Page 58 of Dirty Valentine
“You’re saying someone believes they’re channeling the spirit of Bridget Ashworth?”Jack asked.
“I’m saying someone with significant knowledge of ceremonial magic is using these symbols to justify murder,” Evangeline corrected.“Whether they believe Bridget’s spirit is guiding them or they’re simply using her story as psychological justification, the result is the same.”
Leena was still studying the phone images, her dark eyes intense with concentration.“There’s something else.The precision of these carvings, the specific positioning—this isn’t someone who learned about ritual magic from books or internet forums.This is someone who was taught these symbols, who understands their traditional meanings and applications.”
“Taught by whom?”I asked.
“Someone with access to genuine grimoires, old family traditions, or formal magical training,” Leena said.“These symbols are very specific to justice magic, which isn’t commonly practiced anymore.Most modern practitioners focus on healing or prosperity magic.Justice magic is considered dangerous because it’s designed to cause harm.”
“How dangerous?”Jack asked.
Evangeline closed her book carefully.“Dangerous enough that most responsible teachers won’t pass on the knowledge.It requires absolute certainty about guilt and innocence, and humans are notoriously bad at that kind of judgment.”
“But someone taught our killer,” I said.
“Or they’re part of a family tradition that’s been passed down through generations,” Leena added.“Some bloodlines maintain magical practices for centuries, especially if they believe their ancestors were wronged.”
The implications of what they were telling us settled over me like a cold blanket.We weren’t just looking for someone with access to historical records and crime-scene evidence.We were looking for someone who’d been trained in a specific, dangerous form of magic designed to punish the descendants of people who’d committed injustices centuries ago.
“Have either of you heard of anyone in King George County practicing justice magic?”Jack asked.
“No,” Evangeline said immediately.“And I’ve lived here for forty years.I know most of the people who practice any form of alternative spirituality, and none of them would be involved in something like this.”
“What about someone new to the area?”I pressed.“Someone who might have moved here specifically because of the Bridget Ashworth connection?”
Leena and Evangeline exchanged glances.“There have been a few people asking about local magical history lately,” Leena admitted.“Someone called Evangeline a few weeks ago, wanting to know about sites connected to the witch trials.But they wouldn’t give their name, and the number was blocked.”
“What did they want to know specifically?”Jack asked.
“Locations where accused witches were buried, whether any of their possessions survived, if there were any living descendants,” Evangeline said.“I told them I didn’t have that information and suggested they contact the historical society.I don’t give out details about burial sites to strangers.”
“Smart policy,” Jack said.“Did they call back?”
“No.But a few days later, someone broke into my greenhouse and stole several rare herbs.Plants that are used specifically in justice magic—belladonna, mandrake root, graveyard dirt that I collected from Bridget Ashworth’s burial site years ago for research purposes.”
My blood ran cold.“You have dirt from Bridget’s grave?”
“Had,” Evangeline corrected.“Along with herbs that can be used to induce cardiac arrest if someone knows the proper preparations.”
Jack and I looked at each other, the pieces of our puzzle suddenly shifting into a new and terrifying pattern.Thomas Whitman had died of cardiac arrest with no obvious medical cause.If someone had used magical herbs to stop his heart, it would explain why the autopsy hadn’t revealed a clear cause of death.
“Could those herbs cause the kind of cardiac arrest we saw in our victim?”I asked.
“Belladonna and mandrake, properly prepared and administered, can definitely cause fatal arrhythmias,” Evangeline said.“They’re extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“When exactly was your greenhouse broken into?”Jack asked.
“Three weeks ago.I reported it to the sheriff’s office, but honestly, I wasn’t sure anyone would take it seriously.People assume anything involving herbs and magic is just silly superstition.”
Jack was already pulling out his phone.“I need to check our incident reports.If someone’s been stealing your supplies and asking about Bridget Ashworth’s descendants, we might have a pattern.”
The afternoon light was fading as we prepared to leave, turning the marsh landscape into something that belonged in a fairy tale—beautiful but slightly ominous, full of hidden depths and secrets that whispered in the wind.Leena walked us to our vehicle, her nervous energy finally settling into something that looked like genuine concern.
“Sheriff,” she said quietly, “whoever’s doing this isn’t just interested in historical justice.Someone with this level of magical knowledge, combined with access to your investigation—they’re not going to stop until they’ve completed whatever ritual they’ve started.”
“How do we stop them?”I asked.
“Figure out how many people are on their list,” she said simply.“Because justice magic doesn’t end until the practitioner believes perfect balance has been achieved.And given what happened three hundred years ago, that could mean a lot more people have to die.”
