Vicious Moon Page 2

  I still had no idea why the Sisters of Justice were after me.

  I’d led them on an energetic chase. The only thing I carried was the backpack containing certain life essentials that I always kept in my car. I was battle trained by the army, and conflict trained by life—no one would take me down without a fight. Given the tenacity of their pursuit, I had a feeling it would eventually come down to that fight, using all my resources, magic, training, and anything else I could dig up. And given their official function, abilities, and numbers, I would probably lose.

  I made another hill at a dead run. I could feel the power of the land in these mountains, draw upon it like fuel for a fire. It gave me the strength to run forever—or at least until I outlasted the Sisters. I was barely winded and pursuit fell farther behind with every step—until something massive slammed into my back. It rolled me over into some brush and banged my ribs across a rock. Then an enormous slimy mouth locked on my ankle and a large body plopped down on me. The body farted in my face.

  “Herschel!”

  The ridiculous canine that had been given to me as my familiar when I was a baby had taken me down. I hadn’t seen him in ten years. I didn’t have time to think about how he got here. I pounded him with my fists. “Get off of me.”

  I wrestled with him, pushing and shoving, but he wouldn’t budge. Since he was my familiar, I couldn’t use magic on him without hurting myself. Some witches actually had familiars that helped them use magic, not pin them down for execution. I was so blessed.

  It didn’t take long. The Sisters of Justice were on me in minutes as I struggled.

  I suddenly had my arms twisted behind my back, handcuffed, and a beaded necklace looped around my neck—a necklace infused with a powerful spell that would prevent me from using magic to escape. They’d come prepared. Worse, I’d been betrayed by a creature I thought was my friend.

  The tallest of the women spoke. “Nyx Ianira, by command of the Earth Mother, you are ordered to come with us. If you resist, we are authorized to deliver you by any and all necessary means.”

  “Bitch. You can stick your ‘any and all means’ up your ass.” What the hell did that mean, If I resisted? Of course I was going to resist. Adrenaline raced through my body, and I fought. “Dirty cowards, let me show you.” I kicked one in the knee. She danced back, but not soon enough. I knew I hurt her.

  It was a long difficult trek back to a highway, especially because I fought and cursed the whole way. Herschel trotted along behind us. The Sisters remained cold and stoic, though I had them breathing hard. The one I’d kicked in the knee balled up a fist and grabbed my hair once when I managed to trip her. She glared, fist drawn back, then relaxed. I had to admire her control.

  The night didn’t get any better when they shoved me in the car and drove to a cheap hotel. They chained me, hand and foot, to the bed. A prudent action on their part since I’d managed to get out of the handcuffs in the car. Before I could remove the necklace and form a spell, Herschel, now my seatmate, pinned me down again and stopped me.

  Apparently my forcing them into a footrace had totally pissed the Sisters off. They refused to answer questions and accepted my curses with stoicism that befitted the nature of cold killers. One of them remained awake, watching me, at all times.

  “I might be nicer if you tell me what’s going on,” I said softly to the Sister watching me. Not the one I’d kicked in the knee. They’d taken two rooms, so at least two of them could rest. “You know, a little info . . .”

  “You fight good.” The Sister had a lovely voice, one so totally out of sync with her rough appearance. “You should sleep. You can fight again tomorrow. I’ll show you a little trick if you show me how you got out of those handcuffs.” She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t rest. She wasn’t going to tell me anything either.

  The morning after my capture I sat in the hotel lobby handcuffed and feet chained, with Herschel’s massive head on my knee. His floppy jowls slimed my pants with slobber. Herschel’s heritage seemed to be mostly bullmastiff crossed with a Great Dane. He weighed in at two hundred pounds, far larger than any domestic dog. Black as the inside of a deep mountain cave, he could be mistaken for a small pony at a distance. I did love him, in spite of my irritation. I’m told he arrived on my doorstep the day I was born. His primary functions in life were sleeping, eating, and farting. And there was the incessant drooling. Since I hadn’t seen him in ten years and my captors, the Sisters, wouldn’t speak, I had no idea how he got from Georgia to California.

