hate.â
Hate plus witch historically equaled burn. Iâd said the same to Peggy, though I had been referring to a bygone century. Who would be hunting witches now?
No one. I was listening to and believing Crazy Mary, two things I should not do.
âThey want to purify us. But they are the ones who arenât pure.â
âPurify how?â
While I shouldnât be listening, I couldnât stop, and when she answered me, I knew that I wouldnât.
âThe brand.â
My vision rose upâthe scent of burning flesh, the sizzle, the smell. I swallowed, and I tasted it too. Who was crazy now?
âWhat brand?â I managed, voice hoarse, as if Iâd been breathing in a lot of smoke.
âTheir crest is the snarling wolf.â
Lightning flashed, so close, so bright, I saw stars. I glanced out the window just as the rain hit, thunking against the glass like a hundred tiny birds.
A drop ran downward, joined with another and then another, and within them I saw a whole new world.
Â
Chapter 4
A woman stood in a clearing in the woods. The trees were mammothâpine, some birch. Looked like Wisconsin, but I couldnât be sure.
The moon glinted off the two-edged blade in her hand. Shaped like a Z, it appeared to have carving on the handle, though I couldnât tell from this distanceâboth time and spaceâwhat it was.
Iâd never seen her before. She was very tallâsix feet at least. Her dark hair waved past her butt. Considering her height, that was a lot of hair.
The undergrowth rustled. Her lips curved. I didnât like that smile a bit. She had evil things on her mind, and she liked them.
A big, ugly dude with a shaved head strode out of the trees. Over his shoulder he hauled a woman, bound and gagged and struggling. Didnât seem like she wanted to be here any more than I did, and she had about as much choice in the matter as I did as well.
The tall woman pointed with her knife at the large flat stone that shone beneath the moon. It resembled a pagan altar, even before the man laid his burden on top.
Middle-aged, dark hair, brown eyesâI didnât know her either. She started to scramble off the stone, but with her ankles and wrists tied, then the big guy guarding one side and the big gal the other, the effort was mostly for show.
I figured thereâd be chanting and other ritualistic oddities. Instead, the man picked up what appeared to be a meat cleaver, lifted it high over his head, then brought it down.
I tried to scream and couldnât. My throat worked, yet not a sound emerged. Iâm sure weâve all had dreams like that. We usually wake ourselves up with the strangled noises we make. I didnât. At least not soon enough. Not before I sawâ
I came out of the vision gasping as if Iâd been underwater almost too long. Mary held my hand. The rain still fell. I closed my eyes, turned away.
Thereâd been so damn much blood.
Mary led me to a chair, pushed me into it, went to her knees at my side. âWhere was it?â
âWhere was what?â
âThe forest? The altar?â
My mouth dropped open. âYou saw?â
Maybe she was a witch.
âAs soon as I took your hand.â
Or maybe I was.
My laugh sounded slightly hysterical. Not only was Mary starting to share my delusions, I was starting to share hers.
I didnât follow the tenets of Wicca, hadnât even learned them yet, and witchcraft was a skill set I didnât have. Spells? Rituals? I knew nothing about them. But maybe the man and the woman in my vision had.
âWere those witches?â I asked.
Though the idea of Mary seeing what I had should freak me out, instead I was kind of glad. I wasnât alone anymore.
âWitches harm none.â
âI thought that was Wicca.â
Mary waved her hand as if a fly buzzed around her head. âI think those were witch hunters.â
âVenatores Mali,â I murmured.