Dance For The Devil (19 page)

Cari discovered the damage this
morning. A random act of violence? Or, a deliberate threat? She pondered that during the many solo hours she spent cleaning up.

She’d been as jumpy as a Siamese cat, jerking abruptly at every little noise, finally managing to slice her finger wide-open on a shard of glass. “Shit,” she muttered, putting it in her mouth to staunch the blood. This nervousness was highly unlike her, but something malevolent was swirling in the air. Something sinister watched her, testing her. The same feeling she’d had when confronted by Gil Vandercamp. Was
he
behind this? Or had her emotions run amok?

“Silly thing,” she chastised herself aloud. “A grown woman, afraid, in broad daylight. Been alone here a million times.” Cari caught herself then, thinking,
Oh, blessed-be, now I’m talking to myself. What next? The rubber-room and a straight jacket?

By midday, a new dilemma. The glass repairman couldn’t come until four and she’d promised to pick Skeeter up from school. But then what? If she brought Skeeter here she’d have to explain the broken window and remaining mess, and that was bound to upset him further. Would he be alright by himself for an hour or two until Jake returned? The boy, after all, was twelve. Hardly an infant.

Skeeter had helped her decide. “Sure, I stay by myself all the time. I’m not a baby,” he explained, echoing her earlier sentiments. And, in retrospect, it was the right choice. Upon returning, Cari found a strangled cat hanging from the ‘Blessed Be’ sign. The pretty calico-body was still warm and soft even though its life was irrevocably gone. Cari cut it down, cradling the poor creature to her chest, fighting the hysteria, while the repairman made her a cup of herbal tea and phoned the police.

If the
‘Stay away, Bitch!’
hadn’t been warning enough, the dead cat was. This was no isolated incident. No random act of violence. Cari Valentine had been singled out and warned explicitly, in language anyone could understand. Now her decision remained. What was she going to do about it?

**

The witches began arriving an hour before midnight and amid good-natured jostling and joking, transformed Cari’s living room from cosy den into candle-flickering coven. Jake wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but not this. Not this babbling mass of feminism, cheerfully making preparations for what looked like a Tupperware party. If he’d thought about it, he might have imagined witches to be dour and quiet... creatures of the night. He might have expected Cari was an exception, not the norm. Indeed, there was such a wide diversion of ages and appearance amongst the ladies it appeared there was no norm. Some, like Cari Valentine, were young and beautiful. Others were matronly and round, and a few were downright elderly. Some were dressed in retro-hippy clothing, others like crisp fashion models. More than a few were dressed casually in jeans and sneakers. His favorite was the elderly lady dressed neatly in a red wool suit, bearing a striking resemblance to Britain’s Queen Mum. Jake counted an even dozen. He felt out of place, like a rooster in the henhouse.

The furniture had been pushed to one side, and the carpet rolled up, exposing hardwood flooring marked with a circle that bore marks similar to a compass, only these markings held
little meaning for Jake. Inside the circle lay an assortment of items: a wand, an iron pot, a pentacle, a multi-ended whip, a carafe of wine and a brass goblet, some incense and even more candles. There were other items, too, for which Jake could only guess at their usage. He turned his attention to the outer circle: four candles had been placed in quarter sections, and Queen Mum was busy lighting them. He glanced at the clock... midnight. It appeared the meeting was about to begin.

Jake pressed himself into a corner, trying to remain unobtrusive, aware he didn’t belong here. He was an intruder, yet Cari turned her gaze to him and smiled softly, reassuring him. Jake felt the hackles on the back of his neck
begin to rise. He was about to witness something special, something unusual. Something sacred.

Queen Mum entered the circle and began to talk. She was undoubtedly the leader. It was fitting, Jake thought, since she was by far the eldest. What a proper little thing she was, with her precise movements and clear enunciation.

“We call,” she began, “upon the Lords of the Watchtowers, the Guardians of the Four Quarters, to prevail and help us locate a lost soul. We ask the Mighty Ones for direction in finding the girl-child Amy Montclaire, and for the preservation of her body and soul so that no harm shall come to her.” She knelt with nimbleness uncommon for a woman of her advanced years, stretching her arms forward and allowing them to be bound. Jake gaped. She appeared to be meditating, eyes closed, rocking gently on her knees. The others followed suit. Although they adopted a variety of positions, all fell into a meditative trance. Jake could see their even breathing, each in tune and unison. Some were silent while others gesticulated with their fingers and arms. Jake located Cari. Her body was breathtakingly still, her face pointed downwards, her mouth moving slightly. A flush had crept into her cheeks and she looked serenely lovely. An aura of tranquility emanated from the room.

