Chapter Eight
The Temple

The Wiccan Temple is actually an old K of C hall, huge and opulent, with one tremendous room for our major feasts and a multitude of what used to be offices, even a caretaker's apartment on the second floor. I'm told the Knights of this Council had nearly a thousand members back in the 1940's when they built the great stone structure, only to have to sell it 60 years later to pay the real estate taxes.

Anyway, it's ours now and your average Knight wouldn't recognize the place. Oh, the outside is little changed, other than taking down the Knightly signage, but inside it's a place where any Witch can find a home. We don't just allow other Wiccan Covens to use it, that wouldn't be economical, but other Pagan or Neo-Pagan groups can rent space for their own customs as well as join us for all the Esbats and Sabbats. Rising Star decides what goes up on the walls.

Tonight's a Closed Night. You don't need a dues card (what's that?) to get in, there are less than twenty of us in the city now. As I said earlier only two of us, Seamus Cein and Mike Taylor, are men and they don't seem to mind the imbalance.

I'm not quite late, but later than I wanted to be. I'd really wanted to be here first so I could watch people's reactions as they enter. As it is, there are six women in the spacious main chamber already, not counting Kendra - or Seamus of course - but though the announcement isn't going to be made until it's made by Kendra, you can't Summon the entire Coven on less than a day's notice and not raise curiosity.

After paying my respects to Kendra and Seamus, as though I weren't the one responsible for this meeting, I mingle with the others. We're all friends here, but I eventually gravitate to Fiona. We're the same age and get along best, but I still pretend I don't know the reason for the Summons.

I watch the others as they enter, carefully limiting myself to sight and all my other 'mundane' senses, looking for things like a mundane Investigator would. I'd be tempted to subject everyone who walks through the door to a probe if I were stupid.

Okay, uncle LeeJay had his famous rules, here's Su Lin's Rule One: You do not use a psychic probe on a psychic. You're more than likely to get a metaphysical slap to the back of your head. Sensitives tend to be sensitive about that kind of thing; permission and all. It's kind of like a strange guy going up to a girl and kissing her. No, I take that back, she might like it. More like walking up to someone and frisking her, hard enough even when you have a badge.

x

The use of Darkcraft stains the soul and to use it for murder paints a black on black picture that simply can't be hidden. I don't mean literally black, but if I were to tell someone about a miasma of evil that wouldn't be understood either.

Suffice it to say that a psychic probe would reveal it but it must be a really deep, intense probe. A fellow psychic couldn't miss it, and I suspect even a mundane might be aware of it.

That's not to say that, given adequate justification, I wouldn't do it. I did it with Kendra and Seamus last evening to see where I stood; but it's not the sort of thing for which a Judge could - or would - grant a Warrant.

More than half of us are here when I see the door across the room open again. I'm reminded of my hubris earlier this evening, when I thought I was ready for anything. The Goddess is teaching me my lesson. I cross the room, a smile on my face, getting all my mental cursing, ranting and raving out of my system before I greet the newcomer with a kiss on her cheek. My whisper is barely loud enough for her to hear. "What in Hades are you doing here?"

"Don't use that kind of language to your mother," she commands, lips smiling but eyes hard.

x

"Sorry, mom," I say as I draw back, my own smile as phony as hers. Oh, it's not that I'm not happy to see her, don't ever get me wrong about that. I love my mother but her presence as a known Federal Agent can only screw things. We'd been clear just yesterday about a separation of investigations. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Really?" her smile is still sweet though her teeth could bite the head off a carp. "High Priestess Little was very explicit, full Summons of the entire Coven. I'd hate to think you'd arranged that and didn't think it through."

x

It's amazing how a parent can cut you to the quick and someone standing five feet away could never notice. I don't even try to say that I'd expected her to just ignore the Summons.

"Look, nothing's changed," she directs, "we'll play this whichever way the High Priestess serves it, though I'll get to her first if I can. If things play out as I think they will, I'm still running the Official NCIS Investigation and you're still one of the equally curious. We'll mingle with the crowd," she looks over the eleven people, "such as it is, but not be together again tonight."

"Great."

"Good luck."

"You, too."

x

Well, it goes just about the way we expect it to. I'm standing in the northeast corner where I can watch everyone when the High Priestess makes her announcement from the dais. I get to read shock, grief, but if there's any guilt in there I don't see it. Only one person shows foreknowledge, but I can discount Seamus Cein because I'm the one who told him.

I do have to admit that Kendra Little plays it well. No sooner does she announce M.J.'s death than she brings mom to the fore, announcing her as a Federal Agent investigating the death of Lance Corporal Stein. Mom doesn't even glance at me as she makes a general appeal to anyone with information, any suspicion at all, to contact her at NCIS. After the Ceremony of Remembrance and Committal to the Summerland, she begins to work the room. She's a consummate professional.

