Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  I lightly caressed her cheek. “Never can fool you, can I?”

  “This isn’t going to stop until you find the killer, is it?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

  * * * * *

  By some miracle, I actually slept. No dreams, no visions, no nightmares. It was only an hour, but at least it was peaceful. Upon waking, I re-heated and practically inhaled the meal Felicity had made for me earlier. I never realized corned beef hash and eggs could taste so good. After eating, I parked myself in my upstairs office with a solid stack of reference books. The Expiation spell had been readily recognizable to me, even considering the killer’s sickening variations, but the rest of it was only vaguely familiar. I knew from past reading that flaying and vivisection of a live sacrificial victim were components of the invocation rites performed by ritual magicians of days long past. What I wasn’t clear on was what he might be trying to invoke or why. I felt that if I could pin these facts down, I might have a clue about what he would do next. Whether or not this would be important to the police, I also didn’t know, but it was important to me.

  It became quickly obvious after only a few moments study that the healthy pile of books held none of the answers I sought. Reference material about The Craft didn’t deal with the horrors I had only recently witnessed, and any other historical texts in my possession touched on it only briefly. Feeling this avenue now closed, I pushed the books off to the side of my desk and switched on my personal computer. A few keystrokes and mouse clicks later, I was logging in to my local Internet service provider and merging with the electronic fast lane of the information superhighway. I navigated through the various starting pages and came to rest at my objective, a database search screen. I began my quest for information by typing in the keywords HUMAN SACRIFICE and clicking on the SUBMIT icon. If my service provider happened to be randomly monitoring this line, I mused silently, they were probably thinking I was some kind of psychopath. The status lights on the modem flickered quickly, and the screen re-painted itself, displaying the online addresses of the various matching World Wide Web sites.

  The majority of the web pages listed dealt with historical text and benign non-literal references such as those sacrifices one person makes for another. I was simultaneously pleased and demoralized by the listing of sites that purported to be reservoirs of information regarding active religions that encouraged the actual sacrificing of a human victim. Upon closer inspection, they were obviously no more than idle electronic chatter, but they contained information I felt might be useful. Still, I was violently disgusted by the fact that anyone would claim to subscribe to such beliefs. The world really didn’t need any more sickos than it already had.

  When all was said and done, I had conducted several searches of the “Web” using keywords ranging from BLOOD SACRIFICE to FLAYING. With each of these searches turning up a listing of site addresses, I easily investigated over one hundred web pages within a few hours. The information I gathered held references to historical events and dead religions, as well as fictional books and horror movies. All of it told me that I was on the right track in my belief that the killer was practicing for an invocation ritual, but it still didn’t tell me who or what he was trying to invoke.

  The digital clock resting in the corner of my monitor screen attested to the fact that the afternoon had slipped by virtually unnoticed. It was rapidly approaching time for our meeting with Ariel’s coven, and I knew Ben would be arriving early. I logged off the network and shut down my computer after the printer spit out the last of the information I had sent to it. Much to my chagrin, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I made my way downstairs. My clothing was disheveled, my hair matted and stringy, and my face pallid and drawn. Overall, I looked like death warmed over. A glance at my watch told me I still had some time, so I decided to become acquainted with hot water and a bar of soap.

  * * * * *

  I was just climbing out of the shower when Felicity poked her head in the door and told me Ben had arrived. By the time I finished drying off and throwing on some clothes, the two of them were parked at the dining room table. I joined them and helped myself to a mug of hot ginger-mint tea.

  “I did some research on invocation rites.” I indicated the sheaf of papers I had brought down from my office. “Pretty general stuff. Not much help to be honest.”

  “I’ll take your word on it,” Ben nodded as he spoke. “So, Red Squaw here was tellin’ me you had a hard time of it after I dropped ya’ off this afternoon.”

  “Nightmare I guess,” I told him. “I’ll get over it.”

  “Uh-huh,” he grunted, unconvinced. “By the way, I dropped in on your old man.”

  “I thought you might,” I nodded. “How’d he handle it? Should I be expecting a call?”

  “Prob’ly not. I didn’t wanna get him all worked up, so I told him I was in the area and just stopped in to say hi.”

  “Were you able to find out what you needed?”

  “Yeah. I managed ta’ fit it into the conversation.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Hey, no prob, white man.”

  During our conversation, Felicity had remained steadfastly silent. It suddenly dawned on me that she hadn’t expressed any interest in the somewhat cryptic exchange, so I turned my attention to her side of the table. A familiar file folder lay open across an equally familiar envelope near the center. A thick stack of crime scene photographs were spread neatly before my wife. One of the glossy monstrosities was resting carefully between her fingers as she studied it intently. All the while, she absently chewed on her lower lip as she concentrated.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” I sputtered, nearly choking on a mouthful of hot tea.

  “Catching up,” Felicity spoke without looking up from the pictures.

  “Dammit Ben!” I turned to him. “Are you out of your mind?!”

  “Hey!” He held his hands up defensively. “She told me you wanted her ta’ look at ‘em.”

  “It’s not his fault, then,” she stated, deftly laying the photo she was studying on to a stack then looking up at me. “That’s what I told him.”