Queen Mum began chanting and Jake tore his attent
ion from Cari back to the elder. The wording was strange, foreign to him but not to the others who joined in readily, their voices rising in concert. A movement caught his peripheral vision and he watched with amazement as one of the witches rose, bearing the odd-shaped whip of fabric cords, and began to strike Queen Mum. Her back arched with each blow, yet the tempo of her chanting increased... Impossible, Jake thought, ready to intervene, until he realized the flagellation was symbolic. The whip never touched Queen Mum’s back.

The smell of incense was stronger now. Cloying, indeed suffocating. It made Jake feel dizzy and more than a little
nauseous. The dozens of flickering candles and loud chanting and overbearing scent gave way to a feeling of complete surrealism. He felt as though he was participating in an old film where the celluloid was grainy and dark, and the actors’ actions unfathomable to the modern viewer.

The chanting had grown to unbearable proportions, both in intensity and duratio
n. There was energy in this room; Jake could feel its tangibility. As if all these collective souls had banded together and created power. Or summoned it. It was unsettling and more than a little frightening, and Jake realized abruptly that if he wasn’t a believer before – he was now.

A subtle shifting. Some of the witches were breaking off the chant and sipping wine. Others began to dance. The chanting carried on with less intensity. The witches had reached a state of some sort, Jake realized, and they we
re now working at maintaining it. He looked for Cari. She was moving freely among the others, her bare feet dancing in the circle, her palms upturned, her long hair swirling. Queen Mum was still kneeling prostrate and the symbolic whipping continued, but Jake sensed a difference in her, too. The old bird had stopped chanting and remained unnaturally still. He watched her prone form for signs of breathing but saw no movement. It was as if she was sleeping, no...more than that. It was as if she was dead.

Jake lost track of time. He felt like a sleepwalker. He wondered
what he’d say to Skeeter should his son wake and appear, but could think of no plausible explanation. Not even the truth made sense.

Queen Mum jerked violently,
and then everything was different. The chanting slowed, the dancing halted. Cari removed the binding from Queen Mum’s wrists and helped her stand. The old girl looked rather wobbly, like she’d been drinking. A chalice was offered to Queen Mum and she accepted it, holding it aloft. “I offer this consecrated wine to the Lords of the Watchtowers. Thank ye for thy help. I remain your humble servant.” With that she took a sip and then passed it around. Each witch partook before handing it to the next. At the end of the circle stood Jake, and he took the proffered vessel, unsure, until Cari motioned for him to drink. He warily took a sip. Red wine. Nothing else. The symbolic similarity to Christian communion was not lost on him.

It was over. The candles were
being extinguished. Someone retrieved the carpet and was unrolling it over the circle, covering the markings. The furniture was replaced, vases returned and pillows plumped. Within five minutes there was no trace of the magic circle, nor of the ritual that had occurred. Someone was handing Jake a piece of chocolate cake and he looked at in disbelief. “Cake?” he asked, his voice a squeak.

“Of course. You can’t expect a dozen women to congregate without sustenance, do you? We need to replace our energy and what better source than chocolate?” She was joking, he realized.

“Let me guess,” he said, mouth twitching slightly. “Devil’s food cake?”

She laughed. “
What can I say? They were all out of Angel food mix at Safeway.”

“Funny.”

She winked and moved on. The ladies were standing and sitting in little groups, devouring their cake as if the occasion was nothing more unusual than a tea party.

Women. Jake shook his head. The fairer sex, perhaps, but they left him completely perplexed, witches or not.

“Jake?” Cari’s voice was soft, her hand warm and reassuring. “I’d like you to meet Aurora Blake, our unofficial leader.”

“I’d gathered,” Jake said, looking down at Queen Mum. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling merrily. “Quite a production you ladies put on.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. It worked, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The ceremony. It served its purpose. I saw your daughter.”

Jake was nonplussed. “You saw her?”

