Plague Cult

by Jenny Schwartz

  Ruth sliced her little finger and rolled the ring against it. Evil pulsed around her, toxic and blossoming like a fungus releasing its spores. It felt deadly to breathe it. Her healer’s magic reacted to the attack in a blinding flash of energy. At least, it was blinding to anyone in mage sight.

  Whitney fainted.

  Ruth wiped the blood off the ring onto her jeans. The ring was just a ring, now. No longer enchanted. It was simply gold, inert. Only the memories that clung to it could do damage, now. She debated throwing it away, or into the fire, but that was Whitney’s choice. Ruth crouched, slid the ring back onto the woman’s finger, and contemplated the cold, wet ground. Whitney couldn’t be left there, but for the moment, leaving her unconscious was a kindness.

  “Whitney! We couldn’t find her.”

  Ruth glanced up and recognized Jared Hill, and rushing past him to kneel by Whitney was Erica, the waitress from the diner. Ruth sighed with tiredness and relief. She could trust these two. “I think we should get Whitney to hospital. She’s had a shock.” And the fire was the least of it. Released from the compulsion with which Zach had enchanted Whitney’s wedding ring, the witch would recall her husband’s betrayal in every detail. He had used her. He’d used her for death magic.

  Which reminded Ruth that her reason for being here remained unfinished. The curse had to be cleared. Since Whitney no longer held it, bound to the spell by Zach’s will, Ruth reached reluctantly but determinedly for the death magic that crawled around the compound. The burning of the sacrifice had left the spell unanchored and far weaker. It sagged from cult member to cult member.

  Ruth watched Jared carry Whitney to the ambulance with Erica trotting beside him. The magic was a dull grey cord between them. With her own magic, Ruth reached out and caught the cord. She pulled it to her, more and more, observing with satisfaction how it tore from Jared, then Erica, then free from each of the cult members. Finally, as the ambulance doors closed on Whitney, it tore from her.

  The impact of the spell completely unanchored hit Ruth. It smashed into her, ugly with death magic, and she stumbled under the weight. She put a hand against a pine tree, and the cut on her left hand bled into the rough bark. That little link with clean, healthy nature seemed to help.

  Ruth steadied. She would not leave the death magic here to taint the earth. She gripped the remnants of the spell and walked with it to the river, walking around the burning main building. A couple of her neighbors shouted to her, and she called back that she was looking for Shawn. Just forming the words was an effort. The death magic shrouded her like lead. How had Whitney survived channeling it? The fire was hot, fierce against Ruth’s right side, and then, at her back as she walked out onto the dock.

  There she released the death magic to the river, that was filling and running fast with the storm. The water would dissolve the last taint of death magic.

  She gasped as the pressure of it vanished. The air felt lighter, even though a steady rain fell again. Thunder rumbled nearer. Lightning flashed in the storm.

  “Zach got away.” Shawn appeared next to her on the dock. The rain had soaked him. He was wet and grim. Although the fire crew had gotten control of the fire and was putting it out, the ruin behind Shawn seemed fitting for his mood.

  “You’ll get Zach, tomorrow,” she said. “The curse is broken. The plague stopped. That was our mission.” She shivered, suddenly aware that she was soaked, too. Wet and cold.

  Some of the distant chill, the frustrated predatory expression in his eyes, vanished. “You look like a drowned rat.” He put an arm around her.

  “Such a lovely compliment.” She pressed into his warmth as they walked back to the truck. Her hollerider might be terror and fierce judgement for others, but for her he was kindness and support, and maybe something more and infinitely precious.

  The sheriff stopped them at the edge of the large crowd that had gathered. “You sure you don’t want to press charges?”

  Shawn felt Ruth stiffen beside him. She obviously had no idea what had gone down while she was focused on Whitney and breaking the curse. Which was how it should be. His role had been to give her that time of safe concentration. It had been hard to stand by while Zach escaped, but Shawn’s priority had to be Ruth and their mission to break the curse and prevent a plague. Catching up with Zach either to monitor his activities or neutralize him would be a separate mission, one best undertaken without a healer mage to protect.

