“What’s happening?” Samantha heard Ed shout over the voices that surrounded her, the ones that bespoke their death. The harder she bit the inside of her cheek, the louder the voices became until she could feel blood oozing out between her lips.
I’m feeding them with the blood.
“Ed, listen to me—do exactly as I say!”
“Anything! Just tell me what to do,” he begged.
“Do you still have the matches? Can you relight your candle?”
She saw a tiny flame as he lit a match. It burned out and was replaced by another and then another until he was swearing steadily.
“What is it?”
“I’m out of matches and none of them would light the candle.”
She took a deep breath. They had been snuffed by magic and only magic would light them again. She wished she could teach him a spell to say to light the candle, but with true magic it wasn’t about the words but about the spirit and the intent of the practitioner. It couldn’t come from him. It can come only from me.
“No!”
“What?” he asked, misunderstanding her outburst.
“We will find another way,” she said aloud, mustering every ounce of defiance she had left.
Laughter filled the room, creaking and chortling and swirling around her and through her until she thought it might be coming from her.
“What do you hear?” she asked Ed.
“A woman screaming.”
He heard something different from what she did. To Ed a woman screaming was terrifying. To her the laughter was far worse. It was playing on their own worst fears, which meant there was no active entity behind it, just a booby trap left for the unfortunate intruder.
“Take a deep breath,” she ordered him, trying to do the same herself. “It’s meant to scare us, but there’s no one else here.”
“Then what’s making that sound? Some kind of speaker system?”
“I’ll explain it to you once we’re out of here.”
Out of here, out of here, the voices mocked and the laughter kept time.
Fight back; you know how, a small voice whispered inside her mind.
“We don’t need the light,” she said out loud. “The stairs out of here are to my right about five feet away. And you were what, closer than that to me?”
“Yeah. You’re in front of me and the stairs are behind me.”
“I’m going to try to touch you,” she said to warn him and took a step in the direction she remembered the stairs being. She didn’t trust the sound of his voice, as the room caught it and echoed it round and round. It was designed to make sound do strange things and she couldn’t believe it.
Samantha stepped slowly, carefully, feeling her way with hands and feet and praying she didn’t trip over something in the dark. She stretched out her fingers toward where she thought Ed was standing. Something wet and cold brushed across them and she forced herself not to jerk away.
No! The word rang in her ears, so loud it made them buzz and ache. She pushed forward, emboldened by the sound until her fingers brushed the cloth of Ed’s jacket.
She felt him shy away at her touch despite her warning, and she lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder. She could feel the muscles coiled and tense beneath her fingers and for a moment she thought he was going to turn on her.
“It’s me,” she said.
“Let’s get out of here, please,” he begged.
Keeping hold of his shoulder, she slid forward, feeling for the stairs. You can do this. How many times did you find your way in the dark as a child? She took a deep breath and focused all her faculties on the task at hand. She blocked out the voices, the chill air, everything that wasn’t Ed or the staircase.
Her left foot bumped up against the bottom step and she yanked Ed forward, almost pulling him off his feet. She kept her hand on his shoulder as they made their way up the stairs. As they neared the top she began to move faster, aware that the danger was increasing even as they came closer to escaping the horrors below.
Ed came to a halt so suddenly that she staggered and her foot slipped on the stair. She let go of his shoulder to grab at the railing as she crashed to her knees.
“Listen. She’s still alive. We have to go back for her,” Ed said.
She struggled to her feet and grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him up another stairstep. “I promise you that she’s dead.”
He pulled back against her and she slapped him again as hard as she could. “Ed, focus on the pain. Remember what I said. And if you have ever trusted me, you’ve got to do it now and move!”
She didn’t know if it was the pain from the slap or what she had said, but something seemed to sink in and Ed came willingly with her up the last six steps. She grabbed the doorknob, but was not surprised when it wouldn’t turn. She threw her shoulder against the door, but it didn’t give even an inch. She thought of the gun she was carrying, but she knew that she would be just as likely to injure one of them if she used it. Nothing in the basement was as it seemed and she couldn’t risk introducing flying bullets into the equation.
Ed pressed against her, unnatural sounds of fear emanating from him. If he could have, he would have run over her to get out the door. His shirt where she gripped it was soaked with sweat and the stench of fear coming off him was starting to be more overwhelming than the voices that screamed that they were going to die. She slammed her shoulder into the door once more and it still didn’t budge.
Then, below them in the darkness she heard the sound of nails clicking and scratching on concrete. Something big began to climb the stairs behind them, its hot breath wafting ahead of it.
“No!” Samantha heard herself screaming.
She grabbed the doorknob again and a surge of energy flashed through her fingers as she shouted, “Patefacio!”