“Oh, yes. I left my body and searched for her. Astral projection, you understand. Very simple really, if you know the technique. Of course, it takes years of practise. The deities heard our pleas and led me there.”

Jake blinked
. The old dear was completely dotty. Cari was beaming, nodding her head. They were all stark-raving nuts. His head throbbed suddenly, an incense hangover. “You saw her?”

“Oh yes, dear, and you needn’t worry overmuch. Your daughter is fine. A trifle frightened perhaps, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? She’s not alone, there are others with her.
Others like her.”

Jake shook his head. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t making sense. Where
did you say my daughter is?”

“In a room, down below. Terribly dank, it was. Nothing pretty about it. Not much more than a cell, really.”

He wanted to shake her, to shake the words from her until her teeth rattled and her eyes rolled. Instead he asked patiently, “The address? Did you get an address?”

Queen Mum smiled toothily. “Of course I did, dear. I may be old but I’m not incompetent. It’s on Tantalus Lane. 46662 Tantalus Lane.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jake rasped, and she repeated it, although he really didn’t need to hear it again. He knew that address. He’d been there many times. 46662 Tantalus Lane housed the stately mansion of Gil Vandercamp.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Gil Vandercamp sat in his den contemplating the sky. Not that he could see much of it. The night was as dark as ink and rain pellets the size of marbles were unleashed with unending fury. An occasional lightening flash illuminated the blackness for a microsecond, followed moments later with a satisfying rumble. Gil loved storms. Had loved them his entire life. He remembered sitting on his papa’s knee, watching the forked lightening arc across the eastern sky with a kinetic energy that tantalized the youngster. “The Gods are talking to you,” Papa would say. “Just to you. You’re special, Gil.”

Eastern lightening was better, of course. Gil missed the variety and intensity of the electrical storms
that frequented Ontario, where lightening cracks were so vibrant they’d light up the house. And it was beautiful: luminous forks of fire branching out like the vengeful hand of Satan. Or the ultimate destruction of ball lightening – fabulous. So much power. It was more than a visual experience: it was internal. The static energy travelling through the sky, tingling his skin, making his hair stand up and his body course with charged particles.

This storm was too watery to feel effective. But that’s what you got on the West Coast, Gil reflected. A poor relation, to be sure, but it would have to suffice. Perhaps next summer he would take Jason to Toronto to allow the boy to experience nature’s majesty for himself.

A sudden intensity entered the room, a feeling of being watched. Gil narrowed his eyes and tensed.

He waited.

The intensity probed softly, feeling him, studying him. Gil kept his mind carefully blank.

It was gone. Silently and completely. Had he not been attuned to the storm, reaping the energy, he might not have noticed it. Had his brain been busily occupied with a thousand other matters he might have been missed it completely.

Gil pondered this, the storm forgotten. What could it mean? His fingers drummed on the desk, in tune with the falling rain. Many minutes passed before he slowly rose and crossed the dark room, placing his feet as easily as if it was broad daylight. Gil felt very alive. There was work to be done.

**

Jake insisted on leaving immediately. He couldn’t understand why the witches wouldn’t agree with him. Cari was hovering soothingly and he impatiently brushed off her rationalizations. “I say we break into that bastard’s house and grab Amy immediately.”

“No, no,” Aurora Blake stated. “You mustn’t. We need to formulate a plan.”

“We don’t need a plan – we need action.”

“Aurora is right,” said Cari. “You can’t go over there, willy-nilly in the middle of the night. How will it look? You’re liable to be carted away in a police car, labelled a disgruntled
ex- employee with a cross to bear.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Jake stated flatly. “I do have
a cross to bear and it’s a hell of a big one, and I’d like to plunge it into Vandercamp’s heart.”

“Jake –”

“Okay, so we call the police and take them with us.”

“And tell them what? That Aurora projected herself astrally into the Vandercamp house and located Amy?”
Cari snorted. “Yeah, that would go over well.”

Jake looked from face to face. He realized they were right. “Then we break in.”

“And end up in jail? You wouldn’t be able to help your daughter from a jail cell,” said Aurora. “Besides, panic would ensue. Amy could be injured.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and Jake watched the rapid movement under her eyelids, as if she was watching an unseen panorama unfold. “Yes, I am quite certain. To proceed at this moment will have catastrophic consequences for Amy and her companions. I see much bloodshed.”

