By evening, Samantha had gone back to her room, unpacked, changed clothes, and walked to the Whaler’s Inn. She met Anthony outside, and moments later they were seated in a booth, waiting for their food. The white tablecloth was topped with a small lantern and a vase holding a single red rose. A fire crackled on the hearth nearby and except for them the dining room was empty. The lighting was low and music played softly in the background. It was romantic.
And for a first date with a guy she didn’t know, it was too romantic. Especially considering that he had been all too eager to get away from her at breakfast. She looked at him suspiciously. Just exactly what did he want from her on this date?
Don’t think of this as a date, she warned herself. Think of him as a source, just another witness to interrogate.
But he was looking at her with his beautiful eyes and smiling at her in a way that made her pulse skitter out of control. It was crazy and uncharacteristic of her. Dating had never been her thing. Who would ever understand her, be able to cope with who she was, who she had been?
But staring at his face, lined with its own pain and shadows, she realized that if anyone could understand, he could. That wasn’t enough, though. Because of what had happened to his mother, he would never be able to cope, to accept her. And after what her family had done to his, she had no right to lead him on, to hurt him any more than he’d already been hurt.
“I saw you coming out of the cemetery today,” he said gently.
She blinked in surprise. “How?”
“I was in the cemetery too. I was checking on my mother’s grave.”
And the sick feeling was back, knotting itself around her insides. She should never have accepted his dinner invitation. He was looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for her to share.
“I was visiting my mother too,” she said at last.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s hard to lose a mother.”
“Thanks. And I’m sorry about yours.”
He shrugged. “It’s strange, you know. There are days where I still expect to see her at her favorite coffee shop or walking down the street. Even though it’s been years.”
“This place is haunted for you.”
He nodded. “I guess you could say so.”
“Why do you stay?” she asked.
A shadow seemed to pass across his face and his eyes hardened. “The coven that killed my mother, when they were slaughtered, there were rumors that one witch survived. I’ve spent the past sixteen years searching for that person.”
“Why?” Samantha asked, trying to still the sudden pounding of her heart, which no longer had anything to do with how attractive he was.
He smiled. “Let’s just say that revenge is a dish best served flambéed.”
“As in burning?” she asked.
“As in witch,” he said with a nod.
She winced. Had he figured out already who she was? She studied his face carefully as she chose her next words. “It’s been years. How do you even know the witch is still alive?”
“I can feel it, in here,” he said, tapping his chest over his heart. “If she were dead, I’d feel peace. Someday, though, I will feel that peace. And then—then maybe I can leave this place.”
“It seems like you’re just punishing yourself by staying here with the memories. Why not move on? I mean, how do you know the witch hasn’t done the same thing? For all you know, she’s practicing in Oregon or India. Maybe she’s not even a witch anymore.”
He smiled tightly. “Once a witch, always a witch. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that she had left the state. However, I stay because eventually she’ll come back. You see, I have something the witch will want. I figure in time she’ll find me.”
Is it one of those artifacts in the case? she wondered. My goblet, for instance? She took a sip of her water, trying to look nonchalant instead of guilty or too curious. For the first time she felt sympathy for the murderers she had interrogated over the years. They had sat across from her at tables in cold gray rooms, sweating and praying that she wouldn’t discover the one bit of evidence that would damn them or that they wouldn’t say something that would seal their fate and send them to prison.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded quickly. “I was just thinking, that could be incredibly dangerous.”
“Some things are worth the risk,” he said. He smiled at her. “Like asking you out.”
For a moment her heart stopped, thinking that he had guessed. But then she realized that he was just flirting. She forced herself to smile. “Hardly counts as risky compared to the other.”
“But still, a risk. I risked rejection because the potential reward seemed worth it.”
“You don’t even know me,” she protested.
“And yet I feel that I do. You’re smart, funny, and driven, just like I am. You’re curious and open to things that others dismiss out of hand.”
“Very observant of you,” she said, working hard not to squirm.
“You’re also looking for something. I know what it feels like to be looking for something. It makes me want to see you find it, whatever it is. If you tell me what it is you’re looking for, maybe I can help you find it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I do. It will give me an excuse to spend more time with you. I can’t explain it; I just feel like for some reason I need to help you.”
“It could be very dangerous for both of us.”
