The crone returned a genuine smile. “Sensible shoes and simple living, Violina.”
“Mmm. That’s all it takes to make it so long?”
“That,” Ysabella said, “and disregard for petty slights.”
“You scared?” DeShaun asked Stuart, too quiet for the others to hear.
“Nope!” The answer came quickly. Stuart had expected the question. “But I swear, DeShaun, if you so much as goose me, jump out of the shadows, make creepy moan sounds”—Stuart counted off the many possibilities on his fingers—“do your Candyman impersonation, or your Pinhead impersonation, or your Pennywise…”
“Dude,” DeShaun stopped, grabbing him by the arm, “you saved my life up there.”
Stuart felt his face flush. “Yeah, well. I guess you owe me, huh?”
“Always will.”
“Then you can talk your parental units into not moving, and we’ll call it even.”
“I’m trying like hell, man,” DeShaun said, stone serious.
“Either way…” Stuart held out his hand and the little scar there, and DeShaun displayed its match on his hand.
* * * *
“Do me a favor and stay with them,” Hudson said to Yoshida, nodding at McGlazer, Stella and the witches as he led the others around to the maintenance shack built against the church’s least-seen side.
“I don’t get why we can’t start ahead,” said Pedro.
“’Cause it ain’t our place to come and go as we please, meathead,” explained Dennis.
“Since when are you such a square?”
“Abe’s the only one with a key anyway.” Hudson yanked down the sign reading no entry by order of cronus county health department he had fudged when they locked it down. “Even Stella didn’t get one.”
“Anybody else freaking out a little bit?” asked DeShaun.
“Don’t worry.” Stuart opened his backpack and reverently withdrew from it something that looked like a slate-gray corndog.
“Mega-sparkler!” DeShaun exclaimed.
“You know those aren’t even remotely legal,” said Hudson.
“Sorry, sir.” Stuart’s apology was sincere.
“Just put it away,” warned Hudson. “Unless you need it.”
* * * *
As he entered, McGlazer looked around the stained-glass-filtered sanctuary wistfully. Stella gave him a gentle pat on the arm.
“Don’t tell me you already miss the place.” Violina’s tone held understated mockery.
“I just hope I won’t have to.”
“We’ll get your church back up and running,” Ysabella said. “If that’s what you really want.”
McGlazer didn’t ask her to elaborate. “This is where…Ruth beat the hell out of me with the gun.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Maisie. “Is it…painful to be here?”
“It will be if I…if we never hold services here again.”
“Violina, would you be so kind as to sage?” asked Ysabella, subtly supporting herself against a pew. “Every room, please.”
“Saging?” Violina gave a smug smile. “That’s more of an apprentice task.” She looked to Maisie, who was already drawing a bundle of the dried herb from her bag
“Our ghost loved to play this,” Stella strode almost wistfully to the organ, “and scare the living daylights out of me.”
Ysabella beheld the mahogany instrument dreamily, touching a D key but not quite playing it. “No longer?”
“Not since Halloween before last.” Stella gave a self-conscious smile. “Sometimes I almost miss it.”
The witch laughed. “I shouldn’t promise to bring it back.”
They proceeded to the hallway beyond the sanctuary’s rear door, leaving Maisie to smudge the room with the smoking sage bundle.
Discreetly, Violina lingered.
In the hallway, McGlazer pointed to his office door. “Here is where I first became…possessed.”
Ysabella opened it and stepped in, leaving the light switch untouched, remembering the power was off. “No windows.”
“The place needs a lot of renovations. Modernization.”
“And light,” added Ysabella.
Chapter 10
Procession
Maisie, mostly a jeans-type girl, had worn an out-of-season floral skirt, as Ysabella sometimes did, once again in defiance of the black-garbed witch stereotype. Was the girl imitating her role model? Or was this in deference to the fundamentalist Christian directive against women wearing pants in a church?
Violina was sure it was one or the other, or both. The young enchantress was impressionable, malleable—and this would be useful.
“Maisie, sweetie.” Violina placed a motherly hand on Maisie’s arm as the girl waved her burning sage around the foyer. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Maisie ceased her mumbled chant. “Oh, no, it’s fine!”
“I feel bad about talking down to you the way I just did.” Her face filled with shadow as she made a contrite expression. “As if…this was beneath me, and you were a lesser witch.”
“No apology needed. I am still learning.”
“We all are,” Violina continued. “And I should know by now that no one is above doing good work. Can I help?” She took the smoldering bundle and divided it.
“I’d be honored!”
“Our rocker boys are handsome, aren’t they? I see you’re friendly with the bass player.”
“Pedro. He’s really nice.”
“Nicely muscled, right?”
Maisie giggled. “That’s a bonus.”
“I think he’s a good match for you. His energy syncs with yours.”
“You can tell that?”
“Without a doubt.” Violina leaned toward her and whispered. “I can help…encourage things along, if you like.”
Maisie had to chase away her teen-girl grin.
“It’s not cheating, you know,” Violina persisted. “He’s single, I hear.”
“Thank you, but I sort of like the way it’s progressing.” Maisie’s expression showed distrust.
“Oh, I did it again, didn’t I? Overstepped.”
Maisie stayed quiet.
“This tension between Ysabella and me…it must be stressful for you,” offered Violina. “I don’t want you to think I would ever hurt or undermine her. I love her, just like you do.” Violina made a show of arcing the sage over the organ. “On the contrary, I’m afraid she’s overextending herself. I’m worried about her health.”
“She just needs a day or two to recover. The whole thing with the werewolf girl. God, it was stressful.”
“She’s stronger than any of us,” Violina responded. “But she takes on too much. She’s not good at delegating.”
“What can we do to help her?” Maisie asked.
It was time to coax the rabbit further into the trap.
“Let me give it some thought.” Violina exhibited an earnest expression, lowering her voice. “It’s critical that we protect her at all costs. Even…if it’s against her wishes, I’m afraid.”
* * * *
Strength in numbers did not offer Reverend McGlazer the comfort promised by scripture. If anything, it only made him more leery of potential trouble. “You should
