Maya's Aura: The Charred Coven

by Smith, Skye

  * * * * *

  Maya patted her pillow, for it was too lumpy. Oops, it was warm flesh. She opened her eyes and looked up into a worried and fearful face, Angelica's face. So Angelica's lap was her pillow. No wonder it was lumpy. Angelica was busy tying black silk around a bloody gash on her left arm. She closed her eyes so her head would ache less and so the room would stop spinning.

  "Please, Maya. You have to wake up. Someone called an ambulance, and the police will come with it. They will arrest you."

  "Why?"

  "Why, why? WHY? Because you just killed the Black Widow. The spokeswoman of the covens. The chosen Magus of this coven."

  "I killed no one," Maya whispered. Deny, deny, deny. "She died of a heart attack. I never touched her. Everyone saw. I never touched her, though she tried to stab me."

  "Have it your way. Her two handmaidens have been weeping at her side since it happened. They keep blubbering about the children, or the mothers of the children, or something."

  Maya thought back. Her memory was fuzzy. "There were two little girls in bed with me before. Perhaps three years old and two. You know, before they stretched me out on this floor. I think they were kidnapped, or were at least being kept away from their mothers, or something."

  "But that was fake. Those three always say things like that to scare the rest of us. Their thing is being the wicked witches of the north. It's all an act, a sham, carefully staged."

  "You think so," Maya whispered. She spoke so softly that Angelica had to bend her head down to hear. "I don't think any of it was an act. They are truly evil. All three are rare specimens on this earth, female psychopaths."

  "They are three of the richest women from around here. La-de-dah families. Two are Ladies, as in Lord and. The other is a Countess or something." Angelica picked up Britta's crystal by the silken cord and looked at it. "It's just quartz. I though it was some kind of weapon."

  "Like I said, she died of a heart attack. Are the other two okay?"

  "You mean other than being blubbering wretches crying about some lost children. Yeah, they look okay. A bit dusty, a bit bruised, but so are all of us. I think we all hit this floor more than once." Angelica pulled a bundle of cloth towards her out of the dust and pushed it against Maya's side. "Here, get dressed. The police will be here soon."

  Maya looked down at herself. Still naked. Angelica helped her to sit up and then helped her into her clothes. "You're right. Maybe I shouldn't be here when the cops arrive. They may lock me up until after the doctors say it was a heart attack."

  "Come on, then, let's go," Angelica pulled her to her feet. Someone was turning up a dimmer switch on the lights and the yellow light glinted off something near her feet. She stared at the bloody dagger with the horn handle, and then kicked it hard towards the fireplace.

  Maya steadied herself on her own legs. She looked over at the dead crow protected by the handmaiden crows, and moved towards them. They skittered along the floor out of her way, so she bent down and felt for the pulse of the dead crow. Nothing. "Heart attack," she said in a loud voice so that all in the room would hear. "So worked up that she blacked out. Heart attack, definitely." She motioned to Angelica to talk it up.

  "Yeah, heart attack. Must have been. One minute she was angry and ready to fight. The next minute, plop, to the floor. Heart attack."

  "Definitely heart attack," repeated Maya. She looked around at the strained faces in the shadows. They were nodding. She heard some repeat the words "heart attack."

  "Someone has to tell the ambulance guys that it was a heart attack, so they get a resuscitator on her right away." Maya said, too loudly. She looked down at the two handmaiden crows, the other two psychos. "So, neither of you thought to give her CPR? Some friends. Useless tits." The truth in her words made their sobbing worse.

  "Heart attack, no CPR, useless tits," repeated Angelica, catching on to what Maya was doing. Repeat something enough times and it becomes consensus reality. Around her she heard whispers of 'useless tits'. It was working. "This girl needs a walk in some fresh air. You had her scared shitless. You and your booga booga scary talk. I'll take her. The rest of you wait for the ambulance." She grabbed Maya and dragged her away from the crows and out of the room, and then out of the house into the pitch black of night.

