Fatal 5

by Karin Kaufman

  Anna took her cell from her pocket, clicked the button for Liz’s number, and was pulling at the SUV’s door handle before she realized her phone wasn’t ringing. She checked the battery indicator. No lines. “Not now!” she screamed. She shoved the phone in her pocket and got behind the wheel. Wind-whipped snow had entered through the Jimmy’s open window and dusted the seat and the top of the dashboard, chilling her.

  She started the engine, rolled up the window, and pulled from the curb, wondering for a moment if she should drive away then circle back, taking Darlene by surprise. But she felt in the core of her bones that Darlene was heading for the cemetery. That’s why she hadn’t seen Darlene and Jackson on Summit. She had to drive to Mount Hope—now. Darlene might already be there. And so might her coven.

  Anna stopped the Jimmy, pulled back to the curb, jumped out, and grabbed the winter emergency box from behind her seat. She pulled out a black marker and reached into her jacket pocket for the spool of red ribbon Gene had given her. After peeling off the tape holding the ribbon to the spool, she grabbed the ribbon’s end and snapped the spool like a yo-yo. The ribbon unrolled and the spool hit the street.

  She scribbled her name and the word “cemetery” several times on both the back and front of the ribbon then dashed to the store’s front door and tied the ribbon to the door handle. It rippled in the wind, two red tails stretching from the door handle, across the display window, down to the sidewalk and up again, billowing, signaling. Anyone driving or walking by would see it. Anna only hoped it was Liz or the police who saw it first, not Darlene or Rowan.

  She scrambled back into the Jimmy and backed away from the curb again, heading east, riding the center of the road. “Lord, keep Jackson safe,” she prayed aloud. “Keep him from all harm.” As she pressed down on the accelerator, she felt the tires grip and slide, grip and slide as she picked up speed.

  The downtown Christmas lights retreated from view, first in the side windows, then, as though she were entering a dark tunnel, out her rearview mirror. She turned south on Elk River Road, then two blocks later made a left through the cemetery gate, the SUV’s headlights bouncing through the snow-covered ponderosas when she hit dips in the road.

  She pulled slowly ahead, struggling with the wheel as the tires fought the deep snow. No one had plowed the road since earlier in the day, maybe the day before that. Only the biting cold gave the tires any traction.

  Knowing that Darlene was having trouble too, moving on foot through the ice and snow, helped calm her. That and the hope that Jackson had yanked on his leash, sent Darlene tumbling, and run from her.

  Anna knew the witches in Darlene’s coven might be with her. Jackson was no match for them, and neither was she. She wished for her gun, or for a bat, a metal bar, anything. She remembered the metal walking stick under the back seat and hoped it was still there. The stick had a short spike on the end for gripping the hard-packed Colorado soil. She’d use it if they hurt her dog.

  Ahead, snowdrifts obliterated the road. Anna braked and shut off the Jimmy’s engine. She’d have to go the rest of the way on foot. She got out and felt under the back seat for the two pieces of her walking stick. They were there, along with her emergency box.

  She dug around in the box until she realized the high-beam flashlight that was supposed to be in it was still under her kitchen counter. It was probably best not to use a flashlight anyway, she thought. It might alert Darlene to her approach, and she needed the advantage of surprise. She found the digital camera and slipped it into her jacket pocket. If the flash worked on bears, it might work on Darlene.

  The cold bit into Anna’s fingers as she screwed the ends of her walking stick together. “Lord, send the police, send Liz, send someone, now.” She pushed the car door shut and headed into the cemetery.

  25

  Within moments Anna encountered drifts to her knees. She walked in a zigzag, avoiding the steeper drifts, trying to follow what she could make out of the cemetery road.

  A wind gust drove snow, sharp as glass, from the ponderosas into her face. Looking for footprints was useless. Her own footprints from thirty seconds ago had disappeared behind her, swallowed by the snow.

  “Liar!”

  Anna jumped at the voice. Darlene.

  “Damn you, damn you.”

  There was rage in her voice. Who was she talking to? Anna crept forward, lingering behind headstones or shrubs with every few steps.

  “Darlene, I did everything you asked me to do.”

