Kiss the Witch

by Dana E. Donovan

  Johnson ducked into his guard hut, fished around among the papers on his desk and came back with a nine-by-twelve manila envelope. He removed a single slip of paper from it and handed the envelope to me.

  “Thanks,” I said. I leaned back, out of his line of sight, whispered into the envelope and returned it to him. “There you go. You can open that now if you like.”

  He took the envelope and shook it. “There’s nothing in it.”

  “Oh, but there is,” said Carlos, knowing what I had done. “It’s tiny. Look closely.”

  Johnson folded back the envelope flap, squeezed the ends to belly it open and peered inside. A gentle whisk of air brushed passed his brows and tease his bangs. It startled him at first. A whisper box often does that to its recipient. Inevitably, they dismiss it, as Johnson did, and succumb to the will chill that is the spell within.

  “So, Johnson,” I said. “Are you going to let us in now?”

  He looked up at us and blinked as if noticing us for the first time. “Ahm…yes, of course. Certainly.”

  He stepped back into the hut and pressed a button on the wall that opened the gate.

  I thanked him, adding, “Better let the front desk know we’re coming. Tell them it’s all right.”

  He saluted his acknowledgement. Carlos drove on. We parked at the curb outside the entrance to the main building. As expected, we met no resistance from security at either the door or the front desk. Riding up in the elevator, Carlos asked how I intended to get Ferguson to give us the real skinny on QE647. I answered him truthfully.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Tony, if you don’t know how to make him tell us the truth, then why are we here?”

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t make him tell us the truth.”

  “Yes you did. You said––”

  “Listen. I know how to make him tell us the truth. I have to do the pulse point spell on him. I’m just not sure how to go about it exactly.”

  “What is the pulse point spell?”

  “It’s a touch spell. I have to touch a plus point somewhere on Ferguson’s body. It’s silly, I know, but it works. Lilith did it to me. The problem is I don’t know how to get Ferguson to let me do it.”

  “How does Lilith get you to let her do it?”

  “Carlos, how does Lilith do anything? She’s a master at spell casting. All I know is she touches me and I melt in her hands. She has a repertoire of touch spells, you know. I never know when I’m under one. I mean, she has the pulse point spell, the urge purge, the quell spell, the see-me-not, the freeze breeze––hell, you name it.”

  “No. You name it, and do it fast. We’re almost there.”

  “I don’t know, Carlos. Maybe I can call Lilith.”

  “Do the whisper box on him, like you did with the guard at the gate.”

  “No, that’s not the same. The whisper box is a will chill spell. It makes the recipient bend to suggestive actions. It’s more mechanical than cerebral.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Use it to suggest he let you touch his plus point.”

  “That’s just stupid.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  He had me there. Already, we were standing outside Ferguson’s office and I had nothing better to offer. “All right, but I’m going to need a vessel. A box, an envelope or something.”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll get something to you.”

  Ferguson seemed surprised, if not annoyed, to see us. Probably because we let ourselves into his office unannounced.

  “Mister Ferguson,” I said. “I hope we’re not interrupting. Your secretary left her station.”

  Ferguson came around his desk, offering a disingenuous smile and a cold handshake. “Not at all, Detectives. Come in. To what do I owe this honor? Have you found Howard Snow?”

  “Yes and no,” said Carlos, passing on the handshake.

  “Excuse me?”

  “We found him. We just haven’t picked him up yet.”

  “You haven’t picked him up?”

  “Not all of him.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  I said, “Mister Ferguson, that’s not why we’re here. We wanted to talk to you again about QE647.”

  “Detective, I already told you everything I can about that. Now for what it’s worth, I am willing to forget about all this if Snow is willing to return the research documents, the computer files and everything else pertaining to the research and development of QE647. If he no longer has the compound, that’s okay, too. I will forgive him. I will waive prosecution. The only thing I want now is to put all this behind us. Let bygones be bygones.”

  I looked to Carlos and delivered him a subtle nod. I saw him reach into his pocket as he turned his back to us and strolled casually toward the window. Ferguson seemed uninterested.

  “Let bygones be bygones?” I asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  I could tell from the tic over his left eye he was hiding something. “Well, that sure is generous of you, Mister Ferguson. I mean, if Howard Snow stole my research, I would want to make an example of him.”

  “I suppose that’s the difference between us, Detective. Isn’t it?” He attempted a forced smile, and that tic over his eye morphed into a nervous twitch on his upper lip.

  I called to Carlos, who returned with a lottery ticket that he had shaped into a cup by wrapping it around his finger and twisting the ends together. “This?” I said, whispering to him as he passed it to me.

  He whispered back, “It’s all I had. You got something better?”

  I took the handoff. “Carlos, why don’t you tell Mister Ferguson where Howard Snow is right now?”

  As we traded places, with me going to the window, Carlos approached Ferguson and said, “He’s dead.”

  I think I heard Ferguson audibly gulp. “Dead?”

  “Dead as a stone, or rather a bunch of small stones. Someone blew him up in his Hummer this morning.”

