Earth Witches Aren't Easy Page 4

  “I don’t know. I don’t get that crazy, sick bastard. I’m not a forensic psychologist. That was your specialty.”

  “Not anymore,” I spat bitterly and looked over at him as the lightning flashed. His expression full of harsh lines, pained and haunted, reminded me of that night in the hospital.

  Jack arrived at the hospital less than an hour after the ambulance brought me in that night. I faded in and out of consciousness, but I remember him standing there and grasping my hand. I remember his voice repeating a litany over and over. “Hold on,” he’d muttered, endlessly. He told me he came for me, and I clung to his familiar voice and strength. Nancy’s face flashed in and out of those memories. They wheeled me into surgery and Jack’s face stopped at the door, but his words were my lifeline.

  When I woke up several hours later in the hospital bed, Jack slept in the chair next to the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked like hell with deep shadows under his eyes and dark stubble rough on his face. Every day, Jack and Gran played pep squad at my bedside. Nancy came and went, checking on all three of us. Jack took me home after my release. My trio of nurses traded rotations at the hospital for rotations in Gran’s three bedroom ranch house. A fresh recruit with the FBI, Jack immersed himself in the Oakes case. I never understood how a rookie got assigned to such a case.

  “Chance, if Oakes is starting again, I want you in protective custody for a while.” Jack’s words sounded alien, and I tossed him the mutinous look he knew I would. I wasn’t going back into the kind of padlocked security they’d kept me in for that year between the attack and Oakes’ alleged death. “Chance, please, you’re his only victim who survived. He’s killed twenty-three girls.”

  “Twenty-four now,” I replied absently, calmer now. Calm was good. My self-control returned itself. “And no, Jack. I am not going into a cage. I lost a year of my life because of him, and I can’t…I won’t do that again.”

  “I knew you were going to say that,” he growled, but it lacked conviction. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to take a long vacation?”

  “To where? You know I can’t leave this area very easily.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, the witch thing.”

  “The witch thing.” I rolled my eyes at his tone and went back to my cigarette, only to discover I’d smoked it down to the filter. I snuffed out the end and shoved it in my pocket. I didn’t have an ashtray and didn’t want to litter.

  Jack shook out another cigarette and handed it to me. I said nothing, just took it and let him light it like the last one. Another long, harsh drag and my toes uncurled from their locked position, as I forced myself to relax and let go of the tension.

  I couldn’t leave Northern Virginia. That witch thing Jack referred to was my bond to the Earth here. When Gran died, I inherited a lot of hedge witch stuff from her. One of those things was the bond with the Earth of our forbearers. Being responsible for the upkeep of Northern Virginia limited my boundaries. I couldn’t go much further than a few miles in any direction outside of them for any longer than a few hours before the unbearable ache to return drove me mad. I tested the boundaries once. Never again. The land needed me here, and I needed Her. We were irretrievably bound. In other words, there were no trips to Disney World in my future.

  Ever.

  “Then I’m moving in,” Jack announced.

  “Excuse me?” I whipped my gaze back to his face. Determination etched into his expression. “Jack…”

  “Nope, no arguments. I almost lost you once, and that is not happening again. No arguments, no bullying, and no temper tantrums. Betty’s got a guest room downstairs in the back. I know she’ll let me stay. Especially if I tell her what is going on.”

  “You will not tell her.” Resolute force filled me. “I do not want her to go through what Gran did.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll come stay for a nice long visit. We can get reacquainted and hang out like we used to. It’ll be fun. Besides, I’ve missed Betty’s cooking.” He wasn’t smug about it. Well, not much. He could stay and the idea made me feel a little better. My stomach twisted. Oakes didn't need to find me again. He never came at me after that first attack, but how much of that was the layers of protection wrapped around me?

  “Yeah, you can stay. But you get to do the dishes while you’re here.” I sucked down more of the nicotine. Maybe my nerves would stop jangling like wind chimes in a hurricane if I got enough of it into me.

