Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation (9 page)

It became quickly obvious after only a few
moments study that the healthy pile of books held none of the
answers I sought. Reference material about The Craft didn’t deal
with the horrors I had only recently witnessed, and any other
historical texts in my possession touched on it only briefly.
Feeling this avenue now closed, I pushed the books off to the side
of my desk and switched on my personal computer. A few keystrokes
and mouse clicks later, I was logging in to my local Internet
service provider and merging with the electronic fast lane of the
information superhighway. I navigated through the various starting
pages and came to rest at my objective, a database search screen. I
began my quest for information by typing in the keywords HUMAN
SACRIFICE and clicking on the SUBMIT icon. If my service provider
happened to be randomly monitoring this line, I mused silently,
they were probably thinking I was some kind of psychopath. The
status lights on the modem flickered quickly, and the screen
re-painted itself, displaying the online addresses of the various
matching World Wide Web sites.

The majority of the web pages listed dealt
with historical text and benign non-literal references such as
those sacrifices one person makes for another. I was simultaneously
pleased and demoralized by the listing of sites that purported to
be reservoirs of information regarding active religions that
encouraged the actual sacrificing of a human victim. Upon closer
inspection, they were obviously no more than idle electronic
chatter, but they contained information I felt might be useful.
Still, I was violently disgusted by the fact that anyone would
claim to subscribe to such beliefs. The world really didn’t need
any more sickos than it already had.

When all was said and done, I had conducted
several searches of the “Web” using keywords ranging from BLOOD
SACRIFICE to FLAYING. With each of these searches turning up a
listing of site addresses, I easily investigated over one hundred
web pages within a few hours. The information I gathered held
references to historical events and dead religions, as well as
fictional books and horror movies. All of it told me that I was on
the right track in my belief that the killer was practicing for an
invocation ritual, but it still didn’t tell me who or what he was
trying to invoke.

The digital clock resting in the corner of my
monitor screen attested to the fact that the afternoon had slipped
by virtually unnoticed. It was rapidly approaching time for our
meeting with Ariel’s coven, and I knew Ben would be arriving early.
I logged off the network and shut down my computer after the
printer spit out the last of the information I had sent to it. Much
to my chagrin, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I made
my way downstairs. My clothing was disheveled, my hair matted and
stringy, and my face pallid and drawn. Overall, I looked like death
warmed over. A glance at my watch told me I still had some time, so
I decided to become acquainted with hot water and a bar of
soap.

* * * * *

I was just climbing out of the shower when
Felicity poked her head in the door and told me Ben had arrived. By
the time I finished drying off and throwing on some clothes, the
two of them were parked at the dining room table. I joined them and
helped myself to a mug of hot ginger-mint tea.

“I did some research on invocation rites.” I
indicated the sheaf of papers I had brought down from my office.
“Pretty general stuff. Not much help to be honest.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” Ben nodded as he
spoke. “So, Red Squaw here was tellin’ me you had a hard time of it
after I dropped ya’ off this afternoon.”

“Nightmare I guess,” I told him. “I’ll get
over it.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, unconvinced. “By the
way, I dropped in on your old man.”

“I thought you might,” I nodded. “How’d he
handle it? Should I be expecting a call?”

“Prob’ly not. I didn’t wanna get him all
worked up, so I told him I was in the area and just stopped in to
say hi.”

“Were you able to find out what you
needed?”

“Yeah. I managed ta’ fit it into the
conversation.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, no prob, white man.”

During our conversation, Felicity had
remained steadfastly silent. It suddenly dawned on me that she
hadn’t expressed any interest in the somewhat cryptic exchange, so
I turned my attention to her side of the table. A familiar file
folder lay open across an equally familiar envelope near the
center. A thick stack of crime scene photographs were spread neatly
before my wife. One of the glossy monstrosities was resting
carefully between her fingers as she studied it intently. All the
while, she absently chewed on her lower lip as she
concentrated.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I sputtered,
nearly choking on a mouthful of hot tea.

