A Witch's Tale Read Free

punks, law abiding youngsters into graffiti wri ting, drug using gang members. Considering the problems the kids were causing him, Sheriff Whitaker considered a bunch of loony women who thought they were witches t o be the least of his worries. As long as they kept their religion to themselves, he had made it a point to give them a wide berth.
    And , to be fair, the women had settled in with barely a ripple of resistance, quickly becoming integral contributors to t he community. Each one, using her own unique talents, had managed to bring something special to the town, enriching it until Port Bellmont was once again the sort of town in which people dreamed of raising their families in safety.
    Within a few weeks of their arrival, go od things had begun to happen. The local kids had found better things to do with their time than to jo in gangs and get into trouble. Before the year was over dru g arrests had dropped to an all-time low. Perhaps reflecting the absence of crime, the local economy had taken on a new life, gradually becoming healthier than it had been in years.
    The atmosphere in town ch anged, returning to its former ‘down home’ feel. It had become a local joke that the town’s good fortune had come with the witches. Perhaps, some of the local citizens quipped , all Port Bellmont had needed all along wa s a few good spells cast for it.
    And so the coven had gradually become an a ccepted part of the community. Some members of the local clergy had actually welcomed the women, most specifically Reverend Elkins. While not espousing their form of religion, he had become one of the greatest supporters of their right to be include d as members of the community.
    But all of this had ended abruptly when the minister’s corpse had been discovered.
    A roar of bloodthirsty anticipation rose from the crowd, drawing Mac’s attention once again to the main door of the sheriff’s office.
    “Give Myra to us!”
    “We know how to take care of her kind!”
    “She ought to get what she gave!”
    “The evil must be cast out, trampled and stoned until it lives no more,” the minister’s voice rang out above the others.
    The ugly threats subsided when, instead of the coven’s high priestess, Myra Adams, Sheriff Walt Whitaker strode purposefully through the door. The sheriff was an imposing ma n who wore his authority well. His brown Stetson hat added several inches to his already impressive six foot four, sturdily built body.
    One voice rang out from the rear of the mob. “Give her to us, Whi t! We’ll give h er all the justice she deserves.” The comment was welcomed by a raucous roar that echoed agreement to the man’s sentiment.
    “Now, now, now, there’ll be none of that. You folks know me better’n that ,” Walt drawled in his rich West Texas accent.
    A low rumble of displea sure spread through the crowd. They wanted vengeance and they wanted it now.
    Mac noted a slight narrowing of the sheriff’s gaze and a tightening of his jaw as his eyes rested momentarily upon two men who stood at the rear of the crowd. A quick glance was all it took for the reporter to see that both men wore clerical garb, one the turned collar of a Roman Catholic pries t. Another glance at the glowering expression on the sheriff’s face suggested to Mac that the man held nothing b ut contempt for the men of God. Interesting , Mac thought as the sheriff began to once again address the crowd.
    “You folks just go on about your business. There ain’t nothin ’ gonna happen ‘round here that’s any concern of yours. Myra Adams is upstairs being questioned at this time. I don’t look for us to be through with her for a good long time. In the meantime, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to order y’all to break up this here unlawful assembly.”
    He raised both arms, hands spread, as if he could silence the crowd with them. Surprisingly, the gesture, coupled with his no-nonsense attitude, had the desired effect. Though not