To Charm a Killer (Hollystone Mysteries Book 1)

by Wendy Louise Hawkin

  The crystal began to move in circles, spinning like a horizontal disc, growing wider and faster with each rotation. When the gyrations seemed almost level with the underside of her wrist, she said, “Thank you. Now Spirit, show me a negative answer.” In mid-swing the crystal veered off its circular cycle and swung straight back and forth across the map, slashing the air with a force so strong, it nearly flew from her grip. “Excellent. Thank you. Now Spirit, there is a man holding an innocent girl prisoner. We need to find this girl and this man. Can you show us where they are?”

  Sensara seemed to be the only one breathing as the others crowded around waiting and watching. The pendulum, which had been moving rapidly in a straight line, slowly decelerated and came to a complete stop over the map. They waited as it continued to hang limp and still.

  “What’s it doing?” whispered Dylan.

  “Nothing. It’s not working.” Sensara caught the crystal in her left hand and plunked it down on the map. “It’s Estrada the man wants.” She turned to him. “You try.”

  He looked anxiously at the pendulum as she stretched out on the rug. He did not want to pick it up. Not now. Not after her failure and remark.

  “I’ll see if I can pick up anything else.” Breathing deeply, she cupped both palms over her eyes. What would she discover in her meditation? Sensara needed no crystal ball. She worked with guides who whispered in her ear and envisioned images no one else could see. Some things she just knew, as if her mind was open to the secrets of the cosmos. When she was clear, anything was possible. Just last year, she’d found a missing child and returned him to his grateful parents. Unfortunately, the waters were muddy when it came to him and that skewed things considerably; something he was counting on. With the taste of the killer still fresh on his lips, his shame welled up, silencing him. He couldn’t bear her to see—especially now in front of them all—what he’d kept secret these past few weeks. Finally, crossing her hands over her heart, she gazed up at them with tears in her eyes.

  “What is it? What did you see?” Daphne asked.

  He held his breath.

  “A dark-haired woman lying face up on a bed…and then a puff of smoke, a flame, and the whole bed blazing—”

  “Oh Lord,” exclaimed Daphne.

  “She doesn’t know it, doesn’t feel it. She’s not conscious when—”

  “Maggie? Is it Maggie?” Dylan’s horrified whisper turned Estrada’s stomach.

  “No. I don’t know this woman.” Sensara rose from the floor and stood behind Estrada. Fatigued by the session, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him.

  “Bloody hypodermics,” he said, clasping her hand. Convinced that she’d seen nothing of his liaison with the killer, he relaxed and pulled her down onto the couch beside him. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he watched her eyes close. He, too, was exhausted and wished all of this would end.

  “We’ve got to find her, Estrada,” said Dylan. “Will you please try the pendulum?”

  How could he say no? He sat at the table, held the chain in his fingers and dangled the pendulum over the map. The man seemed drawn to the Fraser Valley, so he started in Vancouver and followed the route they’re driven that night in the van. It was also the area where the police had discovered Jade’s remains. At Hope, the crystal swung in swift wide circles. He moved it slowly around, hoping the crystal would drop in some particular spot, but it just continued swirling. “He’s here somewhere,” he said, and stood. “I’m going to go find him.”

  “I’m coming with you,” said Dylan.

  “No, not you. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable. You’re just too close to this. I need someone disconnected. I need Michael.”

  “He said no wannabe vampires,” said Jones.

  “You haven’t heard?” said Estrada. “Michael’s no wannabe anymore. If I were you, Jones, I wouldn’t go out at night.”

  “Wait.” Sensara opened her eyes and looked around the room. “I saw something just now. An image…clasped hands. Someone here knows this man, has been close enough to touch him.” Estrada held his breath.

  “Was one of them manicured?” Jones asked.

  They all stared.

  “Why?” asked Sensara.

  He shook his head. “I met this guy a few weeks ago.”

  “Where?”

  “Online. We chatted—”

  “Wait—was it wiccacharm.com?” asked Estrada. Jones nodded. “Christ. Jade’s ex is the webmaster for that site. We figure that’s how he knew she was at Pegasus that night.”