  “Traitor.” I shoved his thick head off my knee.

  Since my earthly demise at the hands of the Sisters didn’t seem imminent, I had plotted an escape. The next hour was interesting. I’d managed to slip a piece of paper with the words “Help, Kidnapped” to one of the hotel maids. Someone kindly called the police.

  Local law enforcement, a SWAT team even, arrived in force. The Sisters were immediately put on the defense, especially since these particular ones were really rough and well-armed characters. It came down to a gun-waving shouting match with me ready to jump behind the woefully inadequate shield of a worn couch and crawl away if bullets started to fly.

  While everyone was busy deciding who had the most authority, I flirted with a really cute cop, hoping to get him to take off the spelled bead necklace. Unfortunately, every time the cute cop approached me, Herschel would growl and shove his substantial body between us.

  Before long, things were settled—though not in my favor—and Herschel and I were in the backseat of a car. The Sisters had packed themselves up front. It had to be miserable, but obviously they’d been traveling with Herschel for some time and were aware of his habits. The immense canine had the backseat thoroughly slimed within the first hundred miles. As the miles passed, we drew closer and closer to my old hometown, Twitch Crossing, Georgia. Shit!

  Chapter 3

  Twitch Crossing is not on any maps. Carefully hidden by spells, it lies down a long, winding, white limerock road to the southeast of Fargo, Georgia, and deep in the Okefenokee Swamp. The Native Americans had called the Okefenokee Land of Trembling Earth, and it was a formidable place, filled with earth magic and mystery. Alligators and snakes swam in water black from the tannic acid of rotting vegetation. Unless you were careful, it could swallow you without a trace.

  As a child I paddled the waterways in my canoe and followed trails through the pinewoods and over the islands. I loved every square mile and feared nothing there. If the damned coven had left me alone, I might have stayed, or at least returned for a visit.

  The white limerock road hadn’t been graded in some time and rain had definitely cut ruts and holes big enough that the Sisters, crowded in the front seat, were quite uncomfortable. I was, too, but it was worth it to hear their grunts and curses fill the air.

  We crossed Twitch Creek and rolled onto the two-hundred-foot blacktop that stretched through town. Founded in 1852, the town, population 169, consisted of a general store run by the coven, the barnlike structure of the meetinghouse, the school—there were six of us in our graduating senior class—and various houses of every style you could imagine.

  From early childhood, I expressed no interest in becoming a full earth witch. The coven considered me a disgrace to witches everywhere. I considered them a bunch of inbred idiots. Then there was the parentage issue. Witches often had children without marrying, but usually those children knew their dads. Certainly my younger sister, Marisol, knew hers. My father remained unnamed and undiscussed by anyone. I’d long since recovered from that emotional trauma.

  To my amazement, the Sisters didn’t stop. Odd. I thought they were delivering me to the coven. The brief stretch of pavement passed and we were back on the bumpy limerock. Three more miles and the road widened in a place where a car could turn around. Turn around they did, and one of the Sisters said, “Get out.”

  Surely they hadn’t brought me all this way to kill me now. A Sister climbed out with me. She stood a lofty six feet, towering abo
ve even my five-ten. “Will you go home from here?”

  “Yeah, I’ll go.” I knew she didn’t want to drive deeper into the swamp. This was a witch’s place. She feared it. Were it not my home, so would I.

  She removed my cuffs and chains, lifted the spelled beads off my neck, and handed me my backpack. She gave the briefest of smiles and said, “Too bad you’re a witch. You’d have made a good Sister.”

  No problem with that. They had dumped me within a quarter mile of the house where I was born and raised. My grandmother would be there, as would some other friends. My sister, Marisol, might be home, too. Unlike me, she did quite well with the coven and her magic lessons. My Gran raised Marisol and me after our mother died. I was six and Marisol was barely three. I shouldered my pack and headed home. Herschel ambled along beside me.

