A Witch's Tale (17 page)

It was done.
Myra was bound over for trial for both murders.

No bail was set.

The moment the judge rapped his gavel, signifying the end of the session, pandemonium broke loose.
Myra turned sharply toward Cassie.
In the split second that their gazes
met, a message was passed and understood.
And then, amongst the yelling and shoving of the unruly crowd, Myra was led out the side door to her waiting cell.

During their moment of communication
,
Cassie had been able to shut out the
ugliness of her surroundings, b
ut now it came crashing down around her.
Hands reached out, grabbing at her clothing.
A cacophony of voices demanded her attention.
A cry of panic and pain escaped her lips as someone actually pulled out a hunk of her hair.
So many demanding voices shouted questions that the words all ran together until all she heard
was
a thunderous roaring in her ears.

And then she felt Mac’s arms around her, offering her
her
only protection in a world gone crazy.

“Leave her alone!” he shouted as he used all of his strength to forge a path for the two of them through the frenzied mob.
His eyes searched desperately for help.
Where the hell were the deputies assigned to the courtroom?

But the help that finally arrived came from a source Mac would never have expected.
Above the deafening din rose a voice that demanded obedience, a voice that refused to accept anything else.

“
Out’a
the way!
Get away from the girl, you bunch of ruffians!
Leave her be!”

“Father Mike?” Cassie called out.

“I’m coming, Cassie, girl.
Hold on there!”

The old man’s take-charge attitude and priestly garb caused the mob to hold back just long enough for Father Sullivan to reach Mac and Cassie.
Positioning himself before the pair like a pious battering ram, he instructed them to follow him as he plowed his way through the surging mob.

With Mac at Cassie’s side
,
and Father Sullivan breaking a path, the trio was finally able to make some headway through the jeering crowd.
Cassie instinctively ducked her head and closed her eyes, trying with all her might to shut the ugliness away.
With Mac’s comforting support, s
he put one foot before the other
until she felt the soft warmth of the late summer sun touch her face.
Taking a deep draft of air, she realized that she had been holding her breath the entire time they had fought their way through the crowd.
How good the sweet scent
of the sea and the pines tasted.

“How can I thank either of you?” she asked, her voice shaking with emotion.

“Let’s not worry about that yet,” Mac suggested as he urged her away from the courthouse.
“We need to get you away from here as fast as we can.”

“You’re right,” the priest agreed, glancing back over his shoulder to assess the mob that swarmed out of the building. “Come on!
My car’s right over he
re, parked illegally, of course.
”

It must have been hysteria, but Father Sullivan’s remark struck all three of them
as
enormously funny.
Hoots of laughter swept over them as they flung themselves into the vehicle and sped away from the riotous scene.

“Where are we going?
”
Cassie asked when she realized Father Mike was heading in the opposite direction from her home.

“To a place a great deal safer than that little cabin of yours back there in the woods.”

Mac chuckled quietly as Father Sullivan maneuvered his automobile into the parish garage, then, with a touch of a button on the remote door device, closed the door behind them.

“They’ll not be thin
king to look for you here, girl.” T
he priest turned in his seat to smile at Cassie.
“Y
ou’ll be as safe as a nun in a
convent.”

“Convent!”
Cassie couldn’t hide her astonishment.
Surely the nuns wo
uld never tolerate her presence.
And just where was Father Mike planning on sneaking her off to?
She knew for a fact that Port
Bellmont
did not have a convent.

The priest laughed heartily as he led his two guests through the inside garage door and into his kitchen.
Y
oung Cassie in a convent indeed.

“No, I’ll not be asking you to stay with the good sisters,” he reassured Cassie.
“You’ll be my very own house guest, if you’ll be so kind as to accept my invitation.”

“Stay here?
Father Mike, I can’t stay here!
What would your parishioners say?”

“The idea is, Cassie, dear,
not
to
let anyone know you’re here.
So I won’t be worrying about wagging tongues.
Nor will I be answering to them and their silly superstitions and prejudices.
No, the One I answer to will not only understand my intentions, He will
wholeheartedly approve of them.
”

Although Cassie had misgivings about putting the priest in an awkward position, she gratefully let him lead her to her
room.
On the second floor, in a back corner of the enormous old house, the room offered her all the privacy she could have asked for.
Though fairly small, it did have its own connected bath
and its one
window allowed for a view of the churchyard below.

“Now, you just take your time and freshen up while I fix us all a nice cup of tea,” Father Sullivan said as he turned to leave.
“Come on down when you’re ready.
Your young man and I will be busy putting our heads together over this terrible travesty they dare call a trial.”

Strangely, the austere room comforted Cassie.
She felt safe.
And yes, she felt loved.
Father Michael’s unconditional love was truly remarkable, especially under the present circumstances.

“
...
and I for one have no intention of sitting by while they crucify one of the finest women I have ever known.”

