“That’s with a K,” a pretty young blonde woman with a neatly clipped pageboy haircut anxiously explained to Detective Deckert.
“K-a-r-o-l?”
“No sir,” she answered. “With a K and a Y. K-a-r-y-l. Karyl.”
“K-a-r-Y…” Carl muttered to himself as he wrote the name in his notepad emphasizing the K and the Y, “Gotcha. Last name?”
“Steinbeck.”
“Like the writer?”
“Yes, Detective.” She gave a slightly bothered sigh that was only partially masked by her obvious jitters. “Like the writer.”
“Any relation?”
“Not that I am aware of, Detective.”
“Great book, that Grapes of Wrath.”
“I wouldn’t know, Detective,” she told him, “I’ve never read it.”
“Too bad, you really ought to. Excellent book,” he told her then moved on to the woman seated at her side. “And your name again, Miss?”
“Miz.”
“Excuse me?”
“I prefer Miz,” she stated flatly as she brushed a shock of coal black hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
I couldn’t help but notice the lobe was decorated with a row of three rather significant diamond studs.
“My apologies,” Carl returned without missing a beat. “And your name again, Miz?”
“Starr,” she answered coldly, “with two R’s. Starr Winston.”
He mumbled softly as he scribbled, “Of course. Starr with two R’s…”
We had arrived at the upscale address in the historic section of Lansbury at ten minutes of four. Detective Deckert had driven himself and met us in front of the restored home. Though we were expected, the reception had been less than warm to say the least. Upon entering, we were quietly led to a sizeable sitting room by the young blonde who then excused herself and disappeared momentarily.
The room, like the rest of the interior we had seen, sported meticulously restored hardwood floors, three-member base accents and crown moldings. Throughout, eclectic paintings adorned strategic points providing embellishment for the muted colors of the walls. Otherwise, the furniture and decor seemed a paradox of feminine tastes driven by masculine undertones. The layout was nice, neat and altogether functional in design.
Karyl had returned shortly with her partner, and the two young women were now huddled close together on a high-backed love seat holding hands, their fingers tightly entwined. Carl and I had taken up residence on the matching couch across from them. The short distance between was occupied by a spartan antique coffee table. Ben remained standing, hands buried in his pockets, quietly surveying the room. I knew he was using his size to, as he would put it, “compel full cooperation”; but in this case it was accomplishing nothing more than scaring the wits out of one of the women and putting the other on the extreme defensive. At least he was wearing a sport coat, so his sidearm wasn’t adding to the intimidation.
Having worked with me before, Carl had slipped easily into the habit of treating me as if I were just another cop; therefore, I doubted he was aware-or even concerned with the fact-that from my vantage point seated next to him, I could see everything he was putting on the paper. Next to Karyl’s name he made the notation, “blonde/blue nervous”-hair color, eye color, and demeanor. Next to Starr’s was the description “black/blue bitchy.”
On a separate line beneath the two names, he scrawled “lipstick lesbians” and double underlined it. I assumed this to be a reference to the fact that while they were obviously involved with one another, they were both very feminine in their appearance and dress. Yet another slang term born of the same misconstrued stereotypes of homosexuals that had given us such epithets as “bull-dyke” and “flaming-fairy.”
“Nice house you got here,” Carl observed aloud. “Must be one heck of a mortgage payment.”
“As if it is any of your business, Detective,” Starr hissed, “it is paid for.”
He let out a low whistle. “Nice. Have a good job, do you?”
“I am an attorney, Detective Deckert,” she returned. “A very successful one. Of course, I’m sure you were well aware of that before you ever came here.”
Next to her name on the notepad, he penciled in “lawyer/bucks.”
“Just the two of you live here, I take it?”
“Yes,” she huffed. “If I may, Detective Deckert, I am certain you were well aware of our names and countless other facts that are none of your business before you ever arrived here. So, if I may ask, is there a point to these questions other than a transparent attempt to antagonize me?”
“Just makin’ an observation, Miz Winston.” He shrugged. “That’s all. I’m not tryin’ to antagonize anyone.”
Her eyes quickly darting back and forth between Deckert and Starr, Karyl suddenly blurted, “Are we suspects?”
