The Fall of Witchcraft Read online

  In fact, as he picked a name on his own list, the one that named the members of the Texas Coven, he could imagine her dead - with a knife as the murder weapon, wielded by an unknown killer.

  Picking up his rental car, he went straight to the police station downtown, a place he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with since once upon a time, he had used their help in tracking a bunch of undesirable werewolves that wanted Rebecca’s family dead.

  Looking at the time, he realized it would take him about an hour to get to his destination. It was rush hour in the Dallas area and there wasn’t a way around the growing city’s traffic. In the meantime, he could return some of the missed phone calls to learn more about the murders.

  It had been twenty-five years since he’d last stepped into that station and he could only hope nobody remembered his face. If someone recognized him, it would be hard to explain why time had stopped for him.

  Unless… unless he told those who knew him he was his own son. It had been done before, and he could do it, too. Humans were willing to believe anything except the existence of something they couldn’t understand.

  October 19th, 2000

  6:23 P.M.

  Detective Connor called it quits after a long day.

  He was only a couple of months from retirement, and he could hardly wait. After being forty years with the force it was time for a change. His wife had already retired from teaching, his two sons had graduated from college long ago. They had jobs, families, and their own children were about to start families of their own. It was time.

  The city had changed in the forty years he’d served it; it was getting harder to tell where the Dallas Metroplex ended and Fort Worth began. There were so many suburbs, so many new developments. From all directions, the population seemed to be expanding like crazy. It was a mixed city, residents spanned from a plethora of cultures and races, and Spanish was almost a second language now. Too bad he’d never learned it, it would have been handy on more than one occasion. Even one of his sons had married a Puerto Rican who spoke Spanish to his grandchildren half the time; he wished he could understand what they were saying.

  Detective Connor liked his city. Perhaps it was becoming more dangerous as it grew, but he liked it.

  His office wasn’t big, but at least he had an office. Turning the lights off, he stepped out into the loud lobby, filled with people of every ethnicity just like he found on the streets. Was he going to miss it all? Perhaps. It didn’t stop him from counting the days to when he could sell his house and move to a smaller, more secluded place up North with his wife.

  It was time. It had been time years ago.

  At sixty-three, Detective Connor had seen many things, from his days as a cadet to his promotion to Detective, there had been a series of interesting cases where he'd met a lot of interesting characters.

  Turning to his left to say goodbye to Patrice, an old friend, before calling it a day he had to take a second glance at the young man standing in front of her showing what appeared to be an FBI badge.

  It wasn’t the badge that made him stop; it was the man himself. He looked so familiar. So much that he stopped to take a closer look at him. He began to walk away trying to forget whatever nonsense was popping in his mind, but thought better of it. What did he have to gain from going back to ask a stranger he thought he's met before? Nothing. His wife was waiting for him at home. He’d already called to let her know he was on his way.

  And yet… that man. He could have sworn he’d seen him someplace else a long time ago.

  “May we help you?” Detective Connor asked him as he stood right beside this familiar stranger. For a moment, he was certain the man had recognized him, too. Although, he pretended not to understand why Connor was standing next to him in an instant.

  “Sir?” the young FBI agent asked.

  “I’m Detective Connor.” The Detective glanced at Patrice, letting her know not to worry about him, he would take care of the visitor. Thanking him with a nod, Patrice turned around to face her computer. Once more, the detective focused his attention on the young man. “Is there something I can be of assistance with?”

  “Certainly,” the young man said without hesitating. “My name is Agent Torrence and I’m here to inquire about a few missing people.”

  “I see,” the Detective said. Then, narrowing his eyes, he asked, “You know, you seem awfully familiar. I can’t quite place you, but I’m sure we’ve met someplace before. Have we?”

  “I doubt it, Detective,” Agent Torrence offered a half smile. Then, “I have the list here.” He took it out of his pocket. “I have a feeling the place where we’ll find them is in the morgue, unfortunately.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “That’s something I’ll keep to myself, Detective. If you don’t mind.”

  Connors didn’t know many FBI personnel, but he was familiar with their inability to share much about their cases. Next to him, Patrice turned to look at him with a face that told him she wasn’t amused with the agent, either. Detective Connor ignored her and nodded, “Of course, Agent, uhm, Torrence?” The man nodded. “I understand. Follow me.”

  Guiding him back to his office, Detective Connors turned his computer back on after inviting the young man to sit in the chair opposite him. The FBI agent was quiet as he sat there waiting, his eyes looking around the office as if trying to find the clue to a murder.

  With the list in hand, Connors began to search through different files in the computer. Occasionally, he turned to take one more look at the familiar man. “You’re right,” Connors said. In front of him, he'd pulled a file showing the third name on the list, belonging to a deceased person. A woman.

  “Were they all killed yesterday?” Agent Torrence asked.

  Completing a few more queries, Connors said, “They were, they were.” Not only was the case Agent Torrence brought with him an interesting one, but the man was also interesting himself. And so familiar. Where in the world had he seen him before? He was sure he'd even talked to him before this day.

