Every Witch Way But Dead Read online

  Taking my cell phone from my pocket, I called him again. No answer.

  This time when I closed my eyes, I saw the face of Sean Bennette. Handsome and smiling, gorgeous blue eyes that had no business being that spectacular color. If it were at all possible, they were absolutely too blue.

  Marisa followed me and threw down a blanket for us to sit on. She handed me another shot along with a plate of dessert.

  “What’s up, baby cakes? You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes.”

  “I’m getting that uncomfortable feeling again, and Jon’s face flashed. Something is wrong.”

  Marisa turned her head to look at me straight in the eyes. “What exactly do you mean? What uncomfortable feeling?”

  “I mean—sexual.” I was on my way to inebriation. I looked around to make sure no one could hear me. The rest were still sitting with Marc and the others.

  Marisa gasped. “Sexual? You can’t think Jon’s—”

  Closing my eyes as tears welled and spilled over, I saw two people, naked. As soon as the vision appeared, it vaporized into the mist of my unconscious.

  “Angie, it’s the alcohol talking, you’re overly sensitive,” she said, rubbing me gently on my shoulder.

  “I know, Risa, did I tell you, when I did the regression with Ouida, that the man that rescued me in the desert, in this life—”

  Marisa finished my sentence. “Is the detective? You’re not the only one who can examine the past. I did a tarot spread about the whole situation. I saw the connection there.”

  “When were you going to tell me?” I took another shot of Bailey’s.

  She took a bite of dessert. “I just did the spread yesterday.”

  “Jon hasn’t touched me in weeks,” I blurted out.

  “Oh, honey, why? Is there anything bothering him?” she asked as she put an arm around my shoulders.

  I sighed. “I told you something’s not right. It’s the new job. At least that’s what he says. He’s consumed with it. So, what am I suppose to do? I live vicariously through visions of a great love who has now become a psychotic killer?”

  “What do you want to do? Have an affair?” Marisa scolded as she forced a piece of brownie and ice cream on me. “Eat.”

  “That’s not going to solve the problem,” I said as Ronnie, Marc and Andrea began to sing once more.

  “Then what will?” she asked quietly.

  “Sex,” I answered.

  “So go home and have sex with your husband.”

  “Easier said than done,” I moaned. “I guarantee I’ll be upstairs alone tonight and he’ll be on the couch,”

  “Speak of the devil,” Marisa observed, picking at my brownie and pointing to Jon, who’d just walked out to join us.

  “I’ll bet you lunch he’ll be asleep before any action gets going,” I sadly reported as I got up and walked over to my husband. “What took so long?” I asked, looking him over.

  “I was inside for a bit, getting a bite to eat.”

  I held up my cell phone. “I tried calling you.”

  “Sorry. I left my cell in the truck.”

  Suddenly I felt awkward. “How’d the meeting go?”

  “Good, how’d your ritual go?”

  “Good.” I said as we made our way back to the crowd. Before long, we were all laughing and singing, except for Jon. He had his own faraway look in his eyes.

  We never did make love that night. Marisa owed me lunch.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bloodstone is said to assist the blood and circulatory system. Its subtle energies are supposed to help cleanse toxic blood and detoxify the liver and spleen. It is also said to benefit the heart, reproductive organs, bones and kidneys. The energies of this stone are said to reinforce confidence and be a help in reaching higher levels of consciousness. It is a soothing stone and can help keep one from walking blindly into situations that might be perilous. It is a stone of awareness. ~ From Angelica Kane’s article, Blood from a Stone.

  He was set to work his magick on the evening of the first harvest. The altar was consecrated, the herbs picked, wine poured and the candles anointed. Wearing his favorite navy cloak with his large silver pentacle, he waited. She wouldn’t be able to make it until later, so he took his ritual bath alone. That would have to do.

  He languidly massaged his body with High John the Conqueror oil until it gleamed. Every muscle on his taut body rippled, straining beneath his tanned skin. He’d fasted the whole day and meditated, drinking only the water he charged by the full moon. He took his time, meticulously dressing for the special evening, picking out special accessories and his ritual robe.

