Plague Cult

by Jenny Schwartz

  “Yes.”

  Joe straightened from his crouched inspection of the floor. “Ghosts aren’t real, honey.”

  She winced. “That’s what I thought, Dad. But I saw a woman in a 1920s dress in the parlor, and then, she was gone.”

  “Hot damn.” Mr. Rodriguez dashed for the front room.

  Joe looked at Shawn, who nodded. “I saw her, too.”

  “She’s not scary, Dad, so why worry?”

  Out of Joe’s sight, Shawn raised an amused eyebrow. He was right. Last night, she definitely hadn’t been so blasé at her introduction to Carla. But that was last night. Now it was daylight.

  From the front room came two new voices. More visitors.

  Shawn lowered his voice. “Joe, what time is today’s Chamber of Commerce meeting?”

  “Two o’clock.”

  Which meant that at two o’clock, unless Whitney accompanied Zach to the meeting, they had a chance to talk to her alone.

  The advice Ruth had requested from the Collegium came through before she and Shawn set off for the Moonlit Hearts Club’s Healing Hearts Ranch. William, the Chief Healer, phoned. “Excuse me,” Ruth excused herself from the small group of neighbors lingering on her front porch. “My boss. I have to take this.”

  “We’ve got to being going anyway.” The last of the stragglers, those who’d stayed even after her dad returned to the farm, finally departed.

  Ruth watched their cars travel slowly down the driveway as she listened to William.

  His news was good and bad. The good news was that he approved of her and Shawn’s actions so far, and their plans. He’d also approved her request for leave. The bad news was that he had no clearer idea of the reason for Zach’s hidden aura than she did, although he could add a few more possible causes.

  “Demonic possession, a physical block from a crystal, or incipient zombie-ism,” Ruth repeated to Shawn after the call had ended. “Although I think the last one was William’s idea of a joke, something to make me feel better.”

  “Huh. Why would you need to feel better?” Shawn asked warily.

  Ruth picked up dirty coffee mugs and stooped for an empty cookie packet. She wanted to keep busy. “Because the other reason for Zach’s masked aura could be that the curse has seized him. The curse—or it could have already made the leap and become a plague.” She held three mugs, looped by their handles from her fingers. They rattled as her fingers trembled. “The victim we already know about…his heart ruptured. If the curse turns a person’s energy inward, sucks the aura inside, theoretically it could lead to a broken heart.”

  She put the mugs in the laundry sink. “If that’s happening to Zach, he could die at any moment. And if the curse is strengthening, if it’s about to become a plague—”

  “We’ll stop it,” Shawn said.

  She kept her back to him, and turned on the hot water tap.

  He reached over her shoulder and switched if off. “Forget the mugs.”

  “What if Zach’s contagious?” Ruth shared her real fear. “What if he’s a danger to everyone, a carrier of the plague, and I can’t see it?”

  “What-ifs drive a person mad.”

  “That’s not an answer, Shawn.” She was angry with herself and her helplessness. It rang in her voice, and echoed sharp and high off the empty laundry walls. She heard the note of hysteria and closed her eyes. “Sorry.”

  “You’re emotionally involved. It makes things harder.” Shawn massaged her shoulders. “I can’t see William teasing you about zombies if he truly thought a plague was an imminent threat to your family.”

  “No, but…William’s not infallible and he’s not here.”

  “Enough.” Shawn spun her around to face him. “We need to eat something other than those cookies. A sandwich or something. Then we’ll drive out to talk to Whitney. One way or another, we’ll get some answers.”

  She nodded. “Too much sugar makes people nervy. I should have remembered. I had four cookies.”

  “Wicked!”

  “Now, you’re mocking me.”

  “Just a little.” He squeezed her shoulders and let her go, opening the fridge door to rummage inside. “Peanut butter sandwiches?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Ruth felt steadier after peanut butter sandwiches, a banana and a cup of chamomile tea.

  “I’d like you to cast a protective circle,” Shawn said. “My magic is justice-related. Yours, as a healer, has a stronger affinity to defensive measures. I’d like to keep out ill-wishes.”