  “Was the weapon a knife?” Agent Torrence asked next. “Were their throats slit?”

  “So far… except for one,” commented the detective. “This one. Veronica Trujillo was stabbed in the chest multiple times. In her car.” He then read something that didn’t make any sense. “In the middle of the highway, I might add. Strange. There was no one in the car with her and no witness saw anyone getting out of her car after it happened.”

  It was as if the young agent knew exactly what he was talking about. How could something as crazy as that make any sense? “The killer disappeared,” Agent Torrence stated.

  “Yes.” The Detective could not understand. One final time he turned to look at the young agent. “Wait a minute,” he almost gasped. “I think I remember you.”

  Agent Torrence shifted uneasily in his seat. “I… don’t understand.”

  He did, but he was hiding something. Connors was sure the man also remembered meeting. Once. A long time ago.

  “Although, it couldn’t be,” the Detective frowned when he muttered the words to himself.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.” Agent Torrence insisted, standing up to leave. “But I thank you for your information. You have been most helpful.” Reaching over to the desk, he took the piece of paper where the twelve names and addresses were printed. “I’ll be on my way.”

  The Detective stood behind him, wanting to come up with a reasonable explanation for it all. “Agent Torrence,” he called. The young man stopped short of closing the door before stepping out. He turned around to answer his call. “Are you…? I mean, you look so familiar. You see, years ago there was this case. It was some twenty or so years ago, and I am certain you-”

  “I don’t know what you want to say, Detective, but for your sake, just think of me as the son of the man you think you remember.”

  With that confusing sentence, Agent Torrence disappeared out of his life forever.


  October 19th, 2000

  6:38 P.M.

  The director of the North American Vampire Secret Agency - NAVSA - felt his device vibrate again. On his computer, he was looking at an official police report one of his agents had sent him. It detailed the murder of another witch killed with a knife, her throat slit from side to side. In the last few hours, he’d gotten report after report from the seven Covens he’d sent his agents to investigate. Texas, Florida, Virginia, New York, Arizona, California, and even as close as his own state, Tennessee, had not only been attacked, but eradicated.

  One after the next, these witches - no matter what their specialty - had been killed by an unknown individual. The clues were confusing, to say the least. It was a fact the intruder had to be a teleporter, because the humans could not understand how the killer had gotten in or out of the crime scene. When Thomas had visited Manhattan, he’d found a survivor in one of the scenes. One of the witches, Liz Heinlein, a telekinetic, had left behind a husband and two children. The report said the husband had been present when his wife had been murdered, yet he couldn’t remember anything about what happened. That was also an enigma because a teleporter couldn't delete memories. Mr. Heinlein said he remembered that morning but then he'd forgotten what had happened the hour his wife had been killed in their kitchen. Just like that, someone had erased all his memories of that morning. That would point to a deleter. Did that mean there was more than one witch involved in this witch hunt?

  Lucius thought it over. Telekinetics, like Liz Heinlein, were powerful; they could have pushed the intruder away, they could have taken the murder weapon, the knife, away from their attacker with just a thought, and yet… Liz hadn’t. Why? The only way to render a telekinetic harmless was by the attack of another telekinetic - or the element of surprise.

  This only grew the list of possible suspects. Unless… No, in all the years Lucius had known the Covens, he’d never heard of a witch with more than one power. It was unheard of. Each woman was blessed with one ability and that was the one they harnessed. They were found when they were children, identified when they began displaying their powers and then persuaded to join one of the Covens.

  Witches could be very persuasive.

  That was what he knew. That was what he'd always been told.

  Could he’d been misinformed?

  He wasn’t omnipotent. In the years he’d been alive, which passed the thousands, he’d been wrong many times. Experience had taught him many things and one was there was always something new to learn, always a piece of information that had been hidden before which revealed a different view of the world, shaking your reality.

  Perhaps there was more to the witches than they led him to believe. Or perhaps one had been born with the abilities of many. That would be a dangerous witch and one the werewolves would find very valuable, indeed.

  Had The One found such a witch and was using her for his own purposes?

  He was certain he'd deduced what The One wanted - the fall of the vampire population. Lucius was sure of it. Never had all he'd fought so hard and long to create been in such peril. Never, in all his years alive, had he felt so threatened by the werewolf community.

  All things evolved, and he could only hope the evolution of the werewolf didn’t bring the extinction of the vampire.

  His mobile phone vibrated again, this time it was not receiving a message, it was transmitting a call. Letting it ring a few times, the director of the vampire agency picked up the device to read the name of the caller on the screen. Dylan Torrence. The rogue vampire who always had a special place in his heart. In his lifespan, Lucius had only made three vampires, and Dylan had been created by one of his children. Lucius thought of him as his grandson in many ways, even knowing it wasn't so. It was still a comfort to think he had children and that his children had given him a child. Dylan. The best werewolf hunter he had in his employ.

  Dylan was unique. Since his two surviving children refrained from turning many humans into vampires, when Anton created him Lucius knew he was special.

