I knew in my mind and in my heart, the same way that I knew that Tom was not going to call me tonight after all his promises, that I was right about that much.

  Peaches.

  Okay, I had to admit: It was just a little weird that Peaches had ended up at Louisa Murray’s house and wouldn’t leave.

  Yeah, it was weird. As was her reaction to the dog. Why did she dislike her so very much? Peaches was a total sweet-pea. Once she settled down and stopped racing around like a chicken with her head cut off, anyone could see that she meant no harm. Why hadn’t Louisa just called for the dog to be picked up, if it was causing her such grief? Why had she put up with it for so long?

  And then there were the attacks on her property. Okay, so she’d been ratting out the local riffraff, and it was probably just backlash against her dedication to the Good Neighbor Policy, but still…

  How did this fit in with everything that had been happening?

  My Grandma Cora, God rest her soul, was a big jigsaw puzzle lover. She would leave the card table set up for days when she had a puzzle in progress, working on it here and there as she saw fit. Over time, she developed an almost photographic memory for the pieces and their shapes, and how they fit into the overall picture. “You just have to have faith, Margaret,” she’d told me over and over again when I huffed out my lower lip at my inability to find the pieces I was looking for. “And you got to have patience. Go off and do something else for a change. Let the pieces come to you.”

  So I did. I picked up the phone and went into my bedroom and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling while I dialed Tom’s number.

  “Fielding.”

  “Hey.”

  “Heeyyyy…I’m sorry, Maggie. I don’t think I’m going to get out of here in time. It’s going to be real late.”

  My intuition had been right on the money. Imagine that. “That’s okay. I kind of figured it was a long shot, anyway.”

  “You sound down.”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly. “Just thinking. You know how you said those Blackhawk boys had been running wild all over that stretch of woods out there? Alden Woods? Isn’t it kind of overgrown in there? I was looking at a map, and I don’t think it would be all that pleasant to run around in.”

  “Actually, it isn’t so overgrown anymore. There have been a lot of changes in there since that subdivision went in, cutting into it. They’ve added bike trails, a walking trail. Especially between the new subdivision and the old Woodhaven addition. Of course, over toward the end where Luc Metzger was found things get a little thicker, but even so, it’s pretty accessible.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, fine. Just thinking, like I said. Goodnight, Tom.”

  I was still mulling it all over the next morning after a night with little sleep. When I did sleep, it was fitfully, and I dreamed. I don’t know if it was the spirit energy of Luc visiting me through dreams, or if I was still connected somehow through my intentional link with him, but I dreamed of being in the woods, looking across the fields toward a collection of buildings a quarter of a mile away while the wind caught in the branches over my head and moaned a somber tune. Looking out with big round eyes. Watching.

  I was in the shower before I realized the imagery behind the dream. The owl on the sigil, that was my best guess. Sacred and wise protector, seeing through the darkness. Watching over the Metzger household. Still doing its job, eyes wide open.

  When I got to Enchantments, Liss was waiting for me, as usual. We both were early risers, but her rising managed to beat mine nine times out of ten. This morning I didn’t even bother with coffee, despite the fact that I could have used the caffeine. I sat down in the old wooden side chair beside the big rolltop desk and faced her.

  “I did it last night. Linked with a spirit on purpose for the first time.”

  Liss looked at me quietly. “I thought you weren’t ready.”

  “Yeah, well, I decided it was time. I was given this tool for a reason. I couldn’t justify turning away from it without putting some real effort into trying to understand it. Without trying to understand just what it means in my life.”

  She smiled proudly. “Brava.”

  “No congratulations yet. I may change my mind back again the next time something scares me.”

  “Everyone feels fear at some point in time or another, Maggie. The question is, do you let it control you? Or do you work to understand what you’re afraid of?”

  Even if it was the monster in the closet?

  “Well, anyway. I think I managed to link with someone. I’m not sure how to know that for sure.”

  “There’s no real way to know for sure without having someone to corroborate facts. All you can do is trust the knowing. That sense that what you are receiving is true.”

  “I was hoping there would be more than that. There’s no way, then. The person I linked with is passed. Gone.”

  She pinned me with a hard, assessing gaze. “Luc?”

  I nodded, wondering what she was thinking.

  “Ah. Did it have something to do with that?” she asked, inclining her nose toward her nephew’s book. I had brought it back with me and was now holding it in my lap, my hands folded together over the hard cover.

  I nodded. “Something like that. Your nephew is pretty amazing, did you know that? I can’t imagine the amount of work that goes into something like this.”

  “No point in changing the subject,” Liss said, her eyes twinkling at me. “I won’t ask you if you don’t want me to.”

  “You’re pretty amazing, too. No fair doing that when I’m not ready for you, though.”

  “Doing what?” she asked, the picture of innocence.

  I took a deep breath. “I promised Tom I wouldn’t say anything without his permission, but it isn’t betraying any confidences if I tell you that I think I know who created the sigil on the tree. I had thought at first that it must be Hester…but now I know it was Luc himself.”

  Liss’s brows raised as she considered my claim.

  “And I think…I mean, I know…that I need to talk to Hester again. I’m going to call Tom right now and ask him to go with me.”

/>   “Do you think he will?”

  “If I’m already heading out there before I call him,” I said, “he’ll have no choice.”

  “Maggie, be careful.”

  I nodded as I backed out the door. “For once, I think I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ll be back.”

  Chapter 19

  “You’re what?!”

  I had to hold the phone six inches from my ear, but I’d anticipated the explosion and was nothing if not prepared.

  “No, absolutely not! You’re interfering in something that’s none of your concern.”

  “I don’t think she’ll talk to you, Tom. She seems to trust me, as much as she trusts anyone else.”

  “Because you’re…”

  “A sensitive,” I supplied.

  “Like she is.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, for God’s—” The rest of the curse (or was that a supplication?) was muffled. Probably for the better. “I could understand it better if I thought it was because you found her dog for her. Christ, I knew I shouldn’t have let you look at that drawing. I knew it.”

  “Tom, if I thought it was dangerous to talk to Hester Metzger about her hex magic habit, do you really think I’d be doing this? I’m not stupid, and neither is she. For heaven’s sake, it’s broad daylight. She has children. Nothing is going to happen. Besides,” I said, saving the most important bit for last, “I don’t think she’s guilty of anything.”

  “Oh, of course not. Why would she be?”

  I heard the slam of a door through the phone. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m starting the cruiser so I can meet you there.”

  I cheered inwardly. I so did not want to do this alone. “Thanks, Tom.”

  “This had better be worth it,” he grumbled into the phone.

  I flipped my cell phone closed, and tucked it into my jacket pocket. At the next stoplight, I reached into the glove compartment for my palm-sized canister of pepper spray, which joined my cell. Hey, a girl never knows what to expect, and it’s better to be prepared than…well, it’s better to be prepared, that’s all.