“Think about it, Jake,”
Cari said, her voice maddeningly calm. “The last thing you want to do is alert Gil to your plan. He will have security and if he’s tipped off, he might move Amy and then we won’t know where to look.”

He sat in frustration, running his hands through wild, dark hair. “I can’t sit around doing nothing! I know that lousy bastard is guilty and I’ve got proof. Accusations and testimonials a mile long from ex-cult members, from witnesses. Even from his victims.”

Several of the witches exchanged glances. Jake tried to read them but failed. Cari looked worried and Aurora pursed her lips. “Take those depositions to the police. Get a search warrant. Do it legally and do it right.”

“I want to do it now.”

“Jacob, dear, be reasonable. You’re tired, angry, overwhelmed, certainly not thinking clearly. Not the frame of mind you need for daring adventures. Besides, I’m quite certain that a rescue attempt tonight would result in tragic consequences.”

Jake shuffled uncomfortably. He had
n’t been called Jacob for a quarter of a century. “Tragic consequences? For whom?”

“Amy, of course.” She clucked her tongue as if he should’ve known that. “Now, get some sleep, dear. Your problems won’t run away, they’ll still be there in the morning.”

It had an authoritative ring to it and it made him pause. Could going immediately endanger Amy even more? He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz. Maybe the old bird
was
right, he was tired and his head throbbed. He did feel overwhelmed. The thought of Amy captive in a dark basement made him crazy.

“She can survive one more night,” Aurora added
, as if reading his mind. “Remember, she’s not alone, she has companions.”

Jake
gripped the side of the sofa to steady himself. The room swam woozily. “Okay,” he consented through gritted teeth. “But first thing tomorrow – I’m not waiting a minute longer.”

“No one expects you to, dear. Cari, take him to bed and stay with him. See that he sleeps. We’ll finish everything here.”

Cari nodded and left the room with Jake. They walked upstairs, pausing to peek in at Skeeter. The boy was snoring softly, his skinny limbs askew. Daisy lay at the end of the bed like a sentinel, curled against his feet. She thumped her tail twice and laid her head on her paws, as if daring them to ask her to move. Jake crossed over and petted the dog, was rewarded with another single tail thump before she stilled. He straightened the covers and kissed his son softly. Moonlight streamed through a break in the clouds, illuminating the room eerily. “Nature’s night light,” Jake whispered, shivering inexplicably. Fatigue washed over him like a tidal wave, making it hard to put one foot in front of the other. Cari tugged his arm, leading him from the room. “You don’t need to stay with me,” he told her.

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m a big boy. I can manage to put on my pj’s and tuck myself in.”

“I imagine you can
, but that’s not why I’m staying.”

“Oh?”

She took a deep breath. “I need to be with you tonight, Jake. The truth is, I’m frightened, too.” She told him about the vandalism at her store, about the dead cat.

“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “Can this nightmare get any worse?”

“Please let me stay, Jake. I know it’s silly but I don’t want to be alone.”

“I am so sorry for involving you in this, Cari. For putting you in danger.”

“I’m supposed to be involved. Remember my dream? It’s my destiny.”

He grunted. “Destiny? You really believe in that mumbo-jumbo?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“No, it’s a copout. People refusing to take responsibility for their own actions
, blaming the universe for their failures. Horoscopes, for example, such rubbish.
Wear red, glean message from Aries acquaintance, avoid open potholes because you might fall in.
”

“Cynical.”
She cocked her head. “What do you believe in?”

“Haven’t a clue.” His voice was gruff. “Used to think I was in c
ontrol of my life, but now...” He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe. If someone told me a few weeks ago I’d be consorting with witches and tracking down a satanic kidnapper, I’d have laughed myself silly. What a difference a few lousy days make.”

“Hold me, Jake, please.”

He lay on the bed beside her, climbing under the covers fully-clothed and gathered her into his arms. The incense from the ceremony lingered in her hair and it tickled his nostrils. Never an incense fan, yet on her it smelled heavenly.

Cari breathed deeply then said, “Aren’t you going to put on your pajamas?”

“I don’t wear pajamas.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Neither do I.”

His cock twitched suddenly and her body stilled; she had felt it. Then she moved closer, rubbing against him. Her body was willing. Jake felt her erect nipples pushing gently into his chest, smelled the sweet scent of availability. And why not? They were both adults, consenting and free. He felt his body responding to her femininity and kissed her softly.

