Prophecy (Soul of the Witch Book 2)

by C. Marie Bowen

  Amy put a basket of biscuits in front of the men and added a jar of honey and a jar of grape jam.

  “There are ten Shilo-Highlands horses stabled at the livery.” Jim picked up a biscuit. “We only need four to get back, two for the buckboard, and one each, for Kelly and me. Do you want to take the other six with us, or leave them here?”

  “Leave them, I suppose,” Jason replied. “Merril borrowed three of theirs. Tom or Kelly can return those next week and bring home the rest of our stock.”

  Kelly came downstairs, his hair a wild mess. He ran his hands through a few strands, but it refused to stay down. He sat at the table and Amy set a coffee in front of him. He nodded his thanks and reached for a biscuit.

  As the men discussed their return trip, Amy’s thoughts turned to Alyse and their strange communication. Amy had tried to reach out to her again, several times in fact, but never found Alyse.

  I know it wasn’t a dream.

  She finished her biscuit and brushed her hands on her apron. Unable to sit still, she picked up her gardening gloves and hat and stepped out the back door.

  In her garden, she pulled a few weeds, collected dill and mint leaves, and pinched a few marigold heads. Just as she dropped the herbs and flowers into her apron pocket, she noticed two black cats. They sat motionless at the back of the yard and watched her with intense interest. Curious.

  Amy pinched a few more flower heads and looked over the rest of the garden. Things were either past their prime or yet to ripen. She rose and turned toward the house, and then paused to look back at the cats.

  They still watched her with wide, yellow eyes. One of the cats stepped forward and minced its way through the garden to wind itself around Amy's ankles. After a couple of turns, it stepped back, sat and curled its tail around its paws, and looked up at her.

  “You’re a most peculiar pair.” She removed a glove and stroked the animal’s head. The cat arched itself against her hand, and Amy smoothed the soft fur along its back. As she touched the cat, she received a strong visual impression. She saw herself with these cats, curled in front of a fireplace, reading an old book.

  They were with Alyse.

  She blinked away the vision and looked down at the cat. “Do you belong to Alyse?”

  The first cat meowed, and the other cat ran forward to join its twin. They both looked at her.

  She knelt beside the cats and ran her hands down each feline. “We are leaving today to return to the ranch.” Alyse glanced around.

  Goddess, let no one see me speak to these animals.

  Both cats purred as she scratched their ears.

  “Alyse said she would be here on Sunday. I can't take you with me. Jason wouldn't know what to think about cats in the wagon.” She laughed as both cats flopped over for belly scratches and batted at each other’s heads.

  “You are silly things.” She rubbed their silky bellies one last time, then returned to the house.

  Jason looked up as she shut the door. “Can you be ready to leave in two hours?”

  “Yes, I can.” She took the marigold heads from her apron and set them on the counter. When she looked out the window, the cats were gone.

  Chapter 19

  Nichole Harris-Shilo

  Nichole woke late the next morning. The pain in her back and legs had lessened, but ached enough to remind her of yesterday’s long ride. The indent in the pillow next to hers, and the rumpled blankets, told her Merril had slept beside her.

  How odd.

  Her sleep had been so deep she hadn’t noticed he shared her bed. She pushed herself erect and pressed her hands into her sore back. A peek beneath the bandages on her legs showed healthy scabbed skin. Last night, the wounds had been bloody and inflamed.

  Amy’s ointment. Merril is right, she’s a healer.

  The door hinge creaked, and Jeanne peeked inside. “You’re up?”

  “Just now.

  Jeanne stepped into the room and closed the door. “Can I help you dress?”

  “I don’t know what I’ll wear. I left most of my clothes in Denver.”

  “You’ve a wardrobe full of beautiful dresses.” Jeanne held out her hand to the cabinet.

  Nichole raised an eyebrow. “Mm. No. There should be a black skirt and blouse in that saddlebag.”

  Jeanne pulled the wrinkled garments from the leather satchel Merril had laid across the vanity. “This mess?”