  “Jade?” asked Jones.

  “The last woman to disappear.”

  “Finish your story, Jeremy,” said Sensara. “And don’t leave anything out.”

  Jones shrugged. “We met at a pub. He asked questions.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Yeah, what did you tell him?” Estrada rose and paced around the small room. “Did you talk about us? About the coven?”

  “Look. I’m sorry. He asked about joining. I may have mentioned Maggie—”

  “Maggie?” Incredulous, Dylan too was on his feet.

  “I just said that she wanted to join and that you and Estrada were all for it.”

  “So, you mentioned me too,” said Dylan.

  “I don’t see how anything I said—”

  “Really?” It was Sylvia’s turn. Incensed, she began a condemnation of Jones. “Do you really not see a connection, Jeremy? You talk about coven business to a stranger. You mention Maggie and Dylan and Estrada, and suddenly Maggie’s missing, and Dylan gets a message on his cell phone that Estrada is to come and ransom her. How do you not see a connection?”

  “One who all felt they could trust—” whispered Daphne.

  “Breeds deception cloaked in lust,” finished Sylvia.

  Jones stood speechless in the centre of them all.

  “What’s our first rule, Jeremy?” Sensara’s composure sent shivers up Estrada’s spine.

  “What happens in the coven stays in the coven.”

  “That’s correct. Did you share coven business with a stranger?”

  “Why is it always me? Jesus, the guy probably hangs out at Pegasus. For all we know, Estrada and the E-vamp had sex with him at one of their orgies.”

  “Motherfucker.” Estrada’s fist connected with Jones’ face and sent him crashing into the wall.

  “Jesus. You broke my nose, you friggin maniac.” Hoisting him by the shirt, Estrada raised his fist and punched his bloody face again. His head flew back and hit the wall.

  Stop it,” said Sensara. Enraged, he glared at her. “Let him go, Estrada. Now.”

  Growling, he shook Jones by the shirt, then released his grip and flung him down the wall.

  Edging between them, Sensara pushed him away with her rigid back. “Jeremy, I’m sorry that Estrada hit you like that. You obviously pushed a button. But, you broke our rules and caused us harm. I have no alternative but to banish you from Hollystone Coven, and forbid you to divulge anything about us to anyone ever again.”

  Estrada stood behind her rubbing his bruised fist. “I hope you got that Jones because next time she might not be around to save you.”

  9: All Causes Shall Give Way

  THE SCARLET STREAKS rimming Dylan’s swollen eyes skyrocketed Estrada’s guilt to a whole new level. There was no denying that he was responsible for the nightmare that continued to unfold.

  “I just can’t believe it,” said Dylan. We stood right here on this porch last night. Maggie kissed me. Christ. She wanted to…” He glanced away. “Tell me something Estrada, why does this lunatic think you can find him in less than forty-eight hours?”

  “I don’t know, Dylan. But I will get her back. I promise.” He glanced at Sensara, who huddled beside Sylvia, and thought back to that day in the woods when she’d had her first premonition. I don’t know what it is, or how to stop it, but unless we do, people are going to die. He could not allow another innocent girl to be burned
to death because of some psychopath’s obsession with him. But, could he stop it? Could he find her in time? Hecate’s prophesy haunted him. Four souls pass over into light. Jade was dead. If Maggie died too, he’d never forgive himself.

  When the door opened, they were confronted by an equally anxious young man, whose cropped blond hair stood on end, as if he’d run his fingers through it a million times. The mottled shadow of a bruise marred his startlingly blue eyes. Like a tropical sea in sunlight, they were an intense turquoise, an unnatural shade Estrada had never seen before, and for a moment, he stood speechless, taking him in. Bleached baggy jeans and beaded moccasins. Though pale and lean, muscles rippled beneath his simple white T-shirt. Estrada’s gaze travelled back to his eyes—unsettled eyes that surveyed him apprehensively.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Sylvia Black. This is Dylan McBride, Sensara Narato, and Sandolino Estrada. We would like to have a word with Mr. and Mrs. Taylor if that’s possible. It’s regarding their daughter, Maggie.”

