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“Let’s go,” Jackson said, looking at Angela.

“Meet you at the car; I’ll let our office ‘krewe’ know we’re heading out and to deal with whatever comes in,” she told him.

Adam and Josh rose, heading out with Jackson, and, of course, greeting others in the office quickly as they left—no one was in their unit unless chosen or approved by Adam Harrison and he—and Josh—were loved and honored by all.

While they greeted others and quickly explained the situation, Angela gathered her work for the day, and made sure Bruce McFadden, often in charge of the office when she and Jackson were out, was aware of everything on her calendar.

Then she was out herself, hopping into the car that awaited her in front of the office.

She was startled to see there were two men already seated in the middle row of Jackson’s SUV, and she hesitated.

Technically, two spirits.

Josh, and a man who appeared to have been in his mid-forties at death, buried in a handsome suit.

He’d departed the earth with a headful of slightly graying dark hair and fine cheek bones along with discerning brown eyes.

“There’s room, honest!” Josh told her, scooting closer to the man.

“I’m in, no worries,” she told him. “I just—”

“Angela, please, meet Julian Wagner,” Josh told her.

“Julian, a pleasure.

I wish it were other circumstances and I’m so sorry—” Angela began.

“Don’t be sorry for me!” the man said softly.

“And the fellow who shot me died a slow and miserable death from cancer and came to me immediately, or I should say, as soon as he could find me.

And he has apologized profusely, horrified by what he did, and, in our case, well, he’s learned all about getting caught up in hate movements and I have forgiven him completely.

But my daughter! I’ve never been so afraid!”

“Of course, I understand!” Angela murmured.

“Do we have any idea of where we’re going?” she asked.

“We were hoping you had an idea; Jackson tells me you’re the true brains of the situation,” Julian Wagner told her.

“On this, I . . .”

“You know more history than anyone I know!” Jackson said.

For a moment she was blank.

She began to think of all the research she had done regarding the past when it might have an impact on the present.

Some people became criminals for earthly gain or simple revenge.

Others committed crimes because they were down and out; they felt the world had betrayed them and they looked for others who felt they’d been put upon, who sought out any kind of group or affiliation that helped them by making them believe others were responsible for their misfortunes, even all misfortunes in the world.

Concentrate on the area! She told herself.

And then it came to her.

“Wait!” she said aloud, and explained, “In some of the research I was doing for a situation there was a case in Virginia in the late sixteen hundreds ..

the witchcraft accusations and trials in Salem tend to overshadow the fact they were going on all over the colonies.

Virginia was already Virginia, I believe, from ‘Wingina,’ who supposedly from a native king in the area and many believed the god the Native Americans admired most was Satan.

The earliest accusation there was against a woman named Joan Wright, another would-be settler, Katherine Grady was hanged aboard the ship bringing her to Virginia.

Anyway, the point is, it went on, and usually, as in most cases, a group of people were unhappy and had to blame their misfortunes on others.” She took a deep breath. “Pigs!”

“Pigs.”

“Happened a few times.

Anyway, a group of angry colonists descended upon a woman named Francine Morrison who they had determined was a witch, saying she’d cursed their pigs, goats, and cattle while flying over their land at night.

In truth, she was a friendly woman, advocating for freedom of religion and trying to explain that the Native Americans grew up with a totally different culture.

They didn’t bother to formally charge her but rather brought her to a particular glen in a forest right off the river; they tied her between two trees and tortured her before lighting a massive fire beneath her.

Like I said, this was without any legal machination, it was done by the darkness of night and everyone played innocent after, claiming Satan had come to bring her home.

And, of course, court cases on record in the colonies had so-called witches being hanged, not burned at the stake, but this one—this one was just a murder committed by a group of people miserable with life.

Never made it to the courts. Those guilty of the crime got away with it because they lived in such a secluded area and there was no DNA at the time, no fingerprint analysis. . . and sorry! Here's the thing. The area where it happened is still a forested area off the river! And perhaps whoever kidnapped Celia, did so because they see her as a ‘witch,’ someone promoting a concept they don’t believe in, something that might take something away from them. If they put her on a boat—”

“Then we need to get to a boat,” Jackson said, looking at Angela through the rearview mirror.

“Can you find this place—”

“Well, there should be a boat on the shore near their destination!” Angela said, looking back at them. And ...”

She paused, and said, “head straight west now Jackson, we know where there is a pier where we can grab a rental there, we’ve used them before!”

He nodded and put on his blinker.

Angela turned to Julian Wagner.

“How did you get to Josh and Adam so fast?”

He smiled at her.

They both knew that spirits had to travel from place to place as if they were still in their corporal bodies.

Planes, trains, and automobiles. And feet.

“My daughter!” he said softly.

“I’m still her dad.

She doesn’t hear me, but I talk to her all the time.

And when she’s in need . . .”

“And he knew where to find me; I knew where to find my dad, and we all knew how to find you and Jackson!” Josh said, trying to smile and be light.

Because he knew, of course, just how worried his friend was.