  Nichole rubbed a hand across her face. “Well, sh—oot.”

  “I’ll lend you one of mine until this can be ironed.” Jeanne disappeared out the door. “But I don’t know why you won’t wear your pretty dresses.”

  Nichole used the bedpan while Jeanne fetched new clothes and made use of the water in the bowl to wash away yesterday’s dust.

  I need a shower or a long soak in a hot tub.

  By the time Jeanne returned, Nichole had changed into clean undergarments. Together, they dressed Nichole in Jeanne’s gray skirt and white blouse.

  “Have a seat. I’ll brush your hair.” Jeanne pulled out the vanity chair and picked up the hairbrush.

  “Thanks.” Nichole didn’t hesitate to accept Jeanne’s help. Although she could brush her own hair, it felt right to let her friend help her. “Is Merril outside?”

  Jeanne scooped up the curls and began to brush from the ends. “No. He left this morning with Tom and Bill. He took the wagon and... his Indian friend to The Shilo.”

  Nichole watched Jeanne work in the mirror. “Do you know why?”

  Jeanne nodded. “Merril told Tom they were going to bury the bodies—his brother, that woman, and the Indian.”

  The brush snagged Nichole’s hair, and she winced.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Merril told Bill to saddle up and head to The Crossing. He’s to talk with Reverend Michael about a funeral service. Bill’s to meet them at The Shilo on his way back from town.”

  “The Shilo is deserted.”

  “That’s what we heard.” Jeanne glanced at Nichole. “Bill is the only Shilo wrangler who didn’t leave after...” Jeanne hesitated then opened the vanity drawer and drew out a few hairpins. With a twist of her wrist, Nichole’s wayward curls were corralled into a loose bun. Jeanne set the last pin and met Nichole’s gaze in the mirror. “Is that secure?”

  Nichole nodded. “It’s good.”

  Down the hall, the sound of Hope-Anne’s plaintive cry was followed by June McKay’s harsh shout. “For land’s sake, doesn’t that baby ever be quiet? What kind of mother are you?”

  Jeanne rushed out the door and into the hall before Nichole could stand.

  Nichole paused just inside her door.

  In the hallway, Jeanne took Hope-Anne from Lawna’s arms, and turned back toward the stairs. A storm brewed in Jeanne’s eyes. She cast a brief angry glance at Nichole, and then hurried down the stairs.

  Lawna followed with an armful of laundry, her eyes downcast.

  June raised her voice. “You shouldn’t help her, Jeanne.” June stood on the narrow stairs at the end of the hall that led to her attic room. “You know she shouldn’t be here.”

  Nichole stepped from her room.

  June’s eyebrows rose, and she sniffed. “I didn’t see you there, Miss Harris.”

  “I could—sense that, June. Please remember to address me as Mrs. Shilo from now on.”

  Lips pressed into a bitter line, June bobbed her head then mounted the attic steps.

  Nichole spent the day outside with Hope-Anne on her lap, while Katy and Lawna helped Henny turn new soil to expand the garden behind the family bunk.

  * * *

  Late in the afternoon, the men returned from The Shilo. Tom slowed the wagon enough to allow Merril to step off the buckboard, and then shook the reins to continue to the barn.

  The kitchen door closed behind Nichole. “I’ll take the babe,” Jeanne offered.

  Hope-Anne reached for Jeanne as soon as she approached.

  “You’re her favori
te, I think.” Nichole released the babe, picked up one of the clean linen towels from table, and walked toward Merril.

  He set his hat on the well and used the hand pump to splash water on his face. Droplets ran beneath his open shirt and down his broad chest. He pushed wet fingers through his thick hair, and grinned at Nichole.

  Nichole tossed him the towel. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving this morning.”

  Green eyes looked at her over the towel. “I tried. I couldn’t wake you.”

  “Jeanne told me you went to dig the graves.”

  Merril flipped the towel over his shoulder. “We buried the bodies as well. Reverend Michael will meet us at noon tomorrow to say a few words.”

