Every Witch Way But Dead Read online

  “Maybe in a few days you can come back?” Ronnie asked, lifting her head off her husband’s shoulder. “I’m a bit out of it, the doctor prescribed something to relax me. I am—I was—very close to Diane, and you know…I was supposed to be holding the swo—” She stopped mid-sentence, but we knew the rest.

  I went over to her. “I really am sorry. I hope I didn’t upset you too much. It was not my intention. It’s just that when spirit comes with a message, no matter how it may reflect upon me, I feel obliged to pass along the sentiments. Again, I’m sorry for both of your losses. It’s not the first time I’ve made an ass of myself and I’m certain it won’t be the last. Just please be careful,” I warned the young singer.

  Veronica stood and hugged me. “You’ve given me a precious gift. A message from my mother. There’s no need to apologize. Heena, you have our new number, right? Could you give it to Angie and Marisa? Call me.” Ronnie sat again, quickly. It was clear she was unsteady on her feet. “We obviously postponed our tour. I’d like to talk with you both. I’m just not myself. I took an anti-anxiety pill, wasn’t it, hun?”

  Marc nodded. “Yes, Xanax, to calm you.”

  “There’s so much I want to talk to you about, Angie, it’s just now my head is a jumble of thoughts and I can’t seem to stay focused.”

  There was no incantation to chant to take away their pain, and the helplessness I experienced created more stress for me. “I understand, we’ll be in touch,” I said, turning to leave. My head pounded.

  “If you need anything, Marc, if Ronnie or you do, call me,” Heena reassured them, then whispered something to Marc. We made our way to the front door, escorted by the housekeeper.

  “What an ass I made of myself!” I grumbled. “I can’t believe it! I’m mortified. I’m passing out all over the place, first the concert, now here.”

  “You have no reason to be embarrassed,” Heena said, coming to my rescue. “Do you feel all right? Maybe you should have Nan check you out when he returns. Go for a physical.”

  “I have an appointment with my ob/gyn this week,” I told my worried friends.

  Marisa rubbed my back as we walked. “Yeah, what was that all about?” she asked.

  We walked back to Heena’s place passing the night blooming jasmine. Its scent was heady and reminded me of a familiar fragrance from long ago. I struggled, trying to recall where I’d smelled those flowers before

  I explained to my friends the vision I’d had of the misty, astral visitor.

  When we walked into the driveway, Ivy had just pulled up. Trying to put this awful nightmare behind us, we, the Sisters of the Sea, headed to Heena’s backyard to welcome the longest day. The Summer Solstice was the time when the earth’s magick was at its most powerful. We used this energy to help manifest our individual hopes and wishes. Heena made a wonderful High Priestess, dressed in gold. As a special treat, she marked us married ladies with the traditional bindi.

  I noticed Jon watching from the dock. He’d taken his two-piece fishing rod with him and passed the time doing what he loved, fishing. Have rod will travel, my husband always said.

  Heena stood with a bowl of sea salt in the center of our circle, facing east. She consecrated the area with it, walking clockwise. Once inside the circle, I called and invited the energies of the east, the place of air and inspiration. Marisa invited the north, direction of earth and spirit. Heena called the west, water and intuition. Kara invited the south, where fire and passion reside. Ivy beat out a soothing rhythm on her drum while Heena called the energy of the Goddess into our circle. She explained succinctly the meaning behind our gathering. It was a beautiful description of the season.

  It wasn’t an especially long ritual tonight, and by nine forty-five the men joined us outside, digging into delectable treats such as chicken tikka masala, malai kafta, aloo paneer puri, samosas and baingan bharta. Heena even made mango sorbet for dessert.

  The sky darkened, as did my mood. All things considered, though, it was a lovely night. Eating, drinking and making merriment was exactly what we needed. We could feel the excitement in the air and speculated it was a combination of the season and the fact Heena’s husband would be returning home the next day from India. She could barely contain her joy over his return. It was hard to believe that already the days would be getting shorter. Everyone made an effort to keep the mood light and the energy high. My husband, in spite of his resistance to my witchy rituals, enjoyed himself immensely. I thought I actually saw him beam with pride as he glanced my way during our ceremony.

