Last Grave (9781101593172) (12 page)

“But I don't remember what happened,” Jill protested.

“You don't have to. The information's there; your mind still recorded the events. You just have been denied access to those memories. If you think about sitting in the coffee shop and then sitting on that park bench, I can establish a connection and try to find those memories.”

“You make it sound like you're going to be walking around in my head.”

Samantha smiled grimly. “It's an easy metaphor to understand.”

“Will I have to remember?”

Samantha made note of the other woman's word choice. Jill didn't want to remember.

“Hopefully not. I'll do what I can. And I'll leave the memories intact so that someday, if you want to, you can possibly access them.”

Jill shuddered. “Who would want to remember something like that?”

“It's not always a matter of
want
,” Samantha snapped, upbraiding herself for her instant defensive reaction.

“Let's do this before I change my mind,” Jill said. She took a shaky breath. “What do you need me to do again?”

“Just think about being in the coffee shop and then being on the park bench.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

“No. It will be like when I got the image of Roxy from your mind just a few minutes ago.”

She reached over and took Jill's hand. She could feel her roommate's pulse pounding in her wrist, the blood thrumming through her fingers. She was far too upset for this to go well for either of them.

“Just breathe in and out slowly, deeply,” Samantha said, dropping her voice lower and allowing her words to wash persuasively over Jill. The change was almost instantaneous as the other's pulse slowed and her muscles relaxed.

“Good. Just keep doing that; you're doing great,” Samantha said. “Just relax. If you want to fall asleep, that's fine.”

She gave her words the force of suggestion. After a few moments, Jill's head tilted back against the couch. Her eyes closed and her breathing became shallow and regular.

Samantha already had the trail of the memories she was looking for. Jill had been thinking hard about sitting in that coffee shop. She had been nervous, apprehensive, jumping at every little sound, staring at her phone every five seconds, and studying everyone in the store very, very carefully. All of Jill's senses had been on overdrive. Samantha could hear the chatter of patrons around Jill, smell the coffee fragrance heavy in the air, taste the bitterness of the coffee Jill herself was drinking. Samantha saw the moment when the memories skipped and felt Jill's bewilderment as she came to on the park bench staring up at Samantha. She saw herself through her roommate's eyes. Jill's perceptions of her made Samantha look slightly taller, more in command than she knew she had been at that moment. Jill trusted her, respected her, even when given reason not to. All of that Samantha could feel.

It was unnerving to see herself through another's eyes. It was something she'd done only a handful of times before. It was odd how the picture she could see was not the one she saw when standing before the mirror. To Jill, Samantha even looked younger.

She could feel Jill trying to take it all in, looking around the park, smelling the fresh-cut grass and trees. There were birds in the trees, but she was only dimly aware of their singing. Jill had felt like she was coming out of a fog or from under a trance.

And knowing the exact moment her memories jumped helped Samantha to track down the missing information. Jill's memories of the coffee shop ceased as the door opened and she looked up. A quick impression, a woman, not old, but not too young. Samantha couldn't see the woman's face or hair color, but she did feel a sensation of sudden warmth, what Jill had experienced the moment the witch hijacked her brain.

Samantha worked through Jill's mind, trying to access the information that the witch had tried so hard to hide. At long last she found what she was searching for and, with a small cry of triumph, she pushed and Jill's memories came into focus.

She watched as the witch walked through the door. It was the younger, blond one. She walked up to Jill's table, smiling, but Jill's will was already subjugated to her.

She's powerful to have done it from so far away, unless she had some other way to connect to her,
Samantha thought.

The witch was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes, which were instead cold, calculating. The witch reached out and Jill stood, taking her hand. Outside there was screaming, gunfire. Everyone rushed to the windows to see what was happening. No one paid attention to Jill and the witch as they walked out of the store.

They made it all the way to the park and sat on the bench before the witch began to talk.

“Jill, I need to know if Winona spoke to you at all about mountains and caves and things buried under or inside of them.”

“No,” Jill responded, feeling sleepy and not sure why the woman was asking.

“It's important, Jill. You must think. Did she give you any maps, books?”

“No, she gave me nothing. We only just spoke.”

“Did she mention any of these things to you?”

Samantha could feel Jill struggling, trying to think, wanting to answer the woman, to please her. “No. Nothing. And we didn't talk about mountains or caves. We talked about the mission era and the effect of the Spanish settlements on the native populations.”

“It's important that you tell me, Jill, who Winona would have spoken to about mountains.”

“Drake Everwood. He graduated last semester. He studied spirits of the mountains. Winona helped him with his dissertation. I was jealous. I think he picked a better topic than I did. Spanish settlement on native inhabitants has been done so many times.”

