WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

about the witches knowing my name.
    “How did you know my name?”
    I heard a distinct sigh on the other end of the connection before the man said, “Caller ID.”
    “Oh. Of course.”
    “What can I do for you, Mr. Draiocht?”
    “I don’t know. I was given your card. And I guess I thought that was the question I’d be asking you. What can you do for me?”
    “Ah. I see. What do you know about our program?”
    “Nothing.”
    There was a slight, but distinct pause. “If you’d like to attend the next Orientation, you may be admitted if you pass an evaluation to be conducted at the door.”
    “What kind of evaluation?”
    “Nothing for which you can prepare. You are either right for the program or you are not.”
    “Oh. When’s the next Orientation?”
    “This evening. A car will pick you up at six thirty if you want to move forward.”
    Part of me was thinking that bad things begin with mysteries, but I checked in with the Voice and it was quiet. While the Voice might allow me to do stupid shit or unproductive shit, the Voice intervened if I was about to do something irrevocably dumb or dangerous.
    “Okay,” I said. “My address…”
    “We can find it. Don’t be late. Dinner will be included.”
    “Uh, wait! What do I wear?”
    “What you have on is fine.”
    “How do you know what I’m wearing?”
    “I don’t know what you are or aren’t wearing, but approval does not depend upon clothes. You are either right for the program or you are not.”
    He didn’t wait for a reply. The next thing I heard was a series of three beeps letting me know the call had been disconnected.
    “Okay. Bye. See you later,” I said to the room with sarcasm.
    I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that a sane man, one who’s been to the movies at some point in his life, would not even consider going, Voice or no Voice. You’re right, of course. That’s what a sane man would do.
    It would be an exaggeration to say that I had nothing to lose at that point because it was far from true. I had my books. And my life. But it would be fair to reiterate that I was a man without a plan. I wasn’t desperate, but I was curious and certain that, if I didn’t show up at the curb at six-thirty, I’d spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened at Orientation.
    Time to walk the walk. What student of the paranormal would refuse the opportunity to attend an Orientation possibly leading to some sort of “program” involving witches.
    Again, I know what you’re thinking and, again, no, I’m not ignorant enough to believe we’re talking about cartoon witches like Disney or supernatural hags like those in Macbeth. I assumed these “witches” were modern-day Wiccans, a sect of pagans with little, if any, verifiable power to affect reality.
    It seemed I was all cleaned up with no place to go at the moment, but I did need to call and cancel my shift at The Stop. The bar manager was not happy because it was Friday. Lots of upper, upper middle class people liked to celebrate surviving another work week with the corporate version of the MAN by alcohol-induced letting loose. Friday nights were good for the bar and good for me.
    “You don’t show tonight, Will, don’t come back.”
    That’s what he said to me. My mind raced around. Was I willing to cut the only tie between me and script from the U.S. Treasury? I must be a gambler because I didn’t really hesitate.
    “Okay. I’ll be in to get the rest of my tips Monday afternoon.”
    Wolfie, the bar manager, huffed and disconnected.
    Had people forgotten how to say goodbye?
    As I looked around my room, my eyes landed on the clock. I had eight hours to fill until go-time. For the second time that day I found myself smiling, just because of the simple pleasure of recreation time. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a whole day to read.
    I settled on a book from the Duke Parapsychology Lab that I’d acquired weeks before and hadn’t had time to