Red Witch: Book Two of the Wizard Born Series (24 page)

Rita pointed to the pot next to Fred’s feet.

“You’re kidding, right?” Fred said.

“No,” Rita said. “If we unchain you to go to the bathroom, you might run off.”

You bet your booties I will.
“I’m not peeing in that!” Fred glanced at the pot.

“It’ll be fine. That’s what people used in the old days.”

“This isn’t the
old days
.”

“Tough,” Rita said curtly, obviously growing annoyed. “Use the pot or wet yourself.”

Cassandra stepped closer. “It’ll be okay, Grace Mary, I mean, Fred. I used to use one at my grandma’s house when I was little. It’s not so bad. I’ll dump it out for you and everything.” She flashed a hopeful smile.

This is getting worse by the minute.
Fred eyed the pot, then looked back at the women. “How about toilet paper?”

“Oh, we forgot. I’ll bring you some.”

“And how am I supposed to take a bath?”

“Use this.” Rita pointed to the wash stand.

“No way.”

Rita clenched her jaw for a moment before continuing, “Use it or stink, it’s all the same to me.” She turned and stomped out of the room, leaving Cassandra behind,

Cassandra winced, clenching and unclenching one long-nailed hand. “It’ll be fine, Honey. I’ll help you wash your hair. I’ll bring in a big tub. It’ll be fun.”

Oh. Loads of giggles.
“And how about clean clothes…and deodorant and stuff? I don’t have anything but this.” She pulled at the hem of her dress.

“Oh, damn.” Cassandra scratched her jaw. “We didn’t think about that. I’ll run to the store and get you some panties and toothpaste and stuff, and…and maybe you can wear some of Izzy’s old dresses.”

“Who’s Izzy/”

“Isabelle. She was our other witch, but she died. That’s why you’re here.” Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes grew wide. “Damn. Shouldn’t a’ said that. Anyway, I’ll run to the store right now. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

How could I?
Fred watched the tall woman leave. She stared at the closed door, her heart racing.
They’re witches? What do they want with me?

* * *

Rita was sitting at the big table, staring out the window, smoking and fuming, when Cassandra came out of Fred’s room. “Whoo!” Cassandra said. “She’s a feisty one.”

“A little too feisty, in my opinion.”

“No, she’s got
spark
. We don’t want a little weenie wall-flower, do we? Besides, Izzy had more pluck than you and me put together, and that worked out fine.”

“We don’t need another Izzy. We just need a good witch.”

“Well, I like her. I think she’s gonna be great.” She picked up her purse from the table and pulled out the car keys.

“Where are you going?”

“I gotta run to the store and get her some things…underwear and stuff.”

“Are you her little errand-girl now?”

Cassandra put one hand on her hip. “No, I’m not. She’s got nothing — no panties, no deodorant, no soap — nothing. Do you want to give her some of yours?”

Rita blew a stream of smoke toward the open window. “No, ’course not.”

“Then quit bitchin’. And try to be nice to her, Rita. You didn’t exactly get off to a good start with her.”

“No.”
I really didn’t. I didn’t mean to snap
. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Well…do me a favor and don’t go in there while I’m gone. At least not ’till you get more sleep.”

Rita nodded absently, and Cassandra left.

* * *

Carl leaned against a telephone pole, closed his eyes, and let out a long, deep sigh.
Man I’m tired. My feet hurt, too
. He’d been canvassing their neighborhood since sunup, along with two other officers, trying to find a lead, but so far, he didn’t have much. The only neighbor who had anything to offer was Mrs. Wysoki, the busy-body widow who lived two doors down from Fred. She said she saw a dark, older model car, parked on the street in front of her house the previous night, but she couldn’t tell what color or make it was, and she didn’t remember seeing anybody in it.

That’ll make a good all-points bulletin. Be on the lookout for an old dark car.
He rubbed the back of his aching neck and grimaced.
Maybe I’d better go down to the station again. I’ll come back to the neighborhood later when everybody’s home from work.

* * *

Jamie pulled the car into his driveway beside the big white Buick, and Rollie said, “Looks like your Gramma’s here. Think she brought brownies?”

“Dang, Rollie. Fred’s missing, and you’re thinking about food?”

