Chapter 23 #2
In the stillness of the windowless room, she could feel her heart pounding in her ears as she reached out with trembling hands and lifted the hinged lid.
The box contained a large, thick rectangular item wrapped in heavy black velvet.
She reached out slowly and grasped the object carefully.
She could feel the heat tingling in her fingertips as she lifted it clear of the box and laid it on the table in front of her.
Breathing heavily, she just stared at it.
Even wrapped in cloth and hidden from view she knew what it was.
She could feel it whispering to her, calling to her blood.
Slowly, she peeled back the thick layers of velvet to reveal a heavy black leather-bound book with a triple moon etched into its face.
She laid her hand reverently on the cover, and for a second, she could have sworn she saw the surface ripple beneath her palm.
Excitement pounded through her veins, and she opened it, turning to the first page. For a second her vision blurred, and the page seemed to swirl in front of her eyes, the words re-ordering themselves on the page until they settled into an elegant curly script.
Lifting the heavy book in her hands, she gasped as a thrill ran through her.
She was actually holding Hester’s Grimoire, the book that had obviously been protected and treasured by her family for centuries.
Suddenly feeling very exposed, she closed the book and wrapped it up in the velvet cover.
She took the metal drawer, slotted it back into the wall, and after locking it, she slung the key around her neck.
Picking the book up and holding it tightly in her arms, she hurried out of the room.
Theo glanced up as he saw Olivia hurrying back out into the main floor of the bank, her expression excited but wary.
“What is it?” He stood as he saw her slightly shell-shocked expression.
“Not here.” She shook her head. “We need to go, now.”
“Was everything to your satisfaction, Miss West?” Mr. Banbury called to her.
“Everything’s fine. Thanks for your help.” She waved as she grabbed Theo’s hand and pulled him to the door. Unbuttoning her coat, she clutched the book to her chest and folded her coat over it to protect it from the rain, which had now slowed from downpour to steady drizzle.
Chief Walcott watched as they exited the bank and hurried toward her car, which was parked nearby.
His eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on the bulky item half-concealed by Olivia’s coat.
Torn between following her and entering the bank, he hesitated and missed his opportunity.
Cursing, he turned and pushed the door open, his hawk-like gaze surveying the main floor.
Zeroing in on the manager, he beckoned him over.
“Chief Walcott,” the small man greeted pleasantly. “What can we do for you today?”
“Banbury.” The chief’s cool gaze bored into him. “Can we speak in private?”
“Certainly.” His smile dimmed a little. “I hope nothing is wrong?”
Walcott’s expression darkened, and Banbury found himself swallowing uncomfortably. He’d never seen the chief look so intense.
“Why don’t we go to my office?” he suggested hesitantly. When Walcott didn’t reply, Mr. Banbury turned and led him to the back. “Well, what can I do for you, Chief?” Mr. Banbury clicked the door shut and turned around.
Walcott didn’t take the offered seat, in fact, he didn’t move at all, but instead kept the manager trapped between him and the door.
“Olivia West was just here. What did she want?”
“Chief, I’m really not comfortable discussing a customer’s—”
“What did she want?” He cut off the nervous man’s protestations.
“She wanted to access her aunt’s safety deposit box,” he stammered.
“And you let her?” Chief Walcott replied almost accusingly.
“She has the key, and is listed as a signatory, and as Evelyn’s sole heir, it’s her right.”
“She removed something, what was it?” he demanded.
“I… I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice cracked like a whip.
“I’m not, I—”
With a growl of frustration, he grasped the manager by the throat and pinned him to the wall. “What did she take?”
“I swear I don’t know,” he croaked as the chief applied pressure to his throat.
“Tell me the truth.” He slammed him against the wall again.
“I am.” His face was beginning to turn purple. “Please…” Chief Walcott’s fist gripped tighter, his eyes glazing over as the manager scratched and clawed at his hand, trying to get him to release his grip.
Suddenly he let go. Banbury slumped to the floor, coughing and trying desperately to drag air into his starving lungs.
Chief Walcott stared at his hands, noticing the welts forming and the thin lines of blood.
A buzzing began in his ears, getting louder and louder as his vision began to gray slightly at the edges, and his heartbeat picked up.
The tiny, airless room felt like it was shrinking, and he needed to get out.
