The Witches’ Bane
by Edward Ahern
Gordon Lormor is a defrocked priest and con man. And something more. He walks a precarious path between light and dark magic. When a former lover calls him, pleading that he help free her from a coven, Gordon leaves his business behind and travels to upstate Vermont.
Death arrives before he does, and Gordon is thrown into a worsening spiral of assaults and murders and the threat of an infant sacrifice. He is joined by his assistant, AJ, and helped by a Catholic cardinal in chipping away at the wall around the witches’ conspiracy. He soon realizes he is teetering ever closer to his own spiritual and physical death.
Chapter 17: Butt Shot
The slug had torn a furrow through Gordon’s left buttock. He wondered if it was somehow Maureen’s revenge, then embraced the pain until he could roll onto his knees and crawl to the Xterra. The hardest part was getting in. The Xterra had no running boards, and the outsized tires raised the cabin higher than normal. Gordon almost gave up twice, but knew that he would freeze to death unless he could get warm.
Using upper body strength, Gordon dragged himself by inches onto the driver’s seat. He could feel his shoulder muscles tearing. After several minutes, he was seated in his normal driving position.
Although riddled with holes the Xterra had kept running. The tightly woven cloth seat would have to serve as a dressing, and Gordon choked back a yelp as he put his weight on the wounded ass cheek. He was able to shut the door, but the windows had been shot out. He cranked the car heat to high, stuck his stiffened hands into his crotch, and twisted his head toward the cell phone.
“Tassie,” he croaked, “you still there?”
“Yeah. I heard shots. You all right?”
“Sort of. You know where I am? How’s the cop?”
“He got shot in the cruiser, so his only injury will be a chewing-out once we get around to it. The other two guys?”
“They’re dead, or close to it. Afraid I can’t provide CPR.”
“You get shot?”
“Yeah. I’m going to need new upholstery on the driver’s seat.”
“Keep talking, you keep talking.”
In the gusting wind, the heater’s warmth was flimsy and intermittent. Gordon could feel blood seeping out and spreading down his thigh. He was getting ready to pass out when he saw police lights coming down the trail toward him.
“Tassie?” he croaked again.
“Yeah?”
“I think I like you.” And then he did pass out.
Copyright © 2018 by Edward Ahern