The door unlocked at her command and she shoved it open, Ed following with a rush. She slammed the door shut behind them and they raced together to the street. On the porch Samantha spun, hands raised defensively as she stared at the open front door and waited for whatever might be coming after them.
She stared, every nerve alive and quivering as beside her she heard Ed calling for backup. The hair on the back of her neck rose as something stopped just inside the front door and stared out at her. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it and she could hear the heavy breathing of the creature that waited there, daring her to make a move.
With a flick of her wrist she caused the door to slam shut in its face and then she collapsed to the sidewalk, sobbing.
Half an hour later she and Ed sat on the curb as a dozen officers from the Salem and Boston police departments swarmed all over the house. She had stopped crying but was still shaking. She noticed that Ed also looked the worse for wear, with an ashen face, vacant eyes, and blood-covered shoes. Fortunately Oliver had listened to her, and he and Grant had whisked Katie away from the scene quickly and had taken her to a different precinct to wait for them while reporters continued to arrive at their own precinct.
After a while an officer from the Salem department approached them. He had sandy blond hair and his name tag read WESLEY. “Sir, ma’am, we’ve set up some portable lights down in the basement at the crime scene. Would you care to come down? We’d like your opinion on whether this might be linked to the murders in Boston.”
Before the others had arrived she had used a few well-chosen words to banish the beast that had growled and clawed at the front door, the barrier it could not cross. Shame still filled her, but she had been able to think of no other way to dispel the creature and the danger it represented. After that, many of the barriers and protective spells guarding the house had fallen like dust. The barriers were magic; that’s all they were, mostly designed to protect the house and its former inhabitants from intruders. Some, like the floorboards that creaked beneath Ed’s weight but not hers, were like an alert system. Others, like the sounds they had each heard in the basement, were designed to scare those who did not belong there. The creature had been created to kill those who made it too far into the house and proved resistant to the other spells.
Ed stood up shakily, but Samantha stayed put. It was safe to go inside now. Even if a few barriers remained, they would be of the kind designed to work on the psyches of two or three people, not a dozen. Safety in numbers was an old concept, as old as magic itself. Still, she wasn’t going to set foot back in that basement, even if they had managed to drive away all the shadows they thought resided there with all the portable lights in Salem. Some shadows would never leave.
Ed looked down at her, but she shook her head slightly. He didn’t argue; he simply trudged into the house after the officer. She knew he didn’t want to go, but he was also still not sure what all had happened. If he knew how close they had really come to dying, he would have stayed on the curb with her and looked at photos later.
She sighed as she let her head drop into her hands. The truth was, even if he realized it, he would probably still go. He needed to see for himself that the girl was long dead and that there really had been no way for him to save her. His need to save others was the greatest thing that drove him, was what gave him the strength to go back into that basement. And I’m still just trying to save myself, she realized.
So she waited outside while her partner explored the depths of the house and examined the crime scene. She didn’t need to see it. Enough of it had been burned into her brain that she would not soon forget. After a while she realized that it had been a long time since Ed had gone back inside. Fear touched her and she turned to look at the house behind her.
It was a gray house, older than those around it by at least a half century. It was large, though. The windows in the attic stared down at her like unblinking eyes and the maw of the beast gaped open. She blinked, forcing herself to see the door as it actually was and not as what it meant to her.
Could she have missed something? Had there been other spells, traps that even now could be killing the officers inside the house? She shook her head forcefully. If that were the case there would be screaming, some whisper of sound. She concentrated, focusing on shutting out all the other sounds around her until she could hear two officers on the main floor talking about meeting at Red’s Sandwich Shop the next morning for breakfast.
Finally Ed rejoined her outside and from the look on his face she knew that he had even more questions than when he had gone inside.
“The murders are linked,” she said quietly.
“I’m inclined to agree with you. She appears to fit the profile. No piercings, Star of David on a chain around her neck. The killer must have known we were coming, didn’t have time to stage the body somewhere maybe,” he muttered before sitting down next to her on the curb. “Maybe that’s why there was blood this time. You already knew that, though, didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t find anything else down there—no speakers, no animals, nothing to explain anything. I searched that basement from top to bottom.”
“Did you tell anyone what you were looking for?”
“No. That would mean telling them what happened down there when I still don’t know myself.”
She nodded, staring at his bloodstained shoes and not trusting herself to look at him.
“They don’t need us right now. Let’s get out of here,” he said.
They found a Boston officer who was free to drive them back. They were almost to the precinct when Ed had him drop them off at Jake’s Eats instead. Samantha’s car was still parked on the street and she moved toward it until she realized that Ed was headed into the restaurant.