“Catching up,” Felicity spoke without looking
up from the pictures.

“Dammit Ben!” I turned to him. “Are you out
of your mind?!”

“Hey!” He held his hands up defensively. “She
told me you wanted her ta’ look at ‘em.”

“It’s not his fault, then,” she stated,
deftly laying the photo she was studying on to a stack then looking
up at me. “That’s what I told him.”

“Well forget it,” I exclaimed and started
reaching for the grisly prints. “I don’t want you looking at these
things.”

“NO!” Felicity angrily snapped, grabbing my
wrist and forcing my hand away. “I didn’t ask you what you
wanted!”

“Wh-wh-what?” I stammered, surprised by her
sudden outburst.

“I’m not letting you get away with it this
time, Rowan,” she stated, an emerald fire of determination blazing
in her eyes as she held my gaze. “You’re always trying to protect
me. I know why you do it…” Her voice softened. “But I’m a grown
woman, not a child. I saw what this experience did to you this
afternoon, and I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and watch it
tear you apart. I’m going to help.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself
into,” I pleaded.

“And you do?” she shot back. “You yourself
admitted that Ariel ripped through your defenses and almost took
over. We both know that something like that could kill you.”

“Excuse me?” interjected Ben, who had
remained quietly neutral until this point. “Whaddaya mean, kill
‘im?”

“If a spiritual entity,” Felicity explained,
turning her attention to him, “manages to take control, especially
in the case of something such as this, and plays out the last
moments of its physical life, it will repeat the event with the
channeling host.”

“Are you tryin’ to tell me that Ariel
Tanner’s spirit or somethin’ would kill him?” Ben asked, still
confused.

“Not on purpose,” she continued. “But if she
was in control of his physical body and re-experienced her death,
the shock could kill him, yes.” She returned her gaze to me. “You
didn’t bother to tell him that did you?”

“I didn’t think I would need to worry about
it,” I answered sheepishly.

“Jeezus H. Christ!” Ben
exclaimed. “This is fuckin’ nuts! All I’m tryin’ to do is solve a
murder here, and I got some kinda weird ass
Twilight Zone
episode going on around
me.”

We both turned to look at him as he threw up
his hands in exasperation and fell back in his chair. After a
moment, he again leaned forward and rested his forearms on the
table. He quietly looked from my face to Felicity’s then down at
the table.

“Listen,” he said, “I’ve always figured you
two for a coupl’a tree-huggin’ agnostics or somethin’, which I got
no problem with. You know that. But, I don’t really know much about
this whole Wicca-slash-WitchCraft thing, and ta’ be honest, I’m not
sure if I wanna know any more.” He paused as if trying to pick his
words carefully. “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but this mornin’
I saw some stuff that I can’t explain. Right now I’m willin’ ta’
accept it. But, I also saw my best friend rollin’ around on a floor
clawin’ at his chest like he was havin’ a coronary or some shit
like that. Now,” he pointed a finger at me and brought his gaze up
to meet mine, “YOU start bein’ straight up with me if there’s some
kinda risk involved.” He then shifted his attention to Felicity.
“And YOU. Watch his back or whatever you Witches do. Okay?”

“You can count on it,” she told him, her face
spreading into a smile.

“Yeah,” I added, “you’re right.”

“Okay,” he said, relaxing and settling back
in his seat. “So R.J. and company are s’posed to be here in about
half an hour. You palefaces wouldn’t happen to have a slab of
buffalo or somethin’ around here would ya’? I’m starved.”

B
en
had demolished a plate of sandwiches by the time the doorbell rang.
At the sound, the dogs immediately shifted into territorial
protection mode and yelped riotously. The cats, which had been
entertaining themselves in a free-for-all wrestling match,
scattered. Salinger, our Himalayan, was the only feline left to be
seen, and he was perched well out of reach on the exposed rafters
of the living room.

