The max porter box set, p.58
The Max Porter Box Set, page 58
Grant’s foot caught on the edge of the desk leg. He crashed to the floor. Blood covered his nose and mouth as he rolled into a fetal position.
“Stay there,” Max said. He relaxed his fists as dull aches pulsed along his knuckles. When he felt certain that Grant would not move, he went to retrieve the gun. Stepping backwards, always keeping his eyes on his opponent, he inched his way until he saw the weapon off to his left. As insurance, Max said, “You make a move, and I’m going to kill you.”
“Funny,” Leon said from behind him, “I was about to say the same thing.”
Max’s heart dropped as he raised his hands.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
Max complied. In the front doorway, he saw Leon holding a handgun. His Goodman hunter goons stood behind him. At his side stood a young woman with her hands bound. She had a blond ponytail, black nails, and a crooked smile — Jessica Mobley.
Chapter 32
WHILE TWO MEN HUDDLED OVER GRANT, sitting him by the desk and treating his wounds, Jessica and Max were tied to two chairs and backed against a wall. Leon and two more Goodman hunters went to one of the bedrooms down the hall. Max heard Leon conferring and giving orders — presumably on the phone since nobody left the bedroom in a rush to follow commands.
“What happened?” he whispered to Jessica.
She sat upright, displaying the firmest posture Max had ever seen and her stiffness carried through to the rest of her behavior. Even as she spoke with Max, her voice naturally soft, she maintained her straight back and alert eyes. This odd demeanor unnerved him.
Until he heard what she had to say.
“After you disappeared, your wife became quite demanding.”
“I’ll bet.”
“We implemented a new plan. I allowed myself to be caught so that your ghost could follow me. Apparently, he was once a detective and had the necessary skills to succeed.”
Max looked around the room. “Where is he?”
“How should I know? I don’t see ghosts. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“Relax,” Drummond said. “I’m here already. Just wanted to spy on Leon for a moment, get an idea where things stand.”
Max fought the urge to cheer. “Good to see you, partner.”
“I take it,” Jessica said, “that your ghost as arrived.”
“He’s here.”
“Tell him to get back to the coven and hurry.”
Drummond said, “On my way.”
Max wanted to tell him to wait, to ask what was going on, but clearly they had a plan in motion and he would have to be patient. He looked back at Jessica, and it hit him why she bothered him — this was not the way she had behaved when they first met. Not even close. And the longer he watched her, the more he saw her fear trembling right beneath the surface.
“Has something gone wrong?” he asked.
“Shh. I have to prepare. In case ... in case the spell doesn’t last much longer.”
“What spell?”
“Be quiet.”
She closed her eyes. Perhaps meditating before casting a spell. Whatever the case, she wouldn’t be helping Max anytime soon. But Drummond would. He was out there, getting to Sandra so that they both could do something to help. That gave Max more than a little comfort.
Leon and his two cohorts stomped back into the room. The other Goodman hunters perked up, watching Leon like dogs eager to please their Alpha. The two that followed him broke off to either side. One of them stepped out through the front door. The other took the back exit.
“I can’t be here when you begin the process,” he said to his men. “We all must answer to somebody, and my boss would not be happy if I was found here.”
Max nearly laughed. Not happy? Leon’s understatement did not come close to painting the picture of Mother Hope disemboweling him for doing all of this behind her back.
“Is he going to be okay?” Leon asked.
One of the men nodded. “Broke his nose and gave him a lot of bruises. He’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Leon stepped toward the desk, and his men cleared the way, leaving Grant Felder to cower. Leon put out his hand, and as if by a witch’s spell, one of the men that had gone outside returned with a satchel. He set the handles into Leon’s grip and took three steps back. “You’ll need this.” From the satchel, he pulled out a red brick and set it on the desk. “Call me when it’s done.”
