M Sellars - Never Burn A Witch

Karyl had returned shortly with her partner, and the two young women were now huddled close together on a high-backed love seat holding hands, their fingers tightly entwined. Carl and I had taken up residence on the matching couch across from them. The short distance between was occupied by a spartan antique coffee table. Ben remained standing, hands buried in his pockets, quietly surveying the room. I knew he was using his size to, as he would put it, “compel full cooperation”; but in this case it was accomplishing nothing more than scaring the wits out of one of the women and putting the other on the extreme defensive. At least he was wearing a sport coat, so his sidearm wasn’t adding to the intimidation.

Having worked with me before, Carl had slipped easily into the habit of treating me as if I were just another cop; therefore, I doubted he was aware-or even concerned with the fact-that from my vantage point seated next to him, I could see everything he was putting on the paper. Next to Karyl’s name he made the notation, “blonde/blue nervous”-hair color, eye color, and demeanor. Next to Starr’s was the description “black/blue bitchy.”

On a separate line beneath the two names, he scrawled “lipstick lesbians” and double underlined it. I assumed this to be a reference to the fact that while they were obviously involved with one another, they were both very feminine in their appearance and dress. Yet another slang term born of the same misconstrued stereotypes of homosexuals that had given us such epithets as “bull-dyke” and “flaming-fairy.”

“Nice house you got here,” Carl observed aloud. “Must be one heck of a mortgage payment.”

“As if it is any of your business, Detective,” Starr hissed, “it is paid for.”

He let out a low whistle. “Nice. Have a good job, do you?”

“I am an attorney, Detective Deckert,” she returned. “A very successful one. Of course, I’m sure you were well aware of that before you ever came here.”

Next to her name on the notepad, he penciled in “lawyer/bucks.”

“Just the two of you live here, I take it?”

“Yes,” she huffed. “If I may, Detective Deckert, I am certain you were well aware of our names and countless other facts that are none of your business before you ever arrived here. So, if I may ask, is there a point to these questions other than a transparent attempt to antagonize me?”

“Just makin’ an observation, Miz Winston.” He shrugged. “That’s all. I’m not tryin’ to antagonize anyone.”

Her eyes quickly darting back and forth between Deckert and Starr, Karyl suddenly blurted, “Are we suspects?”

“Not at all, Miss Steinbeck.” Carl shook his head. “Not at all. We’re just tryin’ to get some information, so we can solve this case.”

The reply to her question was followed by a thickening silence. Information wasn’t going to flow freely from these two women, and being a Witch myself, I could fully understand their reluctance to speak. Considering the way the media had already begun sensationalizing their erroneous and unconfirmed rumors of “Cult Revenge,” the entire Pagan community in the area was probably running scared. Two of the local television stations had even started weeklong exposes titled something on the order of “WitchCraft: Saint Louis’ Hidden Evil.”

“Listen, Miss Steinbeck, Miz Winston…” Carl volunteered. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of this case except to say that the current speculation in the media is way off base… Don’t pay any attention to it.”

Their silence continued.

“Should we be expectin’ anyone else?” Ben finally asked from his station, semi-blocking the doorway. “Or is it just gonna be the two of you?”

The blonde woman stared past him into the next room at first, obviously making note of his blatant positioning, then tensely chewed at her lower lip before answering, “No, Detective…”

“Storm,” he reminded her.

“Detective Storm,” she said with a nod. “No. No one else.”

He paused for a moment and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Mind if I ask why? When I called yesterday I was given ta’ understand that there were several members in your group, and I asked that you all be present for this meeting.”

“On my counsel they have elected to remain anonymous,” Starr replied in her still frosty tone. “Not everyone in our Coven is as outspoken about their religious practices as Karyl and I. To be perfectly honest, Detective, the last thing they need is to have the police putting their names on their hit list.”

“Ladies,” Carl interjected with a fatherly chuckle, “I can assure you that there is no such thing as a ‘hit list.’”

“Officially,” she spat.

“Listen,” Ben began, “like Detective Deckert said, we’re just tryin’ ta’ solve a coupl’a murders here. The media is just runnin’ off at the mouth, as usual, and you two are not suspects. Now, we know Kendra Miller was a member of your group, and all we wanna do is ask ya’ a few questions. This isn’t some kinda shakedown. We are not on a Witch Hunt, okay?”

The two women simply stared back silently, making no move to speak or even acknowledge what he had just told them.

“I was afraid of this… That’s why we brought Rowan along,” he appealed, gesturing in my direction. “Give us a break, willya’?”

Still facing a mute audience, he turned his exasperated gaze on me and threw his hands in the air. “Okay, I give up… Row, speak some Witch to ‘em or somethin’.”

As I suspected would happen, I was unceremoniously dropped into the hot seat, and the two women turned to me almost in unison. Starr continued her piercing stare with ice blue eyes. Her stony expression combined with the frigid glare was enough to show me why she was so successful in her practice of the law. I somehow doubted that losing was an acceptable option for this young woman, and I was inwardly glad that I wasn’t on a witness stand being cross-examined by her; although, I wasn’t entirely sure if I was any safer where I sat at the moment.

Karyl was quite obviously the weaker of the two. Though while she certainly wasn’t as stoical as her partner, she remained completely mute. She simply cracked a fleeting, tight-lipped smile and watched me with wide, troubled eyes.

I cleared my throat and shrugged then stated succinctly, “They are telling the truth.”

“I read about you in the newspaper last weekend. You’re the one who helped find that murderer last year, aren’t you?” Karyl finally peeped.

On the edge of my vision, I caught a slight movement as Starr squeezed her hand and, getting her attention, almost imperceptibly flashed her a stern look. She wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

“Yes, I am,” I replied.

Starr cocked an eyebrow and spat sarcastically, “So what did they do, make you an honorary cop? Promise to leave you alone if you helped root out a few Pagans?”

“No, Ms. Winston, there were no such promises made, very simply because they aren’t necessary. I am merely a consultant.”

“A consultant for the police,” she added.

“Look,” I sighed and shook my head. “I’m not going to tell you that there aren’t cops who are prejudiced against Pagans. If I did, I’d be lying. We’ve all heard of friends being pulled over just because they have a Pentacle bumper sticker on their car. But if you happened to read that article in the paper, you know that I’ve been working toward educating the law enforcement community about The Craft-with Detective Storm’s help, mind you. You need to remember that it’s a two-way street. You can’t pass judgment on all cops just because of a stubborn few with preconceived ideas. And you can’t run around being paranoid all the time.”