M Sellars - Never Burn A Witch

“It’s okay,” I soothed. “I understand.”

“I am afraid that Karyl is in no condition to proceed with this interview,” she continued while she could. “However, if you gentlemen would be so kind as to wait right here, I will be back in a moment… and I will do my best to answer any questions you may have.”

I nodded. “Of course. Take your time.”

Carl waited until the two women had left the room and were out of earshot before turning to me and tossing his hands up. “Could someone please tell me what just happened? One minute she’s a freakin’ ice princess then the next thing you know she looks like she’s about to start bawlin’ and she’s apologizin’ to you… And what was that ‘you brought it on yerself’s’ stuff?”

“In their zeal to… read me psychically shall we say,” I explained, “they got a little carried away and looked at a few memories they would have been better off not seeing.”

“They did WHAT?” His eyes grew wide as he made the exclamation.

“Trust me, Carl,” I told him. “It’s a Witch thing.”

Behind me, Ben softly whistled the opening theme from the Twilight Zone.

“I apologize for Karyl,” Starr told us as she centered herself back on the love seat and self-consciously smoothed her pleated, tartan skirt. Her slightly reddened eyes testified to the fact that she had shed a few tears as well. “She and Kendra were lovers once…” She paused then added, “Before us of course.

“She was taking her death pretty hard to begin with and seeing that…vision…” She allowed her voice to melt into silence then took a deep breath and continued, “My apologies once again to you, Mister Gant. I am certain that reliving those images must have been just as painful for you as well.”

“Rowan. Please,” I replied. “And it’s all right. I just hope the two of you will be okay.”

She smiled. Briefly, but she smiled. She was very striking to begin with, and the smile betrayed the gentle side of the sharp-edged attorney who had been seated there only minutes ago.

She drew in another deep breath and exhaled heavily then asked, “How can I help?”

“Do you know if Miss Miller, or anyone in your group for that matter,” Carl responded, “has been threatened or harassed lately?”

“She mentioned that she had been receiving religious junk mail,” she answered. “But that’s not unusual. Once your name is on a mailing list, it gets circulated everywhere.”

“Nothing else?” he pressed. “Was she maybe approached by anyone that you know of?”

“No. Not that I am aware of, unless you count e-mail.”

“Go on.”

“She received some rather nasty messages on the internet… A month or two back if I remember correctly. ‘Repent now, or burn in hell’ kind of messages. She reported them to her provider, and I assume they took care of it. She never received any more.”

“Did she have any idea who the messages were from or how the person got ‘er e-mail address?” Ben interjected.

“No. She had no idea who was sending them.”

“Whoever it was probably pulled her address down from a newsgroup or something,” I offered. “That would also explain why the person knew her religion. There are several discussion groups about Paganism, Wicca and The Craft. All she had to do was post a message to one of them and her e-mail address became public knowledge.”

“Lovely,” Ben huffed as he scribbled in his notebook.

Turning back to Starr, I asked, “Do you happen to know who her provider was?”

“Not offhand.” She shook her head. “I have her e-mail address, if that would help?”

“Yes. I would appreciate getting that from you later.”

Ben and Carl both shot me curious looks.

“If her internet service provider was filtering the e-mail for her in order to bounce or trap the offensive messages,” I outlined for their benefit, “we might be able to get a domain designation from them.”

They continued to look at me expectantly.

“Kind of like tracing a phone call.” I simplified my explanation. “If we’re lucky, we might be able to determine the origin of the message, the account it was sent from, and maybe even the person who owns the account.”

The expectant looks turned into amazed stares.

“Remember, I make my living with computers. WitchCraft is a part of my belief system. It’s not my profession.”

“I’ll get one of our gurus on that,” Ben assented with an oh yeah, now I remember expression on his face and penned himself a quick reminder.

Carl looked back to the young woman and continued the line of questions. “Did anyone else in your group get any of these e-mails or junk mail?”

“I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips and canted her head to the side then stared off thoughtfully for a moment. “No. I can’t remember anyone mentioning any, although… Brianna did say she had been getting quite a few prank phone calls. Hang-ups mostly, but she did seem a little disturbed by them.”

“Brianna?” Ben looked up from his notepad, shot a glance at Carl then me and finally back to Starr.

“Yes,” she answered. “Brianna Walker. She is a member of our Coven. I can give you her number if you’d like, though she may be out of town. I haven’t been able to reach her this past week.”

“Brianna LOUISE Walker?” Ben ventured again. “Also known as Mistress Bree?”

“Yes, Detective Storm,” she returned. “Please don’t tell me you arrested her while working vice or something. At a time like this, I hardly see why something like that should…”

“Miz Winston,” Carl interrupted as Starr began to defend her friend and fellow sister of The Craft. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this…”

“Tell me what? What’s wrong?”

“Brianna Walker appears to have been the killer’s first victim,” Ben detailed concisely. “Her name hasn’t been released yet because we’ve been unable to contact her next of kin.”

She looked at Ben incredulously, then to Detective Deckert, then brought her eyes to meet mine and shook her head. Her lips parted slightly as she mouthed a silent “No.”

The blunt hammer of emotional pain that descended upon her secured itself a two-for-one deal as she remained supernaturally connected to me through our locked gaze. For a fleeting moment, I felt a hard lump rise in my throat and a caustic burn flood through my sinuses as my own eyes began to water.

I glanced away to break the ethereal union then stared off into space and uttered the only words that came to my clouded mind, “I’m so very sorry.”

“Miz Winston,” Ben ventured calmly but firmly as she started to tremble. “In light of this information, I think it’d be prudent for you to give us a list of your Coven members and their phone numbers. For their own safety…”

“Well sure I could be wrong… I hope like hell I am if you wanna know the truth.” Ben was forcing himself to speak in hushed tones.

Earlier, he had sequestered himself outside the entrance of the room in the narrow hall in order to jumpstart the Major Case Squad with the latest information. He had then proceeded to contact the local police department trying to obtain protection for Karyl and Starr. While he made a seemingly endless series of calls, one leading to the next, Carl Deckert and I remained in the sitting room with the grieving young attorney. She was holding up amazingly well under the circumstances, even considering her connection with The Craft. I suppose her profession had taught her how to remain calm and detached. Still, her distress was visible.

“Look, I’d just rather be wrong on the side of caution instead of endin’ up with another body.” He continued, “Can you understand that?”