Outside, a car’s engine turned over and idled. Leon snapped a finger at his man and the two walked out of the cabin, a bit too much like members of the Gestapo for comfort. The front door slammed shut with a finality that jolted Max’s nerves. And he had thought his nerves had nothing left in them.
All the men stared at the door as if they expected Leon to return with more orders. They probably would have stayed that way, but Grant stood, holding an icepack to his nose, and said with a nasal tone, “You all know what you should be doing, so get to it.”
With a touch of orchestrated chaos, the men jumped into action. Two of them cleared the floor in front of Max and Jessica. Another brought a ladder from outside. The fourth climbed up with a drill in hand and installed a pulley to the top of one of the exposed beams.
Once that job had been completed, the man threaded a thick rope over the beam and through the pulley. He dropped down and removed the ladder. The other men returned with brooms and swept the floor. Finally, the man with the drill had exchanged it for some chalk. He drew a large circle with the rope falling at the center.
Throughout it all, Max checked on Jessica. She watched without outward emotion. Even when two of the men stepped outside, only to return with a round metal tub. Even when they set it in the circle and cast lewd gazes upon her. Even when they attached a hose to the kitchenette sink and filled the tub with water. She never twitched or flinched. Her breathing remained steady. A rock could not be as stoic.
After they filled the tub, they removed the hose, and one man faced Grant Felder. “It’s all ready.”
Grant set his icepack on the table and picked up the brick. He approached with deliberate steps. As he walked by the tub and the rope and the circle, he inspected the work with a casual glance. Then he lowered between Max and Jessica. He placed a hand on her knee.
“It’s a shame to see a girl as young as you caught up in all of this,” he said, his voice fuller than before. She looked straight ahead as if nothing existed — not the cabin, not the tub of water, and certainly not Grant. Attempting to shirk off the insult, he went on, “You should be at college. You should be going on dates and to dances and whatever your generation does for fun. But a witch coven? You don’t belong in that mess.”
He lifted the brick into her line of sight. Max thought he saw a spark of interest, but she did her best to hide any expression.
“I’m sure you know what this is — who this is.” Grant grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “It’s not you. Your spirit is not in this brick. So why would you allow yourself to die for it? Loyalty is only valuable if the person you are loyal to appreciates what you do. Otherwise, it makes no difference to the outcome of things. People don’t like to admit that, but it’s true. They want to hold onto this noble idea that loyalty in itself is valuable. That’s nonsense. Think about that. You have a chance to free yourself. Right now. Unlike most witches throughout history, I’m willing to give you a choice. A chance to save your soul. All you have to do is renounce this wicked way of life and tell us where the other brick is. Simple, really. Do that, and you won’t be harmed. You won’t have to feel the excruciating pain. You won’t have to die.” He let her chin free and she immediately returned to staring out at nothing. “Please. I have no desire to kill a young woman.”
Part of Max wanted to shout at her, to tell her to do as Grant said, to demand that she free herself from a terrible death. He had seen enough witches go through this, and he did not want to see it again. But another part of him knew she had to take her stand. Just because other people were scared of witchcraft shouldn’t mean that she had to shy away from it. And most important, Max had to believe that this was all part of some plan, that Sandra and the coven worked furiously to achieve some spell, curse, or other kind of magic.
We just have to hold out long enough.
“Last chance,” Grant said. “I’ll give you ten seconds to decide.”
And he waited. Max watched as Grant stared at Jessica and Jessica stared at nothing. The Goodman hunters all stood silent, each one ready to act once Grant gave the command. Max could see the honest hope in Grant’s eyes — he desperately wanted this young women to absolve him of the dark things he had prepared to do. Up until this moment, he had avoided getting his hands too dirty, but now, Leon Moore demanded he be the one to carry out a murder. He needed her to save herself. It was the only way out for him.
