Dead to the World (Sookie Stackhouse #4)(21)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"Would you mind explaining the difference?" I met her eyes briefly, and then decided to focus on the dried flowers in the basket on top of the television. Holly thought I could read her mind only if I was looking into her eyes. (Like physical touching, eye contact does make the reading easier, but it certainly isn’t necessary.)

"I guess not." Her voice was slow, as if she were thinking as she spoke. "You’re not one to spread gossip."

"Whatever you tell me, I won’t share with anyone." I met her eyes again, briefly.

"Okay," she said. "Well, if you’re a witch, of course, you practice magic rituals."

She was using "you" in the general sense, I thought, because saying "I" would mean too bold a confession.

"You draw from a power that most people never tap into. Being a witch isn’t being wicked, or at least it isn’t supposed to be. If you’re a Wiccan, you follow a religion, a pagan religion. We follow the ways of the Mother, and we have our own calendar of holy days. You can be both a Wiccan and a witch; or more one, or more the other. It’s very individualized. I practice a little witchcraft, but I’m more interested in the Wiccan life. We believe that your actions are okay if you don’t hurt anyone else."

Oddly, my first feeling was one of embarrassment, when I heard Holly tell me that she was a non-Christian. I’d never met anyone who didn’t at least pretend to be a Christian or who didn’t give lip service to the basic Christian precepts. I was pretty sure there was a synagogue in Shreveport, but I’d never even met a Jew, to the best of my knowledge. I was certainly on a learning curve.

"I understand. Do you know lots of witches?"

"I know a few." Holly nodded repeatedly, still avoiding my eyes.

I spotted an old computer on the rickety table in the corner. "Do you have, like, a chat room online, or a bulletin board, or something?"

"Oh, sure."

"Have you heard of a group of witches that’s come into Shreveport lately?"

Holly’s face became very serious. Her straight dark brows drew together in a frown. "Tell me you’re not involved with them," she said.

"Not directly. But I know someone they’ve hurt, and I’m afraid they might’ve taken Jason."

"Then he’s in bad trouble," she said bluntly. "The woman who leads this group is out-and-out ruthless. Her brother is just as bad. That group, they’re not like the rest of us. They’re not trying to find a better way to live, or a path to get in touch with the natural world, or spells to increase their inner peace. They’re Wiccans. They’re evil."

"Can you give me any clues about where I might track them down?" I was doing my best to keep my face in line. I could hear with my other sense that Holly was thinking that if the newly arrived coven had Jason, he’d be hurt badly, if not killed.

Holly, apparently in deep thought, looked out the front window of her apartment. She was afraid that they’d trace any information she gave me back to her, punish her – maybe through Cody. These weren’t witches who believed in doing harm to no one else. These were witches whose lives were planned around the gathering of power of all kinds.

"They’re all women?" I asked, because I could tell she was on the verge of resolving to tell me nothing.

"If you’re thinking Jason would be able to charm them with his ways because he’s such a looker, you can think again," Holly told me, her face grim and somehow stripped down to basics. She wasn’t trying for any effect; she wanted me to understand how dangerous these people were. "There are some men, too. They’re… these aren’t normal witches. I mean, they weren’t even normal people."

I was willing to believe that. I’d had to believe stranger things since the night Bill Compton had walked into Merlotte’s Bar.

Holly spoke like she knew far more about this group of witches than I’d ever suspected… more than the general background I’d hoped to glean from her. I prodded her a little. "What makes them different?"

"They’ve had vampire blood." Holly glanced to the side, as if she felt someone listening to her. The motion creeped me out. "Witches – witches with a lot of power they’re willing to use for evil – they’re bad enough. Witches that strong who’ve also had vampire blood are… Sookie, you have no idea how dangerous they are. Some of them are Weres. Please, stay away from them."

Werewolves? They were not only witches, but Weres? And they drank vampire blood? I was seriously scared. I didn’t know how could you get any worse. "Where are they?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"I am, but I have to know where they are!"

"They’re in an old business not awful far from Pierre Bossier Mall," she said, and I could see the picture of it in her head. She’d been there. She’d seen them. She had this all in her head, and I was getting a lot of it.

"Why were you there?" I asked, and she flinched.

"I was worried about talking to you," Holly said, her voice angry. "I shouldn’t have even let you in. But I’d dated Jason…. You’re gonna get me killed, Sookie Stackhouse. Me and my boy."

"No, I won’t."

"I was there because their leader sent out a call for all the witches in the area to have, like, a summit. It turned out that what she wanted to do was impose her will on all of us. Some of us were pretty impressed with her commitment and her power, but most of us smaller-town Wiccans, we didn’t like her drug use – that’s what drinking vampire blood amounts to – or her taste for the darker side of witchcraft. Now, that’s all I want to say about it."

"Thanks, Holly." I tried to think of something I could tell her that would relieve her fear. But she wanted me to leave more than anything in the world, and I’d caused her enough upset. Holly’s just letting me in the door had been a big concession, since she actually believed in my mind-reading ability. No matter what rumors they heard, people really wanted to believe that the contents of their heads were private, no matter what proof they had to the contrary.

I did myself.

I patted Holly on the shoulder as I left, but she didn’t get up from the old couch. She stared at me with hopeless brown eyes, as if any moment someone was going to come in the door and cut off her head.

That look frightened me more than her words, more than her ideas, and I left the Kingfisher Arms as quickly as I could, trying to note the few people who saw me turn out of the parking lot. I didn’t recognize any of them.

I wondered why the witches in Shreveport would want Jason, how they could have made a connection between the missing Eric and my brother. How could I approach them to find out? Would Pam and Chow help, or had they taken their own steps?