Witch Hunt (34 page)

“Pacifically, I’d say it’s going to rain,” Adrian said with as much authority as he could muster.
Specifically
was his newest word, but he couldn’t quite get the correct pronunciation.

Leigh nodded. “I think you’re probably right.”
Gods, is empathy going to be my gift?
She was appalled at the thought. Hadn’t she suffered enough of her own emotional pain in life? Was she going to have to suffer everyone else’s, too?

“Want you to know that we’re right proud of you, Mom.”

His tone was Craig’s. It was more than she could bear. “I did it because I love you and Kammi. I want us to be a team.”

“What the gods have joined together, let no preacher man put asunder.”

Leigh caught her breath. Had those words come from Adrian? He tugged at the cap’s brim, in a manner reminiscent of Craig. “That’s pacifically speaking, of course.”

“Of course.”

Diane Fox braved the torrential downpour to check her mailbox, and was dismayed to find another one of those unwelcome letters waiting for her. It, too, had the sign of the fish in the upper left hand corner of the envelope where the return address should have been. She considered tossing it away unopened, but her reporter’s instinct for knowing the facts overcame her emotional discomfort, and she slid her razor-sharp letter opener along the top edge. She unfolded the enclosed sheet of white paper and read the typewritten message.

I see that you haven’t yet recanted your earlier printed statements in defense of the Hawthorne witches. You are teetering precariously on the edge of the precipice, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to fall in. Of course, the Devil is most assuredly waiting for your descent, lurking beneath you with his pointed prick at attention. But, then, that might be something you’d enjoy. Because you are a witch-loving whore. The question remains, who — or what — really is the father of your bastard child? Act now, before it is too late.

Like the others, it was unsigned.

Trembling, Diane put it in her dresser drawer with the growing pile. Up until this one, the letters had been an unpleasant nuisance. Now it was worse. They brought Tiffany into the battle, and that was something she couldn’t leave unanswered.

Since she couldn’t respond directly to those responsible, she’d make her reply a public one. She still held the power of the press in her hands.

Jason had never before understood the nature of his power. It had always bothered him that everyone else in the family exhibited their own unique talents from childhood, and he had never demonstrated anything special at all. However, it now seemed as if it had taken this crisis to stir the embers into flame. He now understood that he held the power of the warrior. And he was determined to use it to its fullest.

“I’ve never felt more exhilarated,” he confessed to Gil as they sat together on Jason’s bed, going over the last details of their battle plan. “This is what I was born to do.”

Gil offered a weak smile. “Are you sure we’re not taking this too far?”

“Seriously? Look how far they’ve taken it, over and over again.”

“Why don’t we just hit Preacher Cody? Don’t you think that would be the old ‘nipping it in the bud’ strategy?”

“Because this’ll hurt more. And the plan isn’t to get mad, but to get even.”

“Well, we’re certainly going to do that. And it’s going to be in spades.”

Melanie hadn’t decided that she would rather pursue Essex instead of Frank, but she thought the interest of another man might reawaken Frank’s interest in her. However, before laying out the bait, she wanted to be sure the game was there. So, she didn’t tell Frank she was going to the party at Essex’s farm. She didn’t tell anyone.

On Friday night she rendezvoused with Amber at Happy Daze, and in her Porsche, drove into the country to the old Snyder farm. It was almost dark when they pulled into the driveway at the secluded farmhouse.

The moon loomed low over the horizon, hugging the earth intimately — as a mother and daughter might do. Melanie paused to offer silent homage. Her hand slid down to her belly, and she patted it gently.
I promise you that I’ll be there for you, even if your dad isn’t
. She was determined to give her baby more than she had grown up with. Her father had never been there emotionally for her. No one had ever been there for her.

Essex came out of the house to greet them, and when Melanie rolled down the car window, his spicy tobacco-tinged scent wafted in on the warm summer air. She shivered in response.

He leaned close to her. “Have trouble getting away?”

“We didn’t tell anyone we were coming,” Amber said.

“Well, I’m glad it worked out, love. Do the old man a favor and pull in around back and park with the other cars.”

Melanie did as she was instructed, and, following on foot, Essex helped them from the car. Offering each an arm, he escorted them into his home.

The back porch was screened and opened into a huge, country kitchen. A tall, shapely teenage girl with long, black, heavily ratted hair was removing a cookie sheet from the oven. She was dressed in skin-tight black jeans, a silver-sequined tube top, and what Frank liked to call
CFM
shoes. They were daggerlike spiked heels. Euphemistically, Frank had told Melanie the initials stood for “Come fondle me.” However, when she wore
CFM
shoes for Frank, he ended up doing much more to her than merely fondling. Melanie was dismayed to find herself thinking about Frank; she closed her eyes for a moment and willed him from her mind, then reopened them when Essex introduced the vixen cook.

