Chain of Souls (Salem VI) (21 page)

Finally, he made reservations for himself and Amy on the next evening's Lufthansa flight from Boston to Warsaw, Poland, with a stop in Munich. From Warsaw they would connected to the fifty-minute flight to Krakow on LOT. He waved to Amy through the glass walls of his office and when she stepped inside, he showed her the reservation.

"What do we do when we get to Krakow?" he asked.

"I'll call Lisa and tell her what we're doing and get instructions."

"Instructions?" John repeated, bridling. "I'll work
with
Lisa Giles, but I won't take orders from her."

Amy left the office and came back a few moments later. "Lisa suggests you make a reservation at the Hotel Wentzl in Krakow, and someone will contact us."

John closed his eyes and shook his head. "Are you sure this makes sense?"

Amy nodded. "I really am."

"Okay," John grumbled as he turned back to his computer. "I'll make the reservation."

Shortly after he finished making the reservation, he received a phone call from Chester Cabot, Jessica Lodge's lawyer. "Mr. Andrews," Cabot began. "I just wanted to make sure you and your staff would vacate the newspaper offices no later than five thirty this evening. At that point the doors will be locked and any personal belongings left in the newspaper offices will be forfeit."

"We'll leave tonight when we're good and ready," John shot back. "And if you or any of your goons come in here and try to lock the place before everyone has gotten their stuff out in their own good time, I will personally separate your balls from your scrawny body. Do we understand each other, Cabot?"

"Five thirty, Andrews. Don't push it." Chester Cabot hung up.

By five o'clock that afternoon, they had the final edition of the paper put to bed, and John had finished polishing his first four editorials for the new paper in addition to his farewell for the
Salem News.
Out in the newsroom, the atmosphere was getting emotional as people finished packing up their personal items and getting ready to leave for the last time. Several people, including Lucinda, were dabbing their eyes with tissues as they hugged and reminisced with the others on the staff about all the years they had worked together.

The nine people who would make up the initial staff of the
Salem Observer
were all moving with greater purpose because they all knew what they were going to be doing on Monday morning, but the other thirty-three employees of the old
Salem News
stood in small groups, looking lost and forlorn. John had finished packing up his desk. He walked out of his office at exactly five after five and called out, "My final order is that every single person report to The Old Spot as soon as you carry your stuff out to your car."

He waited as everyone carried boxes of photos and notepads and whatever else to their cars. He and Amy did the same thing, taking their boxes to his car. Afterward, everyone returned to the newsroom and stood in a group looking at him. He could see the tears in almost every eye as he made eye contact with each person. John looked around, taking in the walls, the silence, and the sadness of the empty desks. He opened his mouth, intending to tell them how proud he was of each and every person who'd worked for the paper, how they'd each done an outstanding job, and how as a team they'd combined their strengths to put out a truly excellent paper, day after day, year after year.

He tried to get the words out but felt his throat close up. He took three slow breaths, trying each time to get control, and finally all he could croak out was, "Let's go get a drink."

They walked out of the offices in a single group. John went last. He cleaned out the petty cash drawer and stuffed the money in his pocket, and then, not bothering to turn off the lights or lock the door, he left. He was sure Chester Cabot would be there not a second later than five thirty to lock it for him. If Cabot didn't show up and the place got robbed or burned down, he couldn't have cared less.

THE OLD SPOT WAS CROWDED, AND WHEN PEOPLE
heard why the entire staff of the paper had come en masse, a few phone calls went out and others started showing up, buying drinks for the staff, one round after another. Predictably, Jack Daniels led the group onward, drinking more than anyone else and loudly declaiming they were there to participate in a wake, mourning the death of the
Salem News.
The group, joined by others in the bar and friends who wandered in to join them, proceeded to lurch between tears and hilarity as they told war stories about their years working at the
Salem News.

When he had finally drunk himself into a fair state of inebriation, Daniels raised his glass at the start of a fresh round and in a sonorous voice said, "May Jessica Lodge's saggy old tits rot off in hell."

People hesitated for a moment, and then they all raised their glasses. "Here, here," they chorused.

Warmed by several rounds of drinks, John looked around at his old staff as he raised his glass, wondering how many of them could possibly be members of the Coven. Was it one or two? More? Had Jack Daniels just put his own life in danger by making that toast? John shook his head, hating the paranoia and suspicion that were increasingly guiding his perception of the people around him, but hating even more the knowledge that the people of Salem had held deep and evil secrets for over three hundred years and that for most of that time those secrets had managed to remain buried.

If people like his great-great-grandfather Captain John Bancroft Andrews and Nathaniel Hawthorne had been frightened enough to silence their criticism of the Coven during their lifetimes, he knew the Coven had a power and a reach he should never underestimate. But the fact was he had underestimated both their reach and their determination to protect their own, and as a result they had abducted his daughter.

And now he was about to fly out of the country to find out just how far the Coven's tentacles extended through the world and to "prepare" himself to face Jessica Lodge—whatever the hell that meant—in order to try to get Sarah back safely. He shook his head, feeling a sudden surge of anger that he had no goddamn idea what he was supposed to actually do when he got to Krakow, and he didn't know a thing about the person who was supposed to meet them. And he was doing all of this at whose recommendation: a freaking Wiccan? What the hell was he thinking?

