The Witch's Want Ch. 01

He'd once been a general in a day when that rank was awarded to the ones who led from the front, and one didn't become a general without leaving a long line of dead in the dust. He took Bart's form and shape generally, but for this, he looked far more as he once had.

It had lasted less than a minute, this payment of the debt that he'd felt, but it freed him. He got on with Bart's life, since that was who he was now. As he left the department in his search for a place to live which suited him better, he looked like Bart. He was Bart - but with none around him who knew the old Bart, his body was as it once was when he'd led his army. Only the scars were missing.

Back on the bike motoring through the cold night, he reflected on things. Well, not things, specifically, other people in Bart's life. He felt some of the sadness that the man had carried there over the years. He looked at some of the things from the long past.

You can be as in love as you want, but if you're not there for a while, things just cool off and then you get the kiss-off letter one day while you're doing your country's good work dodging bullets and trying really hard to keep all the bits that your folks gave you in the same small space at least a little close to your tiny mind. Well, that's if she thought enough about you to send the letter.

In the case of the old Bart, Becky had just been too darned busy, he figured. He'd had to read about it from his mom. She didn't necessarily look down on Becky too hard for it, but since it involved her son, she'd thought to let him know as gently as she could. Bart had written to a few friends and asked, and the answers concurred with his mother's letter.

He'd even run into Becky on a stopover at home two tours later. She'd made noises about them starting over and it had sounded pretty good to Bart at first blush, but the ring on her hand and the cute little face covered in Happy Meal there in the car seat was all the warning he needed. He could have handled the Happy Meal face easily, but the ring told him something about his old flame that he was finally wise enough to see for himself. That had been almost fifteen years ago. He hoped little Happy Meal face made out alright.

The lesson? Well, he admitted, if there was blame to be placed, it was his to bear. From the time he was fifteen, Becky had been his world, all that he'd ever wanted. From the vantage point of some age on him, he saw that it was a foolish thing. Nobody lived their lives that way anymore. The trouble was that he'd never found anyone after that who had made him want to stick around.

The rest of the dream had gone to Hell when he'd tried to find work with a long leave coming to him after rotating back to base in the states. He wrote letters and sent emails to everyone he knew long before, but there was no work. Bart had spent weeks on the net, sent a ton of resumes and ended up doing exactly what he hadn't wanted to be doing when he got home -- looking for work with no leads and with his leave time running out like a large egg timer.

So he'd cross-trained into military police work and on the outside now, he hired out as a cop, mostly to small town sheriff's offices. He'd been at it a decade now and finally realized that he was looking for something, a life in a small place where he could settle in, grow old and die. Well it seemed to be about all that he could ask out of life.

That had run the tape of the man's life to the end. He now fit perfectly into that life, but he wondered what it would bring him. He had a bit of a hope that this little place might be the one. If it worked out, he'd ride home in a few months, load up his pickup, and trailer the bike along with his few possessions and just...

The road curved left and then doubled back into a long uphill sweep to the right, straightening out just as he crested the top. He could just make out the lights of the place that he was headed for -- and what looked like a bit of a fire a ways back in the trees off to the right, much closer than the town. Bart turned on the GPS light again and noted that there was a graveyard there. By the blue glow of the moon, he could see the gates of the cemetery at the end of the drive. He hadn't seen a soul on the road for an hour.

When he got to the turnoff to the gates, Bart couldn't say why, but seeing that the gates were wide open, he rolled off the throttle, pulled the clutch, shut off the ignition and killed the lights with the ignition switch. After a second, the security system on the bike armed itself with a double chirp as he rolled. The rumble was gone, and all that came to his ears was a bit of the night breeze and the soft crunch of his fat tires on the packed gravel.

He still had to use the brakes when he got as close to the light as the road through the cemetery would take him. Rolling to a stop, he extended the sidestand and let the beast rest on it gently as he unfastened the chin strap on his helmet and took it off. He could just see the flicker of the fire in the distance over the slight rise of the ground as a pale glow on the leaves of the trees overhead. He got off and began to walk. He needed to check on something as the professional lawman that he was, but more than that, he felt himself drawn to the one who had lit this small blaze.

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She had anticipated the chill and had lain some wood there earlier to be sure that there was enough just in case things went a little long. What she hadn't considered was the quality of the wood. When the evening had gotten cool, she'd found that she wasn't ready to close off just then and had tossed two pieces on the fire when one would have been all that she'd have needed and the when the wood caught, the fire was much larger than she wanted.

