Midnight Exposure (31 page)

She couldn’t live like that again. She’d hoped to move out of Pat’s house at some point. Despair ripped through her chest; her anguish was compounded by the thought of leaving Reed. After tonight, who knew if they’d ever see each other again? With the danger and upheaval she’d brought to him and Scott, she had no place in their lives—unless they could find her stalker.

Reed slowed the truck and navigated the exit. Jayne snapped out of her mood before the SUV hit the local road. Self-pity was a waste of time. Her energy was better spent trying to figure out who was after her.

A few miles later, they turned into a strip center. Wiccan Ways occupied the end unit in a row of half a dozen stores. With a brick front and sign scripted in Old English type, it matched all the others in the row and could’ve easily been a gift or clothing shop instead of a shop for freaky Halloweeny stuff.

A digital chime announced their entry. Inside, the store wasn’t as exciting as Jayne had expected. Instead of a smoky haze and chanting, the store was bright. An instrumental flute piece floated softly from overhead speakers. Most of the stock ran to candles, incense, and crystals, lined up on neat displays. The cacophony of scents assaulting her nasal passages reminded her of the candle store in the mall. Bookcases brimmed with volumes on the occult. There was a definite focus on nature, healing, and divination, along with an entire section for almanacs and books on astral projection.

“May I help you?” A short sixtyish woman hurried from a back room, brushing her hands onto her jeans as she spoke. She looked entirely too normal to be running a Wicca supply store. No black robe, no pointy hat, no warts. She tucked a hunk of her limp beige pageboy hair behind her ear. Instead of old-lady perfume, she smelled like lemon and rosemary. “I’m Ellen Dean.”

“Are you really a witch?” The words popped out of Jayne’s mouth like a rude burp as curiosity hijacked her common sense. In her peripheral vision, Reed’s eyes did an exasperated roll.

Ellen cocked her head and indulged Jayne with the tolerant smile of a nursery-school teacher. “Not in the fly-on-a-broom, turn-people-into-toads sense. But my sister and I have been practicing the Craft all our lives. Our coven meets at the senior center. I used to be a high-school librarian. Glenda and I opened this shop when I retired. This is so much more fun than shushing teenagers and shelving books all day.”

“We’re trying to identify a couple of symbols. We thought an expert on the occult might be able to help.” Reed smoothed over Jayne’s flub with a Southern-gentleman routine. His accent thickened and his manners went to antebellum formal. The old lady practically simpered as he introduced them, turning his masculine charm on full blast and clasping her fragile, blue-veined hand between his strong palms.

Flattery will get you everywhere
, Jayne thought as Ellen blinked up at his handsome, significantly younger face. There was no denying Reed’s hottie factor. For the AARP set, he’d be a boy toy.

He drew the five photos from his pocket and laid them on the glass counter.

“Sure, let me take a look.” Ellen picked up the first picture and tapped on the image.

“What is it?” Jayne asked.

“A torc.” The storekeeper pointed to the metal circle with her forefinger.

“Huh?”

“A necklace of sorts. The Celts wore them, so did a few other European cultures in the same time period.” In full librarian mode, Ellen pulled a pair of glasses from her pocket, set them on her face, and snapped on a light next to the register. She squinted at the photo. “This looks real. Where did you find it?”

“It was a gift.” Reed smiled. Ellen smiled back.

“Does it have any meaning?” Jayne asked.

“It was a sign of nobility. Warriors also wore them. This one looks like gold. If it is, it would have belonged to a person of high social rank.”

“Does mistletoe have any significance?” Reed flashed her the pearly whites one more time.

Ellen responded with a flush, as any normal woman with a beating heart would have. “Mistletoe was sacred to the Celts’ priests, the Druids. It stood for life and fertility. Our custom of decorating with mistletoe at Christmas comes from the Druid tradition of cutting mistletoe at the winter solstice. It’s still used in many pagan ceremonies.”

“Wow.” Reed beamed. “It looks like we came to the right place.”