“Sorry, Dude. I’m like Pavlov’s dog. I see your Gramma and my stomach growls.” Rollie opened the passenger door with his backpack in hand. “I’m gonna drop my stuff at my house and meet you at Fred’s.”

Jamie was already out of the car and heading across the street, eyes on the Callahan’s house; a car, a black sedan that he didn’t recognize, was parked in their driveway.

He knocked on their front door and waited for a moment, but was surprised when Aunt Connie opened it. “Come in, Jamie,” she said, holding it wide for him. “It’s kind of crazy in here.”

Jamie stepped inside to see a room full of people. His mother sat on the couch with Lisa, her arm over Lisa’s shoulders, talking quietly. Lisa’s eyes were red and puffy, her face pale.

Two serious-looking men in suits were setting up some kind of equipment — a laptop plugged into a black box with wires snaking away from it.

Jamie’s grandmother stepped out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and pulling off an oven mitt. She came to him and put her arms around him, patting his back as she spoke. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. But don’t worry. You’re father and these men are working hard to find her.”

He stepped back from her embrace. “Are you cooking?”
Dumb question
, he realized as the words came out of his mouth.

“Lisa’s too upset right now. Your mother is, too. Connie and I are going to take care of things for awhile.”

Good ol’ Gramma
. “Who are these guys? Don’t they work with my dad?” He gestured at the men with Larry.

“They’re setting up equipment so they can trace the call if the kidnappers get in touch.”

“Kidnappers,” Jamie said blankly.

“It’s an ugly word, isn’t it? But that’s what they think it is — a kidnapping.”

“Where’s Mr. Callahan?”

“He’s driving around, looking for Fred. He’s been out since last night.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’s at the station, working the phones, but he’s coming here tonight. He’s going to sleep on their couch.”

“Why?”

“Somebody needs to be here twenty-four hours a day in case the kidnappers call. These other detectives will take turns, but your father wants to stay overnight.”

Jamie looked at the couch and tried to picture his father stretched out on it, fluffing his pillow to try and get comfortable, his back sore in the morning from sleeping poorly. His face lined and tired. And determined.

His grandmother must’ve read his mind because she said, “Your father is working like a madman right now. I don’t think he’s going to rest until Fred’s home, safe and sound.”

“Me either,” Jamie said defiantly. “I’m gonna go look now and Rollie’s gonna help. I’ll search all night if I have to.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “That’s good, but you need to get your sleep, too.”

“Gramma, no! I need to —”

“Jamie, listen to me. Our best hope of finding Fred right now is if she can get in touch with you in a dream. Then she might be able to tell us where she is.”

“Uh…I hadn’t thought of that.” He grimaced sheepishly. “I’m just…I dunno.” He rubbed one hand over his eyes.

“You’re tired and angry and frustrated. We all are.”

“I’m angry, all right.” He gritted his teeth. “Whoever took Fred…I wanna kill ’em!”

“But you won’t, will you? You’re not that kind of boy.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly and looked at his feet for a moment. “But I can fantasize about it, can’t I?”

She gave him a little smile and said in a low voice. “Of course. I doubt you’re the only one who does.”

Chapter 23

Rita found Cassandra in her bedroom, changing clothes. “Cass, you’re not going out again, are you?”

Cassandra raised her arms and wiggled a deep blue satin blouse over her head, pulling it into place as she spoke. “I’m going up to the Screw.”

“I’m going too.”

“Somebody’s gotta stay here with Fred.”

“Then you do it.”

“I think I should to go. We gotta sell some stuff real bad, ’cause we’re low on cash, and I’m way better at it than you.”

“I can sell.”

Cassandra struggled into a pair of too-tight jeans, wincing as she tugged them up. “Not like me. You should stay here and fix some food for Fred.”

“Oh,
I’m
the cook now? How come I got appointed caretaker?”

“Aw, Rita, it won’t be so bad. You can watch TV and drink some of that Jack Daniels I just bought for you.”

“Well…thanks for getting that.” She rubbed the side of her nose with one fingertip as she watched Cassandra slip on a pair of brilliant red heels that matched her nail polish. “But what am I gonna feed her?”

“Heat up one of them microwave dinners I bought. You can handle that.”

