Reign of Evil

They exited the car and headed back down the street. The moor stood dark with multiple layers of shadows on their right. On their left stood homes, brightly lit windows warding off the night above the shrubberies. They turned into one of these homes, which surprised Walker. Doubly surprising was the way the yard was decorated with landscaping lights and cat statues. Seriously? His gaze panned over a plaque with a kitschy slogan about a house never having too many cats. This was the home of a witch?

He meant to comment to Ian, but he was already at the front door and ringing the bell. An old-fashioned buzzer rang from somewhere inside. The front of the house was painted white and lined with dark beams. Walker thought it was the Tudor style but wasn’t exactly sure.

They heard footsteps on a hardwood floor inside coming toward the door.

When it opened, Ian dipped his head. “I appreciate you seeing us, ma’am.”

The woman couldn’t have been a day over thirty. She wore jeans, impossibly tall high heels, and a blouse that could have been at home inside a dance club. Her black hair was tied into a ponytail. She had blue eyes and wore deep-red lipstick. Skeleton earrings hung from each ear. She looked like someone’s sister, not a witch. This was the witch?

“What’d you think I was going to look like?” Her hands were on both hips as she addressed Walker. “A big old warty nose and a broomstick?” She rolled her eyes, then to Ian said, “Where do you get these people?” Then she turned on her heel and clomped back into the house.

Ian gave Walker a look. “I did pretty much the same thing myself.” He gestured for Walker to go inside, then followed.

The brightly lit interior smelled of incense and cooked chicken. Down a short hall and into the modernly appointed living room, two men sat. One was perched on the edge of a chair eating a plate of food, while the other sat back on a sea-foam-green sofa, drinking tea from a small china cup.

The witch sat at a card table and regarded Jack and Ian. A deck of Tarot cards was already on a white lace tablecloth.

“Jack Walker, this is Ms. Moore,” said Ian. “The git over there shoveling food is Trevor Jones, Royal Marine Sniper, and the effeminate one holding the teacup like a poof is Jerry McMahon. He’s our intelligence specialist.”

Trev nodded but kept chewing.

Jerry gave a single hand wave, then sipped his tea.

The witch gestured to the couch, then turned to her cards. “Why don’t you both have a seat?”

Ian folded his hands in front of him and remained in place. “I thought there was a pressing—”

“Oh, dear lord, why didn’t you tell me?” The witch stood and came to Walker. She put her arms around him and hugged him tight. Walker wasn’t sure what to do with his hands and eventually returned the hug. When she released him she said, “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I’m just stunned that you’re holding up so well.”

Walker smiled weakly.

“And you’re angry too. I don’t blame you.” She leveled a stern gaze at Ian as she went back to her cards. “You really should have told me. It’s going to be easier now for me to help.”

Ian glanced at Walker. “Easy how?”

“Now we have a personal connection to the event. His spirit was most certainly intertwined with that of his fiancée. That link will serve as a bridge.”

Walker spoke up. “I’m not sure I want anyone messing around with any memories I have. They’re all that’s left.”

“It’s not your memories we need, Mr. Walker. It’s your love.”

Walker stared at the hardwood floor as he fought back emotion. He found he was blinking rapidly, his body’s autonomic response to keep his tears at bay. “What do I have to do?”

“Not much. Sit down, hold my hand, and keep still.”

Walker was having trouble reconciling her youthful appearance with the authority with which she spoke. He hesitated a moment, then sat in the other chair at the card table. She laid her hands across the table and indicated that Walker should place his on top of them, which he did.

“Now, Mr. Walker—”

“Everyone calls me Walker.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Even Jen sometimes.”

The witch smiled softly. “Probably when she was mad at you. I can see her doing it. You can call me Sassy.” She hesitated a moment when Walker looked at her funny. “It’s my name. Seriously.”

“Ma’am, there is absolutely no way I can call you Sassy.”

Jerry laughed from the couch. “We all told her the same thing.”

She shook her head. “You military men are all so formal. Let’s just get started.”

“What do I do?”

“You be quiet, luv, and let me do all the work.”