But Max also saw the grim acceptance come over his face as the final seconds drifted by. Even before they had reached the end, everybody knew she would not acquiesce. Of the men standing a few feet back, Max counted two that were excited to torture and destroy a witch. The other two looked unenthusiastic. They had a job to do, one that must be done or else they would suffer a terrible fate. Beyond that, Max couldn’t tell — perhaps they were disgusted, perhaps they were apathetic, or perhaps they were simply better at hiding their bloodlust.
Grant lowered his eyes. “You sure you want to die for that old hag?”
As if drugged, Jessica lolled her head at Grant. A mad smile brightened her eyes. “You’re the one that’s going to die.”
Turning away, Grant looked towards Max as if to say You saw that I tried to save her. He snapped his fingers and his men came forth. They grabbed the rope hanging from the rafters and pulled it until they had more than they needed.
“Salt the water,” Grant said, and one man hustled to the kitchenette, grabbed a container of salt, and dumped all of it into the tub. By the time he had finished, the men with the rope had freed her from the chair, wrapped the rope several times around her ankles and calves, and tied her hands behind her back.
Jessica looked up at Max. “Be ready,” she said.
Before he could respond, the Goodman hunters hauled on the other end of the rope, sweeping her feet out from under her, and stringing her upside down over the tub of salted water. Without pausing, they lowered her head into the water. She held still for a long time, but they waited her out. Soon her body craved air. She thrashed and wriggled, and on Grant’s command they pulled her up sputtering, gasping, and coughing.
But Max saw in her eyes, the same dull glaze from before. She’s under a spell. Of course. They sent her to get caught knowing what that meant — torture and possible death. They must have cast a spell for her or maybe created some cocktail that numbed her to all the pain.
Which meant it was up to Max now. She could endure the assault, but she would be too numb to think her way through this. Drummond must have told the coven where the Goodman hunters had taken Jessica, so Max only had to buy them time.
He could do that.
Chapter 33
THERE WERE FOUR GOODMAN HUNTERS PLUS GRANT. They all wore the same black outfits and moved with the same tough-guy swagger. But little things differentiated them, and Max focused on those aspects to tell them apart — Glasses, Paunch, Twitch, and No-Neck.
Paunch and No-Neck manned the rope. They kept Jessica suspended in the air or plunged underwater depending on Grant’s orders. Glasses sat on the couch by the back wall while Twitch leaned on the couch’s arm.
“Look at what you’re doing,” Max said, directing all of his words towards Grant. “This is an innocent woman. You really think you’ll get away with it?”
Grant put out his hand to halt Paunch and No-Neck from dunking Jessica once more. “Don’t go down that road. If you start threatening to blab, then you’ll put us in an unfortunate position.”
“You’re really going to threaten killing me? Like that wasn’t already part of your plan.”
“It’s not. Still isn’t.”
“I see. You plan to torture and murder this girl and then let me go free. Sure, I’ll believe that.”
“She’s not a girl. She’s a witch!” The words spit out of Grant. “That’s why this isn’t murder. You can only murder a human being, and a witch has given away what makes her human. She is an abomination.”
“I get what you’re saying, but the police and the courts and the juries won’t see any of that. They don’t know that witches are real, that magic is real. All they’re going to see is a group of people with delusions of the supernatural that went on a murder spree. There’s a good chance, though, that you’ll do your time in a mental hospital.”
“I am not crazy.”
Keeping his voice calm, Max said, “I know that. I’m simply telling you how the public will view things. It’s not like you’ve done a good job hiding the evidence. We found the women you kidnapped — at least, what was left of them.”
“That’s right,” Grant said moving around the tub so he faced Max closer. “And yet here we are. You didn’t turn us in. Neither did the coven. They don’t want the police involved at all, and neither do we. That’s always the way it’s been. Witches prize their privacy — even when it comes to things like this. Perhaps especially when it comes to things like this. That’s why I’m not afraid of the police. They’ll never know any of this happened. And as long as you don’t get stupid, you’ll be let go because you won’t have any evidence on you. No body, no brick, no crime at all. In fact, if you try to file a report, all you can do is tell them about witches and curses and spells, and you’ll get yourself locked away in a mental hospital.”
