Witch Hunt (20 page)

The sub-zero temperature kept Cassie, who was in her final month of pregnancy, away from the mass funeral held for the Van Carel family. Marten, Nicole, Juliana, Carina, and Francina all succumbed to the influenza within the same three-week period. The Hawthornes and Hunters had gone to the late-afternoon burial services.

Cassie, alone in her room, lay on her bed and distractedly fondled the melted remains of the five red candles. She had made each candle herself, at appropriate phases of the moon, carefully combining the bits of hair, nails, and clothing — surreptitiously taken from the Van Carels during her months of courting their friendship — with the wax that formed them. Unable to make any more midnight rides because of her condition, she had burned the candles and quietly chanted her verses in stolen moments alone. It had been her greatest challenge, but she was successful. Now there was only one more phase of her magic left to accomplish. Then her husband would be free to enter politics. Who was to know? Maybe he would even someday be President of the United States.

Cassie got to her feet and threw the remnants of her spell into the flames of the fireplace. Then she sat down on a stool in front of the fire and conjured Morrigan.

Clancy O’Connell was the night watchman at the Van Carel and Hawthorne docks. It was already dark when he came on shift at five o’clock. He had come straight from the Van Carel funeral, and he resisted the strong urge to stop for a bottle of whiskey on the way. His sadness for the passing of Mr. Van Carel was a special one, for he was Clancy’s benefactor. When his heavy drinking got Clancy fired from his previous job, Marten Van Carel gave him the chance he needed to pull his life together. Clancy parlayed his good fortune into a decent home and a fine family, and hadn’t felt the need for a drop of liquor in more than ten years … until now.

He relieved the day watchman and stood for a time by the small pot-bellied stove that warmed his tiny office. He rubbed his hands together to warm his arthritic fingers, and — the good Irishman he was — he gave vent to the tears of sorrow he felt for the mister and his beautiful women. “‘Tis a powerful loss. The Devil’s a cruel one.” He blew his snotty nose, and then filled his coffee cup from the pot that rested on the stove.

He was finishing up the last of the thick, black brew when he was startled by a shrill, keening cry.

“Holy Mother, have mercy.” He dropped the tin cup, and inched his way toward the window to peek out into the black night. He jumped when he heard the cry again. “‘Tis the call of the banshee, to be sure.” He crossed himself. “But the mister’s already croaked. What does the banshee want here?”

Clancy swallowed his fear, and grabbing a lantern, went outside to investigate.

The wind blew with bitter fury. The ships on the dock danced in the water, and debris littering the wharf flew wild in the air.

Then Clancy heard the cry a third time; it seemed to be coming from the main warehouse. He said a special abridged version of the Our Father prayer that he used in cases of emergency, and made his way to the cavernous building, hesitating only for a moment before entering.

The light he held threw odd shadows, and Clancy, spooked as he was, imagined he was seeing all sorts of strange creatures amid the crates of goods stored in the building. As he went deeper into the warehouse, he heard the sound of wings beating above him. His heart pounded in his chest, he grew short of breath, and his hand flew to his neck to loosen the knot of his scarf.

When he turned to flee, dizziness struck. It was a strangely familiar sensation. It was the dizzy of drunkenness. Giddiness arose and he surrendered his fear to mirth. His laughter echoed in the rafters, joining the wings of the raven. Yes, he could now tell that the bird was a raven — huge and ferocious. He thought it might be amusing to see if he could fly up to meet it. He dropped the lantern and flapped his arms. He was oblivious to the fact that the flame of the lantern set his pant leg on fire.

The effort Cassie made to cast the fire spell brought on an early labor. She did not want to call Odelia or any of the other servants to help her; she decided to wait for Irene and Arabel to come home. She wanted her baby delivered by someone with power. If anything were to go wrong with the birthing, the skill of her family members superseded even that of the local physicians. Facilitating births had been the domain of witches since the dawn of mankind.

However, the Hawthornes and Hunters didn’t return to the mansion until after midnight. The pains were coming fast when Cassie left her bed and made her way downstairs.

She found the family sitting together in the drawing room, where a hot fire burned in the large fireplace. Oakes was asleep on the ottoman, with his head in Arabel’s lap; Giles sat next to her, holding her hand while she softly wept. Irene and Tyler were sitting in chairs. Everyone looked pale and drawn. When Cassie entered the room, she noticed that they all were holding snifters of brandy — even the women.

“I thought ladies didn’t drink liquor in America.”

Everyone looked at her, but no one replied.

Cassie doubled over as another pain struck. “I’m goin’ to have a baby.”

Tyler got up and helped her to a chair.

“How soon?” Irene asked. Her voice was weary.