  Would wonders never cease?

  * * *

  He slowed his breathing and concentrated on his heartbeat, counting back with each pulse. The edges of his awareness scattered into a fine crystalline powder, blew into the astral plane and dispersed into the quantum field.

  She stood before him. Dark and regal. The daughter of the pharaoh, promising her undying love to him, Khaldun.

  His Jamila.

  They met in secret, their union forbidden. She was a Priestess of Isis after all, destined to serve the Goddess. To have a family was not her fate, yet she found herself in love with the handsome warrior.

  Static jolted through his body as he emerged from the astral plane. The dark-haired priestess at once became the blonde-haired witch, then back to the priestess. He had to focus. He could not allow her to distract him. Holding his astral knife, he materialized behind Veronica. He must remain centered. If he could not play this out in the ethers, his chances of success in the physical plane diminished significantly. His past memories fought to resurface as he recognized her not as Angelica Kane, but as his betrothed. Jamila.

  The exertion of astral projection always left him weak and vulnerable to psychic attack. Luckily, he’d taken care of all his known enemies by way of his powerful binding spells.

  For some reason, which was becoming clearer, the witch was immune to his attempts to control her power. The connection she had to him was strong. He knew she’d seen him when he appeared behind his beloved. The source of all his angst and passion.

  His breathing slowed to a normal rhythm after a few moments and he recuperated more rapidly with each trip into the nether realm. This night was the most powerful for magickal workings. He planned to take full advantage by doing double the work. He would bind both the witch and Veronica, leaving the two women vulnerable targets for his sadistic games.

  Still, he wondered how the witch was able to see him. Was their past coming back to haunt him? Then there’d been the night in the park. He’d been performing his adaptation of the Great Rite with another woman and yet her appearance morphed into the Kane witch. Not that he was disappointed. Angelica was a beautiful woman and stirred his desire. Perhaps he would have to enjoy her feminine bounty as well, only in the real world and not just the astral.

  All things in time… He became aroused at the thought of having both women. Only his thoughts were of a more gruesome nature.

  Chapter Six

  Jade ~ Sacred to both the Chinese and the Mayans, this stone is said to bless all it touches. Often used to carve revered artifacts, such as statues of the gods, it invokes knowledge, peace, harmony and a commitment to one's help in lucid dreaming. It aids the wearer in the discovery of their life path and manifesting dreams into actuality. ~ From Marisa Arrucci’s Book of Shadows.

  The next morning, after two cups of coffee and many attempts to forget the memory of the recent murder and nightmares I’d experienced, I headed off to the shop. Still, the visions haunted me. Images of brutal attacks and blood spatter colored my dreams, and last night had been no different. Jon had been correct; these were not the same visions as before. There were no kittens, puppies or cute little boys. Handsome older guys, yes. But call me crazy, the psychopathic gleam in the eye takes away from the good looks.

  Pictures from another life sprang from my unconscious and I couldn’t shake them. They demanded examination and continued to enter my dreams. I woke up feeling tired, my throat raw
and parched.

  It was my turn to open up the store today. Unlike Marisa, who made mouthwatering lavender scones, cakes and cookies, I stopped at the local bakery to pick up some fresh muffins, then I dragged my butt to the store.

  Ivy waited for me in the gravel parking lot behind the barn under the newly sprouted leaves of the red maple trees, white birch and the dramatic weeping willows.

  She eyed me with a suspicious look I’d seen it before. “So—what’s been happening? You can’t hide it from me, Angie, so don’t even try.” Her pale blue eyes probed for signs of a tormented sleep. Ivy’s arms brimmed with bags of bagels, butter, lox and cream cheese. “Come on, Angelica, you know I can read people. After twenty-five years as a psychologist, I don’t need to have your psychic abilities. Especially to read you. Remember, you were a patient of mine for a short time.” She winked.