Max refrained from saying more. Guilt, fear, and anger rolled together in Grant’s eyes, and Max thought if he pushed the man any harder, the backlash might get Jessica killed. As Grant stepped back towards the desk, Max wished for Drummond to appear with a Hail Mary or any plan. But he did not arrive.
That meant the coven needed more time. Max may have pushed Grant close to the edge, but that weak man wasn’t the only one in the room. No-Neck and Paunch wouldn’t listen to him. They held the rope to a witch’s life. That was too heady, too much power in their hands, for them to listen.
“How about you?” Max called across the room. He purposely did not direct his question to either Glasses or Twitch — whichever one responded would be the one open to talk.
Twitch — a repetitive spasm near his eye — popped to his feet. “Shut up, man.”
“You really willing to go to jail for all of this?”
“I’m willing to do a hell of a lot — like punch your face in.” Twitch peered over at Grant for approval.
“Can’t do anything without Grant’s okay, huh?”
Twitch involuntarily rubbed the back of his hand — the one with the flaming cross tattoo.
“Forget it,” Max said. He did not want to be Grant’s excuse for burning Twitch to ash. “I’m sorry. I’m sure all of you can understand that I’m a bit frazzled by all of this.”
With an amused nod, Grant said, “Come on, now, Mr. Porter. You want to try to convince my followers to betray me? You go right ahead. Let’s see what you can do.”
All of the Goodman hunters stared at Max. Though he kept his focus on Grant, he could feel them watching him, wondering how he might step up to the challenge, and waiting for the word so they could pounce on him. His muscles ached in expectation of the beating they would put him through.
Come on, Sandra. Drummond, come tell me it’s all okay. They were both such strong people, and he wanted them by his side. Things always worked better when he knew they were right there, ready to help him out. Of course, they were helping. But knowing Sandra sat in a casting circle in an attic with a bunch of witches did not make his current predicament any easier. He needed strength to fight these bullies and ...
A nasty smile rose to his lips.” You know what really pisses me off?” Max’s words took the men by surprise. They shifted their eyes towards Grant like spectators at a tennis tournament. “People like you. You’re so condescending. You stand there and act all tough and powerful like you’re so much better than a hard-working guy. But you only act that way because I’m tied up. You’re not tough.”
Grant smirked. “That’s going to be your grand strategy? Mocking me?”
“I don’t have to mock you. You’re a mockery of yourself. These guys know it, too. The reason they follow you — the only reason they obey anything out of your weak little mouth — is that they’ve got that curse tattooed into them. You were tasked with buying their loyalty, but you couldn’t even handle that, so you had to curse them. They don’t respect you or fear you. They fear the tattoo.”
Though Grant kept a stern face, his eyes darted from man to man. No-Neck avoided Grant’s gaze by watching Jessica as he readjusted his grip on the rope. Glasses stared at the floor while Twitch took a sudden interest in the wall paneling. Only Paunch met Grant’s eyes, but Max couldn’t get a read on what went between the two.
Max braced himself for the punches to come, but instead, Grant returned to the desk. From one of the drawers, he produced a hunting knife. “You can say whatever you want. It won’t change anything. We have a job to do. We have to protect the world from these witches, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“That’s right. You’re the witch hunters that use witchcraft.” Max shot a direct look at Paunch. “I don’t know what he’s told you about witchcraft, but the stuff is dangerous to mess with. It’s like cocaine or heroin. Highly addictive. Why do you think all these sweet women end up witch hags?”
Paunch’s eye twitched. “I ain’t no woman.”
“Works on men, too. I’ve seen it.”
Grant pointed the knife at Paunch. “Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him.”
“I ain’t your puppet.” To Max, Paunch asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Look at what you’re doing. Casting spells to destroy witches is using magic.”
“And it works.” Grant raised the brick in one hand and the knife in the other. “With this witch eliminated, we’ll only have one more and our task will be complete. The head of the coven will be destroyed which will free the rest of the women from her evil hold.”
