Blood Moon

Chapter Eight

“Are you sure?” Ben asks for the fifth time.

Annoyed that he’s questioning whether my mind is fully intact, or if I’m just imagining things, I once again reply, “Yes! I’m sure.”

“I mean, yeah, they resemble each other, but Maggie? A bad witch? There’s no way.”

Puffing out a disgruntled sigh, I respond, “Ben, think about it, consider what Maggie might’ve looked like when she was younger. That woman definitely has the dark skin, black hair, and the beginnings of the skunk stripe. Salt-and-pepper hair? Totally our Maggie.”

Ever since we woke this morning, Ben and I have been arguing back and forth regarding my newfound theory. We’ve done our best to keep our voices to a minimum, since the house isn’t very large and Francine shares the space. But the longer we bicker, the more inflated our voices become. I’m afraid Francine might hear too much and tell Fiona. If that happens, if Fiona learns that we’re after the witches in town, then, without a doubt, all hell will break loose.

“I have an idea,” I say, sitting up for the first time today. Twisting to my right so I can face Ben, I add, “We need to find Lavenia’s cottage and do some serious surveillance work. Then we can narrow down the possibility of who Lavenia is, and we’ll know she’s the wolf.”

Ben rises up on his elbows. “And what if they’re all werewolves? We’ve hunted more than one at the same time.”

“Correction.” I hold one finger up in the air. “We’ve only seen two, and that was the first night. So Lavenia might be one, and then we’ll find out who the other is. My guess? It’s Maggie.”

Ben falls back on the bed and groans. “Not this shit again. Why are you so convinced it’s her?”

“Why are you so convinced it’s not her?” I lift one eyebrow defiantly as I cross my arms.

He shakes his head as he gazes up at the ceiling. “Fine. We’ll check out Lavenia’s place, but we have to be discreet about it. They can’t know we’re on to them. If they catch us, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”

“Torture us, probably.”

Ben and I hastily dress in our period clothing, say a farewell to Francine, who still won’t acknowledge our presence, and head out the front door for what might be our most daring mission yet. Remembering what Ulric told us about the herb witch’s cottage situated on the outskirts of town, near the edge of the dark forest, Ben and I begin our long trek to find the exact location. Briefly, I consider asking the local patrons if they can point us in the right direction, but that might come off as suspicious. Not to worry, though; we’ll find it, if it’s the last thing we do.

Ben and I pass the spot where we crash-landed only a few days ago. Already, everything has changed. We’re no longer the object of gawkers, and we now have attire that allows us to blend in. All of our luck is attributed to Fiona. Without her, we might still be sleeping in that dusty, foul-smelling barn.

There are only a couple of roads in and out of Colchester. The one we came from leads toward Fiona’s, and out of town, and the one we’re traveling on now will take us toward Daciana’s residence. Several insignificant dirt paths branch off of the main highway, and my estimate is that one of them goes directly to the herb witch’s dwelling. Now, all we must do is find the correct one . . .

“We need to hone in on the scent,” says Ben. “Do you recall what they smelled like last night?”

I nod.

“Then think of that, keep it in mind; it’s what we’ll use to guide us.”

Grabbing his arm as he begins walking, I say, “That woman we saw in the woods, the berry picker, she told us her cottage wasn’t far from that exact location. What if she was Lavenia, or, at least, one of the women who works with Lavenia?”

“Okaaay,” Ben drawls, “we’ll start there.”

Not surprisingly, we find a cottage near the spot where we ran from the wolf. Smoke billows from a chimney, dried herbs hang from the windowsills, and two dogs playfully wrestle each other next to the house. Ben and I duck low and dart for the cover of trees.

“We’ll have to climb,” Ben says, glancing up at the hundreds of branches above our heads.

“You’re joking.”

Grim-faced, he says, “No, I’m not. We need to hide out, and right now, that’s the best place to do it. We’ll have a great view, and nobody will think to look up. So, let’s scale these trees before someone catches us.”

“Oh, my God. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this in a dress and heels. This won’t be easy.”

“I’m right behind you, Princess.” He hoists me toward the nearest branch and I begin ascending, not really sure how far I should climb. I guess I’ll continue until the limbs thin out and are unable to hold my weight.

As promised, Ben is directly underneath me. I firmly clutch each new branch as I find my footing. Minutes later, we’re halfway up, and in a perfect position to observe the Lavenia’s cottage. Thank the universe I don’t have a fear of heights; I’d be screwed right now.

“Is this good?” I ask, glancing down at Ben.

He peers up at me. “Yeah, this should be fine. Find a place to sit comfortably, because we’ll be here all day.”

“God, I hope I don’t have to pee.”

“Hold it.”

I groan. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Ben locates a sturdy branch where he can rest and situates himself in a secure position. “We’re not here for fun, Candra. We’re here so we can prevent Ulric and Daciana’s banishment to the Otherworld.”

Cynically, I say, “No need to be oh-so-serious. I’m well aware of why we’re in the sixteenth century.”

He cuts me a razor-sharp glare. “Just reminding you, in case you’ve forgotten. I wouldn’t want you to get the idea this is all dress-up and tea parties.”