“Excellent. You have done very well, Jill.”

“Thank you.”

“You are not going to remember speaking to me at all. You will forget this conversation and have no memory of how you got here. Do you understand?”

“Of course I do.”

The witch turned, looking away from Jill, surveying the park as though she was looking for someone or something. A frown creased her brow. Samantha could almost feel the energy that was rippling through her hands as the witch lifted them. She had long, slender fingers, and blue light arched at the tips.

What was the witch waiting for? Samantha wondered. From what she had heard, it sounded like she had asked Jill all she had wanted to. Why hang around longer at the park, just begging to be caught?

“Jill, you must wait here until someone comes for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Jill said.

“If I have need of you, I will call to you.”

Call to you
. The words sent an icy chill down Samantha's spine. Not
call you,
which implied the use of a phone.
Call to you
. She still had a grip on Jill's mind, waiting in case she should need to summon her.

Samantha was about to pull back, disengage from the memory, when something stopped her. The witch still hadn't left. Samantha wanted to see which way she went when she left the park. She waited, viewing the memories all the way through. Jill had been so completely under the witch's spell that her mind hadn't even questioned what was happening, none of it.

The witch made a movement as though she were going to leave. Then she twisted on the bench and grabbed the sides of Jill's head. Samantha flinched as she saw a close-up of the witch's face, filling her field of vision.

The witch put her face right up next to Jill's. She stared intently into her eyes and then she smiled.

“Samantha, this message is just for you.”

Samantha jerked back, nearly dropping Jill's hand. She pulled herself quickly back together and maintained connection with Jill's memory of the event.

“You have not listened to me when I warned you that you need to leave. I respect your persistence, but, honey, even the craziest Castor witches knew when to cut and run.”

Samantha gritted her teeth. The witch knew her true family name, the last name she had abandoned years before but used again briefly in Salem. Words had power and none more than names.

“So, listen carefully, Samantha. It's time you and I meet face-to-face. We need to have a little chat. I'll meet you the night before the full moon. I'll see you at two a.m. at the carousel at Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Don't make me come and find you. Nobody's going to like that. And, Samantha, come alone. I can't be responsible for what will happen if you bring others into this. We just need to talk girl to girl. Or rather, witch to witch.”

Samantha could feel herself shaking with rage. The witch had used her roommate as an answering service. It was a violation of Jill's privacy and her own.

“So, see you there. And in the meantime, try not to get yourself killed.”

The witch winked as she pulled away. Samantha half expected her to blow a kiss, but she didn't. Instead, she got up and walked away, but was quickly outside of Jill's field of vision. And it was less than a minute later before Samantha showed up. She practically wept with the frustration of it. She had been so close to the other witch.

And she would be close to her again soon enough. She would have to carefully prepare for their meeting. She was just so grateful she had some time to do so. She was also incredibly grateful for one other thing. The witch had put so much energy and thought into the message she left her that she'd left a tiny piece of herself in there too. And now Samantha had a bit of power over her as well. Because now she knew the witch's name was Trina.

12

There was nothing else to see of Jill's encounter with Trina. Samantha pulled out of her roommate's mind and sat quietly for a few minutes while Jill continued to sleep. She had gotten more than just a name and the invitation from the encounter, though. She'd also gotten the next possible target of the coven: Drake Everwood.

Samantha couldn't help but wonder what the coven was looking for and how something tied in with mountains and caves was worth killing Winona for. And if Winona had given the information freely to Drake, why withhold it from the coven when they came asking about it?

Unless they didn't ask at all.

Samantha glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was nearly ten and she was exhausted. She was in no shape to do any more police work that night, and if she did run across Trina or any of the other coven members, she'd be worse than helpless in a fight.

I risk my life by going to see him now.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She risked Drake's life by waiting until the morning.

She opened her eyes and stared at her roommate, who was still peacefully sleeping.

“Jill, wake up.”

Jill opened her eyes and looked at her. “Is everything okay?”

“I need you to tell me where I can find Drake Everwood.”

A little over an hour later, Samantha was knocking on the office door of Dr. Everwood at California State University, East Bay. His roommate had kindly informed her that he was working late after the night class that he had taught.

“Come in.”

She started to open the door, but it stopped after only a few inches. A large box was blocking the way.

“You manage to get through the door, you can come in,” a voice said.

Samantha rolled her eyes and shoved against the door, hard. It budged only a little bit. She gritted her teeth, not sure what exactly Dr. Everwood was playing at.

She stomped her foot on the ground and the box flew back nearly a foot. She opened the door all the way and walked in.

She saw a guy with dark curly hair bent over a pile of papers, red pen in hand and a scowl on his face.