“Stay there,” Max said. He relaxed his fists as dull aches pulsed along his knuckles. When he felt certain that Grant would not move, he went to retrieve the gun. Stepping backwards, always keeping his eyes on his opponent, he inched his way until he saw the weapon off to his left. As insurance, Max said, “You make a move, and I’m going to kill you.”
“Funny,” Leon said from behind him, “I was about to say the same thing.”
Max’s heart dropped as he raised his hands.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
Max complied. In the front doorway, he saw Leon holding a handgun. His Goodman hunter goons stood behind him. At his side stood a young woman with her hands bound. She had a blond ponytail, black nails, and a crooked smile — Jessica Mobley.
Chapter 32
WHILE TWO MEN HUDDLED OVER GRANT, sitting him by the desk and treating his wounds, Jessica and Max were tied to two chairs and backed against a wall. Leon and two more Goodman hunters went to one of the bedrooms down the hall. Max heard Leon conferring and giving orders — presumably on the phone since nobody left the bedroom in a rush to follow commands.
“What happened?” he whispered to Jessica.
She sat upright, displaying the firmest posture Max had ever seen and her stiffness carried through to the rest of her behavior. Even as she spoke with Max, her voice naturally soft, she maintained her straight back and alert eyes. This odd demeanor unnerved him.
Until he heard what she had to say.
“After you disappeared, your wife became quite demanding.”
“I’ll bet.”
“We implemented a new plan. I allowed myself to be caught so that your ghost could follow me. Apparently, he was once a detective and had the necessary skills to succeed.”
Max looked around the room. “Where is he?”
“How should I know? I don’t see ghosts. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“Relax,” Drummond said. “I’m here already. Just wanted to spy on Leon for a moment, get an idea where things stand.”
Max fought the urge to cheer. “Good to see you, partner.”
“I take it,” Jessica said, “that your ghost as arrived.”
“He’s here.”
“Tell him to get back to the coven and hurry.”
Drummond said, “On my way.”
Max wanted to tell him to wait, to ask what was going on, but clearly they had a plan in motion and he would have to be patient. He looked back at Jessica, and it hit him why she bothered him — this was not the way she had behaved when they first met. Not even close. And the longer he watched her, the more he saw her fear trembling right beneath the surface.
“Has something gone wrong?” he asked.
“Shh. I have to prepare. In case ... in case the spell doesn’t last much longer.”
“What spell?”
“Be quiet.”
She closed her eyes. Perhaps meditating before casting a spell. Whatever the case, she wouldn’t be helping Max anytime soon. But Drummond would. He was out there, getting to Sandra so that they both could do something to help. That gave Max more than a little comfort.
Leon and his two cohorts stomped back into the room. The other Goodman hunters perked up, watching Leon like dogs eager to please their Alpha. The two that followed him broke off to either side. One of them stepped out through the front door. The other took the back exit.
“I can’t be here when you begin the process,” he said to his men. “We all must answer to somebody, and my boss would not be happy if I was found here.”
Max nearly laughed. Not happy? Leon’s understatement did not come close to painting the picture of Mother Hope disemboweling him for doing all of this behind her back.
“Is he going to be okay?” Leon asked.
One of the men nodded. “Broke his nose and gave him a lot of bruises. He’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Leon stepped toward the desk, and his men cleared the way, leaving Grant Felder to cower. Leon put out his hand, and as if by a witch’s spell, one of the men that had gone outside returned with a satchel. He set the handles into Leon’s grip and took three steps back. “You’ll need this.” From the satchel, he pulled out a red brick and set it on the desk. “Call me when it’s done.”
Outside, a car’s engine turned over and idled. Leon snapped a finger at his man and the two walked out of the cabin, a bit too much like members of the Gestapo for comfort. The front door slammed shut with a finality that jolted Max’s nerves. And he had thought his nerves had nothing left in them.
