Pieces of Ivy (28 page)

Vicki couldn’t believe she had accepted the woman’s hand.

There was something dangerously intoxicating about the woman leading her into the night. But the powerful pull was not sexual attraction. The draw was something else, something deeper.
Magic?

Her mind raced at the possibility that she might be charmed somehow, even though she didn’t believe in magic. A deep stirring in Vicki wanted to fully open up to Sky, tell her what the hell was happening to her … seek her help, her guidance—her protection. This had to be within her realm. Yet a deep fear, a mistrust, of this woman lingered, like a dark shadow around the corner of an unfamiliar street—a street where bad things always happened. As the two women folded into the blackness of the night, Vicki realized she hadn’t called anyone to let them know she was here.

The night should have felt cooler, but the gentle movement of the air was comfortable as it flapped her short robe.

The gnarled limbs of the dead trees ringing Sky’s home reached in every dark direction. Shivers explored Vicki’s flesh as she recalled the hateful place in the daylight. She scanned for movement between the trees. Night should feel far worse; but from this side, walking with the witch of the woods, the trees stood as sentry rather than threat.

“Shouldn’t we bring a flashlight or something?”

“Luna and Her sisters provide all the light we’ll need.” She pulled something from a small leather pouch she had tied around her waist and handed it to Vicki. The pea-size nugget looked like a balled-up mash of berry skins, mixed with crushed seeds, nuts and blended flecks of herbs, smelling of sweet mint.

“I’ve adapted to Her light, but that may help you,” she said, nodding for Vicki to eat it.

The woman could have poisoned Vicki with the home-brewed tea earlier, so she decided to trust Sky.

The tiny ball was sour with a gritty texture, though otherwise inoffensive, but it warmed her mouth like a bite of cayenne. The heat morphed into tingles that flushed up her cheeks, into her nasal cavity and then up behind her eyes. The deep contrasts of the forest came into sharp focus as her pupils opened to draw in the echoes of moonlight. Her surroundings remained dark in the night, but her vision sharpened to a manageable level. Not a magical difference, but a marked improvement regardless.
Like carrots on steroids
, she thought.

As they walked through the dark, Sky shared her reverence for her sacred grounds beneath the moonlight. Vicki was entranced by the woman’s passion and belief in her ancient practice. Sky claimed she stood apart from the majority of Wiccans, employing part of their practices and implements, but insisted that her much-older craft was more powerful.

“You will not find my brand of magick in any book.”

While Vicki was impressed with Sky’s deep devotion to nature and the spirits of the natural world, the unnatural magic and occult that weaved throughout her beliefs didn’t resonate with Vicki. What did catch her attention were the warlocks. While uncommon, these male witches did exist.

“Are there warlocks around here?”

“There are three true warlocks within five hundred miles of here, but no more. They come for rituals, but the closest would be Calvin Gray, just north of the city.”

“Did any of them know Ivy?”

“No true Wiccan male would have harmed Ivy. They revere the feminine,” she insisted. “Dabblers, however, are a different story.”

“Dabblers?”

“People interested in the craft for the wrong reasons. They toy with parts of it without understanding and respecting the whole. They’re usually youths with a perverse viewpoint. They seek dark thrills or surface-level gratification, trying to fulfill some sexual fantasy they equate with the Magicks. It’s usually harmless, unless they become frustrated and angry.”

“Do you know any of these dabblers?”

“There are a few in New Brighton. They like to spy on my rituals, fueling their memory for their masturbatory nights.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“The fantasies? No. They’re just being boys. It robs me of nothing if they use me in their dreams. Problems come from their feelings of shame brought on by society’s heavily conflicted and twisted views of sex. Sexual desire is fine and expected. They’re healthy boys. What’s not healthy is their skewed view of the craft and refusal to listen to reason. They didn’t like what I had to say, and I told them not to return.”

Vicki couldn’t reconcile the woman’s relaxed point of view. “So you were alone, naked, around these horny young men, and you weren’t afraid of being raped?”

“Rape is an act of violence. They wanted to have sex with me, so I was in the position of power. If they had wanted to harm me, I would’ve been worried—but they wouldn’t have gotten far.”

She grinned and took Vicki’s hand. “Come, we’re close.”

† †
†

Vicki froze, jerking the witch back. She stared at the stone altar, black against the darkness of the night. Fear seized her. Terror consumed her body.

Sky’s soothing voice offered, “Fear is powerful. And we fear what we don’t understand.”

The dark forest opened to an expanse fifty yards in diameter. A ring of heavy stones, set six feet apart, each linked by a deep channel of charcoals and ash, formed a circle in the center that was ten yards in diameter. A large, seven-foot-wide flat stone sat at the center with its surface leveled at three feet high.

