Dark Vengeance Read online

  The moon. She faced it on the way up to the driveway. If she kept it behind her, eventually, she’d hit Pear Tree Lane . From there she could find her car. She hoped.

  She put the moon to her back. With more deliberation than before, she made her way through the woods, all high steps and outstretched arms, eyes working overtime to see what little the moon would reveal. Her right arm throbbed where the branch had gouged it. She feared what it would look like in tomorrow’s daylight.

  An insect buzzed by her ear. She swatted at it and then smiled. She was outside the dead zone, the land around the house where creatures did not trespass. Perhaps she was going in the right direction.

  She broke out on the edge of a field of harvested corn. She prayed it was the field and her Honda would be waiting for her at the edge.

  Headlights flashed by at the field’s far side. A road. A fast-moving car. Good news. She picked up her pace. To her right loomed the dark hulk of a barn. The shape was familiar. She neared and saw her car beside it.

  “Thank God.”

  More headlights on the road. Slow this time. Too slow. She crouched down in the bare field, feeling naked and exposed. She recognized the van as it crept along the highway. A bright flashlight panned the side of the road from the driver’s open window. It played along the far side of the barn. The van paused at the path to the barn. Reverse light flickered as the driver shifted into Park. The door opened. The dome light did not come on.

  “No, no, no,” Laura whispered. She held her breath.

  The door closed. The van thunked into Drive and crawled away.

  When the taillights disappeared around a corner, Laura sprinted for her car. She fired it up and backed out onto the road with her lights off. She spun the wheel and drove in the direction opposite the van’s. She passed the mailbox for 214 and a half mile later flicked on her lights. Her heart didn’t slow until she passed under the protective streetlights of downtown Moultrie.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tammy stood by the driveway as Janice returned in the minivan. She cursed when she saw Janice was alone. Janice slammed the door in frustration as she got out. That made Tammy even angrier.

  “Are you begging to get Aileen down here?” Tammy said in a hushed tone. “At least try and be quieter.”

  “I looked all over,” Janice said. “I couldn’t find anyone.”

  “But you were sure someone was out here?”

  “Positive. And it wasn’t some kids out here on a dare, or some poacher with night vision goggles after deer. It was an adult, alone. And whoever it was saw the ritual. You checked on the Gift?”

  “It’s back in the box,” Tammy said. “Too out of it to know that anything happened. But if that observer had surfaced earlier, it would have been another story.”

  “This place is supposed to be secure,” Janice said. Her voice grew angry, her words quick. “We’re down to the wire, short of critical mass, and as of yesterday, missing the Gift’s groom. Whoever was out there could make things even worse, as if that’s possible.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Tammy said. She knew the soothing tone needed to keep Janice from exploding. She put a hand on Janice’s broad shoulder. “We’ve come this far, too far, to fail. We three triad witches here are strong, right?”

  Janice reluctantly nodded.

  “The farthest flung of the rest of the coven are already on their way,” Tammy said. “And plans are in motion to identify the offerings we need to reach critical mass. It’s all under control.”

  Janice took a deep breath and sighed. “I know. We’ll make it. We have to.”

  “Good. Pull the van around back and then check on the Gift. I’ll meet you inside.”

  As Janice pulled away, Tammy wished she was as certain as she made her witch sister believe. There was a plan to gather the critical mass, but an outsider was part of that plan, a male outsider. That made her ill at ease. Extending trust outside the coven’s bounds rarely yielded good results.

  Then there was the plan. It hinged on the power of two spells. The first, to summon the longarex, had been successful, but the power of the witch’s triad had been sufficient for that. The rest would require the full power of the coven.

  How she wished it was as easy as the nonbelievers made it seem. Witches riding brooms and casting spells at the drop of a wand. But a spell was no simple task. Calling forth the powers of the Earth was like performing a difficult piano concerto. Just as every ivory key had to be struck with precise timing and pressure, so every nuance of casting a spell had to be delivered with that same exactitude. Only years of practice ensured that the spell would be strong enough to be effective. Many witches never mastered any, most of the rest only mastered one at a time.