All the men stared at the door as if they expected Leon to return with more orders. They probably would have stayed that way, but Grant stood, holding an icepack to his nose, and said with a nasal tone, “You all know what you should be doing, so get to it.”
With a touch of orchestrated chaos, the men jumped into action. Two of them cleared the floor in front of Max and Jessica. Another brought a ladder from outside. The fourth climbed up with a drill in hand and installed a pulley to the top of one of the exposed beams.
Once that job had been completed, the man threaded a thick rope over the beam and through the pulley. He dropped down and removed the ladder. The other men returned with brooms and swept the floor. Finally, the man with the drill had exchanged it for some chalk. He drew a large circle with the rope falling at the center.
Throughout it all, Max checked on Jessica. She watched without outward emotion. Even when two of the men stepped outside, only to return with a round metal tub. Even when they set it in the circle and cast lewd gazes upon her. Even when they attached a hose to the kitchenette sink and filled the tub with water. She never twitched or flinched. Her breathing remained steady. A rock could not be as stoic.
After they filled the tub, they removed the hose, and one man faced Grant Felder. “It’s all ready.”
Grant set his icepack on the table and picked up the brick. He approached with deliberate steps. As he walked by the tub and the rope and the circle, he inspected the work with a casual glance. Then he lowered between Max and Jessica. He placed a hand on her knee.
“It’s a shame to see a girl as young as you caught up in all of this,” he said, his voice fuller than before. She looked straight ahead as if nothing existed — not the cabin, not the tub of water, and certainly not Grant. Attempting to shirk off the insult, he went on, “You should be at college. You should be going on dates and to dances and whatever your generation does for fun. But a witch coven? You don’t belong in that mess.”
He lifted the brick into her line of sight. Max thought he saw a spark of interest, but she did her best to hide any expression.
“I’m sure you know what this is — who this is.” Grant grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “It’s not you. Your spirit is not in this brick. So why would you allow yourself to die for it? Loyalty is only valuable if the person you are loyal to appreciates what you do. Otherwise, it makes no difference to the outcome of things. People don’t like to admit that, but it’s true. They want to hold onto this noble idea that loyalty in itself is valuable. That’s nonsense. Think about that. You have a chance to free yourself. Right now. Unlike most witches throughout history, I’m willing to give you a choice. A chance to save your soul. All you have to do is renounce this wicked way of life and tell us where the other brick is. Simple, really. Do that, and you won’t be harmed. You won’t have to feel the excruciating pain. You won’t have to die.” He let her chin free and she immediately returned to staring out at nothing. “Please. I have no desire to kill a young woman.”
Part of Max wanted to shout at her, to tell her to do as Grant said, to demand that she free herself from a terrible death. He had seen enough witches go through this, and he did not want to see it again. But another part of him knew she had to take her stand. Just because other people were scared of witchcraft shouldn’t mean that she had to shy away from it. And most important, Max had to believe that this was all part of some plan, that Sandra and the coven worked furiously to achieve some spell, curse, or other kind of magic.
We just have to hold out long enough.
“Last chance,” Grant said. “I’ll give you ten seconds to decide.”
And he waited. Max watched as Grant stared at Jessica and Jessica stared at nothing. The Goodman hunters all stood silent, each one ready to act once Grant gave the command. Max could see the honest hope in Grant’s eyes — he desperately wanted this young women to absolve him of the dark things he had prepared to do. Up until this moment, he had avoided getting his hands too dirty, but now, Leon Moore demanded he be the one to carry out a murder. He needed her to save herself. It was the only way out for him.
But Max also saw the grim acceptance come over his face as the final seconds drifted by. Even before they had reached the end, everybody knew she would not acquiesce. Of the men standing a few feet back, Max counted two that were excited to torture and destroy a witch. The other two looked unenthusiastic. They had a job to do, one that must be done or else they would suffer a terrible fate. Beyond that, Max couldn’t tell — perhaps they were disgusted, perhaps they were apathetic, or perhaps they were simply better at hiding their bloodlust.