As they approached, Vicki saw it was piled with ashes. She felt as if something was watching her from the spent coals. A gust pushed a swirl of ash and a fanged moonlit smile snarled at her. She screamed.

Sky laughed. “It’s a wolf skull.” She drew it from the black ashes and presented it to Vicki, unconcerned with her soiled hand.

“No thanks.” She looked closer at the ashes as Sky returned the skull. There were charred bits and blackened remains of bones throughout the large pile.

Vicki’s flesh went dark and rigid. “
What is this
?”

Sky patted the massive stone. “This is my fire altar. It’s where I have my bone fires.”

“Bone fires?” Vicki shivered.

“The true origin of
bonfires
, my dear.”

She thought of the skulls on the bridge, branded inside for fair purchase. “No one alive, I hope.”

“Of course not.” Sky laughed. “We burn bones in ceremony to ease the passing of the dead, or carve messages or runes into the bones and burn them to open communications. They can only be short, direct messages to the spirit world. Think of it like Twitter for ghosts.” She smiled. “Only we burn our bone-tweets, sending them via smoke.”

Vicki thought she’d stick with her iPhone. She pictured a roaring
bone fire
reaching for the heavens as the ring of stones came alight in a brilliant circle of flame forming a protective moat around this witch and her skyclad rituals beneath a sable sky.

“With all this lit, it must seem magical.”

“No, it
is
magickal.” She grinned. “It also keeps me well lit for the horny little tree-watchers that brave the woods on just the right nights. A minor consequence.” She shrugged. “While I come here to communicate with my Goddess, we also use the altar during sex rites.”

Vicki fought her overwhelming curiosity.

“My hair is bothering you.” Sky plucked a few platinum strands. “For your sanity.”

Vicki nodded, pretending that was it. A memory of Ivy tugged at her. Vicki returned her gaze to the ash. “The bone fire—”

“Yes, I used it to release Ivy.”

Vicki whispered her shock. “You burned one of Ivy’s bones?” Vicki remembered the severe wound on Ivy’s shin.

“It gave Ivy the power to ease her passing.”

Vicki spun with nothing to grab on to.

“Her shinbone was substantial enough without having to further desecrate her body.”

Vicki fought to keep her tone low. “That’s part of a murder investigation!”

“Ivy was already dead. She had already left her vessel behind. I wasn’t doing her any harm—I was building a bridge.”

The inexplicable horrors of Vicki’s bloody torments came crashing down on top of her. “You. It was you! You attached her to me!”

The self-assured woman went white. “That’s—That’s impossible. A soul will never bond with strangers.”

Vicki’s scream was held bound in invisible chains, and the story of her terrifying hauntings on three occasions was locked in her psyche, so the only argument that would form sounded ridiculous in context. “You can go to prison for this.”

The witch smiled, blind to Vicki’s mental anguish. “That would be unpleasant.”

† †
†

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night. Vicki’s mind ran scared. She didn’t know if her experiences had been a result of Sky’s ritual, touching Ivy’s amulet or a more sinister trigger. Vicki had no context, nothing to grab hold of—no rational explanation. The only thing she knew was that it threatened to destroy her, and she appeared helpless against it. She just prayed it would release her, alive and well, when the case was solved.

Vicki took the offer of the sofa but was too afraid to sleep—not realizing she had until she felt a cool slice on her forearm. “Hold still,” Sky snapped. Vicki froze.

Sky traced a slender feather along the inside of Vicki’s left forearm. The black ink soaked into Vicki’s skin. “Ivy’s didn’t work because it could be taken off … this is better.”

“Let go of me!”

“In a second.” She dipped her feather into a second vial and brushed water across the long onyx talisman etched into Vicki’s flesh.

“What are you doing?”

“Protecting you.”

“I didn’t give you permission!”

“I shouldn’t need it.”

Vicki was startled by the gentle kiss Sky used to seal the symbol on Vicki’s arm.

“No need to thank me, Vicki. It’s the least I can do.”

† †
†

Vicki emerged from Old Church Road into the morning sun—the traumatic crossing no easier than the first—wearing Sky’s jeans, T-shirt and boots—all only one size too big.

She drew out the gifted strands of platinum hair, now black as night. “Impossible.”

“What is?”

She was startled to see Hank leaning against his car across the street, observing her attire.

“Do I wanna know?”

“Someone took my gun.”

“Oh, shit.”

She nodded.
What the hell is he doing here?

And he was about to ask where the hell she had been all night when she said, “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah.”