  “They panicked,” Shawn spoke man to man, or rather, experienced combatant to fellow combatant, when he answered the sheriff. “They’re civilians. Hearing explosions spooked them. They lost their heads and lashed out.”

  Ruth tugged at his coat in a silent question, who did?

  The sheriff noticed. “Ruth, thanks for coming out, but it looks like no one was hurt. Just that Stirling woman fainting. You go on home, now.” He glanced at Shawn. “Take her home.”

  “I intend to. ’Night.”

  “Good night, Sheriff.” Ruth trudged beside Shawn to the truck. When they were out of earshot of the crowd, she whispered, “Who attacked you?”

  “Two of the cult members. They wore medallions. Once I yanked those off, they couldn’t work out why they attacked me.” He hesitated, wondering how much to tell Ruth, and decided to wait to share the whole story when they were home, and she was in dry clothes and knew herself safe. The two men had attacked him because he’d stood between them and Ruth. If they’d been able to go through him, they’d have gone for her. “I’ll tell you everything when we get home.”

  At the truck, he gave her a boost up and into her seat.

  “Thanks.” She smiled tiredly.

  It was a short drive home, but he put the heater on anyway.

  “I got rid of all the death magic,” she said. Her voice dragged, revealing her exhaustion. “I don’t need to smudge or have Carla worry about us bringing its taint into Rose House. It felt awful. Gritty and sludgy and foul.”

  “Have a hot shower and wash away the memory,” he advised.

  It was as if he hadn’t spoken. Ruth was still mentally and emotionally back at the compound. “I can’t imagine how horrid it must have been for Whitney, having the death magic channeling through her. I need to see her tomorrow. Her aura is so damaged. She’ll need help to heal. And the other cult members. I need to check them for damage, too. Some of them were probably vulnerable before they began the spell. And if—”

  He covered her hands which were twisting and “washing” each other in her lap. “The plague has been stopped before it started. The curse is broken.” The road was slick and the storm had strewn branches across it. He needed both hands and his attention for it. He released Ruth’s stilled hands. “Tomorrow is soon enough for clean-up. Even if you wanted to talk with the cult members, the police have first claim on them. They’ll be interrogating them, tonight.”

  “Why? Oh, the explosives.”

  The police wouldn’t long suspect the cult members. They were obvious innocents. Zach, on the other hand, would fall under the suspicion he deserved for other magical reasons. Given the cult-like nature of the Moonlit Hearts Club, the FBI would likely get involved.

  He changed the subject. “Do you think Carla will be waiting for us?”

  “Who would have thought I’d have a ghost waiting at home for me?” Ruth sounded more herself, if disbelieving. She craned her neck as they turned in the driveway at Rose House. “No lights in the turret. Maybe Carla has decided the house is safe and gone back to heaven.”

  He grinned. He didn’t know anyone else who spoke as if ghosts were on holiday from heaven. Ruth had certainly adjusted to her haunted home. He parked by the front steps. “I’ll deal with Carla, if she’s there. You scoot upstairs and get dry.”

  “All right.” Ruth paused with her hand on the door handle. “And then we’ll talk. I want to know what happened.”

  “So do I.”

  Inside, he hung up her coat and his while she plodded upstairs. The front parlor w
as empty: no ghost and the fire dying down.

  He added a log to it and listened to the quiet noises of the house. The storm had grumbled away into the distance. Through the side window, you could no longer see the red glow of the fire at the compound’s main building. Rain and the fire crew’s actions had extinguished it. Arson investigators would poke through it in the morning. They’d find evidence of a stack of plastic explosives, unsafely stored adjacent to detonators. He’d been devious with what he translocated in. When the authorities caught up with Zach, they’d have questions for him. Accusations. These days, cults were automatically suspect.

  The warmth of the fire made him feel he was steaming. Which made him think of steam in a bathroom, and how Ruth was in the shower.

  He smiled and shook his head, dismissing the pleasant distraction. He needed to write up a brief report, no more than a couple of paragraphs, so that at Collegium headquarters they knew Ruth had prevented the plague. He got out his phone and also flagged that, in his opinion, Zach Stirling was an unstable enchanter likely to continue exploiting others.

