“I think the house is up here on the right,” John said.
Eleanor lived in a small but well maintained home tucked back off the road in the trees. As they drove up the gravel drive, they saw a man working on a car in the yard. He was wearing jeans, work boots, and a flannel shirt. His mostly gray hair was cut short.
“Mr. Hughes?” Kat said as she got out of the car.
“Are you Kat?” the man asked.
“Yes,” she answered. She noticed him looking over her shoulder at John. “This is my friend John Warren.” Mr. Hughes wiped his hand on a greasy rag and extended his hand to John. John, without hesitation, reached out and shook his hand.
“Eleanor is inside. She is expecting you,” he said as he motioned toward the house. Kat and John walked up on the small porch and tapped lightly on the screen door.
“Come in,” Eleanor yelled from inside the house.
The house, like the outside was small but well maintained. The front door opened into a comfortable living room. Eleanor came out from the kitchen with a tray of lemonade and two glasses.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had someone with you,” she said as she looked at John.
“Eleanor, this is my friend, John Warren.”
“Nice to meet you.” Eleanor shook his hand and motioned for them to sit on the couch. “Let me get another glass,” she said as she went back into the kitchen. She came back with a glass and sat in a chair across from Kat and John. “Did you meet my husband, George?”
“Yes, we said hello before we came in,” Kat said.
“So, you said you were doing a paper on Indian legends?” Eleanor said as she poured three glasses of lemonade.
“The paper actually focuses on two legends in particular, the skinwalker and the Wendigo,” Kat said.
“Tell me what you know so far, and I will fill in the rest.”
“As I understand it, a skinwalker is a powerful witch that practices black magic and has the ability to shape shift into any animal they choose. A Wendigo is a creature that was once human but changed after practicing cannibalism. The Wendigo can also shape shift into animal and human form. They have an insatiable appetite for human flesh.”
“You have the general idea. The skinwalker legend is from the Navajos and the Wendigo legend is from the North American and Canadian tribes.”
“What do the legends say about how you would kill these creatures?” Kat asked.
“These creatures can only be killed when they are in their true form. As long as they have shape shifted, they cannot be killed, or so the story goes.”
“How would you get one of these creatures to take their true form?” Kat asked.
Eleanor gave Kat a suspicious look and said, “What class did you say you were writing this paper for?”
“It’s an online American History class.”
Eleanor paused a moment and studied Kat’s face. “There are two nights a year when they must take their true form, the Vernal and Autumnal equinox, when the length of the day is equal to the length of the night.”
“Is there any way to tell an animal or person is a skinwalker when they have changed form?” Kat asked.
“When a skinwalker is in animal form, their eyes do not glow at night as an animal’s would. When they are in human form, their eyes will glow in the moonlight.”
“Have you ever heard of any stories about skinwalkers or Wendigos in this area?” John asked suddenly. Eleanor’s eyes shifted from Kat to John, then she focused on her hands which were folded in her lap and sat up straighter in her chair.
“No, not in this area, why do you ask?” she said quickly.
“How about on Beaver Island?” John asked as he locked his eyes on Eleanor.
Eleanor looked up and stared into John’s dark eyes. “There is one story, but we don’t like to talk about it,” she said.
“Please tell us the story Eleanor, it is very important,” John said, not taking his eyes off her.
“To speak of it…will bring…the evil to you,” Eleanor said. Her words were halting and reluctant.
“Tell us what you know,” John said sternly.
“In the mid-1800s, there was an Indian witch who lived on one of the islands close to Beaver. The members of the local tribes avoided and feared him.” Eleanor paused and swallowed as if trying to keep herself from saying anymore. Unable to stop, she continued, “It is said he could shape shift into any animal. He used his powers for evil.” Eleanor stopped again. She turned her head slightly as though she were trying to pull away from John’s eyes.
“What happened to the witch?” John asked.
“His body was found by some trappers. He had been tied to a white ash tree. His throat and wrists were slit and there was a strange carving on his chest.”
“Did it look like this?” Kat asked as she drew a crescent shape with a counterclockwise circle above it.
“Yes.”
“Who, or what did that to him?” John asked.
“It is said he was sacrificed by a coven of Irish witches. These five witches were thought to have come down from Canada in search of Indian rituals to enhance their dark, Celtic magic. I don’t remember the story very well. It has been so long since my grandmother told me,” Eleanor said.
“Have you heard of the Reaping Moon Witches?” John asked.
“That is what the Indians called the Irish witches because they murdered the Indian witch by the light of the Reaping Moon,” she said as she shifted in her chair.
“John, you are pushing her too hard,” Kat whispered. John dropped his gaze from Eleanor who quickly sat back in her chair with a confused look on her face.
“Will you call us if you remember any more of the story?” John asked.
“You’re not writing a paper, are you?” Eleanor asked, sounding exhausted.
“No I’m not. There have been some strange things happening this summer. We are trying to see if there is a connection to this story,” Kat said.