The sound of fire engines always threw Vicki’s gut on tilt.

Hank looked concerned. “Sounds like a lot of them.”

“Look!” She pointed through the trees, toward downtown.

He saw the growing charcoal plume.

She was already running for his car. “It’s the school!”

They drove up into mayhem, blocked by a wide flow of students crossing the street. Hank pulled off the road and parked on the grass. They cut through the excited swath of gawking teenagers.

Vicki knew it had to be bad. Firefighters were frantically drawing more hoses into the side doors of the gymnasium. Thick smoke pushed through every opening, racing for the sky, but Vicki couldn’t see any flames.

There was a third fire engine across the street with firefighters smashing through the storefront window. She watched a dwarf column of smoke stretch the building’s height. And then a fourth fire truck was pulling up to the small playground in front of the civic center, where an old pump house was smoking.

“Holy shit,” Hank said. “We’ve got an arsonist.”

“Give me your phone.” Vicki pulled up the image. “Oh, no—look!”

Hank scanned his map of the catacombs. Rising plumes marked the nearest catacomb exits to Ivy’s crime scene.

A forensics van was pulled into the trees, away from the fire engines. Hank rushed over to the person sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Terry, was anyone in there?”

“No, we just arrived ten minutes ago. We called it in. We opened the side door and were hit by smoke.”

“The crime scene?”

He nodded. “I think so. I don’t want to bother the firefighters to ask. Sheriff Roscoe just took off to round up more help.” Terry was the team’s newest member but had been with the FBI for over a year. He looked distressed. “Hank, we didn’t get around to pulling out the barrels yesterday—I’m sure that’s what’s burning.”

Shit!
Hank nodded, “Okay, I’m more concerned with what you were able to get out of it.”

“We pulled overtime last night, but Jerry insisted we clear the hidden chamber first. We got a lot from Turner’s scene, but not everything.”

Hank failed to hide his frustration. He returned to Vicki.

She hung up his phone and held it out to him. “The oil drums?”

He nodded.

“How’d they do?” she asked, fearing the answer.

“Got most of the POE stuff. Not all of Ivy’s.”

Vicki’s nails bit into her palms. “Damn it! Somebody set this, Hank. Who was on watch?”

“Probably someone local.”

“I’ll ask Roscoe,” she said. “My car’s been towed there. It’s intact and nothing’s missing, but I need to report my weapon stolen.”

“Keys?”

“Apparently the new key fob for my Vette is ready and Rose is sending her guy over to change the locks on my house.” This was something she couldn’t be more thankful for.

“Well, let’s go then,” he said.

Vicki shook her head. “You mind sticking around? I need to know this doesn’t get any more fucked up than it already is.” She countered when he moved to argue. “I’m a big girl. Just, please, I need you to make sure I have something reasonable to come back to. Can you do that for me, Hank?” She glanced over at the smoldering carnage that she feared was her only lifeline.

† †
†

Roscoe wasn’t there, but Deputy Parsons sat mortified. The sheriff had put her in charge of securing the crime scene, and she had doubled it—forgetting that the killer had knowledge of
all
access points. Securing the school was like only locking one door.

Parsons did pull it together enough to tell Vicki where she could find Roscoe.

In front of the station, Vicki squeezed her steering wheel, knowing the fire would be a huge loss—ten steps backward. The Corvette’s quiet offered too much to contemplate, and the terrors took advantage, leaking again into the forefront of her mind.

† †
†

“And what happens when you die in a dream?” Vicki was eight and snuggled up beneath her big brother’s covers after a particularly scary nightmare.

“You die for real,” Michael admitted to her horror. “But don’t worry, sis,” he promised, answering her whimper. “That never happens.”

“Really?”

He drew his little sister in tighter. “It’s why, when you fall in a dream, you never hit the ground. Your mind always protects itself, even when it tries to scare you. It’s protecting you … keeping you from doing scary things. That’s why, no matter how scary it gets, you’ll never hit the ground.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Vicki rubbed at the ebony symbol marking her arm—it didn’t so much as smudge. Michael was dead and—true or not—Vicki knew the
ground
was coming at her fast.

† †
†

After nearly ten minutes, Vicki found Roscoe’s car parked in front of the Hoods’ hangout on Main Street. She hoped he had answers. The store’s thick air reeked of ink, liquor and boys, as the thrashing black-metal music tore through the store. Racks of profane T-shirts towered between shelves of prank and drug paraphernalia. A glass cabinet filled with vicious blades, long and short, but all deadly, hung behind the counter next to a grim carnival poster—the clown’s eyes stopped her heart.