  She had better not be late, he grumbled to himself as he made his way to the designated area. It was an isolated spot deep in the woods of Greenview Park on the outskirts of town.

  At the mere thought of her, he felt his desire growing. She looked so much like the one who’d stolen his heart. The night had to be perfect, just as she was.

  Tanned and blonde.

  Beautiful in a pure way, not whorish.

  The stars were always more intense in the wilderness than in the city and they sparkled vividly in the night sky. Pine and oak trees overlooked their ritual space, keeping the tryst secretive and secluded. He walked to the altar and lit the torches and incense, making sure everything was precisely right.

  Before he physically saw her, he felt her presence. Next, he caught her scent, vanilla mixed with jasmine. She wrapped her arms around him from behind. “I’m here, my lord.”

  Slowly turning, he pushed off her black cloak and revealed her nakedness. She, too, glistened with ritual oils. Leaning over her, he kissed her gently. “My lady.”

  She stood with her back to the altar and he with his back to the south. He slowly kneeled and kissed her feet, knees, womb, breasts and once again her lips. Lifting her onto the altar, he positioned himself between her legs.

  “Altar of mysteries, we behold. The sacred circle’s secret point, thus do I sign thee as of old, with kisses of my lips anoint.” He rubbed her body as he readied himself to enter her. She was more than eager as she lifted herself to meet him. The moon was rising in the evening sky as they performed his version of the Great Rite.

  “Here, where Lance and Graile unite, spirits aid me in my plight,” he moaned with great pleasure as he entered her. He rocked back and forth, turned his head and stared at his partner. The blonde hair went dark and it was the black-haired beauty looking back, the one who’d haunted his dreams these past few months. The name Jamila played over and over in his head.

  His consort was lost in the moment and did not hear what he uttered as the name Jamila escaped his lips.

  As a High Priestess, she knew this would be a bit different. He’d informed her as much, but she had no idea how strange it would be. He nuzzled his head in the crook of her neck and ground his hips into her, feeling the sweetness of her wrap around him.

  Visions bombarded him and he began to lose focus. The Kane woman’s face invaded his mind and the memories of their life together hit him with the full force of emotions he’d tried so strongly to repress.

  He saw it all, as Khaldun, including his trek back into the desert to find her. His Jamila. Tears welled in his eyes and he fought to conceal the emotional rollercoaster he found himself riding.

  He’d gone too far now. He had to complete the ritual. There was no turning back for him. The faces congealed together as he traveled into altered states. Veronica Arthur’s face materialized, slowly transforming into the Kane witch. Obsidian eyes stared back, outlined in kohl; her hair turned to the color of night. He had to control his climax, but the sight of Jamila made his body shudder. He feared he would come too soon.

  Flashes of light filled his mind’s eye. The Kane woman was once more before him. From the deep recesses of his soul, he heard the cry. Jamila is Angelica Kane. He felt he would explode, losing all focus and succumbing to eons of desire.

  The woman underneath him now kept her eyes
open, watching him as he began to reach his moment of release. He was acting very strangely. Did she see tears streaking down his face?

  Hearing the rustling of nocturnal animals in the nearby copses made her anxiety rise. She noted a shift in his position as he seemed to reach for something. A nagging voice kept insisting that she keep her eyes peeled. Immediately, she regretted not heeding the warning from her own coven mates. A moan escaped his lips.

  She saw him raise his athame. Watched it glisten in the moonlight.

  He couldn’t possibly.

  “Jamila!” he cried out, “forgive me!”

  As his arm began to make its downward strike, she slithered out from under him using her legs to kick him off her and onto the ground. He landed with a thud. Grabbing the blanket that covered the altar, she ran barefoot through the woods, praying it was in the direction of her car.