“Dammit…okay, fine.” She turned and went to the kitchen. She yanked open the freezer door and pulled out a cardboard pack of something with chicken in it — she didn’t look closely — shoved it in the microwave without bothering to read the directions and turned it on. While waiting for it to cook, she lit another cigarette, leaned against the counter and stared blankly at the opposite wall.

We need a better plan than this
, she thought.
Some kind of schedule for taking turns with her. I’m not staying home every night while Cass goes off to the bar
.

She finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in the sink, then pulled the dinner from the microwave.
Something smells burnt. Musta overcooked it a little.
She pulled the lid back and wrinkled her nose.
Uh. It’ll be
g
ood enough
. She grabbed a plastic fork from the drawer and a folding TV table from beside the pantry and headed for Fred’s room. She picked up the voodoo doll from the big table on her way and dropped it into the pocket of her dress.
Might need this
.

Fred was lying on the bed, bedside lamp on, hands behind her head, when Rita entered the room. Rita set the little folding table up and said, “Brought you something to eat.”

Fred sat up and frowned. “That
stinks
. What is it, charcoal?”

“No, it’s chicken something-or-other.” She stepped back and gestured at the smoking dinner. “It’s fine. We eat it all the time.”

Fred eyed the food, picked up the fork and poked through it. “I can’t eat that. It’s burned.” She waved her hand contemptuously and lay back down on the bed.

Rita felt her internal kettle coming to a boil. “Look, you…I worked hard getting your dinner together and —”

“Hard? Gimme a break. You just threw this cheap crap in a microwave and set it on high and forgot about it, and now it’s inedible.”

Rita ground her teeth and fingered the doll in her pocket. “You need to
eat
.”

“Not
that
.”

Rita squeezed the doll and pointed at the table with her other hand. “It’s
good
.”

“
You
eat it.”

The kettle boiled, the whistle shrieking in Rita’s skull. She pulled the little white doll with the red yarn hair out of her pocket.

“Why do you have a doll?”

Rita wordlessly pulled the straight pin from the doll’s sash and jammed it into its leg.

“Ow!” Fred grabbed the back of her calf. “What was that?”

“Just a little something to help you be more cooperative.” She stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Rita sat down at the big table, the doll still in hand, just as Cassandra was heading for the front door.

“What was that all about, Rita?”

“Nothing. The little bitch refused to eat her food, so I gave her a reminder of who’s the boss.” She held up the doll.

“You
didn’t!
” Cassandra stared at Rita with her mouth open. “You hurt her, didn’t you?”

“She deserved it.”

“Just ’cause her food sucked? I smelled the smoke in the kitchen. You burned it, didn’t you?”

“A little.” Rita refused to meet her gaze.

“I wouldn’t eat burned food, and neither would you.” Cassandra blew out an exasperated-sounding gust of air. “Damn, Rita. What’s wrong with you? You’re not usually this short-fused.”

Rita shook her head without looking at Cassandra, staring instead at the cluttered bookshelves across the room.

“Well, I gotta go to the Screw and make us some money, but I need you to promise me that you won’t go back in there while I’m gone. Promise me, Rita!”

“Sure, fine, I promise.”

“Good, ’cause if we’re gonna win her over, we need to use honey, not vinegar.”

She turned to face Cassandra. “Yeah. Honey. I got it.”

Cassandra gave her a worried glance before leaving. Rita watched the door close behind her and thought,
I need to do better than that. I can control my temper.
She drummed her fingers on the table and stared out of the window at the darkness beyond.

* * *

Rachel saw Jamie’s bedroom light was still on, and she eased his door open. He was lying on his bed with an unopened book in his lap, chewing on a fingernail.

She sat on the edge of his bed and stroked his head as he looked up at her. “Still too anxious to sleep?”

He nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s hard, Mom. I’m exhausted and all worked up at the same time…it’s a terrible feeling. But I know I need to sleep so that maybe Fred can contact me in a dream.”

She patted his arm and tried to give him a reassuring smile. “You’ll be able to sleep. And I bet she’ll reach you.”

“She’s never done it from anyplace but right across the street. What if she can’t find me?”

“You two are too close for her not to.”