VenCo(67)

The Crone stood at the window, smoking, watching the busy streets below illuminate into ribbons of moving light as the sun set.

“It never ends, does it?” She spoke softly in the presence of the Maiden’s sorrow.

“It will end,” the Mother answered. She walked over to the Crone, plucked the cigarette from her lips, and took a drag. “First, we need to contact the Salem witches.”

Just then the office line rang. It was an unusual sound, even startling the Maiden into lifting her head.

The three women of the Oracle stood still, watching the red light blink with each shrill ring on the rotary phone. Finally, the Mother hurried to the bar and lifted the receiver.

“Hello.”

She listened for several minutes.

“Yes, we understand.”

She glanced over at her colleagues, listening some more.

“We will be in touch shortly.”

Then she hung up, lowering her shoulders as she lowered the receiver back into the cradle. She sighed, then turned to face the other two, who waited.

“That was Meena Good. He has found them. He’s in Salem.”

“No shit he’s in Salem! Who else would string Lucille up like a deer?” The Maiden jumped to her feet, hands balled into fists.

“Well, no. He came to Salem, but they hid themselves. That’s probably when he sussed out poor Lucille.” The Mother tried to speak slowly and calmly, to keep the anxiety in the room from boiling over.

“They have a powerful protector among them.” The Crone smiled with satisfaction. “Must be the Creole mother. Motherhood can do wonderful things to a witch’s power.”

“I’m getting on a plane.” The Maiden was already scrolling on her phone, looking for flights.

The Mother approached her with that same calm cadence, placed a hand on her forearm, and pushed the phone down. “I think it’s time we . . . take steps.”

“Mais non, we cannot,” the Crone interrupted. “What can we do? We are not coven witches.”

“Fuck it,” the Mother said, with a raised voice. “There are ways we can use our influence. We are, after all, the best of our kind—a Tender, a Booker, and a Watcher together? There have to be ways.”

The Maiden relaxed for the first time since they’d received word about the gruesome discovery at the Trout Tavern. “Influence?”

“Indeed.” The Mother was already scheming. “We won’t be able to directly play the game, but perhaps we can do some better sideline coaching. At least until the seven are united. Once they are together, we can focus on other things.”

“Like gutting that Christos fucker.” The Maiden smiled.

“I should like a good hunt,” the Mother said, thoughtful.

The Crone walked over and closed the boardroom door. From the hallway, there was the sound of fingers snapping as the candles were lit and the circle was called.





22

Death Rattle




Lucky and Stella left Schuykill County at a leisurely pace. Their destination was eighteen hours away, according to Google, a trip that would take them two days, so Lucky saw no need to push it too hard, not right away. They stayed that first night in an Airbnb she’d booked on her phone when they stopped for chicken and waffles at a diner. The place she found was a small cabin near Wayne National Forest.

“What the hell kind of name is Wayne for a forest? We really must be in hick country,” Stella said, a little too loudly.

“Grandma! Don’t be calling people hicks when—”

“When we’re in hick country? Okay.”

The text from the owners had said the key to the cabin would be under a pink painted stone in the front garden. Sure enough, she found a bunch of different-coloured stones, one of which was faded pink, and underneath it was the key.

“Odd security system,” Stella remarked while she waited by the door with her bag.

“I don’t think they have to worry about people breaking in around here.” They’d driven for twenty minutes on the first side road and not seen another house, and then had almost missed the driveway, it was so narrow and hidden.

“Oswald used to leave the apartment unlocked. Said it was on the third floor, no one would bother climbing that many stairs to steal our fruit bowl or his pyjamas anyway. But, sure enough, one day we came home, and the TV was gone.” She shrugged.

“Well, here they’d have to find the key first,” Lucky said, holding it up. “So I think we’re okay.” Still, she opened the door slowly, flicking the lights on and sweeping her eyes over the main room before letting the older woman in. Stella was exhausted, and so was she. Her grandmother had stayed awake for most of today’s seven-hour drive.

The cabin was small and cute, just a main room with an orange couch and two green easy chairs pushed close to a large fireplace. There was a galley kitchen off to one side and, in the back, one tiny bedroom, which would be Stella’s, with an adjoining bathroom. Lucky was used to sleeping on couches. While Stella ran a bath, Lucky sat on the couch, a long wood-framed antique covered in heavy brocade, and enjoyed the musical that had started up in the bathroom. Stella always sang in the bath. Tonight, it was a song about gambling and knowing when to just walk away. Before Lucky could call to check in with the others, she dozed off, right where she sat, still in her shoes, before Stella had even reached the end of the song. Like most times when she tipped over into sleep from exhaustion, Lucky dreamed of her mother.