Jack Daniels snapped him out of his angry reverie when he came over and put a huge arm around John's shoulders. "Another toast," Daniels intoned, "to the worst enemy of tangled syntax, inaccurate modifiers, excessive adjectives, and inexactitude of every nature. To a man who hates adverbs the way exterminators hate rats. To a man who sat in the glass office boxing our ears when we were naughty and staring us into submission when we were truculent. To a man whose fairness and courage I cannot dispute, as much as I would like to, because a good Irishman always disputes everything." He squeezed John's shoulders hard and emptied a shot of Bushmills down his throat as the others all cheered and followed suit with whatever they were drinking.

John had been trying to keep himself reasonably sober through the endless chain of toasts, but he realized he was succeeding only to a degree. Suddenly hit by realization that several members of his staff were quite drunk and feeling responsible that no one was killed or arrested on their way home, he grabbed the bartender and told him to take the car keys from anyone who seemed too drunk to drive. John said he would pay for taxis for anyone who needed one, and he counted out six hundred dollars of the money he had taken from petty cash and handed it across the bar.

"That's for the drinks, however many taxis you need to call, and the rest is for you. If it's not enough, let me know and I'll make you good."

John held up a glass and dinged a knife against the side until he got a reasonable amount of silence. "I toast all of you," he said, the liquor in his system giving him the ability to get the words out without choking up. "You have been the best staff. It's been an honor. I will see a few of you on Monday morning, and to the rest of you I wish you all the best luck in the world. If any of you want to come back into the newspaper business after your non-compete has run out, you know where to find us. Good night, good luck, and be safe."

A cheer went up from the others in the bar, but then, as John and Amy got ready to leave, Jackie, Tim, and Bert all came up to him. "We'll walk you home," Hagstrom said.

Surprised, John looked back and forth between them. "That's not necessary."

"Your daughter's missing. We talked it over among ourselves, and we just want to make sure nothing happens to you."

John hesitated, glancing at Amy. They had been trying to keep their new relationship a secret, although something told him that they had not succeeded at all. Amy smiled and shrugged, and John nodded. "Okay, thanks."

They walked in silence the few short blocks back to John's house on Pickering Wharf. When they reached his front door, John turned to face his friends and say goodnight, and Amy came to stand beside him, taking his arm and thereby leaving no trace of doubt in anyone's mind as to the nature of their relationship.

"Thanks again, guys," John said, and the smiles he got back told him that they were pleased for a lot more than just seeing him safely home.

Thirty minutes later John was in bed, while Amy was in the bathroom getting ready. John heard the door open and looked up to find Amy walking to him totally naked. Her legs were long and lean, her hips just wide enough to be feminine, and her breasts full and high with the nipples erect with the chill.

He finally found his voice after several seconds. "Wow," he managed. "You are so totally out of my league. God, you're beautiful."

Amy crossed the room and climbed into bed. She turned on her side and looked at him. "I know you were taken by surprise when Lisa came to the house, and once again, I'm sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it," John mumbled, no longer caring about Lisa Giles or Father Faust or Jessica Lodge and for a few blessed moments, even Sarah.

"How much do you know about witchcraft?" Amy asked

John blinked, surprised by that question and not caring in the least whether he knew anything at all about witchcraft at that particular moment. "Not much."

"Have you ever heard of the Great Rite?"

"No. Does it have something to do with beautiful naked women?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Then I think I'd like to learn."

"Good answer. The Great Rite is where the High Priest and the High Priestess invoke the God and Goddess by performing sexual intercourse to raise the magical energy that is used in their spellwork."

"Are you being straight with me?"

"Yes."

"I don't know why I haven't been a Wiccan all my life."

"Well, it's usually performed symbolically where an athame is used to represent the penis and a chalice is used to represent the womb."

"An athame?"

"A ritual dagger or knife."

"Are we going to be symbolic?"

"No. I'm afraid I don't have a ritual dagger. Do you have one?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well, since neither of us has a ritual dagger, perhaps we'll have to use the real thing. "

"I see."

"Do you approve?"

"Very definitely."

"Then get out of your pajamas and let the High Priestess show you what you need to do."

"Yes, ma'am."

THE FOLLOWING MORNING AFTER AMY EAGERLY
accepted John's suggestion they practice the Great Rite once again, because in his words, "We just need to make sure we get it right," they met Lisa Giles for breakfast at Maria's Place. Lisa had arrived ahead of them, and as John and Amy walked into the small restaurant, Lisa watched them and seemed to come to some sort of conclusion about what might have taken place the night before, because she was smiling warmly by the time they reached the table and sat.

John felt his face coloring, and he sought refuge behind a menu as he pretended to think about what he wanted for breakfast. When the waitress came over, he waited for Lisa and Amy to order then he ordered coffee, juice, and two eggs over easy with whole wheat toast and crisp bacon. He realized he not only had an appetite for the first time in several days, he was famished.