  “I agree. It’s something I should have done last night after we encountered the death magic. I should have smudged us with sage.”

  “No need.” Carla popped into view. Even in daylight, she looked solid, but now she wore a stylized, 1930s cowgirl shirt and skirt rather than the glamorous outfit of last night. Fringes dangled from the seams of her sleeves and the hem of her tan skirt. “I told you. I won’t let evil into Rose House.”

  “It clung to us?” Shawn asked acutely.

  Carla wrinkled her nose. “A nasty taint. Not harmful, but unpleasant.” She looked at Ruth. “There’s sage growing wild in the south corner of the garden. You should burn one of the old plants on your return.”

  “I have a smudge stick,” Ruth said. “But thank you.”

  “Be careful.” Carla vanished.

  Ruth leaned towards Shawn. “That did not reassure me.”

  He grinned. “Grab your smudge stick, partner, and let’s saddle up.”

  Chapter 9

  The cult’s compound looked different in daylight, closer to the holiday resort Ruth remembered from her childhood. Today, they weren’t bothering with cover stories or excuses to visit Whitney. Shawn parked in the graveled parking area by the main building, and knocked perfunctorily at the front door before opening it and gesturing Ruth in.

  “Good afternoon? Are we expecting you? Welcome to the Healing Hearts Ranch.” The middle-aged man who’d run last night’s “affirmation” session in Whitney’s absence, hurried from an office into the foyer that doubled as a lounge room; one that was currently empty.

  “We have an appointment with Whitney,” Ruth said. It was true, even if Whitney wasn’t aware of it.

  “Whitney didn’t tell me—where are you going?”

  Shawn walked to the right, the wing furthest from where the death magic had been centered. He ignored the cult member’s sharp question and flustered attempt to dart in front of him.

  Given Shawn’s hollerider ability to sense evil, Ruth wondered if he’d detected Whitney’s presence or was using common sense. The death magic rituals had been held in the large conference room in one wing, so logically, any private rooms would be in the other wing. She followed him, and the cult member followed her, still talking.

  “You can’t come here. These are Whitney and Zach’s quarters.”

  The rooms had been substantially renovated since Ruth’s teenage visits to the family-focused resort. There were hardwood floors, sleek blinds on the windows and expensive embossed wallpaper in a pale green. Whitney sat at a French provincial-style desk in front of a laptop in the living room. She looked around at their entrance.

  Ruth felt a weak push of magic as if Whitney attempted to repel them.

  Then the woman stood. “Thank you for escorting my visitors, Vince.” It was a clear dismissal.

  The man shifted his weight uneasily, reluctant to leave.

  Shawn closed the door on him.

  “I recognize you from the diner, but apart from that, I’m afraid I don’t know you.” Whitney spoke first in a poor attempt at commanding the situation.

  “You recognize that we have magic,” Shawn began.

  Whitney’s make-up was exquisite, but now her carefully painted lips thinned. “I see the healers magic around the woman.”

  “We see the death magic around you,” Shawn said.

  The blood vanished from Whitney’s face, leaving her cosmetics standing out cruelly as the mask they were. “You can’t.
”

  Ruth sensed panic and horror, and shame. “Shawn, is she evil?”

  He shook his head, his gaze staying on Whitney. “The death magic stinks, and it clings to her, but she’s not evil.”

  Which meant Zach was. One of the husband and wife pair had brought evil into the diner that morning.

  “I’m not. Oh, God.” Whitney stumbled back and sat on her desk chair. She buried her face in her hands. Her carefully manicured nails had a subtle apricot-pink shine. “I’m a witch, barely. I can see that Helen’s daughter has magic, and I’ve always been a bit psychic. I would know things before they happened. But that was it. Until I found the book.”

  She turned away, opening a drawer.

  Beside Ruth, Shawn tensed.

  Whitney pulled out a grimoire and held it out to him. “This. Take it. I…it had a spell.”

  “A few spells,” he said unhelpfully as he accepted the book.