“Congratulations. Stupid question deterrent. You must have a real pressing question that you didn't give up and save it for tomorrow.” He slashed through something on the paper he was studying with the pen. “Really, these concepts aren't that difficult.”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

He looked up. “Oh! Sorry. I assumed you were one of my students. And, well, clearly you're not. I think I'd remember you. You know, with the red hair and all.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let me help you out here. I'm Detective Ryan with the San Francisco Police Department.”

She showed him her badge.

He flushed. “Okay, clearly not a student. What can I help you with?”

“I'm looking for some papers—”

“Are you kidding me?” he interrupted. “Campus police got the SFPD involved? What a huge waste of the tax payers' money. Well, and your time, of course. I'm sorry that they called you out here. I mean, if you can actually help that would be fantastic, but I wouldn't think this would even be in your jurisdiction. I mean, this is Cal State Hayward after all. Sorry, East Bay. I'll never get used to that. Most of my family went here. I was on campus a lot as a kid. Back when it was called Hayward, you know, not East Bay. Which is ridiculous, right? They don't call Cal State Fullerton Cal State Orange County. They call it after the city it's in. And, well, this is Hayward. I'm sorry. Should we get started? I've got a list of things around here somewhere.”

He plunged his hands into a massive, teetering stack of papers on his desk.

“Hold on,” she said. “You need to let someone else get a word in edgewise.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, sorry. What?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Sorry. Are you new to the area?”

“I meant about the papers,” she said with a grimace.

“Oh! Sorry. Yes, last night someone broke into my office. It was so weird. I'm usually here at night. It's peaceful. I can get a lot done. I was here last night. I stepped away for a minute. It was to get a soda or something. I think that was it,” he said, sounding suddenly vague and unsure of himself. He shook his head and waved his hands. “That's not important. What is important is that when I got back, someone had trashed my office and taken some things.”

She looked around at the piles of papers stacked haphazardly everywhere, including a set teetering dangerously on top of a filing cabinet that had half its drawers open. Several crumpled pieces of paper ringed the trash can.

“So, that explains the condition of your office.”

“No, I cleaned up all that mess after the campus police left.” He looked around and then nodded. “Yeah, everything's in its place now.”

She snapped her mouth shut.

“Yeah. Now, here's that list of things they stole,” he said, handing her a piece of paper.

She scanned it briefly. There were three things on the list. “Bound copy of your dissertation, file with source material for your dissertation labeled ‘Source Material Diss.,' and a model of the Santa Cruz Mountains made out of clay.”

“My girlfriend made that model for me. She's a sculptor. And the dissertation? I had it published. I don't know why someone would steal my copy. I mean, I know students can get kind of stalkerish sometimes, but please.”

“These were the only things that were taken?”

“Yes. I can't say that definitively, of course, since I haven't gone through every single piece of paper in the filing cabinet yet. But test keys, grade books, nothing like that was missing.”

“I don't think one of your students did this,” Samantha said.

He slammed his fist down on the desk. “It was a present for my birthday. There are no take-backs!”

“You think you're girlfriend took these things,” Samantha said, struggling to read between the lines.

“Well, ex-girlfriend, actually. She wanted that model back and I wouldn't give it to her. I didn't ask for her birthday present back.”

“What's her name?”

“Jess Simpson. Jessica. Yeah, I was dating Jessica Simpson. That was always a funny gag. No relation to the famous one, of course, but you know, I didn't always tell people that. She's a Buddhist. But let me tell you, when she wants something, she is so not Zen.”

“Can you describe her for me?”

“Five feet, brunette, green eyes, hands usually covered in some sort of clay or paint.”

His description didn't match any of the people she had seen in the images of the coven at Cathedral Grove.

“Do you have any proof she did it?”

“No, but who else would want that stuff? It had to be her, just trying to piss me off.”

Samantha walked forward and put her hand on the one bare patch of desk she could find. The lingering energy impression was still there. It had been Trina who had taken those things. And given Drake's confusion over why he had stepped out of his office, she was willing to bet Trina had done the same thing to him that she'd done to Jill.

“Okay, Jess didn't do this. I need to talk to you more about what happened.”

“She didn't do this? Are you sure?” he asked.

“I'm sure. Now, let's go back over everything.”

He nodded.

“Now, close your eyes and tell me exactly what happened last night.”

“Why do you want me to close my eyes?”

“Because I don't want you to be processing images from the office as it is right now. I want you to focus on capturing a clear picture of how it was last night,” she said.

“Okay. You're the detective.”

He closed his eyes. “Okay, I was working late,”

She reached out and touched his hand. “Sleep.”

His head slumped forward on his chest. She kept hold of his hand and watched his memories from the night before.

She saw Trina enter his office much the same way she had. Trina was questioning him about the papers Winona had given him.