  Maya, of course, had no idea where they were other than they must be back in Cambridge because the narrow streets and the stone buildings had that look. As Angelica dragged her along the narrow street, she looked back and saw a number on the door and memorized it and then looked for a street sign. That she memorized too.

  "Sirens, ambulance or cops, come on," Angelica pleaded with Maya to hurry. They ducked under an archway and into a park just in time to be out of sight of the flurry of brightly flashing vehicles that screamed by. Maya was still out of it, so Angelica kept her hand in a firm grip and led her along across manicured lawns, down riverside paths, and over low bridges until the college where Maya was staying came into sight.

  Maya recognized the building and immediately felt a little better. She hugged Angelica in thanks and told her to go and hide. She watched the burly Goth duck through a pedestrian gate and out of sight. Without a word she waved her room key at the watchman and forced her legs to climb the stairs, taking a breath after each one.

  The room was empty and reeked of sex. Both beds were torn apart with bedclothes and towels everywhere. The first thought to cross her mind was police search. No, not this fast. The window was shut again so she re-opened it and went to pee.

  Wendy must have had a guest, or maybe two. She looked for condoms in the waste bin. None. Of course not. This mess was from her teasing them. On the table the note she had left with Fiona's map of the Sabbat was flipped over. A new note stared back at her. 'Gone clubbing - W.'

  Again she read it, but that was all there was to the message. It was just after midnight. Her memory was sketchy between the weird cottage at the Sabbat, and the big house out there somewhere in Cambridge with the black room. She flopped herself onto her bed, and then immediately rolled off it. Yuk, it was damp.

  "What were they doing in here?" It was rhetorical. She knew exactly what they were doing. Wrestling around half nude. It brought a longing to her heart for her two guys in Vancouver who enjoyed doing the same things with her. Thinking of Erik, fastidious Erik, made her want to tidy the room, so she did. She even remade her bed using the top sheets from both beads, so at least it was dry. All this was done softly so as not to waken the neighbors.

  Tidy enough, and still no Wendy, so she had a shower, which caused some wall thumping. She twisted her hair into a towel and was drying herself when she heard her name called from outside the window. After wrapping herself in the towel, she bent out of the open window, and looked down. Wendy was standing below, looking quite elegant and groomed in her New York fashion, and with the redhead and the brunette students in tow.

  The men looked rumpled and drunk. Wendy didn't have them in tow so much as she was holding them steady.

  "We have to go back to Windsor," Maya called to her. "Immediately."

  "What? No way. My phone didn't ring. Not even a text."

  "Trust me, we have to go now."

  Sitting on a bench just up the lane were two somewhat drunk and plump young women. They were most surprised and most eager to help when Wendy asked them to make sure the two good-looking young men got to bed okay.

  While Wendy handed over the guys and then made for the gate to the residence, Maya kept watching to see what the women would do with their charges. Great, four drunks and not a single sober mind between them. By leaning far out of the window she could see the four of them inspecting a punt on a side canal, and then watched the four drunken stooges scramble, or rather, wobble into it.

  Somehow they managed to untie the small boat, and push it out into the canal, and then one of the plump women, the least drunk of the lot, grabbed the pole and began to push the punt downstream. Wendy joined her at the window and immediately said, "Oh n
o, I can't watch." At the moment she gave words to the prophecy, the punt seemed to drift out from under the feet of the plump woman and she was left hanging from the pole with her feet dangling into the canal water.

  The pole-less punt was drifting towards the other side. The woman was slowly sliding down the pole, which had stuck in the muddy bottom, and in her best dress and all, she splashed into the river with a scream. "You were right. I can't look," Maya laughed. The laughter felt good. It was exactly the medicine she needed to blow away the darkness she had been feeling.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  MAYA'S AURA - The Charred Coven by Skye Smith

  Chapter 19 - Spies for the Foreign Office

  "This is your fault, Wendy. Your orders were to keep her out of trouble," Sir Nigel hissed. He pushed Monday's early edition newspapers across his immense walnut desk towards the two women. "Missing Kiddies Found" said one headline. "Extensive Search for the Mothers." "Witches arrested." "Cambridgeshire's Satanic Sacrifices." said others.