  “Well forget it,” I exclaimed and started reaching for the grisly prints. “I don’t want you looking at these things.”

  “NO!” Felicity angrily snapped, grabbing my wrist and forcing my hand away. “I didn’t ask you what you wanted!”

  “Wh-wh-what?” I stammered, surprised by her sudden outburst.

  “I’m not letting you get away with it this time, Rowan,” she stated, an emerald fire of determination blazing in her eyes as she held my gaze. “You’re always trying to protect me. I know why you do it…” Her voice softened. “But I’m a grown woman, not a child. I saw what this experience did to you this afternoon, and I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and watch it tear you apart. I’m going to help.”

  “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” I pleaded.

  “And you do?” she shot back. “You yourself admitted that Ariel ripped through your defenses and almost took over. We both know that something like that could kill you.”

  “Excuse me?” interjected Ben, who had remained quietly neutral until this point. “Whaddaya mean, kill ‘im?”

  “If a spiritual entity,” Felicity explained, turning her attention to him, “manages to take control, especially in the case of something such as this, and plays out the last moments of its physical life, it will repeat the event with the channeling host.”

  “Are you tryin’ to tell me that Ariel Tanner’s spirit or somethin’ would kill him?” Ben asked, still confused.

  “Not on purpose,” she continued. “But if she was in control of his physical body and re-experienced her death, the shock could kill him, yes.” She returned her gaze to me. “You didn’t bother to tell him that did you?”

  “I didn’t think I would need to worry about it,” I answered sheepishly.

  “Jeezus H. Christ!” Ben e
xclaimed. “This is fuckin’ nuts! All I’m tryin’ to do is solve a murder here, and I got some kinda weird ass Twilight Zone episode going on around me.”

  We both turned to look at him as he threw up his hands in exasperation and fell back in his chair. After a moment, he again leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. He quietly looked from my face to Felicity’s then down at the table.

  “Listen,” he said, “I’ve always figured you two for a coupl’a tree-huggin’ agnostics or somethin’, which I got no problem with. You know that. But, I don’t really know much about this whole Wicca-slash-WitchCraft thing, and ta’ be honest, I’m not sure if I wanna know any more.” He paused as if trying to pick his words carefully. “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but this mornin’ I saw some stuff that I can’t explain. Right now I’m willin’ ta’ accept it. But, I also saw my best friend rollin’ around on a floor clawin’ at his chest like he was havin’ a coronary or some shit like that. Now,” he pointed a finger at me and brought his gaze up to meet mine, “YOU start bein’ straight up with me if there’s some kinda risk involved.” He then shifted his attention to Felicity. “And YOU. Watch his back or whatever you Witches do. Okay?”

  “You can count on it,” she told him, her face spreading into a smile.

  “Yeah,” I added, “you’re right.”

  “Okay,” he said, relaxing and settling back in his seat. “So R.J. and company are s’posed to be here in about half an hour. You palefaces wouldn’t happen to have a slab of buffalo or somethin’ around here would ya’? I’m starved.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Ben had demolished a plate of sandwiches by the time the doorbell rang. At the sound, the dogs immediately shifted into territorial protection mode and yelped riotously. The cats, which had been entertaining themselves in a free-for-all wrestling match, scattered. Salinger, our Himalayan, was the only feline left to be seen, and he was perched well out of reach on the exposed rafters of the living room.

  When Felicity and I remodeled our house, we had vaulted the ceiling in an effort to create a lofty, open feel. The cats had discovered the rafters and learned, to their great delight, that they afforded both a safe haven and a bird’s eye view of everything that happened in the room. Salinger sat upon them now, intently studying the scene below. It was clear he thought something interesting was about to happen.

  I answered the door as Ben assisted Felicity in setting out platters of freshly made sandwiches and honey cakes along with a large thermal carafe of iced chamomile tea, as it had inherent calmative properties. We wanted the surroundings to be as comfortable and hospitable as possible for this group.

  To Wiccans, the death of a brother or sister of The Craft is supposed to be considered a graduation, an advancement to the next level of learning, and therefore treated not as a time of sorrow but as a time of celebration. I assumed the members of the group would be of roughly the same age as R.J. Because of this, I suspected that this was the first time any of them would be dealing with the crossing over of a fellow Witch. This fact, combined with the circumstances of Ariel’s death, was likely to bring on grief as opposed to happiness.

  Once the necessary questioning was finished this evening, Felicity and I would be taking it upon ourselves to offer counsel to this leaderless coven and help them along their path.

  Swinging the door open, I was greeted by a small huddle on my front porch. Apparently, Ariel’s coven believed in safety in numbers, and they had elected to descend upon us as a group. Turning, I commanded our two boisterous canines to sit. They immediately planted themselves where they stood, though Quigley, the Australian cattle dog, continued to whine quietly. With the commotion settled, I returned to the task at hand and pushed the screen door open with a smile.

  “Rowan Gant?” a young brunette queried.

  “That’s me,” I answered. “Come on in.”

  I held the door as the five of them filed in and proceeded to nervously mill about in my living room. I closed the door, turned to our guests, and noticed that there were no familiar faces.