“Not at all, Miss Steinbeck.” Carl shook his head. “Not at all. We’re just tryin’ to get some information, so we can solve this case.”
The reply to her question was followed by a thickening silence. Information wasn’t going to flow freely from these two women, and being a Witch myself, I could fully understand their reluctance to speak. Considering the way the media had already begun sensationalizing their erroneous and unconfirmed rumors of “Cult Revenge,” the entire Pagan community in the area was probably running scared. Two of the local television stations had even started weeklong exposes titled something on the order of “WitchCraft: Saint Louis’ Hidden Evil.”
“Listen, Miss Steinbeck, Miz Winston…” Carl volunteered. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of this case except to say that the current speculation in the media is way off base… Don’t pay any attention to it.”
Their silence continued.
“Should we be expectin’ anyone else?” Ben finally asked from his station, semi-blocking the doorway. “Or is it just gonna be the two of you?”
The blonde woman stared past him into the next room at first, obviously making note of his blatant positioning, then tensely chewed at her lower lip before answering, “No, Detective…”
“Storm,” he reminded her.
“Detective Storm,” she said with a nod. “No. No one else.”
He paused for a moment and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Mind if I ask why? When I called yesterday I was given ta’ understand that there were several members in your group, and I asked that you all be present for this meeting.”
“On my counsel they have elected to remain anonymous,” Starr replied in her still frosty tone. “Not everyone in our Coven is as outspoken about their religious practices as Karyl and I. To be perfectly honest, Detective, the last thing they need is to have the police putting their names on their hit list.”
“Ladies,” Carl interjected with a fatherly chuckle, “I can assure you that there is no such thing as a ‘hit list.’”
“Officially,” she spat.
“Listen,” Ben began, “like Detective Deckert said, we’re just tryin’ ta’ solve a coupl’a murders here. The media is just runnin’ off at the mouth, as usual, and you two are not suspects. Now, we know Kendra Miller was a member of your group, and all we wanna do is ask ya’ a few questions. This isn’t some kinda shakedown. We are not on a Witch Hunt, okay?”
The two women simply stared back silently, making no move to speak or even acknowledge what he had just told them.
“I was afraid of this… That’s why we brought Rowan along,” he appealed, gesturing in my direction. “Give us a break, willya’?”
Still facing a mute audience, he turned his exasperated gaze on me and threw his hands in the air. “Okay, I give up… Row, speak some Witch to ‘em or somethin’.”
As I suspected would happen, I was unceremoniously dropped into the hot seat, and the two women turned to me almost in unison. Starr continued her piercing stare with ice blue eyes. Her stony expression combined with the frigid glare was enough to show me why she was so successful in her practice of the law. I somehow doubted that losing was an acceptable option for this young woman, and I was inwardly glad that I wasn’t on a witness stand being cross-examined by her; although, I wasn’t entirely sure if I was any safer where I sat at the moment.
Karyl was quite obviously the weaker of the two. Though while she certainly wasn’t as stoical as her partner, she remained completely mute. She simply cracked a fleeting, tight-lipped smile and watched me with wide, troubled eyes.
I cleared my throat and shrugged then stated succinctly, “They are telling the truth.”
“I read about you in the newspaper last weekend. You’re the one who helped find that murderer last year, aren’t you?” Karyl finally peeped.
On the edge of my vision, I caught a slight movement as Starr squeezed her hand and, getting her attention, almost imperceptibly flashed her a stern look. She wasn’t going to make this easy for me.
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
Starr cocked an eyebrow and spat sarcastically, “So what did they do, make you an honorary cop? Promise to leave you alone if you helped root out a few Pagans?”
“No, Ms. Winston, there were no such promises made, very simply because they aren’t necessary. I am merely a consultant.”
“A consultant for the police,” she added.
“Look,” I sighed and shook my head. “I’m not going to tell you that there aren’t cops who are prejudiced against Pagans. If I did, I’d be lying. We’ve all heard of friends being pulled over just because they have a Pentacle bumper sticker on their car. But if you happened to read that article in the paper, you know that I’ve been working toward educating the law enforcement community about The Craft-with Detective Storm’s help, mind you. You need to remember that it’s a two-way street. You can’t pass judgment on all cops just because of a stubborn few with preconceived ideas. And you can’t run around being paranoid all the time.”