He laughed. “I think you already pointed out that I tend to rush in where angels fear to tread. Come on. Let me help you.”
Samantha leaned across the table and touched his hand with hers. “All right. I too am looking for a witch.”
His lips parted in surprise. A moment passed, then another as he took in what she’d said. Finally he asked, “And you’re looking for this witch here?”
“I am.”
“Listen to me,” he said, gripping her hand tight. “Witches—real witches—are bad news. They don’t live by a code, they don’t respect life, law, anything. You don’t want to get mixed up with that.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“But I don’t have a choice. And I at least know something about them.”
“Yes, but do you know enough?” she countered. “Can you tell a witch from a Wiccan?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ve met hundreds of Wiccans. There’s thousands of Wiccans for every witch. And they tend to be nice, respectful people.” He looked at her suspiciously. “How do you know there’s a witch in Salem?”
“Haven’t you been watching the news? Those women who were killed in Boston?”
He relaxed visibly. “I saw the news. Those women were killed by occultists, maybe a serial killer or a sick college student with a penchant for murder. That’s why the pentagrams. No real witch would use that symbol. It used to be a Christian symbol representing the five wounds of Christ—head, hands, feet; the point draws the eye upward toward God. Those worshipping Satan profane the pentagram by instead turning it upside down. It’s not a witch symbol. Try telling that to the media, though. They scream witch at the first opportunity regardless of the truth. It’s dangerous and irresponsible.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more about the press. I want you to be careful, though, and keep your eyes open. Because, as improbable as it seems, witches are behind those murders.”
“How do you know all this?” he asked.
His mind was working on the problem and it would be only a matter of minutes before he came to the conclusion that she was a cop. And that knowledge was too dangerous for him to have. He might accidentally tell someone or unwittingly out her in front of the wrong person. For all she knew, he was working with one of the witches. Better for him to hate her and keep her cover intact than risk blowing it. She made a swift decision.
“How do I know witches are behind it?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
She wrapped her hand around his water glass. Moments later the water began to boil. She let go and it stopped.
His lips moved and he mouthed the word “witch.” Then he bolted from the table and out of the restaurant. She got up to chase after him, but when she reached the sidewalk he was nowhere to be seen.
“Anthony!” she shouted.
There was no response. She could tell that he had turned to the left, so she followed. Three more swift turns and she was in an alley. He was hiding, but every instinct she had told her it would be bad to flush him out. Instead she stood in the middle of the space and spoke out loud.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you or frighten you. I’m not going to do anything to you, but I could use your help. Please believe me—I’m not your enemy.”
There was no response. She waited for a minute and then said softly, “Okay, but I hope you change your mind.”
She left and walked slowly back to her hotel, hoping he would catch up to her. When he didn’t she was mostly relieved but also somewhat disappointed. She got to her room and sat down with a sigh. She’d made a mistake, revealed herself too fast. But it was better if he steered clear of her, fearing her, than if he knew that she was a police officer. That was the awful thing about deep cover. Nobody aside from the officer’s handlers was supposed to know the truth.
She cleared away the candles from the top of the dresser. The flames had automatically snuffed out when the three witches had found her. Autumn, Jace, and Karen. Each of them was going to be useful in her own way. Unfortunately, none of them was highly placed enough to be privy to what was going on in the coven. She had briefly thought of arresting the three of them, but even if they could be made to talk, none of them knew enough to help her stop the others. Especially Karen. She was still surprised that the former Wiccan was involved with the group. There had to be something specific she hoped to gain from the connection. Samantha had wanted to find someone with enough of a moral compass to doubt the rightness of what the witches were doing, and Karen more than met the requirement.
I might be able to reach her, make her see what’s happening, persuade her to leave before it’s too late.
She shook her head. She shouldn’t be so worried for Karen’s welfare. She was, after all, part of the coven that was killing girls and trying to raise the dead. Regardless of whether she had a hand in the killings, she was still involved. Still guilty. Like I was way back then.
She wanted to talk to Ed, tell him how things were going and see what he’d come up with on his end. Communication was dangerous, though, since it could lead to discovery. And since Ed was one of the officers guarding Katie, communication with the outside world was just as dangerous for him as it was for her. Until she knew how powerful and how connected the coven was, she couldn’t risk it for anything short of an emergency.