She was finishing up when a thought came to her. Searching her memory, she'd only just been aware of what she thought had been the sound of a motorcycle a bit earlier, but she hadn't wanted to let her attention wander just then. Now that she thought about it, she could remember the sound coming over the hill, but she couldn't recall that it had faded as it passed.

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Bart found that most of the graveyard extended to his left. It was really rather narrow at this end, and not deep at all. Once he'd gotten over the rise and down the gentle slope, he could just see the fence that marked the edge of the cemetery property. The fire was in a small clearing in the forest behind that perhaps 20 yards further. He walked to the fence.

It took him a minute, but he saw a single hooded figure kneeling at what looked to him to be a small and rustic altar and knew that he was drawn to her, though it wasn't something that she'd have ever thought of.

If the fire had been a bit smaller, he'd never have made out the details which now flooded his trained mind. The figure rose and stood for a second or two and Bart was transfixed. He made out the profile and noted that the individual appeared to be unclothed under the cloak that she wore. Her head turned toward him and there was an instant where neither of them moved. And then the figure turned to face him across the twenty yards.

With her standing and peering toward him now, he saw nothing but darkness under the hood. He only saw the cloak, but even though he stood far from where the light of the fire could possible illuminate him, he knew that she was aware of him there. He knew that she could feel him. Bart saw the motion of her arm beginning.

Every instinct of the modern-day lawman told him to watch and observe. But the older instincts of the marine he'd once been along with those of his forebears told him to shield his night vision and he closed his eyes to look away from the scene.

The thin flesh of his eyelids passed enough information to his retinas to tell him that the fire now flared brightly. Then there was nothing. When he opened his eyes, the fire was out and he couldn't see a thing.

He vaulted the fence and moved as quickly as he could at a forty-five degree angle to where his memory told him that the fire had been, careful to feel for his footing until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He swung back following his nose and found himself standing wreathed in smoke inside the small glade. He could feel the residual heat from the firepit, but the blaze was definitely out. The only sound came from the softly hissing and whistling wood in the pit. Reaching for the small LED flashlight in his pocket, he covered the end with his hand and switched it on. He only wanted a sliver of light.

The little altar was a fairly plain-looking affair, not that he knew much about what should or shouldn't have been there. He was only looking to satisfy himself that whoever worshiped here wasn't one of the nut-bars he'd heard about who did things to helpless creatures. When he'd seen enough to tell that this was only heartfelt worship, he switched off the light.

He had another thought which seemed a touch out of the ordinary for him. He knew that he'd intruded upon something. He looked around in the thin smoke and wondered briefly if he ought to apologize, since he knew that he'd disrupted something which was none of his affair, but gave it up and turned to walk back.

It might have not been what anyone else might have believed, but he'd spent enough time in tense nighttime confrontations in combat and as a law officer to know one thing here.

He was not alone.

The individual might not now be visible in the darkness, but he could feel her presence, and not from very far off, either.

He made no effort to hurry and walked back to the fence. Once on the other side of it, he stopped, still facing away as he fumbled in his pockets for what he wanted. The old Zippo scratched once and flared as he lit a cigarette. Taking a draw, he looked toward the dim tombstones in front of him and exhaled. He waited several seconds, listening. Nothing came to his ears but the cry of an owl from far off as it hunted.

He turned, but not too quickly and looked back.

There was a patch of inky blackness just a little bit darker than the night in that direction on the other side of the wrought iron fence. He suppressed the urge to smirk, since he'd known that she'd be there and just kept his face straight in case her eyes were better than his own here in the night. He was still getting used to them.

At first he felt nothing, but thinking carefully, he got nothing antagonistic. Only her caution came to him and it made him wonder why she'd chosen to follow if she was this unsure. Wasn't there enough risk in this for her? In her place, he'd have been long gone before now. His earlier thought returned to him and this time he used his opportunity.

"I'm sorry," he said, making the effort not to peer, "I meant no harm, and I hope that I didn't disturb anything in that place back there. I don't live here. I won't mention anything to anyone and I won't disturb you again."

He felt his face pull into the slight smile that he wanted it to show, and he nodded, "You have a good night."

Then he turned to walk away.

The voice which came to him was quiet. It carried a hint of a soft accent, and it trembled a little in surprise. "Why did you come? No one called to you."

