Read All Hallows Eve: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (1001 Dark Nights) for Free Online Page B

introduced himself. “I’m from here; home for a visit with some family of a friend.”
    They shook hands.
    “The place has changed. I remember when Laurie Cabot started up with the first witch shop. You would have been young.”
    “I remember,” Sam said.
    “Nowadays, we got everything. This morning, damn if there wasn’t a chicken head out on the embankment by my place.”
    Sam asked him where he lived, which was just a few blocks down from where they were, not far from the Elizabeth Montgomery Bewitched statue.
    “We have Creole neighbors. Don’t know what they’re practicing, but come on, chicken heads?” The man sighed again. “My wife does say that Mrs. DuPont makes a heck of a chicken pot pie, though. Chicken heads and suicides. I’m telling you, the real stuff going on here now is worse than Halloween. Good for the economy, but crazy for regular folks.”
    “You’re referring to John Bradbury’s death?” Sam asked.
    “I am. Sad thing. Nice guy. He’d come in here now and then. I’m a realtor and have some late nights. Anyway, Bradbury was always excited about bringing his artistic craft home to Salem. That’s what he called it. He loved the old mortuary up there. He told me he wished he could buy it and, if ever he could, he’d turn it into a permanent attraction. Put more history in it, that kind of a thing. He loved the history of Halloween and how the Christian church managed to combine with the pagan ways.”
    The harried bartender came to them and Sam let the older man place his order first, then asked for the beers. The man thanked him and told Sam he’d be seeing him and moved on. As Sam collected the four steins of Black Witches Ale, he heard a couple at the bar arguing.
    “Don’t do it,” the man warned.
    “She’s a bitch, and I’m going to take her down,” the woman said defiantly.
    “You’re being ridiculous. There are enough people here to make everyone successful and happy. And, besides, that has nothing to do with practicing what we believe.”
    “It has to do with pride and with that nasty little bitch Gloria Day trying to take over from everyone else.”
    “Stop talking,” the man said. “Someone will hear you.”
    “Maybe someone out there is practicing black magic. Not a Wiccan religion, but pure Satanism. Bradbury talked against her, and look where he is.”
    “It was a suicide,” the man said.
    “Maybe. Maybe not.”
    Sam pretended to get thrown against the man’s arm. When the fellow turned to look at him, he quickly apologized. “Sorry. It’s so busy in here.”
    “It’s okay,” the man said.
    “I don’t remember it being this crazy. I’m from here, but…wow. Sam Hall, by the way. Nice to meet you, since I nearly sloshed beer on you.”
    The man frowned. “Sam Hall. You’re that big-time attorney. Sorry, I’m David Cromwell and this is my wife, Lydia.”
    “Nice to meet you both,” Sam said and decided not to tell them that he wasn’t really practicing law anymore. “By the way, what should I do on Halloween? I hear there are all kinds of things going on and since I haven’t been home in ages, I wouldn’t mind some advice.”
    “Tandy Whitehall’s Moonlight Madness,” Lydia said. “Tandy has been here forever and she’s the real deal. She gets fabulous bands and, if you get a reading at the party, it’ll be a good one. It’s just lovely.”
    David Cromwell had lowered his head and was gritting his teeth. Bingo. Sam knew that he had hit the core of their argument. Lydia was a huge Tandy Whitehall fan. In the morning, he’d find out how vicious and divisive that fight might be. John Bradbury was dead, and he’d apparently been vocal against the usurper as well.
    “Thanks so much,” Sam said.
    He headed back to the table with the beers. Stephanie and Audra were bringing Jenna up to date on what was going on with their families. They all paused to thank him as he returned.
    “Slow waiter,” Jenna teased, looking at him.
    He sensed