“What the hell, Ben?” I shout.

“Sssh! Keep it down,” he hisses. “Do you want all of Colchester to know we’re up here, spying on Lavenia and her minions?”

He has a point: I’m being childish. Emitting a frustrated sigh, I carefully turn my body around on the branch, so I’m facing Lavenia’s cottage, and rest my head on the tree’s trunk.

By chance, we don’t have to wait very long before one of the witches emerges; it’s the blonde-haired woman, who bared her teeth and snarled at me last night, ready to scratch my eyeballs out. Now she looks as pleasant and as humble as any respectable lady in this era. She blends in perfectly with the rest of society, which, if I’m correct, is exactly what they want. Don’t they know people talk about them and question whether or not they have dark powers? Is part of their plan inflicting mayhem on the citizens who have trashed their reputations?

The fair-haired female traipses through the shrubbery and trees directly beneath us, dead leaves crunching underneath her feet. Eventually, she fades out of sight, and Ben and I are left watching both directions—Lavenia’s cottage, and the route where the mysterious girl disappeared.

Is she going to pick berries? I inquire.

Ben shrugs, his eyes never leaving the pathway she took. Who knows? Maybe she’s adding to their infinite collection of herbs.

An idea strikes me. Do you remember what Maggie’s home in Hartford looked like on the inside?

Ben wrenches his head around to stare at me. Of course. Why?

Don’t you think it’s odd she had all of those dried herbs hanging around her kitchen? I gesture toward the cottage, where the dried herbs sway in the icy-cold breeze. Do you believe me now?

His shoulders drop as his head rolls back, like he’s drained from listening to my interpretation on all of this weirdness. I never said I didn’t believe you; it just seemed a little . . . out there. But yes, I obviously see the herbs hanging in the windows and remember the stench in Maggie’s house caused by her collection. I still have no idea what she used them for.

Black magic?

Shaking his head, he says, We hardly ever used herbs in black magic.

Maybe that’s what they used in this age, though. Maybe their powers stem from Mother Nature herself.

That’s a little too . . . traditional.

It’s ancient, yeah. What did you expect? They had to start somewhere.

Ben revisits his previous position, staring off toward the route the blonde girl departed. The front door of the cottage creaks open, and none other than the dark-skinned woman with black-and-white hair steps out, her right arm carrying a basket. She follows the same path that the blonde girl took.

We need to get closer, I tell Ben. Peek through a window, or something. We can’t just sit here all night. That’s not going to do us any good.

If they catch us, we’re screwed. You do realize that, right?

Yeah, but we need to see what’s in that cottage—cauldrons, green mists whirling out of glass bottles, black cats. You get the idea.

Ben gives me a dubious look over his shoulder. It doesn’t work that way, Princess.

Then let’s find out how, exactly, it does work.

Moments later, I’ve talked Ben into descending the tree and sprinting across the yard to the cottage. Thank the stars those furry mutts aren’t anywhere in sight. Had they seen us and barked, we would’ve been trapped.

Stalking around the back of the home, we peer through a window. The inside seems as cozy and welcoming as Fiona’s cottage. Nothing is particularly out of the ordinary, except for the baby crying in its crib. The witch with the raven-colored hair enters the room, and Ben and I duck so she won’t see us. We pause for about ten seconds before rising up ever so slowly to glimpse at the woman and the child. She rocks it lovingly in her arms, whispering words we can’t hear, smiling down at the baby’s tiny face. I press my ear to the side of the house to decide whether or not I can actually hear what she’s saying. Her words reach me in a muffled tone, and nothing is clear. Ben does the same.

Crack. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Someone approaches from the forest, if the sounds of twigs and dead leaves are any indication. Ben and I retreat to the far side of the cottage, away from the forest, and away from the front door. We can’t, under any circumstances, let them know we’re here.

Once the two witches are indoors, Ben and I return to our spot, where we can view and listen in on any conversations they have. The first thing I notice—other than the fact that they have a baby—is how many dried herbs hang from the ceiling beams, and how many potions line wooden shelves throughout the small area. The floor plan is similar to Fiona’s home, in that there are three rooms, from what I can see, and a small area for the kitchen and dining.

Placing their baskets on the table, the girls fervently work on removing all the berries and herbs they gathered from the forest. The woman with the baby cradles it gently, while the other two rub its belly. Forming a short assembly line, they begin wrapping the herbs with loose ribbon, tie them off, and then find a place to hang them. The berries are placed in a wooden bowl at the center of the table.

Nothing is visibly abnormal with these people. So, what’s their deal? They create these tonics and healing agents to help those in Colchester who need medicine, yet they also practice the dark arts, disappear with the snap of their fingers, transform into werewolves, and have a secret hideout in the middle of the woods. None of this makes any sense.

We continually keep an eye on the women until our legs are tired of semi-squatting. Just as we’re about to call it a day, all three witches raise their noses toward the ceiling, as if they’re sniffing the herbs. They share a perceptive look, one that easily conveys they aren’t inhaling the scent of wild herbs—they’ve caught a whiff of something else.