Grant lowered his eyes. “You sure you want to die for that old hag?”
As if drugged, Jessica lolled her head at Grant. A mad smile brightened her eyes. “You’re the one that’s going to die.”
Turning away, Grant looked towards Max as if to say You saw that I tried to save her. He snapped his fingers and his men came forth. They grabbed the rope hanging from the rafters and pulled it until they had more than they needed.
“Salt the water,” Grant said, and one man hustled to the kitchenette, grabbed a container of salt, and dumped all of it into the tub. By the time he had finished, the men with the rope had freed her from the chair, wrapped the rope several times around her ankles and calves, and tied her hands behind her back.
Jessica looked up at Max. “Be ready,” she said.
Before he could respond, the Goodman hunters hauled on the other end of the rope, sweeping her feet out from under her, and stringing her upside down over the tub of salted water. Without pausing, they lowered her head into the water. She held still for a long time, but they waited her out. Soon her body craved air. She thrashed and wriggled, and on Grant’s command they pulled her up sputtering, gasping, and coughing.
But Max saw in her eyes, the same dull glaze from before. She’s under a spell. Of course. They sent her to get caught knowing what that meant — torture and possible death. They must have cast a spell for her or maybe created some cocktail that numbed her to all the pain.
Which meant it was up to Max now. She could endure the assault, but she would be too numb to think her way through this. Drummond must have told the coven where the Goodman hunters had taken Jessica, so Max only had to buy them time.
He could do that.
Chapter 33
THERE WERE FOUR GOODMAN HUNTERS PLUS GRANT. They all wore the same black outfits and moved with the same tough-guy swagger. But little things differentiated them, and Max focused on those aspects to tell them apart — Glasses, Paunch, Twitch, and No-Neck.
Paunch and No-Neck manned the rope. They kept Jessica suspended in the air or plunged underwater depending on Grant’s orders. Glasses sat on the couch by the back wall while Twitch leaned on the couch’s arm.
“Look at what you’re doing,” Max said, directing all of his words towards Grant. “This is an innocent woman. You really think you’ll get away with it?”
Grant put out his hand to halt Paunch and No-Neck from dunking Jessica once more. “Don’t go down that road. If you start threatening to blab, then you’ll put us in an unfortunate position.”
“You’re really going to threaten killing me? Like that wasn’t already part of your plan.”
“It’s not. Still isn’t.”
“I see. You plan to torture and murder this girl and then let me go free. Sure, I’ll believe that.”
“She’s not a girl. She’s a witch!” The words spit out of Grant. “That’s why this isn’t murder. You can only murder a human being, and a witch has given away what makes her human. She is an abomination.”
“I get what you’re saying, but the police and the courts and the juries won’t see any of that. They don’t know that witches are real, that magic is real. All they’re going to see is a group of people with delusions of the supernatural that went on a murder spree. There’s a good chance, though, that you’ll do your time in a mental hospital.”
“I am not crazy.”
Keeping his voice calm, Max said, “I know that. I’m simply telling you how the public will view things. It’s not like you’ve done a good job hiding the evidence. We found the women you kidnapped — at least, what was left of them.”
“That’s right,” Grant said moving around the tub so he faced Max closer. “And yet here we are. You didn’t turn us in. Neither did the coven. They don’t want the police involved at all, and neither do we. That’s always the way it’s been. Witches prize their privacy — even when it comes to things like this. Perhaps especially when it comes to things like this. That’s why I’m not afraid of the police. They’ll never know any of this happened. And as long as you don’t get stupid, you’ll be let go because you won’t have any evidence on you. No body, no brick, no crime at all. In fact, if you try to file a report, all you can do is tell them about witches and curses and spells, and you’ll get yourself locked away in a mental hospital.”
