Willow's Sacrifice

Chapter 1Another text. Oliver Jaren glanced at his phone on the nightstand. It rested face down, but the light from the screen still escaped into the dark bedroom. Fifteen messages had come through in the past five minutes. He didn’t need to see the new one. It’d just be another threat, another doctored photo with the image of a possible death for his five-year-old daughter, Norah. It might be her hanging body or blood-covered face. A threat would follow the photo. Blocked: She will cry as she gasps for breath. They weren’t random Internet photos twisted to show his dead daughter. The person behind this had been following them, watching them for weeks. The image might be of Oliver’s mom lifting Norah into the car, only now Norah’s head was gone, or Oliver and Norah headed to the stairs of the Gulfstream, only now Norah’s eyes were gone and her throat was sliced. The photos were horrific and even badly doctored, but still…how many times could he witness her death, even fake, and not have it stab his heart? The phone lit up again. Oliver sat up, rubbed the bridge of his nose. Please just let this be a bad dream. Yet the continued threats burst through that hope. Ahead of him, black curtains covered the sliding glass door that led to the patio. To his left, two framed photos and his duffle bag rested atop the dresser. Above it, the TV hung from the wall. Everything was in its place, the house was quiet. With the patio dark, a fragile wave of comfort washed over him. While he’d managed to sleep for a change, danger hadn’t snuck up to stand just outside the window. But he couldn’t let those kinds of thoughts in. For the moment, they were safe. The house was protected and Ron Abrams watched over them that night. Ron was a good friend and a great detective with his own agency, Mason and Abrams. After the past few days, Oliver needed Ron’s friendship and his skill for solving crimes. Another message. Whatever new torture this guy had in store would have to wait. Oliver had reported the threats to the police, but what else was there to do? The threats seemed to be anonymous. Each one came from a blocked or private number. So far, it seemed like random harassment, but why? Oliver couldn’t think of anyone he’d wronged. Nothing bad hid in his past that would lead to someone being after him. As much as they traveled, it could have been someone they’d met once in another town, or it could be someone close who intended to harm her. The police were doing all they could, but his case was just one of how many hundreds in town. Until something actually happened, he felt like he was on his own to protect her. Thankfully, Ron had agreed to help. “Why is it all burned?” On his right, Norah sat up, her gaze on the curtains. Her whisper carried a distant tone. For several nights, she’d been sleepwalking along with her vision. Maybe the energy of the threats affected her, even though he’d kept most of the details from her. She believed in unicorns and fairies. How was he going to tell her someone out there wanted to hurt her? He brushed her long, brown hair to her right shoulder. “It’s okay, Pumpkin, you’re just dreaming.” “You’re in my dream?” She put her head on the pillow. “Yes, sweetie. Go back to sleep.” He snuggled her purple teddy bear close to her as he kissed her head. “It’s okay.” She pulled the bear close, sighed. Oliver rubbed her back for a few heartbeats. She was his life, the one person he cared about above all others. After three days of repeated threats and no leads, this was becoming more draining than he cared to admit. His mind raced through all kinds of scenarios, all kinds of suspects. No matter if it was a stranger or someone they knew who threatened her, the danger to her was a burden about to bury him. His phone lit up. Again. That was okay, let the messages come. Ron’s team was on the case and every text this guy sent felt like a step closer to catching him. Oliver slid his fingers through his short black hair and sighed. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep any longer. The threats had started again, as if the guy knew Oliver had found a sense of security, even a temporary one, and set out to crash that comfort. Might as well start the day. He could fix breakfast for Ron, who was stationed in the living room. Oliver dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt, then pulled his necklace free of his shirt. A leather-braided chain held a silver rectangle with a raised protection symbol of three interlocked triangles, which also matched the tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. While he’d never had to call on their strengths before, he felt like his defenses would be tested all too soon. For a few heartbeats, he stood at the side of the bed with his gaze on Norah. Her breaths were gentle, so he would let her sleep. He picked up his phone before he