yourself, Mr. Alcott?” Savich asked him.
“Yes, I practice the Craft.”
Brakey broke in. “Dad never talked about any of it in front of us kids. He never celebrated any of the rituals with anyone, didn’t pay any attention to craft tools like candles and stone, you know? Neither does Liggert. I think Dad agreed with Liggert. He laughed at Mom for dancing around in a white robe around a fire, chanting at the full moon.”
Deliah said, “I will tolerate no more disrespect from you about your father, Brakey. You didn’t know him, didn’t know the essence of him. I know you are scared. We are all scared. But that doesn’t give you the right.” She turned back to Savich. “You asked about my husband. Yes, it’s true, he didn’t feel comfortable practicing some of the ways of Wicca.”
“He was a witch,” the old woman said. “A witch, no fancy trappings.”
Deliah Alcott cleared her throat. If she wanted to smack the old lady, she hid it admirably. “Being a witch was a private matter for him. He didn’t take part in any public displays of what he was or what he believed. But what he accomplished, what he could do, was incredible. He never disdained my beliefs.”
“Can you give us an example?” Sherlock asked.
“Example? Well, after that big tornado in ’09 that caused so much damage near here, he put a protection spell around the houses to keep us safe. There have been five more tornadoes since then, causing damage all around us. But not here. His spell still lives with us.”
Jonah said, “The last tornado hit down across the road from our driveway, but no closer.”
The old woman cackled. “Incredible, was he? Dilly protect himself, did he? A car comes along and bam! Knocks him aside the head and kills him. Even though he had a crystal in his pocket, so the Deputy Lewis said.” Dilly’s mother snorted. “He was weak,” she said again, and she rocked faster, the knitting needles clacking loud in the still room. “He was my son. I know what he was made of. You ran all over him yourself, Morgana.”
“My name isn’t Morgana, stop calling me that!” Mrs. Alcott’s teeth clenched. She looked about ready to belt the old lady. Was it like this between them all the time? The old lady pushed and pushed until Mrs. Alcott finally cracked? Probably so, for years and years now. Sherlock wondered if Mrs. Alcott had ever been tempted to send an evil spell her mother-in-law’s way, against the Wiccan rules or not.
She sighed. “I was named after Deliah Mecala, a name I’m proud of. She was a witch who lived in these parts over a hundred years ago, a great healer who worshipped the Goddess of the Air and the Wind. I still have what we would call her Book of Shadows today, you see, and that’s how I know.”
Ms. Louisa never looked up. She kept on knitting, her clacking needles a constant drumbeat.
Jonah Alcott said, “I don’t think Dad’s protection spell kept the tornado out. I think Dad turned it away himself. It was headed right toward us, and then it wasn’t.”
The old lady said, “No, Jonah, it wasn’t your daddy who turned away that cyclone, it was me.” She looked up. “And there was Tanny—that’s Liggert’s oldest. She’d just planted a garden all by herself. I didn’t want her to get upset if it was destroyed.”
Off the tracks. Savich said to Brakey, “You said your father didn’t use any tools of the craft. That includes an Athame? Did he own one, perhaps a collection of them?”
Jonah waved an impatient hand. “So the murderers used Athames. Anyone can buy them really cheap on the Internet. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Brakey leaped on that. “Jonah’s right, it doesn’t mean anything. No, I never saw my dad with an Athame. I don’t own one, either.”
Deliah Alcott said, “Brakey told us you had pictures of the Athames?”
Savich pulled out his cell phone and called them up. He handed the cell to Mrs. Alcott. She stared at them blankly, no signs of
“Yes, I practice the Craft.”
Brakey broke in. “Dad never talked about any of it in front of us kids. He never celebrated any of the rituals with anyone, didn’t pay any attention to craft tools like candles and stone, you know? Neither does Liggert. I think Dad agreed with Liggert. He laughed at Mom for dancing around in a white robe around a fire, chanting at the full moon.”
Deliah said, “I will tolerate no more disrespect from you about your father, Brakey. You didn’t know him, didn’t know the essence of him. I know you are scared. We are all scared. But that doesn’t give you the right.” She turned back to Savich. “You asked about my husband. Yes, it’s true, he didn’t feel comfortable practicing some of the ways of Wicca.”
“He was a witch,” the old woman said. “A witch, no fancy trappings.”
Deliah Alcott cleared her throat. If she wanted to smack the old lady, she hid it admirably. “Being a witch was a private matter for him. He didn’t take part in any public displays of what he was or what he believed. But what he accomplished, what he could do, was incredible. He never disdained my beliefs.”
“Can you give us an example?” Sherlock asked.
“Example? Well, after that big tornado in ’09 that caused so much damage near here, he put a protection spell around the houses to keep us safe. There have been five more tornadoes since then, causing damage all around us. But not here. His spell still lives with us.”
Jonah said, “The last tornado hit down across the road from our driveway, but no closer.”
The old woman cackled. “Incredible, was he? Dilly protect himself, did he? A car comes along and bam! Knocks him aside the head and kills him. Even though he had a crystal in his pocket, so the Deputy Lewis said.” Dilly’s mother snorted. “He was weak,” she said again, and she rocked faster, the knitting needles clacking loud in the still room. “He was my son. I know what he was made of. You ran all over him yourself, Morgana.”
“My name isn’t Morgana, stop calling me that!” Mrs. Alcott’s teeth clenched. She looked about ready to belt the old lady. Was it like this between them all the time? The old lady pushed and pushed until Mrs. Alcott finally cracked? Probably so, for years and years now. Sherlock wondered if Mrs. Alcott had ever been tempted to send an evil spell her mother-in-law’s way, against the Wiccan rules or not.
She sighed. “I was named after Deliah Mecala, a name I’m proud of. She was a witch who lived in these parts over a hundred years ago, a great healer who worshipped the Goddess of the Air and the Wind. I still have what we would call her Book of Shadows today, you see, and that’s how I know.”
Ms. Louisa never looked up. She kept on knitting, her clacking needles a constant drumbeat.
Jonah Alcott said, “I don’t think Dad’s protection spell kept the tornado out. I think Dad turned it away himself. It was headed right toward us, and then it wasn’t.”
The old lady said, “No, Jonah, it wasn’t your daddy who turned away that cyclone, it was me.” She looked up. “And there was Tanny—that’s Liggert’s oldest. She’d just planted a garden all by herself. I didn’t want her to get upset if it was destroyed.”
Off the tracks. Savich said to Brakey, “You said your father didn’t use any tools of the craft. That includes an Athame? Did he own one, perhaps a collection of them?”
Jonah waved an impatient hand. “So the murderers used Athames. Anyone can buy them really cheap on the Internet. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Brakey leaped on that. “Jonah’s right, it doesn’t mean anything. No, I never saw my dad with an Athame. I don’t own one, either.”
Deliah Alcott said, “Brakey told us you had pictures of the Athames?”
Savich pulled out his cell phone and called them up. He handed the cell to Mrs. Alcott. She stared at them blankly, no signs of
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