She doesn't interview me because there's no way I'll ever be able to work the crowd later once people have it in their heads that I'm the daughter of a Federal Agent. She barely acts like she knows me but you have to be pretty blind not to match up complexion, eyes (though mine are green they're still Asian) and black hair, though I'd inherited some of dad's curl as curves. Still, she does the best she can to distance us so I can do my own job.

x

The Gathering breaks into small knots of shocked friends, the general mood just what you'd expect. The High Priestess has asked that no one leave before they can be interviewed, but there's something about sudden, senseless, shocking death that makes people want to stay together. I spend most of my time wandering from one friend to the next, listening more than talking. People seem to want to talk, so I'm content to keep my ears open.

I'm also one of the last three people left as midnight approaches. Mom left before eleven without even glancing at me, more to protect our anonymity. As I said earlier, hardly anyone knows what I do for a living and I'm not going to tell them now. When it's just myself, Kendra and Seamus and we lock up and turn off the lights, Kendra heads for her office and Seamus comes over to me.

"I'm working with you on this case."

"The Hell you are!"

x

Don't ever drop a bomb on me when I'm working, especially don't make it as ludicrous as this one.

"High Priestess' orders."

"Screw that! I work alone." I'm also tired and just a little out of sorts. A little? "You're not an Investigator. What the hell qualifications do you bring to this?"

"I'm-"

"You're an electrician!"

"I am the High Priest of this Coven," he says with tight and wounded dignity. "And I can do something you can't; I can compel the Coveners to answer your questions."

Well, that is true, as far as it goes, but "I do just fine with a badge and, if need be, NCIS can get a subpoena." I pull up short, raising my hands to stop his retort. There's no need for us to fight when we're on the same side.

"Look, let's be reasonable. You are not qualified to investigate crime scenes and interview witnesses or suspects. You're a great High Priest and I respect you for that, but-"

"Kendra and I want to make sure the interests of the Coven are protected-"

"And I respect that too, but protecting their interests is why I'm on this case with NCIS. They're doing the mundane work, the profane work, I'm working the inside. This is not going to become a Witch Hunt."

"That's not funny."

"What made you think I was laughing?"

He backs off too. For a moment we both have to back off.

x

"Look," he finally says, "there has to be a way we can work together on this."

"Why?"

"All right, put that way I don't have an answer. Kendra wants me in the loop-"

"I have no problem with keeping you in the loop, until you can't be anymore."

"-and she is High Priestess, her word is Coven law."

"Seamus, I had an uncle who used to slap people in the back of the head at this point. This is not a Wiccan issue, this is a murder investigation involving Wiccans. The two are as far apart as you can get and still be on the same planet. If you were a lawyer I couldn't say 'get the hell out of here' because whoever we focus on would deserve your help, but you're not a lawyer so get the hell out of here."

x

I can see in his eyes that this was the stopper. He'd played all his cards and I'd trumped him. To his credit I can see his point, and Kendra's; they care and want to make sure the people under their care are protected. Kendra is the lawyer, and though she couldn't represent whoever we focus on if she's to be a material witness, she's qualified. He's not.

To his credit, he seems to know when to quit.

"Okay, you win." He gives me a smile. "Could you at least drive me home? I'd as soon not face 'the wrath of the goddess' tonight."

I grin. With a little work, he could be quite charming. "Sure."

x

The trip home - his home, not mine - is quiet. I spend most of it trying to come up with some kind of reasonable compromise that will allow my friend to save face without screwing everything to death.

When I turn onto his block I venture my best option. "Look, I can let you sit in on some of the initial interviews, except they're not going to be 'interviews'. I'm going to chat with some of the Coveners, subtly and not letting on that I'm a detective if they don't already know. You can act like we're together but this is unofficial." Even as I talk, I'm sure I'm setting up a disaster.

This'll never work, a voice in my head tells me, and I'm inclined to believe her.

"But the first time you blow my cover I'll kick your ass."

You're screwing yourself, that voice says.

"Fine," he says.

"Okay, done."

You're going to be sorry, that voice taunts. Why does it have to sound so much like me? And why is she the one making all the sense?

He gives me the same formal departing lines as last night, including the kiss. But why is it that when he pulls away I still want his lips on mine? Why can I still feel them as he gets out of the car?

Because he's hot as hell and you haven't been laid in nearly a year, the voice tells me.

"Leave me alone," I mutter, wondering just when I'd gone so far off the deep end that I started arguing with myself.

I watch him walk toward his door. Stop staring at his butt.

"Shut the fuck up."