Blood drains from my head, and every hair on my body stands erect.

Oh, this isn’t good. I think they’ve found us, I say.

Now might be a good time to run, Ben suggests.

We scram for the forest, which will supply an easy covering—provided we make it before they see us. As soon as we vanish behind the army of trees, I hear the front door open with a bang. I don’t dare glance behind me, for fear my eyes might lock with theirs. Yet again, my ability to run is hindered by period clothing and heels. Ben’s much faster than me, has longer legs than me, and is fortunate enough to be wearing pants. Me? I have to lift my skirts and pray I don’t trip.

Are they following us? Do they know? Ben asks.

I’m not sure. I’m too afraid to look over my shoulder. If they caught our scent, they’ll know we were spying on them.

We’re so screwed.

No shit.

I feel as if we’ve been dashing through the woods for a long time. Longer than usual. We have no way of knowing where, exactly, we’re at. All we can do is use our heightened senses and sniff our way out, if necessary.

The thought no more traverses my mind when my feet are lifted out from under me and over my head. I squeal, but hastily regain control of my surroundings—even if the world is upside down. Ben and I sway back and forth from our ankles, tightly bound by the rope which was lying in wait under a carpet of dead leaves and twigs. A trap, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised.

I manage to tuck my dress between my legs, so it won’t tumble down and swathe my face. From the direction of Lavenia’s cottage, dogs bark, and their noisy yapping continually grows louder. Crackling foliage causes my entire body to stiffen. They’re coming for us, and if Ben and I don’t free ourselves from this trap, we might as well kiss our hard work goodbye.

“Over here!” one of the witches yells. “They went this way! I can smell them!”

“Damn it,” Ben hisses. He struggles to pull himself up and loosen the rope, but to no avail.

I’m not even going to bother trying; I know it’s a lost cause. When the witches arrive moments later, they don’t seem too surprised to see us dangling in front of them.

“So we were correct, then,” the blonde says. “No matter. Let us cut them loose.”

The dark-skinned woman, who I’m convinced is Maggie, asks, “Where shall we take them?”

“To the All-Seeing One, of course.”

She must be the old woman in the cave, although her nickname is ironic since she’s obviously blind.

The blonde witch and Maggie cut the ropes located at the base of the trees on either side of us, and Ben and I crash to the ground. Thank the stars we aren’t injured; we could’ve easily broken our necks, credit to these idiots. Have I mentioned how strong they are? Yeah, well, they haul Ben and me like we weigh nothing, like they’re freaking bodybuilders for a living.

In just a few hours, daytime will shift to dusk. If we aren’t at Fiona’s home by the time she arrives from work, she’ll be worried. But she won’t have any idea where we are, or who we’re with. It may be best for all involved that she doesn’t know, come to think of it.

None of the witches speak as they carry us on their shoulders and through the woods. To grandma’s house we go.

Think they’ll kill us? Ben asks.

Jee, what a wonderful question, I respond matter-of-factly. How about we focus our efforts on getting away from these crazies and getting back to Fiona’s? Or, how about we discover what these women truly plan to do with this town?

We may never figure out their plan, and we may never get out of this alive. I’m just keeping it real.

I have an idea. Why don’t we just rewind the clock and not get caught in their trap? How’s that for genius?

Ben cuts me a warning glare. We can’t mess with time too much; otherwise, we’ll screw up everything. It’s all you, though, baby. He reaches out so our fingers intertwine.

I close my eyes, concentrating on the past and what we were doing prior to landing ourselves in this stressful situation. How far back we should go is completely up to me. Maybe I should plant us behind Lavenia’s home, or maybe in the woods right before we get caught. That sounds like the best option at the moment. If it sucks, or if things get a little screwy, then I’ll just port us to another spot in time.

In a blinding-white flash, Ben and I are off the witches’ shoulders and running through the forest, just as we were previously. He and I glance at one another with mutual perception of what lay ahead—the rope snare. Careful to avoid the trap, we zigzag through the trees surrounding it . . . and almost dive face-first into a pit full of razor-sharp, wooden spikes. My arms flail as I try to regain my balance so I won’t be impaled. Ben grabs my skirt, yanking me backward. He’s practically hyperventilating, I notice.

“You okay?” I whisper, waiting for my heart to stop pounding.

He nods. “Yeah, just dandy.”

I slowly rise up on my elbows. “That was close.”

Peering at me from the corner of his eye, he deadpans, “Ya think?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like I saw that one coming. I would’ve rather been dangling upside down from that rope than have to deal with this,” I say, pointing toward the gaping chasm in front of us.

Ben runs his fingers from his forehead down to his chin, like he’s wiping off sweat . . . and possibly frustration. “We have to keep moving. I don’t even want to think about what’s beyond this point, though; it can only get worse from here.”

Halfheartedly, Ben pulls me up on my feet, and he and I begin traipsing through the forest once again. The witches aren’t far behind; I hear them conversing among themselves, wondering how we bypassed their ropes. They’ll probably wonder how we bypassed the death trap, too. One thing’s for certain: whatever lies ahead of us now, Ben and I will need to use all of our energy and intelligence to survive.