  He nodded and shut the door, leaving them to wait in the drizzling November morning. Estrada drew the collar of his black raincoat up around his neck, hugged Sensara in close and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He’d spent most of last night convincing her of his love. They were both exhausted, but for the moment, she was pacified.

  “I think they were real,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think he was wearing contacts.”

  Cocking his head, he eyed her curiously. “Sorry. I guess it’s from growing up in Mexico. You’ve been to my flat. Anything turquoise catches my eye and kind of draws me in.”

  “Anything pretty and shiny you mean. You’re such a raven.” She said it jokingly, but he caught the muted edge of sarcasm and realized that she did not trust him and likely never would.

  The door opened and the young blue-eyed man beckoned them in, just as Mrs. Taylor came bouncing down the stairs. A small fair-skinned fireball of a woman, her auburn ponytail bounced behind her. From what Estrada had seen of Maggie, he assumed she resembled her father.

  “Holy Mary, mother of God,” she said. She wiped her damp eyes with her fist and held up a book. “You’re him.”

  “Him?” said Dylan and Estrada simultaneously. It was obvious from the awkward way she peered at Estrada, that he was the man in question. Dylan, vaguely chagrined, hung his head for a moment, and then regained his composure.

  “Him, yes. The man whose face she sketched in her diary. The man from her dream. Estrada, is it? Tell me. Do you know where my daughter is?” The hand that held the book trembled.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Taylor, and I don’t know exactly where Maggie is, but I’m going to do my best to find her.”

  “You and the police.”

  “Police?” repeated Dylan.

  “I’m forgetting my manners. Come and sit down,” she said, ushering them into a cozy wood-panelled living room. The young man stood beside her like a sentinel. When at last they were settled, she launched into an anxious conversation.

  “My daughter’s missing. Why wouldn’t I call the police?” She eyed them warily. “I know she was with you people last night at your ceremony. She’s written about it. I also know she came back here afterwards and our priest tried to rape her on the front steps of our home.” She gasped then and crossed herself. “Can you believe it? Our own priest tried to rape our daughter on the front steps of our home. My husband, bless his heart, saved her.”

  “That bastard!” Dylan’s anger quickly morphed into guilt. “This is my fault. I didn’t trust him and I left her alone with him—”

  “It’s not your fault. Father Grace was our priest. Maggie trusted him. We all trusted him. Now, I fear he’s taken her off somewhere to finish what he started.”

  They stood, momentarily stunned.

  Sylvia was the first to speak. “We don’t know that, but we do know that Maggie sounded sleepy, but fine, when she called Dylan’s cell phone at three a.m. She left a message. Would you like to hear it?”

  “I would.” She shuddered and almost lost her balance. The young man grasped her arm and helped her to an armchair, then vanished into the kitchen. “Thank you, Bastian,” she murmured. Then, turning to Sylvia, she nodded her head. “Play it, please.” As Dylan played the message, they all watched her brows furrow in confusion. “I don’t understand. Magician? What does he mean?”

  “He’s playing a game. He wants me to find him,” said Estrada. “I’m a magician, you see. I work at a club downtown, and I think this man frequents it. He seems to be captivated by magic.” He did not wish to bring the image of burning witches into the conversation, if he could avoid it.

  “He’s captivated by Estrada to be more precise,” said Sensara. He glanced at her quizzically. “She needs to know the truth.” Turning back to Mrs. Taylor, she continued. “It’s not a bad thing. It will probably help Estrada find him.”

  “Forty-eight hours,” she said, looking at the kitchen clock. “Seven have passed already. The police need this.”

  “Give me a chance first,” said Estrada. “If we bring the police into it, we’ll lose control. I have a better chance of finding him than they do. Please, let me try.”

  She opened the book and laid it on the table. “Maggie’s in love with you,” she said.