  “I’m surprised you buried Toma. I thought Indians only used burial platforms.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Merril snagged his hat and walked toward the kitchen.

  “I don’t know. Movies I guess, or old T.V. shows.”

  Merril cocked his eyebrow at her. “What are those?”

  “Unreliable, apparently.”

  Merril stopped before they reached Jeanne and Hope-Anne. “You need to tell me about your other—memories—if you’re going to talk about them. I don’t understand what you’re saying to me. It’s unsettling.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “And yes, Toma’s spirit had enough time to depart before he returned to the earth. He should have been honored by his family, but I don’t know if he had any, or where to find them.”

  “I understand.”

  He opened the back door for Nichole. “I opened the house up—all the windows and doors.” He followed Nichole through the kitchen into the dining room. “Tom helped me clear out the library. We stacked the furniture behind the bunkhouse. It needs to be burned.” He stopped and raised his hand to his forehead. “I left the log book and ledgers in the wagon.” He spun on his heel.

  Nichole grasped his arm. “Wait. Does Tom know they’re there?”

  “He does.”

  “Then sit. Let me get you something cool to drink. Tom will bring them to the house.”

  Merril nodded and shoved his hat to the back of his head as he fell into the chair. “I couldn’t read them.”

  Nichole turned back. “Read what?”

  “The ledgers. Pa and Kevin used some sort of shorthand. The numbers I can tally, but the notations don’t mean anything to me.”

  Nichole left him at the table and asked Cookie to bring refreshments. When she returned to her husband, she sat beside him and took his hand. “Don’t worry about the notations. We can go over them with Jason when he comes home.”

  Cookie brought in a pitcher of cool water and a small basket of bread and honey. She nodded to Nichole, then returned to the kitchen.

  “I do need a favor from you, though.” Nichole spread honey on a piece of bread and handed it to Merril.

  “What’s that?”

  “I need a wall built to divide the family bunkhouse. We need to move the Caine family into their own place. Henny and Katy are on one side, and the Caines will move to the other.”

  Merril nodded and sipped his water. “I’ll ask Tom and Timothy to do it. I want to take another look at those ledgers before your cousin gets back.”

  * * *

  The next day, Reverend Michael performed the burial service at The Shilo Cemetery. The service was short and centered around asking the Lord’s forgiveness for the sinful and welcoming the lost into the shelter of His arms.

  There were only a few in attendance besides the Reverend and Merril. Nichole represented the Harris family. Henny, Katy, and Bill from The Shilo, paid their respects.

  Nichole kept her head down during the short service. The only one who deserved Heaven was Toma, in her opinion. She didn’t know what the Cheyenne believed, but she was pretty sure Renata and Kevin would burn in hell, regardless of Reverend Michael’s entreaties to the Lord.

  After the ceremony, the mourners walked back to The Shilo yard, and Reverend Michael took his leave to return to Kiowa Crossing.

  Henny and Katy climbed in the back of the buckboard and whispered prayers while they waited to return to The Highlands.

  Nichole tucked herself beneath Merril’s arm as he gazed at the ranch house. “Are you going to leave it open?”

  Merril kissed the curls on her head. “No. Bill and I will close it up.”

  Nichole took her seat on the wagon and watched as Merril and Bill entered the house. She had no desire to go inside. With everything at The Highlands Ranch—the horses, chickens, both pigs, even Henny’s tomato plants now grew in a new spot—the ranch felt abandoned. The only things that remained were the ghosts of people she wanted to forget.

  Bill walked out the front door first and crossed to the corral. He checked the cinch strap on his mount, rose into the saddle and shook the reins. “See you at home.” He touched his hat to Nichole and rode out of the yard.

  Merril came out just as Bill rode past. He waved to the wrangler, then crossed to the buckboard. He climbed onto the seat, took the reins, and followed Bill onto the road home. “No one wants to come back here.” His voice was low so only Nichole could hear.

  “I can’t blame them. The place gives me chills.”