  Enchanters could cause a lot of trouble. The objects they enchanted could be used by other mages to amplify their talents. Or, in reverse, some mages were able to amplify the power of an enchanted object by feeding it the energy of their related magic. The risks that surrounded enchanters was why the Collegium noted their identities and likely talent level, and marked a few for observation or more active intervention.

  Since Shawn hid his hollerider status from most of the Collegium, he didn’t mention in his report that Zach stunk of evil. Non-holleriders weren’t able to sense such things. But he knew that Kora, commander of the guardians, would read between the lines.

  He expected—and hoped—that he’d be ordered to track down Zach. Otherwise he’d be tempted to do so without orders, and a line of command was how he kept his hollerider nature leashed.

  “The bathroom is yours.” Ruth walked in. She wore her long cardigan over pale blue pajamas and had fluffy socks on her feet. Her hair was wet and combed straight.

  “You look cuddly.”

  She smiled at him, looking young and vulnerable with her flushed face. “Try it and see.”

  He took a step towards her before remembering how wet he was. “When I’m dry.” Stupid to get her cold in his wet embrace. “So hold that thought.” He ran upstairs, stripping off his shirt and kicking off his boots as he reached his room. He grabbed clean clothes—jeans and a flannel shirt—and groaned at the comfort of a hot shower. The heat of the water stung his skin.

  Ruth had hot cocoa waiting when he came downstairs. He ignored it in favor of sitting beside her on the sofa and cuddling, as he’d promised.

  She laughed as she steadied her mug before putting it on the coffee table and stretching up to kiss him.

  Kissing a woman who tasted of chocolate and smelled of rose soap and shampoo was one of life’s joys. Just as nice was confirming she wasn’t wearing a bra. Although now wasn’t the time for moving things on. Unfortunately.

  Sipping cocoa and nestled into him, Ruth outlined what she’d done to end the cancel the curse and prevent it fulfilling its plague potential. She smothered a yawn. “In the morning, I’ll find out how Whitney’s stepmother is. She should be showing improvement. The fever breaking—” Another yawn. “Sorry. Tell me, why did the sheriff question you about pressing charges? What did the men do?”

  Shawn took her empty cocoa mug and set it on the table. “I saw Zach across the burning building, and I saw him notice that you were approaching Whitney. I thought he’d try to intervene, and he did, but he didn’t risk his own skin. Two of the cult members wore medallions that he must have given them. I didn’t have time to study them, but I suspect Zach had sunk a compulsion into the medallions. A general enslavement is tough to maintain. However, a compulsion to protect Zach—”

  “Or Whitney,” Ruth said.

  He caressed her arm, acknowledging the point. “Whatever the means, I’m positive Zach sent the two men after you.”

  “But you dealt with them.” Her voice was a sleepy mumble.

  He smiled, pleased with her trust. “They had to go through me to get to you.”

  “You weren’t hurt.” She snuggled into him. Her eyes had closed.

  Healer. She’d probably checked him and his aura before they even left the compound. Just as well then that he’d kept his hollerider nature on a leash and not terrified her.

  It hadn’t been easy. When Zach sent the two men to attack Ruth, it had held all the hallmarks of a classic distraction ploy. While Shawn fended off the two aggressive yet innocent cult members, Zach could have tackled Ruth himself. Knowing the likely strategy, Shawn had fought the men with part of his senses tracking Zach.

  Apparently, that had made Zach wary.

  Shawn had sensed the moment Zach’s nerve broke and the man ran for his car and drove off amid the confusion.

  Then, it had been as hard as hell to continue masking his hollerider nature. When evil fled, Shawn was born with the instinct to pursue. But he couldn’t unleash his hollerider nature in the hunt and terrify Ruth’s neighbors. Nor would he ever leave her alone, possibly with other latent enchantments carried by the cult members.

  “Ruth?”

  No response. She was asleep.

  He looked at the fire. It had died down to coals, safe enough for the night. And he had a feeling that Carla watched over Rose House and prevented any accidents. That would account for the house’s good state of repair. It was neglected, but not dilapidated—a point Ruth’s neighbors had commented on during today’s visits.