  After recovering from the bluntness of that statement, they all stared at the page where Maggie had sketched Estrada’s face.

  “She’s not in love with me. It’s magic that Maggie loves.” He glanced at Dylan, who sat looking dejected in a corner of the room. “It happens sometimes, especially to young girls.”

  “That’s true,” said Sylvia. “Maggie was determined to come to our ceremony, not because of Estrada, but to experience her own power. You’d know her best, but she appears to be a strong and capable girl. That will help her through this ordeal.”

  “You’re the university professor, aren’t you? The one she writes about.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Yet you’re involved in this Wicca stuff?”

  “Wicca is our religion. It’s not all that different from Catholicism really. It’s a reverent religion and certainly nothing to fear.”

  “I didn’t fear Catholics until today,” she said, and rubbed her eyes. “I still believe in God though, and if He sent you, then I’ll have to trust you, won’t I?”

  “You can trust us, Mrs. Taylor.”

  “Call me Shannon.”

  The young man brought a steaming cup of tea and set it down on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Bastian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He nodded and slipped from the room.

  “Do you mind if we borrow this?” asked Estrada, pointing to the diary. “There might be something useful—”

  Nodding, she took a quick breath. “It’s embarrassing. I didn’t realize Maggie was growing up so fast.”

  He picked it up and flipped to the last page where she’d written about the priest. After reading it silently, he walked over and handed it to Dylan.

  “This Gabriel Grace, what do you know about him?” he asked.

  “Just that he’s the priest at St. Mary’s. He arrived less than a year ago. I don’t know anything about his past. I just trusted him. Why wouldn’t I? He’s a priest.” She buried her head in her hands, and then exclaimed angrily: “It just makes me sick. He’s been hanging around here, claiming to be helping my husband. John suffers from a traumatic head injury, you see, and Father Grace works with him. He said that he wanted to understand mental disorders so he could help people. He volunteers at Creekside.”

  “Creekside?”

  “It’s a local psychiatric facility.”

  “He works at a psych hospital? Where patients stay and they dispense drugs, that sort of thing?” asked Estrada. He thought of the straitjackets, the hypodermics, the drugs.

  She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  He glanced at Sensara, unsure of how much to share.

  “We’
ve heard of a man that abducts women by injecting them with a sedative,” she said. “If Grace works at a psych hospital, he could have access to—”

  “Holy God! That’s how he got her out without a sound. Remy here, knows him well and wouldn’t bark.” Hearing his name, the lab poked his head out from under the table. “The devil probably had a key cut. How many times have I left him alone in this house with my husband and daughter?” She drifted off, trying to come to terms with the magnitude of it all. “Ah, it makes me want to scream!”

  “Whatever drug he’s using—” Estrada stopped mid-sentence, caught by the abrupt revelation that if he’d gone to the hospital and been tested, he’d probably know what drug. He’d been slathered in the man’s DNA. He stood and began to pace.

  “He injected a police officer with the drug and the man recovered,” said Sensara. Was she covering for him or just trying to put the woman at ease? “We’ll do everything we can to find Maggie. I know it’s impossible, but try not to worry.”

  “You seem like good people,” said Mrs. Taylor. “Do you really think you can manage this without police?”

  “Yes,” said Estrada. They had called it on when they spun that charm and they would end it. But he sought his own absolution. Sensara eyed him quizzically, then stepped close beside him.

  “You’re hiding something from me,” she whispered.

  “We all hide things,” said Mrs. Taylor. “Secrets. At first it seems a small thing, the right thing to do, but then, before you know it, it’s grown into something unspeakable.” They looked to each other, each in their own bewildered worlds. “I feel like I can trust you. I don’t know why but I do.”

  “Trust your feelings,” said Sensara.

  “If you find Maggie—when you find Maggie—unless you know for certain that Grace is dead. I mean, you see his pitiful body laid out on the ground. I wonder…could you take her someplace safe? I’ll pay, of course. It’s just that we don’t have family here. I have to work and I can’t leave John. I don’t know what else to do. Could you do that? Just until things get sorted?”