He hesitated a moment, then met her eyes and spoke quietly. "Because of your grandma's store. I mean, I know it's just herbs and positive thinking- but I also, know that in the old days, there would have been somebody out there pointing a finger and calling her a witch."
Thea relaxed again. It was okay for people to think
Gran was a witch-if by "witch" they meant someone who talked to plants and mixed up homemade hair tonic. And she couldn't disbelieve Eric, not under the intensity of those steady green eyes. But she saw an opportunity and seized it. "Yeah, and they'd probably have burned me for giving you this present," she said, opening her hand. "And you'd probably have been scared or superstitious if I asked you to keep it with you all the time: you'd think I was putting some kind of a spell on you-"
"I wouldn't think anything," he said firmly, taking the little green pillow from her. It smelled like fresh New Hampshire pine needles, which was what was in it-mainly. She'd also added a few protective herbs and an Ishtar crystal, a golden beryl in a star cut with thirty-three facets, carved with the name of the Babylonian mother goddess. The charm was the best she could do to help him fend off Blaise's spells.
"I would just kiss it and put it my pocket and never let it out of my sight," Eric went on. And he did, stopping after the kiss to say, "Mm, smells good."
Thea couldn't help smiling at him. She chanced saying, "Actually, it's just to remind you of me."
"It will never leave my pocket," he said solemnly.
Well, that worked out nicely.
"Look, there's probably something we can do about this place," Eric said, glancing around again. "The school board doesn't want any bad publicity. Why don't I run and borrow a camera from the journalism class, and we can take some pictures so people will see what we mean when we complain?"
Thea glanced at her watch. "Why not? I think I've already missed French."
He grinned. "Back in a minute."
When he was gone, Thea wandered slowly among the silent booths, lost in her own thoughts.
For a few minutes there, when I was ranting, I almost told him the truth. And then later I thought maybe he'd figured it all out for himself.
And would that be so terrible? He's already under sentence of death just because I love him; it doesn't matter if he knows or not.
But if he did know... what would he say? Witches may be okay in the abstract-but does he really want one for a girlfriend?
The only way to find out was to tell him.
She leaned against a ladder and gazed sightlessly at an oilcloth lying beneath a hanging noose. Of course, it was probably all academic anyway. What kind of future could they possibly have... ?
Suddenly Thea realized what she was looking at.
Underneath that oilcloth was a shoe-and the shoe was connected to something. Subconsciously, she'd been assuming it was another witch dummy... but now she focused. And she felt the hairs on her arms lift and tingle.
Why would they dress a witch in black Nike high-tops?
Chapter 9
I he shoe was so incongruous that for an instant Thea thought her eyes must be playing tricks on her. It was the atmosphere here-the dim, echoing room with all its macabre booths. If she looked away and then looked back...
It was still there.
I should wait, I should call somebody. This could be something terrible. There are human authorities; I should at least wait for Eric....
Thea found herself moving in dreamlike, slow speed.
She took the edge of the oilcloth between finger and thumb and lifted it just an inch or so.
There was a leg attached to the shoe.
A blue-jeaned leg. Not part of a dummy. And another shoe.
Horror and adrenaline washed over Thea. And, strangely, that helped. Her first thought was. It's a person and she may be hurt. She went into emergency mode, slamming a wall between herself and her fear.
Hang on, are you okay, just let me see...
She pulled the rest of the oilcloth off, tugging to get it free. She saw legs, a body, curled fingers clutching the sleeve of a black-dressed witch dummy...
Then she saw the head and she reeled backward, both hands pressed over her mouth. She'd only gotten a glimpse, but the picture was burned into her mind.
Blue-gray face, hideously swollen. Grotesquely bulging eyes. Tongue like a sausage protruding from between black lips...
Thea's knees gave out.
She'd seen the dead before. She'd been to leave-taking ceremonies where the mortal remains of witches were returned to the earth. But those had been natural deaths, and the corpses had been peaceful. While this...
I think it was a boy. It had short hair and a flat chest. But there was no way to recognize the face. It was so distorted-didn't even look human....
He died violently. May his spirit be released; not held here by the need for revenge. Oh, Sekhmet, lion-headed goddess of Egypt; Mistress of Death, Opener of Ways, Sekhmet Who Reduceth to Silence...
Her disjointed thoughts were interrupted as sunlight fanned into the room. At the door, Eric shouted, "I'm back!"
Thea stood up. Her legs wanted to cave again. She opened her mouth, but what came out was a whisper. "Eric-"
He was hurrying toward her. "What's wrong? Thea?"
"It's somebody dead."
She saw his eyes widen in absolute disbelief-and then he looked past her. He took a step toward the thing on the floor, stopped, crouched, and stared for a second. Then he whirled back and grabbed her as if he could somehow protect her from what he'd seen. "Don't look at it; don't look over there," he gasped. "Oh, God, it's bad." * "I know. I saw it." "It's bad; it's so bad...."
They were both holding on to each other. It was the only safety in this nightmare.
"He's dead. That guy is dead," Eric said. It was obvious, but Thea understood the need to babble. "There's nothing we can do for him. Oh, God, Thea, I think it's Kevin Imamura."
"Kevin?" Black dots danced in front of Thea's eyes. "No, it can't be-"
"I've seen him wearing that shirt before. And the hair... And he's on the committee to decorate this place. He must have been setting up that dummy." Thea's mind showed her a terrible picture. A crusted dark line on that bloated face-like the wound made by a slashing razor. And the soft black hair... Yes, it could have been Kevin. And that meant- Blaise.