  While the two women quietly read the stories, he answered his phone.

  "Yes, speaking. Good day, Minister.

  I admit that my operatives should not have taken action within our country's borders.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  I have already admitted that. So what were they supposed to do? Let those Satanists keep the children?

  No, they have no information about the missing mothers. Sadly I expect the worst.

  You will have to ask that of your chief of detectives, Minister.

  Yes, indeed. A feather in the cap of the police.

  I can promise that they will claim no credit. You know, of course, what that means.

  Exactly, they must not be questioned by the police. Any records already on file must be shredded.

  I am glad we agree, sir.

  Yes, I will send you a list of all names to be deleted from the official file.

  Yes, today.

  Thank you, Minister. Always a pleasure."

  He hung up the phone and hissed at it. "Effing plonker." He looked at Wendy and Maya. "I need a list of the people you two partied with in Cambridge. Anyone who could identify you. Their involvement is no longer deemed desirable to the police investigation."

  "Ugh," Maya spoke sheepishly. "I don't know any of their last names."

  "Young people," Sir Nigel thumped the desk. "What is to become of us if people don't even introduce themselves before they party together?"

  Wendy was conspicuous by her silence. She didn't know any last names, either. While he watched they compiled the list of given names and a brief description of each. He finished reading the financial pages. In the financial papers the Cambridge incident was summarized in a single sentence on page twelve. Ah, perspective restored.

  Afterwards, in the calm of the empty hallway, Maya asked Wendy. "What just happened there? What was that phone call all about? Are we in trouble or not?"

  "One of the hats that Sir Nigel wears is as a director of an intelligence service at the Foreign office." Wendy shrugged. "He allowed the Minister of the Home Office to assume that we were two of his secret operatives."

  "Like, so does that mean we are spies?"

  "Sir Nigel's operatives are responsible for gathering information abroad." Wendy wondered if she were saying too much. "They are the spy masters who recruit locals to do the actual spying. But you are right. As far as that Minister is concerned we are spies, spooks, James Bond types."

  "So, like, are we in trouble?"

  "Not any more," whispered Wendy, "and neither is anyone that we identified on that list. Hopefully you put down the names of all your witchy dancy friends."

  "I did."

  "Then they are safe."

  "Really? That's all there is too it?" At Wendy's nod, Maya just shook her head. "Huh. Just a phone call between two of the 'old boys', and they are safe."

  "Well, I may have some extra bedroom duties with Sir Nigel, but that's okay. This weekend has left me feeling extremely horny. Too much teasing has that effect on me."

  "Sheesh," whistled Maya.

  "Exactly."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  After the afternoon interviews with the new boys were over, Maya followed Jacob to his office. He had seemed sheepish and silent all day, even more so than usual. Once the office door was closed, he turned to her and said "I really can't continue translating these three ancient memoirs. I have already resealed the scrolls and locked them up. I am now thinking that I should destroy the scan files from my computer.

  "Why, is there something wrong with the files? Show them to me." she said quickly, worried. She didn't need any more bad news at the moment. Her bad news bin was overflowing.

  He turned on his computer and found the folder with the scan files and opened the first one. It was the scanned images of Saint Margaret's memoirs. It was all gobbledygook to Maya. Hand written Olde English was as much like typed modern English as was Sanskrit. "It all looks okay," she speculated.

  "Oh, there is nothing wrong with the scanning. I did a very good job, in fact. I did the quality assurance as I went, and rescanned as required. No it is not the format, it is the content. As I was scanning the pages with the machine, I was scanning them with my eyes as well, to pick out specific key words in the writing. My short list of words started with: Fens, Peasant, Wash. I soon added Raynar, Ray, hoodsman, and bowman.

  While reading some of the paragraphs that contained these words, well, I was shocked to say the least. I now fully understand why the church forbade these scrolls. I agree with the decision. There is nothing to be gained by opening such an ancient can of worms."

  "Blah, blah, blah, you are talking in riddles. Tell me something real," said Maya as she looked again at the curly handwriting.