She followed him and they slid into the booth in the back. A waitress brought them coffee and menus. Once they’d ordered, they sat in silence until the food came. When the waitress set Ed’s steak and Samantha’s corned beef sandwich on the table, Ed ignored the potato chips and the pickle spear on her plate and went straight to eating his steak.
Samantha winced and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He usually absconded with her chips and pickle. The fact that he hadn’t done that this time made her uneasy. She wondered whether he was just too distracted to think or if it was a sign of sudden mistrust between them. She picked at her sandwich while she tried to decide what to say to him.
When he was halfway through his meal, he finally looked at her for the first time since they had gone into the house. “What are we dealing with here?” he asked.
Samantha shrugged, not wanting to talk about it, and even less sure that he really wanted to know.
“I mean, are those girls being used in some kind of… sacrifice?”
Samantha studied the blackness inside her coffee cup and chose her words carefully. “They could also be recruits.”
“Recruits? Then what happened to them?”
“Maybe they didn’t want to join. Or maybe they did and then changed their minds.”
“And so these people killed them? What—as a warning, like some sort of gang thing?”
More likely they killed them to keep whatever it was they were doing a secret. She sipped her coffee. “Are we sure they were the first?”
“I haven’t heard of anyone else showing up marked with a pentagram, have you?”
“No, but neither of us had heard about an injured girl who was ranting about witches before today,” Samantha said, wishing that she had. If only she had known…
“Point taken.” Ed stared at her hard. “You know there was nothing you could have done for her, right?”
Samantha felt tears stinging her eyes. “I wish I’d had the chance to try.”
Ed took a swallow of his coffee and studied her shrewdly. “I’m guessing you did a lot to help her today. What you said to her… that it really was witches… it was the truth, wasn’t it? I mean, not fake witches or wannabe witches or delusional psychopaths or some kind of metaphor, but real witches.”
She nodded. “They are real witches.”
He slammed the rest of the coffee and thumped the mug down on the table. In that moment something subtle changed and he seemed more himself, more in control again.
And the truth will set you free. It had helped Jane and now it was helping him.
“So, when are we going to talk about the broomstick in the room?” he asked.
“What are you asking me?” she said, struggling to buy time. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not with him. Not with anyone. Especially not after what I did today.
“What is your deal?” Ed asked, leaning in close.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
“Unfortunately, that’s a luxury neither of us can afford anymore.”
She winced. “I don’t like to think about my past, much less discuss it.”
“No, really?” he said, the sarcasm thick in his voice. “I’ve been your partner for two years. I kind of picked up on that. Look, I have to tell you I’m really freaked out about these killings. I know you know more than you’re saying.”
She dropped her eyes to the table. “I’ve never told anyone.”
“No better person to tell than your partner. You know things about me even my wife doesn’t know.”
“Lucky her.”
He smiled only briefly.
An icy knot settled in the pit of her stomach. He really wanted to know. He deserved to know. And if things got any freakier, he really needed to know.
“I, uh, had a bad childhood,” she said, licking her lips.
He leaned forward intently. She glanced up at him and saw burning curiosity in his eyes. He had known for a long time that she wasn’t normal. He had been more patient than most people, given her space, but it hadn’t meant he didn’t want to know. Looking at his face, she could tell just how badly he wanted the truth.
She got it. Being a cop made you a bit of a control freak. Knowledge was power. Knowledge about your partner was life. He had probably wondered for a long time just what baggage she was carrying and when it was going to become a sudden, unexpected problem for both of them. She had heard stories about officers who froze when confronted with something that came a little too close to their own childhood scars.
She took a deep breath. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. When he tried to pull back, she hung on for dear life. She was afraid and she forced herself to focus on his hand, the look of it, the feel of it, the pressure he was applying.
“I was raised in a coven.”
She struggled to gain control of the emotions that suddenly welled up within her, threatening to overtake her. Fear, rage, shame, pride, and a dozen more that made no sense to her.
“Wiccan?” he asked gently.
If only, she thought. Wicca was a religion. Those who followed it were peaceful, taking oaths to harm no one. The coven she had been raised in had nothing to do with Wicca, and its members had taken no such oaths.
“No, this was, um, a group that was into the occult.”
She could feel his uncertainty and she didn’t blame him. “Occult” meant so many things. It was a word that was thrown around so often that it had lost its meaning, its power.
“They were into very black magic, the bad stuff, you know?”
“What, like sacrificing animals?”
She laughed. She could hear herself laughing, hear the hysterical edge to it, but she couldn’t stop. She grabbed her glass of water and gulped, choking on it. The laughter that sounded like it came from someone else ceased as water ran down her chin.
She drew in a long breath of air with a gasp. “No.”
A look of relief crossed his face and it broke her heart to say what she had to. “Sacrificing people.”