Visions of Magic (27 page)

“First, I want to thank so many of you for turning out on such short notice. Clearly, our phone tree is working well and a big thank-you to Shauna for being in charge of that for us.” Martha applauded along with the crowd as her hairdresser took a bow.

Then, still smiling, Martha said, “We have good news. According to reports from our sister organizations, the escaped witch is somewhere in Ohio right this very minute.”

Excited whispers rushed across the room like a sweeping wave.

“Do we know where exactly?” someone shouted out. “Ohio's pretty big, Martha!”

“Oh, Hank, hush now,” she chided, wagging her finger as if the burly firefighter were a naughty six-year-old. “Would I come here and not have information to spread? Now, the word is, she and the man with her—”

“The guy made out of fire?”

“Yes, Tessie, him,” Martha said, frowning at the interruption by the head cheerleader. “They were last seen in a motel just outside Brecksville.”

“Why, that's no more than twenty miles from here!”

“Exactly!” Martha grinned, pleased that they were as anxious as she to prove themselves worthy of their Seeker charter. “Now, what do you say? Why don't we go catch that witch and turn her over to Dr. Fender?”

“Isn't there a fat reward on her?” one of the teenagers wistfully asked.

“Yes, Christopher, there is,” Martha said, her tone ringing with disappointment. “But only if you turn her in to the authorities and we don't want that, do we?”

Suitably chastened, Christopher shook his head. “No, ma'am.”

“Remember now,” she said, turning her attention to the whole crowd again. “We don't do this for the rewards, but for the satisfaction of doing God's work. What we do, we do for humanity. For society. For
God
.”

Cheers erupted and Martha basked in the appreciation for a long minute. With the threat of witchcraft taking over the world, Martha had finally found her voice. Most of her life she'd felt a little
less
than she wanted to be. As a child, she'd planned to do great things, but somehow, getting married and having babies had stolen her life and her dreams away.

Now, at long last, she was getting the chance to effect real change in the world. She was making a difference. Standing up for the rights of ordinary people. She was doing what she could to make the world a safer place for her children and grandchildren. And the pride she felt swelled inside her until she thought she might bust.

“Now,” Martha told them all, “Dr. Fender really wants this one particular witch. The scientific parts always confuse me no end, but he seems to think this witch is special. At any rate, she and the others like her may be the key to finally finding a way to drain
all
of their powers.”

“And give them to us, right?” Tony, the owner of the Italian restaurant in town, asked.

“That's right, Tony.” Martha beamed at him and imagined one day holding the power to defend her town and country. “Once we drain the witches, the righteous will be gifted with the powers taken from their dark souls.”

“Isn't that, um, dangerous?” Tessie spoke up again. “I mean, if they're dark powers, wouldn't they turn us dark, too?”

Martha stepped down from the dais, walked to the teenager and cupped the girl's chin in her hand. Here was another soul she was influencing. Helping along the righteous path.

“Not at all, sweetie,” she said. “Why, when those powers are torn from the Godless and given to True Believers . . .” She paused and let the light of her zealous gaze sweep across the faces of her friends and neighbors. Let them see the glory of what they were doing. Feel the importance of the task they'd been assigned. This could be the most significant night of their lives. She smiled at each of them in turn, showing them all how proud she was to serve with them, how sure she was that they would be victorious. “Why, when this night's work is done, we will be true warriors of the Lord. We will be instruments of His peace.”

“Amen,” someone murmured and a smattering of applause broke out.

“And always remember, sweetheart,” Martha said, looking down into Tessie's wide blue eyes. “You're on the side of right in this. Why, the Bible itself tells us,
You shall not suffer a witch to live.
Now, the Lord couldn't have been more clear in His instructions, could He?”

“I guess not,” Tessie whispered.

Martha patted her on the shoulder and softly added, “We're doing God's work here, Tessie, each and every one of us—and don't you ever forget it.”

“No, ma'am,” the girl answered.

Caterers bustled in, carrying steam trays, sending the scent of barbecued chicken and potatoes and gravy into the air.

“My,” Martha said, “that does smell good, doesn't it?” Then, clapping her hands, she smiled and added, “Now, I don't know about you all, but I've got a pot roast in the oven at home. So what do you say we go and get that witch so none of us is late for supper?”

S
hea sat at the foot of the bed and propped her face in her hands. She didn't like sensing Torin's frustration with her actions. His anger at being shut out of her decision. But they were both just going to have to live with it. She'd done what needed doing and she'd lived through it. Time to move on.

She listened to the sound of the shower and thought about joining Torin in the bathroom. But she discounted that idea a second or two later. They had to leave and if she went in there with him, it might be hours before they got moving again.