“This here’s my sis, Lilith.”

“Charmed,” Lilith said in a phony-sounding British accent.

Melanie’s greeting caught in her throat when she noticed the necklace Lilith wore. It was a black inverted pentacle on a silver chain. She took a deep breath and tried not to jump to any conclusions. The Satanic symbol had been adopted by many in the heavy metal music crowd as a badge of rebellion. It was probably nothing.

Essex grabbed a hot sugar cookie off the sheet and gestured for Melanie and Amber to follow him through the Dutch doors that led into the living room, where they were met by a dozen teenagers.

Names like Drac, Pox, Judas, Jezebel, Salome, and Pandora were thrown at Melanie, and the entire crowd dressed like bizarre refugees from a bad vampire movie. The ambience of the room was strictly horror. An open mahogany coffin lined with red satin stood in the middle of the room, and flickering red and black candles were scattered about anchored in holders designed like skulls. An entire wall was decorated with gruesome antique weapons: swords, maces, daggers, and iron collars. Saint-Saens’s “Danse Macabre” played over the sound system, and dusty volumes of
Dante’s Inferno
, Marlowe’s
Dr. Faustus
, and Stoker’s
Dracula
were displayed on end tables. The room was heavy with the smell of basilica, the incense favored in Catholic masses. An upside-down cross hung on the wall over the fireplace.

“Totally,” Amber said with awe.

“Yeah, but totally what?” Melanie asked. She wasn’t comfortable. It was too strange.

A small fountain that resembled a coiled cobra spewed blood-red punch from its fangs; Essex filled two goblets and handed them to the girls.

Melanie declined it. “I think we’re leaving. This doesn’t seem to be the kind of party we expected.”

He grinned. “Oh, don’t be a square. These are just our usual full-moon antics. We do Halloween once a month. It’s fun.” He urged the goblet on her again.

She ignored it.

“Oh, let’s stay a little while,” Amber said, then tasted the punch. “Mmmm. Jesus, this is good.” She drank some more. “Mmmm. Never tasted anything like this. What’s in it?”

“Exotic liqueurs and tropical juices.” He took Melanie’s hand, placed the goblet in it, and wrapped her fingers around the stem. “Don’t be a square.”

Melanie sighed and accepted the cup. She took a small, polite sip and resisted the urge to drain the delicious beverage, as Amber was doing. Her intuition urged caution. “This seems a bit much for a once-a-month deal.”

“I can afford to be extravagant. I’m loaded.” He grinned again, and Melanie felt disarmed. He certainly was attractive.

“So, which of these interestingly named cuties is your number one?” Melanie asked.

“Actually, a bird named Belladonna was my pet until last month. She’s gone now.”

“Too bad,” Melanie said.
Good
, she thought.

“Can I have some more?” Amber thrust the goblet at Essex. “Makes me feel oh so good.”

“Help yourself,” he said.

“Don’t overdo it,” Melanie warned, feeling like an old mother hen.

Amber made a face at her and moved to refill her goblet with the cobra’s venom.

“So, tell me all about being a witch,” Essex said.

Melanie took another small sip of ambrosia. “Not much to tell.”

“So, you really are one?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.”

His magnetic eyes captured hers, and she had to force herself to break the link. She scanned the room. “Where’d you find all these weird people?”

“Boulder, mostly.”

“Boulder does have a lot of oddballs.”

“Are you insinuating that my mates are freaky?”

“Yes, I am. Every last one of them.” Melanie giggled. The small amount of punch was making her feel giddy. That thought was sobering, considering how much of it Amber had drunk. She looked around for her friend and discovered her to be leaning unsteadily against the wall, in deep conversation with a suit of armor.

“Is there someone in that thing?” Melanie asked Essex.

“No.”

Melanie giggled again. “Oh, dear. Maybe we should get her a cup of coffee.”

“Tea?”

“If that’s what you’ve got.”

“Right. Cuppa tea.” He headed for the kitchen.

Melanie put her goblet down on the coffee table and explored the room.

On the mantel of the fireplace, there was a miniature nativity scene, only the infant in the manger wasn’t the baby Jesus; it was some kind of demonic monstrosity. The sight of it upset Melanie. Although not a Christian herself, she had respect for the religious beliefs of others — even though they had never been inclined to extend the same courtesy to her people. That Essex and his friends seemed to revel in such blasphemy increased her growing discomfort.