  * * *

  Snippets of dreams flowed in like waves in the ocean then quickly ebbed out to sea. A desert, strange rituals and, as always, the knife’s sparkling blade. I barely remembered Detective Bennette, his caring touch and crystal blue eyes watching protectively, careful that no harm came my way. Veronica was there as well. I was giving myself a migraine trying to make any sort of sense out of it. I finally gave up. Blissful, deep slumber took over like an undertow and I relinquished all efforts of solving the veiled significance of the dream.

  All too soon, I woke to my husband’s smiling face and a steaming cup of coffee. It was eight in the morning. I was not happy.

  “Ah—let me sleep, I only got a few hours…” I moaned, pulling the covers over my head.

  “Angie, you’ve got to get up.”

  The tone of his voice perked my antennae and I sat up in bed.

  “What’s wrong? The boys? Are they all right?” I went into Mommy mode automatically.

  “The boys are fine—asleep after a long night of partying, but they’re home. Detective Bennette is downstairs,” he said as his gaze rolled up to the ceiling. He was obviously annoyed at the intrusion.

  “I’ll be right down. Let me jump in the shower real quick.”

  I washed the sleep from my bleary eyes and threw on some shorts and a tee shirt that stated, “These Aren't Hot Flashes” on the front and “They’re Power Surges” on the back.

  The detective was drinking a cup of Jon’s fresh Turkish coffee on the back deck.

  Pure caffeine in a cup.

  I could sense this was not good news. It never seemed to be. “Good morning,” I said as I made my way out into the morning sun.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Kane. I’m sorry to bother you so early but, as I was telling your husband—” He abruptly was at a loss for words. “Damn, now that I’m here—I hate to always bring you horrible news. You’ve been so generous with your time.”

  Jon looked at me with a puzzled expression. I shrugged.“I guess I forgot to tell you.” I sat down across from Sean.

  “Forgot to tell me what, Angelica?” Jon asked through clenched teeth.

  “It was a missing child. I thought I could help, but I didn’t get anything on the little girl,” I explained, suddenly feeling like a twelve-year old child and resenting the emotion. He was my husband, not my father.

  Sean mercifully took over the conversation. “I don’t know how to say it, so I’ll just come out with it. There’s been another murder.” The detective seemed to be tongue-tied around me for some reason. Or was it because of Jon’s presence? “It’s a strange coincidence.”

  “What’s so strange about it?” I asked.

  His gaze was intense as he looked at me. “It’s in Maplewood Grove at the same apartment complex as the little girl, one floor up. It’s the other backup singer of your friend’s group. Rebecca Landsing.”

  I felt the outside closing in. I took in deep breaths and drank from my mug of strong coffee, trying to keep myself in the here and now. My mind was racing in so many directions. Poor Becky. Ronnie must be out of her mind.

  “What about Karen? The other singer?” I asked.

  “She’s out of state visiting relatives. She’s been contacted and told to remain where she is until we catch this guy,” Sean answered.

  I nodded. “Andrea… She was going to start practicing with the band. I’ve got to tell Marisa,” I said, bolting out of my seat, knocking my chair down, ready to run straight to my friend’s house. When I stood, my legs went out from under me. I tried to grab the edge of the glass table, but missed. Sean was right there to catch me, again, before I landed on the ground. Jon stood on the other side of the table and watched, seemingly stuck and unable to move.

  “Angie, what’s wrong?” Jon asked as he shoved the chairs out of his way, taking me from the detective’s hold.

  “I guess I got a little light-headed. I’m okay, Jon.”

  “What’s this about your friend?” the detective asked.

  I clarified the situation as best I could. “It’s a long story—Andrea, Marisa’s daughter, was going to start singing backup vocals with the band. She was starting rehearsals this week.”

  Sean jotted down something in his pad. “I’ll call over there and inform them of what’s transpired, I think their touring days are postponed for a while.”

  Jon looked at us. “I still don’t understand why you’re here, though. What does this have to do with my wife and me?” he asked, confused no doubt by the detective’s and my informality. I’d never told Jon about the little girl, Sara. I certainly hadn’t told him about our lunches. He’d hate me for getting caught up in police business and despise it more due to Sean’s involvement.

