M Sellars - Harm none

They both nodded in agreement.

“The fourth victim was the real kicker,” I continued. “The perfect dress rehearsal, but with two exceptions.”

“What’re those?” R.J. questioned.

“There wasn’t a full moon.” I paused. “And the victim most likely wasn’t a virgin.”

“So that’s why he took a kid,” he mused aloud and then glanced over at Ben. “And the full moon is Friday, so that’s why you’re running out of time.”

Ben nodded. “Give the man a cigar.”

“Do you have any leads? Any clues at all?” Cally interjected.

“A few. Not many though.” I stood and moved across the room as I spoke. Earlier in the day, I had placed my “Dream Diary” on the bookshelf, and I now retrieved it. “That’s why we’re here right now, to have a look at this.”

“What is that?” R.J. asked.

“My Book of Shadows. I’ve been having nightmares ever since I got involved with this case, and I’ve been recording them here. Apparently, they contain clues about the killer, or it seems that way so far. They predicted the death of the fourth victim and the abduction of the little girl… Unfortunately, I just didn’t interpret the meanings soon enough to prevent either of those things from happening.”

“Maybe there’s something we can do to help,” Cally volunteered, focusing her attention on me. “We used to discuss dreams with Ariel all the time.”

“Yeah,” R.J. agreed with her. “Ariel was real good at figuring out the weird stuff.”

“That would explain some of the things in here then.” I waved the notebook. “She’s been appearing in my nightmares, and the clues have definitely been obscure.”

The atmosphere around Cally and R.J. had grown tight with bristling energy. I could almost feel an electrical surge flowing from the two of them as they relaxed and attuned themselves with their surroundings. Even with the weight of the current situation, I was hard pressed not to feel a sense of pride in how well Ariel had taught them about The Craft. It was obvious to me that they truly wanted to help.

“You mean you think Ariel might be directing your visions?” Cally posed.

“I’m sure of it.”

“Whoa, that’s pretty intense, man,” R.J. exclaimed.

I glanced over at Ben who was quietly observing the scene before him with professional detachment. Even though he had recently come to accept my visions as true precursors to future events, what we Witches were now viewing as a normal conversation certainly had to appear outlandish to him. His exposure to our way of life over the past week appeared to have opened his eyes however, as he seemed to be taking it all in stride.

“What kinds of things has she been throwing at you?” Cally prodded.

“A good example would be the Seven of Pentacles showing up all over the place.”

“The suit of coins,” she recited mechanically. “The money card.”

“You read?” Felicity inquired.

“Yeah. I learned from Ariel,” she acknowledged. “She was really into tarot.”

“Unfortunately, we aren’t,” I outlined. “So I had to do a little research on the meanings. Even so, it still didn’t make any sense until today.”

“I almost forgot to ask,” Felicity expressed. “Was your idea about that right?”

“He was on the nose,” Ben spoke up. “All of the victims had accounts at the same bank except the Radcliffe woman. So Svengali here says, ‘What about her roommate?’ And bingo! There it is. Her roommate’s bank account matched up with the other three.”

“More than likely she was the intended victim,” I finished the story. “But they were both flight attendants, and they just happened to trade flights that day.”

“Talk about bad luck,” R.J. whistled. “But what about the little girl?”

“Her name’s Ariel, believe it or not, but I don’t think that’s her connection. They’re checking, but the guess is that she has a trustee account or something at the same bank.”

“Well, that would make sense,” Cally mused. “Money, bank accounts, and all that.” She shifted slightly in her seat. “But you’re right. It’s pretty obscure.”

“So you figure that the killer works at the bank they all used or something?” R.J. ventured thoughtfully.

“Capitol Bank to be exact,” Ben responded. “And yeah, that’s the theory right now.”

“Capitol Bank?” Cally echoed. “Wow, that’s weird.”

Ben shifted his gaze over to her. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Roger.” She turned to me. “You know, the guy we told you about that was just a poser? Well, he works at Capitol Bank. That’s where he met Ariel.” She gave a visible shudder. “To think he might be working with this sicko. It gives me the creeps.”

“By any chance,” Ben reached into his jacket and pulled out the familiar, worn black notebook that never seemed to leave his side. “Would either of you know if he happened to move here recently, like say, within the past year?”

“Yeah, I think he did,” R.J. nodded thoughtfully. “He was from somewhere out West or someplace like that.”

“I seem to remember him saying something about Washington state,” Cally added. “Why?”

“Because another one of the clues in the dream was constant rain,” I explained. “When I finally managed to connect that with Seattle, we found out that a murder just like these happened out there about a year ago.”

“Do you really think it could be Roger?” Cally’s eyes had widened almost instantly.

“I don’t know,” Ben announced, “but I plan ta’ find out.”

“What does Roger look like?” I queried.

“Oh, late twenties, early thirties,” Cally described. “Kind of stocky, about five-eight with sandy hair.”

“What color are his eyes?” I pressed.

“Bright blue.”

“No they aren’t,” R.J. interjected. “Those are contacts. Remember, he lost one at a coven meeting once, and he looked like one of those malamutes or something. He’s got grey eyes.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I forgot about that,” she agreed and then turned to me. “Is that important?”

I didn’t answer her directly. I looked over at my friend who was now holding his pen frozen in space inches from his notebook, staring back in amazement. “I saw grey eyes when I channeled Karen Barnes. The killer has grey eyes.”

We all stared around the room at one another silently for a moment. The pieces of the puzzle had fallen completely into place, making a fully formed image-the image of a young man with light hair and light eyes.

Ben was the first to break the stunned hush. “I’m gonna use your phone.”

Tell ‘im that’s not my problem, and yes we do have a warrant,” Ben roared into the telephone. “Now I want the employee file on Roger Henderson yesterday!” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and glanced over at me. “President of the bank is throwin’ some kinda black tie thing at his house tonight. He seems ta’ think that it’s more important than… Hell No!” Someone apparently spoke at the other end as he abruptly ended his comment and returned his attention to the handset. “Why don’t ya’ ask ‘im how he’d feel about havin’ a sobriety checkpoint right outside his front door?” The pause was brief while the person at the other end assumedly relayed Ben’s intimidating rhetoric. “Yeah, I thought so. Have a patrol in the area pick it up and tell ‘em to ignore the stop signs… Yeah, Uh-huh. Thanks… Yeah, is Deckert still there? Yeah, put ‘im on…”

Cally, R.J., Felicity, and I watched wordlessly as Ben continued directing the efforts of the Major Case Squad via the telephone. The device had been cradled between his ear and shoulder for over fifteen minutes while he relentlessly barked questions and orders into it. He stopped only momentarily to quickly shift the handset to the other shoulder and turn to a fresh page in his notebook.