  “You always stick me with dishes,” he accused lightly, but a smile hid in his voice. Damn, it was good to see Jack again, but he sure as hell could have brought better news to my door. Together we stood on the porch, talking a little, but mostly just smoking and watching the rain.

  Four

  I know I'm supposed to appreciate a sun drenched morning, particularly when it pours in the window. Unfortunately, all the bright light offered was a fresh headache.

  Romeo lay curled up between my legs, half-snoring, half-purring with contentment. He’d practically glued himself to me when I’d finally stumbled to bed around two in the morning. My clothes lay strewn on the floor where I’d stripped out of them, and the sheets provided the cool haven I sought. Jack and I spent hours not talking on the porch. The familiarity became a balm against his bombshell news.

  It took an hour of meditating, quietly, with only Romeo’s purrs as accompaniment, before I allowed sleep to claim me. I certainly didn’t want Randall Oakes in my dreams. I started to roll over when I heard the floorboard creek next to the bed. Fear pumped adrenalin through me. My eyes bolted open to see Jack standing there, a hot cup of coffee steaming in each hand.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. Sorry to wake you.” He held up the coffee mug as a gesture of peace.

  “Jack,” I croaked out. I cleared my throat and fumbled for the shreds my dignity. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

  “Brought you some coffee. I know it’s only nine, but we need to go downtown for a bit. The agent in charge wants to talk to you and I told them I'd bring you in if you're up for it.”

  “Jack,” Heat flooded through me—the embarrassed kind. “I’m naked here.”

  “So?” He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed and held the coffee cup out to me invitingly. “Come on, it’s your favorite. Sugar with a little coffee on top.”

  “Jack!” Outrage, equal parts exasperation and embarrassment, left my heart shaken and my blush stirred. I didn't dare let his boyish charm get to me. Romeo let out a squeak of protest as I sat up and kept the blanket firmly attached to my chest. “I’m naked here.”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, I know you like fresh coffee first thing in the morning.” He took the charming route, still holding the coffee out. I glared at him and took the mug with my free hand. I knew my hair must be sticking up five ways from Sunday, and probably a pillow indentation decorated my face. But, damn it, my room—my rules. And we're not lovers anymore. I refused to be self-conscious about my appearance in here.

  “That was nearly ten years ago. Out…” That's it, take control and kick his ass to the curb. He needs to remember our boundaries.

  “Hey, I brought you coffee.” He spread his arms wide, the picture of innocence.

  “Get out of my room before I hex your balls into a knot!” I growled the last. He laughed, but retreated—eyes twinkling. Did he have to be so damn adorable even when he irritated the snot out of me?

  “Think you can be ready to go in about thirty minutes?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Get out!” I flung a pillow after him for emphasis. Unfortunately, I loosened my hold on the blanket to do it, and the little snotweed turned around and wolf-whistled before diving out the door.

  It shut behind him and I blew out a breath. Glancing down at my bare boobs, hopefully he didn't notice his effect on them.

  Friends. We're friends. And if I repeated that long enough, someone was bound to believe it.

  Maybe even me.

  ~ * ~

&n
bsp; “Where are we going again?” Lack of sleep combined with stomach churning bad news did not a happy Chance make.

  “Field office. Agent in charge wants to talk to you. He might

  interview you again to bring the case files up to date.” Apparently the invitation turned to a direction and it irritated him to no end. “I’m sorry you have to go through this again, Chance. But…”

  “Yeah, I know. The only survivor. They have all my previous interviews on tape. They certainly did enough of them, so why drag it all back up now?” I knew the answer to my own question. A serial killer, allegedly dead, picks up where he left off eight years previously, seemingly from nowhere. Of course, they would trot down the only living witness for an interview. I resigned myself to this familiar dog and pony routine from the moment Jack told me he received a call. It wasn't that uncommon for a new profiler to interview earlier witnesses in order to put together a new file.

  “It’s just procedure, Chance.” Jack started to flick what remained of his cigarette out the window, but thought better of it after a glance at me. I held out the ashtray for him. “I don’t expect it to take longer than a couple of hours. Then we’ll head back to Betty’s.”

