MAGGIE BARELY HAD HER EAR TO THE PHONE before Dylan spoke. “Christ! Something awful’s happened to Estrada and Sensara.”
“What? What happened?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Listen Dylan. You can’t announce that something bad happened and then not tell me what it is. That’s not fair.” She heard a quick intake of breath. He was gauging his words, wondering what to say and how to say it.
“It’s bad…really bad. It’s changed everything. The meeting with Sylvia tomorrow—”
“Yeah?”
“It’s off.”
“No!”
Bad was an understatement. This could ruin her life. Dr. Sylvia Black was a celebrity professor who’d published several books on Celtic spirituality and was a key player in Hollystone Coven. Her main area of expertise, a collection of Welsh tales called The Mabinogion, was hard slogging especially on top of all her other homework, but Maggie had ripped through the ancient stories to make a positive impression. Dylan assured her that if she could convince Dr. Black of her sincerity, she’d get her foot in the coven door. She remembered the woman, standing regally in golden robes that night in the woods. With her burgundy hair upswept from her pale face, she had the aura of an ancient Celtic queen, and the power.
Samhain—Dylan pronounced it saw-ween—was only two weeks away and Maggie was desperate. Now, the plan to meet Dr. Black—a plan she’d arranged so meticulously—was off. No, she could not allow that to happen.
“Dylan. I will never speak to you again if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” She was betting on the power of her love spell to make things right.
“Christ, Maggie. All I can say is this: there’s a man abducting witches. He’s dangerous. Right? So, lie low and wait.”
“But what happened to Estrada?” She needed more than this vague threat of danger. Had he been abducted by the man? Was he hurt?
“I can’t tell you. And Maggie—?”
“What?”
“Be discreet. Don’t be talking about us or advertising the craft in any way. Understand?”
Gazing down, Maggie realized she was clutching the pentacle so tightly, blood was leaching from the old wounds in her hands; wounds she never quite left alone long enough to heal. Releasing the pentacle, she stared at the blood trails on her new black dress. “Yeah, I heard you. No advertising.”
“Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“Dylan!”
The line went dead.
≈
“I’m shocked that The Divine Sensara let you come up for air, compadre. How did you escape her sticky web?” asked Michael. They were backstage preparing for the biggest selling show of the year. It was Halloween Friday, and every freak in town was gathered outside Pegasus; inhaling, injecting, and wallowing in whatever magical potion might bring them closer to the edge, an accelerated escape from their vanilla worlds. Thankfully Sensara was not there. Since the incident, she’d sworn never to venture inside Pegasus again.
Estrada rolled his eyes. “You’re jealous, man.” Michael had never liked her, and now that she and Estrada were involved in something beyond friendship, his dislike had blossomed.
“Perhaps, but not of you. You’re just so bewitching my sultry Mestizo. Everyone loves you.” With a strange melancholy smile, Michael leaned across the table and pinched his cheek.
Flinching at Michael’s touch, he knocked over a coffee cup. No matter what he did, he could not forget the man or the thrill he felt that night in the cabin.
“Jesus, Es—”
“Sorry, man. I’m just edgy.” He leaned across the table and squeezed Michael’s fist. The truth was: his relationship with Michael was complex, intense, and more real than any he’d ever experienced, including the one he was enmeshed in with Sensara. The threat of not having it, the sheer thrill and freedom and potency of it, disturbed him.
Not that Sensara would ever break up their friendship. It was the other stuff. He’d never told her about his liaison with Michael, but anyone who saw the two men together could tell they were intimate. Still, they made no demands on each other. They had sex with whoever they chose—sometimes together, sometimes apart. Sex was just sex. And although Michael might taunt him or claim to be jealous, he’d never expect Estrada to choose him over her, or anyone else.
Sensara, on the other hand, demanded fidelity. He was willing to try, though he felt judged and confined. Sex is never just sex, Estrada. Intimacy binds us to each other in complex ways. Even if it’s just a kiss. If that was true, why did he always feel so free before?
