In most cemeteries, a grave liner, or vault, was required to keep the ground from settling and creating a very unappealing pockmarked appearance. Cemeteries preferred to look like the front lawn of heaven’s golf club.
And wouldn’t bodies buried in the soil without protection contaminate not only the ground but the groundwater? There was a reason folks died young back in the day, and that might be one of them.
“Cremation is common now,” Todd said. “We’ll spread Annie’s ashes in the clearing instead, though—” Todd frowned. “Usually the high priestess presides.”
“Who’ll take over?” Bobby asked. Power and prestige were always on the hit parade of motives.
“We’ll elect someone. Usually it’s the person with the most experience. But not always.”
“Person?” Raye repeated. “Not woman?”
“Most leaders are women. Wicca is a very feminine religion. The goddess, right? But some covens elect high priests. Many of the larger ones have both a high priest and a high priestess.”
“Who do you think will take Anne’s place in your coven?” Bobby needed to have a talk with whoever that was.
“I haven’t been involved long enough to guess.”
Bobby handed one of his cards to the kid. “Let me know about the funeral arrangements.”
“You wanna come?”
He didn’t want to, but it was standard procedure in a murder case. Sometimes the murderer showed up at the funeral of his victims. Anne’s wouldn’t. But as there was more than one killer, there was probably someone pulling the strings. Maybe that person would show. Stranger things had happened.
What he really needed to do was attend the maniac’s funeral. However, the way things were going, he doubted he’d be able to make a quick trip to Ohio. He should get in touch with local law enforcement, ask someone to take photos. Although the FBI was probably all over that already, or they’d better be.
“Why would anyone want to kill such great ladies?” Todd wondered. “They were healers, helpers. Everyone loved them.”
“Not everyone.” Raye’s eyes widened as if she hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud. “Mrs. Noita was kind of cranky. Some of the kids called her a witch.”
“She was a witch. You think kids killed her?”
“No.” Bobby cast Raye a quelling glance. The information about the Venatores Mali was not information he wanted to get out.
“How’d Mrs. Noita die?”
Bobby hesitated, but as the generalities had already been reported in the Sunday paper, he went on. “Throat cut.”
“Bloody.”
“Very.”
“Was there anything odd about her death?”
“I like to think, or at least hope, that every murder is odd,” Bobby said. But the kid was right. “It was pointed out that she should have died more quickly than she did.”
Todd nodded. “Blood magic is the most powerful kind of magic there is.”
“What’s blood magic?” Raye asked.
“Using blood in a spell makes that spell not only personal but permanent. Blood magic binds through life and death and eternity. It isn’t used unless there’s no other choice.”
Though Bobby didn’t believe a word of this, he still got a shiver. From the way Raye hugged herself she had too.
“The results of a blood spell are stronger. They can’t be undone.”
“Why not?” Raye’s voice was just above a whisper.
“A fire witch would burn the blood, an earth witch would drop it onto the dirt, a water witch would disperse it into the water, and an air witch would release it to the wind. You can’t unburn something. Once liquid sinks into the earth, it can’t be drawn out. Blood becomes one with the water and once the wind blows past it’s irretrievable.”
“You think Mrs. Noita used blood magic?”
“To delay death from a wound like that, she would have had to use something. Did you find a magical instrument near the body? Maybe an athame?”
“Which is?”
“Double-edged knife.” Todd moved to the glass case, opened the back, reached in. “Like this.”
The weapon appeared normal enough—for a weapon. Silver blade, honed on both sides. It was the two sides that drew Bobby’s interest.
“Are there any athames that are squiggly?”
Todd’s lips twitched. “That is not a word I’d have thought would come from your mouth, dude.”
“Me either.” And it wouldn’t have if he hadn’t heard it from Johnson. “Are there?”
“Not so much anymore. But I have seen one.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Bobby peered through the glass top of the case. He didn’t see any squiggly knives.
“Dude,” he said, and Raye coughed.
“I didn’t say it was here.” Todd indicated the display with the tip of the knife he still held then lifted it toward the ceiling. “Annie had it at her place.”
“Why?” Bobby asked.
“To cut herbs, draw a sacred circle.” Todd shrugged. “Whatever.”