Page 10 of Witch Moon

"She's dead. Died ten years ago, he said."

"Oh. Oh."

"I don't know what to do here. Gwen. I mean...if I talk to Rowan about the Craft-"

"You can't do that! Good grief, after that dream? Are you insane?"

"But in the dream the girl committed suicide! If she knew the truth about things, that never would have happened. Maybe it was because I didn't get to her soon enough. Maybe she's going to get involved with this group of phony wanna-bes who go around murdering animals. Maybe my telling her would-"

"He's a prosecutor. You saw a vision that was supposed to warn you away from this pair, not send you straight to the stake!"

"That part was symbolic and you know it."

Gwen sniffed indignantly. '"You hope."

Mirabella sighed. "I'm going to go meditate on this for awhile. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure. Later. In the meantime, though, hon. be careful. Watch your back. I mean it."

"I will." With a sigh, she hung up the phone.

Several hours later, Bella's doorbell chimed.

Mirabella turned toward it, only to see Rowan Hawthorne standing on the other side, looking in at her.

Chapter 4

Jonathon sat in on the unofficial questioning of Bryan Marcomb. Bryan was seventeen, all limbs, with dark greasy hair and a goatee he must have thought looked cool. His mother had brought him in at the police department's request. He had a lawyer with him, but not a very good one. The guy was dead silent throughout the interview.

"You understand, you're not being charged with anything yet," Officer Cantone said. "But youwereseen running away from that cemetery the other night. We know you were there." The final line was delivered with a grimness that let the kid know he was in trouble. Cantone was a good guy-his only faults, so far as Jonathon could tell, were a beer belly and a lack of tolerance for the foolishness of youth.

The kid rolled his eyes.

Cantone narrowed his. "The only reason we haven't charged you yet is because we haven't decided what to charge youwith? The kid's eyes widened just a little. "What, you're surprised by that?" the officer asked him. "You thought we brought you down here to play patty-cake? All I wanna know is this—did you participate in whatever sick little party was going on out there that night? Or were you just a spectator?"

The kid lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together.

His harried looking, dough-faced mother gripped his arm and squeezed. "Answer the policeman, Bryan."

With a sigh. Bryan looked up at Cantone again. "I was just hanging out."

"Then why did you run?" the cop asked.

He shrugged. "Why'd you chase me? When someone chases me, I tend to run."

Cantone's sigh should have sent papers flying off desks. "Look, you couldn't have been there and not seen something. So either you tell me what it is, or I have to assume you're a part of it! Got that?"

No reaction. The cop looked at the mother. "I thought you said he'd cooperate."

"She don't speak for me," Bryan spat. "I don't know anything. I'm not saying anything."

For just a second there was something in the kid's eyes. Something that made Jonathon frown and look closer. It had been brief, that flash. But for just a second, the kid had looked afraid. Truly afraid.

Almost as afraid as Mirabella Saint Angeline had looked when she'd first seen him this morning, Jonathon thought. And then he wondered how she was doing and thought about giving her a call. The woman had been haunting his thoughts all day. He could get lost in her eyes, even when he only saw them in his mind. What the hell was it about her?

He forced his mind back to the task at hand, back to the kid.

"Have you ever been inside a shop calledGwenyth's Chamber, Bryan?" Officer Cantone asked.

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