Witch Hunt (19 page)

Cassie didn’t understand all his words, but she got his meaning. “What about the banks? Didn’t you tell me they be lendin’ people money?”

Tyler kissed her neck. “No banker would lend me money for a campaign, given the circumstances. It would be a bad risk.”

“You could sell something.”

“Like what?”

“Like your half of Van Carel and Hawthorne.”

Tyler laughed. “You’re crazy … but you’re luscious.”

“What if Marten died? What would happen to the business?”

His lips moved to her breasts. “Mmmm, his family would inherit his interest.”

“What family?”

“His immediate family.” He stopped and looked at her. “Why all the questions?”

“I’m trying to understand your world.” She rolled him over and straddled him. “What if Marten, Nicole, and the pimply triplets all piled off a cliff. Who’d get it then?”

Her body recaptured Tyler’s attention, and it took him a while to reply. “The company would revert entirely to the Hawthornes.”

Cassie marveled at the magic of being woman. Tyler was so entranced by her sex he had no idea the power he had just given her.

It took Cassie a while to gather all the items she needed to cast the spell, and her clandestine quest had taken her into depths of New York City’s seamy underbelly. On the first new moon after her arrival in America, she worked her first serious act of magic.

After Tyler and the rest of the household were asleep, Cassie got dressed in dark clothing and quietly made her way to the stables, where she picked out a feisty stallion. She murmured the soothing words her father had taught her to use, and shared her breath with the animal until his spirit was calm. Then she straddled him, bareback, and urged him into the night.

She rode at full gallop, using her body to guide him in the right direction, confident of his instinct to steer them clear of obstacles. Riding had always thrilled Cassie, and when they were a fair distance from the mansion, she shouted with joy. A slow smile of self-satisfaction crept across her face when she realized that the cry echoed the battle call of Morrigan.

They rode until Cassie saw the faint shadow of the giant oak tree she had claimed as her own. She halted the horse and dismounted him, then soothed him until she was sure he wouldn’t wander away.

She removed a candle and matches from her pocket, stuck the candle into the ground, and lit it. Then she dug up the objects she had hidden beneath the tree. Finally, she spread out a red cloth to use as an altar.

In a small brass censer, Cassie lighted a pile of tobacco leaves and powdered ginger root. It was a makeshift blend of incense designed to attract the attention of the warrior goddess.

Then she carefully laid the mandrake root on the altar. The root was the first of its kind she had ever handled; she had heard tales about its magical properties from her teachers. It had a short stem topped with small purple flowers and a thick, forked root. The overall effect was that the plant resembled a human form with legs, torso, and head. She took the three strands of red hair that she had taken from the victim’s hairbrush and wove them around the stem. Then she uncorked the small jar that contained the mixture of baby fat and powdered hellebore, and, using a small stick, she smeared the concoction over the mandrake. Finally, she tied a length of black string around the plant and chanted the verse she had composed:

“Morrigan, dark lady of the night,

Help your daughter with this fight.

Great queen of destruction and death,

Take from the bastard all life and breath.

As I wrap the cord ‘round the poppet,

Let no power be there to stop it.”

The hex properly complete, Cassie wrapped the poppet in the red cloth and buried it deep among the roots of the giant oak.

The labor pains awoke Sheila from a deep, and strangely unsettling, sleep. Good, she thought, ready to get the birth behind her. She needed to summon Odelia and Maggie to help her, but when she started to roll onto her side so that she could sit up, she realized she couldn’t move. There was no moon that night, and the room was in complete darkness. If she hadn’t known better, she would have believed there was someone there holding her down on the bed. Irrationally, she waved her arms in the air all about her to verify what she already knew — there wasn’t anyone else in the room. So why couldn’t she move? “It must be the nerves I’ve got a case of,” she whispered, and she relaxed and took a few deep breaths.

A flood of water gushed from between her legs, and a stronger pain seized her. The birth was coming fast — strangely fast. Everyone had told her to expect a long, hard first birth. She needed to get help.

She made yet another effort to move, without success. Well, she thought, Sugar’s room was right next to hers; she’d yell and awaken her.

She opened her mouth to shout, but no words would come. She kept trying, but all that emerged from her constricted throat were a few croaking sounds. The illness was worsening by the minute; she had been able to talk only moments before.