“I just…I miss this,” Estrada said, gesturing between them. “I never want to lose this.”
“Don’t worry about us, compadre.” Michael sauntered over to the bar, examined a forty-dollar bottle of Merlot and popped the cork. After pouring two glasses, he handed one to Estrada, then guzzled the other himself. He refilled it to the brim and settled himself into the corner of a beaten leather couch. “Come, sit and talk to me. Honeymoon over already?”
Estrada drained the glass and pursed his lips as he poured another. Leaning back, he glanced at Michael and laughed.
“What?”
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look in that skeleton suit?” Dressed in a skin tight black leotard painted in neon skeletal bones, Michael couldn’t wait to play his role as Mandragora, the demon executioner.
Michael sucked in his belly and stared down at the significant bulge in the spandex. “I think it’s quite enhancing.”
“Yeah, you’ll be getting offers to do gay porn.”
“Getting?”
“God, I’ve missed you.”
“And I you. Now stop fucking around and tell me what’s really bothering you. If it’s Sensara and the whole monogamy thing, I can have you cheating in no time.”
“It’s not Sensara. It’s him. He’s here. I can feel him.”
“The killer?”
“We don’t know that he’s a killer—”
“Yes, well. I wasn’t going to tell you until after the show, but since you’re already about as fucked as you can possibly be…” He picked up the bottle of wine. “Drink up.” Estrada swallowed the wine in one gulp. Then Michael refilled both of their glasses, and lit a cigarette. “Nigel heard from Mowbray today, you know, his man on the force.” Estrada nodded. “Apparently, after your abduction last week, the Mounties searched the area around the highway north of Hope.”
“And…”
“And something turned up yesterday. Some…remains.” He took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled. “Jade.”
Estrada choked, then clasped his chest and doubled over.
“I know, compadre. It’s ghastly.”
“They’re sure it’s her?”
“They found a ring—a silver toe ring engraved with a pentacle. I saw it myself the night we—”
“What did he…? How did she…?”
“Burned. They’re testing to see if she was… I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be—”
“Burned alive?” Estrada couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow. His throat felt filled with ashes.
“They found gasoline stains. They think she may have been lying on the bed at the time the fire started. That part of the cabin—”
“Whose cabin?”
Michael shrugged. “Abandoned.”
“Jesus Christ. He took me to a cabin too. He is a serial killer. I had sex with a serial killer.”
“He forced you.”
Estrada sat dumbstruck, remembering those fingers touching his skin, in his mouth, wet sensations in the darkness, and the man’s lips against his flesh; how good it felt, how much he didn’t want it to end, how he craved it still. Just thinking about it made him hard. Intimacy binds us to each other in complex ways. It was too much to think he could be bound to a serial killer. Is that why he knew the man was in the club? Why he could feel him? Why did Sensara have to say that?
And then, the realization struck hi
m. “He would have burned Sensara.”
“Probably. It seems you really did save her life. I, on the other hand—”
“How could you know? How could either of us know?”
Michael downed another glass of wine and ran his finger around the rim of the glass. “So, if this madman burns witches, and you’re a witch, why didn’t he burn you?”
“He did burn me, amigo. He is burning me still.”
Even if everyone in the crowd hadn’t been in costume, Estrada would not have been able to identify the killer; at least, by sight. Blinded by stage lights, he could discern nothing but shadows and scattered fluorescence under the black lights. Still, he was sure the man was there, so sure he’d tweaked the act, hoping to flush him out with a little of his own fire fetish.
When the curtains opened a guillotine stood centre stage. A replica Sixteenth Century Scottish Maiden, it was built of wood, the blade greased to gleam in the spotlight. Michael appeared, his effulgent bones dazzling in the darkened room. Like their medieval ancestors, people shouted, lusting for blood: “Bring out the prisoner! Bring out the prisoner!”