  The coven had mastered the barrier spell, one they could communally create that would meet the needs of the vengeful plan unfolding in just a few days’ time. The priestess triad would then release the fully restored longarex and the world would feel the wrath of witches scorned.

  So all depended on the coven convening, critical mass being reached and their skill in casting the barrier spell. The witches at the Petty place juggled three heavy balls. They just had to keep them in the air a few days longer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Laura doubted she’d get support from her principal to investigate what was going on at the Petty place. He’d already dismissed her concerns. Then there was the addition of her clandestine surveillance. That revelation wouldn’t get her more credibility. It would get her fired. She’d have to use another avenue for help.

  The next morning, she had a free period around nine. She closed and locked the door to her little room. She would have called from her car, but while that would ensure a private conversation, the public act of walking to her car would have every faculty tongue wagging. She plugged in the code to mask her phone number and called Child Services.

  “You have reached Shaw County Child Services,” said an automated voice. “This call may be recorded. Please hold.”

  Damn it, Laura thought. She’d counted on leaving a bit less of a trail. Given her status in the community, retaining anonymity would be her only hope of being taken seriously.

  “Shaw County Child Services,” a woman’s voice said. “Ms. O’Neill.”

  Laura lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “I need to report a home for investigation.”

  “And what did you observe there?”

  The woman’s monotone, businesslike delivery awakened Laura to the outlandish nature of what she’d observed. Laura’s recent paranormal experiences had widened her ability to accept the bizarre. But in the light of day before others, she knew it sounded crazy.

  She could lie. She knew the trigger words: sexual abuse, extreme neglect. Those always got an immediate response, even the police. But a few minutes on-site, and the investigators would see none of it was true. Then they would never look for what was really happening.

  “Ma’am?” Ms. O’Neill said.

  She’d have to go for a version of the truth.

  “I saw some ritual, in the backyard, at night. One of the children was involved.” She stretched the truth. “There may have been drugs used.”

  “Where did you witness this?”

  “214 Pear Tree Lane.”

  From the other side, Laura could actually hear a pen stop scratching paper and slap down on a desk. “The Petty place,” Ms. O’Neill said.

  “Yes.”

  Switches toggled on the other side. The connection seemed clearer. When Ms. O’Neill’s voice returned, her professional demeanor was gone.

  “Why don’t you people leave those women alone?”

  Laura jerked upright. This had to be a huge breach of protocol, even for this small town. The clicking sounds must have been the recording equipment being disabled.

  “Do you know how many of these harassing calls we get about Aileen? Well, every time we answer one, we find the same thing, two well-behaved kids living in a supportive environme
nt. These bogus calls we answer take us away from real children in need. I wish you and your small-minded friends would get some lives.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Laura said. “Last night, they were in the backyard and—”

  “What were you doing in someone’s backyard anyway? I should have known when the caller ID was blocked. Legitimate people aren’t afraid to stand up for children in distress.”

  Laura’s anger flared. “Look, I’ll just call the state-level offices.”

  “Who will call us. And we’ll take whatever level of action is appropriate. Get it? Stop wasting what scant resources we have to help children in real need.”

  The line went dead.

  Laura could only imagine how much worse the conversation would have been if Ms. O’Neill had known she was talking to the town pariah. Maybe she did know. It certainly would help explain her reaction.

  Laura’s summer depression rolled back in. Why was everything she did, every attempt she made to help children, such an uphill struggle? Dalton Gowan’s appreciation was the only positive thing she’d experienced in forever. She wished she could vent to Theresa. Theresa would understand. But Theresa wasn’t an option.

  Laura was on her own trying to rescue these kids from whatever was happening out at the Petty place.

