Chapter 26

Dashiell swore under his breath. “Then we may be too late. But we have to hurry, just in case.”

He started heading toward the memorial flame, running quickly while trying to keep low and out of sight. Unfortunately, the cemetery wasn’t built for stealth. He had to hope that they were too involved in casting their spell or talking to the demi-goddess to notice him and Regina rushing up the hill.

He turned his head slightly and saw Regina mirroring his movements. She had spread out about ten yards to his right. That was smart. There was no way a spell from the witches could get both of them at the same time. And Hecate would be more likely to raise the dead to deal with them.

As he approached the hill, he heard the witches chanting in unison. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Apparently they weren’t done with the spell. What Regina had spotted must just be the first impressions of Hecate on this plane. Still, the spell wasn’t that long to begin with. Hopefully, they’d go through the ritual of saying it three times. After all, Hecate was a threefold goddess. But he couldn’t count on it.

Dashiell made a decision. He’d charge them. Yes, they’d notice him, but if it disrupted them from chanting, then he’d spoil the spell. And he was wearing his jacket. He pelted towards the plateau where the witches stood, feet pounding lightly on the payment. Regina must have thought he was insane, Dashiell reflected. Well, maybe he was.

As he rounded the last corner, he got his first glimpse of the three witches. They couldn’t have been more different from each other. The first was old, Dashiell guessed her age around 70. She had flowing white hair down to her shoulders and she stood in profile to him.

The second witch was young, maybe all of 20. She had slick black hair and thick eye shadow. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was a goth poseur like so many girls her age. But he could feel the power radiating from the bubbling cauldron between the witches.

The third witch had her back to him, but years working as an investigator told him that, by the way she carried herself, she was of middle years. Besides, it fit the pattern. These three were following all of the old legends, and Hecate was often pictured as having three forms, the maid, the mother and the crone.

The eyes of the youngest witch widened as she saw Dashiell run up upon them, but she didn’t break her chant. Oh well, he’d have to do it for them. He took a step towards the witch with her back to him, fully prepared to yank her out of the circle forcefully.

At least, that was the plan.

When he got within three paces of her, he slammed into an invisible wall.

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