  “But…I don’t understand. Why would––”

  “Oh, come now,” I said. “You know damn well why someone would kill him. Now why don’t you tell us what you know about QE647? Who is behind the research and funding?”

  “I told you. A conglomerate of private financiers interested in producing a corn syrup––”

  “Forget it. Look. I want you to have this.”

  I handed him the lotto ticket, hoping like hell it kept the spell I whispered into it. “What is this?” he asked.

  “I want you to look at it closely.”

  “It’s a lotto ticket.”

  “Yeah, and if it wins it’s mine,” said Carlos.

  I turned sharply and gave him a look that should have bruised him. He brushed it off with a shrug. “Well it is.”

  Ferguson brought the ticket to within inches of his face and peeled open the folds. A whimsical little puff of wind rolled out and flirted with his lashes, causing his eyelids to flutter. He looked up at me quizzically. “Is this a joke, Detective?”

  I took the ticket back and gave it to Carlos. “Yes, Mister Ferguson. It’s a joke.” I stepped toe-to-toe with him and said, “Now, may I take your pulse?”

  He peered into my eyes, unblinking. I could not read him, except to imagine how insane my request must have sounded to him. Carlos shuffled his stance and gauged Ferguson’s expression, yet I doubt he could gather any better understanding of his mindset than what I could.

  Seconds rolled, ten, fifteen, twenty. Ferguson remained unmoved. I knew something was happening though, or he would have stepped away from me already. I resolved to continue staring him down, saying nothing and concentrating fiercely on the suggestive power of the spell.

  It seemed obvious the lotto ticket made for a poor vessel, and I wished I had come more prepared for the task. Clearly, as the name suggests, a whisper box works best when captured in a small box, like a jewelry case. Even envelopes work well, as demonstrated with the guard at the front gate earlier. On our la
st case, I even used one of Carlos’ empty candy bar wrappers. But I had never used a lotto ticket before. I only hoped this time the ticket was a winner––where spells were concerned.

  Ferguson furled his brows and parted his lips into something resembling a smile. What I expected from him were the words, of course not, or get the hell out of my office. But he said nothing. Then his expression softened. I reached for his hand and touched his pulse point. “Mister Ferguson. What is QE647?”

  He looked me straight in the eye and said calmly, “It’s a miracle compound. QE647 is the very essence of life, a synthetic energy source developed to stimulate bio-reanimation in complex life forms.”

  I turned to Carlos and gave him the silliest grin. I could not help it. I don’t know if I found greater pleasure from ascertaining the information about QE647 from Ferguson, or from knowing that the pulse point spell really worked for me.

  I followed that up. “Who funds the research?”

  “The government,” he said.

  “What branch?”

  “We get automatic deposits from the DOA”

  “Department of Agriculture?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is their interest in QE647?”

  “I believe they…they.” He rocked his head back and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. Believing he might pass out, I waved Carlos over to help steady him into a chair.

  What happened next was not pretty. Ferguson began shaking uncontrollably, his muscles convulsing in spastic protest, as if shocked by electrical impulses. Carlos and I grabbed his arms to steady him.

  “Hold him.” I said, though I knew Carlos was doing all he could already.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Let’s get him to the floor.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let go,” said Carlos.

  “What?”

  “Let go of him.”

  “Let go of him?”

  “Trust me, Tony. It will work.”

  Carlos stepped back and threw his hands into the air. I did the same. Ferguson continued thrashing about and eventually bounced himself out of his seat onto the floor. I stared down at him in dismay, his convulsing seemingly more erratic then before. I looked at Carlos, who seemed equally horrified.

  “Carlos, how is this better?”

  He furrowed his brows. “I don’t know. It was your idea to get him on the floor.”

  “Yes, but I thought––”

  “Look!” Carlos pointed at him. Blood ran from Ferguson’s mouth and down the side of his chin.

  “He’s chewed his tongue off!”

  “Oh, God…. Oh God!”

  “Give me your tie.”

  “My what?”

  “Your tie, Carlos. Give me your tie.” He undid his tie and handed it to me. “Now sit on his legs.”

  I rolled the tie into a ball and stuffed it into Ferguson’s mouth. Next, I grabbed his arms, pulled them up over his head and pinned them under my knees. Ferguson’s secretary, having returned to her desk, heard the commotion, barged into the office and screamed.

  “Call 911,” I yelled. “Now!”

  By the time paramedics arrived, Ferguson’s convulsions had subsided to an occasional spastic twitch. His eyes were no longer up in the back of his head, but his pupils remained non-responsive. When asked what happened, I told the paramedic I did not know and that Ferguson simply fell into convulsions.

  “Epilepsy,” said Carlos. We all turned to look at him. He shrugged. “That’s what I think.”

  Surprisingly, the paramedics bought it.

  NINE

  We left Biocrynetix Laboratories in a hurry after that. I remember Carlos asking me what went wrong. To be sure, I didn’t even know if what happened to Ferguson was my fault.

  “Maybe you were right,” I said. “Maybe Ferguson is epileptic.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Tony. I think you nearly killed the guy. You don’t know your own strength now that you became one with the coven.”

  “Please. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? You unleashed a double spell on the man. It’s possible that’s too much for one person.”