He didn't turn back, "I was drawn here. No harm to you."

He kept walking.

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The feeling which came to her as she'd turned was a mixture of several emotions. For one thing, she found herself a little annoyed at having been disturbed, but in truth, she'd finished the closing prayer of the ritual, so there hadn't been any harm done. There was the dismayed shock of being discovered mixed with a thrill of fear -- the age-old fear of her kind. Things were a lot better today, but still, there were more than a few idiots on the other side of superstition and she had it rough enough living here and being scorned by a fairly large number of the locals.

She looked to see who it had been who might have seen her. She couldn't make anyone out in the darkness, she just knew that it was a male, and the feeling which came to her was calm and rational. She sighed quietly and put out the fire and the candles with a wave.

With a bit of luck, she'd lose him easily in the dark and he'd have a tale to tell over his beer to his buddies. She didn't like it, but it couldn't be helped now.

But something held her back. She knew that her best course would have been to just melt away, but then she saw that he'd actually approached from another angle and stood with his light looking around. She wanted to groan at the thought of having to find another place to worship now. But from behind the large oak, all that she got from him was more of that calmness and, ... a touch of regret. Even a slight feeling of longing.

Then he turned away and against all of her better judgment, she found herself following him to the fence, her lips moving in the invocation of prayers for remaining cloaked and unseen in the dark of the night. And she mouthed the beginnings of a spell to cast if she found that she had the need of it after all as she clutched her old wand.

She watched the glow of the lighter over his shoulder and closed her own eyes to slits to keep out the light. The smell of the tobacco came to her and she prepared to draw back. But he turned then and she found herself rooted to the spot, knowing that if she moved now, he'd know her position with certainty. As it was, he couldn't be sure. She knew that he couldn't possibly ...

But he was looking right at where she stood, as though he knew exactly where she was and then he astounded her with his quiet words as he apologized.

Her mouth fell open in amazement. Given the circumstances, it baffled her that she could feel that he had absolutely no fear in him. Only that calmness. But she did know that there was more here than only a man who had bumbled onto the place where she worshiped. She didn't know how she felt about that at all.

She peered at his back as his figure receded into the darkness after her question. When he was on the far side of the rise, she moved to the small gate a few yards off to one side and slipped through to follow.

At the top, she knelt by a large monument and watched as he sat sideways on the seat, leaning against the machine as he smoked. He didn't look toward her once. She watched him flick the ash off the end a few times and then root in his pocket for something. She was prepared to pull behind the stone, thinking that he'd use the flashlight again, but he seemed to have a small ashtray of some sort that he used to place the butt in. Closing it, he put it back into his pocket and now sat facing her on the motorcycle.

There was a long minute of silence between them and then he astonished her again as he spoke.

"Ma'am," he said, "you might want to hide yourself a bit right about now. I'll have to turn the ignition on to start my bike here, and when I do that, the headlight will come on. I can't tell for sure, but if that cloak is open, the headlight is going to give me more of a thrill than I surely deserve."

She withdrew from the stone and stood behind a tree. She wasn't sure now if she was more surprised than upset, and damned is she didn't have to fight off the grin which came to her.

His left hand found the ignition switch, and paused there while his right thumb rested on the starter. He hesitated for a moment longer as her faint musical laugh came to him, and then he turned the switch to the right.

The instrument panel lit up and the slope was bathed in the glow of the high beam. He quickly reached for the beam selector and flicked it to low and then pulled the clutch as his thumb pressed the starter. The glow dimmed for a moment as the engine cranked and then came back to its former brilliance when the engine started. He put on his helmet and tied the strap before pulling his gloves back on. The sidestand clanged up and from her hiding spot on the other side of the rise, she heard the heavy clunk as he put it in first gear and slowly pulled out.

She had to step away from the tree to watch him backtrack down the drive, and then turn right to accelerate toward the town. She stood there alone for several minutes as she watched him go, before she turned to walk back to collect her things and head through the dark woods toward her home.

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It didn't take long to find the motel and rouse the night clerk behind the desk from her novel. With his gear in the room, he climbed back onto his bike and went off in search of someplace that stayed open this late, serving food to the insomniacs of the nation. Thirty-seven minutes later, he was in the shower, easing the kinks of the road out and then he was in bed. He replayed the scene over in his mind and drifted off hearing her little laugh in his mind.

He's been smiling a little wistfully ever since.