  “Good.” I glanced at my watch. It approached ten a.m. “I need to drive out to Purcellville this afternoon.”

  “Purcellville?”

  “Work. I have a client, and I need to finish some work. I thought I’d head back early this morning, before you know…” I waved my hand, gesturing toward him. Yeah, definitely not as calm as I pretended to be, because the closer we seemed to be getting the less I wanted to be there. “Jack, do you think they’re going to catch him this time?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not going to lie. It was a real bitch the last time around. Of course, forensics is better now. We also know a lot more about him now than we did then. We will catch him. I don’t care how long it takes.” I tried to find some comfort in his confidence. Jack’s badge was like a talisman to him, a ward against all that was evil and unjust in the world.

  “I hope so. Harvest is coming soon and I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Like what?”

  I shrugged, putting out the remainder of my cigarette in the car’s single tiny ashtray. “Like blessing the first season’s harvest, working with the late crops, turning around the fields that aren’t doing so well. Harvest and Planting are my two busiest seasons.”

  “You know, Chance…” He started again with that conciliatory tone. He never bought any of Gran’s explanations, or mine. Jack was a see it, touch it and test it before he’d believe in it kind of guy. He just didn’t understand anything else. I know he humored me as much as anything, but it annoyed me that after all these years the reality of me continued to be something of a joke. “It’s great that you keep your grandmother’s legacy alive for some of those old fogies. But you don’t seriously need to go all over creation and bless the crops, do you?”

  “Yes, Jack. I do.” I kept it simple and non-argumentative. No point in trying to convert someone who wasn’t interested, or start a fight with my oldest and dearest friend. Besides, Jack would just have to see for himself. “And because you’ve appointed yourself my babysitter for the interim, you’ll have to go with me.”

  “Into cow fields?” He tossed me a skeptical look. “In three hundred dollar loafers?”

  “We’ll get you some boots.” I smiled serenely. “Besides, you ought to get a taste for mucking it up.”

  Jack groaned. “I don’t suppose I could bribe you into skipping this year’s harvest plans for a few weeks. Maybe push it back until we catch Oakes?”

  “No can do, my friend. Nature waits for no man. Her seasons turn as she wills them to, and when the time for the harvest comes, my job is to be out there doing my part. Think of it as being a midwife for the Earth, if that makes you feel any better.” I could already see the wheels spinning in his head. He probably conjured images of painted faces dancing naked around a fire, of singing songs in a gobbledy gook language. I resisted the urge to Gibbs slap him.

  “Yes, I think of midwives trudging through cow pucks each and every day. Not to mention the bugs and the mud.” He grumbled, but in good nature. I knew Jack. He’d go. Maybe it would teach him a thing or two.

  It wouldn’t take much for Randall Oakes just to come…Avert. Yeah, let's skip that dark and winding road.

  Randall Oakes would not control my life, my actions, my thoughts or my dreams. He'd caused me enough pain, dammit. I refused to let him cause me anymore. I concentrated on Enya’s soothing voice on the car stereo for several long moments until all thoughts of Oakes faded away. I’d just about achieved a measure of comfort when the car banked into a parking lot of one of those nondescript, brown-bricked office building campuses. They were everywhere, without much to distinguish one from the other, save the signs hung at the entrances. Jack trolled through the parking lot, finally pulling up in front of a set of unmarked doors, except for three lonely numbers stenciled onto the front door.

  “Ready?”

  “Sure.” I eyed the numbers. I’m not superstitious about numbers, but “555” disturbed me. It niggled at the back of my mind like an irritating bug bite that demands a scratch even though it’s better to ignore it. The number 555 meant a life-changing event just happened or will happen.

  A life changing event that you have to follow whether you like it or not. Some days, I really wish Gran and my old friend Sydney kept numerology to themselves.

  Here I go again.