headed down a short hall, into the galley-style kitchen that held sage green cabinets. The gray tile floor felt cold against his bare feet as he passed through the kitchen, past the dining table and doorway to the sunroom, into the living room on his left. The gray curtains were pulled back to reveal a wall of glass with a view of the patio table with four red-cushioned chairs around it. Near the two weeping willow trees in the back corner of the yard, three more chairs sat around a rock-lined fire pit. A group of three white candles sat on the floor in front of the windows to the left and right of the double patio doors. Along the horizon, lights of planes that took off or landed at the municipal airport sliced through the night sky. That view usually filled Oliver with a sense of peace, but this time his attention went to Ron, who sat on the dark sofa with his back to Oliver. A laptop and three green candles sat before Ron on the black, square coffee table. On the screen of the laptop, a news report showed a young, blonde-haired woman who stood before the abandoned Dollhouse Museum building downtown. Two cop cars with lights flashing were parked behind her. Captions lined the bottom of the screen. While Oliver couldn’t read them, no doubt another victim had been found. With the old museum in the backdrop, the victim probably dabbled in dark magic. This victim would be the second one in a week. Oliver sat on the loveseat to Ron’s left, placed his phone on the arm. While something about Ron comforted him, even with all the threats to Norah, he couldn’t guess what Ron thought about all this. Oliver had made things awkward with Ron by asking him to dinner, but then a dark witch, Joslyn Delsin, had been brutally murdered and the threats to Norah started. No doubt, Oliver’s confession when he’d asked for help had rocked Ron’s world. Oliver had always wanted to tell him, to tell him everything, but how? Just blurt it out? He was a witch, just like his mom and Norah. If he really concentrated on an event, he could bend time and replay the moment, hear every word, see every action. How about dinner now? Ron had agreed to help and had just spent the night watching the security cameras in hopes of catching this guy so that had to mean something, right? While Ron had stayed awake all night, more than lack of sleep weighed in his frown. “Something happen?” Ron nodded. “They found another victim tonight, Loni Rubio.” Oliver bowed his head. “Signs of witchcraft were at the scene.” “I was afraid you’d say that.” Ron scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Did you know her?” “No. I suspect if she was at the Dollhouse, she practiced dark magic, just like Joslyn did.” Ron let out a heavy sigh. “Martin got a threat tonight, too.” “Dr. Brandt?” “Demanding his ‘murder files’ or she dies.” “Murder files?” “This doesn’t make sense.” Ron shook his head. “Martin was Allen’s doctor, right?” Oliver caught his breath. Allen. “At the end, yeah, but…” Oliver shrugged. “So, videos or she dies. She could be Norah or perhaps Loni?” “Possibly.” Outside, the branches of the two willow trees swayed with the breeze. The moonlight that filled the room began to fade. Clouds probably covered it and would blow on past, but a dread swirled in Oliver’s belly, something he couldn’t place. It wasn’t a feeling of being watched, yet someone was close, someone with malicious intent. The coven that Oliver’s mom practiced with had placed a protection spell on the house. Each window held a ward that would warn of danger and glow with their strength. Their security didn’t feel threatened and yet, he could feel the presence of magic close by like static in the air. “Two witches now murdered. No connection to you or Norah?” “No.” “And Norah being a witch seems too coincidental, even if she is just five.” “It does feel like these threats are connected, but I’m not sure why.” If they were connected, this guy who’d murdered two women intended the same fate for Norah, but why? Was witchcraft really the motive and connection? Was the guy a hunter after witches? How could he have known their identities or Norah’s? Joslyn and Loni practiced dark magic, but Norah didn’t. Who would have the evil heart to murder two women and threaten a child? “How long have we been friends?” “Friends?” Maybe Ron was disappointed Oliver hadn’t shared his secret, but it wasn’t something he told everyone. Hopefully, Ron would understand. “I would’ve told you.” Ron bit his bottom lip. “Guess I never thought of myself as a witch, but…I should’ve told you.” “I think I knew. There’s always been something about you. I just never…” He shrugged. “I don’t really announce it much. I’m already a gay man. Why be on another list of hate?” “You and your mom’s special teas, this goes beyond that.” “We don’t ride brooms, so don’t panic.” Ron chuckled, let out a deep breath. He looked in the