She prepped her hotel room in case of an unannounced visit from members of the coven. She placed several objects she could use as weapons strategically around the room. Then she carefully staged the rest to make it look like she was a constant, and dangerous, practitioner, right down to building an altar on top of the writing table. Witches occasionally played at mimicking the religious practices of others.
Which was something that worried her, since she could guess the kind of things she would be expected to do if the coven decided to accept her. In many ways it upset her more than the thought of them trying to kill her. She didn’t want to think about praying or sacrificing to any being other than God. It would be asked of her, though. She would have to perform dark magic or risk revealing herself and losing all chance of stopping them forever. She wasn’t sure which terrified her more—not stopping them or having to do the unthinkable to do so.
Her stomach tightened and twisted. Her hand reached for the cross that wasn’t around her neck and she touched the moon instead. She didn’t like the way that made her feel.
She looked around the room, working out what more she should do to prepare.
I should put a circle of blood around the bed to guard me while I sleep, she realized. She didn’t want to use too much blood and weaken herself, but it was a good idea. She grabbed her pocketknife, sliced open her left hand, and began to draw the circle of blood, being careful to keep it unbroken.
When at last she finished, she cleaned and bandaged the wound and surveyed the room. Everything looked right to her and there wasn’t anything else she could think of to do at the moment.
As if on cue there was a knock on her door. It couldn’t be a member of the coven—she would have felt the changes in energy if one had gotten that close. She opened the door and was surprised to see Anthony standing there, his features twisted in anger. He pushed past her into the room and she quickly closed the door and turned to face him.
“What the hell did you do to me?” he fumed.
“Excuse me?” she asked, crossing her arms and staring at him.
“You heard me,” he said. “I—” He stopped suddenly as his eyes fell on her makeshift altar. Then he turned and took in the other magic tools she had staged around the room. The color drained completely from his face. “It’s true. You are a witch.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything in response.
“Why?”
“Why what?” she asked.
“From the moment I saw you I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”
“Wow, and it’s been a whole fourteen hours,” she said, letting the sarcasm drip from her voice.
“It’s been a lifetime,” he flashed, the anger back. “For sixteen years I’ve had one goal, one purpose. And then you come along and have me thinking thoughts… You’ve bewitched me.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” she denied heatedly.
“You have,” he insisted.
“If anything, you’re the one who’s been trying to bewitch me, seduce me,” she accused. “Inviting me to your museum, telling me about your childhood so I’d feel sorry for you, taking me out to a romantic restaurant. What was your next move, Romeo?”
Anger poured off him. But something else was there as well, burning inside him. Maybe she could see it because the same fire was burning inside her.
He took a quick step forward and kissed her.
She should have pulled away, but something wouldn’t let her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him back. She knew it was crazy, but there was a connection with him. She could feel it, and she knew he felt it too.
He pulled her to his chest, holding her close. Heat flashed through her body. He let his lips drift down to her jaw and then he was kissing her throat. She tilted her head back, reveling in the sensation. Suddenly he let her go and took a step backward.
“What have you done to me?” he moaned.
“Nothing yet,” she whispered.
And then he was kissing her again, hard. She lifted her hands and placed them on his cheeks and sent small electrical impulses through her fingers, stimulating the nerve endings. He jerked and looked at her with wide eyes.
“It’s just a little electricity,” she said. “It won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.” She leaned forward and kissed him, his lips tingling against hers. She moved her hands to his arms and could feel the hairs there stand on end as she stroked them.
He kissed her harder, deeper, and she matched him in passion, his desire flooding her senses, and she echoed it back to him until she was tearing at his shirt, trying to get it off so she could touch his chest. He responded by grasping her hips and pulling her even closer. She could feel his heart rate accelerating, matching hers. She began to breathe in rhythm with him as their bodies came into tune.
She closed her eyes, wanting to feel more of him, to breathe the air he breathed. She had never felt this way. She was losing herself in him and it felt so right.
And then, suddenly, she felt energy ripple through the building. She pushed him away with a gasp, staggering as she tried to regain her footing. He was staring at her, confused and panting. The color was slowly draining from his face and he looked as lost as she had felt a moment before. But there was no time to explain, no time to apologize or make things right.
Witches had just entered the hotel and they were coming for her.