  It sounded for all the world like Monica Fisk. Anna crouched behind a large headstone and laid her walking stick in the snow. She slowly moved her head to the side and peered around the monument.

  “I did everything you asked me to.” Darlene mimicked Monica’s voice and exhaled loudly, making clear her patience was at an end. “I should have known not to bother with you. I offer you money and power, and you won’t do this one thing.”

  Twenty feet ahead, Darlene stood facing Monica in a treeless field dotted with knee-high headstones, a sword with a thick, decorative hilt dangling from one hand. Monica held Jackson on a leash, tight against her thigh, and the dog squinted in the stinging wind, his ears flat against his head.

  Anna’s heart ached for him. She wanted to run to him and pry the leash from Monica’s hand, using her walking stick if she had to. She willed herself to remain still. She had to make Monica drop the leash so Jackson could run.

  “Look at everything I’ve done, Darlene. I told her about your power, that she should be afraid of you. I sat in her car and waited for you to show up and watch us.”

  “You were unconvincing.”

  “I told her about 1734, I pretended to be scared about the Walton murder. I stood in the cemetery over some baby’s grave and waited for her so I could tell her about the sacrifices.”

  Anna grimaced. What a fool she’d been. She’d never even looked at the name on the baby’s headstone. Monica had made herself conspicuous then stepped away from the stone so Anna wouldn’t see it. She’d even fabricated a name for her nonexistent baby. And Rowan had made sure she knew about Bert’s wreath and took it to the cemetery.

  All three of them had planned this. Darlene doesn’t leave anything to chance, Monica had said.

  “So where is she, Monica?”

  “She’ll be here.”

  “And when she gets here, you’re going to do what you’re supposed to do, aren’t you?”

  Monica looked away. “I hate this. It’s not fair.” Her voice was plaintive, pleading.

  “It’s more than fair. I’m offering you a way out of your hovel, out from under the bills that are suffocating you. You have one thing left to do, so do it.” Darlene brought her right hand up, and with it the sword. It looked like a very large athame. “And where’s Rowan? He should be here by now.”

  “I’m here, Darlene.” Rowan moved out of a clump of pines and stood alongside Darlene. “I’ve been here as long as you have. Didn’t you see me?”

  Darlene gave a mirthless laugh. “A druid in the woods is hard to spot.”

  Rowan looked down at his shoes, then up again, beaming like a boy who had just been praised by a tough-minded parent. Darlene was cementing her hold on him, making sure he was on her side and ready for anything she might ask.

  “Rowan, what are you doing here?” Monica asked.

  “Darlene asked me to come. I think I owe her. We owe her.”

  “I know we do. I came too—and I brought the dog, didn’t I?” Monica stomped her feet to warm them. “It’s freezing.”

  There were three of them now. Anna’s thoughts pitched wildly. She needed a plan, a maneuver of some kind. She couldn’t just rush them.

  “My people are in these woods,” Darlene said. “Waiting for my call.” She extended her arm and circled slowly in place.

  Anna ducked. What people? She gazed into the dark grove of trees behind her. Were they waiting to walk out of the woods as Rowan had? She peered around the monument again and saw Row
an looking to his left, searching the woods. If witches from Darlene’s coven were there, he hadn’t seen them.

  “Darlene, the weather’s getting worse,” Monica said. “Let’s just go home.”

  “Stop sniveling!” Darlene turned back to face Monica. “What have you got to snivel about? It’s always the same, year after year, no matter what you do.”

  “What is?” Monica asked.

  “You can’t trust your family, you can’t trust your so-called friends. You sure can’t trust a politician—but when could you ever trust a politician? Even some insect of a genealogist takes my life and twists it like a rope around my neck.” Darlene was holding the sword like a batter would hold a baseball bat. With her long legs she was one stride from Monica, one move from striking her.

  “You can trust your friends,” Rowan said. “We’re your family.”

  “And then who shows up out of nowhere?” Darlene laughed bitterly. She wasn’t listening to Rowan, she was listing her grievances. “What are the odds? Who would have thought she lived in this puny town and wanted to join my coven. Of all the places. How’s that for a cosmic joke?”