“I will try to remember more,” Eleanor said as she followed them to the front door and onto the porch. Before turning to go back in the house she said, “Skinwalkers are tricksters. They can imitate the voice of loved ones or the cry of a child to draw you out into the night.”
Kat and John watched as Eleanor shut the door. George was still working on the car in the front yard. He lifted his hand and waved as they got into John’s car and drove off into the dim light of the setting sun.
— •●• —
Eleanor went into a bedroom at the back of her house that had been converted to a study. She pulled a book from the bookshelves that lined the walls. It was a book containing local Indian legends, hand written by Eleanor’s grandmother. She began flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She read for thirty minutes before putting the book down.
Eleanor called Kat’s cell and got her voicemail. As she was leaving the message, she could tell the reception was poor. She looked down at the phone in frustration, unsure as to how much of her message got through. Eleanor walked out to look for George so she could try his phone. When she went out in the yard she saw George standing on the gravel drive looking up at the moon.
“Well, is the car fixed?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said extending his hand to her. She walked toward him and took his hand. “The moon is beautiful tonight,” he said, still looking up. Eleanor looked over to her car. She saw legs sticking out from underneath the vehicle. She recognized George’s old worn boots on the feet.
“George.” She gasped and turned to look at the man holding her hand. It looked like George but his eyes were glowing. She tried to pull away and run, but he pulled her into him and covered her mouth with his. Eleanor struggled for about three minutes before going limp. The man dropped her lifeless body to the ground with a heavy thud. He looked up at the moon, stretched his arms wide, shape shifted into a large black crow, and flew off into the night sky.
Chapter Forty-One
A
fter Kat got home from their visit to Eleanor, she searched for information on Beaver Island on the Internet. She read about a large stone circle that was found on the island believed to have been built by ancient people and used for ceremonial purposes. Kat wondered if the resting place of the Reaping Moon Witches could be near this stone circle. A loud thump on the roof just over her head made her jump. The thump was followed by scratching noises.
“It’s just an animal.” Kat tried to reassure herself. She sat still and listened as the small scratching noises changed to what sounded like heavy footsteps.
Kat went over to the window, closed it, and shut the curtains. She went down to Mary’s room to check if she heard anything. Mary was half asleep and told Kat she should get some sleep. Kat went back to her room, got John’s knife out of her purse, put it underneath her pillow, and turned out the light.
Kat woke the next morning to a light tapping at the front door. She threw on a robe and went down the stairs. When she opened the door, Martine was standing there.
“Martine, is everything all right?” Kat asked.
“I need to go to Cleveland. It looks like my grandbaby is coming sooner than expected.”
“You’re leaving now?” Kat asked.
“Yes, I’m sorry it can’t be helped, but I wanted to tell you to be very careful. I know time is running short, but you must not be tempted to try to conjure up a vision with your cousins again…just in case.”
“Why don’t you come in,” Kat said as she held the door open.
“I can’t Kat. I have to go. I’m so sorry I won’t be here to help you.”
“Your son needs you. Don’t worry about us. We will be fine.”
Martine gave Kat a hug and said, “I will be praying for you.” She turned and walked to her car and drove off. Kat watched her go with a sinking feeling. She went upstairs, showered, and put on a brown cotton dress and sandals.
As Kat was eating breakfast, she checked her messages. There was one from Eleanor. “Kat this is Eleanor. I looked in one of my grandmother’s books. She wrote down a lot of the old legends before she died. Once the coven of Irish witches learned the Indian witch’s secrets they sacrificed him during a ceremony to attain immortality. Before he died, he put a curse on the coven of witches. They would have immortality, but they would have to live underground like corpses, to rise on the third year in the spring, when the day and night are equal, to feed off the living. Returning to the ground before the Reaping Moon sets. The only way they could break the curse was to find…descended from…Irish…and…” The call dropped off.
Kat tried most of the day to reach Eleanor. Finally, she put John’s knife back in her purse and drove over to Eleanor’s house only to find the driveway full of police cars. Kat asked a bystander if Eleanor was okay and they told her that she and her husband were found dead that afternoon.
“Oh no,” Kat said as she turned and ran back to her car. She drove straight over to the winery. It was close to seven, but Kat figured John would still be there. When she arrived, Cindy was walking out to her car.
“If you are looking for John, he is inside,” Cindy said as she passed Kat. When Kat walked in, John was standing behind the tasting bar. He looked up and his expression changed when he saw Kat.
“Kat, what’s wrong?”
“I got a message from Eleanor but it was cut off. I just drove over to her house and the driveway was full of police cars. She and her husband were found dead today.”
John leaned both hands against the bar, closed his eyes, and let his head drop.
“She was trying to tell me something about a curse when the message was cut off,” Kat said.
John came out from behind the bar, brought over two stools, and motioned for Kat to sit down.
“Can I hear the message?” he asked. Kat took out her phone and let John hear Eleanor’s message.
John sank down on the stool next to Kat and ran his hand through his thick hair. “They don’t want us to know whatever Eleanor was going to tell you. The Reaping Moon is this weekend. I’m going to have to go to Beaver Island, trace my parents’ last days and see if I can find out where the resting place is so I can kill them.”