“And why should we be any more trusting of you?” she demanded. “As far as I’m concerned, that article was nothing more than propaganda.”
I knew that even as we spoke, I was being checked out. Poked, prodded and inspected on an ethereal level by the two women. I had felt it ever since walking into the house and even more so since this terse conversation began. I decided that if we were ever going to get anywhere, I would have to go ahead and show my hand. I was going to have to let them feel for themselves that they could trust me.
“You’re both Witches,” I expressed evenly. “And judging from what I’ve been picking up, fairly practiced ones at that. Why don’t you tell me?”
I relaxed my inner self and drew a deep, cleansing breath. As I softly exhaled I allowed all but my most basic defenses to lower. Taking away any walls and putting out a psychic welcome mat. In effect, I invited them to come in and spiritually shake my hand. Just get to know me. Just get comfortable.
Even considering the energies I’d been feeling thus far, I didn’t expect anything in the way of a major psychic event. That level of talent comes with years of practice and is not necessarily achieved by everyone just because they practice Wicca. Such abilities are not a given. They are not an automatic bonus that comes with the religion. They are acquired. Even so, any Witch with the most rudimentary knowledge of The Craft should be perfectly capable of “feeling someone out” and that was my hope with this exercise.
What became instantly apparent the moment my defenses dropped, however, was that these two Witches were by no means mere beginners. Unfortunately, for all three of us, I was soon to find out just exactly how talented they were.
Karyl’s energies reached me first. They were warm, cautious and soft, moving carefully around the periphery of my aura. Starr’s touch followed and was the direct opposite. Plunging sharply inward and demanding complete attention-as hard and abrasive as the outer personality she had demonstrated thus far. I winced and fired off a quick mental warning to her, basically letting her know “Witch to Witch” that she was a guest and that I wouldn’t tolerate being challenged by her on this level. The small volley hit its mark, and she toned down her insistent energies noticeably, though they remained raw and somewhat grating.
Not surprisingly, it was Karyl’s tender and subtle delving that located the locked and barred door in the dark corner of my mind where I cloistered away all the horrors I had witnessed throughout my life. No doubt, she had done this while my attentions had been on Starr’s assertive ethereal contact. They made a good team, and unfortunately, I hadn’t foreseen that they would do this. What was worse, I didn’t notice until it was too late to stop it. Before I could throw up a barrier, or even warn her, she unbolted and threw open the imaginary door that held back my nightmare world. Then with the unsuspecting innocence of a child, stared directly into the maelstrom of vivid atrocities I so desperately sought to forget.
My body tenses as I feel my shoulders slowly and simultaneously ripping from their sockets. Something is pulling down against my ankles, and my legs are straining to remain joined with the rest of my body.
I don’t know where I am…
I don’t know how I got here…
What is happening to me?
The metallic click of a gear ratcheting reverberates again.
Tick, tick. Click!
“ADMIT your heresies woman!” a dark voice demands.
Tick, tick. Click!
Tick! Clunk!
Muscle and tendons are tearing. Along my upper back, they spasm and snap like overstressed rubber bands sending white hot projectiles of torment through my body.
I try to cry out in pain.
The memories screamed forth like air escaping from a balloon, ricocheting from the corners of my mind and raking steely, barbed hooks through my very soul. As painful as they were for me, I couldn’t imagine what the two young women must be feeling as they bore naked witness to my personal demons.
Fear.
Pure unadulterated terror.
“Please come in,” a voice.
I turned to face the direction of the voice.
It is my friend. Why am I so frightened?
Ariel Tanner is standing before me, radiant and lovely in a white lace gown. She smiles at me.
“Rowan, how nice to see you.” Her voice floats mellifluously, displacing a demonic rushing noise in my ears. “It’s been so long.”
I cannot believe it is she. She is dead. This cannot be her.
“Ariel?” I question.
She jerks and spasms. The smile flees her lips. Her eyes grow wide and she looks down. A small spot of crimson appears on the high neck of the lace gown and begins growing.
Spreading.