  Chapter Twenty

  Theresa looked up from rearranging some crystal in one of Treasured Things display cases as the front door opened. She nearly dropped a serving dish as she recognized Mayor Maggie McCormack.

  The mayor was a relative newcomer to town. Theresa had voted for her, ready for a change to the good-old-boy system that had run the town since before she was born. But she’d never met the mayor, and the mayor had certainly never set foot in Treasured Things before.

  Maggie saw Theresa and broke into an engaging smile. She had a thin sheaf of goldenrod-colored paper in her hands. She wore a sharp gray pinstripe jacket with a matching skirt, just the kind of combination that said “professional” without an establishment-intimidating overdose of femininity.

  “Theresa Grissom? I’m Maggie McCormack. We haven’t formally met, and I should have been in here ages ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. This is exactly the kind of store we need to bring Moultrie back around. It’s locally owned. It caters to our small-town persona. It brings in revenue from outside the county. Fill the town square with stores like yours and I won’t be worried about budget shortfalls, I’ll be worried about finding more parking.”

  That was the kind of boosterism that drove the mayor’s campaign. Theresa was glad it hadn’t been an act. She caught the scent of Maggie’s perfume, something light and floral, with a sweet mix of pine. An odd, but pleasing mix.

  “Your scent? It’s lovely.”

  Maggie beamed. “See, something else from a local business, an all-natural perfume. Even people who live here don’t know everything we have to offer. Which brings me to my reason to visit.”

  She handed Theresa one of the goldenrod-colored sheets she carried. It advertised Women’s Night ,a support group meeting for battered women. Theresa suppressed a little shudder. Her tempestuous marriage to her currently incarcerated ex had sponsored more than its share of stressful days.

  “Small towns are all about secrets,” Maggie said. “Abused women suffer in silence. Some women here wanted to start a support group and I am all for it. Women need to know what help is available, and that they are not alone.”

  Theresa could empathize. During some of the darker days with Bobby, when Dustin was a baby and she had to care for him around the clock, she felt cut off from the world.

  “I’d be happy to post this,” Theresa said. “I’ll give it equal billing with the Donkey Day flyer.”

  “You can consider that a personal invitation as well,” Maggie said.

  Theresa felt stripped naked for a moment, her buried personal life revealed by a stranger.

  “I heard about your ex,” Maggie said. Her voice brimmed with reassurance. “No group will better understand that amazing women can still make amazing mistakes.”

  “It really wasn’t like that,” Theresa said. “He was a stupid drunk, but he never hit either of us.”

  “Abuse takes many forms. Not all leave marks. You can be a role model for others, the way you restarted your life with this store, made things better for you and your son. And, by the way, there will be baby-sitting on-site, so feel free to bring your boy along.”

  The flyer read that the meeting was in the cafeteria of Princess Day Care, one of the newer day-care facilities in town. It had a good reputation and the flyer advertised the kids would have movies and popcorn.

  “I think I’d like that,” Theresa said. The words slipped out before she even thought them through.

  Maggie’s face brightened. “Then we’ll see you there.”

  Maggie left Theresa alone in the store in a bit of a daze. Somehow Theresa had assumed that she needed to shoulder the experience of her marriage to old Bastard Bobby alone. Perhaps because that was how she had always carried the burden of the gift of prophecy. Perhaps because the isolated world an abusive relationship creates fosters a persistent solo mentality. But, for whatever reason, she now realized she didn’t have to live with those painful memories alone. Others had walked the same rocky path she had, and, together, they could help each other find the way off that road.

  She pinned the flyer to the bulletin board behind the counter. Then she repinned it a few inches higher. This meeting would be a good thing, a healing thing. A little part of her liked the idea of meeting a new group, not associated with Laura, taking a step away from that diminishing part of her life. The thought made her feel immediately guilty. She was in no hurry to have the Laura part of her life end.

