It wasn’t the most eloquent spell imaginable, but I kept my voice low as I walked a small circle, sprinkling salt in my wake. I doubted that anyone could actually make out the words, but the cadence was probably crystal clear. For all they knew, I might very well have actually been reciting “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.” If that is what they thought, however, none of them voiced it, and for that I was grateful.
When I completed the circuit and looked up, Ben was staring at me with one eyebrow arched. He’d never before seen me take it upon myself to engage directly in the ritualistic trappings of The Craft, save for the recent Yule circle he’d witnessed. This was something that was Felicity’s forte, not mine, so I knew he was going to have some questions. But they would simply have to wait.
“Go ahead and sit down,” I told Heather as I turned and then took a seat opposite her.
“You’ve done this before, correct?” she asked.
I nodded in response. “Yes, several times. Why?”
“You seem a bit nervous to me.”
“That’s because I am.”
“Why?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Because I’m not entirely certain I really want to see what you’re about to show me.”
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“So with that said, are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” I gave her one last chance to back out before we started down the path.
“You really think this asshole might have killed that cheerleader?”
“There’s a strong possibility, yes,” Ben interjected.
She looked down and briefly pursed her lips, but her quiet rumination didn’t last long. Bringing her face back up she looked at me and said, “Then let’s see what I can remember.”
“Okay, everyone quiet please,” I announced to the room, glancing around then focusing my gaze back on Heather Burke.
As our eyes met, I willed a connection to form between us. My respirations evened out and slowed, and I felt a solid bond between the earth and myself. This was the strongest ground I’d accomplished on my own in some time, and I took a moment to revel in it. My confidence was steadily returning, and the light at the end of this long tunnel seemed to be growing brighter by the moment.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her in an unwavering monotone.
“Fine,” she answered, her voice betraying the calm that had begun to permeate her being. “Very relaxed.”
“Good.”
“So,” she asked. “Is this the part where you tell me to visualize nothingness?”
“Do you know what nothingness looks like?”
“Actually, no.”
“Neither do I,” I said with a slight smile in my voice.
I was lying. Unfortunately, I had faced the horror of nothingness on more than one occasion since my bane had made itself know. However, it was something that defied description.
I brought my voice back to the emotionless baseline I’d set with my original words. “Let’s try something else. I want you to imagine nothing but a blank sheet of paper-white, clean and unblemished. Allow it to fill your field of vision. Let it grow and fill your mind until there is nothing else. Just pure white from top to bottom, side to side, corner to corner, above and below, before and behind.”
This visualization was simply a place to start. I had no idea if it would work for her or if we would need to try something else. Some people are like resistors in an electronic circuit, impeding the flow of energy. Others are like capacitors in the same circuit, grabbing that energy and hoarding it, unwilling to share. Still others are simply conductors of energy like the wires that complete the connections between the components in that circuit. Heather Burke was an excellent conductor.
I watched her face as I spoke, feeling the rhythmic ebb and flow of an ethereal plasma moving between us. Her eyes slowly took on a glassy quality, remaining locked with mine, unblinking. The trance met no resistance and overtook her quietly and comfortably.
“When was she attacked?” I asked aloud, shifting the tenor and lowering the volume of my voice so as not to disturb the young woman in front of me.
I could hear Detective McLaughlin rustling about behind me, flipping through pages of a notebook. After a long moment she whispered, “The call came in to Sex Crimes on five, December.”
“So probably some time on the fourth?”
“Just a second…” I heard some more rustling. “Make it the third. She was last seen leaving work that Monday evening and was a no show for work on the next day.”
“Okay,” I answered then shifted my attention back to the tranced woman across from me. I tuned my voice back into a dull monotone and asked, “Heather, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she returned softly.
“Good. I want you to let your mind drift now. Allow it to float free.”
She giggled and then whispered, “This is fun.”
Through the connection between us, I could feel the giddiness she was experiencing. I allowed it to flow through me but maintained my earthly bond as a counterbalance to its almost overwhelming seductiveness. Moving with her, I struggled to keep a measure of distance between our ethereal selves, for to connect with her fully would draw me far too deeply into her experience.
“Good, Heather. You’re doing great. Now, if for any reason you can no longer feel my presence next to you, I want you to come back to this place. Okay?”
“You aren’t leaving are you?”
I could feel a tremor of fear roll through her voice and begin to well between us.
“Not at all. I’m just letting you know, just in case. I want you to be safe, so if you lose me, just come back to this place and nothing can hurt you. Understand?”
“Yes.”
I breathed a quick sigh of relief. The streak of anguish had come on far more quickly than I’d expected, and I hadn’t been prepared for it. I now realized just how tenuous the connection between us was and knew that I was going to have to effectively disengage some of the safeties I’d put in place for myself.
I didn’t want to do it, but in my mind I could see no other way. On a plane beyond time and space where the two of us now stood, I took a step closer to her in order to tighten the bond. The hazy miasma of energy, visible only to me, thickened and intensified.
“We’re going to allow ourselves to drift back now, Heather.” My voice continued to speak in this reality, though it no longer needed to do so. “Back in time. Back a few weeks to the evening of December third. You’ve just left work. Tell me where you went.”
“Home. I came home.”
“All right,” I answered, “what happened when you came home?”
“I parked my car and got out. It was dark. I dropped my keys and they went under the car. Dammit!”
“What, Heather? What’s wrong?” I almost physically jumped at her exclamation.
“I just put a giant snag in my pantyhose trying to reach my keys.”
“Okay,” I soothed as I settled myself. “Forget about that, it’s not important.”
“Not important?” she returned with a hint of attitude. “Do you know how much a pair of pantyhose costs?”
I was losing control. She was drifting in her own direction and it was completely opposite of the way we needed to go. In the ethereal world I inched myself closer to her, struggling to tighten our bond but still keep enough distance so as to remain an observer only. It was a dangerous dance, and I wasn’t exactly known for my grace.
A voice sounded at my back. It was painfully familiar, and it didn’t belong here. “Salt, Rowan? Get real. It’s only evil that can’t cross a salt line. Now I ask you, do I look evil?”
My otherworldly self spun quickly and came face to face with Debbie Schaeffer.
“Dead I am, dead I am,” she chanted, our faces only inches apart. “I do not like that dead I am!”
I bolstered my defenses and like an underwater swimmer who was running out of breath, aimed myself toward the surface. It was too late. I felt a dainty pair of hands slam open-palmed into my chest and give me a shove. On that distant plane the dance was over. I stumbled backwards, bereft of balance. Unfortunately, Heather Burke broke my fall.