Cassie stepped into the parlor just as the elderly priest set his cup down with a decisive thump to emphasize his statement.

“If you’ll pardon me for saying this, about the last person I would have expected to champion Myra Adams’ cause would
be a Catholic priest.
I would have expected you to be her worse enemy,” Mac observed.

The two men sat companionably across the room from each other, each enjoying a cup of the Irish priest’s strong tea.

“Theologically speaking, obviously we did not see eye to eye.
But, unlike those who would string her up from that grand old tree in the middle of town, I took the time to learn what it is she believes in.
And though I can’t subscribe to her beliefs myself, I’m telling you, there’s no evil in them.
Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.”

“Enough so that you believe her to be innocent.
Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?”

“Not at all.
For several reasons, don’t you
know.
First off, they say there was devil worshipping going on at their ceremonies.
There’s not a bit of truth to that.
The Wiccan faith does not believe in Satan, so it’s not likely that they would be having so called black masses in his name, now is it?”

“That’s true,” Cassie interjected from where she stood in the doorway of the parlor.
“Satan is part of the Christian faith.
Our religion predates Christianity.
We worship all of
nature, the God and Goddess of all creation.
The devil has no part in our religion.”

“All right, I accept that.
But not believing in the devil is hardly enough to convince Judge Davenport or a jury t
hat Myra did not kill those men, e
specially after the last incident.”

“And
then there’s the rule of three.
”
             
The priest sat back
in his chair with a satisfied ‘You see?’
expression on his face.
The only trouble was
,
Mac di
dn’t see a thing.
He turned to Cassie for an explanation, but all he got from her was her nodding agreement with Father Sullivan’s statement.

“Is anyone going to tell me about this ‘rule of three’ thing?”
He turned first to Father Sullivan and then to Cassie.

“Cassie,
m’dear
, will you explain it to Mr. McCormick?
I’m sure you can do it better justice than this tired old priest.”

“Of course, Father Mike.
The rule of three,” Cassie shifted her attention from the priest back to Mac, “is simply that whatever you send out will come back to you three fold.
When we Wiccans cast a spell, we send out energy that gathers strength, returning to the sender by three.”

“So you see
,
no sensible witch in her right mind is going to perform such an evil deed, knowing that the evil will return to her three times as strong.”

“And this rule of three
thing
is enough to c
onvince you of Myra’s innocence?
”
Mac found it a bit astonishing that the priest was so easily convinced, considering the damning evidence.
Mac sat back in his seat, disappointment etched clearly on his face.
He had allowed himself to believe for a moment that the priest might actually have something concrete to prove
Myra’s innocence, but obviously
all the old man had were his own beliefs.

“I see you’re still not convinced,” Father Sullivan observed.
“And I’m not blaming you for it, you understand.
But you see
,
there is one more thing I failed to mention.”
He paused for dramatic effect, before he leaned forward to say, “I was there with her that night.

“But...”

“I was there, sitting there beside her bed nearly the whole night long.”

“But Alan
...?”

“She’d sent him away, just as he says.
But after he left, she gave me a call.
She said she just needed to hear my
friendly voice before she dropped off to sleep
. B
ut I could tell from her voice she needed more than that.
So, in spite of her protests, I went to her.
She is my friend, you see.
I couldn’t do otherwise.
I insisted she get into bed.
She dropped off to sleep almost immediately, a deep, deep sleep.
I
flatter
myself that perhaps it was the knowing that I was there that allowed her to sleep so peacefully.
I stayed there until nearly dawn.
When I finally decided she wasn’t going to
be needing
me anymore that night, I left.”

“But I still don’t understand why you didn’t come forward when she was arrested.
With you as an alibi, the Sheriff would never have charged her.”

Once again the priest shook his head sadly.
“But I’d taken a vow, don’t you see?
After she was questioned for the first murder, she made me promise to never tell the authorities of our relationship.
She was that afraid of what
it would do to my reputation.
Myra and I formed a friendship back when she first came to town that we both felt it wise to k
eep, shall we say, under covers.
Even
then
we both realized that a friendship between a Catholic priest and the high priestess of a Wiccan coven would not likely be accepted by the good citizens of Port
Bellmont
.”

“Well, I will admit, it is a bit unusual.”

“That it
is,
that it is. And if you were to tell me before I met Myra that a practicing witch would someday be one of my best friends, why, I’d have said you were as daft as they come.
It was my curiosity that made me seek her out at first.
I’d never known a Wiccan before
and I couldn’t resist making the acquaintance of the woman soon after she arrived.
You can imagine what I was expecting to see w
hen I went to that shop of hers -
Nature’s Way, she calls it.
But what I discovered that day was an intelligent, gentle, funny woman.
I liked her immediately.
And I think I’m safe to say the feeling was mutual.
We’ve been best of friends ever since.”