Her mouth falls open in shock, and bright blood trickles from the corner of her lips. She looks back at me with questioning eyes, and the vermilion stain waxes unceasingly, covering her chest.
Running.
Dripping.
“Why Rowan?” she mouths. “Why?”
“Why don’t you stop him, Rowan?” her gurgling voice echoes, “Why?”
Darkness.
I could feel that the unstoppable flood of hideous visions had completely overpowered both Karyl and Starr. Enthralled by sadistic nightmares that no one should be made to witness, let alone live. I braced myself against yet another wave of remembered agony as I struggled to slam the ethereal door.
“Kendra Darlene Miller…”
“…As you are damned in body and soul, your sentence on this day is death. The sentence is to be executed immediately, without appeal, in the manner of expurgation by fire.”
“Expurgation by fire…”
“Kendra Darlene Miller…”
“Expurgation by fire…”
“No. No, this can’t be.”
“May The Lord Jesus Christ have mercy upon your soul.”
I cannot move.
I can hear the scraping of a match against stone.
I cannot scream.
I can hear the explosive spark as the match ignites.
“Somebody please help me!”
“Kendra Darlene Miller…”
“Damned in body and soul…”
“Your sentence on this day is death…”
“Expurgation by fire…”
Hot yellow agony licks across my body.
Fire clings to me in a vicious shroud. I’m holding my breath as the flame washes over my face, furiously catching my hair and blossoming upward with yet another loud crash.
I cannot scream…
With one final push, I levered the mental door shut and forcibly ejected Karyl and Starr from my mind. From beginning to end the entire incident took place in less than a minute. Our outward expressions, however, were enough to tell Ben and Carl that something was definitely going on.
“Hey! Knock, knock…” Carl’s voice poured into my ear in a viscous flow. “Earth to Rowan.”
“Yo, white man? Are you three okay?” Ben’s voice followed, whirlpooling in behind Deckert’s as I snapped soundly back to the physical realm.
I nodded as I turned my concerned attentions to Karyl and Starr. “What? Yeah. Fine. Yeah, I’m okay.”
The two women were staring back at me blankly. Momentarily, a small glimmer of emotion crept into Karyl’s expression and was almost instantly followed by a pair of large tears rolling down her cheeks. A split second later her face was joined with the palms of her hands, and her shoulders began to heave as she quietly sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” I delicately offered, “but at the risk of sounding heartless, you brought it on yourselves.”
“Brought what on their selves?” Carl interjected in a puzzled tone as he switched his gaze back and forth between the two women and me. “What’re you talking about?”
“I apologize,” Starr announced, eyes watering as she choked back her own desire to cry. “You are, of course, correct, and that was…” She swallowed hard and steeled herself against the sorrow and fear that threatened to overtake her. “…It was very rude of us.”
“It’s okay,” I soothed. “I understand.”
“I am afraid that Karyl is in no condition to proceed with this interview,” she continued while she could. “However, if you gentlemen would be so kind as to wait right here, I will be back in a moment… and I will do my best to answer any questions you may have.”
I nodded. “Of course. Take your time.”
Carl waited until the two women had left the room and were out of earshot before turning to me and tossing his hands up. “Could someone please tell me what just happened? One minute she’s a freakin’ ice princess then the next thing you know she looks like she’s about to start bawlin’ and she’s apologizin’ to you… And what was that ‘you brought it on yerself’s’ stuff?”
“In their zeal to… read me psychically shall we say,” I explained, “they got a little carried away and looked at a few memories they would have been better off not seeing.”
“They did WHAT?” His eyes grew wide as he made the exclamation.
“Trust me, Carl,” I told him. “It’s a Witch thing.”
Behind me, Ben softly whistled the opening theme from the Twilight Zone.
“I apologize for Karyl,” Starr told us as she centered herself back on the love seat and self-consciously smoothed her pleated, tartan skirt. Her slightly reddened eyes testified to the fact that she had shed a few tears as well. “She and Kendra were lovers once…” She paused then added, “Before us of course.
“She was taking her death pretty hard to begin with and seeing that…vision…” She allowed her voice to melt into silence then took a deep breath and continued, “My apologies once again to you, Mister Gant. I am certain that reliving those images must have been just as painful for you as well.”