He was telling her he had forgotten to return them but that they were in his filing cabinet. He got them for her. When she asked him if that was all, he told her he'd given Winona back a very old map she had loaned him but he had a copy of it printed in his dissertation. He then said he'd used the model to help him with some of the research. At the end of the interrogation, Trina had told him that he wouldn't remember the encounter and had sent him off to the vending machine and told him not to come back for five minutes.

She could feel Drake's confusion as he stood, staring at the vending machine, not really wanting anything but not sure why he wasn't just going back to his office. Finally, when five minutes were over, he returned and was shocked to find his office had been trashed. Samantha wouldn't have believed it, but the memories she saw showed her how much worse the office had looked than it did now.

That was it. No hidden messages for her.

“Wake,” she said. She pulled back her hand as his head lifted.

He opened his eyes. “And like I said, that was it.”

“Thank you. You've been very helpful,” Samantha said as she headed for the door.

“Call me when you find my stuff, okay?”

“Dr. Everwood, I'm not here about your missing papers. I'm a homicide detective. I'm investigating Winona Lightfoot's murder. Thank you for your time.”

“Wait!”

She turned back to him and lifted an eyebrow.

“This is about Winona?”

“Yes.”

“I am so sorry. You must think me an idiot,” he said.

“No, I don't.”

“Please, sit. I'll help you in any way I can.”

“You've already hel—”

He shook his head impatiently. “No, I haven't even gotten a chance to tell you about the phone call she made to me the day before she died.”

Samantha sat down. She was shocked. She had been so focused on following the witch angle of the case that once again she had ignored something that a homicide detective should never ignore. She should have told him why she was there and questioned him to see if he knew anything about why someone would want Winona dead. After all, she and Lance had a list of people they were supposed to follow up with in the morning, hoping to answer that very question.

“I'm sorry. Please, tell me what happened.”

“She called. I could tell she was excited, but she had a weird edge to her voice too, like it was more than just excited, somehow. She said she had found something out about the Santa Cruz Mountains; tracked down a story her grandfather used to tell her about a spirit in the mountain. She specialized in the mission-era time period, but she knew a lot about precontact civilization, lore, stuff like that. She wanted to know if I had heard anything about an ancient battle that took place there. She knew that I'd done my dissertation on mountain spirits.”

“And had you heard of anything like that?”

“Not there. There's a ton of stories about Mount Shasta, but that's part of the Cascade Mountains, way north of us. Even some crazy stories about Mount Diablo here in this area, but it's not part of the Santa Cruz Mountains either.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“Yeah. She said if a woman with long black hair came to me and asked about it, I should claim ignorance and let Winona know. I figured it was a rival researcher.” He stopped, and realization lit up his eyes. “You don't think the person she was talking about was the one who killed her, do you?”

Samantha was almost certain. “We can't rule anything out at this point. Can you think of anything else?”

“No, it was a brief conversation. I was running to class. I felt terrible when I heard what happened.”

Samantha pulled a business card out of her pocket. “If you think of anything else, please contact me immediately.”

“I will,” he said, taking the card from her.

“You don't have an extra copy of your dissertation here, do you?”

“No. I can get you a copy, though, if you think it would be helpful.”

“Please do. I'll be in touch.”

She stood and so did he. “I'm sorry I wasn't more help.”

She forced herself to smile at him. “You did just fine. Let me know if you think of anything else.”

Samantha left the office and quickly made her way down to the ground floor. The building seemed to be empty except for Drake. She hesitated, not liking the fact that he was alone there at this time of night.

There was nothing she could do for him, though, short of escorting him home or trying to set up some magical barriers. But with her living more than an hour away, if someone attacked those barriers she would never get there in time to help save him.

She hesitated at the exit to the building. Trina had gotten what she wanted from him and had left him unharmed, just like Jill. Why then had she or one of the other witches killed Winona?

She still felt like she was playing catch-up and more and more pieces were being constantly added to the board. Soon, she'd lose sight of the bigger picture altogether.

She made it to her car without encountering anyone. It seemed there were very few people on campus this late at night so early into the semester. The drive home seemed to take less time and she wasn't sure why. When she got in, Jill had already gone to bed.

Samantha headed to her room, kicked off her shoes, and fell face-first into a pillow.

*  *  *

The morning came far too early and Samantha struggled to stay awake as she tried to eat a bowl of cereal. She was almost finished when the phone rang. It was Lance.

“What do you want, Lance?” she asked, barely suppressing a yawn.

“My partner. You seen her lately?”

“I'll be downstairs in a minute.”

“Too long. I'll come up and get you.”

He hung up, and she briefly thought about face-planting in her Frosted Flakes.