M Sellars: Harm none

“I was her teacher. I instructed her in The Craft.”

I could hear him scribbling quickly, making notes like a good cop was supposed to do. I had started him on the road to solving one of his mysteries, but an entirely new one was unfolding before me. A new one that my instincts were telling me would need to be solved very quickly.

“Shit,” Ben muttered as he made his decision. “Okay. I’ll pick you up in the mornin’.”

“I’ll be here.”

I didn’t have any of the nightmares Ben warned me of-of course, you have to go to sleep in order to have nightmares. I was still sitting at the dining room table, absently studying the pattern of the sponge-painted walls when Felicity awoke and wandered in.

“Aye, it’s four A.M.,” she said with a yawn as she hooked her arm around my neck and fell into my lap. The fact that she wasn’t fully awake was allowing a hint of her Celtic brogue to show through. “How late were you and Ben drinking, then?” She reached out to the table and picked up my coffee cup then took a swallow. “Yech, needs sugar.”

I wrapped an arm about her waist and held her close. I had never been any good at breaking bad news to people, and I wasn’t really looking forward to doing it now. I let my head rest against her chest and took in the sweet scent of her long auburn curls. I felt comfortable and safe against her, and I held her even tighter. A foreboding deep inside told me that this was the last time I was going to feel this way for a while, so I allowed it to linger as long as I could.

“Row,” she asked, resting her cheek against my head. “What’s wrong?”

Her drowsy voice threw back my thin security blanket of denial and exposed me once again to the frigid reality I had come to accept only a few hours before. I took in a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh, and then reluctantly, I spoke, “Remember Ariel Tanner?”

“Of course,” she replied. “What about her? Is everything okay?” She pulled away, remaining in my lap, and bringing a hand beneath my bearded chin, raised my face to meet her concerned gaze.

“She was murdered,” I told her. “Ben is the investigating officer.”

“Oh no…” she whispered, her voice trailing off, and then hugged me tightly. “When did it happen? How?”

“A couple of days ago. As for the how…well, it wasn’t pretty. It looks like it might have been a ritual murder.”

“A ritual murder!” she gasped. “You mean as in someone sacrificed her?”

“That’s how it appears.” I continued, “In the crime scene pictures Ben showed me, anyway.”

Her voice suddenly took on a sharp, almost angry tone, “Why would he show pictures to you, then? Has he lost his mind?”

“Now don’t go off the deep end.” I helped her gently from my lap and stood up. “He had no idea that I knew her, and he was showing me the pictures because I offered to help. It seems his expert wasn’t having much luck deciphering the symbols left at the scene.” Picking up my coffee cup, I went into the kitchen to freshen it, Felicity trailing along behind.

“I see.” She calmed and held out a cup she had retrieved from the cabinet. She stopped me when I had filled it just over halfway. “Were you able to figure anything out for him?”

I leaned against the counter and took a sip of hot java. “Well, whoever committed the crime performed a ritual flaying, I would assume in order to invoke something. What’s interesting though, is that there were also blatant signs of what I’m pretty sure was supposed to be an Expiation spell.”

“Expiation spell,” she repeated while stirring sugar into her cup. “So do you think that the killer felt remorse and was trying to get rid of the guilt then?”

I nodded. “That’s my best guess for now. I’ll know more in a few hours.”

“What happens in a few hours?” she queried, her bright, green eyes peering at me over the rim of her cup as she took a drink.

“I’m going to look at the crime scene with Ben.”

“You’re what?!” Her eyes grew large and she nearly dropped her mug. “What in the name of the Mother Goddess are you doing that for?”

“Calm down, sweetheart.” I held up my hand defensively. “You know as well as I do that if this creep is for real, he’s likely to do something like this again sooner or later. Probably sooner.”

“Aye, so let the police handle it,” she shot back. “It’s their job, not yours.”

“I intend to,” I told her. “But you also know that if he’s leaving behind blatant occult symbology, the media and the cops will end up on a real ‘Witch’ hunt. If they knew what they were looking at to begin with, then Ben wouldn’t have asked for my advice.”

“Well.” She calmed significantly as the logic took hold. “You’re right about that.”

“I just want to make sure they get the real bad guy and not pin it on some poor unsuspecting kid just because he has long hair and a copy of Buckland’s Complete Book of WitchCraft on his bookshelf.”

“I agree,” she surrendered.

“Besides,” I said, turning and attempting to look out into the darkness through the sliding doors but seeing only my ragged reflection staring back at me, “if this cretin actually has a background in The Craft…”

“…It’s going to take a Witch to catch a Witch gone bad,” Felicity finished the sentence for me. “And that Witch is going to be you.”

“It might have to be,” I told her.

“Aye, that’s what scares me,” she replied.

I convinced Felicity to go ahead on her planned outing with her nature photography club but only after promising to call her if something of consequence happened. She made a great show of placing her cell phone prominently in a pocket of her photo vest and reminding me of the number before loading her equipment and setting out. I had showered and tied my long brown hair back in a ponytail after she left and was making a futile attempt to relax on the front porch swing when Ben pulled into the driveway.

“Hey, paleface,” he greeted me as he climbed the stairs.

I held up my hand in a classic TV Indian greeting. “How, Tonto.”

“However I can get it.” He motioned to the coffee cup in my hand. “Got any more of that? I’m havin’ a hell of a time wakin’ up this mornin’.”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, getting up and opening the door. “Same here. It’s the only thing standing between me and sleep right now.”

Ben took a seat in the living room and was promptly accosted by a large, green-eyed, black cat that elected to take up residence in his lap. Dickens, as we called him, loved having visitors, especially men, and was quick to claim them for his own. I headed for the kitchen while he settled in, then quickly returned with a steaming cup of black coffee and handed it to Ben.

“I gotta be honest with ya’, Rowan,” he began, scratching the purring lump of fur beneath its chin. “I was thinkin’ on the way over, and I’m not so sure about you goin’ to the scene and all.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked. “Is it because I’m a civilian?”

“No, not at all,” he answered. “Civilian consultants ain’t that unusual. What I’m worried about is the fact that you knew the victim.”

“I see,” I nodded. “So you think I might be too close to this whole thing.”

“It crossed my mind,” he answered and then took a sip from his cup.

I had seated myself across from him in my favorite chair, an antique rocker. Gazing thoughtfully into space, I gently nudged it into motion. I had been told more than once by my parents that as a child, whenever I was lost in thought, I would rock, rocking chair or not. I still did.

“I’m not going to lie to you Ben,” I finally said. “It does get to me that Ariel is the victim, and yes, she was a good friend even though we hadn’t seen one another for over a year.” I stopped the chair and leaned forward. “On the other hand, I have knowledge that might help to catch whoever did this. I think I demonstrated that last night.”