direction of the kitchen before he turned his gaze to Oliver. Oliver couldn’t read what Ron was thinking. When Ron had arrived at the house around seven that evening, he seemed like his regular self, even with all the exposed secrets. He’d focused on getting three extra cameras set up in the backyard and on the side of the garage, but had made time for Norah. Nothing had felt any different than if he’d just come over to plant flowers with her. Now though, at four A.M., alone with Oliver in the dark and quiet, Ron’s mood appeared more guarded. Maybe the second murder had him more concerned than he wanted Oliver to know. Perhaps he’d had time to process all the witch revelation and it freaked him out. It’d been a long time since Oliver had felt like spending his life with someone. He thought he had that chance with Ron. He knew Ron had walls around his heart, but that didn’t stop him from seeking out that smile that lit up Ron’s eyes. He wanted so much more than friendship. He wanted to know what Ron was thinking, what he looked like in sleep, what it felt like to touch his skin. Ron might try to be serious and intimidating, but Oliver sought out the laugh; that wonderful, rich laughter. Ron took a deep breath, shifted his gaze to the table. Caught staring again. Ron had to be getting used to that by now, though. “You should try to sleep.” The uneasy rush that swirled through Oliver exposed that wasn’t what Ron had wanted to discuss. Had he been about to break Oliver’s heart? “I won’t be able to.” Oliver followed Ron’s gaze to the coffee table, then to his shoes. Ron wore the boots Oliver had given him for his birthday. “I thought about making something to eat. Hungry?” “Sure.” Ron’s smile eased Oliver’s concern to a degree. Maybe the concept of him being a witch bothered Ron, but he was still ready to eat Oliver’s cooking. Soft footsteps approached through the kitchen. Norah navigated the dining room with her gaze locked on the wall of glass. Her eyes were open, yet she seemed hollow. From her right hand, she dragged her teddy bear along the floor. “It’s all burned. Why?” Oliver rushed to her, knelt down and kept his voice low. “Pumpkin, you’re just dreaming, it’s okay.” “It’s burned.” “What’s burned?” Her blank stare remained on him for a breath and then she wrapped her arms around his neck. He picked her up, rubbed her back as he returned to his place on the loveseat. “She’s been sleepwalking a lot lately.” “She be okay?” Oliver nodded. “Daddy?” Her hold around his neck tightened. “Hey, Pumpkin.” “I had a bad dream.” “I know, but it’s over now.” He slid his hand over her hair. “Was it a dream that felt like it would come true?” She nodded. “About a fire?” She buried her head in the teddy bear. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” The details would come later, they always did. For now, he’d let her calm down, drift back to sleep. It was going to be all right, no matter what he had to do. Norah pushed her hair behind her ear as she peeked at Ron. “Hi.” “Hey, Worm.” Ron smiled. She turned her head away, giggled. Something about Ron comforted her, too. That had to be a good sign. The kitchen light began to glow dimly, then went dark again. Ron turned to look at it. “That’s weird.” “Yeah.” “What’s wrong?” Oliver searched the air, glanced at the wards. Still no threat, but someone was close. While he couldn’t place the threat, maybe a witch could mask it. The ward on the far right began to glow red as did the one on the front door. “I think a dark witch is here.” “Daddy?” “Let’s get you to your playhouse.” He carried her through the kitchen with Ron following. He went down the hall toward his bedroom. At the end of the hall were his bedroom on the left and the extra bedroom on the right. In the middle was a linen closet he had converted to a hiding place for Norah, although most days she used it as a playhouse. A line of stuffed animals waited in the back, with a blanket and pillow for her quiet afternoon naps. Yesterday, he’d added locks that she could control from inside if she ever needed to hide. “Stay here.” Tears ran down her cheeks, but Norah nodded, pulled the door closed. Behind Ron, the kitchen and living room had filled with a red glow. “Do you have your watch I gave you?” Ron furrowed his brow. “Watch? You need the time?” “No, just…do you have it?” Ron held out his left arm. The silver watch poked out from under the sleeve of his tan shirt. “Keep it close.” Ron tilted his head. “It has a protection charm under the back.” A low tone that sounded like someone playing a flute came from the living room. Oliver held his breath, listened. The notes were slow, melodic. “That’s bad, isn’t it?” “Probably.” As Oliver led Ron to the living room, he rubbed the protection symbol charm on his necklace. He faced the wall with all the sigils illuminated to a brilliant red as a mist formed outside the door.