  I fumbled for my keys. “Steven, my son, was the patient. The teenage horror, remember?”

  “Yes, yes, I remember. So then—what? Bad dreams about the concert, more visions?”

  “Boy, you can read me! Anyway, I thought therapists listened, not questioned,” I mumbled as I grappled with the side door, haphazardly grabbing the flyers tacked onto it. “Jehovah’s Witness, Born Agains, St. James Roman Catholic Church. When will it end? Ugh! They always think we need to be saved.” I had zero patience today.

  “Ignore them, Angie, you’re stalling. I did the runes late last night,” Ivy went on, taunting me with the promise of answers via the runes. I struggled with the lock. “Something happened. I could feel it in my bones. It was a powerful night for magick. I dabbled with your numbers. Big changes for you. Good changes. It showed more responsibility for you, but that comes with the territory, I suppose,” she said. She didn’t miss a beat or take a breath. “I did a past life spread for you, too. Are you aware you were Egyptian?”

  I stared back at her, amazed at the synchronicity. “Yes, I am becoming aware of that recently. It would explain my affinity to Isis.”

  I no sooner finished my sentence than a group of Jehovah’s Witnesses made their way around to the back. The majority of the cluster went on their rounds, I assumed, but two men stayed behind. One young man and another a bit more weathered lingered.

  They were heatedly debating something. I noticed the older one shaking his head vehemently. Putting his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, he gently nudged him to walk with him. The young man would have no part of it and marched toward Ivy and me.

  From the corner of my eye I saw him observing us then he gazed at my vehicle. My Blessed Be and Witches Are Crafty People bumper stickers proudly adorned my truck. The assessment made, he boldly approached us. I was almost there, two more steps and I would be in my shop. I turned to look at him, debating whether to dash inside or face the music. Trust me, I was number one on their hit parade. What a coup, convert the town witch.

  “Good morning!” he cheerily said, walking closer. Apparently he’d decided to engage us in a discussion. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

  I was in no mood, but I was pleasant. “I really am quite busy.”

  “Too busy for the Lord?” he asked with a slight twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “Oh my!” was all Ivy could manage before she sneaked inside the store.

  “Traitor,” I grumbled. Now if I went inside, he’d probably follow. I stayed out beyond the threshold of my sanctuary.

  “He loves you and wants you to be happy,” he continued.

  It was almost always the same conversation. “I am quite happy, thank you. And I have a business to run, so—”

  “I can see that. I do apologize, it’s just that…well, I was wondering.” He paused, shuffled his feet and said, “My friends say you worship Satan, is that true? Why have you decided to worship Satan? Satan is here to tempt and see how strong one’s faith is and…”

  It was at that moment we both noticed the carcass of some sort of dead bird lying between the trash containers. A puddle of hardened wax lay next to it. I moved the trashcan and there it was. Whoever had done this had inscribed a small inverted pentagram with what looked like blood on the side of the store.

  This sadistic tableau knocked me off balance. “I know what this must look like—but—I don’t worship Satan. Thank you very much for that stereotype, by the way. Why does everyone think we worship Satan? Shit!” I threw my bags down in frustration while I fought to keep calm. “I can imagine what you must be thinking. I…I had nothing to do with this. We don’t even acknowledge Satan.” I sighed heavily, gazing at the sky as if the answers lay hidden amid the lacey clouds. “Look, I promise I won’t try and convert you and you promise to leave me be. Okay?” I huffed. “I have to notify the police.” I turned to walk into the store, and he followed. I stopped just inside the threshold.

  He was the pit bull of Jehovah’s Witnesses. “I’m sorry. You are the woman who proclaims herself to be a witch, correct?”

  This was not going to be an easy getaway. I dug my feet in deep, ready for battle. “Yes, I am,” I sniped. “Let’s get one thing straight and you can tell your buddies this bit of information. There is no devil, no Satan, in the Craft. Most of us tend to believe in a male and female principle. Others just go with the feminine. I repeat, no Satan, no devil, no evil and, contrary to this horrid display, no—no sacrifices of blood. A cookie, maybe, or some wine, honey or milk but that’s it! I don’t know who did this—Ivy!” I called out to my coven mate.