He yanked open the door so hard, one of the hinges splintered away from the frame.
Rushing out into the corridor he almost collided with someone.
Not even bothering to apologize, or even look up, he staggered out into the main floor, shoving past people, his eyes fixed on the entrance.
The noise was almost a roar in his ears now as he burst out into the soft cool drizzle of rain.
He rounded the corner and disappeared into the alley.
Pressing his forehead against the damp bricks, while the slow, steady rain filled the back of his collar, he sucked in great big lungsful of air.
Slowly, the spots in front of his eyes eased, and his frantic heartbeat slowed.
His body was still racked with shudders, but he could once again hear the faint sounds of traffic and smell the rotting garbage of the nearby dumpster.
He couldn’t believe what he had almost done to the bank manager.
It was like he’d stepped outside his body and watched someone else take over, someone he didn’t recognize.
All he knew was that in that one moment, he’d wanted to hurt that man, he’d wanted to squeeze and squeeze until there was no life left in him.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Suddenly he found himself slammed face first against the wall.
Turning his head a fraction to the right, he tried to look using his peripheral vision, but there was nothing there.
He felt another sharp jerk, and he was spun around and slammed back into the wall, once again immobilized.
Now he could see the alley. His eyes widened in surprise as his gaze locked on familiar hazel-colored eyes that he’d not seen in over twenty years.
Charles Connell lowered his hand, but the chief remained trapped by an invisible force.
“Hello, Tommy.” His voice was low as it carried over the constant patter of the rain.
“Charlie,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. “Release me.”
“I don’t think so,” Charles replied coolly. “Not just yet.”
“You think I’m impressed by your cheap parlor tricks?” Walcott scoffed. “You forget, I’ve known you a long time.”
“You think you know me.” Charles’ mouth curved slowly. “But I can assure you, you never knew half of what I was capable of.”
He raised his hand again, and Walcott was pressed even more painfully into the wall. With agonizing slowness, he felt his body begin to slide upward, the rough wall taking off layers of skin.
“My wife wasn’t the only one descended from a powerful witching family as well you know,” Charles reminded him.
“Is that what all this is about?” Walcott spat contemptuously. “A pissing match between the Wests and the Connells? Is that why you killed her? Isabel didn’t deserve what you did to her and her mother.”
Charles replied in cold amusement. “How very like you, Tommy. As usual, always two steps behind everyone else.”
“Just tell me why? Why’d you do it? Why her? Why the others?” His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Why Jimmy?”
Charles’s expression flattened, giving nothing away.
“What do you want, Charlie?” Walcott gritted his teeth even tighter against the helpless wave of rage at the sharp pain of seeing his former friend. The man he’d once called brother.
Charles tilted his head slightly as he made a small gesture with his hand, and Walcott slid sharply down the wall. “I came for one reason and one reason alone.” He stepped closer so there was only a breath between them.
“What?” Walcott hissed.
“Stay. Away. From. My. Daughter,” Charles warned, his voice like ice. “If you harm her…” His voice dropped to a whisper and Walcott felt the pressure against his body tighten painfully. “You’re a dead man…”
Satisfied he’d made his point, Charles turned to leave, but at the last moment, he paused at the entrance to the alley and glanced back. “If it makes you feel any better,” he spoke quietly, something unreadable in his expression, “Jimmy didn’t suffer. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
Walcott howled like a caged animal, fighting against the invisible bonds. It wasn’t until Charles was long gone that the restraints finally dissolved, and he dropped weakly to his knees on the sodden, filthy ground weeping bitterly.
* * *
Olivia dropped down on the rug in front of the fire next to Theo and handed him a steaming mug of coffee.
“Are you absolutely sure this is Hester’s Grimoire?” he asked dubiously.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Why?”
“It’s complete nonsense.” His brow creased as he leafed carefully through the pages, which crackled with age. “It doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“I know that the language is a little archaic, which frankly shouldn’t bother you, and she seems to like to rhyme an awful lot, but most of the spells and charms are pretty self-explanatory.”
“How do you know? It’s not even written in English. In fact, it doesn’t look like any language I’ve ever seen.”
“What?” Olivia laughed. “Of course it’s written in English.”
“No, it’s not,” Theo told her seriously, handing the book back to her.