“Private hurtful things?” Ruby placed her hand on Shoana’s leg. “If you want to talk about them, you can.”

“Not sure if I can. Not yet.”

Ruby stood up and moved to make the cuppas. “You know, Shoana, I went to the festival with you because I was tired of my life. I felt positive energy about what we were doing until I got close to the event, then something started sucking at the energy.” 

Slow, silent nods from Shoana.

Ruby opened up a cupboard and found some cups. She placed them on the bench and looked at Shoana. “I think evil is involved, and I think we need to steer clear of these sorts of events because it can infiltrate other areas of your life too.”

Shoana remained quiet.

Ruby understood the desire to hold on to things in life, even things which aren’t good for us. She was trying to work her way through this herself, trying to avoid the wrong things, the wrong roads, the wrong turns. Why couldn’t someone put up a sign advising not to enter certain roads or pathways. She gave a silent laugh, knowing she’d probably disobey anyway. Something inside her didn’t like being told what to do. That spooked her.

“I think we need to stay away from this Wiccan stuff, Shoana.”

Shoana’s lips parted but no words came.

“Shoana, you okay?”

Shoana reached for a tissue and wiped her cheeks. “I’m just sorry, Ruby.”

“Come, sit out on the balcony.”

Ruby made her comfortable and then completed making the tea. They sat and talked on idle things. Shoana stayed a little longer, but had to get back to work before her lunch break ended.

They hugged when she departed, and she apologised again.

Shoana kept things close to her chest, sharing little of herself with Ruby or others. Ruby went back out to the balcony and watched Shoana walk off. A car pulled over and Shoana climbed in. Who was driving?

The half-eaten muffin sat on the plate, staring at her. She picked up a piece and ate it. Well, that had been fun. Ruby was the one needing comforting, but ended up comforting Shoana. Maybe that was the trick—put your energy into others. She looked over at Zoe’s herb patch. Some mini red capsicums stood out. Red hair? What was the significance of the red hair? Then the memories came flooding back.

Sacrifice. Was that why Shoana was so upset? Had she known they’d sacrifice her? Murder her. Kill her. How could she do that?

25 – Island’s High Priestess

THE RAIN CAME DOWN, HARD. The noise woke Ruby, who had sought the comfort of her bed. She had a craving for fresh rainy air so she made her way out to the covered balcony, grabbing her MacBook on the way. The rain had stopped. The splashing sound of cars driving through puddles was soothing. 

She sat down, opened up her MacBook, and ran her eyes over the news streams. A headline under Breaking News caught her attention.

Strange Goings-on at Island’s Blue Moon Festival

Ruby’s heart was in her mouth. How do they find these things out? She didn’t want to but she read on . . .

Police are investigating what appears to be an attempted murder during the Blue Moon Festival held at one of the larger bay islands on the weekend. Details are sketchy but it is suggested that some kind of witchcraft ceremony took place involving a sacrifice.

Police are asking for witnesses to come forward, including anyone who may have participated in the event. Pamphlets will be circulated and the police will be doing some canvassing during the week to find further clues. 

One islander told us, “It’s all hogwash (or is that hogwart?). We’re all nature lovers over here. The event was harmless. It’s all about nature, gods, and magic. Get a life, go read Harry Potter.” 

Ruby tried to smile. Hogwart. Someone had a sense of humour. Her smile soon left. It wasn’t harmless. It was real and she wouldn’t be venturing anywhere near Wiccan or witchcraft again. Was the advice to reading Harry Potter’s books a bad thing? Did it open up some kind of mystical door, and desensitize people to such things? She had no idea.

There was a picture of the islander who’d been quoted. He was middle-aged, with medium-length blond hair and a thick beard. Oddly, he looked like a wizard. It was the shirt—mauve, with a pattern of stars. Maybe he dressed for the interview. Ruby looked closer. He also looked like the man from the doctor’s waiting room, but it wasn’t him, maybe a relative.