Estrada was escorted onstage by two barefoot women in white unlaced corsets and gauzy skirts. His hands were tied behind his back. Resplendent in a black tux with tails, the women fawned over him. Forcing him to his knees, Michael sent the crowd into hysterics with his sexual antics. Then he locked the magician’s head in the wooden circlet with his dark hair hanging in one long braid down the side of his face. Brandishing a knife, he cut the rope that bound his hands and bolted him in the stocks.
Estrada stared up at the skeletal face. “Mercy, brother. I am innocent.”
One of the women screamed hysterically; while the other set a white willow basket on the floor beneath his head. Pausing theatrically, Michael brought the crowd to silence. Then, in a flourish of metallic scrapes and human screams, he released the blade.
Cleanly severed, Estrada’s head fell into the basket. Plucking the bloody head up by the braid, Michael swung it while the crowd yelled feverishly. Then the lights cut to black. All that could be seen for a moment was Michael’s bones shimmering in the darkness as he swung the severed head. And then, total darkness. Murmurs in the crowd, a few unrehearsed screams, and the spotlight hit centre stage.
Estrada stood in front of the guillotine. Clasping his bloody neck, he feigned reattaching his head to his body. Michael, who had removed his skull mask and donned his vampire cape, watched hungrily. Head successfully reattached, Estrada raised his arms in triumph and as the crowd cheered, he danced in the applause.
Then Michael attacked from behind. Grasping Estrada by the shoulders, he sank his fangs into the bloody neck. Women screamed. At first, the magician leaned back into the vampire’s arms and rolled his eyes euphorically, and then he broke free. Producing first one fireball, and then another, from the palms of his hands, he threatened the vampire. Michael backed off, and then attacked again. Estrada hurled the fire balls at his chest and his cape burst into flame. Falling to the floor, the vampire writhed in agony. Grasping fire in each hand, Estrada leapt from the stage, danced through the crowd, and right out the door.
Once outside, he waited alone in the alley. He had felt the man’s presence in that crowd and he was sure that he would come.
≈
Perched awkwardly on a stool at the University Café, Maggie fretted about the impression she would make on Dr. Black. The meeting was finally happening. Several times her hand reached mechanically for her hair, only to find it gone. She’d pinned it up to appear older and more sophisticated for the professor and now had nothing to twirl.
She glanced again at her watch and noticed how dark it was at only 4:45 p.m. The time had fallen back that week and she was now “out of joint” as Macbeth would say. Sure, there was that extra hour of sleep, but she could no longer walk Remy down to the beach through the week, unless she skipped her last class.
Her latté slipped and soaked one of the black silk gloves she’d worn to hide her scarred palms. “Damn,” she whispered, ripped them off and stashed them in her bag.
She’d been waiting all week to meet Dr. Black—could barely focus at school. Now it was Saturday, and Samhain was just seven days away. Dylan had finally revealed, after much prodding, that Estrada and Sensara had been abducted by a lunatic. Both had recovered. He’d assured her that he’d spoken with Sensara. She could join them for this Sabbat, so today’s meeting was just a formality. Still, she was trembling. What if Dr. Black didn’t like her? Or something else happened?
She lifted her long black sleeve and glanced at the stinging tattoo on her left inner forearm just below the elbow. It hurt like hell but she had not flinched. An exquisite Celtic war horse, it reared up on its hind legs and kicked out with its front. The body was solid black, the mane and tail a rippling white and black ribbon of Celtic knots. It had amber eyes and nostrils that flared like an angry dragon.
Maggie had always loved horses, except for that brief time when she blamed the horse for her father’s fall. All summer, they whinnied through her open window and sometimes she could even hear the heavy sighs and soft nickering that proclaimed their innocence. By winter, she had exonerated them. Shannon had not loved horses. She hated them and refused to allow her to ride, even though her friend’s parents owned the stable next door and it would be free. Shannon blamed the horse almost as much as she blamed her daughter for John’s current state.
“Maggie? I almost didn’t recognize you.” Startled, she pulled down her sleeve at the sound of Dylan’s voice.