Max refrained from saying more. Guilt, fear, and anger rolled together in Grant’s eyes, and Max thought if he pushed the man any harder, the backlash might get Jessica killed. As Grant stepped back towards the desk, Max wished for Drummond to appear with a Hail Mary or any plan. But he did not arrive.
That meant the coven needed more time. Max may have pushed Grant close to the edge, but that weak man wasn’t the only one in the room. No-Neck and Paunch wouldn’t listen to him. They held the rope to a witch’s life. That was too heady, too much power in their hands, for them to listen.
“How about you?” Max called across the room. He purposely did not direct his question to either Glasses or Twitch — whichever one responded would be the one open to talk.
Twitch — a repetitive spasm near his eye — popped to his feet. “Shut up, man.”
“You really willing to go to jail for all of this?”
“I’m willing to do a hell of a lot — like punch your face in.” Twitch peered over at Grant for approval.
“Can’t do anything without Grant’s okay, huh?”
Twitch involuntarily rubbed the back of his hand — the one with the flaming cross tattoo.
“Forget it,” Max said. He did not want to be Grant’s excuse for burning Twitch to ash. “I’m sorry. I’m sure all of you can understand that I’m a bit frazzled by all of this.”
With an amused nod, Grant said, “Come on, now, Mr. Porter. You want to try to convince my followers to betray me? You go right ahead. Let’s see what you can do.”
All of the Goodman hunters stared at Max. Though he kept his focus on Grant, he could feel them watching him, wondering how he might step up to the challenge, and waiting for the word so they could pounce on him. His muscles ached in expectation of the beating they would put him through.
Come on, Sandra. Drummond, come tell me it’s all okay. They were both such strong people, and he wanted them by his side. Things always worked better when he knew they were right there, ready to help him out. Of course, they were helping. But knowing Sandra sat in a casting circle in an attic with a bunch of witches did not make his current predicament any easier. He needed strength to fight these bullies and ...
A nasty smile rose to his lips.” You know what really pisses me off?” Max’s words took the men by surprise. They shifted their eyes towards Grant like spectators at a tennis tournament. “People like you. You’re so condescending. You stand there and act all tough and powerful like you’re so much better than a hard-working guy. But you only act that way because I’m tied up. You’re not tough.”
Grant smirked. “That’s going to be your grand strategy? Mocking me?”
“I don’t have to mock you. You’re a mockery of yourself. These guys know it, too. The reason they follow you — the only reason they obey anything out of your weak little mouth — is that they’ve got that curse tattooed into them. You were tasked with buying their loyalty, but you couldn’t even handle that, so you had to curse them. They don’t respect you or fear you. They fear the tattoo.”
Though Grant kept a stern face, his eyes darted from man to man. No-Neck avoided Grant’s gaze by watching Jessica as he readjusted his grip on the rope. Glasses stared at the floor while Twitch took a sudden interest in the wall paneling. Only Paunch met Grant’s eyes, but Max couldn’t get a read on what went between the two.
Max braced himself for the punches to come, but instead, Grant returned to the desk. From one of the drawers, he produced a hunting knife. “You can say whatever you want. It won’t change anything. We have a job to do. We have to protect the world from these witches, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“That’s right. You’re the witch hunters that use witchcraft.” Max shot a direct look at Paunch. “I don’t know what he’s told you about witchcraft, but the stuff is dangerous to mess with. It’s like cocaine or heroin. Highly addictive. Why do you think all these sweet women end up witch hags?”
Paunch’s eye twitched. “I ain’t no woman.”
“Works on men, too. I’ve seen it.”
Grant pointed the knife at Paunch. “Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him.”
“I ain’t your puppet.” To Max, Paunch asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Look at what you’re doing. Casting spells to destroy witches is using magic.”
“And it works.” Grant raised the brick in one hand and the knife in the other. “With this witch eliminated, we’ll only have one more and our task will be complete. The head of the coven will be destroyed which will free the rest of the women from her evil hold.”