  Five

  The elevator opened and we stepped onboard. Leaning back against the small rail that decorated the center of the wall, my gaze seemed unnaturally attached to my shoes. The closer we came to our actual destination, the more reluctant I became. As if on cue, the elevator dinged our arrival at the fifth floor. The metal doors swooshed open to reveal dark green carpeting stretching the length of hallway. The walls and carpeting both bisected by a geometric pattern of alternating squares, triangles and circles, the room looked like eighth grade math gone mad.

  Leaving the elevator, I shuffled my feet. I really didn’t want to be here. If I were five, I’d be tugging at Jack’s arm and pulling in the other direction. It took conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other, and Jack shot me a worried frown. When we arrived at a pair of broad wooden doors, he swiped a card through a small electronic reader, and I heard a distinctive click as the lock released. I avoided his questioning gaze and stepped into the reception room. Ordinary in every aspect, quite similar to a doctor’s waiting room,. Wooden armed chairs offset by corner tables sporting a variety of magazines from Woman’s Day to Sports Illustrated. Nondescript, abstract watercolors added to the overall vanilla decorating theme.

  Pretty much everything about the room appeared designed to be psychologically soothing. Unfortunately, it seemed to have only a little effect on my psyche. I decided to get a grip on myself, right then and there. My breathing became shallow. The first vestiges of a panic attack built. Jack's revelations rattled me far more deeply than I believed. Standing in this pale peach room, fleeing filled my thoughts. I wanted to run as far and fast as I could. I wanted nothing to do with this investigation, but it was blatantly impossible to escape my own involvement. Oakes saw to that eight years before.

  “Hang out here a sec. I’m going to see if they’re set up.” I nodded slightly to let Jack know I’d heard. The only thing missing from the otherwise perfectly normal appearance of the reception room was, of course, a receptionist. I slowly sat down in one of the vinyl-cushioned chairs and forced my hands to relax on the armrests. I ordered my body to obey me, one fiber at a time. The taut muscles in my neck began to release and my breathing steadied. I lowered my eyelids halfway, shielding them from the fluorescent lighting. The lack of windows blocked me from any tangible view to the world outside, but I didn’t need to see it to sense it. A lot of metal and concrete separated us, my old companion Earth and I, but I thrust my senses out until they encountered He
r.

  The simple act of grounding myself helped me regain my center and my perspective. By the time Jack returned from the depths of the offices, I found my composure. He frowned slightly at my relaxed, changed expression, but I ignored that in favor of lifting a questioning eyebrow.

  “Jamison is here, and he wants to speak to you first.” He motioned for me to follow him. “Jamison is the senior agent in charge of Special Crimes division. Oakes falls under his jurisdiction because of the special circumstances.”

  “Like returning from the dead?” I asked dryly. The smart ass comment bolstered me nearly as much as the brief moments spent meditating.

  “Something like that.” Jack held the door for me, and I stepped from soothing pastels into the armed camp of wood paneled walls and boldly placed surveillance cameras, computer screens and institutional grey carpet. Jack led the way through the warren of offices to a conference room tucked behind frosted glass windows. All the hard edges threw my balance off further. The door to the conference room swung inward as we approached, and a tall ebony-skinned man filled the framework.

  “Miss Monroe?” he inquired, extending a hand that virtually engulfed mine as I took it. I always thought of Jack as a big guy, but this man dwarfed him. “I’m Special Agent Jamison. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “I’m sure, Agent Jamison.” I fished up a smile and firmly affixed it to my face. “But because we’re not going to get that opportunity, it’d be better to just make the best of what we have, wouldn’t you say?”

  He laughed in a deep, rich baritone filled with amusement. “I like you, Miss Monroe.”

  “I think you’d like me even better if you called me Chance. Miss Monroe sounds like a school teacher.” Yes, I know how to set the agent at ease.

  “All right, Chance. My friends call me Billy. Why don’t you come in and sit down? I’ve already got some coffee, but we can get you a danish or something if you’re hungry.” He stepped back out of the direct path to allow me entrance. Paneled in dark oak, the conference room, window overlooked the parking lot and a small man-made pond. The landscaping offered an alternative to the concrete and metal.