“Oh, you like?”
His nervous smile was enough to show his distaste. As they settled in, he leaned over. “I told you, no advertising.”
“It’s just a style,” she said, but felt suddenly self-conscious. The two of them looked deceptively normal.
“Dr. Black. I’m very pleased to meet you.” Feeling as if she were meeting royalty, she fought the impulse to curtsey.
“I’m pleased to meet you too, Maggie. Dylan tells me that you’ve been reading and are ready for some experiential learning.”
“Yes, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.” She spoke quietly, aware of others nearby and the need for discretion among witches.
“Sensara has given me permission to formally invite you to Samhain.” Maggie’s heart flipped as she vigorously nodded her assent. “I want to talk to you about our plans so you’re not shocked or uncomfortable by what occurs.” After asking the server to bring a pot of tea, she continued. “Before each ceremony we meet and prepare. Now, as Dylan has told you, this is a dangerous time, so we’ll be doing everything we can to raise power.”
“Sounds intense.”
She smiled. “Indeed. The forecast is clear, the moon will be full, and we’ll be gathering in the woods where we met before. It’s quite near your home, I understand.”
“Yes.”
“Dylan tells me that you know the Buntzen Lake area quite well.”
Maggie nodded. “I’ve been playing there all my life.”
“Sensara wondered if you know of a private place where three paths converge.”
Maggie thought a minute. “There’s a place near the creek where the paths meet from three directions, yes.”
“Ah, near water. Even better,” said Dr. Black.
“Good,” said Dylan. He was no poker player and she could see his discomfort. Still, she didn’t care. He had no right to tell her how to dress.
“We often wear robes but this ceremony we’ll be skyclad.”
“Naked.”
“Yes, it will enable us to experience nature in a very personal way and heighten the intensity. Are you comfortable with that?”
“Of course.”
Maggie glanced at Dylan and saw the blood spring to his pale cheeks. She turned to him and shook her head. “You are so transparent.”
“Right then,” said the professor. “Can you lead us to this place from the car park? We’re meeting around seven.”
/>
Imagine. They were asking her to help them.
“They lock the gates at eight, so perhaps you should park along my lane. We could meet just inside the forest. That way no one will see you. I can lead you through the trails from there even in the dark.”
“Perfect. Dylan will tell you what to bring.” Standing abruptly, she offered her hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Maggie.”
She replied to Dr. Black’s formality with her own, but inside she was bursting.
Naked under the full moon with witches on Halloween.
≈
When Estrada slipped Sensara’s cape from her shoulders, her naked body shimmered like polished ivory in the moonlight. In any other venue, her sheer sexual splendour would have slain him, but there in the silvery forest, he felt only awe. This was where the sacred lay waste to the profane and true rapture prevailed.
The six of them stood around her like stark sentinels and watched as she tiptoed into the glacial stream. When she laid down amidst the smooth rocks, the frigid current washed over her body and her dark hair streamed about her face. As moonlight brushed her breasts, he imagined Anuket, goddess of the upper Nile, bathing beneath the waterfall she protected.
Tonight Sensara would draw down the moon, and with it, the goddess Hecate, who would use her as a channel to impart knowledge to the coven.
Maggie stood beside Dylan, wrapped in an emerald green cape that made her eyes seem like oceans. Elated that Sensara had given her permission to attend, she’d found the perfect place and led them through the trails. Estrada was pleased for Dylan, glad that he’d found a girl who seemed to be a kindred spirit. For this reason, he’d championed her cause and persuaded Sensara to allow her to join them. He just hoped his friend wouldn’t get hurt. Maggie was young, and young eager girls could set a guy spinning like nothing else. Still, she’d provided this rare place where three paths converged in a Y that symbolized the liminal border between worlds. Hecate was the guardian of boundaries. Wildlands, graveyards, and crossroads—places where the unholy were buried—were sacred to her and Samhain was her night.
To Charm a Killer (Hollystone Mysteries Book 1) Page 11