The pains came faster and harder, and Sheila panicked. She croaked and flailed her arms around in an effort to reach the lamp on her bed table. If she could knock it down, the noise of it crashing to the floor would certainly bring
someone
to her aid. But the lamp was just beyond her reach.

Then the birth began.

The pain and terror nearly drove Sheila mad. Mentally, she steeled herself, pushed at the baby with her belly muscles, and silently prayed.

Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with thee.

OH GOD, IT HURTS
!

Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners.

OH, ODELIA, SURE AND YOU WERE RIGHT! IT DOES FEEL LIKE SHITTIN’ A WATERMELON
!

Now and at the hour of our death.

She issued a final shove and heard the squall of new life.

Amen
.

Then the baby’s cries turned to choking. And there was silence.

Sheila’s screams shattered the night.

The mood that evening at dinner was somber. Nevertheless, Cassie piled her plate high with steak, fried potatoes, corn on the cob, and big chunks of bread and butter.

“Odelia said the child strangled on its own cord,” Irene said. She ignored her plate and sipped at a cup of coffee.

Arabel shook her head. “What I don’t understand is why Sheila didn’t get help.”

“She told me she couldn’t move or cry out.” Tyler gave Cassie the same quizzical look he had been giving her all day.

“Back in the old country, sometimes a fright would make people be that way,” Cassie said. “Could be when the birthin’ commenced she got feared.”

“Could be,” Tyler said.

“Sugar said it was a boy,” Oakes said.

Giles sighed. “I’m sorry for you, Tyler.”

Tyler nodded. “Sheila’s beside herself. I think we’ll loan her out to the Johnsons as a wet nurse. I know they’ve been looking for one. It would be good to get her away from here for a while, and caring for a child might help her deal with her loss better.”

Irene slammed down her cup, the coffee spilling over the edge and staining the white tablecloth. “How can you eat so heartily, Cassie? There’s been a death in this home today.”

Cassie swallowed the mouthful she had been chewing and washed it down with some wine. “Sorry I am that I’m not in dire mournin’, Mother.” She patted the swelling evidence of her own pregnancy. “Is it such a dreadful thing, my wantin’ to give my husband his firstborn?”

Irene’s eyes narrowed. “Did you have anything to do with what happened here this morning?”

“Now, whatever could I have done to make a birthin’ go sour?”

“Oh, don’t play me for a fool, Cassie. The same kind of thing you did to Van Carel’s daughters and to the unfortunate Misters Chamberlain and Morehead.”

Cassie giggled. “You know about the fellas?”

“What did she do to Steven and Percy?” Tyler asked.

“Jane Chamberlain confided in me about a peculiar condition Steven had which was … well, it was making it hard for Jane to walk for a time,” Irene said. “She said it came upon him — and she heard from Percy’s wife that it had come upon him, too — at your wedding reception.”

Cassie opened her eyes wide. “Well, they were deservin’ of it. They said some unflatterin’ things about my Tyler.”

Irene’s fist hit the table. “We don’t hex people.”

“Ever?” Cassie couldn’t believe people with power wouldn’t use it to their own advantage.

“Not unless we were in a life or death situation would a member of our family ever use his or her powers to hurt another. And for better or worse, you are a Hawthorne now. You’ll abide by our rules.” Irene’s trembling hand reached for her coffee. “So, did you hex Sheila’s baby?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe you could call his spirit up at some séance and see if he points his tiny finger at you in accusation,” Arabel said.

“What?” Tyler asked.

“The tongues of the ladies’ club I belong to are wagging over your pretty wife’s claim that she’s a medium. She said she’d do séances for Lilian Austin.”

Tyler’s eyes grew wide. “Cassie, is that true?”

Cassie shrugged. “What’s your fussin’ about?”

“We don’t advertise our abilities. This world is one which doesn’t treat kindly those who possess power. You’ve heard of the burning times? You’ve heard of the Salem witch trials? We lost family in both. It could happen again at any time. We have to be circumspect … careful, Cassie. We must all be careful.”

Cassie sighed. “If secret is what you want me to be, I can oblige you.” She pointed to the dessert tray. “Could someone hand me a piece of pie? I’ve a powerful hunger about me this evenin’.”