A blush spread across Ellen’s crepe-paper cheeks as she pointed at the photo. “The winter solstice ceremony isn’t as nice as the summer celebration. The weather in June is much kinder to these old bones. We do the whole ritual sky-clad.” She leaned closer to Reed and lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s in the buff.”

“Errr.” Reed coughed. “Really?”

Ellen’s penciled-in eyebrows did a little shimmy. “It’s liberating.”

“I bet it is. Sounds like fun.” Jayne swallowed a snicker. “Doesn’t it, Reed?”

Reed shook his head like an overturned Etch A Sketch, no doubt trying to erase the image of a baker’s dozen Social Security recipients dancing around the woods in their birthday suits.

“Don’t get me wrong, tonight’s ceremony will be lovely. You’re welcome to join us.” Ellen directed her invitation to Reed, of course.

Reed’s smile was noncommittal. “I thought tomorrow was the solstice?”

“We actually start the celebration tonight at sunset.” Ellen’s mauve-tipped finger lingered on a close-up of the torc. “What’s this?”

Reed leaned sideways to view the picture with her. Their shoulders brushed. Behind the horn-rims, Ellen batted her frigging eyes. Jayne fought the urge to roll hers. But Reed was in full get-information mode, working the old lady with shameless and, Jayne supposed, harmless flirting. Ellen was going to have quite a story to tell ol’ Sis over supper.

“Hmmm.” Reed flattened his lips thoughtfully and gave the storekeeper the undivided attention of those intense green eyes. “We’re not sure. Some kind of bread or cake. It was very grainy and a little burned. These black feathers were stuck in there, too.”

Ellen ripped her gaze off Reed’s eyes and concentrated on the picture. “Crows and ravens are omens to modern Wiccans. Dark omens. To the ancient Celts, a crow or raven foreshadowed death.”

Reed’s face flickered with brief alarm. “What about the bread?”

“I imagine it’s oatcake, or bannock, a traditional celebratory dish. The torc, the cake, and the mistletoe all point toward a Christmas or winter solstice holiday celebration, likely Wicca or Druid. But the crow feathers. I don’t know how they fit in with the rest. Doesn’t make sense. The winter solstice is a time of rebirth, of coming from the darkest day into the light. Crows signify the opposite, darkness, misfortune, bad luck.” Ellen turned her palms up in logical defeat. “Who knows?”

“You don’t see a dark, sinister meaning behind all this?” Reed waved a hand over the photos.

“Look, paganism gets a lot of bad press, but all the term really means is one of the primitive non-Christian religions. There are many different religions within paganism, including Wicca, Druidism, Native American shamanism, and voodoo. Satanism is one very small sect within the large group. Wiccans and Druids are peaceful. Their gods are tied to the natural world. They worship water and forest deities. Celebrate the seasonal changes. It’s all very organic.”

“How about these engravings?” Jayne butted in. Reed shot her an annoyed look. Ellen didn’t spare her a glance, but Jayne insisted. “That looks like a pentagram.”

Ellen’s eyes stayed on Reed as she gave Jayne’s comment an indulgent head-shake-and-sigh combination. “The pentagram also gets a bad rap. It has nothing to do with evil spells. It’s a symbol of protection for Wiccans. The points represent the four natural elements plus one more spiritual one.” She paused. One blue-veined finger traced the repeated spiral pattern. “The spiral is a symbol for power and the natural cycle of the world, for life, death, and rebirth. Mother, maiden, and crone. All of these markings are common for the time. There’s nothing inherently evil about them.” Ellen hesitated. “But the crow feathers…They
make me uncomfortable. Did you know that a group of crows is called a murder?”

Reed opened his laptop. “Great. There’s a wireless signal here.”

Jayne’s phone vibrated on the chrome-edged table. She pressed the OK button. Her eyes swept the display.

“Pat says he won’t be here until evening. A bridge washed out in New York State. Big detour.” Jayne set the cell down between their place settings.

Reed turned the computer to face her. He’d have her a few more hours. A heavy ache settled in his chest. He was torn at the prospect of Jayne’s leaving. On one hand, while she was in his sight he was positive she was OK. On the other, there was the strong likelihood she’d be safer in Philadelphia. No promises there, though. The bastard seemed determined to have her. What would keep him from following her back home?