  “Luckily, we have some time before the drive. The Shilo herd is scattered, but close. I bet Jim and Lloyd have The Highlands herd buttoned up and ready to move.”

  “We don’t have enough bunks at The Highlands for all the wranglers, do we?” Nichole tipped her head to look up at Merril.

  “Bunks won’t be a problem. We’ll be driving to one of the railheads.”

  “When will you leave?”

  Merril’s long silence caught Nichole’s attention. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure when we should leave. I’ve never made that decision.” He was silent as he reined the team around a long rut in the road. “I know there are three stockyards within driving distance, but I was never asked or included in those decisions. I’m a wrangler, Nic—not a rancher.”

  Nichole watched the tick along his jaw and recognized the worry in his eyes.

  He never wanted this, and now he was responsible for two ranches and a dozen lives.

  She curled her arm around his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Jimmy Leigh will know what’s best to do, or have suggestions. We’ll make it work.”

  She looked up at his face when he chuckled.

  “I’m supposed to be the one who comforts you, Mrs. Shilo.”

  “You do comfort me, Mr. Shilo.”

  Chapter 20

  Morago

  Morago plundered Chantal's thoughts and memories despite her feeble attempt to shield her mind. Her sons and granddaughter had taken a railed conveyance to the human settlement of Boston to find the other grandchild. The grandchildren were the prize then—the witches that held such raw, elemental power.

  And they are afraid of me.

  Glee changed to disappointment, and he clenched the miller boy’s teeth. Such a shame the old woman had defaced her arms with protective runes. Runes that prevented him from possessing her body. The anguish of her children, as they watched their mother—their grandmother—perform abominations upon them, and upon herself, would have been exquisite. Still, he wasn’t quite done with the old woman yet.

  The demon’s chuckle scored across Chantal’s soul, and she writhed in pain.

  Mounted on the old woman’s horse, still possessed by his servant, Morago followed the path outlined in her memory to the place she had last seen the child.

  They stopped on the road before entering the small settlement. Eyes closed, Morago projected his awareness through the train station, appalled at the number of humans and the cacophony of unfamiliar thoughts. The demon horde chattered inside Morago’s head in frustration.

  Things have changed much since I last walked the earth.

  As he skimmed the minds of the humans inside the crowded station, he faced a choice. He could e
ither possess an individual as they boarded the train, or he could ride silently inside one of them, as he had the merchant.

  His lips drew back with a hiss of distaste, and Morago clenched a fist. He would not hide inside another mewling mortal again. However, to mimic a human to hide among them disgusted him even more. These domesticated primates where beneath contempt. To ape them would demean Morago’s own extraordinary existence.

  He turned once more to Chantal. Amid her screams of resistance and failure, Morago discovered another path to follow her children. Lips twisted with indecision. Should he follow this child to the destination in Chantal's memory, or turn inland and move toward the other beacon that burned within his mind?

  Chantal’s thoughts held no clue as to the second beacon’s significance, and these witches were running. The compulsion to chase prey proved insurmountable. With a thought, both Morago and the horse turned as one and raced back toward the farm.

  The demon rode the horse southeast around the lake until the animal failed, then he discarded both the horse and the miller boy's body and jumped to a doe—and then a hawk.

  Morago continued toward the destination for two days, abandoning animal bodies when they faltered. The preferred animals—a hawk, deer or wolf—were not always nearby when the spent beast fell. At those times, he settled for a slower beast until a swifter creature could be taken.

  On the outskirts of Boston, the demon possessed an animal that traveled within the city without reprisal. Inhabiting a large domesticated canine, Morago raced toward the residential area along the Charles River.

  Although darkness had settled on the city, there were a number of people who strolled in the warm night air.

  Morago grew cautious as he approached the house. Nose to the ground, the dog crossed the narrow lawn and crawled on his belly beneath the decorative bushes around the foundation of the home.

  His wet nose touched the brick, and it jerked back with a yelp. A warding spell, like the charm at Chantal’s farm, protected the residence. Head lowered to its paws, Morago extended his senses into the dwelling.