  “Minor things. Silly things like ensuring a fine day or discovering who you’ll marry. Except this one spell…it is written at the back. It called for a death. I shouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have, but…” She inhaled, exhaled. Repeated the action, but didn’t grow any calmer. The words burst out of her. “Zach had just taken everyone for a meditation session out in the woods, somewhere along the river. I hate hiking and I stayed here. Then I heard a sound, not even that…I’d been uneasy. I went looking and outside the main conference room I found a jay.”

  She stared at her hands and shuddered. “It lay on the ground. Its wings were broken and a leg twisted. It didn’t even try to peck me when I picked it up. It couldn’t be healed. It was just suffering. I wanted to call Zach or someone, but they don’t carry their phones to a meditation session. I thought of driving it in to the vet’s, and then, I thought of it dying there in the car beside me.”

  Her eyes had a glazed, shocky expression. “If it was going to die…I suddenly thought of the book. I’d only found it a week ago, in a used bookstore, would you believe? In Dallas. I’d been browsing at the dollar stand, waiting for Zach. I remembered the last spell in the book. It promised to grant dreams, but a sacrifice had to power the spell.

  “I knew it was wrong.” She focused on Shawn. “Even if ending the bird’s suffering was a kindness, I knew it was wrong to use its death for magic. But I did. I recited the spell and I killed the bird and I buried it in the dirt under the cabin, under the main conference room—and I’ve kept the spell going by having everyone chant it. I called it an affirmation.” She hiccupped a sob.

  “I just wanted to be a bit more, and I wanted it for the others. And for Zach. It would help him if people recommend the Moonlit Hearts Club. He really does heal broken hearts here. It’s not just about relationships, but also about helping people recover from destroyed dreams.”

  “Whitney.” Ruth kept her tone soothing, even sympathetic. The woman was clearly traumatized, but she was also delusional. “You did more than ask for help to achieve people’s dreams. A man died.”

  Whitney stared at her, swallowing convulsively. “I didn’t mean that to happen. I swear. I saw him in town. It was so random. I knew him, before. He married my friend Lissa. Lissa was beautiful, so beautiful. We’d been models together, years ago. She was stunning. She married him, believing his lies, and he pimped her out. He told her the events were swingers’ parties, but really he was using her to advance his career. He had her sleep with men and women to win him a contract or a promotion. He used her up, abused her, till she killed herself. Lovely Lissa.

  “After I saw him in town, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. But I didn’t know the spell would be affected or I wouldn’t have repeated the chant that night. We were chanting the affirmation and I was thinking about him. About how rich he looked, how respectable. I felt something wrench out of me.” A pause. “The next day, he was dead.”

  She looked at them with haunted eyes. “I think it’s happened again. I think I’ve killed someone else.”

  Shawn grabbed Ruth’s arm and hauled her back before she could put an arm around Whitney and comfort her, as she clearly intended to. Evidently, a healer’s empathetic nature was a reckless one.

  Ruth glanced at him, eyes wide, as he hauled her back. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He concentrated on Whitney and the woman’s confession. He was inclined to believe her, if not as sympathetically as Ruth. The problem was, if they believed her, then they had another victim. “Who did you curse?”

  “I was thinking of my stepmother. She’s a horrible person.”

  “Do you know she’s dead?” he demanded.

  “I felt that wrenching feeling.” Whitney pressed a hand to her stomach, over her solar plexus.

  “Do you know?” he repeated slowly.

  “No.”

  “Name?” He got out his phone.

  “Theresa Valle.” Whitney spelt the name.

  Shawn added a request to find out if the woman was dead, and if not, to send someone to check on her status. Cursed, potential for plague, he added. He sent the email to William, whose efficient personal assistant would forward it to the appropriate personnel.

  “Going back to the man who died,” Ruth said. “After you heard of his death, why did you continue reciting the spell?”

  Whitney’s right hand tore at the cuticles of her left. “He was bad, and it was a mistake, and the spell is helping people.” She stared at Ruth, as if willing her to believe a desperate hope. “The group who’ve chanted it with me have all improved. Jared is talking to people, now. He was so shy. Adele no longer flinches from men. Doug is painting, again. How can I take that from them?”