Then, with
immense regret, he pulled away and turned abruptly so his back lay against her. “Goodnight, Cari.” The timing wasn’t right. Not now, not like this with Amy’s fate hanging over them like a storm cloud. He would not use the lithe body of Cari Valentine to forget. Cari was too important. She deserved more.

“Jake?”

“I want you,” he groaned, gritting his teeth. “Jesus, how I want you. You have no idea.” He ached with desire as he visualized how wonderful it would feel to lose himself in her welcome warmth.

She brought her arms up and loosely draped them around his middle. “I understand,” she murmured softly. “When the timing is right.” The words hung like an unfulfilled promise and he clenched his jaw, chastising himself for being such an idiot. Her warm breath tickled the back of his neck deliciously and he tightened his eyes in resolve. His hand found Cari’s in the dark and
he clasped onto it tightly, like a lifeline. In all this muddle, all this confusion, all this angst, one thing was clear. Cari Valentine was right. She was his destiny.

**

Gil Vandercamp woke the sleeping girls, and amid groans and complaints, prodded them into leaving their dark quarters. “Where are we going?” Charise moaned.

“Better not to know,” Gina remarked caustically.

Gil smiled. Gina was his personal favorite. She was tough, like him. Her enormous belly swayed before her like a medicine ball. Also like him, Gina was a survivor. This baby would be her second gift to him. She had adapted to her situation so well that he would keep her for another contribution, and another, until her stamina and childbearing capabilities wore out. Some girls snapped after the first baby. A few, like Gina, were resilient enough to carry on indefinitely. Gil was reminded of another girl, May, who gave seven gifts in total. May could have kept on forever had she not bled to death giving birth to a coveted pair of perfectly formed twins. A shame. He’d rather liked May. And the twins were exceptional. His finest sacrifice yet.

Lauren moved zombie-like, causing Gil to frown. That one wouldn’t last. Not with that attitude. He glanced at Amy, frightened looking but with her chin held high. Good. She might work out. She’d have to get pregnant fairly quickly though. Gil had special plans for Amy’s contribution.

“Come on, ladies,” Gil said politely. “We don’t have all night.” He could tell that Gina was struggling. The baby’s head had dropped, making walking uncomfortable. Birth was imminent. He held out his arm, offering assistance which she shrugged off with a snarling,
“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Gina,” he clucked. “Such talk from a lady.”

“Where are we going?” Amy asked, and Gil glanced at her, pleased at the deference in her tone. “Somewhere new. You’ll like it much better than this place.”

“Someone wise-up to your filthy bag of tricks, Dickhead?” Gina hissed.

Gil frowned. “Gina, I know that pregnant woman can be testy, but this mouth of yours is ridiculous. Please refrain from further vulgarities or I will be forced to cut out your tongue.” Gina shut up. “Good. Now is everyone ready?” He watched them exit. First Gina, eyes flashing, mouth clamped together in mutinous defeat. Then Charise, looking nervous. Next was Lauren, eyes blank and straight ahead, like a deer caught in headlights. Finally Amy, looking hopeful. Gil was touched. It was nice to have a fresh piece to work with. Exciting. Helped keep the boredom at bay.

**

Jason waited nervously at the top of the stairs. He’d known about the labyrinth of corridors and rooms carved below the estate but never imagined Amy would be there. He’d been forbidden since childhood to enter, and after being punished severely for disobeying at the age of nine when the urge to explore overcame commonsense, Jason had not been down since. What he remembered about downstairs was hazy.

His father had agreed to let him see Amy in exchange for securing Skeeter’s affections. Jason felt a twinge of regret. He liked Skeeter, but Amy was more important. He could help her now and maybe help Skeeter later.

Soon he would have sex with Amy. It was part of his promise to Gil. This didn’t seem strange since sex had been a vital part of this life since he’d been introduced to it by the elder women in his church at the age of twelve. He’d experienced sex with most of the women in the church and with some of the daughters. He liked it, okay. Who wouldn’t? Some of the men eyed him hungrily when he was younger but Gil had firmly put a stop to it. Jason was grateful. He heard horror stories from his friends and was glad to be excluded. Sometimes being the high priest’s son had its perks.