“I don’t feel it beginnin’ to crawl yet.”

Irene nodded and downed the contents of the snifter she held. “We’ll go up in a few minutes.”

“It was a long buryin’. Did they have a wake?”

Tyler cleared his throat. “Ah, no, Cassie. We were delayed by … there was a great fire at the docks. Clancy was killed. We lost everything. The ships — all but two were in port — the warehouses, and all the cargo contained in both. It was horrible. We’re financially ruined.”

“Ruined? But what about your insurance? You told me you had insurance to pay in case of fire.” That was why Cassie had made the fire. She had believed they would give him money for his losses, and all the money would be his because the Van Carels were dead, and he would be liquid at last. Then he could finance his own political campaign and become a man who was powerful in a worldly way. She grabbed his arm and clenched it between tight fingers. “You said they’d give you money.”

Tyler looked at her with sad eyes, and she realized that he knew what she had done.

Cassie heard Irene’s words as if they came from a long distance. “Our lawyer informed us this evening that the insurance company was a fraud. They don’t have the means to settle with us. We’ve lost everything. What we have left — including the house, of course — will have to be sold to pay the trading companies who lost their goods tonight.”

“Cassie,” Tyler said. “Oh, Cassie.”

“Aye, but I thought …”

“Cassie?” Irene asked.

Cassie’s head began to spin. She stood to bolt from the room when another contraction seized her. The pain and dizziness overcame her, and she fainted.

Cassie came to in her bed as the worst pain yet tore through her. Tyler, Irene, and Arabel were standing together at the foot of her bed talking about her, so she didn’t respond to the pain. She lay still and listened.

“When you first brought her home, we were shocked by her lack of breeding, but we tried to welcome her into the family,” Irene said. “However, it didn’t take long for her behavior to sour even Arabel’s acceptance of her. I think she’s evil, Tyler. Since she’s been with us, Sheila’s baby died under strange circumstances, then the Van Carels, and tonight old Clancy. You believe that she was responsible for the fire. If you’re right, that makes her Clancy’s murderer. I always had a feeling she had something to do with Sheila’s tragedy, too. And if she devised the Van Carels’ deaths … well, what can I say? The gods only know all she’s done. She has more power than anyone has had in our family for generations, but she uses it in a terrible way. You know, it’s not the knife, it’s whether the one wielding it is of a mind to carve a piece of art or murder a child with it. Personally, I think she’s insane.”

‘
Tisn’t the goddess. You’re daft, child
— old Angus’s words replayed in Cassie’s mind. Her father had also thought she was insane. She had an urge to hex Irene on the spot, but she was too weak from her condition to focus her energies.

“What are you going to do with her?” Arabel asked Tyler.

“After the baby’s born, I’m going to divorce her. I’ll send her back to Ireland. We’ll keep the baby, of course. We’ll get Sheila back from the Johnsons to nurse it. It’s the least we can do for poor Sheila.”

Cassie couldn’t take it anymore. “Divorce me, my ass! And I’ll be bloody damned if you’ll take my baby from me and give it to that whore.” She started to get up off the bed.

Arabel and Tyler moved to hold her down, while Irene yanked the sashes free from the curtains and tied her to the bed. Cassie struggled against them, until she grew too weak. Sweating and cursing, she surrendered to the baby’s urgent need to be born.

“Damn you all.” The child tore at her insides.

“What about the baby, Mother?” Arabel asked. “Will it be evil, too?”

Irene shrugged. “It’ll be powerful, there’s no doubt about that. But I’ve always had a good feeling about this little one. You know, a rose has a dangerous stem, but the flower is fragrant. We’ll see.”

“I hate you,” Cassie whispered, gasping as another sensation of being torn apart ripped through her body. “Aye, and I hate you, too, you little bitch.”

Positioned between Cassie’s legs, Irene and Arabel gave each other surprised looks.

“So, it’ll be a girl,” Irene said. “Rose would be a pretty name, don’t you think?”

Arabel nodded. “Oh, I can see her head, Mother.”

Cassie looked across the room to where Tyler stood watching her. “I was a good wife to you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You don’t have the ability to be a good anything.”

With a great sense of relief, Cassie felt the baby free itself from her body. She closed her eyes as Rose Hawthorne made her loud presence known in the world.
Aye, and the Hawthornes only think they’re ruined. When I get my strength back, I’ll show them what ruined really is.

“She’s hemorrhaging,” Arabel said.

Cassie’s eyes flew open, and she struggled against her restraints to see how badly she was bleeding. She screamed when she saw the pool of blood between her legs. For the first time in her life, she was truly scared. “Do something.” She knew Irene could stop it. She could have stopped it herself, if she hadn’t been so weak.