  The Okefenokee is many things. Deep woods and pine forests covered some of the land, but watery swamp surrounded the raised road to my grandmother’s house. Cypress trees draped in veils of Spanish moss cast a cool shade over land and water. Birds sang from trees, and frogs occasionally croaked while a feeding fish rippled the black liquid.

  This beautiful wild place, filled with an incredible variety of life, was home. I wiped tears from my eyes. Why had I allowed the coven to keep me away so long? Suddenly I was filled with guilt at having abandoned Gran and my sister.

  I walked onto the thirty-foot-long solid wooden bridge that spanned a deeper section of open water. At the center of the span I leaned against the railing.

  “Pen, are you there?” I didn’t shout. He’d know I was there. He would choose to come or not.

  The water remained calm for a moment, then rippled at the approach of the immense black water dragon. Penrod had been my friend from the time I learned to walk. His long slender snakelike body stretched fifty feet. He had no wings, but when he lifted his massive head from the water, it was pure picture-book dragon. He gently swayed in front of me, water dripping from his scales like fine rain.

  Missed you, his words slid into my mind.

  I missed you, too. I was blessed with the ability to communicate with him the same way.

  I reached out my hand and he lowered his head so I could touch him. Then he slid away into the deep. There were stories of all sorts of dragons in ancient lore. At one time they flew, swam, and crawled across the earth. Only when the Earth Mother, the deity the earth witches worshipped and I long mistrusted, allowed men to become so numerous did they leave. It’s said she found a place for them deep within the earth. I had no idea why she allowed Penrod to make the swamp his home.

  My grandmother’s house sat on a small natural island. There was enough land cleared for a frame, shotgun-style house set on tall concrete pillars in case of occasional high water. It had porches on the front and back and a metal roof that roared when it rained. Like the barn that stood a hundred feet away, the house was made of heart pine and oak, weathered gray, and never painted.

  Gran sat on the front porch in her rocking chair. No sign of Marisol, but she had probably long since moved away. Beautiful and silver haired, Gran smiled at me. “Well, well, the wanderer has returned.”

  I started to say Under duress. But I didn’t want to disturb her. I just wanted to drop to my knees beside her, lay my head in her lap, and wallow in the love I hadn’t known I’d missed. She stroked my head and kissed me and completely destroyed me by crying. It was a while before either of us could talk. I drew another chair up and sat close beside her. My heart ached.

  “Gran, I’m so sorry . . .” I swiped at tears tickling my cheeks.

  “Don’t be, love.” Her voice, if not her appearance, was young as a girl’s. “You had to leave. I told the Council that. I wanted more for you than Twitch Crossing. You simply weren’t born to be a conventional witch. I wanted the world for you, and I hope you found it.”

  “Oh, I found the world, Gran. It wasn’t what I thought it would be, but I found it.”

  After the army I’d entered the dark realm of private guard services that stretched across Africa and Asia. It suited me, that multiplicity of cultures in the places I traveled. I had a good memory for languages and could pick up one quickly, at least enough to get by. With the skill I learned in the army and a bit of simple magic occasionally, I survived. The Earth Mother’s power drenched the land in some places, and I’d marveled at the wonder of some of the ancient hollows where men first walked. I also made a fair sum of money, which I carefully deposited in a bank in the islands.

  When I’d returned to the States, I’d taken a job as a secretary for Single-Eye Investigations, a firm in San Francisco. I worked hard and eventually received my PI license. Last year, I’d let Harold talk me into investing in the firm. I had a nice condo, a good job, and a life. I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that such a comfortable life was now gone forever.

  Chapter 4

  Gran ordered me inside to eat. She’d considered me too thin all my life and made it her mission to feed me well. Apparently she’d expected me, so everything was already prepared. The Sisters had probably kept her apprised of my location. Though she seemed troubled, she spoke very little. I’d long since learned that Gran would speak in her own time. She’d tell me why I was here when she was ready. I ate heartily for her sake, and after I finished the dishes, she brewed tea for us. Insects began their evening chorus outside, and the occasional grunt of an alligator thrummed through the night. Alligators rarely came close here. Penrod usually swallowed them whole.