So instead she rifled through her newfound memories. As she'd told Torin, they were all so jumbled up together, centuries of them, it was going to take her some time to find the one they needed most. Shea knew he was waiting for her to tell him where they had to go. To have the vision. To awaken the memory that would give them direction. Speed them on the path toward straightening out this mess.

But so far she had nothing.

Shaking her head, she grabbed the TV remote and flicked it on, hoping for a mindless sitcom.

Naturally, the news popped on. Before she could change the channel, she was drawn into the report. On her.

“Shea Jameson has been missing now for two weeks.” The camera shifted to show the yard at Terminal Island and the hundred or so women still trapped at the prison. The reporter did a voice-over the images. “An investigation into the escape is ongoing and BOW has been called in to assist. When questioned by this reporter, Warden Salinger insisted that this incident was a rarity and that his prison remains no threat to the general population.”

Shea's stomach churned as she watched the prison guards in their towers pointing guns down at the women inmates as they walked aimlessly around the yard.

“Warden Salinger further states that magic was used to spirit away the missing witches and that he and his men were helpless to defend against it.”

“Probably not a good idea to advertise that,” Shea murmured, then stopped when her picture flashed on the screen. They were using her driver's license picture, so she looked hideous, but she was recognizable.

She watched the screen as the reporter gave her description to the audience. Nervously, she ran her fingers through her long red hair and winced. She had tried cutting off several inches and dying it dark brown—as she had done so long ago when she'd been alone and on the run. But it hadn't worked this time. By the following morning, her hair was down to the middle of her back again and the dark auburn color had replaced the indeterminate brown. It seemed that her Awakening powers were making it impossible to change her hair. Of course, once she got better with her powers, maybe she could try making a change magically.

Disgusted, she flicked the TV off, stood up and paced. If she added up all the steps she'd taken in aimless pacing over the last week or so, she probably could have walked around the world.

So instead she decided to channel her energies into a spell she had studied in the ancient Sanctuary book. If the whole world was looking for her, it was time she did a little searching herself.

She stretched out on the bed, stared up at the ceiling for long, quiet moments and let her mind go blank. She relaxed, counting each soft breath until her body was limp and her soul was lifting from her body. With astral projection, she focused on finding that woman she'd glimpsed once before in a scrying mirror.

Her spirit flew, unfettered, through a starry night, past homes with people tucked inside. She was a part of the night and yet separate. She searched for one woman in the masses. When she heard the the whispered chant, Shea turned, sweeping unerringly toward her goal.

Her mind searched while her body lay still on the bed, an empty shell. Bright lights pulled at her; the chanting voice became more distinct.

A woman sat alone in a dark room, features obscured by shadows thrown by the flames of a dozen white candles.
White,
Shea thought,
for purification and protection rituals
.

“I feel you,” the woman said, head bent over the dancing flames. “You shouldn't have come.”

“Why are you after me?” Shea asked, fighting to keep the connection with this woman. “It was you who sent those men who burned down the motel, wasn't it?”

“It was,” she answered and though Shea couldn't see her expression, she knew the woman was smiling. “But don't worry. I don't want you dead.”

“That fire was probably a mistake, then,” she said, sensing the banked power inside the woman.

“A miscalculation. The fools were supposed to take out your Eternal and bring you to me.”

“Why?”

“Because, Shea,” the woman sighed, “separate, we are each powerful but limited. Together, we would be unstoppable.”

“Who are you?”

“No more questions!” The woman waved one hand and Shea felt herself tumbling back the way she'd come, only to drop into her body, staring blindly up at the ceiling.

Breath heaving in and out of her lungs, Shea fought to steady herself. She'd heard the voice of her enemy. Felt the power surrounding her. And Shea knew the woman was far more powerful than she was.

She sat up slowly, her magic bubbling up inside her. Drawing down the moon had been dangerous, but worth it as well. She never could have attempted what she had just done without it. The renewal spell she'd worked had made her stronger. Just as mating with Torin was strengthening her powers. It eased her, knowing he was hers. Knowing that he would be beside her no matter what. Though she wasn't looking forward to telling him about the woman she had just seen and spoken to.

After all, she'd seen for herself what she and her sisters had done centuries ago. The call of the power had been so seductive, they'd only wanted more. And they'd surrendered to something dark and evil. She couldn't yet see it all. Couldn't find the mental key to that lock, but she felt the danger in her bones. And that worried her.

If she'd been tempted to evil before . . . what would keep history from repeating itself?

Maybe it was because she was already charged magically. Maybe her defenses were down after her encounter with the woman in the shadows. But whatever the reason, one memory suddenly rose to the surface of her mind, sweeping Shea into a past that was still alive with power.