  “Oh, nice you mention it now, Carlos. May I remind you it was your idea I try the whisper box on him first?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t say kill him.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “You don’t know that. Did you see his eyes when they wheeled him out?”

  “Forget it. Just drive.”

  “Where to?”

  “I think we need to trace things back to the beginning. Do you have Mark Williams’ address?”

  “Dominic’s got it. Want me call him?”

  “Yes. I think we should pay a visit to his widow. Maybe she can shed some light on this for us.”

  “Company.”

  “Yeah, I suppose she can use the company.”

  “No. I mean we have company.”

  I looked at Carlos. His eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. “We’re being followed?”

  “Yeah. A black sedan.”

  “You see who it is?”

  “Uh-uh. The windows are tinted too dark. You want me to pull over and see if they stop?”

  “No, they won’t stop. Can you see the plates?”

  He sped up a bit to put some distance between the vehicles. “Yeah, I see it now. Massachusetts. Charlie-Alfa-Romeo-Echo-1.”

  “I’ll call it in.” I got my phone out and speed-dialed Spinelli. He answered on the second ring.

  “Tony. `Sup?”

  “Dominic, we are three miles east of Biocrynetix Laboratories. We have a tail. I want you to run this tag. Massachusetts, Charlie-Alfa-Romeo-Echo-1.”

  “You’re kidding. Right?”

  “What?”

  “CARE-1?”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what it spells.”

  “Just do it.”

  He came back thirty seconds later. “Tony.”

  “Yes?”

  “E.I.N.I. is down. Can’t run the tags right now, but I called for a unit to drop in behind you to pull him over.”

  “That’s good. Make sure they know––”

  Carlos interpreted. “Gone.”

  “What?”

  “They veered south down a side street. Want me to double back and follow them?”

  “No. Forget it.” I got back on the phone. “Dominic, they’re gone. Send that unit south. They’re heading for Route-1. Be advised, they’re probably armed.”

  Spinelli returned, “Got it.”

  “One more thing. When you’re done, call me back with an address for Mark Williams.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  I tucked the phone back in my pocket. “He’s a good man,” I said.

  “Dominic?” Carlos nodded. “That he is.”

  I found my gaze wandering out the window and my mind along with it. Images of the night before followed like shadows I could not shake. I thought of Spinelli. Imagined the look on his face if he knew what I did to his fiancée. What she did to me. It was no big deal for Lilith. She expected it might happen. Accepted it as the price for making me participate in the ceremony. Spinelli, I knew, was incapable of demonstrating a similar understanding.

  As my mind drifted among images of Ursula’s oiled body reflecting in the blade of the athame and my own in the black mirror, I heard Carlos ask, “You think?”

  I came back to him on a thread of disinterest. “Huh?”

  He regarded me with a curious scowl. “Where’s your head?”

  “What do you mean? It’s right here.”

  “I asked what you thought.”

  “`Bout what?”

  “That car. The one following us. They backed off as soon as Dominic called in backup. You think they had a police scanner? Maybe they heard the call.”

  I shook my head as if I didn’t care. I suppose I did not. “Don’t know, Car
los. Maybe.”

  My phone rang. It was Spinelli with Williams’ address. We headed there immediately, arriving around five-thirty. Mrs. Williams let us in and showed us to the living room. I looked around. The TV was on. Volume down. Apparently, we had interrupted a rerun of Judge Judy. Pictures of Mrs. Williams and her husband adorned the fireplace mantle and bookshelves. Most were shots of the two posing at receptions and award banquets, many with Mister Williams holding a drink.

  “Mrs. Williams, we’re sorry for interrupting,” I said. “But this won’t take long. I promise.”

  She came back, “The only thing taking too long, Detective, is you getting to the bottom of this case.”

  “Ma'am?”

  “Haven’t you come to investigate my husband’s death?”

  I stole a glance at Carlos. He seemed equally surprised. “We did want to ask you some questions.”

  She grabbed a pack of smokes off the coffee table and tapped it against her palm. A single cigarette slid out. She offered it to me. “Smoke?”

  I waved her off with a polite smile. She gestured to Carlos without actually offering it to him. Carlos stepped forward and liberated it from the pack.

  “Thanks,” he said, and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll save it for later if you don’t mind.”

  The look on her face told me she did. She tapped another from the pack, lit it up and blew the smoke in Carlos’ face. “You have questions, Detective?”

  I crossed the room to an open slider leading to the patio. “Yes. I wanted to ask you if your husband ever talked about his work at Biocrynetix Laboratories, especially lately.”

  She shook her head, exhausting a lung full of smoke around her face. “My husband never discussed his work, Detective. Least not with me. His contract prohibited him discussing it with anyone outside the lab.”

  “Do you know what he was working on when he died?”

  “No, but it is what killed him. I know that much.”

  “How do you mean?”

  She embraced another drag of her cigarette and expelled it effortlessly. “Of course IT did not kill him. They killed him because of it.”

  “They?”

  “The government.”

  I looked to Carlos. He gestured an easy shrug. “Mrs. Williams. Are you saying the government murdered your husband?”