  We sat at the table, and oh, it felt good to be there. Stupid, I was totally stupid. But I had to get to the reason I’d been kidnapped.

  “Gran, why did you send the Sisters of Justice after me? That’s pretty drastic. You must have pulled in some favors. Especially if you got them to put up with Herschel.”

  “There is one Sister I call a friend. A powerful Sister. I asked her to find you and to take Herschel so you wouldn’t be frightened and run from them. They probably shouldn’t have sent three, but I’m told if they hadn’t, you would have escaped them.” I heard pride in her voice, not admonition. It didn’t last long. “Nyx, if you had stayed in touch . . .”

  Ouch. She was right. I wasn’t a great communicator. I could have written her from San Francisco at any time. And if I’d actually seen Herschel with the Sisters, I might not have been so quick to run.

  Gran sighed as she sat in her chair. “I suppose I could have had the coven find you, but this problem is none of their business. They’re the reason you ran away in the first place. I’ll never forgive them for that.” She sat quietly, hands wrapped around her teacup. The fine wrinkles on those hands were overlaid with brown spots of age. One finger twitched ever so slightly. “Nyx, I fear something has happened to your sister.”

  “Marisol? Where is she?” Marisol had always been the darling of the family. Jealousy did rear its head occasionally, but since I was a loner by nature, it didn’t plague me a lot. When Mama died, it fell to me to help care for her and keep her from toddling off and drowning in the swamp. She was a good girl, always loving and loved in return, even by me. She also had the makings of a powerful witch, something I would never be.

  Tears formed in Gran’s eyes, and her small body shook. I wanted to soothe her, but I didn’t think anything I could say or do would help. When she stilled, she said, “Marisol went to Duivel. Now she’s disappeared.”

  My sister had, even in her youth, quickly surpassed Gran and her other teachers. What kind of trouble required her magically incompetent sister to help? My use of magic often compounded problems, rather than solved them. Nevertheless, I did love my sister and I’d do anything for Gran.

  “Duivel. Missouri? That’s where the High Witch Abigail lives. Right?”

  “Yes, but Marisol went to study with a witch named Laudine, who also lives there. Two weeks ago, Laudine sent me a letter saying Marisol was missing. But she asked that I not contact Abigail.” Her voice quavered. “She said that if I’d come as soon as possible, she’d tell
me why. I’ve grown too old for that kind of journey. I immediately contacted my friend, the Sister, not the High Witch.”

  Gran didn’t look at me. She stared across the room where Marisol’s picture hung on the wall by Mama’s and mine. I knew about Duivel. Most witches did. It was the center of earth magic in this part of the world.

  “Gran, that sounds seriously . . . wrong. A witch disappears, but you shouldn’t talk to the Earth Mother’s High Witch? Do you have the letter?”

  “No. It was spelled. It crumbled after I read it. And I feel that the word wrong does not even begin to cover the situation.”

  “I know Marisol would have written you, Gran. She say anything about trouble?” My tea finally cooled, so I sipped. I would have preferred coffee.

  “She did write, but it’s been over two months since I heard from her. I am worried, and I want you to go to Duivel. To find her.”

  “Okay, Gran, I’ll go.” Instant decision. She had only to ask. While I wasn’t the perfect granddaughter, Gran and Marisol were my only family, and if they needed anything from me, they would have it.

  Of course, a simple phone call would have worked, too. Witches, the Sisters of Justice and all closely associated with the Earth Mother lived archaic lives, steeped in history and tradition. I had lived in a modern world where mysticism and magic had been shed for electronics. It simply didn’t occur to Gran or even the Sisters to do an Internet search to find me and pick up the telephone.

  Gran stood. She grabbed the back of the chair to hold herself steady. When she carefully walked to the stove for more tea, I could see pain in every movement. An ache formed in me. Witches like Gran live for a very long time, but I didn’t know exactly how old she was. “Gran, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She poured more tea. “You need to take Herschel with you, though, just in case the Mother calls me to return to her cauldron before you come back. I won’t be able to take care of him. And you may need him.”