  Monica took a step backward. “Who?”

  “What did you talk to Anna Denning about?” Darlene said.

  Monica stared at Darlene.

  “When she drove you back to my store, what did you talk about?”

  “I told you. The photos, witchcraft, Julian Brandon.”

  “What did you say about my mother and grandmother?”

  “Nothing, Darlene, come on.”

  “You told her about our plan. I saw you in the car.”

  An expression of anger and determination fluttered across Monica’s face. “Yeah, fine, I thought about it.”

  “Why did you betray us?” Darlene was using us again, making her side Rowan’s and painting Monica as their mutual enemy.

  “I said I thought about it, I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  Anna glanced about her again. If Darlene’s witches were in the woods, they were taking their time showing up. It seemed Darlene was mau-mauing again. She didn’t even have a full coven in Elk Park, and the ten witches Rowan had said were in her store tonight were in truth no more than six. They were probably at home now, sipping buttered rum by their fires.

  “What do you want from me?” Monica asked.

  “I told you what I want.” Darlene began swinging the sword in front of her, left, right, and back again, like a pendulum. She wanted to draw this out, to taste Monica’s fear. What did Rowan feel now, watching Darlene strut and bully? Any glimmer of pity for Monica? Maybe he wasn’t capable of murder, but if he couldn’t wield a weapon himself, he might still be cruel enough to stand by, weak with misplaced loyalty, while murder happened.

  “Someone else should do it,” Monica said.

  Darlene thought for a moment. “How about Rowan? He can prove to me he believes in Crom Cruach.”

  Rowan’s head snapped around. “What?”

  “Unless it’s all tattoos and fantasy games.” Darlene was speaking to Rowan but kept her eyes on Monica. “It’s time to decide.” She hated them both. Hated what was left of the innocence in them.

  “We agreed on Monica,” Rowan said.

  “I’m changing my mind, you gutless neo-fluff, you pagan wanna-be sack of zero.”

  Anna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Darlene was savaging Rowan now. The woman was nuts. Faced with a hint of insurrection, she was losing it. Anna knew nothing scared a woman like Darlene more than helpless confusion, and in the absence of her Ruger, confusion was exactly what Anna would use as a weapon.

  “Why are you talking like that?” Rowan said petulantly.

  “Because you’re weak, Rowan. As weak as smudge fingers here. I sent you to live with her and Jason so you could watch her, and you were useless to me.”

  “You did what?” Monica said.

  Anna strained to hear sirens in the distance. It was a matter of time before someone saw her red ribbon. She had to keep Jackson safe until then. Her eyes on Darlene, she stuck her hand into the snow and slid her palm along the ground at the base of the monument, searching with her fingers for something, anything, ignoring the cold biting into her flesh.

  She found a metal flower vase, almost flush with the ground, and clawed at it until it popped free. Lord, give me courage, and tell me when. She took a long, quiet breath, trying to slow the beating of her heart.

  “Anna was right about one thing,” Monica said. “You do manipulate people.”

  “After all I’ve done, I ask one damn thing from you.”

  “You killed the bird, you do it!” Monica held out the leash to Darlene and Anna’s heart leapt to her throat.

  Rising slightly from her heels so her arm would clear the monument, Anna threw the vase, aiming for Darlene’s midsection. It struck a headstone several feet behind Darlene, the sharp rap sounding loud in the quiet of the cemetery. She ducked again.

  Anna heard a quick intake of breath. Silence. Then another gasp, deeper than the first. There was terror in them.

  It hadn’t occurred to Anna that any of the three could be as scared as she was, maybe more. Good, she thought. She looked from around the monument at Darlene, who was whirling about in a fruitless attempt to see who or what had created the sound.

  “Who is it?” Darlene said. Her breath shot from her lips.

  Anna lowered one knee to the ground, taking the pressure off her heels, and felt along the ground for anything else she could throw. There was nothing except for a couple small rocks frozen solid to the ground.

  “Who did you bring, Monica?” Darlene said. “Who did you bring?” she repeated, her voice raising to a higher register.

  “You know I didn’t bring anyone!”

  Anna hoped that her assessment of Rowan was correct, that he wasn’t a murderer and he’d run as soon as he sensed he was in danger.