  Things had changed in the past year. A year ago another one had joined them. Rebecca, the first vampire Dylan himself had ever created joined the agency, turning into the perfect companion for him. The world was full of surprises. There was never a dull moment. His family kept growing.

  “Yes?” he answered the phone getting into business mode.

  “Sir?” Hearing Dylan on the other end gave him confidence they would prevail when it was all over. “I just left the police station here in Dallas and Victoria’s fears are real here, as well. The witches of the Texas Coven went dark because they are all dead.”

  Yes, Lucius had deduced as much. Just like the other six Covens, the fate of dozens of witches had ended in tragedy. Closing his eyes, he felt his heart heavy. He would need to call Victoria to let her know her children were gone. It would break her heart. Worst of all, it meant her Coven was under attack, and on the edge of extinction.

  It had to be part of The One’s plan. Eradicate the witches leaving the vampires unprotected.

  “You are probably aware I received similar reports from the others,” Lucius spoke enunciating every word.

  “Yes, sir… I know.”

  “Very well,” Lucius exhaled. “I believe there is no reason for you to linger another minute there, Dylan. I expect you will be coming back soon?”

  “I’ll be on the first flight home, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Without saying any more he ended the call.

  Lucius rubbed his face with both hands as he prepared to do what he thought he'd never need to do. Once more he looked at the computer screen, he looked at the reports from Florida and California. It had all started in Arizona, when the teleporter, Oralia Cruz, had been found dead in her home two days prior. It had been one murder after another in the days that followed.

  There were still five Covens left, or at least he hoped they were still standing.

  Lucius needed to act. Picking up his phone one more time, he dialed her number.

  “Lucius,” she answered immediately. Her voice sounded strained, filled with anxiety.

  “Victoria,” the director voiced. “I believe the Coven is under attack. If you have a safe house, I suggest you get every single witch still standing in the United States and get to it now.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Massacre

  October 19th, 2000

  6:42 P.M.

  Clara Barnes had led the Montana Coven for over ten years. She was not only a great leader and faithful witch, but a powerful telekinetic. She had a strong personality behind her sensitive exterior, which could be why she'd never married at her fifty-two years of age.

  Wearing a long black dress and high heels, Clara brushed back her short, black hair out of her eyes making her bracelets make a symphony of sounds as they clashed with each other with the motion. She waved her hands in front of her, jerking them back to push open the heavy glass door to the Bridal Shop with her mind like it weighted nothing. “We may need to close shop early today, Mary,” she told the young witch who worked in the Bridal Shop as the cover for the Montana Coven’s headquarters.

  The Bridal Shop was a real business, but the witches didn't advertise its existence much. It still opened every day from ten to seven, including the weekends, just to keep up appearances. Whenever a client made a purchase, the money was tracked by a bookkeeper and the numbers sent to an accountant to file for taxes every year. Since it wasn't a very profitable business, not all the member of the Coven could work under its umbrella - nor did they want to. Out of the nine members of the Coven, only four witches worked full time at the Bridal Shop; and that included Clara Barnes and her assistant, Mary. The rest made a living doing something other than selling wedding dresses to future brides.

  The evening of October 29th, the Coven scheduled an emergency meeting after Clara Barnes's disturbing conversation with Victoria Palmer, the Head Witch of the Twelve Covens, earlier that day. It seemed the
y'd lost contact with seven Covens throughout the country. Ms. Palmer had called for all witches to meet and stay together to guarantee their safety while the vampires tried to figure out what was happening with the rest of the Covens.

  The Head Witch had even denied Clara’s suggestion to send her teleporters over to the Covens to see what they could find. No. They were all to go to their Coven and stay there until further notice. The order was that no witch should be alone.

  “Are they all here?” Clara Barnes asked Mary.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the youngest witch in the Coven said. “Ms. Cox was the last to arrive, and she came in a few minutes before you. They’re all waiting.” Then, “We’re all a little scared, I might add.”

  “We aren’t drawing any conclusions yet, Mary,” Clara Barnes told her knowing it was a lie.

  Waiting for Mary to lock the front door, the leader of the Montana Coven set the alarm before walking to the back room known only to a select few. The metallic door that led to the Coven’s actual headquarters was in the back of their small storage room; a room filled with white dresses of every color tone, style, and size imaginable for brides to choose from. Clara didn’t even glance at the beautiful dresses around her, all she cared about was making sure her witches were safe and ready to hear further instructions from their Head Witch back in Colorado.

  The room went dead silent when they saw her come in.

  “Ladies,” she announced to a quiet room where seven women, all dressed to the nines for the meeting, awaited. “Are we all accounted for?”

  “All of us are here, Ms. Barnes,” the youngest teleporter, Sofia Pearson, called out. “But I haven’t heard from Susan and Jackie, my dear friends from the Iowa Coven. I keep calling and they don't answer.” Sofia had her dark blond hair tied in a high ponytail, her suit and slacks the wardrobe she used at the accounting office where she worked. “It isn’t a secret we’re worried. What’s going on, Clara?”