  She’d treat one wound at a time. First, a meeting to deal with Bobby issues. Then hope that somehow her issues with Laura would turn around later.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The members of the Donkey Day Committee milled around the courthouse conference room. Until the mayor arrived to gavel the meeting to order, the participants were happy to enjoy the free coffee and donuts from Angelina’s across the street.

  Sheriff Sam steered clear of the donuts. In the age of ubiquitous cameras and instant uploads, the last thing he needed was the clichéd photo of a cop eating a bulging jelly-filled. He also didn’t need the cliché of the pot-bellied sheriff and was in no mood to do a few extra miles of running to work off the calories. He leaned against the wall in the back of the room and watched the others banter. The town council was respectful to him, but Sam felt that their acceptance of him as sheriff was just a notch above that of the deputies. The mayor had rammed his appointment down everyone’s throat.

  A new face peered in through the open door. A face new to town perhaps, but not new to Sam. He bounced up from the wall and pulled the newcomer in with a handshake.

  “Bentley Cummings!” he said. “How lost must you be to be standing here?”

  Bentley stood six feet tall, if he was an inch, and had the same lean physique he’d had on active duty with Sam an hour north at Fort Campbell. The intervening years hadn’t aged his boyish face, now accentuated by a mop of longer brown hair that would have never passed muster at inspections.

  “Top Cop Sam Barnsdale,” Bentley said with a grin that made his brown eyes sparkle. “From active duty MP to civilian sheriff. You stuck in a rut or what?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Same here. Medevac pilot to Lifeflight pilot.” Bentley then added the Army maxim they had always shared, now tinged with affection instead of resignation. “Same shit, different day.”

  “And you are down here in Boonieville for…?”

  “Standby duty at Donkey Day, whatever that is. Apparently, an on-site ambulance isn’t enough.”

  Mayor McCormack strode in wearing an arresting red dress. Her heels hit the tile and the room went quieter with each step. Everyone took a seat, Bentley next to Sam.
r />   “We’ll go through a quick update from everyone in a moment,” the mayor said. “But first let me introduce a visitor.” She pointed to Bentley. “Bentley Cummings is here from First Baptist Hospital in Nashville. He’s their Lifeflight pilot.”

  All eyes turned to Bentley. He gave an acknowledging nod.

  “Because of the size and nature of our event,” the mayor said, “the State wants a medical helicopter on-site, not just an ambulance like we have at the county fair and every other event at the fairgrounds.” She gritted her teeth. “Apparently the Moultrie Hospital isn’t good enough. And of course this is at our expense, one we did not budget for.”

  A few councilmen murmured in disapproval.

  “Look at you,” Sam whispered to Bentley. “Mr. Popularity, as always.”

  “So, you’ve checked the fairgrounds, Mr. Cummings?” the mayor said.

  “Absolutely,” Bentley replied. “I’ll be outside the perimeter gate near US 41. It’s a clear field and I can take off in any direction. Anyone injured on-site will be in our ER in twenty minutes.”

  “Splendid,” the mayor said, words flat as a pancake. “How are the rest of our preparations going?”

  One member rose to report that the new security fence was almost complete.

  “And the drainage trench?” the mayor asked.

  “Little trouble with the backhoe yesterday, but it’ll be done on time.”

  “Trench?” Sam said.

  “Around the fence line, Sheriff,” the mayor said. “I’ve seen the fairgrounds flood in a heavy rain. We’re going to take this opportunity to fix that.”

  Sam wondered how much that little extra was costing the town. Someone else updated the status of rented Portalets. The local National Guard’s water buffalo trailer was confirmed as coming. The donkey judging and strength events were explained and the timetable set. Daisy the Diving Donkey was confirmed. The mayor announced that in a break from tradition and as a show of diversity, the local Girl Scouts, not the Boy Scouts, would be managing parking this year. Sam reported that most of the department would be around the fairgrounds, including civilian volunteers. A few deputies would be held in reserve for any issues in the county.