  “Who did you bring?” Darlene raised the sword above her head. Monica shook with terror and dropped Jackson’s leash.

  “Jackson, come!” Anna grabbed her walking stick and bounded from behind the monument.

  “You filth!” Darlene shrieked.

  As Jackson sprang to Anna’s side, Monica turned and ran, slipping once in the snow before clawing her way to her feet and running again. Rowan stood motionless, looking frantically about, unsure of what was happening.

  “Rowan, get Monica!” Darlene said. “Don’t let her get away.”

  Rowan seemed to be calculating the danger to himself. He didn’t move.

  “Rowan, don’t let me down,” Darlene said, her eyes on Anna. “Are you on my side or not?”

  “This is crazy,” Rowan said. Anna knew it was sinking in. Darlene wanted him to track down Monica. To hurt her. “I think you’re crazy.”

  “Rowan.” Darlene turned to look at him.

  “I don’t want this, Darlene.”

  Darlene’s head snapped back as if she’d been hit with a roundhouse blow to the jaw.

  Anna unhooked the leash from Jackson’s collar and began to take slow backward steps, keeping her eyes on Darlene and Rowan. She kept a firm hold on the walking stick.

  “This isn’t what I’m about,” he said.

  “Don’t kid yourself.” Darlene took a step toward him, brandishing her sword. He flinched, a look of utter astonishment on his face.

  Anna was torn between running for safety and helping Rowan. He looked so staggered by what was happening that she doubted he would react in time if Darlene moved for him again.

  Slipping the walking stick into the crook of her elbow, she dug into her jacket pocket for her camera. Bringing it to her chest, she waited a beat until she was sure Darlene’s eyes had found her. She snapped a shot. The flash pierced the cemetery, bathing Darlene, her hands still gripping the sword, in white light.

  “What the hell?”

  Anna clicked the camera again. “Explain that to the police, Darlene.”
r />   A guttural snarl came from Darlene’s throat.

  If she could keep Darlene off balance, Anna thought, Rowan would have time to run. Then it would be just her and Darlene. She clicked again.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Darlene screamed.

  Jackson leaned forward and went rigid, ready to strike. He wouldn’t defend himself, but Anna knew he’d die to defend her.

  “I know about your real grandmother, Darlene. Doris Weston.” Anna could see that got Rowan’s attention. “And about your mother, Marianne Weston Kellner. Only she called herself Marianne Weston about the time she knew Julian Brandon.”

  Darlene made another sound, a grunt-like gasp for air.

  Rowan’s eyes were on Anna, his brow furrowed in recognition and concentration. “I know the name Marianne Weston. Witches spit when they say her name. She’s the one who set fire to Brandon’s apartment.” He looked at Darlene, waiting for an explanation.

  “Darlene’s mother was Marianne Weston,” Anna continued. “And Marianne’s friend—Brandon’s real lover—was Rose Robinson, Susan Muncy’s grandmother.”

  “You’ve got to be . . .” Rowan stood with his mouth open, staring after Darlene.

  “My grandmother is Evelyn Hargrave.” Darlene slapped the flat of the sword against her right thigh. “And you, black-blooded filth from the dark ages, you lie.”

  Darlene spoke slowly, her lips and teeth in exaggerated movement. She had given herself over to evil, willingly, gladly, for much of her life, and it filled her now. It was at home in its natural element, unconstrained.

  Anna held the camera at her waist, tilted the lens upward, and took another photo.

  Darlene slapped the sword again and brought it up quickly with both hands. “I should have ripped your heart out in Susan Muncy’s bedroom!”

  Anna commanded her dog to stay. She knew Darlene could kill him with one blow. She wouldn’t release him until she had to. Until Darlene was closer and Jackson could lunge for her before she had a chance to bring down the sword. Lord, help me, she prayed.

  Rowan looked from Darlene to Anna. His arms dropped to his sides and he shriveled inward, like a balloon losing air. “Anna, Jaz didn’t have anything to do with this. She didn’t even know about it.” He took half a dozen steps backward, putting space between himself and Darlene, then turn and ran in the same direction Monica had fled.