  Make that “yesterday’s visits”. The grandfather clock struck one o’clock.

  Ruth didn’t stir.

  Shawn hesitated. If he was a romantic hero, he’d carry her upstairs to her bed. But that was a long climb. Staying on the sofa wasn’t a good idea either. It was too narrow and too short.

  “Honey, bed time.” He lifted Ruth to her feet.

  “Fire?” she mumbled.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Hmm.” Leaning into him, she stumbled one foot after the other up the stairs. It seemed to wake her a little. At the door to her room, she turned, pressed a soft clumsy kiss to his lips before crossing to her bed. She crawled under the covers still wearing her cardigan.

  Shawn smiled. She’d wake up enough to shed it during the night. Silently, he tapped the doorframe. Soon, he hoped he’d have permission to join her in the big bed. Until then…he sighed and headed for a cold and lonely bed.

  Chapter 12

  “I can’t believe it of Zach.” Erica, waitress and former member of the Moonlit Hearts Club, was in the diner early. She wasn’t serving, though. She sat slumped at a table near the kitchen, seeming unaware of the curious glances of those popping in for breakfast.

  Jared, fellow ex-cultist, patted her clumsily on the shoulder. “No one could have guessed Zach was stockpiling explosives.”

  Ruth refrained from glancing at Shawn. Of course no one would have suspected Zach Stirling of stockpiling explosives: the man hadn’t! Shawn had set him up. And no man had ever deserved it more. “Jared, the police don’t think you or any of the cult members were involved, do they?”

  “No.” Jared shook his head, black hair tumbling into his eyes.

  Erica brushed it back for him, and he blinked at her.

  They stared at one another.

  “You can practically hear Cupid’s bow and arrow twanging,” Shawn whispered in Ruth’s ear.

  Ruth smiled. Despite everything, it seemed two of the former cult members had found a tried and tested method for mending their broken hearts. They’d fallen in love, again. And she thought they’d be gentle with one another’s tender emotions.

  She slipped into mage sight and double-checked their auras. All was well. Being involved in Whitney’s death curse hadn’t hurt either of them. Probably because they were such good people, and only peripherally part of chanting the curse.

  �
��They’re fine,” she whispered to Shawn, and he moved with her away from the table, leaving Jared and Erica to gaze into one another’s eyes.

  Other former cult members also congregated in the diner. They’d claimed a large table near the back and were talking tiredly or sipping coffee. Apparently, the police and then the FBI had kept everyone up late, answering questions. More questions were expected today.

  At other tables, the buzz was one of excitement and speculation.

  “I never trusted that Zach. His tan was fake.”

  “…can’t find him. Drove off while…”

  “It’s his wife I feel sorry for. She’s in hospital, sedated—”

  “…tried to kill herself.”

  “That’s not true,” Peggy said sharply as Ruth swung around at the latest swirling rumor. “Not that the woman will have any easy time of it. But Angela stopped in after her shift at the hospital and she said Whitney was sleeping. Now, what would you like to eat?” Peggy licked the tip of her pencil.

  “Do you need help serving, Aunt Peggy?”

  Her aunt’s busy, harassed frown deepened. “No. Caroline’s just come in. And your mom’s fine in the kitchen.”

  Ruth knew her mom was fine. “I popped in and said hi when we got here.” She’d showed herself just long enough to reassure her mom that she and Shawn were safe. The priority had to be checking that the former cult members were healed of the trauma of contact with the death magic Whitney had pulled them into. That they’d gathered at the diner was convenient. She’d expected to have to trek out to the motel and possibly further; it being unlikely that the FBI would release the crime scene any time soon, or that the cult members would want to return to the Healing Hearts Ranch. They’d be feeling traumatized and betrayed.

  Something that Shawn had probably calculated when he’d set Zach up to appear a stereotypical cult leader, stockpiling explosives. That sense of betrayal was something she might be tempted to heal as she checked their auras, but for now it served the purpose of helping to sever any compulsion spell Zach had woven into enchanted objects the cult members might own.