  “How many more of you should we be expecting?” I asked.

  “This is it,” replied the brunette guardedly. She had apparently been elected speaker for the group. “Except for R.J.”

  “I noticed he was missing,” I returned, smiling. “Didn’t he come with you?”

  “No,” she answered. “We aren’t sure where he is. He called all of us and said to be here at seven tonight.”

  “Well,” I proceeded, “I’m sure he’s just running a little late.” I held out my hand to her. “Since he’s not here to do the introductions, I suppose we should do that ourselves. Obviously, you have me at a bit of a disadvantage...”

  “Calliope,” she said, taking my hand. “But everyone calls me Cally.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Cally proceeded solemnly around the group, and I was introduced to Shari and Jennifer, two blonde young women who were obviously identical twins. Continuing, I met a tall, lanky young man with hair the color of a ripened tomato named Randy and finally, his wife, a statuesque woman with dark, penetrating eyes and coal black hair. Her name was Nancy. I led them through the archway into our dining room and repeated the introductions for Felicity and Ben.

  “So where’s the kid?” Ben asked, referring to R.J. as he surveyed the group.

  “He seems to be running a little late,” I told him, adding a sharp look to encourage a bit more tact.

  “Why doesn’t everyone have a seat and get comfortable,” Felicity interjected, slicing surgically through the tension in the room then motioning to the serving platters on the table. “If anyone is hungry, please help yourself. That’s what it’s here for.”

  We had installed both leaves in the table, and it was more than large enough to accommodate the small gathering comfortably. There was a noticeable amount of distance kept by the group between themselves and us, especially Ben. I had a feeling that the brushed stainless, nine-millimeter pistol nestled under his arm in a shoulder holster played a role there, as he had draped his jacket over a chair, leaving the handgun exposed. He had done this purposely, I was sure, using it as an intimidation tactic on this youthful group.

  It was apparent that the four young women had attempted to apply an appropriate amount of makeup to their faces in order to disguise the fact that they had been crying. It was also obvious, even to a casual observer, that Randy had shed a few tears as well.

  “I’m not gonna stand on ceremony,” Ben announced with a shrug, then reached out and grabbed a sandwich.

  “Aye, do you have a hollow leg or something?” Felicity gave him an astonished look. “You just ate three sandwiches less than forty-five minutes ago!”

  “Don’t get decent food that often,” he told her between bites. “I’m not home that much.”

  “Don’t let Cochise over here scare you,” I told the group. “Dig in. We need to wait for R.J. anyway.”

  Quietly, one by one, they helped themselves to the food before them. They ate mainly in silence; uttering only necessary polite phrases required whenever offered a drink, or more to eat. It was rapidly approaching eight P.M. when the doorbell finally sounded again. Felicity brought the dogs to rapt attention as they once again began to howl, and I excused myself from the table.

  As expected, R.J. was on the opposite side of the door when I pulled it open. He smiled sheepishly and pulled open the screen door.

  “We were starting to wonder about you,” I told him quietly as he stepped inside.

  “I’m sorry, man,” he apologized and looked around nervously. “I saw Cally’s van out front. Is everyone here?”

  “Yeah,” I answered, shutting the door. “We were just waiting on you. Everyone’s in there.”

  I pointed to the dining room, and he advanced around the corner with a solemn expression and joined them at the table. Something definitely seemed different about R.J. since I had last seen him, and I wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad. In
any event, before he had ever exited the living room, my ears discerned a low growl followed by a throaty yowl and hiss. I turned and looking up at the rafters, saw Salinger glaring down at R.J., ears laid back and tail twitching. Animals being considered by some as good judges of character, I took note. Something about R.J. had set Salinger off. Fortunately, for the moment, I was the only one who noticed.

  “Where ya’ been, kid?” Ben was asking as I rounded the corner into the dining room.

  “I had some stuff to do,” R.J. answered as he took a seat next to Cally.

  “You couldn’t call?” Ben retorted.

  “I was busy, okay?!” The young man spat indignantly. “It’s not like I’m under arrest or something, or am I?”

  “It can be arranged!” Ben challenged, starting to rise from his chair.

  “All right, all right, all right,” I intervened. My voice rose with each syllable, and I motioned him to sit back down. “Before this goes any further, let’s all calm down. Now, R.J…” I looked over at him. “It would have been common courtesy for you to call and let us know you were running late.” I turned to my simmering friend. “And Ben, no one here is under arrest to my knowledge, right?”

  “Right,” he answered grudgingly.

  “Sorry I didn’t call,” R.J. muttered.

  “I know everyone is on edge here.” Felicity reinforced my intrusion into the dispute. “But going at each other like that isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

  “Listen,” Ben offered. “Maybe I was outta line jumpin’ on R.J. like that, but I’ve just got this thing about bein’ on time.”

  The group looked silently around at one another then back at him. They all seemed too tightly strung but quietly nodded in assent.

  “Okay then,” he proceeded. “We might as well get started then. I’ve already been through this with R.J., so I’ll ask the rest of ya’. When was the last time you saw Ariel Tanner alive?”