  “Yes, Ang—” She walked out the back door and saw the dead bird. Her mouth dropped open. “Great Goddess. I’ll call the police.”

  He looked completely uneffected by what I’d said and continued with his diatribe. “Jesus said about Jehovah, ‘the only true God,’ John 17.3.”

  “I know and ‘Jehovah is great and very much to be praised and He is to be feared more than all other gods’ and that’s where you lost me. I choose to believe in a deity I don’t have to fear. Capisce? I really have my hands full. I have to go.”

  He didn’t capisce.

  “By the way, there are Santarians in the neighborhood.” He smiled. “You do know your Bible, though.”

  “Hmm, I don’t think they would do this. A few of them are my customers, but thanks for the heads up. And believe it or not, I find myself having these debates more often than I care to.” As my eyes met his, I noticed they were gentle and yet I sensed turmoil smoldering behind them.

  I observed the candle next to the bird. It was black. The same type as in my dreams and visions. And the bird was a dove. A love spell gone bad, perhaps?

  He reached out to me. In his hand was The Watchtower. “Yes, I suppose you would. You sure I can’t interest you…”

  I gave the young man my best smile. “Thank you, but no. I had my share being raised a Roman Catholic,” I added, with just a dash of sarcasm.

  Ivy popped her head out the side door. “Pugliese is on his way.”

  I felt the familiar tug of a specter baiting me to journey into the ethers. It was extremely tempting. From across the street, the fellow recruiters called the young man. Their voices broke the trance.

  “What are you talking to that one for? She’s beyond hope. She’s a witch, you know. Ask her,” they shouted. “Look! She’s got the sign of the devil on her store!”

  A crowd was beginning to gather. This was not good.

  He gazed down at his dusty shoes. “I do believe you. I know you had nothing to do with this bird’s demise. I’ve seen you putting seed out in the winter for them and throwing bits of bread. I’m sorry, a difference in faith is no reason to be rude. My friends have a lot to learn. Have a good day.”

  “Do you know who could have done this? Maybe one of your friends wants me to vacate my store?” I asked, grasping at any explanation for this revolting scene.

  “There was talk, but I don’t think it went further than that. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “What’s your name?” I heard myself asking, bewildere
d, as if someone behind me might have asked the question instead of me.

  “Joseph.”

  “Nice to meet you, Joseph. Look, you’re welcome to put your literature on my bulletin board anytime. I’m Angelica, by the way.”

  “Thank you, I think I will.” Defiantly looking back at his buddies, he followed me into the store.

  “Great! Ivy, will you show Joe where the bulletin board is?” I called out to my friend, before she could escape again as we made our way into the comforting confines of the cool store. The bouquet of herbs, candles, and incense always created a peaceful environment for those who entered.

  “Want some coffee?” I asked.

  Ivy took over. “Come this way, the board’s over here.”

  He followed Ivy to the back. “You’ve certainly got a lot of items in here. I like the way it smells, like church. The floors are—cherry wood?”

  “Close. Red oak with a cherry stain. I’m impressed,” I said.

  A huge bay window occupied the front wall of the shop adjacent to the entrance. It faced east, where sun catchers dangled in the midst of ceramic angels and feathered fairies. Oak beams lazily stretched across the ceiling where dried herbs dripped down like fragrant stalactites, giving the shop a warm and relaxing ambiance.

  The crowd that gathered in the back lot now had merged to the front. I was glimpsing out of the window when our solitude was shattered, along with a pane of glass. A brick flew through my front window, barely missing me.

  “What was that?” Joe came around to the front and pulled me back, away from the broken glass.

  “Angie, did you get hurt?” Ivy asked as she bolted through the kitchen with coffee in hand.

  I ignored my friend and headed for the front door.

  The older man called for Joseph. He was especially persistent in trying to get him out of the shop. But Joseph would have none of it.