When Felicity and I remodeled our house, we
had vaulted the ceiling in an effort to create a lofty, open feel.
The cats had discovered the rafters and learned, to their great
delight, that they afforded both a safe haven and a bird’s eye view
of everything that happened in the room. Salinger sat upon them
now, intently studying the scene below. It was clear he thought
something interesting was about to happen.

I answered the door as Ben assisted Felicity
in setting out platters of freshly made sandwiches and honey cakes
along with a large thermal carafe of iced chamomile tea, as it had
inherent calmative properties. We wanted the surroundings to be as
comfortable and hospitable as possible for this group.

To Wiccans, the death of a brother or sister
of The Craft is supposed to be considered a graduation, an
advancement to the next level of learning, and therefore treated
not as a time of sorrow but as a time of celebration. I assumed the
members of the group would be of roughly the same age as R.J.
Because of this, I suspected that this was the first time any of
them would be dealing with the crossing over of a fellow Witch.
This fact, combined with the circumstances of Ariel’s death, was
likely to bring on grief as opposed to happiness.

Once the necessary questioning was finished
this evening, Felicity and I would be taking it upon ourselves to
offer counsel to this leaderless coven and help them along their
path.

Swinging the door open, I was greeted by a
small huddle on my front porch. Apparently, Ariel’s coven believed
in safety in numbers, and they had elected to descend upon us as a
group. Turning, I commanded our two boisterous canines to sit. They
immediately planted themselves where they stood, though Quigley,
the Australian cattle dog, continued to whine quietly. With the
commotion settled, I returned to the task at hand and pushed the
screen door open with a smile.

“Rowan Gant?” a young brunette queried.

“That’s me,” I answered. “Come on in.”

I held the door as the five of them filed in
and proceeded to nervously mill about in my living room. I closed
the door, turned to our guests, and noticed that there were no
familiar faces.

“How many more of you should we be
expecting?” I asked.

“This is it,” replied the brunette guardedly.
She had apparently been elected speaker for the group. “Except for
R.J.”

“I noticed he was missing,” I returned,
smiling. “Didn’t he come with you?”

“No,” she answered. “We aren’t sure where he
is. He called all of us and said to be here at seven tonight.”

“Well,” I proceeded, “I’m sure he’s just
running a little late.” I held out my hand to her. “Since he’s not
here to do the introductions, I suppose we should do that
ourselves. Obviously, you have me at a bit of a
disadvantage...”

“Calliope,” she said, taking my hand. “But
everyone calls me Cally.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Cally proceeded solemnly around the group,
and I was introduced to Shari and Jennifer, two blonde young women
who were obviously identical twins. Continuing, I met a tall, lanky
young man with hair the color of a ripened tomato named Randy and
finally, his wife, a statuesque woman with dark, penetrating eyes
and coal black hair. Her name was Nancy. I led them through the
archway into our dining room and repeated the introductions for
Felicity and Ben.

“So where’s the kid?” Ben asked, referring to
R.J. as he surveyed the group.

“He seems to be running a little late,” I
told him, adding a sharp look to encourage a bit more tact.

“Why doesn’t everyone have a seat and get
comfortable,” Felicity interjected, slicing surgically through the
tension in the room then motioning to the serving platters on the
table. “If anyone is hungry, please help yourself. That’s what it’s
here for.”

We had installed both leaves in the table,
and it was more than large enough to accommodate the small
gathering comfortably. There was a noticeable amount of distance
kept by the group between themselves and us, especially Ben. I had
a feeling that the brushed stainless, nine-millimeter pistol
nestled under his arm in a shoulder holster played a role there, as
he had draped his jacket over a chair, leaving the handgun exposed.
He had done this purposely, I was sure, using it as an intimidation
tactic on this youthful group.

It was apparent that the four young women had
attempted to apply an appropriate amount of makeup to their faces
in order to disguise the fact that they had been crying. It was
also obvious, even to a casual observer, that Randy had shed a few
tears as well.