“You can’t go alone. We all need to go together,” Kat said.
“No Kat, I never intended to involve you this far.”
“You stand a better chance of finding out how to kill the Reaping Moon Witches if we all go. We can’t let all their deaths be in vain…your parents, my mother, Cole, Barb Gillen, Eleanor, her husband…”
John looked into Kat’s eyes and said, “I can’t guarantee we will return.”
“I think our fate, whatever if may be, is already set into motion,” Kat said. She looked down at her hands and they were shaking. John reached over and took her hands in his.
They both heard the door to the blending room open downstairs. John immediately froze. They could hear someone moving around.
“Kat, I want you to wait here,” John whispered.
He pulled away from her, went behind the bar, and brought out a baseball bat.
Chapter Forty-Two
“You’re not leaving me up here alone. I’m coming with you,” Kat said. She followed John as he walked softly down the stairs and swung open the tasting room door. Greg jumped and dropped a glass filled with herbs and a powdery substance.
“Greg, what are you doing here?”
“I was…blending some wine,” he answered and put his hand to his heart. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. You scared the hell out of me.”
“You’re blending wine at this hour?” John looked at the array of herbs and vials of strange powders laid out on the table. “Since when did you start adding herbs to wine? Exactly what type of concoction are you mixing?”
Greg’s face grew pale. They stood in silence, not knowing what to say next.
“Please tell me you had nothing to do with poisoning Kat,” John said through clenched teeth.
“God, no, I would never hurt Kat. You were poisoned?” Greg asked, looking over at Kat.
“I started having hallucinations after drinking wine at the trail opening. The visions almost caused me to jump off the roof of an office building.”
Greg looked stricken. He lowered himself down into a chair. “It was West. He bribed me into making the wine. I swear I had no idea what he was going to use it for.”
“What do you mean he bribed you?” John asked.
“I didn’t exactly tell you the truth about my previous employer.” There was a heavy moment of silence as Greg seemed to be struggling with how to proceed.
“I told you I worked for a family winery in California. That much was true. This winery was owned and run by the Lethe family. They recruited me out of school. At first, everything seemed normal. Hector Lethe ran the business side, and his three sons supervised the winemaking. After about a year of working there, the oldest son, Artimus called me to his office and asked me to taste a new wine they were going to introduce to the market. He said it was a blend and told me to see if I could guess what was in it. After two sips I was as high as a kite, but not drunk. I felt like I could do anything. I had no doubts, no fears. Artimus asked me how I felt and I told him I had never felt better in my life. That was when he told me they made special wine.
“He had just given me a wine that gives you confidence and feelings of well-being. Artimus said they also made wine that increased your libido, brought good luck, and made you feel like you were in love. He asked me if I would like to learn how to make this wine. Still feeling high from my first few sips of the wine, I said yes.
“I’ll never forget the look on Artimus’s face. He looked like the cat that had just cornered the mouse. I should’ve known,” Greg said shaking his head. “He told me I had to swear an allegiance to the family. This wine-making technique was a very old family secret. I didn’t realize at the time once you learned how to make the special wine, you were bound to the winery until death do you part.” Greg’s mo
uth twisted into a bitter smile.
“At first it seemed harmless enough. Artimus assured me these wines were no more addictive than regular wine. What was the harm in making people feel good, or perform better in bed?”
“It’s hard to imagine a wine that makes you feel that good is not addictive,” Kat said.
“The ‘feel good’ wines were, in fact, very addictive. These wines are sold on the black market and are extremely expensive. Once hooked, the customers couldn’t get enough. They would sell their souls to get more.”
“What about the wine Kat drank? What type of wine was that?” John asked.
“It was deadly nightshade. It causes hallucinations and madness.”
“Why would anyone buy that?” Kat asked.
“Instead of hiring a hit man, and running the risk of going to jail, just give your enemy a glass of wine and he will lose his mind, commit suicide, and do the job for you,” Greg said.
“How did you go from making ‘feel good’ wines to making that?” John asked.
“I became immersed in the lifestyle. Our clientele consisted of celebrities and wealthy, powerful people. I had more money than I knew what to do with. The Lethes would throw lavish, secret parties. It was a who’s who of the rich, famous, and powerful. At first you only see the glamour and excitement, but bit by bit they begin to draw you into the dark side.
“Artimus asked me to deliver a bottle of wine to a hotel room. Since our wine was not exactly FDA approved, we frequently had to bring our product directly to our customers. The man who opened the door was a very powerful congressman visiting from Washington. He had a woman in the room with him who looked like a high-priced call girl. I read in the paper the congressman had shot himself to death two weeks later. When I confronted Artimus, he told me I had delivered deadly nightshade wine and I was not only involved in making and distributing illegal drugs, but now I was an accomplice to murder.” Kat slowly sunk down into the chair next to John.
“A fellow winemaker,” Greg continued, “decided to escape. The Lethes found him within a few days and brought him back. I last saw him being taken down to one of the empty wine cellars. He was never seen again.”
The 45th Parallel Page 24