Not a damned thing.

He had no way to keep her safe no matter where she lived. The pressure against the inside of his rib cage amplified. He reached into his pocket for a roll of Tums and popped three into his mouth. Despite his broken promises to his son, Reed wouldn’t, couldn’t stop until he found her tormentor. He doubted he’d sleep again until the guy was caught and Jayne was safe.

“Reed, you OK?”

His response dried up in his tight throat as he chewed the antacids. Ice water didn’t improve the nasty fake mint taste in his mouth. All he managed was a nod as he swallowed his fear along with the chalky wash.

“OK then.” Her eyes lit up like aquamarines in the sunlight. “I’m online. Thanks to our favorite old witch, at least we’ve confirmed my personal weirdo has a fixation on the ancient Celts or Druids or both and is probably planning some sort of ceremony.”

Reed peered over the screen as she two-finger-typed the words
Celt
,
bannock
, and
mistletoe
into a Google search and tapped the Enter key. “What came up?”

Her face creased into a studious frown. “A couple articles on winter solstice ceremonies and some links on bog bodies, whatever they are.”

Reed paused. A memory flickered. “Why does that sound familiar?” He turned the laptop sideways for a better view.

“You’re familiar with bog bodies?” Jayne’s eyes widened.

“I think I saw a documentary on bodies found in peat bogs in Great Britain.” Reed scrolled down the list for a site that looked legit. He glanced up at Jayne’s amused expression. “What? The winter is long and cold up here.”

“If you say so.”

“Aha. I knew it. I saw this on TV.” Reed gave himself a mental head smack. “I guess I just verified my geek status.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jayne’s hand landed on his shoulder.

Contact with her palm felt solid and right, as if she was what he’d been missing all his life. Reed’s hand moved toward hers, automatically wanting to confirm the physical connection. He stopped the movement halfway. His fingers curled and he lowered his fist to the table. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong everything. It wasn’t meant to be.

Hurt flashed in Jayne’s eyes, dropping another brick onto the load on Reed’s chest. But separation was necessary. She needed to get away from Huntsville, at least until this guy was caught. Her
safety had to be the top priority. But the pain in her gaze nearly shattered his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and keep her there forever.

He tore his gaze away and turned back to the computer. The screen blurred. Reed squeezed his lids tight for a second to clear his vision, then clicked the link. The computer chugged for a few more seconds before the window opened.

He scanned the article, the details of the TV special flooding back. “There it is. Every once in a while, an ancient body turns up in a peat bog in England or Ireland. The most famous recent one is Lindow Man. Scientists found mistletoe pollen and charred bread in his stomach. Some historians think he was a nobleman sacrificed to ward off the Roman invasion.”

When he looked up at Jayne, sadness had been replaced with stoic determination. Her eyes shifted over his shoulder as the waitress set down their order. Reed’s ham and Swiss on rye didn’t look as appealing as it had sounded five minutes ago.

She turned the laptop around to get a better view of the screen. “Ewww. His skull was crushed, he was strangled,
and
his throat was cut. Overkill, I think.”

“Apparently, the Celts thought they’d get the favor of three gods if they killed him three times,” Reed said.

“Interesting logic.”

“Efficient anyway. I guess they didn’t want to knock off all the noblemen.”

“What do you think it means?” Jayne yanked the toothpicks out of her club sandwich. “To my kidnapper, I mean.”

“I don’t know. Mrs. Dean said mistletoe and bannock were used in a lot of ceremonies. Could be something as simple as a gift to the object of his obsession.”

“Well
that
creeps me out just as much.” Jayne picked at her potato chips.

“Me too.”

Reed’s phone buzzed and skittered across the speckled Formica. He flipped it open. The digital readout told him that school was just letting out. “Just Scott reminding me to pick him up at the Youth Center tonight at six. He’s finishing his community service for his college applications.” Reed texted back.
R the apps done
?