“Rowan. Please,” I replied. “And it’s all right. I just hope the two of you will be okay.”
She smiled. Briefly, but she smiled. She was very striking to begin with, and the smile betrayed the gentle side of the sharp-edged attorney who had been seated there only minutes ago.
She drew in another deep breath and exhaled heavily then asked, “How can I help?”
“Do you know if Miss Miller, or anyone in your group for that matter,” Carl responded, “has been threatened or harassed lately?”
“She mentioned that she had been receiving religious junk mail,” she answered. “But that’s not unusual. Once your name is on a mailing list, it gets circulated everywhere.”
“Nothing else?” he pressed. “Was she maybe approached by anyone that you know of?”
“No. Not that I am aware of, unless you count e-mail.”
“Go on.”
“She received some rather nasty messages on the internet… A month or two back if I remember correctly. ‘Repent now, or burn in hell’ kind of messages. She reported them to her provider, and I assume they took care of it. She never received any more.”
“Did she have any idea who the messages were from or how the person got ‘er e-mail address?” Ben interjected.
“No. She had no idea who was sending them.”
“Whoever it was probably pulled her address down from a newsgroup or something,” I offered. “That would also explain why the person knew her religion. There are several discussion groups about Paganism, Wicca and The Craft. All she had to do was post a message to one of them and her e-mail address became public knowledge.”
“Lovely,” Ben huffed as he scribbled in his notebook.
Turning back to Starr, I asked, “Do you happen to know who her provider was?”
“Not offhand.” She shook her head. “I have her e-mail address, if that would help?”
“Yes. I would appreciate getting that from you later.”
Ben and Carl both shot me curious looks.
“If her internet service provider was filtering the e-mail for her in order to bounce or trap the offensive messages,” I outlined for their benefit, “we might be able to get a domain designation from them.”
They continued to look at me expectantly.
“Kind of like tracing a phone call.” I simplified my explanation. “If we’re lucky, we might be able to determine the origin of the message, the account it was sent from, and maybe even the person who owns the account.”
The expectant looks turned into amazed stares.
“Remember, I make my living with computers. WitchCraft is a part of my belief system. It’s not my profession.”
“I’ll get one of our gurus on that,” Ben assented with an oh yeah, now I remember expression on his face and penned himself a quick reminder.
Carl looked back to the young woman and continued the line of questions. “Did anyone else in your group get any of these e-mails or junk mail?”
“I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips and canted her head to the side then stared off thoughtfully for a moment. “No. I can’t remember anyone mentioning any, although… Brianna did say she had been getting quite a few prank phone calls. Hang-ups mostly, but she did seem a little disturbed by them.”
“Brianna?” Ben looked up from his notepad, shot a glance at Carl then me and finally back to Starr.
“Yes,” she answered. “Brianna Walker. She is a member of our Coven. I can give you her number if you’d like, though she may be out of town. I haven’t been able to reach her this past week.”
“Brianna LOUISE Walker?” Ben ventured again. “Also known as Mistress Bree?”
“Yes, Detective Storm,” she returned. “Please don’t tell me you arrested her while working vice or something. At a time like this, I hardly see why something like that should…”
“Miz Winston,” Carl interrupted as Starr began to defend her friend and fellow sister of The Craft. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this…”
“Tell me what? What’s wrong?”
“Brianna Walker appears to have been the killer’s first victim,” Ben detailed concisely. “Her name hasn’t been released yet because we’ve been unable to contact her next of kin.”
She looked at Ben incredulously, then to Detective Deckert, then brought her eyes to meet mine and shook her head. Her lips parted slightly as she mouthed a silent “No.”
The blunt hammer of emotional pain that descended upon her secured itself a two-for-one deal as she remained supernaturally connected to me through our locked gaze. For a fleeting moment, I felt a hard lump rise in my throat and a caustic burn flood through my sinuses as my own eyes began to water.
I glanced away to break the ethereal union then stared off into space and uttered the only words that came to my clouded mind, “I’m so very sorry.”
“Miz Winston,” Ben ventured calmly but firmly as she started to tremble. “In light of this information, I think it’d be prudent for you to give us a list of your Coven members and their phone numbers. For their own safety…”