She didn’t need to read any more news. She wondered how long before the journalist discovered the identity of the person offered up for sacrifice.

Ruby decided to do some investigating herself. Red hair. 

Redheaded men had been buried alive in Egypt as sacrifices to the god Osiris. She’d heard that name before. She looked into the relationship between Osiris and Wiccan, and found there weren’t strict rules or any real order with Wiccan. Almost anything went, so if they wanted to line up a redheaded female sacrifice to this Osiris, they could. Funny, there was that Wiccan statement: Do what you will, so long as it harms none. 

Seemed they could do what they liked with that as well. 

She’d read some of this before and thought it was harmless. But now she was seeing references to Satanism, to devil worship. How did she miss that in her previous research? She’d only seen what she’d wanted to see. Her expectations had guided her and stopped her from seeing things that could dampen the experience she wanted. 

Ruby, you can be such a fool.

The high priestess wanted to sacrifice a redhead. Why? It didn’t matter whether this Osiris god was in the picture or not. Sacrifices were made to gods of some description. The gods needed to be appeased and this high priestess got it in her head it had to be a redhead. Again, why? Had the god done something for the high priestess? Was she offering something in return?

And what about sacrifices to the Christian and Muslim God? They apparently worship the same god. According to their writings, Abraham offered up his son as a sacrifice. The Christians believe it was Isaac, the Muslims believe it was Ishmael. The Christians also believe God offered his own son up for sacrifice, which sounded barbaric? Why did the Christian God need to be appeased? 

So many questions. She was tired.

She’d keep it simple. The high priestess wanted to repay her god for something. Ruby had the wrong colour hair and was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but there would be consequences. That high priestess couldn’t run around burying people alive. She must be off her rocker. No appeasing here. No, she needed to be apprehended.

<°)))><

It was a romantic thought. A high priestess at a blue moon ritual on an island and her gods brought it to fruition. When she’d heard a blue moon ritual was being planned for an island close by, she’d worked to position herself as the High Priestess for the ritual. She was a private person and wanted to keep it that way. Well that was a half-truth—she’d planned to end someone’s life, so she wanted to remain as anonymous as possible. 

She’d contacted the organisers via email. Her partner was a wizard—in more ways than one—with technology. He set up an anonymous email account and did something to the email headers which she didn’t fully understand. As long as they couldn’t trace the messages, she was happy. 

She convinced the visiting coven’s high priestess this was her island, so she should lead the circle. She’d also wanted privacy, to keep her identity secret. The coven was happy to comply. It was all about peace and she was shown the appropriate courtesy. 

It wasn’t really her island but she’d participated with the island’s coven before and did spend considerable time on the island with her partner and his brother. It was a place, just another place in the world of nature. She was just visiting, like she visited any place. They were all just visitors, sojourners. 

She sent her partner over to set things up in advance. She’d also sent out an email asking about red hair, saying the ritual would be enhanced if a group member had red hair. One of the coven members helped out locating and inviting an appropriate person. The group’s excitement had been expressed in the number of messages sent out between the members. 

She hoped her wizard had done his job with the emails and concealing her identify, because they were going to come looking. They were always going to come looking, because she had committed a crime.

What should she do next? That was the challenge. Would her god direct her? Not yet.

She looked over at the window at a hovering swarm of flies. She saw her partner in the background walking down the road. The flies turned and flew off, as if to greet him.

They had met at an archery competition. He told her his name was Robin and she believed him for a brief moment—until he added Hood. They laughed. He was into medieval things and was a master with the crossbow. They’d ventured deeper into the world of Wicca together.

She had periods of doubt with him, often sensing something hidden. He assured her nothing was. 

When they visited the island, her partner would walk the island for hours each day—hours in the morning, hours in the afternoon. Sometimes with his brother, sometimes by himself. He was tuned into the island, in rhythm with nature, and that’s where he wanted to be. She heard him open and close the large timber door. The floorboards creaked as he headed down to their den—as they liked to call it.

“What discoveries has my loved one made today?” she asked.