  “Perhaps you’re over-estimating the impact of the spell?” Ruth said gently. “People are resilient. Your cult—club—members may be recovering naturally.”

  Whitney shook her head, violently enough that her styled hair flew. “No. They needed the spell.”

  Ruth looked worried.

  Shawn raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Compulsion,” she said under her breath, just for him to hear. “Could be part of the spell.”

  Could be. It could also be a separate ensorcelment.

  “You can’t tell Zach.” Whitney lurched up from her chair.

  Shawn stepped in front of Ruth.

  “Please.” Whitney looked from Shawn to Ruth; begged Ruth. “Please. Zach doesn’t know about my magic. He wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t believe I’d done good or anything. All he’d see is that I killed that bird. Oh, I wish I hadn’t.” She put her clasped hands to her mouth. “Please, you mustn’t tell Zach.”

  “We won’t,” Shawn said grimly.

  “Thank you.”

  You shouldn’t thank us. He had a feeling they were about to bring her world toppling around her. Some might say her use of death magic deserved it. After all, a man had died. But despite—or perhaps because of—his hollerider nature, he tried to reserve judgement. Unless he detected evil.

  Evil had no right to walk the earth unchallenged.

  But Whitney wasn’t evil.

  “Time to go.” He caught Ruth’s elbow, urging her to the door.

  “I have to reverse the spell,” she objected.

  “After you’ve studied it.” He frowned at her when she’d have argued the point. “You don’t want to use magic here until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  Her mouth formed a silent oh of comprehension. Then she glanced pityingly at Whitney.

  If the older woman had been in any state to read nuances, that compassionate look would have panicked her.

  In silence, he and Ruth returned to the truck and he drove out across the containment ward that Whitney had set to hold in the taint of her death magic. In the seat beside him, Ruth released a long breath. “That poor woman. It has to be Zach, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Shawn answered directly. “This morning I sensed evil in one of them. It wasn’t Whitney, so it must be him.”

  “It’s awful,” she burst out. “That’s
why I hate evil so much. It doesn’t even have pity on those closest to them.”

  “It uses those closest to them.” Consciously, he loosened his strangling grip on the steering wheel. “I’d bet Zach set things up for Whitney to discover the grimoire. If he uses magic himself, he’d sense her abilities, minor though they are. He wanted her to try the spell. Perhaps he even put a slight compulsion on her to do so.”

  Ruth turned her head sharply. “I thought that compulsion to continue with the spell was part of the curse itself, but Zach could have planted it. Horrible man. Before he led the cult members away from the resort for their so-called meditation session, he probably half-killed the poor bird Whitney found and left it for her. But why? Why couldn’t he set the spell himself?”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t have that sort of witch magic? Perhaps the curse has some sort of negative feedback that he wanted to avoid? Did you notice that Whitney used death magic, the curse claimed a human victim, and yet she didn’t get a power boost? At our entrance, she couldn’t even push us out of her home.”

  He pulled into the driveway of Rose House, and was grateful to feel the reassuring strength of its ward and to know that Carla was also there, ghostly and currently invisible, but determined to keep out evil. Instead of parking, he halted out front of the house with the motor idling. “Where did the power of Whitney’s victim’s death go?”

  “Zach drained it,” Ruth whispered.

  “I think so. Which makes him dangerous. Do not let him in here. Do not give him permission to cross your protective wards. I strengthened them last night.”

  “You’re going back to challenge him.” She stared at him, green eyes worried.

  “No. I just want to study him. Hopefully, I can bump into him as he exits the Chamber of Commerce meeting.”

  “Often they adjourn to mom’s diner.” She put a hand on his arm. “Be careful.”

  “He won’t even guess I have magic.” He reminded her of his talent to mask his magic and was glad when she relaxed a bit. He didn’t want to have to starkly refuse to have her tag along. Better that she agreed to stay safely at Rose House. “I sent a request to the Collegium for someone to check on Whitney’s stepmother.”