  I turned to Jon. “We hardly see each other lately and it just slipped my mind with everything else that’s happening,” I confessed, with a tinge of anger in my voice.

  The detective shifted his feet as if it would make what he had to say any more palatable. “I’m sorry, Jon. I needed some assistance with a case. Mrs. Kane, everything you told me at the missing girl’s house—you were right on the mark, only it was one floor up.” He watched my reaction. My husband stood next to me. His face went pale.

  Sean continued. “And there’s a reference to a witch, left at the apartment. Evidently this guy’s been watching the news and he left a threatening message at the crime scene.”

  I gasped. “Shit—does Ronnie know?”

  “Do you think the message was for my wife?” Jon angrily asked. “Did it mention her name? He knows she’s involved?”

  I sat down, my legs once more unstable. “Don’t forget, Jon, about the TV reports on the news.” I sighed. I dared not tell him of the psychic connections.

  I could see the tired lines on Sean’s face. “Yes, we were there late last night, or rather early this morning. Mrs. Arthur knows. I assumed the message is for your wife, but I could be wrong.”

  “Well, I’m not staying out of this. He’s threatened me and I don’t take threats very well.”

  “Angie, let the police handle this,” Jon ordered.

  “I don’t understand…” I sighed. “How can I possibly—”

  “Mrs. Kane, Angie, I don’t pretend to know how you do what you do, but if you’re willing, would you come to see what, if anything, you pick up at the scene?” To my husband, he said, “I promise to keep her out of harm’s way. I give you my word.” I again heard the hint of his southern twang.

  “Yes,” I said, standing, ready to go inside and get my hobo bag.

  Jon grabbed my arm. “No way!”

  Sean put the notepad in his inside jacket pocket. “I’ll let you two discuss this. If you change your mind, call me. I understand if you can’t, though, so don’t feel bad. But—if you do decide to do this, the sooner the better.”

  He left us to battle this one on our own. We walked into the kitchen after Sean left to head over to Marisa’s place.

  “Jon, I have to do this, I want to—I may be able to help. I don’t want to feel like I’m walking on eggshells all the time, this has to end,” I implored.

  “I
don’t want you getting involved any further. I love you, Angie. I don’t want to lose you.” He finally showed some emotion to me. Emotions that lately he’d kept tucked away, somewhere far away from me.

  “I love you too, baby. The killer won’t know—look, I’ll have Marisa scry for his location and I’ll take Ouida with me if you like.”

  “No, I don’t like. I don’t want you or your friends involved. He’s a killer, Angelica. A nut. You’re dealing with a fucking psycho!” Jon yelled.

  My voice was quieter now. “Jon…I have to. I’m not becoming another victim. Anyway, I don’t think he’ll hurt me.”

  “What?”

  I knew this would be trouble, but I had to tell him. “Look…I know you don’t want to hear this, but just believe me when I tell you, this guy’s not gonna hurt me.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “It’s karma.”

  Jon stared, looking at me like I’d completely lost my mind. “Karma. You want me to risk your life on karma?” He shook his head as if he could shake himself to an alternate universe.

  “No, I’m not asking you to risk my life. I’m telling you—I know this for a fact.”

  “Angie, I think you’ve gone over the edge here. Maybe you should talk to Ivy.”

  “Oh, now you’re saying I’m in need of therapy? For your information, Ivy practices regressions on her clients, sometimes taking them to their previous lives.”

  He sighed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I’m going, Jon,” I said, heading into the living room.

  My husband knew once my mind was made up I was going to follow through no matter what, like it or not. He definitely did not like it.

  “Can’t you meditate first—see what his plan is—see where he is?” he begged.

  “I can try, honey, but you know the closer I am to the scene, the better the chances are that I’ll pick up on something.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost nine, call Marisa. See what she can come up with.”

  By ten o’clock, Marisa was in my kitchen with her pendulum and a map of New York and Long Island. We smudged the room and created a small circle to do the workings. I was meditating and she was scrying.