They reached the docks; Jackson had a boat rented in minutes, and they were quickly moving across the water.

Josh groaned suddenly.

“Jackson, Angela, this is crazy.

I should have made you bring more agents, I mean, what if—”

“We’ll be fine,” Jackson said.

“We can hope, and Angela’s reasoning is usually excellent, but we don’t even know if we’re going the right way, or if—”

“She’s not dead! I know she’s not dead!” Julian said.

“I’d know it; I know it in my he—sorry, I’d know it in my soul!” he finished with a whisper.

“That wasn’t my suggestion,” Jackson said quietly.

“I was about to say I can’t help but doubt this could be a huge group.

Two men slipped her away.

They may have more followers, flunkies, or whatever, but at this stage of life, Angela and I are pretty good at what we do.”

“And it could be a gang of twenty with semi-automatics,” Josh said worriedly.

“We’ll manage what we need to manage,” Jackson assured him.

“We find too many people, we have cell phone and when we know where we are, help can be with us in a matter of minutes.”

Jackson always spoke honestly, but he could also do so with assurance.

All their time working together, sharing their family together .

.

.

Angela admired him more and loved him more daily.

Professional to a fault sometimes, she thought, lowering her head to smile, but besides their ability to see and speak with the dead who chose to be seen and spoken with, they’d gained something almost like another extrasensory perception—and ability to read one another, valuable in risky situations.

Not to mention he was one hell of a father to Corby and Victoria, and still, she thought, further amused, tall, dark, with striking features that were a mix of his Native American and Northern European heritage.

They could come up against almost anything.

But they would handle it.

“There,” Jackson said, cutting the motor on the little boat he’d rented.

They were still some distance from the shore, but Angela knew he didn’t want the motor to be heard.

Get “Get your paddles.

We’ll just slide her in over there, by that tree with all the heavy dripping branches.

And, as far as I can see, there is just the one boat in front of that grove, couldn’t have been too many people in it, though, of course, more people could be waiting.”

“There will be more waiting. They ...she must be alive! They wouldn’t have been able to pull anything off this quickly,” Julian said.

The man’s voice sounded desperate.

Angela prayed he was right.

Like the others, she grabbed a paddle, and they began to move the boat closer and closer.

The roots of the trees stretched into the water, but Jackson was making use of the trees and the roots.

He knew the spirits of Josh and Julian would do fine; he was probably worried about Adam because of his age.

And Adam knew it, of course, quickly telling Jackson in a very low tone, “I can do it, just give me a hand.

This is perfect.

We can slip through the trees without being seen.”

Of course, it meant getting soaked but that was the least of their problems.

Angela and Jackson found a way to step between the roots, reached back together, and hiked Adam as close as they could to the shore.

Jackson kept an arm out for Adam to balance on until they reached solid ground, still hidden by a wealth of trees.

Naturally, Josh and Julian were right behind them.

“Wait.

Be still,” Angela murmured.

She could hear voices, and she was trying to determine how many.

“Watch out not just for guns, but anyone running around with a needle.

Seems like Celia was hit with a sedative of some kind, not enough to capacitate her, but enough so that they could move her along,” Julian told Angela.

“Wait,” Julian said.

“Josh and I will go ahead and one of us will move forward and see what’s going on while the other keeps moving back to you to report.”

“Good plan,” Jackson said. “Adam—”

“I’m old but still have a heavy hand and I’m a damned good shot,” Adam told him.

“Let’s move forward.”

With Julian and Josh in the lead, they began to move as silently through the trees as possible, seeking to reach a clearing .

.

.

perhaps the same clearing that had been utilized hundreds of years before, or one like it now.

It was about ten minutes before Josh came hurrying back to them, his voice low and urgent.

“Looks like a gathering of about twenty.

Right now, they’re rigging the trees — getting ready to string Celia up.

She’s on the ground, barely conscious.

Julian’s gone over to sit with her.

Just...

to be with her. Most of the people seem like they’re just there to watch. Spectacle, maybe. There are four guards stationed around the clearing, positioned like the corners of a square. All of them are armed. The closest is straight ahead, just right of the break in the trees. They’ve set up around the trees at angles — looks like they’re preparing to lift her body, raise her into place, so she’s surrounded... exposed to their spears, their sticks, and whatever else the others decide to throw. So—”

“The first guard.

And we’re going to need your help, Josh.

I know you can rustle some leaves,” Jackson told him.

“When he turns to check the noise—”

“I’ll clock him fast.

He’ll go down, and you and Jackson move to the next.

Jackson takes him, while I circle around the other way.

We could use Julian—” Angela began.

“I’ll get him moving counterclockwise.

That’ll give Angela the opening to slip in.

We all converge on the last guard—he’s closest to Celia and the hanging trees,” Josh said.

“And I—” Adam began.

“You will keep your eye on the first jerk we bring down and make him behave,” Josh said.

“Dad! Sunday may be Father’s Day, but it’s not time for you to join me yet!”

Adam groaned softly.