  "Well, how about this? King Malcolm was injured in battle, uh, between the legs, before Margaret became pregnant with Edith her first daughter. Malcolm had always promised her a daughter, but she kept pumping out sons for him. Good for him, bad for her. He gave her permission to bed another man, an old and trusted friend, to create the daughter. The man they chose was an expert bowman and therefore a peasant, but a long time friend of her brother Edgar Atheling, and the man who had at one time been her bodyguard. His name was Raynar. Raynar Porter. Raynar of the Peaks. Captain Raynar ... that is, ship's captain."

  "Well, good for her, and how modern of Malcolm," she said eager to know more.

  "Surely you jest. The proof that is in these memoirs may destroy the monarchies of a handful of countries, including this one. It could mean there are more appropriate choices to become our next sovereign than the grandchildren of our current Queen."

  "Uh, so what. Like, look at the couple that all the hoopla is about for this Royal Wedding. I mean, what have they ever done to deserve all that fame and acclaim. Discovered a cure for cancer? Fed all the starving children of Africa? No. They've done nothing. Nothing other than they were like, born. They are about as important to this world as, as, as Paris Hilton. Let someone else have a turn." She couldn't understand why he was so upset.

  "Let someone else. .,. Child. It is not just about who sits on the throne. It is who are the lords and ladies, the barons and baronesses, the counts and countesses, who own the land, who controls the countryside. These memoirs prove that we have it all wrong. Even in my own field of history, this is monumental news. Everything will have to be rewritten, straightened out, reinterpreted."

  "Isn't that what you wanted? Won't that get you a professorship in Cambridge?"

  "No, no, NO. English historians will hate me if I turn their entire world upside down. Everything they have ever written will be worthless." He was so upset he had to sit down.

  "Umm, sorry Jacob, but I still don't get it. So Margaret had a blended family. Daughters. So what? I thought daughters were not important in those days."

  "So what? So bloody what? Yes her sons by Malcolm became the Kings of Scotland. But her daughter
s, her daughters by this peasant Raynar, why one became the Queen of England and the other the Countess of Boulogne. Almost every royal house in Europe traces their lineage to Margaret's two daughters. Daughters of, of, of a bloody porter. The lowest of the low. In India he would have been an untouchable."

  "Oh," replied Maya. Who pissed in his cornflakes? She was likely descended from this Raynar guy. She was a peasant, too. On her trip to India she had quite liked the untouchables.

  He stared at this delicious blonde and sighed. He hated to disappoint her. He hated that she wasn't smiling at him. "No, I must not proceed. It serves no purpose other than to disrupt the peace. I will destroy these files and stop the quest for the provenance of your ring."

  "Oh," replied Maya thoughtfully, but then feigned a swoon, "Oh, oh, oh!" She slowly fell to the floor.

  "Maya, are you all right?"

  "Water," she gasped. As she expected, he ran out of the office and down the hallway searching for a glass and some water or even a bottle of water. She leaped up, stuck her USB stick into his computer and started copying the image files of the three scrolls. Damn, they were large. It was taking forever. She didn't have forever. Ayyyyyye. Finished. She clicked on eject and grabbed her USB stick and slumped back down to the floor.

  She was gracious enough to drink all of the water he had brought, and made sure she held his hand and looked deeply into his eyes while she did so. When he dropped his head slightly and kissed her on the lips, she did not pull away. She returned the kiss. After all, he deserved some reward.

  * * * * *

  One thing she had learned while trying to send Erik and Karl the images of books from Nepal, was that email services had a limit to the size of attached files. The files containing the images of the three scrolls were huge, like massive. As in Nepal, she was forced to resort to copying them to DVD disks and then sending them snail mail to Vancouver.

  There was a difference between Nepal and Windsor, however. Well, actually there were a lot of differences, not the least of which was that the crown prince of Nepal had machine-gunned the entire Royal family so that Nepal could become a republic. There seemed to be little chance of that in Windsor. The crown prince here seemed to be into publicity weddings.