She stepped up to the shop counter, with no weapon at her side. “Where’s Roscoe?”

Boys circled her. “Donno, beautiful. He left his car out front.”

The one calling himself Joe Blood added, “I’m gonna start charging that asshole for parking.” The boys laughed around her. She knew already that coming in alone, and unarmed, had been a mistake.

Joe hopped over the counter. “But let me guess the real reason you’re here.” He stood too close. “I’m sure it’s a sex crime, and you’re here to investigate.” The boys behind him snickered as leering jeers encircled her.

Naked without her gun, her newfound exposure felt open like a wet wound.

Joe’s twin brother, Ben, grinned. “I bet you need a sperm sample.” He unzipped his fly.

“Best keep the samples warm,” Lee Blood added behind her.

Ben nodded. “Where you want to carry it, sweetheart? Your choice, but if I had a preference, it’d be behind those beautiful teeth of yours.”

“Fuck you,” she said, masking her terror.

“If you prefer.”

“Whoa, fellas. Let’s be reasonable,” Joe said. “She’s gotta carry samples from every one of us—that’s just good police work.” He leaned toward her, smiling, as she tensed against his tobacco breath. “We’ll need to spread it around her holes a bit.”

Wanting to scream back at them—threaten them—Vicki’s overtaxed body tried restraining her heart’s rapid pounding as her fight response quickly gave way to flight. While her training taught her to ignore malicious and offensive taunts, these felt more like a chilling promise. She fought to conceal her fear, but the growing grins across their faces warned that she was failing. “I have to go.”

“What?
So soon
? You haven’t even got what you come for.”

The circle tightened.

“Please, let me go.”

“
Please
. Aah, that’s so sweet. I like polite girls. They tend to be so much cleaner between their legs.”

“Umm hmm, yummy.”

The pack’s howls were cut short by the buzz of the opening door.

“Open a hole,” Roscoe yelled.

“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Two boys opened a narrow gap forcing her to slide between them as they humped their pelvises at her.

“Your beater out there’s in good shape, Sheriff. Made sure no one touched it for you.”

Roscoe ignored him and escorted his trembling companion out the door.

Joe called after the sheriff, his threat slithering between his teeth. “Next time, leave your keys, John. I’ll check on those leaky brakes for ya—they can be
dangerous
.”

“You know better than to go in there by yourself,” Roscoe whispered. “Especially looking the way you do. They’re like fuckin’ wolves.”

† †
†

Vicki had hoped Roscoe would have more answers for her but he was at a loss. He had harshly defended Deputy Parsons when he didn’t have to. By his reactions, she could tell he felt justified to be just as upset as Vicki.
He has no idea.

Moving through this town without her partner felt odd. Originally unhappy about the arrangement, she had grown accustomed to Dashel’s presence. Without her gun felt worse. Roscoe promised her a loaner by suppertime.

God, I have to pee,
she thought. She scanned the Main Street storefronts looking for the most likely rest spot.

Vicki didn’t see the muscular man on the corner—his gray hoodie hung low over his face and his hands pushed into its deep pockets—quietly watching her.

She hurried to Becker’s Bakery, its bell announcing her escape from the hot sun. The man behind the counter appeared to be locking his cash box when he said, “Sorry, I’m about to close up for an hour.” Mr. Becker turned to see Vicki. “Oh.” He looked her up and down, but the older man flushed at his own audacity. “Sorry, my dear, I have to run out for supplies. Do you mind coming back in an hour?”

“Actually, may I use your restroom?”

He paused for a moment, flashing a blend of panic and annoyance. “I need to go before my supplier closes. I’ll lock up behind me. You just need to turn the lock when you let yourself out, and it’ll lock behind you.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“I saw you at the town hall, Agent Starr. I know who you are. Besides, you’re not going to retire to Fiji by stealing a few loaves of my fabulous marble rye.”

“Thanks.”

He motioned to the back as he left. She found the restroom just past the set of three small tables with matching chairs. A cute spot for a quick coffee and a muffin. The tiny ladies’ room had a single stall and small counter with a sink.

She was surprised to find such a low window in a public restroom; she could easily see into the back lane and any passersby would be able to see who was washing her hands.
Small towns
. She dropped her jeans and panties, and settled into the stall, both impressed and grateful at how clean the restroom was.

She relaxed and contemplated her smoldering crime scene. The familiar tingle suddenly cinched tight and stopped along with her breath.

The door to the restroom whined slightly as she heard the creak of a heavy footstep. Mr. Becker said he would be gone for at least an hour. Her heart hammered. “Hello?”

A water balloon struck the wall above her head dousing her in fluid.
Gasoline!